Free Cast Off by Eve Yohalem Page B

place where only officers and important passengers were allowed to go.
    I took in great heaving lungfuls of sea air.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Bram whispered.
    â€œBreathing,” I said.
    â€œWell, do it quieter.”
    A fine mist hung in the air and clung to every rope and rail. The only sounds were the creaking of the hull and the occasional flop of a loose sail in the light wind.
    Bram pointed aft where Majoor stood at the rail on the quarterdeck, dimly lit by a horn lantern. Bram had explained to me that as officer on watch, it was Majoor’s job to oversee the steering of the ship. If the Lion needed to change course—unlikely in this calm—Majoor would wake the men on watch so they could adjust the sails and he’d call the order to the helmsman in the steering house. One of the oddest things I’d learned about ships was that the person doing the steering did it from a narrow cabin with no view of the sea. The officer on watch would tell him to head east or west or north or south a few degrees and he’d move the whipstaff accordingly, the whipstaff being a pole as tall as a man that shifted the ship’s tiller that in turn moved the ship’s keel—a piece of wood shaped like a fin that was attached to the ship’s bottom, which, when moved, shifted the ship’s course.
    It was all very odd indeed.
    I crouched down behind a pile of rope.
    â€œHoay, Mister Majoor!” Bram called.
    â€œThat you, Broen?”
    â€œAye, sir.”
    â€œO’Brian’ll be glad to see you.”
    There was a thud, followed by a shadow rising from the deck at the foot of the mainmast. O’Brian had come down from his post.
    â€œThink I’ll look out from the foremast tonight, Mister Majoor,” Bram said. “ Bene darkmans, O’Brian.”
    â€œ Bene darkmans, ” O’Brian said, yawning. He handed Bram the spyglass before shuffling off.
    Bram stowed the glass in his belt and whispered into my ear, “Hop onto the rail, take hold of the rigging, and climb it like a ladder.”
    The rail was a wood fence around the edge of the ship that kept people from falling overboard. Climbing onto it was easy enough. There were plenty of ropes— lines, I corrected myself—that I could hold on to.
    Swaying gently with the motion of the Lion, I studied the rigging, a grid of rope that stretched from the rail to the top of the mast. At least I assumed it went to the top, since the mast disappeared in the mist far above our heads. I reached out and tugged on the rigging. It moved.
    I glanced down at Bram, who gave me a thumbs-up. Whatever Bram claimed, climbing the rigging would not be like climbing a tree, since trees didn’t tend to do things like bounce.
    Bram gave me a little push. “Go on,” he mouthed.
    I put one foot onto the rigging and felt it sink. But I imagined the view from the clouds and willed myself to keep going. First one hand, then the other. And now the second foot.
    The rigging swung in toward the mast, and I squeezed my eyes shut, praying my nose wouldn’t break with the impact.
    To my relief, I stopped well short. I let out my breath and began to climb, one hand, then one foot at a time.
    After a few minutes, I felt Bram grab on below me. It was slow going. I’d no trust in the lines; they moved too much. Unused to this heavy work, I grew tired.
    I looked down, past Bram to the deck. He’d told me that the masts were close to a hundred feet tall. I’d traveled perhaps ten.
    One hand, one foot. One hand, one foot. Every muscle wound tight as a corset string. My arms began to shake and then my legs too. I looked down again. Twenty feet now, eighty more to go. Bram hung easily, waiting for me to take another step. I stopped.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Bram whispered.
    â€œI—I’m not strong enough. I don’t think I can do it.”
    â€œLittle Louis climbs all day. If he can, you