Chapter 2

The ship headed straight out to sea. As soon as it was out of sight of the coastline, the crew went to work. Minotaur warrior and human slave worked side by side to repair the damaged ship. The second mast’s sails were raised, to give the ship some forward motion, but the sails flapped and fluttered in the light breeze. No one paid much attention to them. All focused instead on the damaged masts. The sailors did not even bother to steer. They lashed the rudder and headed north.

The new “recruits” were held prisoner on the forecastle. Each man was given to another, more experienced slave, who taught the first the ropes. In this way, the new slaves were quickly adopted into the fold, as it were.

No one paid any attention to Theros, who was not strong enough to be of much use. Told to keep out of the way or he’d be thrown overboard, he sat on a pile of tangled rope and watched.

Two of the human slaves had attained some measure of status on the vessel. They were, Theros noticed, the only two slaves with beards. These two spoke the minotaur language and directed the repairs to the ship. The minotaurs appeared to treat them with a small amount of respect, more than they gave the other humans.

One was a tall man with dusky black skin and a graying beard and mustache. He was strong, well muscled, and might have been from Theros’s own village, for he looked vaguely familiar to the boy. There had been minotaur raids in the past, but Theros was too young to remember much about them. He remembered the stories, though. Now the villagers of Nordmaar would have a new story to tell.

The second human was a white man, with skin tanned as brown as the hide from a mule. His beard was bushy and full, reddish-blond in color. His eyes were blue, so blue that one could see their color from the opposite end of the ship.

Under the direction of the first man, the minotaurs and the slaves had lifted the downed forward mainmast from the central deck of the ship, and using pulleys and ropes, pulled it back into an upright position. Four brawny minotaur warriors wrestled the butt end of the beam onto the remnants of the mast that were still in place and jammed them together. Weaving in and out between the four minotaur warriors, four humans—under the direction of the bearded, black-skinned man—began nailing in supports to connect the two pieces. Next, they lathered the seam with a strong-smelling tar, then wrapped the beam with rope.

The rope was pulled as tight as possible, the minotaurs tugging on it until it had been coiled around and around the beam, as high as a man was tall. Next, the minotaurs added a lower crossbeam to the mast, and secured it to the sides of the ship, immediately giving it better stability.

While all this commotion was going on, the two guardsmen edged over to the side of the deck, near where Theros was seated, and began to whisper to each other.

“Jump for it,” one was saying.

The red-bearded human loomed up behind them.

“Get back to work, you lubbers!” he shouted roughly.

“Look, mister, you’re a slave like us. Let’s jump for it. We’re still close enough to swim to shore.”

“I said, ‘Get back to work!’ ” the red-bearded man snarled, reinforcing his order with a fist to the jaw that sent the guardsman reeling.

Bruised and bloody, the guardsman picked himself up off the deck, and went back to work.

Repairs progressed throughout the ship. Minotaurs and humans worked alongside each other, except for the captain and his officers. Most of the time the officers remained in the cabins below the forecastle, but occasionally they would come out to check things with either of the two human foremen. The ship continued to sail north, out to sea.

When the sun was nearing the edge of the horizon, the black-skinned foreman climbed up onto the forecastle. Removing the cup from the side of the water barrel, he took a long draw. He replaced the cup back on its hook on the side of the barrel, and sat down, inspecting the work with a satisfied air. Theros, bored, stood up.

“What do I get to do?” he asked, excited.

The man looked up at the boy, shook his head and motioned for him to sit back down. Theros, disappointed, pretended he didn’t understand.

“I’m stronger than I look. What can I—”

The man frowned and cut Theros off with a curt hiss and a sharp hand motion. He pointed emphatically to the ropes where Theros had been sitting. Theros had not been much in the habit of obeying his father, who cared little one way or the other. Theros started to make another protest, but—at a look from the man—the boy swallowed his words and returned meekly to his seat.

As the sun sank into the water, the minotaur warriors went below. Through the open hatch, Theros could smell cooked fish and meat. He hadn’t eaten since morning.

“I’m hungry,” Theros announced. “When do we eat?”

The foreman did not answer. He sat staring at his hands. He might have been dozing, but his eyes were open. The sound of booted feet, clomping right behind him, caused Theros to turn. A minotaur warrior marched up to Theros, grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him to his feet. The warrior, not used to the lack of weight in a human child, nearly threw the boy across the deck. Recovering, the minotaur kept fast hold of Theros, lifted him off his feet, let him dangle about four feet in the air.

“No talking! Next time I whip you. No talking!”

The minotaur released him. Theros fell in a heap on the deck. Tears welled up inside him, but he choked them down. He had learned from his father’s scoldings not to show any tears. He had vowed when he left the village that he would never allow anyone to batter him down, either physically or mentally.

The words of his mother echoed over and over in his memory. The only thing he could remember about his mother was the time, right before she died, when she had called to him from her bed. She had rested her hand on his head.

“The old gods have left us. I don’t like these new gods, who seem to have nothing to do with us. Until you find a god to watch over you, Theros, I give you my blessing. Be courageous and do not waste the gifts you have been given.”

Theros didn’t know what gifts those were, but he knew he possessed them and that made him as good as any man—or any minotaur.

He held back the tears, and did not move until long after the minotaur had gone below.

When it was nighttime, the minotaur warriors began to come up from below deck. They laughed and talked amongst themselves. Once the last of the minotaurs had come up onto the deck, the guards started to herd the slaves below. At last, the black-skinned foreman rose to his feet. Walking over to Theros, the man tapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow.

They climbed down the ladder from the forecastle, then down the ladder beneath the hatch to the galley below. Theros went down first, managing the ladders and stairs clumsily. The foreman came after him, pausing to see if any humans were left on deck before closing the hatch.

They entered a hot cabin crowded with humans, including the red-bearded man, who came to a sort of ragged attention when the black-skinned foreman appeared. A long wooden table was covered with platters of fish and meat and bread.

Theros had never smelled food so wonderful in all of his life. He had never been this hungry, either. Theros’s father, a fisherman, may have yelled at and neglected the boy, but at least there had been food on the table. There had been no time in the boy’s short life when he had ever been denied a meal. His stomach growled, his mouth watered.

The foreman nodded to the red-bearded man. Everyone began talking at once, albeit in hushed tones.

The foreman put his hand on Theros’s shoulder, and turned the boy around to face him.

“So what’s your name, lad?” the man asked.

“I’m Theros.” He added, with pride, “I’m a new member of this crew.”

The foreman grinned. His hand on the boy’s shoulder tightened painfully.

“Get this straight from the beginning, Theros. You are not a member of the crew. You are a slave aboard this ship. My name is Heretos Guntoos. I am the repair foreman of this ship, but unlike you, I am not a slave. I am an equal member of the captain’s crew. I am paid and paid handsomely for my work. You, however, are a slave, as are all the other humans aboard this ship, except for Timpan the Red over there. Now you must learn, and learn quickly. Listen to what I say.”

Theros let his glance stray to the food. Heretos cuffed him on the ear to regain his attention. “I said listen!”

Wincing, Theros returned his attention to the foreman.

“Good. Now do not speak at all in the presence of a minotaur, unless he has spoken to you first. We may talk down here only because there are no minotaurs here now. If one were to enter, then all talking must stop. The sail foreman, Timpan, over there”—he gestured toward the red-bearded man—“and I are allowed to speak in order to direct the work on deck as is necessary. You do not have this privilege. You may notice, lad, that I did not speak to you on the fo’c’sle. You would have been whipped for such a transgression. Understand?”

“Yes … sir,” Theros said.

Heretos nodded. “You seem a fast learner. What I’m telling you is for your own good. I’ve never seen a slave as young as you. Normally they take only able-bodied men. So why is it that they’ve brought you on board? What is it they’re going to have you do here?”

Theros saw true interest in the man’s eyes, more interest than his own father had ever showed in the boy.

“I don’t know what my job is yet, sir, so I can’t tell you what I do.”

Heretos smiled.

“You’ll be kept busy, I’m sure. First, let’s get some food and water into you.”

The foreman marched the boy up to the food server, a short, flabby human who smelled of fish. In a low tone, Heretos said, “This is Theros. He’s one of the new ones. My guess is he’ll be helping you out down here from time to time. Take care of him when you can, eh?”

He then turned to Theros. “This is Aldvin. He’s the cook. He makes one meal for the minotaurs, and then one for us. Timpan and I usually eat with the minotaurs, but for the next week we eat with you slaves, to teach you what is proper. Slaves usually get only what’s left over, but it’s always good when Aldvin’s on the job. We eat at sunrise, and just after sundown. You can get water on the fo’c’sle any time during the day, if your duties permit.”

Theros nodded, but he was far more interested in the bowl of steaming fish stew now in his hands, and the small hunk of black bread the cook had dumped on top.

“Go on, boy Go and eat.”

Theros found a bench and immediately devoured his food. Finished, he brought his bowl back to the cook.

“That was really good. I’ll have some more.”

He was startled and chagrined to hear everyone in the galley start to laugh, including the cook.

“Sorry, lad. You get what you are served and no more. The rest goes for morning meal, and the mainstay of that is for those doing the heavy work. When you need more, I’ll give it to you, but you don’t need it now.”

Theros started to argue, but the laughter ceased suddenly. Silence fell. Two minotaurs had descended into the galley.

“I am Kavas, the captain of this ship of war,” the minotaur said, speaking passable Common. “The ship is called Blatvos Kemas, and it has brought great honor to me and my crew. This is my second, Rez.”

Kavas was bigger than the other minotaurs, and Theros wondered if that may have had something to do with why he was captain.

Kavas continued. “Repair foreman, take six of the new slaves for your shifts. Sail foreman, take the rest. After main repairs are finished, four go from repair to sail. I want this ship in fighting form in two days. Each day, from noon sun until two hours later, the bow of the ship is to be cleared for warriors to practice. That is all.”

The minotaurs turned to climb the ladder. Theros began wildly waving his right arm in the air.

The captain turned to Heretos. “What is this arm-thrashing about?”

Heretos lowered his head slightly. “It is a custom taught to young human children. He is trying to get your attention to ask you a question, sir. He knows he is not supposed to speak without permission.”

The captain turned to Theros. “You have permission to talk, boy.”

“What do I do, Captain?” Theros demanded. “What do I get to do?”

Captain Kavas hesitated for a moment, as if wondering that same thing himself. Then he said, “I have decided I not need a personal slave. Instead, you will be slave to my warriors. When they need anything, you will provide. Repair foreman, bring this cub to my fighting contingent commander at sunrise.”

The captain did not await a reply. He climbed up and out of the galley. The second minotaur followed him.

As soon as the two minotaurs had left, the slaves began to talk and eat.

Theros, still hungry, watched them.