by Avi
I had no voice to speak. I wanted to cry. I didn’t.
Thad came up to my side, “He’s here somewhere. We’ll find him.”
“Hope,” I managed to say, then added, “Thank you for helping.”
“Ayuh,” he said. “Best friends.” Then he said, “Better get back to the beach.”
“Thad,” I said, “my father is due from the diggings.”
“When?”
“In a few days.”
“Ayuh,” he said again. I wondered how many meanings the one word — or sound — had.
“What am I going to say to him? Just, ‘Jacob’s gone. It’s my fault. Sorry.’?”
Thad shook his head. “According to Sam, you didn’t lose him. Someone took him.”
“It’s horrible.”
“What difference does it make? He’s gone.”
Fumbling, working hard not to slip and fall midst all the deck clutter, we got off the ship and into the rowboat. This time Thad took the oars. I sat in the stern, hugging myself against the chill, tense with frustration.
Without talking, Thad kept looking over his shoulder as he rowed. As we drew in, I could see someone on the shore, as if waiting for us.
It was Sam. He was standing there, bugle under his arm.
“I was going over to the Mercury,” he called as we drew in, “when I saw people out in Rotten Row. I was wondering if it was you. This your brother?” He meant Thad.
I shook my head. “My friend Thaddeus.” I turned to Thad. “This is Samuel. Sam. He’s the one who told me about crimping.”
Thad made a friendly nod but, in his way, didn’t say anything.
“Were you searching?” Sam asked me.
“A couple of the boats. But it got too dark.”
“You need light.”
As Thad and I pulled the rowboat up onto the beach, Sam stood there as if not sure what to do. For a moment, Thad hung back, then he went up to Sam, hand out. “Thanks for telling Tory about crimping,” he said, then added, “I’m Thad.”
Sam shifted his bugle under his arm, shook Thad’s hand, and nodded. “It’s not good.”
Thad said, “Really think Jacob got kidnapped?”
Sam looked at me. “You were in my tent. You notice how many beds there were?”
“Three.”
“One belongs to that brother I told you about.”
Thad said, “What happened to him?”
“One night he vanished. From the Mercury. Just like her brother.”
“Whoa,” said Thad.
“Don’t know for certain, but we’re pretty sure. Disappeared in September. Crimped. Not a trace.”
I stared at him. “No idea where?”
Sam shook his head.
Thad said, “Did you tell the police?”
“They’re not about to help colored folk.”
“That’s awful,” I said, even as I recognized the weakness of my words.
Sam said, “That’s why I told you about Kassel. Don’t want it to happen to your bother. Or anyone.”
“Jacob’s a kid,” said Thad. He turned to me. “How old?”
“Ten.”
“Can’t see what use he’d be.”
“Ship boy,” said Sam. “Some people, let me tell you, they like to be waited on. Can make a man feel important.”
I heard his deep anger. Not knowing what to say, I turned my back on the boys and stared out at the Rotten Row ships. Faint as they were, I couldn’t take my eyes from them. As I thought, Jacob is there, somewhere, I hated them.
“You going to search some more?” asked Sam.
Thad said, “Too dark.”
Sam said, “I might be able to get a lantern at the Mercury. Take a few minutes.”
I turned about. “Thank you,” I said, grateful.
“But going on those ships at night,” said Sam, “it’ll be dangerous.” Then he lifted his bugle. “I’ve got to work.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Thad said to Sam.
“One thing,” said Sam. “I don’t want Kassel seeing me with you at the Mercury.” He turned to Thad. “She”— he meant me — “explain who that is?”
Thad nodded.
I felt a stab of guilt.
“Let’s go, then,” said Sam.
“Sam,” I called out, “I made a bad mistake.”
“What?”
“I went to the police — Chief Fallon. I thought he might help me find Jacob. I told him he might have been crimped. When he asked me how I knew that, I was so upset that I let it slip that it was you who told me.”
The light might have been dim, but I could see Sam’s face fill with anger. “You told him about me?”
I nodded.
Sam spun away.
Mortified, I called, “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me. I . . . I hope nothing bad comes of it.”
“Me too,” I heard Sam say. He was still not looking at me. To Thad he said, “Come on. Let’s go.” His voice had changed. It wasn’t friendly. I felt awful.
The two of them started to walk away. I wanted them to be friends. I could hear Thad say, “That’s ghastly ’bout your brother. I’m from Maine. Bath. Where you from?”
I got back into the rowboat and sat on the center seat, staring bleakly out over the cove. I was angry at myself for betraying Sam and wondered if he would talk to me again. What if my talking to the police made more trouble for him? I thought of Jacob as well. Was he in a cabin on one of those ships? In the hold . . . ? Was he tied up? Did he have anything to eat? Did he know I was looking for him?
There I was, a fourteen-year-old, and for the first time in my life I was not just upset but mortified, deeply disappointed, not liking myself. I liked to think of myself as older, wiser. I was older, maybe, but obviously not wiser. Is distress the best teacher? Or pain? I had both. I had the thought: Does knowing you aren’t wise make you wise?
As I sat there, trying to sort my emotions, I heard footsteps crunch on the beach behind me. Startled, I spun around.
IT WAS SEÑOR ROSALES, CANDLE IN HAND. “¡Corderita! Is that you? Did you find Jacob?”
Though glad to see him, I shook my head.
He came up to me. The candle lit his face enough for me to see his concern. “What did you do?”
I said, “We searched two ships. But it got dark, so Thad went to get a lantern.”
“I have spoken to some friends. I hate to tell you, but they believe that Señor Fallon — the man we saw, the chief of la policía — he knows all about this business — this crimping.”
“The police chief?” I cried.
“It’s what I was told. That he, or his officers, take some of the money paid for those who’ve been stolen. Sobornos. Bribes. Same thing. I can’t say for sure. Do you wish me to walk you back to the tent?”
“Thad is returning. We’re going to search some more.”
“¿En la noche?”
“He’s getting a lantern. I have to keep looking.”
“Please, corderita, con cuidado — be careful.”
“We will.”
He hesitated, and then said, “Let me see you in the morning. Please, con cuidado. Otherwise I will worry. Buenas noches. I pray you find him.” He made a cross over his chest.
“Buenas noches, señor.”
I watched him as he moved away into the dark.
As I continued to sit in the rowboat, I thought about what he had told me, that the police might be involved in the kidnapping. Is there anything more appalling than believing that the people you think can help — should help — are your enemies? And what can one do when all you have is questions and no answers? And what if your brother’s life depends on getting at least one right answer? And what if my parents show up and the first thing they say is “Where’s your brother?”
I sat there feeling small and cold, not wanting to think because only bad thoughts came. Too many what-ifs.
“Tory!”
With a start, I turned. Along the shore, I saw a bobbing glow coming in my dire
ction. “Got light.” It was Thad. He lifted up a lantern.
I climbed out of the rowboat. Thad set his lantern into it. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Do you think we should try now, in the dark?”
“I thought we had to.”
“We do,” I said.
The two of us shoved the boat into the cold water, getting our feet wet.
I took up the oars and began to row.
“How’s Sam?” I asked.
“Finest kid,” said Thad, finest being his highest compliment.
“Is he angry at me?”
“Wasn’t happy. Did say if we didn’t find Jacob tonight, he might help tomorrow during the day. Works at night.”
Thad held up the lit lantern and stared out into the cove. “He had to come out of the Mercury to give me the lantern.” He looked over his shoulder to me. “Tory, he’s really worried about that Mr. Kassel. You shouldn’t have said anything to the police.”
I stopped rowing.
Thad said, “He’s sure that Kassel stole his brother. Sold him into slavery.”
“That’s horrible,” I said. “I wish I could help.”
“Wishing is what little kids do.”
His words stung. I had said something like that to my father. Knowing Thad was right made the pain worse.
After a moment, I said, “Señor Rosales came down here. He thinks the police know about the crimping. That they’re part of it, make money from it.”
“He know for sure?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
Thad looked at me. I could see he was troubled.
“Thad,” I said, “I have to know. Am I doing everything wrong?”
“You’re trying to do what’s right. I’ll give you that. Lot of folks don’t even try. Hey, if you don’t put something down on the table you won’t ever win.”
Feeling miserable, wrathy at myself, I took a deep breath and began to row. The plash of oars was steady. I kept thinking about Sam’s brother. And Jacob. I was tired of saying. I, who loved words, felt I’d used too many. Just wanting to do, I kept rowing.
Our lantern light didn’t reveal much. The cove water was black, made a little choppy by a rising wind, which whispered low and breathy, reminding me of a sick person. Overhead, dark, skimming clouds hid the stars and an almost-full moon. Some light came out of the city, scattering sparks here and there upon the water’s surface. Spits of cold rain sometimes fell and made me shiver. I wished I had my mother’s shawl.
After a while I said, “Where are we going?”
“Another ship.”
I sighed. “Just tell me where.”
Thad held up his lantern.
We were out into the cove, which was crowded with dead ships, their masts and spars a leafless forest, vanishing into the high darkness.
“That one,” said Thad, pointing.
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Closest.”
I stared into the darkness and saw the ship’s hulking shape. In moments, my oar strokes brought us up against its hull with a bump.
This ship was much bigger than the two we had already searched, soaring over our heads like a mountain cliff. When I looked up, I could barely see her masts — two, maybe three — which slid into the murky gloom. The wet wind whispered through her rigging.
I edged around the ship, looking for a ladder or a line such as we had used before. At first we found nothing, but finally Thad’s lantern revealed some drooping ropes, long enough so that they trailed into the water. He gave yanks to a few of them. One fell into the water and lay there like a coiled snake, only to sink.
It took a while, but he found a line that held fast when he pulled hard. He fastened its loose and slippery end to our rowboat so it would not float away.
I glanced toward the shore but could no longer see it. It was as if we were nowhere. “How are we going to do this?” I asked, peering up.
Thad said, “You hold the lantern. I’ll climb the line. Think you can follow?”
“Thad, I’m going first.” It came out angrily, but it was annoyance at myself for having nothing but bad thoughts.
Thad said nothing, for which I was thankful. I said, “When I get on deck I’ll find another line to bring up the lantern. We’re going to need light. Then you come.” I was talking as if I knew what I was doing. I didn’t really feel that way. I just wanted to move.
“I suppose,” Thad replied. I could hear his doubt and it bothered me.
Not wishing to think too much, I reached as high on the line as I could and grabbed it with two hands, grateful that it wasn’t wet and slimy.
I began by giving the line a hard tug to make sure it would not come free. It held. Then, sucking in a deep breath and using all the strength I could muster, I hoisted my whole body, until my legs lifted off our rowboat. Next I swung my legs in, so that my booted feet were flat on the side planking of the ship.
With my arms holding my full weight, I moved my hands one over the other, hauling higher each time. Thus I tugged myself upward, hand over hand, bit by bit, so that I actually walked up the side of the ship. The line was rough, my hands hurt, I was breathing fast, but I didn’t slip. I dared not. It helped that the ship’s hull was cankered — full of edges — which allowed my booted feet to gain purchase. All the strength from the hard labor I had done the past few months helped.
I tried not to think what I was doing, only that I was going up. The higher I went, the darker it became. It was as if I were climbing into the night. The farther I climbed, the greater the ache in my arms, making me think my body would pull out of my shoulders.
At one point my hauling was so agonizing, I considered finding relief by letting go. But I’d reached such a height that I was equally fearful of doing anything but continuing. I was afraid to look up. Or down.
Accepting that I had little choice save climbing, I pulled hand over hand, moving up inch by inch. The ship had seemed large when I first saw it. Now it felt gigantic.
I continued to yank and walk, yank and walk, step by step, until I came within reach of the topgallant rail. By then I was hiddy-giddy, my breath popping in puffs, my arms and sides in jangling pain. The only light, blurry in my tear-filled eyes, came from Thad’s lantern far below.
The last moment was hardest. And agonizing. I pulled my right hand away from the line, which meant I was holding my entire weight with my left hand. Then I grabbed the topgallant rail of the ship with my free, right hand, let go of the line, and as fast as anything I did in all my life, shifted my left hand onto the railing. Now, at least, I was hanging with two hands.
Heaving, pulling, and lugging desperately, I yanked myself up and over the rail, then tumbled down onto the other side of the bulwark, where I landed on the deck with a hard thud.
For what seemed a long time, I just lay there, my breath coming in rapid, shredded huffs. There was nothing but hurt inside and outside my body. I felt nauseous. My arms burned. My fingers numb and raw. I licked a finger. I think I tasted blood. Happily, it was so dark I couldn’t see.
“You all right?” I heard Thad shout. His voice came as if from a great distance.
I pulled myself up until I was standing, albeit shakily, and looked down over the rail. Thad was standing in the boat, looking up from what seemed to be a deep and narrow well of pale-yellow light.
“Tory? You all right?”
It wasn’t true, but I shouted, “Fine.”
“Get something to bring up the lantern.”
I looked about. It was hard to see much of anything. Then I saw, dimly, a tangled coil of line at my feet. I grabbed it and threw it over. I watched as Thad took hold of the end and tied it to the handle loop of the lantern.
“Pull her,” he called, which I did, halfway up the hull.
“I’ll keep it there so you can climb,” I shouted, and tied the line off. “Can you walk up the way I did? Use the line I used. It should hold.”
“I will,” he yelled, and began to walk up the side
of the ship.
At one point, he skidded — I think he was trying to move too fast, and his feet went off the hull. For a few moments, he dangled in the air, swinging like a clock’s pendulum.
My heart squeezed.
Somehow he managed to hitch himself around, threw his feet forward, secured a firm tread and a tighter grip on the line, then once again, he continued up.
It was as hard for him as it was for me. The big difference being that, at the last moment, when he was in reach, I hung over the topgallant rail, grabbed his wrists, and helped bring him aboard.
In moments, we were standing side by side on the ship’s main deck. Thad’s breath came in short gulps.
I was thinking, This is too hard, but I knew there were harder things to come.
THAD SAID, “I SLIPPED. SCARY.”
“You got here,” I replied, not wanting to talk about it. Instead I hauled up the lantern.
The lantern’s light enabled us to survey the ship’s deck. It was desolate and disorderly, with all manner of things strewn about: lines, wood, boxes, and broken barrels. Overhead, squinny and scranny masts and spars spiked up and away. The only sounds I heard were the ship’s timbers, grating and groaning, the way I imagined a person might sound when in slow and dying agony.
I thought, All these ships have been left to rot. But it’s not the ships that are rotten. What’s rotten is leaving them for gold.
“Come on,” I said, whispering, though why I whispered I wasn’t sure, save that it was an under-breathy kind of place.
Staying close to each other, lantern held before us, we walked about the upper deck with care.
We went from bow to stern and back again, searching as much as we could, trying to make sure we did not trip on litter and refuse. Our footsteps made squeaky creaks upon the deck planks.
At one point, I stopped and cried out, “Jacob! Jacob!”
No reply.
We found an open hatchway, the steps leading steeply down. I leaned over it, shining the lantern into the darkness.
“Jacob. Are you there? It’s me. Tory. Jacob!” It made my throat hurt to scream so. The only reply was an empty echo of my own voice.
I tried to decide if I should go below.
Thad, as if reading my mind, said, “We should check down there.”
