I've been prosecuted for serious crimes on several occasions - once by royalty - and it's never a pleasant experience, but I think the most traumatic prosecution of my life was the time I was tried for trespassing and petty theft. At this point in my life, I wasn't unused to trauma. Quite the contrary - I'd experienced quite a bit of it in the past month and a half. However, this was my first time chained to the deck of a ship at night in the middle of the ocean with over a hundred people about to hear about my bad behavior.

"Does anybody here hold a rank higher than a captain on his own ship?" the mate bellowed. They'd already established that nobody outranked the captain just a few hours before, but the protocols had to be followed to ensure that 'justice' was observed. I hope you'll excuse me for being a bit cynical on the matter.

Looking out among the assembled crowd of sailors and passengers, out among the lantern-lit faces, I noted that Mrs. Sealie had decided to make an appearance. She still wasn't looking so well, but was in much better condition than the one other time I'd seen her, sweat-soaked and stumbling down the passenger corridor in a desperate attempt to make it to the privy before things started shooting out of one end or the other. Now, she only looked slightly ill, but that minor sea-sickness was tempered with equal parts anger and terror… not a pleasant trifecta to experience, I imagine.

"Think Mrs. Sealie will be able to help us?" I asked, hating how small and helpless I sounded in my own ears.

"I never been in this much trouble," Mailyn sniffled. She pulled on her chains with a miserable mewl.

Aldo shrugged. "I have." To reiterate: he'd once been stabbed in the face over half a loaf of bread.

We were each chained to an iron ring affixed to the deck. Our legs were free, but our wrists had been fitted with child-sized manacles attached by a long chain that ran through the ring. It's actually a terrible system for securing a prisoner, but most folks don't know enough escapology to take advantage of it.

The first mate recited our litany of offenses: trespassing, theft, assault, and interfering with the duties of an officer of the Gionian Royal Mercantile Corps. Yes, the first officer recognized us… not too difficult, considering that we were the only kids our age who'd been wandering all around the ship for the past several days… and included our interruption of him in flagrante delicto as somehow interfering with his duties. So far as I know, bedding attractive passengers is not part of the duties of a GRMC officer, but I've never checked their bylaws to confirm.

The first mate's declaration of testimony was then confirmed by the sailors who'd caught us in the overhold, followed by a presentation of the stolen handkerchief, which a tearful woman explained the disturbingly prosaic provenance of… it had belonged to her grandmother, who'd sewed her initials into it and gifted to her for her birthday shortly before she died. That was, more or less, the entirety of the story. You can buy a nicer hankie for three tollos at the River's Run marketplace or a dozen other spots in Floria.

"And is there any other aboard my ship who can offer testimony to either condemn or exculpate the accused?"

"Yes, Captain Chirar," a wavering voice called out. Mrs. Sealie wavered forward, clutching at a particularly robust sailor for support. "These…" she burped loudly and swallowed what I hope was spit. "These children are under my care. As you can tell, I am not in the best of spirits and have been…" she burped again. "I have been neglectful in my duties. I would be happy to pay whatever fine you deem appropriate…"

"Have you got the money aboard, madam?" Captain Chirar asked.

"I will have to…" she retched. "I will have to contact my employer…"

"And I will need to see coin before I can release them back into your custody," Chirar said, his gaze swiveling toward us. "But I will take your testimony into consideration. It is difficult deciding upon an appropriate punishment for three wayward children so young. But they are delinquent, and the law of the sea is clear: if you are capable of knowing right from wrong, you are fit to stand trial. After considering the testimony, I have decided to err on the side of leniency… that being the case, I find the two of you…" he pointed toward Mailyn and then Aldo… "guilty of trespassing, minor assault, and petty theft. I find you innocent of the interference of Mr. Barzono's duty." His eye flitted toward the first mate, a hint of annoyance furrowing his brow. "After considering exculpatory evidence, the punishment for this crime shall be two years' indenture. As for you…" Chirar's attention turned toward me. "I find you guilty of trespassing, minor assault, and petty theft, and moreover of blasphemy against the name of our Most Holy Avatar."

I was almost too shocked to say anything. Somehow, though, I managed to blurt out past my tears: "I'm not a blasphemy! I promise!"

"Your Selenite origins are clear enough to see, girl. But if you wish to offer exculpatory evidence, I'll hear it. Tell me… can you name three of our Avatar's blessed saints?" He held up three scar-worn fingers.

"Um…" Elzie and my tutor had schooled me well in Gionian and Selenite history, but had never touched much on the Avatarine faiths - why would they have? What I could recite of the Avatar and His Holy Word would have fit on the back of a matchbook. Still, I had to try. "Um… St. Albacore… St. Lethis… and, um… saint… saint… Sygmund! Saint Sygmund!"

Chirar rolled his eyes. "One who isn't venerated by a national holiday?"

"Ruhruh…" Mailyn whispered without moving her mouth. "Ruhruh."

"Saint Ruhruh!" I declared proudly.

I imagine Mailyn was trying to whisper St. Rory's name, one of the more easily-remembered. Even at that young age, though, she knew all of her saints. She has never been known for her ventriloquism, though.

Chirar pursed his thin lips and shook his head with a grave finality. "I find you guilty of trespassing, minor assault, petty theft, blasphemy, and perjury before this court. The punishment for this crime shall be ten years' indenture…"

"Ten years? I'll be old by then!" I wailed.

"That is my verdict. Who here can claim that justice hasn't been observed?"

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Me!" Aldo shouted. "That's a load of… of…"

"Do you want me to add a year for insubordination, young man?"

"N- no, sir," Aldo stuttered. Meanwhile, I wept into Mailyn's shoulder.

Chirar stood from his judge's chair. "Quartermaster Timo, please see that the prisoners are branded and moved to the hold. This court is adjourned."

At this point, I was too shocked to do much of anything beyond letting the sailors escort me down to Second Mage Awis'le. Aldo wore a grim scowl, though his cheeks were wet with tears. And Mailyn? She had the worst reaction of the three of us, screaming and thrashing enough that it took two big sailors to restrain her, and they had to put her down about a dozen times because she kept on giving off little flashes of energy - puffs of flame and arcs of electricity hopped across her skin, as if her unleashed emotions bled off magical energies into the space around her. One of the sailors shoved her away after a particularly potent crackle of sparks.

"Avatar's ashes! What's wrong with this one?"

"Magixya!" (Witchcraft!) the other spat in Kronojic.

"No matter - th' mage'll know how to deal with it. Come on." He shoved Mailyn in my direction and backed away, his clenched fist threatening what would happen if Mailyn tried to escape.

One or two of Mailyn's sparks hit me, but I barely registered the twinge of pain over my realization of my fate. Her sparks and flickers were already abating as she brought her emotions back under control, and when it looked like they were over, I reached out and squeezed her little shackled hand. Yes, we were all guilty of what we'd been charged with, but we were also a trio seven-year-old children whose 'guilt' was mostly that of being undersupervised. But the Gionians have little mercy for children - when we were eventually brought to the chattel hold, we wouldn't even be among the youngest ten. As the youngest of the three of us, I might have barely made the top dozen youngest.

Just before the quartermaster's men dragged us below decks, Mrs. Sealie interceded, squatting down in front of us, her breath stinking of sick. The crew let her have her moment with us as most of the rest of the ship looked on. "I…" she burped. "I'll arrange to have your contracts bought at Isil Filar," she said. "They can't be much… Rook's contact will pay for it. Probably."

"Probably?" Aldo spat.

"Almost certainly," she said. I noted that she avoided looking in my direction - my indenture was five times longer, and a contract lasting until a child turned seventeen would be worth much more than one expired when they were nine. "I'm sure it will be fine…"

"Outta the way," the head sailor grumbled, and Mrs. Sealie meekly complied, scurrying off to enjoy more seasickness, no doubt.

We were brought into the darkness below and into a small office, barely more than a closet, that I hadn't seen before. It hosted a few stools, a small alchemical workbench, a small, ship-ready bookshelf overflowing with worn tomes, and a dozen or so glimsilk sail tassels dangling from the walls. Second Mage Awis'le sat upon one of the stools, arms crossed and none too pleased. First Mate Barzono hulked nearby, towering over the mage's slim and seated frame - he looked even unhappier.

"I'm ordering you, Awis'le!" he said. "You didn't have a problem with it earlier today!"

"Those kids were at least three years older, commander. I'm not going to brand young children. Order all you like - write me up for insubordination and just you see how things go. Unless you know of another officer who can keep us going at twelve knots?"

"They're going to get branded one way or another. Why do you care whether it's done here or in Isil Filar the day after tomorrow?"

"Because then it will not weigh on my conscience which, unlike some officers I can name, I've got. Now… unless you plan on repairing the runes in our spare sails, I would appreciate it if you saw your way out of my office, Barzono."

"Fine." The first mate turned to us, his face red with anger. "Get them below. I don’t want to have to even think about thinking about these three until we pull into Novirossa."

"Yessir!"

With each step through the ship's narrow corridors, my heart clenched, for I knew a great portal was closing, that whatever hopes and dreams I had for my life might well be extinguished beneath a life of slavery in all but name. I cried, thinking about how Elzie and Vesia and Horantz had risked their lives to protect me and paid the price… and it was all for nothing because I'd been stupid enough to break into a few rooms aboard a Gionian slave ship. I should have insisted that we not take anything. I never should have taken those silver hair pins, nor insisted on seeing the prisoners in the chattel hold. I should have…

Hmm…

As the men dragged me around the corner and toward the sturdy cage door that opened into the chattel hold, I happened to spot something hanging from a rusty hook on the wall: a bolt-cutter. The sort they used for unbolting the shackles when moving the prisoners about.

"Cause a distraction," I whispered to Mailyn - our captors were still letting us walk close together even though her sparks and flames had ceased with her emotional outburst.

Mailyn didn't take time to think it over or ask for clarification. She screamed in that ear-splitting way that some little girls can scream and began to flail about, heavy chains clanking scratching at the skin and going for any sensitive spot she could get to. Once again, energy coursed over her body - not powerful enough to seriously injure, but certainly enough to ruin somebody's night. I watched as she rammed her head into one sailor's crotch, and he was out of commission for at least fifteen or twenty seconds.

It didn't take Aldo long to figure that something was up, and he thrashed at his chains and bit his captor hard on the arm. One of my escorts moved to corral my friends, pushing Mailyn hard enough to send her and the man trying to avoid her sparks slamming into the wall. And I took that golden opportunity to grab the bolt-cutter and stuff it under my dress, closing the handle around my left knee hard enough to keep it in place as long as I walked with a limp. Nobody saw me.

"Ow!" I shrieked, clutching at my leg.

Aldo and Mailyn got the signal and stopped their frenzied struggling, though the sailors working to overpower them took a few more seconds to get the signal, and Aldo got a black eye and a bloody lip for his trouble. Mailyn had a dislocated finger and was already forming bruises all along her right side by the time the sailors shoved us to the deck in the section near the overhold grate meant for underage prisoners. We were all the way in the back - the chattel hold was actually divided into thirds, with a cage door between each compartment - presumably, to make escapes more difficult, since the bulk of prisoners would need to force their way through multiple heavy doors.

The quartermaster's chief ran a chain under one of the larger chains running the length of the deck and slid a brass bolt the size of my pinkie joint through the links at either end of the smaller chain. Then his hulking assistant carefully aligned a huge clamp over either end of the bolt and mashed it closed - the only way out of the manacles was to break the brass bolt or, harder still the forged iron of heavy chains. Satisfied that we were well-secured, the sailors stalked out, closing one cage door after another with finality, the clunk heavy locks echoing through the hold.

Aldo spit out a mouthful of blood and checked one of his teeth. With a wince, he pulled it right out - fortunately for him, it was a baby tooth. "Hope you don't mind fessin' what that was about…"

After making sure nobody was watching through the overhold grates up above, I grinned and lifted the hem of my dress enough for him to see the bolt cutter.

"Hope you don't mind telling the rest of us," one of the older boys in our chain group said - it was the boy who'd been imprisoned for stowing away earlier in the day.

"We're fixin' to bust outta here is what," Mailyn said.

"You're those kids that dropped the hairpins in here," one of the girls said - she reminded me a lot of my older sister, Alzinnia, though her eyes were olive instead of emerald.

"Um… yes. I guess that was me," I said, running my fingers through my hair and finding no hairpins in there.

"Didn't work out so good," Aldo admitted with a shrug.

"And now you've got yourselves locked in here," the stowaway boy said. "What exactly did you have in mind?"