Call Me Ishmael

Chapter 19

Author's Note: Do not look directly into the beam.  You can buy this book at Amazon, B&N, and at Smashwords for any other device.  Also available in paperbook, or inscribed on stones and grains of rice. 

Sitting in the cell confused my sense of time.  I sat on one of the benches, walked around a bit, and apologized to Splice when I stepped on her tail.  I paced three times around the room, wondered if we would be fed prior to being eaten, and sat down back down.  I looked at my watch, certain that four hours had gone by.  It was barely five minutes. 

I recalled my fourth grade math class.  I hated that class.  I wasn’t good at math, and both I and the teacher knew it.  I dreaded entering the room, and spent most of my time trying to convince the teacher I needed to go to the restroom.  Sometimes she allowed me to go, other times she told me to wait.  There was a magic window of time in third period; before that time, I should have gone before coming into the classroom; after it, and surely I could wait.  The difficulty was that the magic line seemed to shift based on Ms Ergo’s mood, and on the difficulty of the material she was presenting.  On one occasion, I barely made it in the door, sat down, and instantly knew I should have gone to the bathroom first.  I waited as long as I could, trying to gauge the opening of the magic window.  Finally, I lifted my hand, asked, and was denied; I should have gone before.  I waited a little bit more, raised my hand again, and asked for permission to use the restroom.  To my horror, Ms Ergo told me I would have to wait!  The window had closed, and I was on the wrong side.  Deep inside, I knew I couldn’t wait, so as soon as her back was turned, I made a mad dash from the room.  Exiting the bathroom brought me face-to-face with our evil principal, who had been alerted to my escape by Ms Ergo herself.  I was paddled, for they still did that in those days, but I knew it was worth it.  Paddled pants brought prestige; wet ones brought shame. 

Now, filled with despair, I put my head in my hands.  A mad dash would not help here.  The door was locked, and there was no way out of the slime-covered stone walls, floor, and ceiling.  The lone window was the size of my wallet, so unless I wanted to toss it out as some sort of message, there was no hope there either.  And who knew what insane charges would show up on my credit cards?

Splice leaned forward on her bench.  “Is it okay to die now?  Because that's what I feel like I’m going to do.  Die.”  Her hair was almost white.

Niles patted her shoulder, carefully.  It looked like he had had previous experience with touching Splice without permission.  “There, there.  It’s always darkest just before dawn, you know.”  His gaze shifted from Splice to the air of the room.  “That was the sunrise, then!  I remember distinctly now, it was very dark before the sun, not after.  Righto, that’s a relief.  Sometimes I worry the old bean may be getting too much air or somewhat.”  He smiled.

Noticing something move under the bench, I lifted my head.  “What’s that?”

Bety was interested.  “Maybe we can eat it.  I’m getting powerful hungry.”  He left the wall and poised himself for action, his thick fingers trembling with anticipation.

“Oh, I say,” said Niles, “I am not eating a rat or something beastly like that.  I simply will not do it.”

“No one offered you any,” snapped Bety.

Splice moved away, to the far end of the bench.  I bent down to see what was creating the noise, and nearly fainted.  In the faint glow of Splice’s hair I glimpsed the perfect line of a shoulder, and it looked just like the sloop had, far out in Chesapeake Bay, all those years ago.

“Finnie!” I cried.

“Be quiet!” She slithered out from under the bench like a beautiful serpent, although with no scales.  No; she was, in fact, wearing a very fetching gown which enabled me to see her shoulders in all their glory.  It was long and diaphanous, but it did not seem to be the sort of thing designed for escapes.