fourteen,
Maids a-courting;
Fifteen, sixteen,
Maids in the kitchen;
Seventeen, eighteen,
Maids in waiting;
Nineteen, twenty …
Our sacks of food grow empty. The days grow past twenty. We buckle our other shoes and follow the sea monster. We knuckle the door, harder – no answer. The days grow past forty. I count our sacks of food. Only two left. Drudge has grown the appetite of five little piggies. The days grow past sixty, past ninety. We pick up more sticks, and lay them straighter.
The last sack of food is gone. Our bowls are empty. Captain Gollum is hungry. Master Reader is hungry. Drudge is hungry. She waddles around the sloop. She is clumsy and slow. She’s given up all thoughts of pushing me overboard. She’s going to need me to help when the brat gets born.
She is a maid in waiting. A big fat hen.
4
SANCTUARY
“Watch out – her claws draw blood. They’ll take out your eyes. And mind those teeth – she bites.” A woman stands over me. I struggle, but strong hands pin me down.
I force myself to go limp. When you’re in a tricky situation, the smart thing to do is button your gob-hole and keep your cow-eyes peeled. Handler Xavier’s Rule Number Nine has saved me before. I watch, and listen.
“Put her with the other two, but go easy on her – she’s a Breeder.” The woman scrapes golden hair back from her face and adjusts a mask. “You heard me. I said she’s a Breeder. You can see that with your own two eyes. Move! Don’t just stand there looking at her.”
Men in grey uniforms, mouths and noses shielded by masks, haul me to my feet and lift me over the railings of the Jolly Roger. I am lowered into a smaller craft onto a pile of sacks next to Gollum and Reader. The Reject groans. The side of his head is a bloody mess. Reader is unconscious. I reach over, and his pulse flutters under my fingertips.
“Commander, we have anchored their boat and lowered the sail as instructed.”
Two other uniformed men heave themselves over the side of the sloop and join us in the small craft.
“Good work. We’ll fetch it another day. We must get these people to shore quickly. They’re in bad shape.”
Land! Purple mountains reach into the sky, almost touching the sun. Below the mountains, swathes of grey earth meet a stretch of sand edging the coastline. No buildings, no sign of life. Only barren land, pitted with craters. A bleak expanse of nothing.
Commander sits at the front of the craft with the others. A man rows us across the sea, muscles rippling across his naked back. He looks over his shoulder at me, lying on the pile of sacks. The oarsman’s eyes grow big when he sees my belly. The expression in his eyes is wonder. And dread. He pauses, one hand steadying the oars. His eyes drill holes in mine. He lifts the mask off his face and mouths: “Run.” Then his eyes flick away and he turns back to his rowing.
I cannot mistake the warning behind that simple word. I stare at his back, willing him to turn around again, but he rows steadily without interrupting the fluid movement of the oars.
I gaze across the sea. A silver blade dips in the waves and sinks below the choppy water. A space opens in my chest. I do not hope to see my beautiful monster again.
A group of uniforms waiting on the shore meets the craft and drags it onto the beach. Commander leaps out and the others follow, carrying Reader and Gollum. They try and help me, but I push away their hands. My knees are wobbly. After so many months on the Jolly Roger, I’m not used to walking on solid ground. And there is no strength in my legs. I fall like Humpty Dumpty onto the sand.
The uniforms stand in a circle around us. Their golden hair is cropped short, their faces covered by masks. They stare at Gollum’s thin limbs, his mop of Savage hair. They stare at me. At my round stomach. Their eyes are the size of plates.
A foot kicks inside my gut, and I touch my stomach. No, it is a fist. My boy is fierce. Wisha-wisha-wisha. I will not let anyone hurt you.
Commander puts her hands on her hips and sighs. “Yes, she’s a Breeder. Suck your eyes back into your faces.”
One of the men kneels next to Gollum. “It’s a boy, it’s a boy,” he says. He strokes Gollum’s cheek in wonder. And begins to weep softly.
“Get up. Control yourself,” Commander says. When the man stands to attention, she touches his arm and murmurs, “You’re not wearing gloves. We don’t know if they’re safe to touch.”
I lie on the sand and listen to the voices around me. They speak through their noses, flattening their vowels. Their words run into each other, rising and falling, like a song.
Commander taps her ear and talks into the cuff of her shirt. “Three of them. An old man and a boy and a girl.” She pauses. “They aren’t doing much talking but they’re flesh and blood, and they aren’t Foogees, I’m certain – they came in a boat, not overland. I’ll escort them down once they’ve had some food and water. The old man and the boy are nearly dead from hunger but the Breeder’s in better shape.” She pauses again, listens. “Affirmative. There’s no mistake. I said: Breeder. The girl is heavy with it.”
They bring water. One of the men helps Reader to sit and pats his face gently until he stirs. The old man sips feebly. Gollum gulps the water, grunting, and holds out his cup for more.
“So this one’s a fighter?” a man says as he cleans Gollum’s wound.
“The Breeder too – she’s vicious.” Commander flexes her hands, which are covered in scratches.
My head is thick from hunger. I do not remember them boarding the Jolly Roger. Or fighting Commander, scratching her hands.
“I had to subdue the boy – he thought we were trying to pirate his boat,” Commander says. “Maybe I was a bit rough, but he wouldn’t rest those fists of his, even though he’s as weak as a kitten.” She turns to the oarsman. “Give them food. But just a little. It looks like they haven’t eaten for some time. They must go slow else they’ll sick it all up.”
My mouth fills with spit. I cannot remember when last I ate. After almost ninety days of following the big fish, we were down to half a sack of corn. Reader said we should eat a small bowl of food at midday and make the supplies last. But most days he said he was not hungry and would push his bowl across to me. As the sack slowly emptied, Gollum said he’d lost his appetite too.
At first I protested that I should be the only one eating, but Reader insisted. “You need to feed that growing burden of yours, my Juliet. We will soon reach land. Eat. I assure you, I am not hungry.”
“Yes, eat, Drudge. Reader and I really don’t want any.”
I tried not to notice Gollum’s hollow eyes watching me eat each spoonful until the bowl was empty. And then they stopped sitting with me. Gollum spent the days writing his captain’s log until he became too weak to hold a pencil. Reader sat with me on the bow. He sniffed the sea air and sang nursery
