Chapter Five

Lloyd was happily surprised by the quality of the produce, and soon the room filled with the deliciously scented steam of beef stew. It was basic recipe he had seen his mother use, and even though he knew he hadn't added the stocks and spices she had on hand, he could tell by the aroma that it wouldn't be unpleasant.

It had been a challenge to figure out the stove. The fire for cooking was contained in the hearth beneath and the smoke filtered away up the chimney through a funnel to the weather deck. The stove held a hot water tank and three ovens with hefty cast iron doors, heating the surfaces for the pans and kettles hanging near the surrounding pipe railings. 

To prevent heat penetrating the deck below, it rested atop a layer of sand and crumbling brick. 

Even Nathaniel had once admitted it was one of the most cumbersome and complicated pieces on the ship, which made him wonder why a man such as Higgins was able to operate it. Yet once it was mastered, Lloyd found it simple enough, so long as his eyes didn't wander too long.

Picking up a chipped bowl, he set it down nearby and pulled up the stool. The meat left a silvery oil atop the surface as it bubbled that remained there despite how often he stirred it. He grimaced, bringing the spoon to his lips to test the flavours. Rich meat and the earthy taste of root vegetable touched his palate, warming him from the inside out.

"Shame I haven't got any red wine," he said to himself, extinguishing the fire beneath the pot. "Would add an extra bite to it."

He ate slowly, savouring his first real attempt at anything more than throwing a plastic container in a microwave or opening a can. 

It was passable. It was hardly the mark of Michelin star chef, or even a chef at one of the midrange restaurants near him. But it warmed him and wakened his mind, clearing away the clouds and leaving him more prepared to work on his situation.

Outside the ship reeled on the turgid waves. The wind had risen and filled the tattered sails with new life, singing through the fabric as it rolled towards their next destination.

"I need to know more if I'm going to last here," Lloyd said to himself, cleaning up the remains of the peelings and dropping them into the empty bowl. "Knowledge is power after all." He forced a laugh. "Good thing, that's the only obvious solution here."

--

The helmsman was barely needed. The ship seemed to sail on her own free will and knew in her wooden heart where she needed to be. Perhaps linked with Nathaniel's own soul, sensing his movement before he spoke. All she needed was a guide, to ease her over the water and lessen her risk of injury.

Nathaniel emerged from his cabin, giving a curt nod of approval towards the wizened male at the helm. Dark skin drooped under his fixed eyes, as if he hadn't slept for an eternity, his fingers seemingly frozen to the wheel, red, raw and peeling.

"What have I said about keeping the goddamned rope in order?" Nathaniel snapped, snatching up a frayed rope, coiled like a cobra on the deck. "Someone will break their leg! I don't care if it ain't fatal, I don't want to deal with it! I ain't slacking on standards!"

Nathaniel fumed as his fingers attempted to unknot the coarse fibres "you'll end up ruining the blasted sails!" He a frustrated sigh he threw it down and glared at the crew "Sort it! It's your mess. In the old days it would have been round your neck!"

Lloyd winced as he reached the deck, slowly approaching. The anger was tangible and his heart raced.

""Give me the rope," he said, swallowing hard as he took it from the irritated figure. He stood there as he untangled the mess. His fingers were long and slender. Almost delicate, but also strong, and worked the knots out with ease. "If you have any tar or anything you can melt for glue then I can strengthen all this," he added quietly. "I've been around a lot of fishermen; you pick up a few tricks."

He felt the eyes of the crew, and most of all, Nathaniel's, on him, and the heat rose to his cheeks, feeling as though the blood scalded the flesh beneath the skin as the rope was taken back and studied sceptically.

"Not a bad job," Nathaniel turned the coil slowly and surveyed the damage, his voice softening. He added with a calmer voice "I suppose knots are easier with artists hands. I blame the calluses that develop over time with the others. Makes them clumsy."

Lloyd smiled lightly. "My hands aren't totally clean; I just have more patience. Perhaps not much more, but I know when I need to it."

Often, that knowledge made it harder and he remembered with ruefulness his exams. He knew, deep down, that he had rushed some of his practicals and essays. Those extra few minutes, less than half an hour in all, would have given imperative marks that could well have pushed him over the threshold for a scholarship, a ticket to a higher calling.

But no. There had been a new game or movie release that had played that decisive role in his concentration.

And now he worked in a fast-food joint, clawing to reach from the pit. Something he would do, even if his nails broke and his fingers bled. Yet it could have been so much easier.

"Where are you heading?" He asked, pushing the bitter thoughts aside. "Anywhere I know?"

"I don't know what places you're aware of, but I highly doubt it," Nathaniel continued his meander on deck, monitoring every movement of his crew. "This island ain't even named. Only the people there know it and they ain't friendly."

"Then why are you going?"

There was no answer to what Lloyd thought was a reasonable query, only a cold look that burned cold in his body. He sensed Thomas come to his side, gently guiding him away. He knew the look well and one didn't dare to push further unless they wanted to open the doors to a darkness that no light could brighten.

"A part of the curse must be met," Thomas whispered. "But he makes it as quick as he can, even with what the beast demands. He has compassion."

Lloyd looked down, his face clouding his disgust at the unearthly and unfair obligation. "If that's what you call compassion..." he muttered.

He thought it was cruel, to have innocent people suffer of a curse, and wondered which version of the old legend was real. He had heard several, ranging in the levels of gratuitous violence and lust, to more sanitised versions that children played. Some said that it was brought upon them because of great cruelty and for which he had to pay, others said that Nathaniel had an affair with a woman who had been a witch, and when he slighted her, she brought her fury down.

Now, the children suffered for the sins of the adults.

"Why are all of you cursed?" he asked his eyes filled with curiosity, he had always liked the witch version better, and now seeing how handsome Nathaniel was, it made more sense for Lloyd if he was a womanizer and had broken hearts of multiple ladies.

Thomas looked abashed and turned from him, not wanting him to see the gloom and despair that littered the bright eyes.

"Ask the captain," he answered with a curtness that surprised even him. "He'll answer when he feels the time is right. It is not my tale to tell."