Page 36 of A Flash of Golden Fire

I went past him and heard him give a soft chuckle. I was feeling quite cheery until I remembered.

Five minutes later, I found myself sobbing by the chicken coops.

The animals were kept in a corner of the hold, in wooden pens that I was supposed to fill with fresh straw every few days. Although I imagined this duty would be passed on to another poor sod since I’d be busy seeing to the captain’s needs.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, stop yer blubberin’.” Martinez looked about to see if anyone else was near. “Did you get right fucked and now you’re sad about it?”

Jesus.Did everyone know my private business?

I tried to be coherent and stop my embarrassing display. “I’m not sad aboutthat.”

“Why’re you crying, then?”

“You killed Guinevere!” It had only taken me a moment to discern which of my beautiful chooks had been dispatched.

“I killed who?”

“My chicken! The one with the golden feathers by her tail!”

“Oh my God. The lad’s gone and lost his mind,” Martinéz muttered.

Mr Jones, a portly fellow with a mop of red hair, freckles, and a friendly smile said, “Aye, that’s what the captain’s rod can do to a man. Ask me how I know.”

“Not you too!”

“Oh, aye. T’was lovely. He’s very romantic, in a filthy way and all. I won’t forget the experience.”

“Well, you’d better. I’d wager he’s claimed Mr White,” Martinéz muttered. “And he won’t be lookin’ for satisfaction elsewhere now, I reckon.”

“Just as well.” Jones sniffed. “I couldn’t walk right for three days.”

My sobs had died down whilst I was listening to this conversation, and I laughed outright.

“See, he’s all right. He’s just a bit daft about the chickens,” Jones said.

“I’m not daft,” I said.

“Anyway, I didn’t kill yer chicken,” Martinéz said. “’Twas Hillier.”

“That bastard,” I muttered, seeing Hillier across the room speaking with a few of the men. Hillier was an officer, well-liked, and good friends with most.

“On the captain’s orders,” Martinez explained. “For your supper, mind. Captain wanted you to eat well. You should be thankful.”

“Oh I am. But she was beautiful, my Guinevere. And sweet. And I’ve eaten her,” I said, ready to cry again.

Hillier came over. “What’s the matter with him?” he asked of Martinez.

“You killed his chicken.”

“Her name was Guinevere,” I explained. “And she was lovely.”

“Beg pardon?” Hillier said.

“He’s very upset about the chook. Then again, he’s been in the captain’s chambers all the night, and he’s probably exhausted.”

They chuckled together.

Hillier put a kind hand on my shoulder. “Never mind. She doesn’t know you ate her. And now you carry a piece of her wherever you go.”