The smell hit Mansel just before he landed in the thick, wet sewage. The passengers and officers used chamber pots in the cabins, which could be emptied out of their small windows and washed with seawater. The crew used a privy, which was designed to empty out of the ship, but a portion of the sewage inevitably found it’s way down to the bilge. Seawater also found it’s way in, no matter how well made the ship or how thick the pitch was applied to the seams of the hull. The bilge was a nasty place that had to be pumped out regularly, and the foulest job aboard the ship was working the bilge.
The area was as dark as a cave and Mansel landed with a splash. Seawater was free standing above the sludge that was thick like mud and had settled onto the hull. Rats were tolerated on board the ship because they ate the waste that ended up in the bilge. Mansel could hear the vermin scurrying around the bilge, reacting to his crash.
It took a few moments for the shock of what had happened to pass. Then pain swept over Mansel. His shoulder ached terribly and the muscles in his neck and back were spasming from the pain. He knew that at least two ribs had been broken, perhaps more. His entire left side was awash in pain. He knew he had to get out of the filth of the bilge, but he had no idea how he could possibly climb the ladder that lined the shaft.
He rolled onto his knees, using his right arm to lift his body out of the sewage. He moved slowly, despite the overwhelming urge to get out of the darkness as quickly as possible. Mansel didn’t fear rats normally, but knowing they were around him now, in the darkness where he couldn’t see them, made him feel weak and exposed. His mind, struggling with the shock of pain and fear, had trouble focusing on the task at hand. The water in the bilge rose and fell in motion with the ship.
Mansel had been thankful for the food his friends had given him, but now it came back up violently. After several moments of retching that was made unbearably painful because of his broken ribs, he passed out. He fell onto his side at a time when the water was low, but it only took a moment before the small wave rushed back toward Mansel, dousing him in the filthy water and rousing him.
He coughed and sputtered as the filthy water filled his nose and ears. He screamed as he pulled himself back to his knees. He could see bright specks of light dancing at the edges of his vision. He knew he had to get out of the bilge. Somehow he had to get back to Zollin. He knew his friend could end the pain and restore his health so that he could deal with the band of bullies between decks, but the obstacles between him and Zollin seemed insurmountable.
He crawled forward slowly, hoping to find the ladder that led back up to the ’tween decks. There was no light and Mansel was completely disoriented from his fall. He did know the ladder should have been close, but he didn’t know in which direction to look. It took him almost half an hour of slow searching before he found it. To Mansel, that half hour seemed like a lifetime. The pain was almost completely debilitating, but once he reached the rough-hewn ladder, he felt much better. He sat on his knees, which were aching from the rough floor of the ship, and tried to calm himself down.
“You’re going to be okay,” he told himself out loud. It was a silly sentiment, he knew, but during his search for the ladder he had felt reasonably sure that he would die in the bilge. His next task was to stand up. Even though he couldn’t see, he still felt like the ship was spinning in circles around him. He held tightly to the ladder with his good hand and pulled himself slowly to his feet. His muscles were screaming for relief and the thought of closing his eyes was so tempting he had to shake his head to fight it off. Unfortunately, shaking his head sent sharp stabbing pain through his neck and shoulder.
“Use it,” he told himself. “Use the pain to keep yourself focused.”
He slowly raised one foot, groaning with the effort. It was natural to raise his left leg since his right arm was pulling upward, but his ribs couldn’t take the pressure. Instead, he lifted his right leg and, after finding the lowest rung, pulled himself up. It was painful and difficult, but he knew he couldn’t stop. If he did, he would end up falling again and possibly hurting himself much worse. He climbed, the effort so demanding he couldn’t remember ever working so hard. Sweat poured off of him, dizziness threatened to make him sick again, but through it all he kept moving. Finally, his hand felt the heavy trapdoor above him. He gnashed his teeth as he took one more step up the ladder and then heaved with his right arm.
The trap door opened slowly. It took all of Mansel’s strength just to push it up enough to stick his arm out. The dim light of the ’tween decks was the most welcome sight Mansel could remember, but pushing his way out of the trap door proved too difficult in his weakened state. He hung in the hunched over position with one arm out of the trap door for several minutes until finally another sailor saw him.
“Hold on, mate,” the sailor shouted. “Hey, you louts, get over here and help me. This man’s trapped in the bilge shaft.”
A moment later the heavy trap door was thrown open and rough hands pulled Mansel up out of the shaft. He lay curled on the floor, panting for several minutes. The sailors around him were all murmuring, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Finally, the sailor who’d seen him bent over and spoke quietly. “Hey mate, it wasn’t Slice who threw you down there was it?”
Mansel nodded.
Without another word the other sailors all drifted away. They were afraid of Slice and his gang, Mansel knew that, but he was aghast that they would simply leave him on the floor. Mansel struggled back up onto his knees and began crawling toward the stairs that led up to the main deck. His tool satchel had been pulled off of him, and was now near the foot of the stairs, along with the extra wood he needed to repair Zollin’s furniture.
It took all his strength to crawl up the stairs, but he forced himself to keep moving. Just at the top, two sailors met him.
“Oh, good god man, what happened to you?” one of the said.
Mansel didn’t answer, he was too busy clenching his teeth to keep from crying out in pain.
“He smells worse than the privy,” the sailor said to his companion. “Are you the carpenter’s helper?”
Mansel nodded this time.
“Run and tell the lieutenant,” the sailor said. “Looks like he fell down into the bilge. I’ll get started cleaning him up.”
One sailor hurried off and the other called for a bucket of water. Seawater was used to clean the decks regularly, and soon Mansel was doused with a bucket of cold saltwater. He gasped.
“Well, he ain’t dead, is he?” said another sailor.
“What is going on here?” Zollin shouted.
Zollin had gotten worried when Mansel hadn’t returned. He had gone to the lieutenant to find out what had happened, and the first officer had sent the two sailors in search of Mansel. Now, Zollin and the lieutenant were walking quickly across the main deck to find the young warrior.
“Please, sir,” the lieutenant said coldly. “Let me deal with my men.”
“But that man’s obviously hurt,” Zollin said. “I’m a healer,” he added quickly. “Let me help him.”
“We’ve a ship’s surgeon on board. I assure you he’ll get the best care possible.”
Zollin sent a suggestion magically toward the young officer, who looked puzzled for a moment and then said, “Actually, the sick bay is rather full. I wonder if you might help him?”
Zollin nodded, ignoring the strange looks the other sailors gave their lieutenant. “Certainly. Let’s get those clothes off of him. We’ll get him cleaned up and then he can rest in my cabin.”
“You heard him,” said the lieutenant in a sharp tone to his men. “Cut those clothes off and toss them overboard. They smell like the bilge.
Mansel moaned as the sailors went to work on him. Rags were brought and seawater was poured over his head. They used knives to cut away his clothes. His boots were pulled off and cleaned. Then a stretcher was brought out, just a strip of canvas sewn around two long poles. They gently laid Mansel on the stretcher and carried him down to Zollin’s cabin.