The water-slicked planks tilted on the next rise of the sea, and I slid toward the mainmast, nightdress rumpling around my small thighs. With no time to scream, my father’s rigorous instruction set in, and I grabbed the end of the halyard line tied off around the mast. Reeling myself in, I hugged the massive wooden pole, panting in time with my racing heart. Muffled shouts from the rail kept me quiet as I pressed my cheek to the scratchy loops of rope. I recognized Papa’s stocky build and hairy arms even through the downpour. The wind blew his hat toward me, but still, I couldn’t cry out. My voice had iced over in my throat.

Papa was wrestling with a man. One from the special room where all the male sailors stayed. The heels of the man’s boots beat the deck as he tried to push himself back from the rail, but Papa’s barrel chest stayed solid, pushing him forward. Papa had one arm around the man’s throat, bicep bulging and squeezing, while the other looped under his adversary’s arm and held his wrist in place. Papa had showed me how to break that hold, how to protect my neck with my chin and smash a foot or a fist into a man’s weak parts. This sailor hadn’t been taught. He flailed like a gull caught in net, jerking his torso side to side.

Papa’s left boot slipped a few inches, yanked by the force, but he bowed his legs wider and held firm. The man scratched Papa’s arms, and the bright red blood brought heat to my freezing ears. He was hurting Papa! I hauled myself upright on the mast, ready to race over the swaying deck, but Papa had pushed the man all the way to the starboard side. He dropped the chokehold, grabbed the man by his scruff, and smashed his face against the rail. My squeak of surprise was drowned in the storm and the sailor’s shouts.

“No! No! I beg you! I changed my mind. Please, please, spare my life.” The man braced his hands on the rail, pushing back, his shattered nose spattering blood onto the wood. What had he done? Why was Papa mad? Would he be mad at me for coming out of the cabin in a storm?

“You’d best be prayin’ to yer gods, not to me, sailor. You knew the deal when you boarded my ship,” Papa said, punching the man hard across the ear.

The man slumped forward, chest on the rail, ponytail dangling over the angry water. Papa grabbed the waistband of his trousers and hoisted. I sucked in a gasp.

“You lied. I know it’s all a lie. You won’t get away with it!” the man screamed, kicking and writhing, his boot smashing into Papa’s leg.