Free Only the Worthy by Morgan Rice

lodged in
his chest. Royce glanced around at the hardened faces all around him and
wondered which one might be responsible. From the looks of them, it could have
been any of them. And probably, sadly, over nothing at all.
    Royce felt more
on guard than ever, realizing his troubles had not even begun. He was on a ship
full of professional criminals, boys who were being sent to their deaths, who
were desperate, who would kill over something small—or over nothing at all.
    “Forward!”
yelled a rough voice.
    Royce felt a
boot in the small of his back, and he stumbled forward as he was kicked. He
slammed his head onto a wooden beam, the pain blinding, and he felt himself
squeezed in from all sides. Suddenly the ship was hit by a wave, and icy spray
rushed over the sides and across the ship, dousing Royce, shocking him fully
awake. It was freezing, and the salt water stung his wounds. The water sloshed
on the deck beneath his feet and he lost his footing and suddenly fell flat on
his back, slamming his head on the wooden deck, unable to gain his balance with
his hands bound behind his back.
    The next thing
Royce knew he felt the pain of a heavy boot stepping on his stomach; panic
flooded him as he realized he might be trampled to death. Someone stepped on
his leg, another person on his arm, and Royce looked up and saw another boot
coming for his face and braced himself for the pain to follow.
    Suddenly Royce
felt hands on his back and was yanked back to his feet just before he was
stepped on. He looked over to see a boy about his age, with sad, sunken green
eyes and wavy black hair down to his chin. He did not look like the others
here, Royce was surprised to see; his eyes were filled with kindness and
intelligence, and he seemed to be of noble breeding.
    He smiled wide,
showing perfect teeth.
    “Close call,” he
remarked.
    Royce stared
back, shocked, as he breathed a sigh of relief.
    “You saved me,”
Royce said, stunned. “Why?”
    He grinned.
    “Mark’s my
name,” he replied, “and I hate to see them trample people. I figured it would
be a shame to let you die before you even had a chance to make it down below.”
    Royce nodded
back with gratitude and was about to thank him—when a moment later, Mark
himself was shoved across the deck by several guards. Royce tried to follow,
but quickly lost him in the thickening crowd.
    Royce felt
guards grab him from behind, yank back his arms, and he wondered briefly if
they were about to break them as the pain became more and more intense. His
heart quickened as he saw a sharp knife. Were they going to stab him? What had
he done?
    To his surprise
and relief they instead sliced the ropes binding his wrists; all around him
they sliced the ropes of all the boys. Royce immediately held his wrists out
before him, rubbing them, purple from being restrained, so grateful to have
them free. He wondered if things were going to turn for the better.
    But then he was
kicked again, and a moment later he found himself flying down into the gaping
hole leading below deck.
    Royce dropped
several feet, flailing through the air, and finally landed in the darkness,
hitting the ground hard.
    He slowly rose
and looked around, as more and more boys were thrown in all around him. It was
dim down here, this hold lit only by the light filtering down through the slats
above. He saw the faces of the boys already amassed down here, hundreds of them
on hammocks, hundreds standing, and hundreds more sleeping on the floor. He had
never seen so many people packed into such a small space in his life. It was
airless down here, and the stench was overwhelming.
    More and more
boys were being thrown through the hold. Trying to get away from the flying
bodies, Royce made his way deeper inside, stepping over people carefully. He
suddenly heard a dark laugh behind him.
    “What are you
avoiding them for, boy?” came a voice. “They been dead a long time.”
    Royce turned to
see the menacing faces of a group of boys