Spew

The air below hung thick with the rot of her own piss. When the deck fell silent, she clawed herself up the ladder, breached the hatch, and inhaled the cool night. Two men hung in their burlap beds, vibrating with the thrum of heavy snores. It rattled the planks, the only sound looming after the thunder quieted and the gun smoke faded. 

She belly-crawled up the steps to the open night. Her nostrils flared, drawing in the brine. Above, stars pulsed across the crowded sky; below, the tide slapped the hull. A sudden chill bit into her damp skin, raising a shiver of gooseflesh down her naked body.  

A bright cap snapped toward the sound of a fish splashing in the distance. Ife flattened against the planks. On a raised platform at the back of the ship, a man slumped toward the water. His white beard shone in the moonlight. She kept her head tucked beneath the wooden rail and slithered her way through the tangled mess. Coils of rope littered the deck. Chains and tools blocked her path. She slid beneath the longboat, squeezing through to a cask on the other side. 

Ife pried the cork from the bunghole. Cupping her palms under the warm stream, she gulped, then gagged and foam shot out her nose. The foul water fizzed, hissing onto the planks.

But Ife gambled on the rotten water. With her mouth against the cork hole, she slurped until her belly bloated. Then she bunged the barrel, wiped her mouth and spat.

Her stomach churned. A hiccup burst out. She clamped both hands over her mouth. Hiccup. The man still slouched forward above the quarterdeck, facing the water. With the stale reek dripping from her nose, she scraped herself across the damp timber, snagging her skin between the planks. Behind her, the man shouted, “Who goes there?” 

Ife lunged toward the steps back down. She lost her balance, tumbled, and slammed her chin against the hard edge at the bottom of the steps. Then, the quiet ripples lapping against the hull were shattered by the sharp echo of a watch bell.

“Intruder aboard!” the man roared, clanging the bell. “Rise and bear arms! Intruder aboard!” 

Half-naked men stumbled from their hamakas, wielding heavy clubs. Ife bolted back up the steps into a crowd of armed Englishmen swarming the deck.

“At the bow!”

Ife fled to the very tip of the bowsprit. The timber groaned, a long, creaky spar shivered underfoot. She leaned over the edge. Nothing but blackened water rolled below.

“What’s this?” A black-bearded sailor raised his lantern out, stepped onto the bowsprit, and crept toward her. Ife twisted away from the glare, shielding her nakedness. 

“Pray now. Look what the gods have sent,” the man said, stooping to thrust the light at her hips. Behind him, the crew lowered their weapons and mumbled. 

She turned herself further away, but he caught her by the jaw. With a tight grip, he wrenched her face into the heat of the lamp. “Quite a beauty she is.”

Silver sagging from his ears flared in the lantern’s shimmer. Ife jerked her head back, tearing her jaw from his fingers. 

“Casa, let us have our way with her,” an English voice called out. “Hear, hear,” another said. 

The lamplight washed out their faces. 

“Aye,” Casa said. “Is what we’ll do.” When he reached for her again, Ife slapped his hand away, spat in his face, and before he wiped, Ife drove her knee up hard between his thighs. 

Casa groaned and buckled over as she sprinted past. But at the foot of the bowsprit, the crew surged forward. Calloused hands clamped around her wrists and ankles, lifting her off her feet. She thrashed and clawed, but they pinned her limbs tight, carrying her. “A sturdy lass, this one!” 

They dragged Ife across the planks. Her toenails scraped along the deck. 

“Shall we have her here or in the cabin?”

The stench of their sweat choked her. Her stomach rolled. She shook and squirmed, lashing against their grip. She gagged and bile splattered across the deck. The sailors scattered as she thudded onto the planks.

“Verdomme!” A sailor spat, scrubbing his sleeve.

A young man stepped back, wrinkling his nose. “She reeks of ale.”

Casa, soaked by the brunt of the bile, drew his sword with a rasp. He loomed over her, his eyes narrowing. “First you spit and now you spew?”

Their boots slammed down on her hard, pinning Ife to the deck. The sour, viscous mess slicked their stockings and breeches. She twisted and flailed against their hold, trembling against the cold wood. 

“¡Mátala, puta!” Casa snarled, his blade arcing upward. 

“Halt!” a voice cracked like a pistol.

The sailors spun toward the quarterdeck. Heavy boots thudded against the planks as a figure stepped into the lantern’s ring. His loose shirt dulled with salt, his skin burnt and peeling, his pale hair catching the flickering light.

“What is this?” he asked, pacing down the line, measuring each man with a cold stare. “Hmm?”

The sailors fell back and he looked down at Ife, shivering and naked. Her braids matted with filth.

“‘Tis how you treat your kin?” the man asked, his voice guttural but hardened as steel. “Lay your weapon down!”

Casa curled his lip, sheathing his sword. Ife faced the planks, her bare back to the sky. 

“But Van Vries, she vomited on me,” Casa whined. 

“Spare your groaning! For the hurl has but masked your foul stench!”

A few of the Englishmen, barely boys, snickered. Van Vries shot the trio a sharp glare. They snapped themselves stiff and their grins fell. “Silence, you pissers.” He turned his back on them, his gaze drifting to the black beard. “Now, Casa—fetch some breeches.” 

Casa glared at Van Vries, then shoved the lantern into the nearest hand and spat onto the deck before slinking away. 

“When did you board my ship?” Van Vries asked, his voice lowered.

Ife faced away from him, into the seams between the planks.

“Speak. You drank our ale.”

He squatted, thrusting the light into her face. Through the glow, his blue eyes pierced the lantern’s smoke. She braced, waiting for the lash. The ship bobbed gently in the night breeze.

“Are you mute? Parlez-vous français? ¿Español? Is it English you speak?” He nudged her with his knuckle. 

Ife nodded with her eyes squeezed tight.

A bundle of cloth dropped onto the deck with a heavy slap. Van Vries straightened up. “Rise and clothe yourself. Tell me your name.”  

Ife opened her eyes and picked herself up, scrambling into the cotton breeches. She threw the canvas frock over her head and crossed her arms tight over her chest, glaring at the crew under the sky, bruising grey with dawn. 

He tapped his chest. “Van Vries.” Then he tilted his head toward her and raised his eyebrows.

She cleared her throat and whispered, “Ife.”

Van Vries cupped a hand to his ear against the wind. 

“Ife,” she repeated.

“Ife. Good. This is La Fortuna.”

Then he turned to the sailors, “Bring for her food and water. We sell her at port. Do not lay a finger upon her. Wake me for the anchor is weighed.”

His boots clomped away, striding toward his cabin before he paused, “And scrub that spew.”

The crew fell to their tasks. Ife glared at the young runt who brought her fresh water and a strip of salt meat. She sniffed the water before each sip and tongued the beef before each bite.

The sailors washed the deck, pipes clenched between their teeth. Casa pulled down his pants and shat through the hole in the bowsprit.

A man with a necklace of metal teeth approached Ife. Tugging on his own sleeveless vest he said, “Piet.” 

This well fed brawn had arms thicker than Ife’s legs and a bulging, hard chest, swelling against his own skin. His scalp gleamed under the fading moon. 

“Ife,” she said, gripping her frock. “What is this boat?”

“La Fortuna,” Piet said. “A free ship.”

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