Ship of Magic

On the trip back, she misjudged her timing. Later, she would blame it on the cook for turning her so swiftly out of the galley. She thought she could make it in one dash. Instead the ship seemed to dive straight into a mountain of water. She felt her desperate fingers brush the line she lunged for, but she did not make good her hold. The water simply swept her feet out from under her and rushed her on her belly across the deck. She kicked and struggled wildly, trying to claw some kind of a hold on the deck with fingers and toes. The water was in her eyes and up her nose; she could not see nor find breath to shout for help. An eternal instant later, she was slammed into the ship's railing. She took a glancing blow to the side of her head that rang darkness before her eyes and near tore her ear off. For a brief momerit, she knew nothing but to hold tight to the railing with both hands as she lay belly down on the swamped deck. Water rushed past her in its hurry to be overboard. She clung to the ship, feeling the seawater cascade past her, but unable to lift her head high enough to get a clear breath. She knew, too, that if she waited until the water was completely gone before she got to her feet, the next wave would catch her as well. If she didn't manage to get up now, she wasn't ever going to get up. She tried to move but her legs were jelly.

A hand grabbed the back of her shirt, hauled her choking to her knees. “You're plugging the scuppers!” someone exclaimed in disgust. She hung from his grip like a drowned kitten. There was air against her face, mixed with driving rain, but before she could take it in, she had to gag out the water in her mouth and nose. “Hang on!” she heard him shout and she wrapped her legs and arms about his legs. She managed one gargly breath of air before the water hit them both.

She felt his body swing with the impact of the water and thought surely they would both be torn loose from the ship. But an instant later, as the water retreated, he struck her a cuff to the side of the head that loosened her grip on him. Suddenly he was moving across the deck, dragging her behind him, her pigtail and shirt caught together in his grip. He hauled her up a mast; as soon as her feet and hands felt the familiar rope, they clung to them and propelled her up of their own accord. The next wave that rushed over the deck went by beneath her. She gagged and then spat a quantity of seawater into it. She blew her nose into her hand and shook it clean. With her first lungful of air, she said, “Thank you.”

“You stupid little deck rat! You damn near got us both killed.” Anger and fear vied in the man's voice.

“I know. I'm sorry.” She spoke no louder than she had to in order to be heard through the storm.

“Sorry? I'll make you a sight more than just sorry. I'll kick your ass till your nose bleeds.”

He lifted his fist and Althea braced herself to take the blow. She knew that by ship's custom she had it coming. When after a moment it did not land, she opened her eyes.

Brashen peered at her through the darkness. He looked more shaken than he had when he'd first dragged her up from the water. “Damn you. I didn't even recognize you.”

She made a small gesture that could have been a shrug. Her eyes did not meet his.

Another wave made its passage across the ship. Again the ship began its wallowing climb.

“So. How have you been doing?” Brashen's voice was pitched low, as if he feared to be overheard talking to her. A mate was not expected to have chummy little chats with the ship's boy. Since discovering her, he had avoided all contact with her.

“As you see,” Althea said quietly. She hated this. She abruptly hated Brashen, not for anything he had done, but because he was seeing her this way. Ground down to someone less than dirt under his feet. “I get by. I'm surviving.”

“I'd help you if I could.” He sounded angry with her. “But you know I can't. If I take any interest in you at all, someone will suspect. I've already made it plain to several of the crew that I've no interest in ... other men.” He suddenly sounded awkward. A part of Althea found the irony in this. Clinging to rigging on this scummy ship in the middle of a storm after he'd just offered to kick her ass, and he could not bring himself to speak of sex with her. For fear of offending her dignity. “On a ship like this, any kindness I showed you would be construed only one way. Then someone else would decide he fancied you, too. Once they found out you were a woman ...”

“You needn't explain. I'm not stupid,” Althea interrupted to stop his litany. Didn't he know she lived aboard the scum-infested tub?

“You're not? Then what are you doing aboard?” He threw the last bitter words over his shoulder before he dropped from the rigging to the deck. Agile as a cat, quick as a monkey, he made his way swiftly to the bow of the ship, leaving her clinging in the rigging and staring after him.