Page 30 of If I Go Down with This Ship

It’s strange, but even in the darkness of this ship, I don’t feel alone.And for the first time since I arrived, I find the swaying of the ship calming.As if lulled by the ocean, I’m asleep within moments, dreaming about a blue jacket that very well may be the key to my future.

Most mornings now I wake on my own.My eyes drag open groggily after yet another restless night of sleep.Craning my neck, I blink against the dim light of early morning and rise, climbing quietly from my hammock.My head is oddly clear, the cool gust of wind that hits me up on deck hardly a bother.These pirate clothes, despite looking absolutely ridiculous and the pants being far too short, have kept me cool under the sun and warm at night.

My jeans were stiff and uncomfortable, and after just a few days aboard, my sweater had been fraying at the ends.They weren’t meant to stand a life at sea.

The night crew is working as I survey the ship, just a few crew members on rotation who keep us sailing along.And as I look around at their hollow expressions, I can feel a strange shift in the crew.Everyone wants land, wants a moment off this sea to collect themselves.As do I.

“You’re awake early.”

I whirl around in surprise.Astra lounges on the stairs to the quarterdeck.Their legs are curled up to their chest, their long waistcoat unbuttoned and flowing around them and over the stairs like a waterfall of fabric.They’ve taken off their hat and set it aside, showing off the dark scarf they’ve wrapped around their hair, only a thin, wiry piece slipping free and into their eyes.

I shrug.“Couldn’t sleep anymore.”

Astra nods, their hands fiddling with something in their lap.I lean forward, my eyes tracking the movement.They look up, expression guarded.“Ah, this old thing?”They hold it up, and I step closer, squinting.“From someone I once knew.”

It’s a torn scrap of white lace.Well, it may have once been white, but it’s gray now, stained and unraveling, a corner of it singed as if it’s been held to a flame.I slide down the railing to sit and pull my knees to my chest, mirroring their position.

“It must be important if you’ve kept it all this time,” I say.

Astra frowns and tilts their head down, hiding their expression.“Yes.”They pause for a beat before glancing sidelong at me.“Why are you here, Laszlo?Why abandon your life to sneak aboard a pirate ship?”

My hands tighten on my knees.“Have you ever felt like you don’t belong?Like you were born into the wrong life, and no matter what you do, you won’t belong because you won’t allow yourself to?”

Astra stares at me.“All my life.I was born into a different world, a different status.Things were expected of me, but I refused to stay because I knew I would never be happy.”

“And are you happy?”I ask.

They fiddle with the scrap of lace.“I’m happier now than if I’d stayed.I’m certain of that.”They stand, pulling on their hat.“Best get to work then.”They nod to the decks, smiling faintly as they roll up the fabric and slip it into their pocket.I stand and brush off my pants.“The decks could use a good scrubbing,” they say as they move past me.

“I’ll get right on that,” I mutter.

I’m beginning to think I’m being handed the shit work.

I spend the next several hours on my hands and knees as I scrub every inch of the ship.I bite back several retorts as the day crew begins to wake, sloshing ale, dirty water, and god knows what else on my kind-of-clean deck.Instead, I keep my head down and my ears open, listening to the mutters of the crew.

“Near fell into the ocean, I did,” an older man says, pulling up his britches as he passes me.

“You don’t understand, she was beautiful,” a younger man says wistfully as two others laugh and teasingly elbow him.

Nothing about Captain Night or the raid.

When the deck is done, I’ve lost feeling in my knees, my lower back aches, and there are new blisters along my palm and thumb from holding the scrubber.Rolling back my shoulders and groaning, I retreat belowdecks to the mess.While Pip begins prepping dinner, I sit at one of the tables and spread my fingers, wincing.

They are red and angry, blisters forming on top of blisters, some having already popped.I clench and unclench my hands, biting down on my tongue to keep from screaming.

I’m a writer.My hands were soft and unmarred, meant to tell stories, not scrub decks and haul lines.Now… now it hurts to even look at them.They look like they’ve been through hell, which, considering my work aboardShe Deceitful, isn’t too far off.

“Ye’ll get used to it,” Pip says, handing over a clean set of bandages.“They always hurt the first few weeks.”

I take the bandages, pinching them between my fingers and dropping them in my lap.My joints scream as I curl my fingers, but after a bit of finesse, I open the jar of salve he offers me and slather it onto my hands.Using my teeth, I wrap them with the bandages, which I then tie off.

“Why do I find that hard to believe, Pip?”

He laughs.“At least ye haven’t lost yer humor yet.”He motions to me with a knife, chunks of carved, salted beef before him.Presumably from the merchant ship.“If there’s one thing I’ve learned ’board this ship under Captain Night, it’s that we make of this life what we want.”

I frown as I stand and cross to him before gingerly taking up a knife with loosely curled fingers and slicing bread.“Isn’t it a hard life, though?Did you choose this?”

“Me and many others.Working for a man on land and making next to nothing is a slow, torturous death.But to go out on the sea with yer crew, to know the people that work at yer side day in and day out?”He shrugs, brandishing the knife.“There’s something almost poetic ’bout it.”