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downward. The storeroom would be down there, and
water, she was sure, would be there too.
    She carefully made her way down. Once she
landed at the bottom step, she stood for a moment to get used to
the darkness.
    “ No!”
    Cecelia looked around. Her heart kicked in
her chest. A cry, as though a child were whimpering for help. She
scanned about her and made her way toward where the sound had come
from. She found herself confronting a thick old door. The cry of
the child was louder. She felt her heart burn in reaction.
    Thud, thud, thud…
    The whimpering was getting louder. Finding
she couldn’t contain herself any longer, she opened the door, and
to her horror, witnessed the most disgusting sight she’d ever
beheld.
    One of the men was whipping a boy no more
than five years of age. So disgusted she was that without thought,
she rushed to the man, grabbed him by the arm, and smashed her fist
onto his face. The man fell against the wall, his lips bleeding
from the attack.
    He staggered up and stared at her. His eyes
were wild. He sneered and shouted, “Out of me way!”
    Cecelia knew a madman when she saw one. She
cursed herself for not bringing her smallsword with her. However,
if things did get out of hand, she still had her dagger.
    “Don’t you come near!” she shouted back,
moving to stand in front of the boy.
    “Ye defend that demon, ye traitor,” he
shouted.
    Cecelia glanced at the boy behind her.
    A demon? But how could that be?
    The boy was no different from human. This
man was so demented that he needed to be locked away for the safety
of others.
    “You’re mad!” she said. “May God have mercy
on your soul.” She spit. Dismissing him, she turned her attention
to the boy, lifting him. “Are you all right?”
    “Traitor!” the man screamed and started
whipping her with his strap. It slashed on her back, and Cecelia
winced. She gritted her teeth and twisted to glare at the man. She
jumped up, swiftly and expertly withdrew her dagger from her belt,
and swung it across his wrist in one smooth motion. Blood spurted.
The man screamed, dropping his strap to the ground.
    “Me arm!” he shrieked.
    Cecelia inserted the dagger back in her
belt, rushed to help the boy up, and they ran to the door.
    They were climbing the stairs when the
thudding of footsteps reached their ears.
    “Who goes there?”
    Cecelia felt cold sweat settling on her
body. She tried to drag the boy toward the top of the stairs. Just
one more step, but the boy was quite heavy for a five-year-old.
Once they were at the door, she saw the men appearing before them
on the landing. She sighed with relief.
    “Quick, that man, he’s mad,” she said
breathlessly.
    “Traitor!” the man from below shouted.
    “Quick, seize him. He was beating this
boy.”
    When they simply looked at one another, as
if they didn’t quite know what to do, she frowned at them for their
lack of haste to help.
    Finally, she saw the leader, Captain Jeremy
Jackson, the one who had been staring at her that first day she
climbed on the ship. He nodded in command. A man behind him came to
her and grabbed the boy from her arms. The other seized her none
too gently. Suddenly, Cecelia felt a coldness deep within her
stomach.
    “Lock them up and don’t let them get away,”
Jackson snapped.
    Cecelia widened her eyes. A sickening
feeling lurched within her, and she wanted to vomit.
    “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice a
mere whisper.
    “Don’t let him get away. He’s too precious,”
Jackson said. He finally turned to her and glared at her with his
malice-filled eyes. “I was hoping ye wouldn’t get involved,
boy.”
    Cecelia swallowed. She stared at the four
men looking at her, their eyes dark.
    What are they planning to do to us? More
importantly, can I fight with all these men and escape with the
boy?
    She did some calculation in her head and
found it was better to do what they wanted, because the boy, as she
glanced at him, was tired and weak after the