Isabelle
The journey on the sea was long and arduous for Thomas. The ship’s fate was cursed the moment he signed on, he was sure of it.
Three of his bunk mates died from a mysterious illness, he was sure the cook was trying to poison him. Thomas snuck into the galley at night with the rats and dined with them. He was continually accused of thievery. The scars on his back did him no favors, they soon received new companions.
It was misery visited by misery, day in and day out. It was as if the ship was constantly trying to outrun a terrible storm. A few days rest of calm seas, or fair winds is all the crew would be gifted. Mostly the ship was tossed too and fro, the storms seemed to attack at night the most. When the crew was soundly sleeping, and the pace began to naturally slow.
There would be peace and a gentle breeze, lulling the sailors to sleep. Then while in deep slumber, some so deep and peaceful they miss the warning shot.
A clap of thunder pierces the silence, loud enough to shake the porthole glass. You have precious little time after. The storm at first lights up the sky, if you move quick enough you can secure the sails. The great gust of wind begin, the sea becomes turbulent.
It has begun.
The wood creaked and groaned from the abuse, as the waves slapped and pounded without mercy. The rain fell like pebbles, thousands of small precise stones hurdling into your skin. The sails gripped in blind pain from the force of the winds, tried to rip off the arms of those trying to help. Thomas watched men being fed to the sea as if the monster was merely hungry at night. The Captain’s swearing at the sea for this battle it was waging is as common as a Sunday sermon.
By the time the ill fated journey was over and the ship made port, half the crew was gone. Thomas walked on to solid ground, he’d never believed in superstition. Until now. He narrowed his eyes at the calm waters beyond the port. How seductive they seemed, so calm and alluring.
Thomas took his pay and bought three things, a hot meal, a inn room for the night, and a sharp dagger.
As the ships cook left the tavern staggering, Thomas quietly walked up behind him. Thomas could smell the intoxication from five steps behind. They passed into the shadows of a nearby park. The cook stopped by a tree to relieve himself of a pint or two of previously drunken ale. With a quick twist of his dagger the large man fell to his knees, then on his face. The cook passed out before he could realize he’d been stabbed, he would bleed out before dawn.
Thomas knew he had a good chance to take the blame, however it was a ill fated trip. Perhaps he would be forgotten. Thomas took the cook’s money and walked off into the night.