Page 7 of The Bartered Soul

“Missus? Are you well?” the boy from the wagon asks when he realizes I am no longer trailing his steps. The question snaps me from my reverie and I walk swiftly to catch up as my heart races in my chest. He leads us up the gangplank and onto the deck, making us pause before stepping aboard to make sure we step on with our right foot first.

“For luck!” he explains cheerfully when I furrow my brow at the hand he has thrust in front of me to hinder my steps.

As I set foot onto the mist-soaked deck, I meet the eyes of several crewmembers who either give a small nod or avert their gaze quickly. Most don’t heed us at all. I expected the men aboard to leer or make lewd comments, but no one speaks.

It’s common knowledge that most seafaring men believe a woman on board is unlucky unless she is topless at the front of the boat, so I am a bit surprised, albeit relieved, at their casual acceptance of our presence.

I hope that’s not what the Captain has planned for us, I think, remembering the superstition, my eyes drifting back to the black-haired figurehead. Several of the men look to be very young, barely edging into manhood, our present company included. I wonder what sort of predilections the other crewmen lean toward for so many young members to be chosen to man the ship.

The boy leads us down steps into the hold and to a small room with two beds. “This is your room Missus, Miss,” he gestures as he holds the door for us, giving a slight inclination of his mousy brown head in respect. The top portion of his hair is longer than the sides and it flops over his forehead as he dips his head. We will share a room, then. This will make it easier for me to keep an eye on Lyra at least, even if it doesn’t afford me the privacy I’m used to.

“Thank you, Mister… ?” I trail off, realizing he hasn’t given his name.

“Oh! Charlie, Missus, just Charlie. I’m one of the cabin boys and I can help with anything you might need. Cap’n said you’re to want for nothing, so just let me know how I can be of assistance!”

“Thank you, Charlie. We should be fine with some water to wash with for now,” I advise and glance over to Lyra who is rotating in a circle to admire the tiny space.

“Yes, Missus, right away. Your trunks should be here shortly!” With that, he slaps his cap back on his head and darts up the stairs to do my bidding. A few moments later, grunts carry through the air as two men lug each of our trunks down to the room. By the time they have them tucked into corners for us, Charlie is back.

“Cap’n asks that you dine with him tonight, Missus, um, Andromeda. He said you can pick whatever you like to wear and I am to bring you to his quarters at eight o’clock.”

So it begins.

“And where is Miss Lyra to dine, Charlie?” I ask, not wanting the girl to be cast to the wolves.

“Oh, Cook will bring her dinner here in the room, Missus. No one will bother her. Cap’n’s orders.” Charlie smiles at me and indicates that the small table in one corner will be Lyra’s dining room for the night. He then smiles wider at Lyra. She has still not spoken, but returns the look with a broad grin of her own, a ray of sunlight in our dim confines. Charlie blushes and bows once more before departing, leaving us to prepare for the first night of many aboard the Bartered Soul.

“Are you all right?” I ask Lyra once Charlie has shut the cabin door. There is one small porthole in our room that she is staring out wistfully.

“Oh, Andromeda, I don’t know. I am so excited to leave the House, but… I miss my mother already and I’m so nervous. I don’t know how to feel,” Lyra blurts out, more words than she has ever spoken to me. “I’ve never been farther than a few streets over from the House. I can’t begin to comprehend being on a ship going to other lands.”

“It will be fine,” I tell her, realizing that perhaps she isn’t afraid of the situation she is in at all, that she is just nervous about the journey. “Just please be careful onboard, and don’t leave the room unless I am with you, if you can help it.”

What has Celeste told her? I wonder. Surely she knows her maidenhead has been sold to the Captain.

Soon the gentle swaying of the ship at anchor gives way to deeper undulation, and I peer out the small window to confirm that we have set sail. The din of men’s shouts and footsteps overhead blend with the creak of the hull and crash of waves as we leave the safety of the harbor.

I breathe deeply and watch the docks get smaller from our porthole, the city that was never truly a home disappearing on the horizon. The mountains outside the walls of the city look like hills as we continue to drift out to sea. I have traded one prison for an even smaller one, with less privacy, for the time being.

At least at the House of Starlight, I had an idea of what to anticipate each day. Now I am at the mercy of the unknown and the desires of a sea monster. I roll my eyes, the irony is not lost on me. Perhaps if I had chosen a name with a different legend attached I wouldn’t be in this position – though maybe the Fates have a sense of humor after all.

With a sigh, I glance out the window one more time before laying down on my small bed to rest before I must steel myself for dinner. Curled up on her bunk, Lyra is sleeping — the day’s excitement, and her nervous fluttering at the window, finally tired her out. Sleep clutches at me, reminding me how poorly I rested last night. I relent and drift off to restless sleep as the ship drifts through the waves.

Chapter 5

The smell of vomit and the sound of retching pulls me from my doze. When I roll toward Lyra’s bed, it’s abundantly clear that the poor girl has most certainly not found her sea legs yet. Her normally dewy skin is sallow and covered in a sheen of sweat as she clutches a chamber pot and heaves again. She can’t possibly have anything left to bring up, but I know the nausea won’t release its grip.

Although I had little notice to do so, I curse myself for not going to the apothecary for ginger to aid with seasickness before I left shore. Thankfully, the pitcher of fresh water Charlie fetched for me is here. I gather it and a cloth, then sit by the girl, rubbing her back and gently blotting her forehead and face with the cool rag. Words of comfort are lost to me, but I hope my steady presence eases her discomfort. Eventually, she stops vomiting long enough for me to sneak from the cabin to look for the cabin boy.

The mist from the sea washes over me as I step out onto the deck, a refreshing respite from the acidic smell of our cabin. Breathing deeply, I stare at the sea over the railing. I really should drag Lyra up here for the fresh air, but she doesn’t seem inclined to move from her bed. The men continue to ignore or avoid me, so I take my time examining them from my post.

Some are older, with weather-worn faces and hard eyes; others are in the prime of life, attractive with tan skin and sinewy muscles; but many are youthful like Charlie. A motley crew of men as one might expect from sailors on a pirate vessel, they wear mismatched clothing and, what I can only assume is stolen, jewelry — probably trophies and mementos from prior expeditions.

One brute of a man at the rigging makes me uneasy. His eyes roving over me feels as if he is looking straight through my fine wool dress to the naked flesh below. I meet his gaze with a tightening of my lips and stare him down until he finally relents and averts his eyes. I need to find out who this man is and keep a close watch on him for this voyage, lest those looks turn into unpleasant actions.

After standing at the rail for a quarter of an hour, Charlie appears at my elbow. “D’ye need something, Missus?” he queries, cocking his head. I smile involuntarily as it dawns on me — he reminds me of a sparrow with his dark brown eyes, light brown hair, and boundless energy. He seems to hop about at all times.

“Does the ship have a barber-surgeon, Charlie? Or any herbs in the kitchen, perhaps?” I ask. At his look of confusion, I explain, “Miss Lyra is suffering terribly from seasickness and ginger tea would be a welcome remedy for her.”

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