Chapter 7: Adrift on the Neptune

I woke in darkness, pain shooting through my body like fire, my wrists and ankles bound tight. The roar of rushing water echoed in my ears, mingling with the sharp snap of sails and the harsh cries of sailors. The world around me heaved and pitched violently, making me feel like I was tumbling endlessly in a storm. Confusion clouded my mind, but after chasing my thoughts through the haze of pain, I realized the truth: I was trapped in the belly of the ill-fated Neptune, a brig bound for destinations unknown, and the storm outside had risen to a furious gale.

As realization dawned, despair consumed me—a bitter cocktail of regret for my mistakes and searing rage at my uncle's treachery. The anger burned so hot that I once again slipped into unconsciousness.

When I came to, the chaos around me had not lessened. The ship rocked and rolled, my nausea compounded by the sickness of being an inexperienced landsman at sea. Those first hours aboard the brig were a torment to both body and soul, filled with pain and dread. I heard the thunder of a cannon, and for a fleeting moment, I thought salvation might come in the form of shipwreck or rescue. But the shot was no distress signal; it was a tradition of Captain Rowe, fired as the Neptune passed his hometown.

Bound and helpless in the ship's foul-smelling bowels, I lost track of time. The hours stretched endlessly until exhaustion finally pulled me into restless sleep.

---

I was awakened by the dim light of a lantern. A man—small, wiry, and perhaps in his early thirties—stood over me. His green eyes glittered in the gloom, and his disheveled blond hair added to his unkempt appearance.

"Well," he said, his voice a strange mix of sympathy and sarcasm, "how's the patient?"

I could only respond with a weak sob. Ignoring my despair, he set to work, cleaning and dressing the wound on my head with a surprisingly gentle touch.

"A nasty knock you've got there," he muttered. "But cheer up. You've made a rough start of things, no doubt about that, but it doesn't mean the game's over." He paused, studying my face. "Had anything to eat?"

The thought of food turned my stomach. I shook my head, and he handed me a tin cup of watered-down brandy instead. "Sip that," he said, before disappearing into the shadows.

---

Time passed in a haze. The ship groaned and creaked as it fought the sea, the air in my prison thick and choking. Rats scurried across the floor, sometimes brushing against my face, and I shuddered at the thought of them. My body ached from head to toe, the ropes that bound me biting into my skin like flames. Feverish dreams haunted me, mingling with the distant sounds of the crew above deck.

When the man with the green eyes—whom I later learned was named Liam Reed—returned, he wasn't alone. Captain Rowe himself followed him down the ladder, his dark eyes assessing me with a cold, calculating gaze.

"See for yourself," Liam said, gesturing at me. "Fever, no food, no light. He'll die down here."

Rowe crossed his arms, unmoved. "And? What's that to me?"

Liam's voice hardened. "It's everything to me. If you're determined to kill the boy, you can do it without me."

Rowe's expression darkened. "Watch your tongue, Reed. You forget your place."

"And you forget your humanity," Liam shot back.

For a moment, I thought the captain might strike him, but instead, he relented with a scowl. "Fine. Move him to the forecastle. But you'd better take responsibility for him."

Minutes later, I was carried out of the darkness and into the slightly fresher air of the forecastle. The men there were a rough lot—scarred sailors with coarse manners—but at least I was no longer alone.

---

Days turned into weeks as I regained my strength. Liam turned out to be an unlikely ally, offering what scraps of kindness he could. He had a biting wit and a sharp tongue, but beneath the surface, there was a flicker of decency.

The rest of the crew were less predictable. Some were kind, others indifferent, and a few downright cruel. Among them was a boy younger than me named Sam—a cabin boy whose wide eyes betrayed years of suffering. Sam had no memory of life before the sea, save for fragments of a home where his father made clocks. The sea had broken him, and the cruelty of the Neptune threatened to finish the job.

It was Liam who first told me the ship's destination: the Carolinas. My uncle had sold me into slavery, and I was to be put to work on a plantation, alongside other white men condemned to lives of hardship. The weight of it all threatened to crush me, but Liam's sharp humor and occasional words of encouragement kept me from sinking entirely into despair.

"Keep your chin up, kid," he told me one night as the Neptune battled yet another storm. "Life's a cruel joke, sure, but sometimes it surprises you. Just wait for the punchline."

It was a thin hope, but it was all I had.