Chapter 3

It was still dark when Theros was roughly and rudely awakened by someone whacking him across the stomach with a stick. Theros sat bolt upright, startled and indignant.

“Get up! Time to start working,” Heretos told the boy. “You will help Aldvin down in the galley this morning, and later you will begin your job of assisting the warriors. You got that?”

Theros nodded. Groggily, he hopped down from the bunk and wandered over to the water barrel. He started to plunge in his hands to wash his face. Heretos grabbed hold of him and turned him to another barrel that was brackish and smelled of fish.

“You wash in seawater, my lad. Never waste drinking water on anything but drinking. First rule of the sea, and she doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

He handed Theros a small metal bowl and a rag. Theros poured seawater into the bowl. He scrubbed his body with the wet rag, even going over his teeth to get the scum off of them. Finally, he rinsed his mouth with a bit of the water and spat it back into the bowl. He had learned early in his life that drinking seawater was a good way to lose your breakfast. It would make you sicker than a half-drowned dog. He took the bowl, and as he had observed others doing, lifted the cover of a porthole and dumped the water out.

The taste of the seawater was awful. Theros took a long draught of fresh water from the drinking barrel. Ready for the day, he looked over to see Heretos slapping around one of the guardsmen, who was apparently not used to waking up this early.

Theros climbed the ladder and made his way onto the deck. The sky was beginning to show color as the sun teased the world with hazy light. The sea was calm again this morning. Theros hurried across the deck, trying to remember the way to the galley. He was nearly knocked down by the other guardsman, who had just climbed up onto the deck.

“Get out of my way, boy,” the guardsman snarled.

A minotaur whipped around. “You spoke, human dog.”

He poked the man in the stomach with the butt end of his axe. The slave cursed loudly, and spat on the deck.

The minotaur backhanded the man with the handle of his axe, sent the guardsman flying. He landed like a heap of kelp and lay very still. The minotaur walked away.

A tap on his back reminded Theros that he had work to do. Heretos, standing behind him, shoved Theros along the deck. Theros stared at the slave’s body as he climbed down the access ladder to the galley. He could not rid himself of the image of the warrior brutally swinging his axe handle, connecting with the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

Aldvin was already at work in the galley. He had started the fires and begun to heat water. He motioned to Theros.

“Here, take this bowl and fill it with fish from last night. Over there in that barrel. Yes, that’s the one.” The boy looked over at a barrel tied to a main support beam. “What is it, lad?”

Theros opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Aldvin laughed. “It’s all right, lad. We can talk down here as long as none of the minotaurs come down, and they won’t be down until the sun’s fully risen. Off you go, there, lad. Oh, and if you find any bones in the fish, throw them in this bucket here. Got it?”

The boy nodded and went off to do as he was told. Aldvin prepared the fish, adding new seasonings and heating the mixture over the galley fire. Theros cleaned all of the serving bowls and put out large jugs of drinking water. Just as he was setting down the last jug, a minotaur, ignoring the ladder, jumped the distance to the deck below. The noise of impact jarred the boy. He sloshed water all over the table.

“You! Small one! Bring me my morning meal!”

Theros ran over to Aldvin, who handed him a steaming bowl of food. Theros took the bowl to the minotaur.

He placed the food in front of the warrior. The minotaur grabbed Theros by the shirt collar. “You saw me handle that unruly slave, didn’t you? I warn you. Never cross a minotaur warrior on this ship. What you saw is what I will do to you if you disobey me. Go! Get me water!”

The boy stumbled backward. At Aldvin’s gesture, Theros raced over to the sea cupboard where the flagons were kept. He grabbed one, filled it from the fresh barrel and brought it back to the warrior. By this time, several other minotaur warriors had climbed down the ladder into the galley. They laughed as they saw Theros running, fetching, serving, and made comments in their own language. None sounded at all complimentary. Theros’s ears burned.

He was becoming addled with the heat, the shouting, the confusion. The warriors yelled at him to hurry with their food, to get them water, to clean up spills, to go faster, always faster! Aldvin watched, enjoying the show. The minotaurs were having fun now, sending the panic-stricken boy to fetch this and that, hurling it back into his face when he brought it with a command to go fetch something else.

“Stop!”

The voice was huge, deep, imposing. All heads turned. The captain stood at the bottom of the ladder. He glared at the warriors before him. He spoke in the minotaur language, which Theros didn’t understand then. Aldvin would translate it for him later.

“You call this honor? You call this the code of the warrior? You have your fun screaming at a cub, forgetting that this cub actually chose to come with us. He, in that one act, has shown more courage than all of you mighty warriors this morning. Eat and get back to work. I will hear no more of this.”

The captain, now flanked by the first and second officers, walked over to Aldvin and demanded food. The cook gave each a heaping bowl of fish and a full flagon of water. They moved forward to a table, and ate with their backs to the rest of the warriors. They never once glanced at Theros.

The warriors fell silent, ate quickly. When they finished, they climbed up to the deck. Soon, all of the warriors had left, leaving only the three officers at their table, eating.

Aldvin motioned to Theros to begin collecting the bowls and flagons, and to wash them in the basin. Theros did so, but kept his eyes on the three minotaurs sitting with their backs to him. They talked in hushed tones to each other.

Theros took all of the bowls to the basin, dumped the remains of the meals into a bucket and began to scrub the bowls. He tried desperately to ignore his own hunger. He turned only when he heard voices. Human voices.

The three officers had finished and left. The slaves were now climbing down into the galley. Theros started to go fetch the three sets of flagons and bowls that he thought would still be on the table from the officers’ meals. He headed for the table, felt a hand on his shoulder. Theros stopped, looked up. Aldvin smiled and motioned to the three bowls beside the basin.

“I took care of it for you, lad. They were a bit rough on you, weren’t they? I’ll tell you a secret, though.”

Theros looked up expectantly.

“Don’t let them see you’re afraid. Do what they say, but keep your chin up, your head high. They’ll respect you for it.”

Aldvin looked across at the men starting to seat themselves. “All right, lad, go and fetch some food for everyone. I’ll serve it, you deliver it.”

The rest of the morning’s duties in the galley were uneventful. After all had left, Theros and Aldvin ate what was left over and then cleaned up. When that was finished, Aldvin sent Theros back up the ladder.

“Go up and find the warriors. You’ll be working for them for the rest of the day. I’ll be down here cleaning the fresh fish for tonight’s meal. You’ll help me wash up again after we’re all done eating. Now, stay out of harm’s way.”

Already so tired that he could barely walk, Theros climbed the ladder back to the deck. He shielded his eyes from the near-noon sun, now blazing in the clear azure sky. It took several seconds, but his eyes adjusted to the bright light. Looking around, he saw that the rear raised deck had become a practice yard. The warriors were swinging, lunging and dodging as they practiced with battle weapons. In other parts of the ship, slaves were working to restore the ship back to seaworthy condition. Already the foremast was re-rigged and the men had turned their attention to the new mainmast.

One minotaur sat apart from the other warriors. He had a pile of weapons beside him, and was working on the leather sheaths and belts. Theros walked up to the warrior and stood in front of him. The minotaur was busy with a scabbard and at first did not notice the boy.

Theros remained standing, not knowing what to do. Finally, he sat down, and picked up a sword and a sharpening stone. His father had shown him how to sharpen a fish knife and this looked much the same. He began to work.

The minotaur glanced up with a start. He seemed about to protest, then noticed that the boy was doing something useful, so the minotaur went back to his work.

Theros sharpened a sword, an axe, then another sword. The work was easy in his hands. He scraped the stone across the blade of the weapon, grinding it ever so slightly. Over and over the process was repeated, all along the blade, until finally the weapon felt sharp from tip to basket. After sharpening, he knew enough to dip the tip of the weapon into a small vial of oil, then spread the oil over the blade and basket to ensure that it didn’t rust. He slid the leather scabbard back over the weapon and started on the next.

The minotaur worked beside him, never saying a word, keeping a watchful eye on his work, handing him another weapon when he was finished with the previous.

Sitting in the sun, Theros soon grew thirsty, but he was afraid to leave his work. He licked his dry, parched lips. At that, the minotaur working beside him grunted. Theros looked up. The minotaur pointed to the bow of the ship, grunted, and returned his attention to a leather belt.

Theros made his way forward across the deck. He was fascinated to observe the different tasks being performed. The ship was looking more like a sailing vessel again. Debris had been cleared away. The repair crews had all the rigging up. The ship had picked up speed as the sails were unfurled.

A ladle hung on the side of the water barrel on the forecastle. A man stood beside the barrel, dipped the ladle, drank gingerly from it. Theros recognized the man as the former guardsman. The man’s lower jaw was purple and black from bruising. His lip was split. It was obvious that even the act of drinking was a painful one. He glared at Theros.

“All your fault, you little bastard,” he muttered. “But I’ll show them.”

He hung the ladle back on the side of the barrel. Theros took down the ladle, drank thirstily. He had been in the sun all afternoon, and had not noticed that he was beginning to become dehydrated. He took another long drink, put the ladle back.

From beneath the forecastle, the captain emerged onto the main deck. He took a few steps forward and began to survey the rigging and masts. His eyes seemed to move in slow motion as he scanned every knot and block of rigging, every bolt of sail.

The guardsman beside Theros shivered slightly. Nervous hands plucked at his clothing. He climbed down to the main deck. Turning from the ladder, he took two steps forward, putting him only a pace behind the captain. The minotaur did not see or hear the human. Reaching inside his shirt, the man pulled out a knife.

Later, Theros would often wonder why he did what he did. Perhaps it was because the captain had praised his courage. Perhaps it was that he felt no man—or minotaur—should die from a stab in the back.

Theros yelled at the top of his lungs. “Captain! Behind you!”

The captain turned just as the guardsman’s knife plunged down. The natural reflexes of the warrior let Kavas sidestep the attack, and at the same time pull his knife from its scabbard. The human and the minotaur stood facing each other, both in a fighting stance, knives brandished. All work on the ship stopped.

The warriors on the rear deck of the ship rushed forward to get a better look. The two other officers stood near the forecastle, each armed with a battle-axe. No one interfered with the fight, however. It was the captain’s right to kill this would-be assassin.

The human and the minotaur circled each other. Passing by the foremast, the man grabbed a three-foot-long shoring peg out of a hole. He now had two weapons. Half a revolution more and the human made his move. He lunged forward with the knife, holding the peg—now a makeshift club—to ward off any blow. The captain dodged the thrust and swung his own weapon. The man batted the knife away, but the swing had been a feint. The captain brought his knee up and smashed it into the man’s chest.

The man dropped his weapons and crumpled to the deck. He rolled to the side, clutching his chest and gasping for air, and then he stopped moving. The captain stood above him, ready and waiting. Moments passed. The man lay still. Finally, the captain put his knife away. The other two officers walked forward. One turned the human onto his back. He was dead.

The captain, suddenly remembering the cry that had saved his life, turned to look at Theros. He nodded once to the boy, then marched back into the cabin below the forecastle. The other two officers followed their captain back into the cabin. The dead man was left on the deck.

Timpan and Heretos scrambled forward from the rigging to where the man lay. They both looked up at Theros, then back to the dead man. Both shook their heads. Theros couldn’t tell what they were thinking, but he saw the other slaves on board glaring at him with hatred. The two foremen lifted the body and shuffled to the port side of the ship. Heretos shut the man’s eyes, then they lifted the body over the side rail and let it fall to the sea below. No one said a word.

Theros watched as the body bobbed in the sea behind the moving ship, finally losing sight of it as it slipped beneath the waves.

“What—” Theros said to himself miserably, “what have I done?”