I wanna cry so I try telling myself the good things. It’s good she ain’t taken Licorice and sailed off. It’s good I got a full belly and a nice place to sleep. It’s good she’ll need me on deck tomorrow to keep sanding and I’ll get another chance to escape. I feel a bit calmer then and yawn coz I’m real tired. I’ll need lots of sleep to get energy to escape.
The lock clicks at first light and Pirate Bradshaw stands at the door. ‘Get up!’ she says. ‘There’s work to be done! Let’s see, cabin hire, and a meal, two cups of water. I reckon you owe me about four days’ work.’
‘What?’ I ask, following her up top. ‘You gave me food, you locked me in. I ain’t paying for that.’
‘You wanna get off here then?’ she asks.
There’s a wide wide expanse of risen sea lying all the way to where the edge of the planet’s turning to meet the red sun. And there’s way worse out there than Pirate Bradshaw. That’s for sure. ‘No,’ I say.
‘Good. Then work!’ Pirate Bradshaw says, and I drop to the deck beside Saleesi and we rub wooden boards with sandpaper.
‘Where were you last night?’ I whisper.
‘Don’t take nothing from her. She keeps a tally. She’ll own you forever,’ Saleesi says.
‘But what do you eat? Where do you sleep?’ I ask.
‘On the deck. She still charges me for that but jus’ half a day’s work, and I fish for my own dinner. I take a cup of water if I run out of storm water that I save when it’s running off the deck. She charges half a day for water.’
‘But that’s not fair – she’s charging more to work here than we can earn!’
Saleesi shrugs. ‘First I took everything, coz I was gonna kill her, and I wouldn’t have no debt. But then I found out she don’t die so easy.’
‘Well, she better not stand between me and Licorice Stix or she’ll be for it,’ I say.
‘Stop your muttering, you wormy-mouthed kid, and get this deck looking shipshape!’ Pirate Bradshaw yells.
Saleesi and I sand the deck all day with the sun beating my bare scalp, my back through my shirt, burning. Ma would be chasing me down with a hat by now. Tears squirm in my eyes. I gotta not think about my ma. I gotta think about how to get out of here.
It’s late in the afternoon and I’m feeling dizzy when a man shouts, ‘Hello!’
I stagger up and there’s a fishing boat pulling alongside. Then Pirate Bradshaw grabs me, hauls me across the deck and drops me through a hatch to below. I land on the mattress as the hatch slams above me. ‘Let me out. Help me!’ I yell.
Pirate Bradshaw stomps her feet on the hatch door. No one will hear me over that.
‘Ahoy, sirs! Might you be looking for a neat new fishing catamaran?’ she yells.
‘No!’ I scream. ‘It’s mine! Not hers!’
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! The old pirate’s feet beat like a drum on the hatch lid. I push open the cabin door, and try the door to up top, but it’s latched from the outside. I scramble over junk and work at the porthole latches. They’s bubbled and white and stiff with salt and age. Old and ruined, like everything on this old yacht. I try the other hatches, also locked.
‘Saleesi!’ I yell. ‘Tell them we’re prisoners!’
Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!
I splash my face and drink as much water as I can, while listening to what’s going on up top. Pirate Bradshaw seems to be negotiating with the fishermen. For fish and lines and nets and gear, I hear. Something about a gold ring one of the fishermen has on. I can’t tell what’s going on. I fill my pockets with biscuits, and a carrot. Now they’s shouting!
‘Never! You wrinkly old salt!’ one of the men shouts clear as anything.
Then there’s silence.
‘Saleesi!’ Pirate Bradshaw says.
‘Saleesi!’ I yell. ‘Tell them I’m a fisher from Cottage Hill. Tell them to tell my ma where I am!’
There’s no stomping this time. So I carry on. ‘I’m Neoma from Cottage Hill! Licorice Stix is my boat. She’s not for sale!’
The yacht creaks and groans and ropes run through winches, then it tips over and slaps at the sea. It’s moving! Oh no! They’ve sold Licorice Stix. We’re leaving her behind! I hammer at the door to up top.
Saleesi opens it. ‘I din’t know you were a fisher,’ she says, like she heard me this whole time and still she let them take my boat.
I push past her and run to the stern. Licorice is still there! She’s tied up behind the little fishing boat tied to the back of the yacht! Not a fisherman to be seen.
‘What?’ I say.
‘Lots to salvage out here,’ Pirate Bradshaw says. She’s wearing a new ring.
I don’t see no fishermen swimming in the sea behind us.
Pirate Bradshaw reaches over her shoulder and plucks a thin fish filleting knife from her back. ‘Ooch!’ she says. She wipes the blood off on her trousers and runs a finger along the blade. Nods, and slides it into a strap on her leg.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘We couldn’t come to an agreement,’ Pirate Bradshaw says. ‘Now get back to work.’
Me and Saleesi carry on with our sanding like everything’s normal. ‘Where’s the fishermen?’ I whisper.
‘Where’dya think?’ she says.
I don’t wanna think. I give her a biscuit from my pocket. She swallows it in two bites.
When the planet turns from the sun, and the cool sets in, Pirate Bradshaw gets to cooking again. Delicious smells floating up from below and out across the water.
‘Crew!’ she calls sweetly. ‘Come down for dinner.’
I break the carrot I stole earlier in half and give half to Saleesi. We chomp them real fast.
Pirate Bradshaw pops her head up on deck after a while. ‘Anyone hungry?’ she asks.
‘I’m too tired,’ I say. ‘I’m jus’ gonna sleep on the deck.’
I lie down beside Saleesi and pretend to sleep.
‘Nice night for it,’ Pirate Bradshaw says and lies herself on a seat in the stern.
This means I gotta sneak past her to get to Licorice. I lie looking up at the Milky Way, locating my old friend the Southern Cross and her pointer stars, find that patch of blank dark sky that marks south where I gotta be heading. Two days sailing north don’t do me much good for finding Jag. My head is hot, my back is hot, my hands are worn and burning, and I’m terrified to my bones that the old hag Bradshaw will kill me if she catches me escaping.
Saleesi pulls a bit of jib sail over us to keep the breeze from waking us, and soon she’s asleep.
