Free The Castaways by Iain Lawrence

through the cannibal islands instead of straight to England from Australia. Slavery was the “new venture” that had sent him out to seek my father.
    The flies were settling now on the bodies below, and they gave a shimmering life to the limbs and faces and torsos. Skinned with flies, the people seemed to twitch and turn in their chains.
    I counted three or four children among the adults. They all lay on their sides, each facing the back of another, as one would arrange bananas in a row. All together there must have been three score, and I thought that all had perished. But I heard a rattle of chains, that chinking of iron that I would never forget in all my life, so often had I heard it on the wretched hulk
Lachesis
.
    I drew closer to the edge of the hole, sending more breadfruit tumbling down. A shift in the lantern’s light showed me a man unlike the others.
    Among the naked bodies, he alone was fair of skin, and he alone was dressed from head to toe. He wore a stocking cap and a crimson sash.
    At first glance he looked like Walter Weedle. I remembered how Mr. Beezley had stared in shock at his first sight of the red-clad Weedle, and I knew he had mistaken him for this man in the hold.
    I shook my lantern, listening for the slosh of oil inside. Finding plenty, I set it down at the edge of the door and clambered through the hole. The light chased the shadows from the man with the sash, and the flies went swirling again.
    The fellow was barely alive, as I soon discovered. It seemed to take all his strength just to open his eyes and turn his head toward me. He said one word: “Water.”
    I had brought none with me. But it was a simple task to squeeze the liquid from a spongy breadfruit, and wet his lips with that. He took it eagerly, even greedily, licking every drop. He sucked the breadfruit like a great teat, until the juices poured over his face and dribbled on the deck, then turned his head and slurped them from the plank.
    He had to catch his breath after that, wheezing in the foul air. “Thank you,” he murmured. “God bless you.”
    I told him my name and he blessed me again. He moved in his irons, jingling the metal as he reached for my hand. His fingers were cold as death.
    “The captain,” he said. “Where is he?”
    “Gone,” I told him. “They’re
all
gone, from the captain to the boy.”
    His eyes closed, and such a peaceful look came over him that I thought he had passed away. But he wasn’t done yet with his dying. “A dream, then,” he murmured. “I dreamed he was here. I heard his voice.”
    I gave him another drink. He managed to lift his head slightly, then eased back with a sigh.
    “Where were you captured?” I asked.
    He shook his head, as though he didn’t understand.
    “You were taken as a slave,” I said. “Where was—”
    “No!” said he. “Never a slave.” He tugged at his irons as he pulled me closer. “I was part of the crew, Tom. I was the cook.”
    “The
cook?”
I asked. “You kept the journal?”
    He nodded, just enough to set a tingle through his chains. “You found my story? Remember it, Tom, and tell them in England. Tell them everything.”
    “I will,” I promised.
    He settled back. Clearly, he had only moments to live. I found another breadfruit and let him drink its juice. “Did you know a man called Beezley?” I asked.
    “Beezley!” His eyes opened wide. His voice became harsh. “Beastly, you mean! Of course, I knew Beastly.”
    Those were his last words. His breath gargled, and hishead fell back on the deck. With his hand in mine, his eyes like saucers, he had gone to his maker.
    I couldn’t escape him fast enough. I nearly
leapt
through the hatch. I lowered the door over the sight of those slaves and those flies, covered it quickly, and snatched up the lantern. All in a state, I flung myself out to the open air.
    Midgely and Boggis were waiting. Midge had his bucket, brimming with water that he’d drawn from the sea. The tail of its rope was