Toby Neighbors - Fierce Loyalty

“Look, he’s kneeling before you, Slice,” said a rat-faced sailor with rotting teeth and one eye that was turned out at an unnatural angle.

“Of course he is,” said the sailor with the scar. “They all do, sooner or later. How’s it feel, Toad? Aren’t you more at home on your knees? Maybe you miss the mud. We could help with that.”

Mansel was still struggling to get his breathing under control when Slice swung a small wooden club at his head. Mansel dodged away from the blow instinctively.

“Ah, you want to play, eh? That’s good Toady, very good indeed,” said Slice.

He feigned one direction and then swung the club in the other. It caught Mansel on the shoulder. Pain exploded across the young warrior’s neck, shoulder, and arm. He slumped back, but Slice moved in close and kicked Mansel hard in the ribs. Mansel fell over onto his side, sharp pain stabbing through him with each breath now. He felt shaky and weak, but he was angry too. He pulled the mallet out of the satchel of tools that still hung around his head and shoulder.

“Look, he’s still got a little fight left in him,” said the rat-faced sailor.

There were several other sailors standing back from the fight with the rat-faced man. Slice’s gang, who seemed to never be working, were the bullies between decks. Fighting on board was forbidden, Mansel knew that, but he wasn’t going to lie down and take a beating if he could help it.

“That mallet won’t help you, Toad,” said Slice.

“Leave me alone,” Mansel warned.

“Or what? You can’t stop us. You going to run to the captain and rat us out? If you do, you’ll never make it off this ship alive. No, I think you’re going to take your knocks like a man. But first we’ll send you someplace you’re more at home. Get him, boys.”

The other sailors rushed forward. Mansel tried to rise up and swing the mallet, but he was too weak. Slice caught the mallet on his club and then the hammer was snatched roughly from Mansel’s hand. They picked him up by the arms and legs. He started to struggle, but the pain in his side and shoulder was devastating. The sailors carried him a short way and then Slice pulled open a trap door. The sailors slung Mansel into the darkness below.

Fear made his stomach feel as if it were going to jump out of his throat, but the drop wasn’t that far and it ended quickly. The Northern Star was made up of three decks. There was the main deck, and immediately below that was the passenger deck, which also housed the officer’s quarters. The lowest deck was the cargo deck, but there was a small space between the cargo deck and the passenger deck, and the crew called the cramped area the “’tween decks.” From the ’tween decks was a shaft that allowed crew members to access the lowest part of the ship-the space below the cargo deck, which the sailors called the bilge.

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.