A question pops into my mind, something that doesn’t make sense with his explanation. If what he said is true, that means there are Castaways on the island, right now, in the middle of the day.
“Wait, I thought you only went out at night?”
“That’s what they want you to think.” He winks at me again and turns back toward the mast, looking up at Fin hanging over the side of the crow’s nest.
That’s why the ship seemed a little empty today. The Castaways travel through tunnels, so they don’t have to only be out at night, and if Weston needs to communicate with them, he uses light signals.
It’s all actually really well thought out, but I still can’t understand why the island is helping them accomplish it without being caught. I hope it is only a matter of time before I find out where they hide.
“Well, it was nice officially meeting you, Lennox. I’m going to go get the bird in the nest up there, but we’ll talk soon. Just make sure not to piss Captain off too bad. We don’t like it when he’s grumpy.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say and watch as Jorn jumps up and grabs the cross beam, hoisting himself over it then scaling the central wooden pole.
Standing alone on the deck is the cue I need that my break is over. I drop back down on the deck next to the bucket and reach for the brush. My body protests strongly, and a wave of exhaustion crashes over me before I have even started again.
It suddenly dawns on me what Weston is trying to do with this stunt. Sure, he told Sig it was to punish me for my hunger strike in the brig, but there’s more to it than that.
He’s trying to exhaust me, to work me as hard as he can without being conspicuous, so I will be too tired to try to escape. He wants me to fall into bed and go right to sleep, unable to move from the manual labor he forced on me today and every day in the future.
If he thinks this manipulation is going to work, he’s wrong. If anything, it makes me want to do something about it even sooner. If he thinks I’m too exhausted, then maybe this is the best opportunity to try.
Right when he least expects it.
I shift to all fours and scrub the wood until it is sudsy. As I stare into the bubbles, I realize that Jorn never actually told me where Weston hid the mop.
CHAPTER TEN
Darkness shrouds the room. Only a sliver of moonlight shines through the row of small windows above the bed. I’ve been lying awake for hours, not moving a muscle, and waiting for the noises outside the room to cease and Weston’s breaths to slow.
Scrubbing the deck took me the entire day, and the suns were setting when I finally stowed the bucket away and headed to the mess to fuel my growling stomach. If his goal was to exhaust me, he accomplished it. I can barely move. My neck and back ache, my knees are stiff and rubbed raw. I can hardly close my hand from grasping the scrub brush all day.
But I refuse to be deterred from my plan. I will fight through the pain.
After I washed and changed in the crew bathrooms, I went straight to bed, well before Weston returned, and was already curled up and feigning sleep when he undressed and settled on his side.
Then I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I kept the sheets drawn up over my shoulder so my clothes weren’t visible. Fuck Weston’s rule. I can’t waste any time for this escape, and I won’t leave without my dagger.
He stole it from me, and I am going to steal it back.
Now, I lay here waiting for the right time. I send a quick prayer to the gods to let this go smoothly so I can get back home.
Weston hasn’t moved for a while. His rustling and shifting ceased as he fell into a deep slumber. It’s time to make my move.
Lifting it slowly, I peel the bedding back, trying to be silent and avoid the rustle of the linens as I set it down between us. I pause, straining to hear any indication that the movement disrupted him, but he still lays completely unmoving, the rise and fall of his chest the only sign he is still alive.
My limbs shake as I slowly shift on the mattress, propping myself up and biting my lip as the fatigue threatens to let me fall. With every large movement, I pause and check that he’s still asleep until I’m lying on my stomach. I slowly lift to all fours and move closer, crawling across the space between us, heading straight for the pillow.
This is the first time I’ve actually looked at him in this bed since I lay facing the other direction. I sneak a glance at his face and can’t help but notice how different he looks. It’s nothing like the grumpy and angry Weston I see every day. The muscles in his cheeks and jaw are relaxed. His brow isn’t bunched in the middle or downcast with disapproval aimed at me. His lips are parted slightly.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Focus, Lennox.
