The first thing I wanted to do in the morning was vomit. Keeled over the side, chucked to the floor. I laid there, staring down at the floorboards, my body following the ebb of the boat. I stood unsteady and rested against his bed post, holding the end. Take the deep breath, you haven’t taken many yet. With fresh sea air sucked in, I walked out of the cabin room a free man on the free seas. Light fractured against the halliards of the ship. My own form coming beneath the shadow of splintered light. Men bronze and sweaty to his rears looking over the safety wire of the boats. Whistling to themselves, smiling, jeering as they lifted nets. Frowning when they were empty of catch save for a sardine or two.

A lackey - that lackey - caught me. He looked up and dropped the rag. Rushing to me, kicking the bucket of detergent he soaped with.

“Virgil, you’re up. You’re up!” He said.

I rubbed his eyes and cut the sun with my palm, bringing it down above my eyes. Vision adjusting to the child before me.

“Nando.” I said. “What time is it?”

The child looked up.

“Midday I’d say.”

“Midday.” I said. “Where’s Ritcher?”

“Who knows? In his cabin, methinks.” Nando looked at the horizon. The emptiness of the land before him. It would be two weeks before any of them were to see land. And it had been a few days last when they saw it, behind them and already the wreckage of Shrieker’s Veil was gone to the turning of the planet. The fire and the smoke, the blood and the steel gone to the ocean floor. The island would be next and then there would be nothing left of the ugliness of that remote hell. If there were any others who escaped, he did not know. If there was anyone that survived, he did not know. Having forgotten so much, one more memory gone didn’t seem so bad. Even a relief now.

“You hungry?” Nando asked.

“No.”

“You don’t look well.”

“It’s just a look.”

“So do you feel fine then?”

“No.” I said.

I passed them all up and tightened my tunic with a waist band, drawing a knot to my side as it went taut against my thin body. Emaciated wasn’t the word. Deflated was more like it. But filling, slowly, filling. Nando followed me down the ship to the opposite end, to the front mast and then down below where the cafeterias were full with the talk of soldiers. Raunchy things, often filled with laughter, fights. Things like that. Amongst the heads I found him. Head of the Rose Knights, Ritcher Wolfe. And he spotted me too. The shaggy, black haired man. Hellspawn. Lone survivor of Shrieker’s Veil (I’m still not sure of that). Nando stopped at the front of the cafeteria, near the doors. The division of hierarchy finally realized to him. He tugged at his wrist and leaned against the door frame.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The room went quiet as I walked. Each step a little alarm, a ticking clock. Now across from Ritcher, everything seemed dead. The men set stiff with hands full of food halfway to their mouths.

“You’re doing better.” Ritcher said.

“Relatively, yes. I am.”

“Do we need to talk privately?”

“No. Not at all.” I said. I rested my head against my palm.

“I just wanted to know how far we were.”

“You know how far we are. We’re two weeks away.”

“And you’re sure they’re not waiting for us?”

“They probably are. For you at least.” He dropped his spoon in his bowl. “We really should talk privately.”

“No need.” I said.

I lifted a bowl and grabbed a bit of loaf and plopped it down. Gravy on the side, poured over pea mash. I soaked it up and ate. To feel sick and hungry together was the worst. Usually one follow the other, both separate. Here both gnawed at my stomach, both taking monopoly of my suffering. As I ate things began to turn again, conversations coming to roars. The humanity of me eating, of me doing anything getting them more comfortable. This is why Vicentius ate with us. This is why it was so important: the humanity. Even if it was never there, even if we were just bugs and him the bird to peck and eat and throw away at his own discretion. I ate, things relaxed. Not for me but for them. I didn’t even have my blades showing. Though they were on me (always would be).

I looked after a plate. It was smeared brown and green, the texture like mush.

“I can’t stop them from asking questions any longer.” Ritcher said. “They want to know who the general of the Flock is. They want to know why we burned a prison down.”

“They can keep wondering. All I’m doing is bunking with you.”

“We can still throw you over, you know.”

“I can swim.”

“We can tie a block to your legs.”

“I’d gnaw my leg off.”

“A bastard like you would.” Ritcher said. “I bet a cold one like you could survive without his heart for days.”

“Weeks, even.” I smiled.

Ritcher leaned in.

“Just try to get along, please. It’s a long ride.” Ritcher said. “No tricks. Neither of us have anything more to give to the other.”

He stood and left and I said there. Picking at food caught in the gaps of my teeth, feeling the empty gums where my back teeth used to be. Feeling how loose some of them felt. Oh, all the stories these broken teeth could tell. And these scars. And these nightmares.

I felt my temple again. The skin raised where my scar was, of the night at the crossing.

Oh the stories to share, and amongst them king of all. The day Vicentius killed us all off.