Water & Storm Country

Chapter Twenty-One

Huck

The men, women, andbilge rats, although pretending to carry out their duties, arewatching us. Jade climbs the mast easily, while I am forced totether myself to the wood and inch my way up, up, up, for fear offalling to my death.

For the first hour we don’t really talk,don’t so much as look at each other, as we construct a series ofrope walkways that reach the portions of the largest sail that aremost in need of repair.

Eventually, the eyes get bored of watching,and we’re alone again.

Finally, I look at her, tired and hot fromclimbing and straining against the pull of the ocean. Her browneyes are bright, her breathing normal. She doesn’t even lookwinded, and while I can feel the drops of sweat meandering down mycheeks, her face is dry.

Weird how I never noticed how beautiful brownskin could look on a bilge rat. Perhaps it’s because I never reallynoticed the bilge rats at all, I realize.

And why not?

I want to say it’s because my father told methey were meant to be invisible, working without being seen, but Iknow in my heart it was simply easier not to see them.

“What next?” she says, and I realize I’vebeen staring at her for too long.

I pull away from her with an awkward jerk.“Uh, I guess we start sewing,” I say.

“You look like you need a bloody break,” shesays.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you look searin’ exhausted,” shesays.

I laugh at her honesty, but not so loud thatwe attract attention. This’ll be over in a second if Hobbs—who’salways lurking—thinks there’s something going on. Which thereisn’t.

I pretend to lecture her, to instruct her onthe finer aspects of sail repair, motioning to a particularly largetear. But really, I say, “What does searin’ mean? I’ve neverheard anyone say that word like you just did.”

Now it’s her turn to laugh. “Then you ain’tnever talked to any of the bloody bilge rats.” And I haven’t. Ofcourse I haven’t. Well, except for her, of course.

I shake my head, admitting as much.

“It’s a mild curse word, not unlikebloody,” she says. “From my people, from my lands.”

I frown. “What people?” Whatlands?

While my eyebrows sink further down, herslift. “Where they take us from,” she says. “Fire country.”

Although the ropes are secure, I grip themast harder. My fingers start to ache. “Fire country? What’sthat?”

Her eyes are giant orbs now, shockingly big,transfixed on me and what apparently is a ridiculous question.“Where do you think we come from?” she asks.

“From nowhere,” I say, parroting my father’sinsistent answer, realizing as the words float off my tongue howsilly they sound. “Or from the ground or the sky, or something,” Iadd, my cheeks burning.

“Everyone comes from somewhere,” Jade says.“We’re from a burnt desert called fire country. The Icers take usand sell us to your father.” A skeptical look flashes across herface. “You’re saying you don’t know any of this? That your fatherbrought us here against our will from fire country.”

I feel dumb, but I can’t lie. “I didn’tknow,” I say, not admitting I don’t know who “the Icers” areeither. “But I don’t think my father would do that, not withoutgood reason.”

She glares at me and I wish I had somewhereto hide. “I’m here, ain’t I? You saying I’m lying?”

I release the mast, letting myself danglefrom the rope harness, hold my hands in front of me, palms forward.“No, no, not at all. I’m just wondering whether there’s more to it.Like did you commit a crime? Were you a prisoner?”

Jade’s glare softens, but remains. “You’rewooloo,” she says, which means as much as gobbledygook to me. “Iwas a child when my father said I was going on an incrediblejourney. One that was just for children.”

“Your father?”

She nods.

“Your father sent you here?”

Another nod. She looks at her hands. Isthat…embarrassment? Shame? I’ve never seen either emotion on thisgirl before, and it doesn’t look natural. Why would a father sendhis daughter into a life of slavery? It’s the question I want toask, but I won’t, not when Jade’s shoulders are slumped like theyare now.

“Let me show you how to fix one of thesetears,” I say, and her face brightens, like my change of subjectwas a gift.

For the next two hours we work, balancing onthe rope bridges we constructed, using pre-cut squares of cloth topatch up the raggedy sails. And because we do it while the ship’sin motion, we don’t even lose any time.

When the sun begins to splash into the ocean,finishing its daylong arc across the red sky, we pause.

“There’s a lot more work to be done,” I say.“But it can wait for another day.”

“You know, you’re not much like your father,”Jade says.

A balloon swells in my stomach, pushing on myinsides, making me feel slightly sick. “I’m not?” I say, wishing Iwas. Strong, fearless, a leader.

“Huck, it’s a good thing,” she says, and theballoon pops, though I’m not sure why; perhaps because I like theway she says my name—my real name—not Lieutenant Jones.

“Oh,” I say, wondering how being unlike theAdmiral of the fleet could be a good thing.

There’s silence for a few minutes as we bothrest high atop the decks. The wind blows strong and steady,brushing my hair away from my eyes. Jade begins braiding her darkhair into two tight plaits down her back.

Although it should be nice, hanging next toJade, the silence wears through my skin like an abrasive material,wood-sanding paper or the like.

I breathe a sigh of relief when Jade finallyspeaks. “I don’t know why my father gave me away,” she says.

I look at her, but her gaze is out to sea,stretching across the fathoms of the Deep Blue. “Perhaps it was atrade,” I say.

“For what?” she says, her voice tight. “Whatcould be worth his daughter’s life?”

“I don’t know,” I say, realizing I’m nothelping her. “What about your mother?”

She looks at me, her hard stare softeninglike melting butter. “Mother was beautiful,” she says softly. Whenshe’s like this it’s hard to believe this is the same girl whothrew a scrub brush at my head. “And kind, and loving. No, shedidn’t know what my father was doing. I don’t know what he toldher.”

My hands are sweaty, not from the work, butbecause I have the sudden urge to reach out and touch her hand.

Instead I rub my head. “You’ve got a goodbloody arm,” I say. “No, a good searin’ arm,” I correct.

She laughs and my heart swells. “I couldteach you some other words if you want?” she says.

I nod, smiling. “But not here,” I say. “Themen will hear if we talk too loudly.” I motion below.

“Where then?”

I point upwards, even higher. She follows mygesture. “The crow’s nest?” she says, eyes widening. “But I…”Whatever she was going to say fades away like the daylight.

“What?” I say.

“We can’t do this,” she says suddenly. “We’renot the same—we come from different worlds.”

She starts to slide down the mast. “Wait,” Isay, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t look up. Slides all the way tothe deck and melts into the brown wood below.

~~~

Jade won’t talk to me after that, and I can’tactively pursue a conversation for fear that Hobbs will suspect mytrue motives.

And what are my true motives?

Bloody hell if I know.

It’s crazy, I know. A bilge rat and alieutenant? They’ve chucked men overboard for less. And if it camedown to it, my father would throw her to the sharp-tooths first,and leave me alive to shoulder the pain.

Although at first I watch her every freemoment I get, eventually duty and bad luck draw my attentionelsewhere.

The Scurve hits the ship hard. First it’s awoman, one of the laundresses, moaning and crying in the night,waking up half the ship. She dies a week later, alone because ofthe mandatory quarantine.