Chapter 9

            The next morning, Dad called a meeting in the galley. The crew was getting restless and we both knew it. I sat on one of the tables, leaning against the wall, as I waited for the crew. Once everyone had arrived, the talk started.

 

“Look, what we’re saying is we’re sick of all this waiting,” Mr. Splice said.

He had a high-pitched voice and was often mistaken for a woman.

 

“There’s only three of them left,” another crew member added.

 

“I’d given him the nickname ‘Grappler’ because of his four arms.

 

“We are wanting to move,” Mr. Fitch said, his voice raising slightly.

 

“We don’t move till we got the treasure in hand,” my dad answered.

 

“We told you that from the beginning, boys. Don’t be hasty,” I added in a bored tone.

 

“I say we kill ‘em all now,” Mr. Scroop said, raising his claws to prove a point.

 

I glared at him while Dad grabbed him by the collar.

 

“I say what’s to say! Disobey my orders again, like that stunt you pulled with Mr. Arrow, and so help me, you’ll be joining him,” Dad yelled, throwing Scroop against a barrel of purps.

 

“I’ll do the deed myself,” I threatened darkly.

 

The spider reached into the barrel and pulled out a purp.

 

“Strong talk, but I know otherwise,” he said.

 

“You got something to say, Scroop,” Dad asked.

 

“It’s that boy. Methinks you both have a soft spot for him.”

 

At that, the rest of the crew started murmuring.

 

“Now mark me, the lot of ya! I care about one thing and one thing only! Flint’s trove. You think I’d risk it all for the sake of some nose-wiping little whelp,” my father demanded rhetorically.

 

“We’ve come too far. I’m not giving up Flint’s trove just for some boy I met along the way,” I yelled.

 

“What was it no? ‘Oh, you’ve got the makings of greatness in ya.’ Or ‘You’ll have the biggest, brightest star in all the galaxies’,” Scroop said mockingly.

 

“Shut your yap,” Dad and I yelled.

 

“I cozied up to the kid to keep him off our scent, but I ain’t gone soft,” Dad concluded.

 

“And you, Ember,” Scroop asked.

 

“I like him, big deal. The boy’s not worth his weight in gold, let along all that treasure,” I answered with a casual shrug.

 

“Land ho,” Mr. Onus called from the crow’s-nest.

 

I went into the back of the kitchen while the rest of the crew went upstairs to see. I grabbed a pile of dishes and brought them into the main part of the galley. There, I saw Jim climb out of the barrel the purps were in. I dropped the plates, causing them to shatter. Jim looked at me with rage, hatred and pain in his eyes.

 

“Jim… I-”

 

“I trusted you,” he said bitterly before running off.

 

He had gotten to the stairs when my dad came down.

 

“Jimbo,” Dad said. “Playing games, are we?”

 

Jim walked backwards until he was pressed against a table.

 

“Yeah… yeah, we’re playing games,” he answered.

 

I didn’t move or speak. I couldn’t. All I could do was think about what I had said, what Jim had heard. I blocked everything out as my mind focused on what I’d seen in his eyes. I was jerked out of my thoughts upon hearing my father yell out. Jim had stabbed the pump of his mechanical leg, crippling him. Jim ran upstairs, disappearing from my sight.

 

“Ember, follow him,” Dad ordered.

 

Even then, I couldn’t move. I sank to my knees, my palms pressed against the floorboards. Broken ceramic surrounded me and I scowled at the purity of its white coloring. I heard my father order everyone into action and could hear all kinds of crashing. I assumed Grappler had gotten the guns, as he’d been instructed to do when the whole mutiny was being planned. I just continued to stare at the broken plates. My mind replayed what Jim had said, over and over again. His eyes cut the deepest. I could feel the tears brimming in my eyes and watched as, one by one, they hit the floorboards, soaking into the wood. About a half-hour later, that’s how my father found me.

 

“Ember,” he started.

 

“I was wrong,” I whispered.

 

“What?”

 

“I was wrong. He means so much to me… He’s worth more than Flint’s trove!”

 

That was when I broke down, heaving sobs escaping my lips. My dad kneeled beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder. My hand clenched into a fist and I pounded once on the floor, breaking a plate into smaller pieces in the process.

 

“Come with me,” Dad said and I looked at him with red, puffy eyes.

 

“What,” I asked.

 

“We’re going down to that planet.”