Chapter Three

Gordon dropped the stiff-bristled brush into the bucket of soapy water and sat back on his heels, blowing a drop of sweat from the end of his nose. He surveyed the clean area of deck with considerable satisfaction, glad to have an outlet for his frustrations, even if it was practically slave labor.

He'd been kept tied to the mast for the remainder of the day and all night long while the galleon put distance between itself and Tracy Island. When Marco finally released him in the morning, Gordon hadn't been surprised to discover that he could hardly move. It took several minutes of stretching before he could slowly climb to his feet, shivering slightly in the cool morning breeze. He wondered what had happened to his shirt.

As soon as Captain Bloom had seen him standing, he stalked up to him. "All right, kid," he had said bluntly. "If you're familiar with these waters, you know that any escape attempt would be suicide – basically, we're in the middle of nowhere. Your pretty gold medal doesn't mean a thing this far from shore!"

Gordon nodded stiffly. He had kept track of their whereabouts as best as he could throughout the night, and knew that Bloom was telling him the truth.

Bloom continued, "You'll be treated all right as long as you cooperate and don't try to give us trouble. And finally–" He shoved a bucket and brush toward Gordon. "If you want to eat on this trip, then you've got to earn your food! Get to work!"

All kinds of hot words had immediately sprung into Gordon's mouth, but he bit them back and nodded meekly. He had two reasons for doing so – first, he had decided during the night to act as though he'd given up fighting, in hopes that his kidnappers would let their guard down and he'd get a chance to signal his family. And second – he hid a wry smile as he admitted this one to himself – the poor condition of the ship was driving him batty – after all, it wasn't her fault that she was in the hands of men who wouldn't take care of her.

He'd been scrubbing for an hour so far, and had kept his head down and his ears open as he worked, picking up information about the crew – names, crimes they'd committed and tactics they planned to use in robbing other ships.

The most alarming fact he'd overheard was that in stealing the galleon, they had killed two of its crew members – and they didn't seem all that broken up over it, either. This didn't lead Gordon to have great confidence that they would return him safely to his family once the ransom was paid. He suspected that the best they might do for him would be to set him adrift in a small boat with no oars, as they had done with the galleon's original crew.

He was beginning to get lightheaded from hunger; it occurred to him that it had been more than twenty-four hours since he'd eaten anything. He shoved himself up to his feet, wincing at stiff muscles. His left side was particularly sore; he didn't think Bloom's kick had broken any ribs, but it had left a dark bruise.

Bloom, who seemed to spend most of his time stalking imperiously around the deck, zeroed in on him. "What are you doing?" he demanded harshly. "Keep working!"

Gordon forced himself to keep his voice calm. "I'm not stopping. I just need food and water before I can keep going." A chance to learn more of the layout of the ship could come in handy, too. He tried to look pathetic, which wasn't too hard, considering that he was tired, dirty, sweaty and only half-clothed.

Bloom glared at him, but shrugged after a moment. "Fine." He glanced around and spotted a man who had come up for a smoke. "Hey, Ricky, take the kid down to the galley, would you?"

Ricky proved to be a man of few words. He flicked his cigarette overboard and gestured for Gordon to precede him through the companionway hatch that led below deck. Once they were below, he simply shoved Gordon in the direction he wanted him to go rather than speaking to him.

Gordon tried to engage him in conversation – "So…have you always wanted to be a pirate?" – but quickly discovered that his efforts were in vain. So instead, he concentrated on memorizing the route to the galley. The passageways below deck were narrow and dimly lit, but Gordon didn't mind – the galleon actually felt quite roomy compared to some submarines he'd been in.

The galley had been tastefully modernized, complete with a large fridge stocked with plenty of supplies. Gordon fixed himself a couple sandwiches and sat at a small table to eat them, making himself take his time despite Ricky's unwavering stare. When he finished eating, he tucked a granola bar in his pocket and grabbed a couple extra water bottles to bring with him, deciding that it was better to be safe than sorry, in case he wasn't allowed back in the galley later that day.

Ricky didn't object; he just shrugged and shoved Gordon back down the hall.

Gordon dragged his feet on the way, keeping his eyes open for anything interesting. Part of the way down one hall, he got his wish – a door opened, giving Gordon a brief glimpse into a room full of high-tech computer and radio equipment. The man who had opened the door blinked at Gordon in surprise, then scowled.

Ricky's hand struck Gordon in the middle of his back, sending him stumbling forward once more. Gordon counted doors the rest of the way up to the deck so that he'd know where to find the room again if he got the chance.

Ricky deposited him on the deck and wandered away, lighting another cigarette. Gordon went back to his scrubbing, feeling somewhat better with some food inside him, but gloomy and discouraged at the general lack of friendly faces around him.

In the late afternoon, he approached Bloom again. "I'm going down to the galley to get more food and water," he told the man. "I'll be back up in five minutes."

Bloom stared hard at him and glanced around the deck, but Gordon had purposefully picked a time when everyone else had gone below. They were running the Sea Bird under sail for a little while, so Bloom couldn't leave the ship's wheel to escort Gordon himself. "Five minutes," Bloom snapped. "I'll be counting."

Gordon hurried down to the galley and quickly scarfed down another couple sandwiches. On the way back up to the deck, toting more water bottles, he cautiously poked his head into a couple rooms. One, close to the galley, contained a set of stairs going down to a lower level. The other was a cabin with several bunks. One bunk was occupied by a snoring figure. Hearing footsteps behind him, Gordon trotted back up to the main deck before he could be caught snooping.

He worked all the rest of that day, and had no energy to protest when Bloom tied him to the mast again at night. Sitting there in the dark, he wondered if his plan was the best – the results so far had been disappointing, to say the least. But the only other option was to fight back, and there were just too many men for that to be realistic – he would probably only get himself tied to the mast until his dad paid up, and then they would most likely kill him. At least if he pretended to be compliant, he had some freedom to move around and learn the layout of the ship.

Discouraged, but too exhausted to keep thinking, he slumped back against the mast and slipped into a fitful doze, hoping that the morning might bring some progress toward freedom.