The screeching sea-rats were begging for scraps from the sailors on the docks, their high-pitched cries filling the air. Walking beside Papa, I could see the sun rising over the endless ocean, its light turning the water into a shimmering sea of gold. I had only seen the ocean twice before, always from far away, and it had never looked this big. But now, we were right next to it, and the idea of finally being on Papa's ship made me smile wide.
The cobblestone path under my feet felt strange—much rougher than the soft dirt road back home. Whenever Mummy and I went to the village, it was always to get supplies: bread, fabric, sometimes pretty new clothes. I liked those trips with Mummy. Between Grandfather Henry's mysterious "business" and the gold Papa brought back from his travels, we had a nice life. But even though our life was good, I couldn't stop thinking about Papa's adventures at sea. The way he lived, traveling on ships, seemed like the wildest, most exciting thing in the world to me. I wanted to know what it was like.
I looked around at the busy docks. Big men with muscles were lifting crates onto ships, and women with bright red lips and pretty dresses laughed with the sailors, hanging on their arms. I didn't really understand what they were laughing about, but it all seemed nice enough from where I stood.
But then something caught my eye. A ship, sitting all alone, stood apart from the others. It wasn't like the other ships I'd seen—it looked different, scarier. The sails had patches, like they had been torn and fixed over and over again. The wood of the ship was dark red, like the color of cherries, not brown like the other ships. And right at the front, staring out toward the sea, was a golden skull. It gave me a shiver, and I stopped walking, my eyes wide with fear.
Papa noticed me stop and turned around, sighing. "Come, my dear. This is where we will be going," he said, taking my hand. His grip was firm, but I didn't budge. I didn't want to go near that scary ship.
I shook my head, hoping he would understand without me having to say the words out loud. I didn't want to make him upset, but the ship scared me.
Papa pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing just a little. "Come, Estella," he said again, giving my hand a tug, but I still didn't move. Fear crept into my heart, and all I could think of was Mummy. She would know what to say to make me feel better, to make the scary thoughts go away. I pulled my hand free from Papa's grip, my lip quivering. "I want Mummy," I whispered, my voice shaky.
At the mention of Mummy, Papa's face changed. He looked upset, more than I had expected. "Stay here," he said sharply, before turning away and walking toward the ship by himself.
I stood there, all alone on the cold cobblestones, watching as he walked away. The wind was blowing gently, and it made my nightgown flutter. I hugged myself, trying not to feel so alone, even though the breeze felt like it was trying to cheer me up, like it was playing with me. From where I stood, I could see Papa disappear onto the ship. For a moment, a scary thought popped into my head: What if he leaves me here? What if he never comes back?
It started to feel like the beginning of a bad dream. I sat down on the stone path, tracing my fingers over the rough surface, waiting for Papa to come back. I didn't want to get in trouble for not listening, so I stayed put.
"What's your name?" a voice suddenly asked, startling me.
I looked up quickly and saw a boy standing nearby, his bright green eyes looking at me curiously. He couldn't have been much older than me—maybe six. His dark hair was messy, and his skin was tan like he spent a lot of time outside. "Estella," I answered softly, not afraid but still feeling small.
"My name's Cillian. Do you want to play?" He smiled, showing a gap where his front tooth had fallen out.
I thought about it for a moment. "My papa's coming back soon. We're going on an adventure," I said proudly, as if that explained everything.
Cillian tilted his head, looking over at the ship Papa had gone on. "We can play until he comes back, right?" he asked, smiling again.
He was right. What was the harm in playing a little while we waited? I grinned back at him. "Okay," I giggled. "Tag! You're it!" I tapped his shoulder before running off, my bare feet slapping against the dock as I laughed.
Cillian chased after me, laughing too, and for a little while, I forgot all about the scary ship and Papa's frown. It was just us, playing in the early morning light, like nothing else mattered. But Cillian was faster than me, and before long, he tagged me back. "You can't catch me!" he teased, running ahead.
"Can too!" I yelled, determined to get him. I chased him as fast as I could, dodging around barrels and crates on the dock. My feet were getting tired, but I didn't care. I just wanted to catch him.
Finally, I tagged him, feeling proud of myself. "Can too," I said with a smile, turning and running toward the far end of the dock. But as I ran, I noticed Cillian wasn't following me anymore.
"You can't go out that far!" he called, his voice full of worry.
I stopped and looked around. The dock here was old, made of thin, creaky boards. I suddenly felt scared again. The boards under my feet wobbled, and before I knew it, one of them tipped, sending me tumbling into the cold, dark water below.
Everything became a blur. The water was freezing, and I couldn't touch the bottom. I tried to scream, but all that came out were bubbles. I flailed my arms, trying to swim, but I didn't know how. Panic set in, and I couldn't breathe.
Suddenly, I felt something grab me, pulling me up. I gasped for air as my head broke the surface, coughing and sputtering. It was Cillian—he had jumped in after me, his arms struggling to keep us both afloat. "Help!" he called, his voice full of fear. I clung to him, trying not to cry as the cold water chilled me to the bone.
"Papa!" I shouted, my voice trembling with fear.
It felt like forever before I heard footsteps pounding on the dock. "Get them up!" I heard a woman cry, and soon enough, strong hands lifted me out of the water. It was Papa. I wrapped my arms around him, sobbing into his coat as he held me tight.
"Never do that again," he scolded, his voice harsh with worry.
"I'm sorry, Papa," I whimpered, holding onto him as tightly as I could. He carried me toward the ship—the Jolly Roger. I buried my face in his shoulder, feeling safe again, even though I was still shaking. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see two concerned adults kneeling next to Cillian, who was most likely trying not to cry himself.
As we walked up the plank to the ship, I peeked out from under my wet hair and saw the golden skull staring out at the sea. It didn't seem as scary anymore, not after everything that had happened. I was safe now, in Papa's arms, and that was all that mattered.