Liberty by Darcy Pattison Page B

didn’t have to stay in the damp forecastle with the other crewmen. But it was little comfort. She lay awake remembering how glorious it felt to stand at the top of the mainsail with the wind in her face.
    For Penelope, the moment had been too brief.

Chapter 12
    Wind
    L ife at sea was hard ; nature made sure of that. Life on the Hallowe’en was even harder because the crew had to please Captain Kingsley, and he allowed for no weaknesses in his crew. “Eight days from now, we’ll catch the Cormorant in St. George’s Harbor in Bermuda,” he declared. “I want that map.”
    Everything was focused on speed, which meant the ship had to run at top efficiency.
    Meanwhile, Santiago was having his own difficulties. He was on his feet all day, running errands for Frenchie or the other officers, or fetching and putting up maps. He had to pay attention to the sky and the sea and the sails and the wind and anticipate how all these affected their course. The past year, spent hunched over a desk, had ill prepared him for the tasks he was now required to perform with speed, efficiency, and courtesy.
    Fortunately, Captain Kingsley was a good navigator himself. His white hulk often towered over Santiago as he checked Santiago’s figures. In snatches of conversation between tasks, Santiago told Penelope that the Captain might look like all muscle and sound like a dictator, but he had a sharp intelligence and a knack for calculating in his head.
    After two days of sailing, though, Santiago complained to Penelope while they readied for bed. “We are using outdated maps.” He tapped one of his own maps, which was spread out on their bunk. “Look: we’re here. But according to Lt. Maury’s charts, we’d have better wind to the west.”
    Penelope studied the map. “If we keep this course, we risk being stuck with no wind for days. Captain Kingsley wants to be there in six days. Show him your map.”
    Santiago nodded. “You’re right. These are important maps, not because I made them, but because I’m right. Besides,” he said in a half joking manner, “I’m a master mapmaker; my maps deserve respect.”
    His pride was showing again, Penelope thought. But if pride gave him foolish attitudes, it was also the source of his ambition, and they needed that ambition to get ahead in this world. Since Penelope was already demoted, Santiago needed to shine all the more.
    Penelope thumped his back. “He hired you out of Cricket’s map shop. He knows that you understand maps. Be brave.”
    She fought the bitterness about her own failures that tried to overwhelm her. Instead, she put all her feelings behind her and vowed to help Santiago succeed, for them both.
    The next morning, Santiago knocked at Captain Kingsley’s cabin door. Penelope stood behind him to bolster his courage. They had dressed in their best uniforms and polished their hooves.  
    Captain Kingsley’s voice boomed, “Who is it?”
    â€œExcuse me, sir. It’s Santiago Talbert. I’d like to show you something.”
    There was a short pause and the sound like a door shutting. And then, “Come in.”
    For a captain’s cabin, the room was tiny; a wide bunk took up the port side, a birdcage with a green parrot took up half the floor. The cage door was missing, so the parrot could fly around as it wanted. No intelligent creature liked caging up another animal. The parrot was seldom seen outside the captain’s cabin, but they often heard him talking, “Captain, Captain, Captain.”
    The birdcage only left space for a tiny desk and chair. Confused at the small size of the cabin, Penelope looked closer. In the ebony paneling behind the desk was a door. It looked like the captain’s quarters had been divided for some reason into this tiny room and another room, the purpose of which she could only guess. Captain Kingsley seldom let any crewman