The PriZin of Zin

by Loretta Sinclair

  Ian nodded again. “Why do they call it Zin?”

  “Zin be a wilderness.”

  “A wilderness? Down here?”

  “Aye. Any place where thar be no hope is a wilderness. I hear tell it be a place of despa’r an’ misery. Ye’ll not be want’n to go thar, sure.” Peg Leg turned to leave. “Git ye some rest, son. Be a big day tomoree.”

  Peg Leg limped away, leaving Ian at the rail. Unable to get his mind off Morgan, he stood for a long time watching the pattern of the water against the hull of the ship. As the bow sliced through the water, it churned up bubbles against the side of the great ship, splashing tiny droplets all the way up onto his face. The cool water was refreshing. Silence all around him, Ian could hear the bubbles popping as they hit the ship, each with a sound unique to itself.

  Pop.

  Snap.

  Spit.

  Ping.

  Help.

  Help? Now he knew he was tired. Ian shook the grogginess from his head. He leaned over a bit further. Just one blast of cold water against his face, then he’d be off to lunch with the crew.

  Snap.

  Pop.

  Help.

  Ian froze. This time he was sure he’d heard it. He looked down into the water, but saw nothing. The voices kept coming.

  “Ian. Where are you? Help us.”

  “Hunter. I’m here!” he yelled back.

  “Ian?”

  “Mr. Welch! I can hear you!”

  “Ian! Find the others. You can’t save me but you can save them.”

  “Where? Where do I find them?”

  Pop.

  “Ian. Ian, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Mr. Welch, I’m here!”

  Snap.

  Glurp.

  “Find them! Find them before it’s too late!”

  “But how? How will I know?”

  Pop.

  Spit.

  Pop.

  Silence.

  All voices stopped.

  Ian stood tall. He wiped the ocean and the tears away from his face and turned back to his cabin. Lining the deck behind him were several members of the crew. They said nothing, but stared blankly.

  “Mermaid,” he said. “I’ve never seen one so beautiful before.” Ian had to leap out of the way as the men ran for the side to catch a glimpse. Leaving them behind, Ian stalked away, haunted by what he had just heard.

  He swabbed the deck in complete silence— alone. Very few people were around, and the ones who were, did not speak. It was late and everyone was tired. He decided not to wait for someone to tell him what he had to do. Perhaps if he got the deck cleaned from one end to the other, he would be so exhausted he could do nothing to fight off the sleep that had eluded him the night before.

  Or could he?

  Ian was still choked up about what had happened earlier today. He’d heard them. He knew he had. Hunter and Mr. Welch had called out to him through the surf. But how could that be? Ian dunked the mop back into the bucket. Empty. Picking it up, he went to the side rail and hurled it over, then slowly pulled on the rope to drag it back up.

  The ship was moving and the bubbles churning still. He watched them, mesmerized by the fluid motion of the water against the wooden hull.

  “A beaut’, ain’t she?”

  Ian turned to see Captain Peg Leg standing at his side.

  “Yes, sir. She is.”

  “What ails ye, young ‘un?”

  Ian shrugged his shoulders, not sure how to answer.

  “Be it the spy been ‘et from that serpent?”

  Ian shook his head. “No. Not that.”

  “Then ye heared ‘em. Did ye not?”

  Ian looked to the elder seaman, but dared not to speak.

  “Aye, then. It be so.” Peg Leg motioned for Ian to follow. Yanking the bucket back onto the deck, he dropped it at his feet and followed the Captain to the wheel.

  “I hears ‘em from time to time, too.” He picked up the lunar sextant and looked toward the skies, trying to set their position. “When the sea calls to ye, best be listenin’, lad.”

  “How do I know what it’s telling me?”

  “Weel, then. That’s when ye be ‘cypher’n.”

  “’Cypher’n?”

  Peg Leg nodded. “Aye. Listen fer that that wee voice inside ye. Mos’ folk it tells right from wrong. But if’n ye listen weel ‘nough, it guides ye through the storm, it will.”

  Ian was silent while he contemplated this new thought. “What if you don’t have a wee voice?”

  “Got to, man. Ever’one git one from the Great Capt’n up thar. Mayhaps ye have not found yers yet.”

  “How do you find it?”

  Peg Leg raised a finger to his lips. “Shhhh,” he whispered. “Listen.”

  Ian lingered by the Captain’s side for a few minutes more, then turned to head back to his duties.

  “Make sure the deck be a’shinin’. Mayhap be celebratin’ later on.” Ian nodded. Still disheartened, he went back to his mop and bucket.

  Chapter 20: Gauntlet

  gaunt·let [gawnt-lit, gahnt-] noun

  a medieval glove, as of mail or plate, worn by a knight in armor to protect the hand; take up the gauntlet; to accept a challenge to fight, to show one’s defiance.

  “Yo, ho. Yo, ho. This meetin’ of the ship council hereby is called to order. Summon the yung’in.”

  “Come, boy,” Toothless said, taking the mop away from Ian. They turned from the rail to face the entire crew.

  “What’s going on?” Ian’s voice wavered a little as he eyed everyone from the Captain down to his fellow swabbies.

  “He ain’t ready, Cap’n. I says nay.” Rumblings of aye and nay mumbled around the deck, with all eyes on Ian. His face flushed, feeling as red hot as his ruddy hair.

  Peg Leg raised a silencing hand. “We ain’t e’en done asked the boy does he wants to yet.”

  “Weel, boy. Does ye?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Aw. He ain’t e’en know’d what we’s doin’. How kin he be joinin’ us likes that?”

  “Join you? You mean,” Ian’s heart skipped a beat, “be a—, a—“

  Peg Leg’s stump slammed down, silencing the crew. Again his hand went up.

  “Step forwards, boy.” Ian felt hands pushing him to the front of the crowd. Here he faced the Captain straight on. “We seems to be in needs of an extr’ deck mate, son. Since ye did prove ye be naught a spy, it be up to the crew here whether’n they be willin’ to vote ye on board as their kin.”

  “I say nay! The boy ain’t fit yet.”

  “Ain’t fit how, MacKenzie?” Peg Leg eyed his ship’s first mate.

  “He be angry inside. Cain’t be a fight’n all times.”

  “I’m not angry,” Ian snapped. When the crew stifled their laughter, he lashed out again. “I’m not! Stop laughing!”

  “Aye,” Captain Peg Leg agreed. “Mayhaps ye have a point ‘er two. The question be is, can ye hold it?”

  All eyes turned to Ian. He felt the heat of their stares against his still flushed cheeks.

  “Ain’t but one way to find out, Cap’n.”

  “Aye,” he smiled down at Ian. “The gauntlet, it is.”

  Ian tried to wiggle free as he was forcibly led across the deck.

  “What’s the gauntlet?”

  “Oi, simple mate,” Toothless grinned. “We takes ye to the bowels of our ship here, and ye finds yer way back up top, ye does.”

  “That doesn’t sound too hard.”

  “Aye, lad. Buts ye does it without gettin’ angry at nobodys, ye does.”

  “And if I do it, then I get to join you?”

  “Aye,” Captain Peg Leg said. “Do this and ye be a full-fledged member of the crew. Our spoils is yer spoils. Sails to the ends of the world and back wit’ us, ye will. But ye must control that tempers of yers, or ye’ll never make crew wit’ us. Does ye agrees?”

  “Of course!” Ian jumped at the chance. “When do we go?”
>
  “Rights now!”

  A cloak was thrown over Ian’s head and he was wrestled to the ground. Muffled laughter was all he heard as he fought to free himself from the dark, dank smelling hood. “No!” he screamed, but the laughter only increased.

  “Too lates, lad. Ye’s already agreed.” Ian recognized Peg Leg’s distinctive voice. “now off to the ship’s bowels with ye. And don’t be long. If’n ye miss dinner, it’ll be shark bait wit’ ye.”

  Bump.

  Thump.

  Bang.

  Bump.

  Thump.

  Bang.

  “Ow!”

  Slam.

  Bump

  “Stop!”

  Ian bounced down the stairs, dragged again by his captors, still tied up in the canvas cloak from the deck. They seemed to care little for his welfare as he bounced down the stairs and across the wet deck below. Again, he was hurled into a room. Behind him, the door slammed. Ian heard the distinctive click of a lock. After a struggle, he managed to wiggle free of the covering and look around.

  Great. Right back where I started.

  Moldy fish smell and the stink of salty air still lingered in the tiny room where he’d been sleeping. Again it was dark, as it was on his first night aboard.

  Ian stood, felt his way to the door and tried the cold latch. Locked. How on earth was he supposed to make it out of here? He’d tried before. There were no loose boards, or portholes; no escape that he could find.

  “Let me out!” Ian screamed.

  Snickers came from the other side of the door.

  He sighed. Toothless. Again.

  Ian could feel the anger rising inside of him. Balling his fist, he slammed it into the door, shaking the entire wall.

  “Twer that a knock?”

  “Nay. Twer more likes of a bang.”

  “’Er, ye sure?”

  “Aye.”

  “Mayhap he tries it ‘gain. Then we’s bein’ sure.”

  Knock and the door will open, Alistair had said. Seek and ye well find.

  Could it really be that simple?

  Ian stood silent for a moment. It could be a trap. But then it could not. His only other choice was to wait, and then become shark bait. He raised his hand and rapped lightly on the door.

  Click.

  The lock slid and the latch turned. Swinging wide, Ian came face to face with Toothless and his partner.

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Ian smiled.

  “Why would ye want to be such?” The look of pure confusion on Toothless made Ian laugh. He walked out of the darkened room, past his captors and into the passageway. One step and his feet slid out from under him. Down on his butt he went landing hard.

  “Ohhh!” Ian put out his hands to try to stand, but they slid across the deck, too.

  Greased.

  He raised his hand to his nose. The rotting fish smell almost curled his hair. At least he knew where it was coming from. Those barrels, he thought. Turning his face away from the rancid odor, Ian planted his feet against the floor and pushed himself up again.

  Slam! He went down hard, hammering his forehead on the deck.

  The laughter of the crew echoed through the hold. “Whale blubber, lad!” One moved in for a closer look, and he, too, ended up flat on the deck. Ian watched as he tried to stand time after time, with no success. This stuff was so slick each time he tried to move, the pirate crashed back down, to the sheer delight of the remainder of the crew who were all watching.

  “Help me!” Ian screamed. Scrambling up, he slid down yet again on an already sore backside. Ian yelled at the top of his lungs, and punched the slick floor with all his might. “Get me out of here!” he ordered.

  “Be that anger?” Toothless looked to his fellow deckmates.

  “Peers te be.” The crowd settled. “Fish bait, sae soon. ‘Tis a sad day fer the Wayfarer, it is.”

  Ian fought to calm himself. He thought for a moment, then decided to stay low to the ground. Rolling over onto his stomach, he slid his hands across the deck looking for small finger holds in the wooden planking. Finding them one by one, he pulled himself, sliding across the floor. With some patience and persistence, he managed to get to the other side. He stood, looking back at the motley crew across the deck.

  “So there!” he shouted back at them. “I can do it!”

  Shouts of anger now rose from the crew at his taunting. One by one, they tried running across the slick deck to Ian, crashing hard, and landed one on top of the other. He laughed out loud at the sight, provoking their anger even more.

  “How dares ye laugh, swaby! Waits tills I gits ‘cross this deck. I tans yer hide, I’s will- - -”

  He was cut off by Ian’s laughter. “You can’t even get across the deck. How do you think you’re ever going to catch me?”

  “Oh, I catch ye, sure. And when I does - - -“

  “When you do, nothing!” Ian yelled. “You’re too stupid to get across the floor.”

  “I’s not.” The booming deep voice both startled and frightened Ian. He swung around to run and slammed into the chest of the biggest pirate he’d seen yet, his battered and sore face bouncing off the man’s rippling chest muscles. Ian staggered backwards, stunned by the force of his stance.

  “Ye kin go backs to thems,” he said. “Or ye kin goes through me.” He smiled broadly. His darkened, dirty teeth sickened Ian. Opening his mouth to speak, his reply was cut short by the pirate-mountain in front of him. Ian was once again grabbed, hurled high up in the air, and slammed down on to the ground, the mountain man dropping on top of him.

  Ian was surprised that he wasn’t hurt. He’d expected to be. It wasn’t really a fight, but more like the wrestling matches he’d seen at school. Ian knew he was just pinned to the ground. He would have to find a way to wiggle to freedom.

  Ian held his breath, mustered all of his strength and shoved the man as hard as he could, letting out a primal scream in the process.

  Nothing. The mountain didn’t budge.

  He tried again, screaming louder and kicking with his legs.

  The only movement that he felt was the giant chest bouncing when the man laughed.

  Ian’s anger flared and he flailed, kicking and screaming until he had completely worn himself out.

  Nothing.

  Ian felt his strength drain from him. He’d lost. He might as well just give up now. They would kill him, throw him to the sharks, and carry on as though he’d never been there. What an adventure this was turning out to be. He couldn’t even become a pirate. Tears welled up in his eyes, and tickled his cheeks as they fell to the floor beneath him. Raising one hand to wipe them away before any of the pirates saw, Ian’s hand brushed against the giant’s midsection. The mountain cringed and giggled, sliding part way off Ian.

  “No fair,” the pirate protested, moving to regain his position of superiority.

  Ian tickled him again. Again, the pirate cringed and giggled like a little girl, ducking to cover his tender spots. Zeroing in on his prey, Ian laughed as the pirate laughed when both sides of his giant trunk were savagely attacked. The enormous man curled up in a ball and rocked from side to side, trying to keep Ian’s wiggling fingers from touching him. When he had sufficiently incapacitated his opponent, Ian turned and bolted up the stairs toward sunlight and the upper deck of the ship. Perhaps he could join their ranks, after all. Bursting through the opening, he froze, staring at what awaited him on the other side.

  Chapter 21: Matey

  mate·y [mey-tee] noun, plural mate·ys. Chiefly British Informal .

  comrade; chum; buddy.

  Ian was met at the top of the landing by the remainder of the crew circled around the open hatch. In the middle, with him, were two fighting pirates. This was no wrestling match; this was a full-blown fist fight, one man relentlessly pummeling the other into the deck. Ian jumped back out of the way as a fist flung through the air, barely missing his own face, and slammed into an already swollen and bloodied face
just inches from his own. He joined the circled ranks.

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Nothing? Why is he being beaten up then? That doesn’t make any sense.” Ian’s rising alarm at the man’s condition prompted him to step forward without thinking. “Stop!” he commanded. All eyes turned his way. A deathly silence fell over the crew as everyone awaited Ian’s next move.

  Ian recognized the man through his swollen and battered face. He was a member of the crew. He had been with Toothless that first night.

  “’Er ye willin’ to take his beatin’ fer him?”

  “Why are you beating him?”

  “’Tis his test to join wit’ us.”

  “What kind of test is that?” Ian could not hide the shock and surprise in his voice.

  “Be he a coward. Ain’t no place fer no cowards herein. We’s needs to be knowin’ that he kin take what’s dished out fer him in a fight.” The man who was inflicting the beating drew closer to Ian.

  “So’s, will ye be takin’ his place?”

  “I will,” Ian said. “If you can explain to me why it takes more courage to stand there and allow yourself to get beaten, than it does to stand up for yourself and what is right.”

  “’Er ye mockin’ me, boy?”

  “Not at all.” Ian maneuvered his way off to one side, drawing the attention of the entire pirate crew away from the victim. He continued, “I just don’t understand the point of what you’re trying to accomplish. If a life of violence is the only reason this gang exists,” he winked at the beaten pirate, “then what is the attraction? Why are we all here?” As he continued walking across the deck, the surrounding mob of pirates followed. Ian turned to see the beaten man slip below deck alone. Turning back, he caught Peg Leg’s eye from the bridge.

  “I mean, don’t you all have a higher purpose?”

  “Huh?”

  “A reason for being together? A brotherhood? You know, all for one, and one for all kind of thing?”

  “Ye mean we all’s sticks together?”

  “Right,” Ian said. He pointed at the pirate in the crowd who’d had that great revelation. “You protect each other.” They all nodded. He heard rumblings of assent among the crew. “You stick up for each other.”