Free Voyage of Ice by Michele Torrey

“I'd be almost twenty-one years old.”
    “If ye live that long,” said Briggs under his breath.
    I ignored him. Briggs was always trying to provoke me. I wanted to tell him to mind his own ugly business, but we didn't need a fistfight in the whaleboat. We'd end up in the water and get frozen solid.
    “Captain Thorndike don't care how long we're out here,” Briggs continued, his voice a mite whiny, muffled in the fog. “He's got his family along. He's got good food. Not this hard bread and salt beef that would choke a dog. Then, like he's the king of his kingdom, he throws us some rice and bugs once a week like that's good enough for the likes of us.”
    “Now, Briggs,” said Sweet, “don't be a-riling folks. Just sim-mer down, or I'll have to dunk ye overboard to cool off.”
    “Besides, Briggs,” said Dexter. “Seems like the food was just fine to you until you got demoted.”
    “Why, you little—”
    “Enough!” hollered Sweet.
    The boat settled into silence. Pistol shots and bells and horns still sounded all round us. Irish crossed his arms and settled down as if for a nap. Through the fog I vaguely saw Garret sprawled against the bow, chewing on a toothpick. “I'm just saying,” said Briggs after a while, “I'm hungry all the time. The captain don't feed us near enough.”
    “Why don't you go talk to him about it?” asked Dexter.
    “What, and get my face smashed again?” Briggs' voice was laced with anger. “I'm tired of it all. The old man has everything he wants, while we do all his dirty work.”
    “Captain's got his own troubles,” said Sweet as he lit his pipe. The tobacco glowed orange through the fog.
    “Pardon me if I don't feel sorry for him,” said Briggs.
    “Fact is,” continued Sweet, “his wife's taken ill. His daughter, too.”
    I sat up, my breath catching. “What do you mean?”
    “Just heard they had some fever. Cole says they're at death's door.” Sweet coughed out a lungful of smoke. “I always figured women was too weak for the whaling life. Injures their delicate constitutions.”
    I lay back, the blood draining from my face.
    “Oh, by the way, Bones,” said Sweet, reaching into his coat and pulling out a folded paper. “Duff said to give this to ye. He's been a little under the weather himself. Sorry, but I've had it a few days.”
    It was a letter, sealed with red wax, stamped with a curli-cued
E.
    I took it from Sweet, turned away from Dexter, and opened it. The handwriting was scrawling, shaky, ink splotches here and there.
    Dear Nicholas
,
Please come see me.
    Affectionately, Elizabeth
    Hands trembling, I looked up, aware that everyone was staring at me, expecting me to say something.
    I stowed the letter in my coat pocket and looked away. Blood pounded in my ears.
    Dexter whispered, “Don't even think it.”
    I ignored him, staring out into the fog, thinking,
Soon as I get aboard the
Sea Hawk,
I'll go see Elizabeth. Thorndike can go to hell.
    The next day, when the fog lifted, we returned to the
Sea Hawk.
    A whale was alongside, caught by one of the other three whaleboats. As I stepped aboard, commands fell fast and furi-ous. Men ran here, then there. Heavy chains clanked and rattled across a deck coated with oil and blood.
    Thorndike stood by the gangway talking with Cole.
    It was a perfect opportunity to slip below.
    With a quick glance round, down the companionway I crept. At the bottom was a small door. Hands sweaty, I unlatched the door and peered into the captain's cabin, half expecting Mrs. Thorndike to be standing there ready to scream. But the cabin was empty. I stepped inside and shut the door.
    The cabin was a far cry from the fo'c'sle: whitewashed, low-ceilinged, with a red velvet settee, a captain's desk, a stove, and a piano. Doors led off from the cabin. I figured Elizabeth would be in one of the two port cabins.
    But which one?
    Taking a deep breath, I opened the forward door an inch and put my eye to the crack. The cabin was small, no