There were no other crates placed near hers. Sara and the crate with their belongings must be somewhere else on the deck, out of her line of sight, but hopefully, all made it safely onto the ship. The idea of El selling her for the ransom crossed her mind more than once, but she pushed it aside. In her circumstances, another locked in a crate might have dwelled on that idea, but for Prin, there were only three possibilities. There was the unknown, which no one can control, and then there was trust and distrust, both controllable to an extent.
She had learned early that people can trust each other only until that trust is broken once. After that one time, there can never again fully be trust, in the same sense. Mistakes can be forgiven or overlooked. Promises made and broken. But trust is like a clay pot dropped to the floor. It might be repaired by a clever craftsman, but it will never really be the same. Her mother had taught her that.
The voices on the pier were shouting, feet stomped or shuffled on the deck nearby, more crates loaded, men bellowed, and the gentle movement of the ship soothed her. She lay in semi-darkness and should be scared for her life, but if necessary, she could set fire to the crate with the flame from her finger and escape. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
She woke several times after dark while trying to stretch her cramped muscles, but as she realized the futility of it because of the lack of space, Prin went back to sleep each time. She regretted leaving the warehouse and Indore. The city and building had been perfect for their needs, and there came several bouts of fear and hate directed at the young mage as a result of her thinking too deeply. But oddly enough, the single item that upset her most was leaving the dog she had yet to name. She finally fell asleep again.
“Open this one here,” a nearby voice said, pulling her back to awareness.
A tool struck the crate, and protesting nails were wrenched free. The top lifted to reveal three people looking down at her from the darkness. The motion of the ship was greater than while it was tied to the dock, and she realized it was moving down the river.
“Welcome aboard,” the same voice growled softer as if speaking in less than shouted orders was unusual.
Prin sat and said, “Thank you, sir, whoever you are.”
“Call me Bos’n. I’m to be your mother, father, boss, confident, and enemy.”
“And I’m Jam,” a younger voice near her age interrupted eagerly. “I’m not the whipping boy anymore. You are.”
“Whipping boy?”
“The lowest deckhand on the ship, the one everyone blames for anything that goes wrong. You’re the new whipping boy, so you get all the shit jobs.”
A third voice snapped, “Hey, watch your language, Jam. Where do you get off talking like that?”
“Because she’s the new whipping boy. I’m a full deckhand, now,” the boy said, apparently trying to make his point.
“In case you didn’t notice, this is no boy.” The others laughed, all but Jam. The speaker was a lanky man, middle aged, with what looked like too many large teeth for one mouth. He turned back to Prin as he pointed, “There’s the head. I imagine you’re about to burst.”
Prin listened to the words but remained standing while trying to understand what they meant. Jam leaned closer to her and whispered, “After being in that crate, he thinks you got to pee.”
She nodded eagerly.
Jam said, “Follow me.”
He took her to the front of the ship and pointed to a section where the rail made a jog around a raised, solid board with a hole in the center, at the perfect height for sitting. Jam turned his back, and Prin took full advantage of the seat while wondering if, during a storm, her bottom would get wet from waves splashing against the hull.
While sitting, she examined her surroundings. A tall man could stand at the level of the water and almost look over the side to the main deck. The ship was only about six steps wide, and twenty steps to the rear rose a two-level structure. There were at least two people up there looking her way, and she slammed her knees closer together.
The ship continued behind that structure, but not far. A walkway seemed to circle it, and a ladder rose to the first level, then turned back on itself to the second. A smaller mast with a billowing sail stood near her. Near the center of the ship stood a much larger mast that held a huge sail. There were two raised cargo hatches, and more crates tied down on the deck.
The movement of the ship was less than expected, the night dark, and only the light of two lanterns and the stars revealed the ship. She looked for the moon and didn’t find it.
“Prin,” Sara’s voice called. Then Sara rushed up to her and grabbed her in a hug that almost hurt. “I was so scared.”
Prin motioned to the hole and handles on either side. “Have you used that?”
“I hope it’s what I think.”
Prin nodded and turned to Jam. “Don’t you dare turn around.”
“Having two girls aboard is going to be different. We never look when somebody’s there. Just good manners, whipping boy.”
“Just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You had to say it,” Prin snarled, tired of him already.
“It’s true.”
Sara stood. “What’s with you two?”
“This is Jam. I haven’t heard that name before, but in our language, I think it means idiot who talks too much.”
The words were spat as if she had something in her mouth that disagreed with her, but she was not about to let Jam take a superior role without a fight. She headed for the Bos’n. He was busy inspecting the cargo and making sure each crate was tied with at least two ropes and the knots were tight.
“What’s your name again and how can I help?” she demanded.
He paused and smiled long enough for his teeth to gleam in the dim light. “Get on the other side of the crates and move along the row with me. Check where they’re tied on the deck and look for anything loose or that might come free in a storm. Call me Bos’n, like I said. The deck and most of the chores on it belong to me.”
She leaped to help, tugging on each rope and checking for anything unusual. She grabbed one and pulled, and the knot came free. She held it up for the Bos’n to see and to tell her what to do about it.”
“Jam, get your lazy butt over here. The new whipping boy just found another granny knot you tied. You know what that means?”
Jam moved closer, a scowl on his face. He curled his lip as he said, “I know. It’ll come untied in a storm. Like you haven’t told me that a hundred times.”
“And the cargo will swing loose and slide across the deck, and maybe damage the ship or shove one of us over the side, so we drown. The lost cargo will come out of our ship’s profits. The Captain will have my ass, and all because you can’t tie a decent square knot that I’ve shown you more times than I can count.”
Prin stood aside and felt the embarrassment radiating from the boy. His eyes went to her and accused her of somehow being responsible for him getting dressed down. Sara came up behind and said, “I’m going to find the cook.”
The Bos’n grabbed two lengths of rope and held them in front of Prin. He wrapped the ends together as he said and demonstrated, “Left over right. Right over left.”
She accepted the ropes. The initial part was simple—then she paused and tried the second part of the knot, but realized it was wrong, so she quickly reversed it.”
The Bos’n took the ropes and pulled. The knot grew tighter. Then he untied the knot and tied it as her initial attempt had been. He pulled the two ends, and the knot twisted and fell apart. He hadn’t said a word until he growled, “Your thoughts?”