No. He was a man, not a creature. He was free to live his life. No more beatings. No more performances.
He sped up, but the crowd’s mocking laugh followed him.
“Samuel.” Vivienne swept into view in front of him, a hand on his chest. “Please stop.”
He hadn’t even noticed her.
Her touch shocked him into reality. His heart pounded against her palm, and his attention focused on her worried eyes.
She removed her hand quickly. “Are you all right?”
“No.”
“It was the performance, wasn’t it?”
A bitter taste filled his mouth. Not only fear but shame as well caused him to shake. He must have looked as deranged as Murdock had always said.
Footsteps came from behind him.
Captain Jackson squeezed his shoulder. “There’s a bench over there. You’d better sit down.”
He didn’t move, and he didn’t know why.
“Samuel.” Vivienne took his arm and gently led him to the edge of the path. “Please listen to us.”
He followed her, his body moving mechanically. He sat on the bench under a large tree from where he couldn’t see the performers although the audience’s laughter reached him, bothering him.
“What happened?” Dobkins asked.
“Something I’ve seen among soldiers too many times.” Captain Jackson sat next to him. “Take deep breaths and focus on something happy.”
He raised a sceptical eyebrow at the captain. A happy memory couldn’t have any power over his fear.
“It works. Try it.” The captain nodded encouragingly.
No, the trick didn’t work because Samuel didn’t have many happy moments to recall. The first happy moments of his life had happened recently, and even those were entwined with fear, shame, and pain.
“Perhaps he doesn’t have many happy memories,” Vivienne said, seemingly reading his mind.
“I’ll fetch you something to drink.” Captain Jackson rose. “A lemonade with a lot of sugar.” He started to walk off.
“Wait, I’ll take one for Lady Vivienne as well.” Dobkins followed him.
Without saying anything, Vivienne took his hand and stroked his knuckles. “Perhaps we can make a good memory.” She sat next to him in a swish of fabric.
His head was light, but he forced himself not to faint. “How?”
She started singing softly a song about a boat sailing along a quiet sea, and how the thoughts of the sailor drifted towards the horizon as he was eager to see all the wonders of the world.
Her voice was like her—gentle, soft, and beautiful.
From sun-kissed shores to lagoons of emerald hue,
From ancient ruins to bustling ports,
A sailor’s journey, always fresh and new.
With weathered hands and a heart that holds the sea,
