In Which There is an Unfortunate Incident
Christian shoved his mop into the already dirty water. He twirled it around a bit while thinking over the recent events. Marc was at least partially right; there was something unnatural aboard the ship. Sure enough, there was the ghostly singing at night and a few strange occurrences during the day as well. For example, the sail accident. Sails didn't often spontaneously come loose and fall off their masts onto sailors below. The sailor who had gotten hit had thrown a bit of a fit as well. He kept claiming someone was out to get him. Of course, it had been Carlos, the officer notorious for hissy fits and bouts of complaining, an egomaniac with plans to overthrow the captain someday. As if he could actually handle the running of a ship…
"Oi! You there! Isn't you s'posed to be cleanin'?"
Christian looked up into the face of Joseph, an older and more experienced midshipman. Though there was no actual rule, everyone knew the older sailors could boss the younger ones around they chose. It came with years of experience, and survival. Christian gulped and stood up straighter. "Er, yes, sir. I'm getting right on it."
Joseph regarded him with his one good eye. "Right. I'm keepin' an eye on you." He pointed to his eye and slowly walked away. Christian pulled out the mop and rubbed it against the deck, trying to get out the ground-in grime. After five minutes of fruitless scrubbing, he finally gave up and moved on to the next section of dirty planks. He looked up at the rigging and saw Marc perched in the crow's nest. Christian waved. Marc waved back, took a few glances around at the open sea, then climbed down.
"Chris, how's it going?" he asked, smiling.
Christian shrugged. "I just got told off by Joseph the one-eyed guy."
Marc laughed. "Figures. You need to watch out for him; he's really serious about making sure everyone works. He's been a sailor for years. Takes everything too seriously. Anyway, has anything interesting happened down here?"
Christian looked around nervously. "No, but shouldn't you be getting back up to the crow's nest? We could both get in a lot of trouble."
Marc rolled his eyes. "Nah, I never get caught. No one actually looks up to check on me very much 'cause they're all so busy with their stuff down here, and there are so many people around I don't stick out of the crowd. C'mon Chris, lighten up a bit. Just because we're on a navy ship doesn't mean we have to be serious. Everyone knows only half the ships in the Royal Navy are actually used for official navy business, and ours isn't one of them. From what I know, we're on our way to France to pick up a nobleman's daughter and drop her off in England to get married."
Suddenly Marc's speech was interrupted by a rustling behind a nearby barrel. Both men turned and caught a glimpse of a dark-skinned figure ducking behind one.
Christian picked up his mop once more and began to scrub in a panicked frenzy. "Do you know who that was?" he asked Marc in between violent sweeps of the mop.
Marc had begun dashing back up the rigging. "Yeah, he's the one Persian sailor, and I think he just noticed me. No one knows his name or anything, but most of the other sailors juat call him the Persian. And I really do think you should lighten up. Grow your hair out or something, it'll make you fit in better with the crew!" Marc shouted the final words as he scrambled into the crow's nest.
Christian calmed down a bit and his mop strokes became more regular. He ran one hand through his closely cropped blonde hair and glanced up at Marc's untidy long dark hair, flapping in the wind. No, his hair would remain for now. But perhaps he could sing tonight. Not in front of an audience, of course, but there were some unused rooms that would work just perfectly.
Nader quietly opened the door to the secret passage. He blinked. The room was completely black. Nervous, he carefully stepped out of the doorway, leaving the door open.
"Esther," he called out nervously. There was no reply. "Esther, are you in here?"
"Go away." Something hit the wall behind him.
Nader flinched as he heard the something break. "Esther, I don't know why you're upset and I'd love to find out, but I have some news. About our destination."
"I don't care."
"Fine, I'll tell you some other time. Er, could you possibly turn a light on? It's a bit dark in here." Nader shifted slightly, a little nervous in the dark.
"No."
"May I light a match?"
"No."
Nader sighed. "Esther, please stop brooding and do something constructive. What have you done so far today?"
"Nothing."
"Well, why don't you play some music, or compose, or draw or something? Anything?"
"No."
Nader sighed again. "Esther, I'm lighting a lantern whether you like it or not." There was no immediate protest, so Nader lit a match. By the dim illumination he could see Esther's huddled figure in the corner. He lit a lantern and Esther shied away from the light.
"Don't shine it on me."
Nader partially covered the lantern with his sleeve. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"I know something happened. Was it with one of the crew members?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Nader inhaled sharply. When Esther started talking like this, people were usually killed. "Is anyone dead?"
"The subject is closed. Now go away."
Nader eyed his friend warily. He made a mental note to check for any missing crew members. "Fine."
He blew out the lantern and replaced it on the table. After a brief glance around the darkened room, he slipped back into the passageway. There were some things that needed to be investigated.
"Got any fives?" Christian asked.
Marc rolled his eyes. "No, what do you think? Chris, you need to learn some more sophisticated card games. How about poker?"
Christian shrugged. "I'm fine."
"Chris, you're missing out on all the fun things in life. Next time we stop on land, I'm taking you to get a tattoo or something."
Christian looked at Marc in pure mortification.
"Or not. I could find something else. But you need to learn how to have fun." Marc dropped his cards on the table. "I'm bored. I think I'll go get a drink or something." Christian shrugged and began gathering up the cards.
Marc's footsteps faded down the hallway and Christian shuffled the cards. He considered asking someone else to join him until Marc returned, but decided against it when he couldn't find anyone else who wasn't otherwise occupied. Also, come to think of it, he was getting a bit hungry. Perhaps he could beg some food off the cook, who he'd found to be a rather pleasant man.
He put the cards in a pocket and slipped out of the room. A sort of shiver ran up his spine the minute he stepped into the hallway and a feeling of foreboding came over him. Christian pushed the feeling to the back of his mind and continued toward the kitchen, his footsteps echoing eerily off the walls of the empty corridor. He was perhaps halfway to the kitchen when he heard a terrible shriek, sounding as if it had come from somewhere below.
Christian looked around, now terrified, but the corridor remained empty. No one else seemed to have heard the shriek, though he did hear someone's running footsteps up ahead. He continued on slowly, curious, but not sure he wanted to know what the commotion was about.
"Mon Dieu, he's dead!" The shout rang out, echoing as Christian's footsteps had, from the deck below. Christian froze as the shouts continued and the footsteps ahead sped up and hurried down the stairs. "He's dead! He's dead!"
Now doors were beginning to open and sailors to rush out. Christian blinked several times and began moving quickly to avoid being caught up in the crowd. He hurried down the stairs, while footsteps thundered behind him and curious voices babbled, through the corridor until he reached a room where the frightened voice from earlier cried out, "It was the Ghost! The Ghost!"
Christian entered the room quietly and saw Marc consoling a hysterically sobbing sailor. Near them on the floor lay… Christian forced himself to look away while a bit of bile rose up in his throat. Joseph's head was the worst part, bent at an impossible angle…
As the rest of the crew slowly trickled in, Christian allowed himself to be lost in the crowd. He didn't care, now. He was busy trying to force the image from his mind, of Joseph lying there, a bit of blood on his lip.
"He's dead," someone announced, but this time in a more detached, calm voice. It was the ship's doctor, kneeling on the floor, obscuring Joseph's body from view. "He's been strangled with a rope, which has been cut. He may or may not have been hung. It is difficult to be sure."
The previously quiet crowd of sailors burst into speculating conversations. Christian tuned them out, glancing around, noticing Marc still kneeling on the floor by the sobbing sailor, the Persian standing near the front of the crowd looking curiously unsurprised… He needed to get away. He needed to sing.
To be continued in the next chapter... Not that it involves any waiting for the next chapter other than waiting for the page to load.