A Twist of Rope - Corii Liau

They didn’t have much on the ship to entertain themselves. The crew had their cards, cups, and dice which flashed in and out of their rough and sea-toughened hands. Curse words and frightening laughter erupted from those mouths filled with rotted teeth outfitted with gold. Besides not being able to follow the rhyme or reason of these quick games of chance, Ella knew they usually ended in fisticuffs or bloody noses, and so she stayed as far away from the men as possible when they were playing their games.

She grew tired of the only book that she had, a story about a girl whose filial piety allowed her to save her parents from the wicked wiles of a sorcerer. She had taken to drawing caricatures of the crew and captain in the margins of the pages, and then doodles of horses, flowers, and girls in jodhpurs and smart hats. But she had filled up most of the margins and was going to start drawing on the covers, when the captain confiscated the inkpot and frayed quill she was using.

“That’s where my ink has been going!” he said. He grimaced and tousled her head roughly. She shrank from his touch, which made him laugh unkindly.

“Don’t you know,” he said, getting close to her face. She could smell the decay on his breath. ”Ink is more precious than blood on this ship!”

So, she had resorted to wandering around the upper decks and looking out at the endless ocean, each wave the same as the millions of waves surrounding it. She longed to see a porpoise, or seal, or even fish, but the expanse went for days at a time without relief of anything different.

And then it seemed one of the young deckhands seemed to get his nerve up suddenly to approach her one afternoon as she sat on a wooden spool looking out to sea, toying with a length of white rope. He said nothing, but only tapped her on the shoulder. She smiled at him, and he flushed. He took the rope from her gently and started to turn and twist it in his hands. She couldn’t follow his motions any more than she could follow the rules of gambling.

He gave the rope a final snug tug, and made a gesture with his palm as if he were wiping a pane of glass in front of her face. She obliged and closed her eyes. She felt his callused hands take hers and put the rope in her hands. She opened her eyes and gasped, and then laughed.

He’d twisted and knotted the rope into the figure of a small horse.