Three?
“Gormlaith,” calls Maeve, “come help.”
Gormlaith’s face is drawn. Her hair stands out like a wild thing’s. She favors her right side as she approaches. She moves like an old woman. But I know she’s not. I remember how she was when I first saw her.
William and the children watch.
“Treat her like you’d like to be treated,” says Maeve in a scolding tone.
The Irish children go to the front of the boat. William and Markus follow. They sit as a group, their backs to us, a blanket stretched across them.
Maeve and Gormlaith stand on either side of me and pull my tunic up.
I fight to hold it down. I look around at the crew.
“Forget their eyes,” says Maeve. “They’re animals.”
That’s exactly my fear. I sink to my haunches and hold the hem of my tunic to the deck and I realize that my rib doesn’t hurt nearly so bad now. The body heals on its own—perhaps in spite.
“They won’t touch you,” says Maeve. “They won’t dare. Not with him looking on. Not with what he believes.” She jerks her chin toward Clay Man. “And you’ll get sores and fever and delirium if you don’t clean up.” She beckons. “NyIe, come help.”
Nyle turns out to be my Patrick. He comes running.
“Stand wherever you can to block the view of her. You’ll have to change positions as we move. Just do the best you can.”
Again Maeve and Gormlaith reach for my tunic.
I close my eyes.
When Nuada was little, we’d play hide-and-seek. I was two years older than him, and I won. But, in fact, anyone could hide better than Nuada. He didn’t go behind anything. He simply closed his eyes, believing that if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him. Once he finally figured things out, the game was no longer fun. He was quick and quiet and he won all the time.
I open my eyes and force myself to lift my arms over my head.
They pull off my tunic and sink it into the bucket water. Then Maeve lightly slaps my own sopping tunic on my belly.
The shock of the freezing water makes me jump.
Brigid jumped into freezing water. As snow fell.
They scrub me with that dirty tunic. They scrub me everywhere. I turn under their hands like I did under Delaney’s hands the night we rushed back from Dublin, when Nuada’s hand was cut off.
They scrub my face. They wash my hair.
I shiver violently. My jaw tries to chatter. I taste bloodas the corners of my mouth rip on the crusty edges of the gag.
They wrap me in the second blanket.
“Now you,” says Maeve to Gormlaith.
Gormlaith takes the wet tunic and washes her face and hands and feet.
Maeve nods to my Patrick.
He washes obediently.
“Come for a wash,” calls Maeve.
All the others scrub themselves with my dirty tunic, Maeve last of all.
Then she scrubs my tunic in the bucket and stretches it over a chest to dry.
She dumps the brown, filthy water over the side of the ship. Then she lowers the bucket by the attached string and brings it back up full again. And the water is brown again. It wasn’t my filth that made it that color.
This is a brackish sea. With hardly any salt. How strange everything is here. Nothing is as it seems.
Maeve comes over and snakes her hand inside the blanket and pinches me hard.
I gasp.
“You are right to keep your voice to yourself, Aist,” she says into my ear. “Hush. You’re the one who started this silence—you have to keep it up. Or you lose yourself.He’ll just snuff you out.” She makes a puff of hot air that warms my brain. “Like that, like a lamp flame. A slave life counts for nothing unless the slave finds a trick. You’ve found yours. Stick to it. Hush.”
I don’t understand. But I will hold my tongue. The last person who told me to hush was Mother.
Travel is slow. We pass rivers that empty into this sea. Many. That must be why this water is so nearly sweet. But I have no explanation for why it is so brackish.
At the mouth of almost every river, we stop and anchor nearby. The crew take turns going
“Gormlaith,” calls Maeve, “come help.”
Gormlaith’s face is drawn. Her hair stands out like a wild thing’s. She favors her right side as she approaches. She moves like an old woman. But I know she’s not. I remember how she was when I first saw her.
William and the children watch.
“Treat her like you’d like to be treated,” says Maeve in a scolding tone.
The Irish children go to the front of the boat. William and Markus follow. They sit as a group, their backs to us, a blanket stretched across them.
Maeve and Gormlaith stand on either side of me and pull my tunic up.
I fight to hold it down. I look around at the crew.
“Forget their eyes,” says Maeve. “They’re animals.”
That’s exactly my fear. I sink to my haunches and hold the hem of my tunic to the deck and I realize that my rib doesn’t hurt nearly so bad now. The body heals on its own—perhaps in spite.
“They won’t touch you,” says Maeve. “They won’t dare. Not with him looking on. Not with what he believes.” She jerks her chin toward Clay Man. “And you’ll get sores and fever and delirium if you don’t clean up.” She beckons. “NyIe, come help.”
Nyle turns out to be my Patrick. He comes running.
“Stand wherever you can to block the view of her. You’ll have to change positions as we move. Just do the best you can.”
Again Maeve and Gormlaith reach for my tunic.
I close my eyes.
When Nuada was little, we’d play hide-and-seek. I was two years older than him, and I won. But, in fact, anyone could hide better than Nuada. He didn’t go behind anything. He simply closed his eyes, believing that if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him. Once he finally figured things out, the game was no longer fun. He was quick and quiet and he won all the time.
I open my eyes and force myself to lift my arms over my head.
They pull off my tunic and sink it into the bucket water. Then Maeve lightly slaps my own sopping tunic on my belly.
The shock of the freezing water makes me jump.
Brigid jumped into freezing water. As snow fell.
They scrub me with that dirty tunic. They scrub me everywhere. I turn under their hands like I did under Delaney’s hands the night we rushed back from Dublin, when Nuada’s hand was cut off.
They scrub my face. They wash my hair.
I shiver violently. My jaw tries to chatter. I taste bloodas the corners of my mouth rip on the crusty edges of the gag.
They wrap me in the second blanket.
“Now you,” says Maeve to Gormlaith.
Gormlaith takes the wet tunic and washes her face and hands and feet.
Maeve nods to my Patrick.
He washes obediently.
“Come for a wash,” calls Maeve.
All the others scrub themselves with my dirty tunic, Maeve last of all.
Then she scrubs my tunic in the bucket and stretches it over a chest to dry.
She dumps the brown, filthy water over the side of the ship. Then she lowers the bucket by the attached string and brings it back up full again. And the water is brown again. It wasn’t my filth that made it that color.
This is a brackish sea. With hardly any salt. How strange everything is here. Nothing is as it seems.
Maeve comes over and snakes her hand inside the blanket and pinches me hard.
I gasp.
“You are right to keep your voice to yourself, Aist,” she says into my ear. “Hush. You’re the one who started this silence—you have to keep it up. Or you lose yourself.He’ll just snuff you out.” She makes a puff of hot air that warms my brain. “Like that, like a lamp flame. A slave life counts for nothing unless the slave finds a trick. You’ve found yours. Stick to it. Hush.”
I don’t understand. But I will hold my tongue. The last person who told me to hush was Mother.
Travel is slow. We pass rivers that empty into this sea. Many. That must be why this water is so nearly sweet. But I have no explanation for why it is so brackish.
At the mouth of almost every river, we stop and anchor nearby. The crew take turns going
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