Free The Lost Prince by Matt Myklusch

but eventually he succumbed to the heat just like everyone else.

CHAPTER 9
D RIFTERS AND G RIFTERS
    W hen Dean opened his eyes, he found himself in a much better place than the one where he had last closed them. In fact, he had somehow ended up in a better place than he’d ever been before.
    Saved? I don’t believe it. We’re saved!
    His vision was fuzzy, and it took a moment for the room to come into focus. Moonlight shined through the stained-glass window behind him, and oil lamps lit the room with a soft amber glow. When his eyes finally made their peace with the light, Dean wasn’t entirely sure if he could trust them. He was in bed, resting comfortably. He was safe, warm, and above all, dry. His first thought was that he was either dreaming or dead.
    Dean propped himself up in the bed, resting on his elbows. The bed was heavily laden with soft pillows and made up with clean sheets. As he pressed at the cushions beneath him, he realized someone had changed him into clean clothes as well. He felt the fine, smooth cuff of his sleeve. It was the kind of fabric One-Eyed Jack’s men took off trade ships during raids. He was on board a ship, and it looked as though he’d been given the captain’s cabin. Why? How long had he been there? Where were the others?
    Dean’s throat felt dry and scratchy. His questions would have to wait. Right now, he needed one thing and one thing only.
    “Water?” asked a voice.
    Dean’s head snapped around. His hands shot out. He hadn’t noticed the man beside the bed before. He hardly noticed him now. Dean saw only that the man was holding a tall glass of water. Dean swallowed it all down in a single gulp, then spit up at least half, choking through a violent fit of coughs.
    “Slowly,” the man said, patting Dean on the back. He refilled the glass from a pitcher on a table next to the bed, this time only to the halfway mark. He passed it back to Dean. “Just sip it to begin.”
    Dean nodded, feeling foolish. He knew a person in his condition had to take it slow with his first sip of water, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was so thirsty. Acting with a clearer head the second time around, he finished the short glass, kept it down, and drank another full one.
    “Thank you,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “I’m in your debt, sir.”
    The man waved a finger back and forth. “No. It is my honor to help you in your hour of need. More than you could possibly imagine.”
    Dean squinted at the man and turned the odd reply over in his brain. An honor? To help
him
? The man who had given him the water was old, but hale and hearty. His stark white hair and full beard made him look wise and worldly instead of withered. He had the tough leathery skin of a lifelong sailor but the build and bearing of a man whose life had not been long at all.
    “You are no doubt wondering who I am,” the man said.
    “I’m wondering why I’m in here all by myself. Where are the others? I can’t be the only survivor. Am I?”
    “Your mates are all safe on board this ship.”
    Dean breathed a sigh of relief. It was odd, but he felt real concern for Gentleman Jim and his crew.
Why?
He wasn’t one of them. The fact was he hardly even knew them, but the feelings were there just the same.
    “I believe introductions are in order.” The old man stood up and took a formal bow. “My name is Verrick. You are a guest on board my ship, the
Tideturner.
Please, if you would be so kind as to tell me whom I have the honor of addressing?”
    Dean furrowed his brow. Twice, Verrick had said it was an honor to have him on board. That was strange enough all byitself, but it was stranger still now that the man had made it clear he didn’t know who Dean was. “They call me Seaborne. Dean Seaborne.”
    Verrick raised an eyebrow. “Seaborne, you say? But that’s the name reserved for …”—Verrick motioned with his hands, searching for the right words—“for
fatherless
children.”
    Dean nodded. “I take it