"Go to the edge of the cliff and jump off. Build your wings on the way down." T.K Thorne
----
V.
Eliza knew that the sensible thing to do would be to beg for her passage, and to apologise for the horrendous stench that she had created with her seasickness.
But she could not bring herself to even move. She thought for sure that if she made any move to stand up then she would heave again. She was done for. That was certain. She had not even made it twenty-four hours before she had ruined it for herself.
She heard the sounds of gruff voices drawing near, and she resisted lifting her head. It was safely positioned between her knees, preventing her from vomiting.
"She's here, Captain!" cried the man who had discovered her, the one who wore the dirty apron.
Eliza heard the squeak of the door and the stomp of most seriously displeased footsteps. He was not alone.
"Merde!" she heard another voice cry, one that she had not heard before. He was French, it seemed. Eliza understood him, or at least all she had bothered to learn was the inappropriate language that vexed her mother.
That same voice began to chant the Lord's Prayer in Latin, and she heard him fumbling about with something small. Possibly a rosary. She was bad luck, Eliza deduced. He was praying for salvation.
"What the hell have you been doing in here?" the Captain asked in disgust. "Are you drunk?" he spat. "Is that what you thought you would do? Sneak onto my ship, drink my ale and spit it up everywhere?" There was venom in his voice, so much so that Eliza felt herself trembling. She was not afraid, but perhaps that was a lie. "Get up!" he commanded.
"I would, sir, but I am afraid I will be sick again if I move," murmured Eliza.
She heard the captain suck in an inpatient breath, to which Eliza suddenly found herself being lifted rather abruptly to her feet. Her head immediately started spinning, but she thankfully did not throw up again. It took her a minute to balance before she was finally able to meet the eye of the captain.
If looks could kill.
His black eyes were cutting her down where she stood. There was no softness, no tenderness or sympathy. Only anger, rage, and intolerance. Black eyes and a black heart. A true pirate.
"I am not drunk!" she insisted. "Only seasick. I am terribly sorry for the mess that I have made. I have never been on a ship before."
The Frenchman had been holding a rosary. He was holding it up to Eliza, as though it was protecting him, while he avidly crossed his chest with his right hand.
"If you were a man, I would have you thrown overboard for stowing away on my ship," the captain said icily.
Eliza could see it in his eyes. He meant it. It sent a shiver down her spine. "Please," she begged. "I am sorry for any inconvenience. I wish to go to Jamaica. I can pay you."
His eyes narrowed. "I do not take passengers. Especiallywomen." His eyes flicked over to the Frenchman who was still praying. "For God's sake, Jackie, she's been on the ship since yesterday evening and there has not been a hurricane or a tidal wave."
"Yet!" hissed Jackie. "She's bad luck, Captain!"
"I can see that," replied the captain. "She's made my cargo hold smell like a tavern on a Sunday morning." He turned his nose up. "Jackie, where is the nearest port? I want to dump her backside on the first ship back to England."
Eliza's heart sank into a pool on the floor.
"We would have to turn back to Ireland, sir," replied Jackie. "Or change course and head south for Spain."
Both options she saw most seriously displeased the captain. Could this be hope? Would he have to take her along? However unwillingly ...
"Everyone get out!" the captain suddenly ordered.
"Yes, Captain Buckley, sir," acquiesced the large man in the apron, ushering the boy, Eggs, out. Jackie, the Frenchman, followed as well, leaving Eliza alone with the captain in the foul-smelling cargo hold.
Captain Buckley stood between her and the door. She was blocked in with no escape, cornered by a murderous looking pirate. Eliza's heart started to thump as she realised that she might not be safe. Would this man harm her? Had she really done so wrong that he would hurt her? Is that why he didn't want witnesses? So that his men would not see him harm a woman?
"My father has money!" she cried out pathetically.
The captain did not even seem to hear her, or if he did, he did not react. He took a step towards her, and then another. His hulking size did little to settle her nerves as he looked down upon her as though she were a rotten child.
"If you were a man, I would have you thrown overboard," he said again, his voice cold. "Do you understand what that means?"
Eliza timidly nodded. "You would have to swim."
The captain laughed in a mocking manner. "Yes, until your arms grew so tired you stopped swimming and drowned.
Eliza's eyes widened.
"Stowing away is a crime," he continued curtly. "There is no room for lawbreakers on my ship. I do not tolerate it. Not from my first mate, and not from my kitchen boy." He nodded in gesture to the people that were outside. "The moment we make port, you will be placed on a first available boat back to England. I will not take my ship off course just to suit you.Until then ..."
Where was port? Eliza was desperate to know, but she daren't ask.
"You will clean this cargo hold from top to bottom. You will scrub until your hands bleed. Then you will spend the rest of the voyage in the brig, and out of the way."
The brig? Eliza had read enough pirate novels to know that meant the ship's prison cell. She was to be a prisoner? Were she not incredibly terrified, she would have thought it terribly exciting.
"Please!" she begged. "I am stronger than I look. I could work! If you would teach me."
Again, he laughed in a mocking manner, as though she had just said something completely ridiculous. Really, how hard could it be to tug on a few ropes?
And then he stopped. "Clean this cargo hold now, before I change my mind about throwing you overboard," he snapped. The captain turned on his heel and stormed out of the hold, leaving her alone.
Eliza had been so frightened in that conversation that she had not been able to focus on her seasickness. As soon as the captain was away, her stomach dropped again, and Eliza thought that she might vomit.
She could not sit, though. She was joined shortly by the kitchen boy, Eggs, as he brought a mop and bucket for her. She needed to clean this cargo hold properly. Not only because she had been the one to make a disgusting mess of it, but because she needed to prove to that harsh captain that she was not useless.
Eggs looked wary of her as he placed the mop and bucket down.
"Is your name really Eggs?" she questioned him, wanting to ease his discomfort. Surely if he saw that she was not an evil, bad luck wielding, demon woman, it would be easier for her to make a friend.
He shook his head. "No, miss," he replied. "My mother called me Benedict."
Eliza chuckled. "I suppose that is a name much cleverer than mine. My name was Elizabeth, but I have always been known as Eliza."
Eggs didn't smile, but he did seem to soften a little. "Eliza," he repeated, testing the name to see if the Holy Ghost did not appear and warn him off. "Are you a witch, miss?"
Sea folk were a different species, Eliza deduced. "No, just a girl," she replied. "In want of adventure, just like everyone else. I promise I am not bad luck."
"That's just what a siren would say," Eggs replied.
"A siren?" Eliza repeated. "Hardly." But then Eliza realised that no matter how silly she thought these superstitions, the sailors believed them. Eggs genuinely thought she was some sort of witch, or siren, purely because she was a woman. "A siren would not be drenched in her own sick, sweet Eggs," she promised him. "And she would be able to bend the captain to her will. I am bound for the brig, it seems."
This seemed to visibly settle Eggs. "Ginger," he then said.
"What?"
"For the sickness. Ginger. I'll bring you some tea once my father is finished with breakfast and I've done the washing."
Eliza watched as Eggs quickly skipped from the cargo hold. Well, she had managed to win over a fourteen-year-old boy. The captain was a much more difficult, and honestly, much less promising.
But she needed to work hard with what she had. She was on an adventure, even if it was not necessarily going the way she planned. Eliza had no idea where she was, but they were past Ireland, and north of Spain. That was much farther then she could have dreamed of ever going a week ago.
No brig, or hostile captain, was going to spoil this for her.
She put her sickness aside as best she could and seized the mop.
---
I'm sorry for being away for so long. I've been sick for weeks and it came to a head. I neglected my health and ended up with pneumonia and the flu. I'm still really unwell, and I've got a tickle cough that I can't shake which has prevented me from sleeping for several nights because as soon as I lie down, or sit, or anything, I'm coughing my head off. I've taken every cough medicine known to man and nothing works. It sucks. I'm so tired and I can't sleep.
So I thought if I can't sleep I'll write.
But I'm so tired I can't keep my eyes open to write something longer.
Moral of the story - go to the doctor!
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