A brisk and biting breeze picked up, and Alice wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders. On the deck, men were moving up and down the length of the ship, adjusting the sails to better harness the changing wind. They worked in the dark, untying and retying ropes, their fingers surprisingly nimble for such brute people. They paid Alice no mind, the important task of prepping the ship occupying their attention wholeheartedly.
Similarly, Alice was also oblivious to the movements of the men. She had, on her first week of travel, attempted to converse with them but to no avail. Fascinated by exploration, she wanted to ask them about their experiences. She wanted to hear first-hand accounts about adventures they had in the faraway places she read about. Some of them were hired Dutch sailors, unable to understand what she was trying to express, while others refused to talk with her simply because they found her to bothersome cargo. Either way, Alice was reduced to turning to her books for company.
Looking out into the ocean, she wondered how it would feel to jump right in. To let the cool water wash over her and sink to the very bottom. To have her feet touch the sand, and then be buried in it. She could already feel the pressure of the entire ocean crushing her chest. It was there, and it was very real. The isolation, the quiet loneliness she felt on the ship for the past two weeks squeezed her heart, and clawed at her throat. The rail was barely to her waist, and she could easily slip in the dark ocean without anyone noticing.
“Miss, it’s quite chilly out here, you should probably return to your cabin. The deck, especially at night, is no place for a proper lady such as yourself.”
She turned around and came face to face with the Captain of the Arabella, Mr. James Ford. He stared blatantly at her knuckles, which had turned white due to the absurdly tight grip she had on her shawl.
“Go on now, Missy. Go before you catch a cold,” he said in a monotone voice.
Concern wrinkled his upper brow. Alice was not sure of what to make of this man. He was short in stature, with a round belly and heavy greying whiskers. Even in this weather, it was obvious that he was sweating heavily. His shoes shone brightly, polished upon his insistence by the cabin boy twice daily.
His concern for her seemed genuine, although Alice was not sure if he was motivated by his caring nature or by the big fat sum of Spanish gold that awaited him upon her safe arrival at the Capital. She supposed it was not important, although it deeply bothered her that she was seen as invaluable cargo rather than an actual human being.
After thanking the Captain politely for his kind words, she made her way down a rickety ladder and below deck. The air was damp with moisture and she tasted salt on her lips. Kerosene lamps cast eerie shadows on the hall walls, and illuminated exposed nails and rivets. Alice was not easily frightened, but was still cautious when navigating around the belly of the ship, as she worried about scraping herself on some rusty exposed piece of metal and catching some rare, mysterious disease.
She stumbled around until she found her cabin door. Just like the Captain, the door seemed to be sweating, perspiration gathering in droplets around its swollen, rotting middle. It took her a few tries, but she managed to wiggle the brass doorknob, which had neglected to be polished since her arrival, enough to turn it and open the hickory door.
Behind it was a simple room with a bunk bed, the lower of the two bare except for the hefty stack of books that occupied it. Alice had grabbed as many as she could, but the rest had to go into storage along with most of her wardrobe. She had already read everything in the pile, but Captain Ford, believing woman have no interest or purpose in reading, refused her request to retrieve more. Due to her literary material occupying the majority of the cramped quarters, Alice had her daily cloths moved to a small storage area near her cabin, to be delivered every morning to her, much to her amusement, a bewildered cabin boy of twelve who, unsurprisingly, also barely spoke a lick of English.
When she first arrived, she had done a through investigation of what would be her room for the next month. The space itself was fairly small, and the door, which swung inwards, would scrape the edge of the bed every time it was opened. A short dresser was the only furniture present, and inside she found a men’s shirt and trousers, as well as a hollow bible containing a small coin. Possessions of the past occupant, she supposed. She decided to keep these findings a secret.
Upon further inspection of the bunk, she realized that the ladder was not completely intact, a rung creaking horribly if she dared apply even half her weight to it. She made note of that and avoided it.
The mattress was horribly uncomfortable, but Alice found she adjusted quickly. Much to her surprise, she did not get terribly sea sick, as Anna had warned her. Rather, she felt calm and peaceful, almost as if she was at home. Her grandfather’s stories of naval voyage wrapped her in a blanket of comfort, providing a sense of familiarity. Despite her limited experience at sea, the blood of generations of sailors ran swiftly like the oceans currents through her veins.
Perching on top of her bed, she gingerly leafed through a well worn book, its faded gold lettering glimmering in the few rays of sunshine that shown through a small port window. Without anything else to do, this had become routine for Alice. Once in a while, she would stare out the round window. The bland horizon provided no relief to her boredom.
During one of these random glances, she spotted a small dot amidst the endless blue. It momentarily disappeared, before repapering again, like a flickering candle. As the sun crawled higher and higher in the sky, so did the dot get closer and closer. Much to Alice’s disappointment, at some point the glare of the sun erased the dot from view.
Her curiosity was magnified by the silence that swept the ship. Usually boisterous and loud, the men seemed to be speaking in hushed whispers, so much so that the ship adopted an eerie, empty aura. Closing her eyes, Alice felt like she could have been completely alone on the vessel.
Darkness swept the cabin and snapped Alice out of her trance. It was still day, but a violent storm cloud had overtaken the sun. Calmly, Alice turned on her kerosene lamp. It threw paper-thin shadows onto the wall, and made the space seem smaller than ever. She was acutely used to the ocean’s seemingly neurotic nature. The hair on hair head stood on end, frizzing and knotting due to the dry and static disposition the air had adopted.
A gifted musician, nature played the deck with a hard pitter-patter of rain. Thunder added some energy, and the sound of crashing waves tied the symphony together. The shouts of men added vocals, and the twisted music rang clearly in the small cabin.
This was not the first or last storm to rock the Arabella. She was equipped to handle such tantrums, and with proper action, they were no cause for concern. This is why, when the shouts of the sailors intensified, it caught Alice’s attention. Commotion was normal as it is impossible to hear over the rain, but the urgency and fear carried by voices seemed to alarmingly increase.
Lightening flashed followed by more thunder. With each boom the vessel jerked violently, almost tossing Alice out of the bunk. Steadying herself, she pressed her face to the cool glass, the darkness cloaking the once vibrant water. Her eyes strained. Something was wrong.
A neat zigzag of light traced its path across the sky, its afterglow revealing the outline of another ship, looming out from the ocean like a mountain. Shivers raced down her spine, and an audible gasp escaped her mouth. With another boom-boom, Alice realized that what she had heard was not thunder but in fact cannons.
Pirates. Her grandfather had told her vivid stories about them; how men confronted them and were ruthlessly slaughtered; how those on deck died by the swords and pistols of dirty criminals, and how those below it drowned when the ocean swallowed the ship’s hull. Although she was an excellent swimmer, she refused to try her luck against the flooded belly of a ship. If she were to die, she wanted to do it sword in hand like The Three Musketeers or Zorro, not cowering in her cabin clutching her bed like a feeble infant clutching its mother’s breast.
In spite of her courageous thoughts, her whole body was shaking, and she was afraid that at this rate she would drown from perspiration rather than actual seawater. She swung her legs toward the ladder. The drum of her heart resounded within her ears.
Click-clack: The distinct noise of a door being locked. Alice froze. They locked me in here, she thought. A cold shiver ran down her spine. I’m going to die. Glass eyed, she stared at the unpolished doorknob. She was dumbfounded.
A resounding boom, originating much closer to her cabin this time, shook her awake. She scrambled urgently and carelessly down the ladder, but before she could even make it half of the way down the creaky rung snapped, sending her flying backwards. The back of her head connected with something hard, and the world slowly faded to black.
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