“He’s not a monster, you know.”
I scoff. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” I say as I push off the railing. “It’s fine. There’s nothing I can do about it. Just finish the tour.” The words came out more like a command than a statement, and it feels like I am back in the castle, short-tempered with Brynne. If Sig notices, she says nothing, only pushes off the rail and heads into the belly of the ship, not acknowledging me at all, just expecting me to follow.
The wooden steps creak under our feet as we descend onto the first level. Torches line the walls, casting the space in awarm glow. They stay lit in the main hallways, but just like back at camp, they light whenever we enter otherwise empty rooms, following us as we move through the ship.
“There are three levels, which you should know after your little escapade earlier. You were in the hold on the bottom. This is the first level, which is the crew’s quarters. Cap’s is that way,” she says, pointing toward the back of the ship where a single door stands at the end of the hallway. “The rest of us are this way. There are bunks and a couple of shared rooms. I have my own. If you need me, I’m in here.”
She knocks on a small door on the opposite side of the hall, just before the room for the rest of the crew. I peer inside and see an array of different beds, hammocks hanging from the ceiling, furniture pushed against the walls. Clothes hang haphazardly out of drawers, and swords and weapons litter almost every surface.
I make a mental note to grab one and hide it when I can.
“This way,” Sig says, leading me back down the hallway.
We take the next set of stairs to the second floor, which is nothing like the first. It is wide and open and could easily fit everyone I saw on deck yesterday.
She points to a doorway on the back end of the ship. “That’s the galley and mess where we eat. You can get food there any time of day. That door there is the infirmary if you ever get hurt. Armory is there. Don’t even think about it.” She eyes me over her shoulder and I roll my eyes, eliciting a smirk.
“You’ll get there. I have no doubt.” She spins to face the opposite side of the stairs. “Alright, over on this side is the lounge, and the bathrooms are right through there. Third floor is the brig, which you know well, and the hold. Any questions?”
I shake my head. Everything is straightforward, and just like camp, it has everything they need to live comfortably. Now thatI’ve seen it all, instead of sprinting past everything, the size of the ship is deceiving.
Never having been on one back in our world to compare, it feels like the magic doesn’t only hide the ship from the outside. The space below doesn’t at all feel like we are shoved into the belly of a ship, but instead feels almost as big as if we were walking through the halls of the castle in Blackwood.
“Great. Everyone should come in for dinner in a few minutes. Feel free to head to the mess. I’ll be in behind you.”
Gurgles erupt from my stomach at the mention of food, and I don’t fight Sig’s suggestion. Now that I know they aren’t poisoning me, and they’re having me eat with the rest of them, I’m not afraid to have a meal. So much of my strength vanished in the last week, so I’ll have to do what I can to build it back up if I want to have a chance of getting out. That means eating regularly, starting now.
As I start off toward the mess, I can’t help but feel a sliver of doubt in my mind. Am I going about this the wrong way?
Weston wants to convert every captive Voyager to his side, and while I thought I had his methods figured out, it is clear that I don’t. One thing is apparent though: they want me to trust them.
Instead of outright fighting at every turn, making them believe I trust them might, in turn, make them trust me. If I can pretend, and truly lead them to believe they are growing on me, and that I am converting to their side, no one will be suspicious. I will be able to do whatever I want, and can leave unscathed and unassuming.
But I can’t change my behavior too quickly. Weston would pick up on that immediately. I have to play the game, letting them think I’ve changed. They have to believe I’ve softened to their cause, and that their mind tricks are working, and thenI can bring everything I know about them straight back to the Voyagers.
It might take a long time, but fortunatelyandunfortunately for me, on Dawnlin, time is on my side.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The galley and mess are empty when I walk in and look around. They remind me of the tavern Dane took me to back in Blackwood with wooden tables and chairs scattered around the space, and a counter that lines the far wall. A stack of plates sits next to it and I walk over to pick one up.
Handles stick out of the counter’s surface, and I reach to lift one. Steam rises in my face and I realize the galley is different from the tavern back at camp. I look inside each one, my stomach continuing to gurgle with the aroma that wafts out of the compartments before piling food high on my plate.
A small table shoved in the far corner catches my eye. I really don’t want to talk to anyone, especially after what happened this morning, along with Sig’s revelation about the beach, so I try to hide as best as I can in this open room.
I slide into a chair, my back to the door, and slouch over my plate, hoping my posture says ‘fuck off’ as much as I feel. Commotion from behind me echoes into the room a moment later as Castaways file into the mess, and laughter and yelling quickly overtake the quiet.
I set my elbow on the table and rest my head on my hand, turning to face the wall, trying even harder to deter anyone from sitting with me. After only a few bites, I’m startled by the chair beside me scraping along the floor before a body plops down into it. Apparently my body language attracted them instead of deterred, like a moth to a flame.
“Hello, new girl.”
Peering to the side, I see a girl, adjusting herself in the seat, and watching me. She isn’t alone. Another girl sits down across from her, heaping plates of food steaming in front of them. Both look about my age, and suddenly I miss Mara.
“Hello,” I say warily.
“I’m Stassia. That’s Auralie. You’re Lennox,” the girl next to me says. Her energy level is jarring for as unfriendly as I feel. She might even rival Edmond for the most chipper attitude.
“I am.”
