Free Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales by Fran Friel Page B

from his bed, his bare feet on the cold floor, and wrapped his arms around her waist.
    "Thank you, Missus,” he said, holding back his tears.
    He would miss her and the inn. The work was hard, but he felt safe in this place. He did not feel safe knowing where he was going, being pulled away again from everything he knew.
    Still, a part of his fear was soothed by a secret excitement. His mother had warned him to stay away from the docks for fear pirates would steal him, but from time to time Will and his friends would sneak to the waterfront and hide to watch the men loading and unloading the goods. They were boisterous and often violent, so unlike his father had been, but their life at sea seemed an adventure to him and the other village boys. They played pirate in the creek behind the school house, waging battles, hunting treasure, and singing shantys they heard at the docks—songs their mothers would never approve.
    So Will's fear was mixed with the call of adventure. But when the men took him away, the look on Missus Cavender's face made him wonder if there was something more to worry about than he was aware of.
* * * *
    The ship's cook was assigned the duty of looking after Will, and he put him to work immediately. For hours, alongside the ship's crew, he loaded sacks of food and supplies aboard the ship. Some of the sacks and crates were nearly his own weight, but the sailors cursed him and pushed him out of their way, so he worked hard to look strong, dragging what he couldn't carry.
    Once the supplies were aboard, the cook handed him a mop and a pail full of water. Will's arms were so tired from loading the ship he could hardly lift the pail.
    "Get to swabbin’ the galley floor, lad. They'll be screamin’ for their grub soon.” The cook grinned at Will's sagging shoulders. “Go on, before the cap'n has ye flogged."
    Will dragged himself through the task of washing the filthy floor. As he shoved the mop under a table, a huge orange tabby cat darted out with a shriek.
    "Oh, sorry boy,” he said to the indignant cat. He knelt down and put out his hand. The cat flicked his tail and circled Will, finally rubbing his broad face across Will's fingers.
    "Well, if that ain't somethin',” said the cook from the doorway. “That cat don't bother with nobody. He's a mean bastard."
    "What's his name?"
    "That's Mog. The only reason we keep the blaggard ‘round is his mousin’ skills.” Heading back to his preparations, he made his voice gruff. “Enough of this bilge—when yer done with that floor, get in here. Supper ain't fixin’ itself."
    Will dragged the pail to the deck to empty it over the side. He had been below when they set sail, so he stood at the ship's rail, enjoying his first taste of the open sea while the wind cooled the sweat beneath his heavy coat. Since he had boarded the ship, the weather had improved and the sun had warmed the chill from the air. The smell of the sea and the power of the sails moving the vessel across the waves felt like magic to Will, but his pleasure was short lived.
    "Boy, what ye be doin’ on the deck?” shouted Rutt. “You've work waitin’ down below. And speakin’ a down below, I'll be seein’ ye in me cabin after supper.” He laughed a lusty laugh and the crewman on deck roared along with him.
    "I'll be waitin’ me turn,” shouted the man at the helm. His claim was echoed by many.
    Will wasn't sure what they meant, but he felt exposed and very small as the men leered and taunted him. With aching muscles, he lifted the pail and dumped the dirty water overboard. As he turned to go, a large gull lighted on the ship's rail beside him. He reached out instinctively and stroked its back. The bawdy laugher and joking from the men stopped.
    In silence they watched the boy stroke the gull, while another soon alighted beside him. He spoke to the birds in soft tones, hardly noticing the silence that had come over the men.
    Knowing the superstitious nature of a ship's crew, Rutt