Free Hero by Alethea Kontis Page A

was stifling. “Fine. I will make sure Trix
wants
to come home before I tie him to a horse.”
    Peter nodded, taking her sarcasm as oath. “And protect Mama,” he added.
    “Mama doesn’t need protection. She could kill a bear by staring at it.”
Or by telling it to die.
    “Will you please think about someone other than yourself for five seconds?”
    “I’m thinking about Trix,” said Saturday. She hadn’t stopped thinking about Trix; the guilt and litany of unanswered questions were taking their toll on her.
    Peter growled at the ceiling. “Gods, you drive me mad.”
    “That makes me glad,” Saturday rhymed.
    “You make me sad,” said Peter.
    “I’ll find our lad.”
    “I’ll stay with Dad.”
    “You’re going to miss me so bad,” said Saturday, even though she really meant it the other way around.
    “Yes, Whirlwind, I am.” He caught her up in a hug and then stared at her face, as if memorizing it. She did the same, etching in her mind her brother’s sky-blue eyes, his wind-tossed sandy hair, the line of his eyebrow, the curve of his lips, the shadow of stubble on his dimpled chin, the freckle beneath his right eye. He hugged her again. “Don’t forget about me while you’re off adventuring.”
    “I’ll bring you back a chest full of gold and a pretty girl to keep you company.”
    “See that you do.”
    She wanted to linger with her beloved brother, but the moment Saturday slid her arm through the strap of her bag, the compulsion to comply with Mama’s order became irresistible.
    “And one more thing.”
    “Seriously, Peter?” Saturday walked backwards down the steps so that she could see her brother deliver whatever preposterous addendum he had in store.
    “Try not to stink too badly.”
    “I will sleep with pigs, just for you!” She leapt down the last half-flight and sped across the sitting room with Peter hot on her heels.
     
    “I think I’m going to be sick,” Mama said on the skiff to Thursday’s boat. She had finished braiding Saturday’s long hair and was now unable to distract herself with anything else.
    Thursday patted her hand. “I’m sorry, Mama. This new sea is a rough one. Once we get to the ship you can lie down in my quarters. My cabin boy will fetch you anything you need. And if she gives you any lip, you have my permission to throw her overboard.”
    Mama smiled a little at the jest, but kept her lips tightly shut. Her skin turned faintly green. She breathed deeply, swallowed hard, and pinched the skin between her left thumb and forefinger. Why didn’t she just tell herself to not be sick? Mama’s stubbornness truly knew no bounds.
    Erik worked hard at the oars, fighting the waves that tried unceasingly to punch and toss them back to shore. Mama pushed Saturday away to heave what remained of the accursed porridge over the side. The shove caused Saturday’s sheathed sword to knock into the side of the skiff and almost topple her into the water, but Erik’s hand shot out to steady her.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    Erik only grunted before returning his attention to the waves, and Saturday officially gave up being polite. She was about to board a pirate ship, after all.
    Once on the ship, Saturday was glad to have her sword at her side to keep her from succumbing to the sickness that already held Mama in its thrall. Thursday ushered Mama into her quarters at what Saturday assumed was the front of the boat. The aforementioned cabin boy was a skinny little thing in a stocking cap, but Thursday expected her to lug Mama’s belongings anyway. Saturday had offered to help, but the cabin boy just narrowed her big blue eyes and gave a scowl worthy of Saturday’s own.
    Realizing her assistance was neither required nor wanted, she excused herself to explore the deck of the ship. The rest of the crew busied themselves around her, calling out orders she didn’t understand. Saturday held fast to the railing and turned her face into the wind as the sails caught and moved