Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
LucasArts Fiction

CHAPTER 7: THE STORM

Another day was just beginning when Dad got my attention, standing at the prow of the ship.
Three weeks of shipwork had built me up somewhat. I still couldn't take the ropes in, but I could tie and untie them, and run around on the yardarm with no worries at all. Somehow, this work made me feel closer to the Que Sera. I regarded the ship with real affection now. I could understand why sailors called boats 'she'.
Dad was pointing out to the horizon, where the sun was rising in a blood-red sky. I remembered a bit of rhyme Dad had told me: 'Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.'
For the first time since I'd climbed the ropes that first morning of travel, I felt nervous. There were clouds over there where the sun was rising. They seemed to be gathering.
A storm was on its way.
I was tense as we did the morning work. The wind behind us seemed to have more force than usual. By noon the Que Sera was going faster than we'd ever seen it, although Wendy assured us we were still heading in the right direction.
Early in the afternoon the sun disappeared behind a cloud, and didn't come out again. Behind us and all around us, clouds were coming together. The sky was turning the colour of a bruised turnip.
Later in the afternoon Dad decided to furl the sails for the night. We went up and hauled them in. Dad spent longer than usual on the knots, making sure they were as tight as possible.
We ate our dinner early, while the sun was still fairly high. But the clouds were thicker now, and the late afternoon was turning gloomy. Nobody spoke; we were all worried.
After dinner we all went back up on deck. The whole sky was now an upturned bowl of dark clouds. In the west, I could see flickering stabs of lightning, as yet inaudible. Then I saw Peepers creeping around on deck. I told her in no uncertain terms to get below.
The air was saturated with danger. But nobody went below. Wendy wanted to stay and make sure we didn't drift off course. Dad had the wheel to maintain, to ensure that we didn't. I just wanted to stay up and see what happened.
The wind whipped past my face. With the sails unfurled we'd ridden with the wind, and thus barely felt it. Now, with the sails coiled up tight, we sat flat on the sea like a stone, and the wind blew it us with unguessed force. It made me feel very vulnerable.
Spray was being whipped off the sea and into the air. Soon my face and hair was wet.
The sea tossed and turned beneath us, so that the ship rocked alarmingly. I'd gotten my sea legs over the past few weeks, but it was still like trying to stand on a floor covered with marbles.
It was getting dark. Darker than I'd ever known, with the moon hidden behind storm clouds. And with the cloud, came the rain. A hail of water fell from the sky, drenching me in seconds. Wendy was already up, sheltering her notes, and running for the trapdoor. Dad shouted at me to get under, and I followed Wendy down.
The floor of the passage was wet with rain that had come through the trapdoor. The shadows cast by the oil lamps jerked crazily as the ship tilted from side to side. I ran down the passage, bouncing off the walls, and came to our room.
Wendy was standing at the doorway. I stopped behind her. The whole room, from wall to wall, was drenched with water. Quickly I saw why. The ship bucked forward, and a mass of seawater slapped against the side of the vessel. We'd left the portholes open, and now water poured into our room, making a puddle now several inches deep.
I ran forward and shut the portholes, tightening the latches. Wendy lifted up everything she could off the floor and put it on her bed. Then she ran out, probably making sure all the rest of the papers were okay.
Water slammed against the portholes, but they held. It was like being underwater. I ran back out into the passage, and more water was running along the floor. It was coming from the trapdoor.
I climbed the ladder and peeked out. The whole deck was awash with water. Waves several metres high crashed against the upper decks, a solid mass of water that shoved and jerked the ship. Even as I looked another wave broke against the side of the ship, ran along the deck, and poured into the trapdoor, soaking me to the skin.
We were taking on water. Weren't you supposed to batten down the hatches in the storm? I started to shut the trapdoor, then remembered Dad was still out there.
I jumped out of the trapdoor and ran forward. The deck was slippery, sloping, and I lost my balance. I slid sideways, only saved from going overboard by the rail. I got up, holding the rail tightly, and a wave crashed into me. I held on.
The ship tilted back, and now I let go, running forward with the slope, headed straight for the upper deck and the ship's wheel.
The noise was incredible. The wind squalled, the waves pounded, the ropes strained painfully, the sails creaked and seemed to tear. Thunder boomed above us, and every now and again the crazy scene was illuminated by lightning flashes.
In one of these flashes I saw Dad at the wheel. I managed to run forward and grab Dad at the wheel.
"Dad-" I shouted.
A wave splashed over us. For one second it felt like we were underwater. Then the ship rose up and the water fell away.
"We have to get inside!" I shouted at him. I think he heard me, because he nodded and let go of the wheel. Holding onto me tightly, he ran for the trapdoor.
Somehow, among the bucking and rolling, Dad kept his feet. He just about threw me down the trapdoor, then climbed down after me. He pushed the ladder aside, then pulled the trapdoor shut. A last final wave of water came with it, running along the passage and disappearing into the lower trapdoor. Dad locked the hatch tight, then we were alone in the passage, the anemic orange light of the oil lamps jerking and flickering on our faces.
The ship was creaking and groaning like it never had before. I was sure it was going to break open and spill us into the sea.
Dad got Wendy back from the storage room and we all gathered in our bedroom, Dad taking one of the lower beds. Somehow, among all this noise and confusion and fear, we were supposed to sleep.
I think I did, although I couldn't tell at first. I was in this nightmare where the room around me swayed and swirled, and water drenched me from every angle, and the darkness was filled with terror. Then the dream changed, and I knew it was a dream, because I saw the glow of a firelit torch ahead. It was held by a man with a wooden leg. Even as I looked he turned, facing his one glittering eye on me. He growled, and raised the sword in his left hand...