"Stop looking around!"
Reed had barely raised his head before being scolded. He lowered it skillfully, tucking his chin into his collar without looking toward the voice, much less explaining that he only wanted to loosen his neck—doing that would earn him a thorough cursing-out. This was one of the important lessons he had learned so far.
With his shoulder braced against the windlass's wooden bar, he had long passed the stage of pain and soreness. It was gradually turning stiff and numb. His body instinctively wanted to lean against something, only to spring back on reflex whenever it touched the ropes.
He had seen with his own eyes how this thing could wind hair, skin and all, into itself, like tearing apart rotten fruit.
The only reason he had yet to let go was on the other side of the windlass, bracing the other wooden bar.
That was Old Thomas—the man who had brought him aboard, taught him how to work, and cursed him out more than anyone else. His mouth, poised to strike, always came preloaded with every organ in a man's body and every relative in his family, and could escalate to fists and kicks at any moment.
Compared to that, the windlass ropes that could only tear something off his body did not seem so terrifying anymore.
Even if he had to choose between letting go and falling into the water, he would hesitate for a moment.
Then he would resolutely choose the latter.
If he fell overboard, he might still have a sliver of hope of surviving. If he let go, Old Thomas really would kill him afterward.
Immediate fear temporarily conquered physical suffering, nailing him to the lever.
But from the sounds around him, it seemed an island had appeared nearby.
His eyesight and