Ethereal

Chapter 17: The Valencia

The days blurred together as time seemed to melt into the sea. My kitchen duties for Grouch-o kept me plenty busy during the day, and by the night I would be too tired to venture anywhere other than my little storage closet to sleep.

I hadn't spoken to Jax since the first night. There was only the few spare moments when I would see him filter through the crew for mealtime as he made for his own cabin, and the rare instance he passed by me when I chose to eat my evening meals on the deck. Stew and Carlo would make the occasional visit during mealtimes, but their work in the lower decks kept them busy.

It was surprising how quickly my life settled into a routine while on board the Minnow. Surprising still was the loneliness. It crept under my skin during the night, simmering into a deep part of my chest and fading a bit in the early morning hours. I had never felt this strong of a sensation before, even during my years at the orphanage. It was strange how someone could feel all alone while being surrounded by people. Then again, the people I was surrounded by were neither friendly nor did they have very good hygiene.

I still dreamt about the orphanage. Not every night, as sometimes my fatigue was potent enough to send my mind into a dreamless sleep. On the nights when I wasn't so lucky, I would wake with the taste of chard wood in my mouth and my skin a bright heated pink – as though I had barely escaped the flames myself. I tried my hardest not to think of the other girls and even the Matrons. Had any of them survived? What if a few souls managed to make it to tunnel system the Head Matron had mentioned before I left? Had I abandoned my home too quickly?

Then images of the people who surrounded the orphanage would surface to my mind, their blank faces staring into the flames as the lives of innocent women and children meant nothing to them. As though their screams were merely the howling of the wind.

Thinking of the rebels never failed to send a cold shot of fear down my neck. As if the dreams of my burning orphanage weren't enough, my nightmares usually ended with the faces of those responsible for the fire. Their faces twisted in the bright heat of the night as they all slowly turned towards me, a silent promise in their eyes that I would be the next to die.

This morning was no different from any other morning I had spent on my time on board. Grouch-o had me peel and mince garlic for the lentil stew tonight and I was working on the finger-sized cloves all morning when I heard the shout from above deck – the Valencia trading ship was spotted just beyond the horizon.

Had ten days already passed that quickly? I wondered.

A storm of thundering footsteps pounded the deck above me as crewmates raced back and forth across the ship. A few dozen men sped through the kitchen and below to the lower decks, where they surfaced a few moments later carrying large wooden boxes that must have contained the trading goods for the Valencia.

My curiosity bubbled as I thought of what could be in those boxes. Silks? Precious gemstones? Gold coins retrieved from sunken ships from the Old World? I remembered the stories the Matrons used to us back at the orphanage about the Old World, and how the people back then would send ships filled with riches back and forth across the seas to foreign lands. And how sometimes the ships would never make it back to land, as the treasures they held were so wonderous that even the ocean was jealous and sank the ships so it could keep it forever.

"Back to work, Mousey." Grouch-o said, his eyes glaring at me from his spot behind the counter. Through the cracks in the ceiling sun beams shined through into our kitchen below, its heat combined with the fire from the stove was slowly turning the room into a simmering oven. Grouch-o must prefer cold and damp places, as the heat made him particularly grumpy this morning. Perhaps Grouch-o had been born in a similar place – like a dimly lit cave, or under a rock.