Fiction: Group 2
Nacre Alluvium
Singapore International School, Chang, Natalie - 11, Fiction: Group 2
monstrous ship of waterlogged lumber loomed over our mediocre boat. Intricately carved nixies
and kelpies open-mouthed, wide ore eyes blank. Polished fleur-de-lis rimmed the ark’s sides, the
initials ‘BC’ chiselled into the damp wood, a backdrop, not even smudged despite the aqua pura
sloshing over the motif. I knew the ship and our likely fates.
The ark of the Black Curse and rumours of it had leaked into the sailing industry of the Pearl River
Delta, more and more marines backing away from the rivers like it was poison that could snuff out your life
at once. Being one of few female sailors- much less a teenaged one at the ripe age of eighteen- to conquer
the waters, I had no freedom to make any mistake. I was surprised I wasn’t as mad as a mouse in a teapot.
Wind whipped my hair back, even though it was shorn close to my shoulders. I could see silhouettes, stark
black against the powder blue of the sky, in contrast. The way the pirates poised themselves, it was clearly
meant to cause intimidation, the sky was filled with soaring birds and airy white clouds. I inhaled deeply and
barked out orders, “Hide in the engine room, everyone!” My cabin boy and first officer, Lester and Gideon,
stood their ground. I narrowed my eyes into brown slits.
“Lester, move out of the way! Gideon, stay behind, I might need your help,” I hollered, against
Lester’s protests.
“It’s for your own good, Lester,” Gideon agreed in a hushed voice.
The unsaid words hung between us.
And you’re only fourteen years old. How would it be
commendable to sacrifice your life?
Lester, a dismayed expression on his pale pallid face, inclined his head
but abided by our instructions and scurried away on his bony legs over the wooden deck.
Ships weren’t necessarily required to be armed with weapons, but there was a rack of aligned
weapons in the ship, hidden under a abstruse panel. “Grab a weapon,” I hissed under my breath, under the
circumstances. Gideon’s ears perked up, and ambled over to the panel and took out a silver hilted backsword
and Lilliputian-sized twin daggers with effulgent blades, before latching it again. The boat jolted, not just
because the choppy waves of the seas were colliding with the boat, but heels of boots were roughly clicking
against the ladder of the boat. A hand shot up over the rim of the boat, clawing for the empty air. Before
long, three figures clambered up the deck.
Two men and one woman were facing us, each with an aggressive expression on their faces. All
three were each wielding a silver handled pistol grasped in their hands. The leader of the trio was a six foot
man, his face marked with scars, his hands severely bruised but steady as he aimed the pistol at Gideon and I.
His male companion had shaggy hair that shone like a polished copper penny in the Sun’s rays, an ashen face
and his forehead coated with beads of perspiration. The woman’s hair was straggling down the nape of her
neck, escaping from her chignon, her skin was bronze, she was also the definition of raw boned. Her bones
were too bulky for her angular frame. Her skin was gnarly, her teeth sinking into her chapped lips as she
held the gun. I struggled to articulate my voice clearly without stuttering. I gulped, clenching my daggers’
hafts, choking out, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” I’d read quite a lot of novels and became
very irritated because the characters always began with
clichéd statements, but in reality, you did want to
know what intruders were doing.
A
