Chapter Eleven

in which neely hears about a fight

Turns out I am pretty good in the kitchen. I’m not nearly as fast as Lee yet, he’s a master, but I’m learning more every day. There hasn’t been any more cutting of my skin with the knife, and the best part is, I don’t have to do the backbreaking work in the stokehold. Holden and I haven’t seen much of each other over the past couple of days. His shifts start before mine, and by the time I’m finished in the kitchen and back to our room, he’s sleeping.

I am able to keep a few extra little scraps aside for Sanderson. Even though Cook complains about having a cat in the kitchen, I think he secretly likes it as well—if his sneaking him bites under the table is any indication. Cook even brought in an extra chair and refuses to let any of us sit in it. It’s for Sanderson and Sanderson only.

“You lads hear about the fight that’s going down on the lower level tonight?” Cook arrives in the kitchen, slipping his apron over his head before picking up a knife and beginning to chop the vegetables Lee and I had finished peeling.

I frown. Images of Paul’s slimy grin and Holden’s clenched fists send shivers down my spine. “A fight? Isn’t fighting on board illegal?”

“It’s not illegal, per se, but the captain wouldn’t be happy if he found out about it. Although if he knew who would be fighting, he might let it slide.” Cook leans in closer to Lee and me, dropping his voice before continuing. “The Maverick is in our midst, and some of the men wanted to put together a fight to see if they can take him. They are taking bets and everything. There are four scheduled to fight ‘em tonight alone.”

The Maverick is the stuff of legends. A boxer from the east side, who showed up from seemingly nowhere six months ago. The Maverick had been winning fights no one thought possible, and then one day, I don’t know what happened. Everything started going downhill, and he went from the next greatest to the recent has-been. I had always wanted to see him in action, but his rise to fame happened after I had stopped sneaking to fights with Uly and Grady (mama found out, and she was none too happy).

I look to Lee, who looks to me, eyebrows raised. He still hasn’t said a word in all the time we’ve been working together, and I’m beginning to believe he isn’t able to. My stomach churns as my brain tries to piece something together. The man who told us where to go when we first started our journey had been so excited to see Holden. Even the men in the stokehold seemed to revere Holden in a way I didn’t understand. I glance over at Sanderson, who has taken up his normal position on his throne. I mean chair. He doesn’t even lift his head. I’m thinking too much about this. Holden couldn’t be the infamous Maverick, could he? He said he was a fighter. That would imply that he is no longer a fighter. But is he no longer a fighter because he retired, or because he happens to be here with me on his way to South America? I want to believe it means that he had been a fighter sometime in his past. Still, I can’t help but remember the bruises that have only just begun to fade. And what would be the chances that there were two boxers on the same ship?

Cook points his knife in our direction. “You lads make sure you stay far away from those fights tonight. There is nothing good that can come from them, and I don’t want either of you getting hurt.”

I go back to chopping the carrots in front of me, but can’t help but ask. “Do you think Maverick is going to win all four fights?”

Cook huffs. “I think Maverick is going to crack. Like he’s done on all his fights of recent date.”

“So you didn’t bet on him?”

“I didn’t bet on the fights. I said the captain might be lenient on the fights when he finds out The Maverick is fighting, but if he gets wind of betting on the fights… well, it’ll be more than just the fighters who pay the price.”

It takes everything in me to finish chopping vegetables and not run off to find Holden to confirm he isn’t the Maverick. There has to be another fighter on this ship. Another fighter that is the Maverick. When I get off shift, I’ll go back to our room and stumble around as quietly as I can (which somehow is still never quiet enough if the halting of Holden’s snoring is to be believed), and Holden will be there, already asleep.

Although if Holden isn’t in the room tonight, it would give me a chance to look over Papa’s atlas. Since it’s always dark when I leave my room, and dark by the time I make it back, and there hasn’t been any time in between to study what I thought had been markings appearing on the pages. I’ve tried to study as much as I can in the moonlight, but it’s not enough light. I can’t tell if it’s the light playing tricks on my eyes, or if there is really something there.

The dinner bell can’t come soon enough. Lee and I assist Cook with making sure everyone gets a tray of food before we collapse at the table in the kitchen and eat our own trays of food. Tonight I can’t stop my leg from bouncing.

“Why is your leg doing that?” Cook nods his chin in the direction of my bouncing knee.

I tuck it closer to me, all but commanding it to stop its infuriating bouncing. “It’s nothing. I guess I’m nervous, is all.”

“Nervous?” Cook’s already permanent frown deepens. “What do you have to be nervous about?” He shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth.

I shrug. “Nothing, I guess.”

“You’d better not be thinking about sneaking down to the lower decks and watching those fights tonight. If I hear–”

“I’m not.” I am one hundred percent trying to devise just that. But not to bet or cheer. I just want to confirm that Holden isn’t getting into any trouble. If I get off shift and go back to our room and he’s asleep in his bunk, then there won’t be any reason for me to stumble to the lower decks in search of a fight that shouldn’t be happening.

“That’s good. It’s no place for a young boy.”

I nod, lips pressed into a line. Cook goes back to his dinner. I wonder what he would think if he knew I am a young woman.

It’s not too much longer before my leg goes back to bouncing. Before Cook can notice or comment, Lee reaches over and places a hand on my knee, stilling it instantly. I look up at the young boy who just nods before picking up his now-empty tray and moving it over to the sink.

With one more backward glance and a nod, Lee disappears from the kitchen, and I can’t help but feel he will be sneaking below tonight as well.

Atlas of Neely Spencer is currently being released chapter by chapter as I write it. You can read all about why I chose this format in this post. Please forgive any errors in spelling, grammar, and punctuation since this is not professionally edited. Think of it like this: you’re getting to read my first-pass pages!