Chapter Five
My head spun, and my body protested as Istruggled to open my eyes. The slight rolling motion in which Imoved made my stomach queasy against the hard object that droveinto it. The skin on my face felt hot, burning in the warm sunabove me.
My eyesfinally peeled all the way open to discover that my arms werewrapped around a strange wooden object–my pirate’s chest–and it wasthe only thing keeping me afloat. As I glanced around, it wasevident that the small tsunami had swept me out to the middle ofthe ocean and I bobbed there, alone, with no visible sign of landto be found.
Theweight of Maria’s soaked jacket threatened to pull me under, but Ihad to keep it on if I wanted to avoid burning in the hot afternoonsun. Out here, on the water, the sun’s heat always intensified,giving you two things to worry about; the UV rays and thereflection off of thewater. I had no choice but to hang on and hope someone would be outthis far today and spot me.
It feltlike hours had crawled by as I floated along, not knowing whether Iwas drifting closer or further from the prospect of land, when Isuddenly heard the splash of something moving next to me. I managedto pry one of my sunburned lids open to spot a small boat, arowboat, with two bodiesmaking its way toward me. My eyeballs burned with tears of joymixed with the dried ocean salt around them, but I didn’t care.Someone was coming to save me.
But my joy wasdoused when I heard them speak.
“Is thatshe?” one of the men asked.
“I’ll bedamned. It sure looks like the wench,” the other replied. Theirboat came broadside of me then, and an arm reached down to pluck mefrom the water, nearly yanking my shoulder out of the socket. Theythrew me to the bottom of the small boat like a disregarded fish.“The captain will surely want to gut this one himself.”
“Thinkhe will?”
“Oh, youknows he will. I wonder where she’s been all theseyears?”
They spokestrangely. A heavy Newfoundland accent was definitely there, butone of the men had a strong mix of Scottish. They sounded rough,and I didn’t like what they were proposing their captain would doto me. Surely, they weren’t serious? The strength to move or speakevaded me.
TheScottish one reached down and pawed at my wet, matted hair toreveal my sunburned face. “Gus, look at this! Thisain't she.”
“Well,I’ll be. The girl sure looks like her, though. Could be hersister.”
“Now, ye knowsas well as I do, Maria Cobham ain’t got no sister. And if she did,she’d surely have murdered the likes of her.”
The mention ofMaria lit up my senses. Who were these men? And why did they speakof my three-hundred-year-old ancestor as if they knew her? I alsodidn’t like the idea that I resembled the sadistic woman. The verythought made me want to spew the saltwater from my stomach. A moanescaped my dried lips and I caught the faint image of a sword, someold leather boots, and dirty fabric as I rolled over, my brainthreatening to pass out. I was clearly dehydrated andhallucinating.
“Grabthe trunk,” the one named Gus ordered. “Maybe there’s somethinggood in it.”
The other manchuckled; a raspy smoker’s sort of laugh. “I allow a fine lass suchas she will be enough to please the captain, don’t ye think?”
“Justgrab the damned trunk, Finn.”
***
Myconsciousness swam to the surface in short bursts as my body waspulled from one location to another. I remembered being inthe rowboat with themen named Finn and Gus. But exhaustion ruled my body and onlyallowed me to recall brief images; being hoisted from the smallboat, the strange and grimy wooden surface beneath my feet as theydragged my lifeless figure across it, and then the impact of mybody slamming into an old barrel when the two men tossed me insidesome sort of dank cell. The last sound to grace my ears was theloud metal clank of the cell door closing and latching.
Iawoke sometime later,how much time, I had no earthly idea. The constant pounding in myhead was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. No hangover ormigraine could even compare to the deep throbbing I felt, like amassive heart beatinside it. Then, for a moment, I’d thought I had wet myselfbut soon realized that the floor of my dingy cell was covered instale, murkywater.
“Whatthe Hell?” I cursed and sprang to my feet, not able to fully standin the short cage.
The disgustingliquid moved in under the gated door. Through the metal bars, Icould see out to the location where I was being held, but Icouldn’t bring myself to believe my eyes. Barrels stackedhaphazardly along the walls, sacks of things throw against them,piles of thick rope coils, and wooden crates moaning as they swayedwith the movement of the very floor beneath me.
I was on aship.
I approachedthe bars and peered out, trying to find someone, anyone, to helpme.
“Hello?”I yelled, my throat so dry, it hurt to speak. “C-can anyone hearme?”
“No oneon The Devil’s Heart can help you, dearie,” an old manspoke.
He seemed tohave come out of nowhere, with his giant mop, making his way acrossthe wooden floor of the ship. He swished it back and forth but allit did was push the dirty water around. The man grabbed a rustymilk pail and dumped its contents onto the floor; more disgustingwater and began to arbitrarily plop the mop around in it.
“What’sthe Devil’s Heart? Where am I? Who are these men?” I pleaded. Mycell seemed to be on a slant because all the water eventually rantoward me and pooled beneath my feet. I noted the absence of shoesas my socks and pants soaked it up. I hopped up on a crate andleaned against the metal
