Riven Isles

13 | Confrontation

Leslie tells me my sea legs are coming in all right. As if I'm a tadpole sprouting into a frog. As if I'm actually growing new legs. In a way, I suppose it does sort of feel that way. The first day was when they had started to wobble and fail beneath me.

They hadn't been much better the second day, and on the third they had pretty much turned to lead, which had made swabbing the decks (which I apparently have to just keep doing no matter how bloody clean I've made them) quite a challenge. And I'd had to do the dishes, too. I don't mean to whine or complain or whatnot, but Simon was supposed to be cleaning up after the meals, not me. But, there he is, letting me pick up around him without lifting a finger, other than to wave the stupid pistol of his as if it makes him some glorified celebrity. Except, the 'fans' don't rush to him for his autograph; they scatter. He sits and reads and scares people away, and mutters about filth and disease and werewolves.

Then I have to clean up his teacup and his bowl and his spoon, like a servant. Lydia helped me out with the dinner dishes on the second and third nights, Elian Arrow, a kind assistant to Barker, helped me at every meal with the dish washing, and the doctor helped me on the fourth night. He tried to say something to me about not holding anything against Simon, but I didn't listen because it was too late for that. I was hot and bothered, and tired, and sore, and my voice was whining constantly without my say so, so I just shut my trap and avoided speaking. The men laugh at me when my voice cracks and there is nothing I can do about it.

And the captain! The wretch! Whenever he is on the deck, or when he bothers himself to join the crew in the dining area, he is watching me. And when I was, these last days, pushed around by rude, grunting sods, he would just raise an eyebrow, or smirk, or wink. When they made messes especially for me to clean up, for no reason, he'd do nothing. If he's so interested in me, why the hell does he let me get picked on? He doesn't speak to me at all, and he laughed when I tried to speak to him, so, no, I don't feel great about it.

On a brighter note, at least I'm walking confidently on the deck, now, and below, too. No more staggering or vomiting. I've etched six lines into the wall beside my bed. Every morning, when I wake up to the increasingly more sickening fish people fumes, I etch one more line, because there is literally no other way to perceive time. I didn't bring a calendar with me, and I don't know what day of the week it is. Well, I suppose we left on a Tuesday...

As for the fish people, I can't stand to look at them and avoid them like the pox. It isn't difficult, because they tend to disappear, keeping to themselves. Maybe you're curious as to why I'm so put off. I'll tell you why. On the fourth day, see, I'd tromped down to the cabin, and found a green light coming from under the door. I hadn't thought about what it might be and had just barged into the cabin (as I have every right to do at any time, because it's just as much mine as it is theirs!). And Rootwig's giant dopey spectacles were off, and there were just gaping holes for her pupils, with lights shooting from them like lighthouse beams. Light was streaming from her mouth, too, and she was talking in her tongue, but with this dreadful monotone hum hanging over her 'words', and it was like I wasn't even there, but, I was, and it was terrifying and unexplainable, and it shook me so much that I've been checking for light underneath the door before entering ever since. She'd been holding her buoy, and I swear, there were people inside it.

Thenshie has attempted to hail me a few times, probably to discuss what I'd seen, but I keep scampering away and ignoring and avoiding her. She's tried in our room, too, but I feigned being asleep, and she'd given up. I haven't told anyone, but if I have to stay in a room with those psychos for another month, I think I'll lose my mind.

I'm glad they don't join the rest of the crew for mealtimes. According to Leslie, they eat fish stored in barrels in the bilge. Live fish.