Time was non-existent. With no sunlight, no fresh air, and not much company aside from each other and the hoards of rats that were constantly scurrying about, tiny nails clicking against wooden boxes and barrels --time became entirely indecipherable. Charlotte at first refused to move from her perch atop the crate, terrified lest one of their furry neighbors should brush against her foot or get caught among her skirts. Madeleine, however, was not so content to sit still. She remained obediently beside Charlotte for the longest time, what to her felt like several days, until the steady rocking of the boat at port was transformed into a rougher, wider rock. They had left the harbor.

Not long after that, Madeleine began her exploration of the brig. As nasty an opponent as rats were, even they were no match for the curiosity of Madeleine Devereux. And this proved fortunate for all involved, since Madeleine’s exploration turned up several worthwhile finds. First was the discovery of the ship’s provisions. Though they would have to be careful not to take so much or in such a way as to be noticed, a small supply of water, rum, some fruits and breads, and an awful lot of flower and cornmeal would supplement their own modest provisions.

The second discovery was a small collection of lamps aside barrels of oil. It took several hours at least, but eventually Madeleine was able to find what she prayed to God was flint. Another several hours practicing striking it against the metal rim of a barrel finally brought forth a spark, and for the first time, Madeleine and Charlotte could actually see their surroundings. And what dismal surroundings they were. As suspected, there was nothing to see except the shadows of boxes and barrels and ropes and knives. They realized that several inches of water lined the floor, and the dry ground they thought they had been walking on was actually strategically placed boards mapping out the area.

The third discovery was not quite so important nor exciting, but with the light, Madeleine was able to find a narrow door leading into another section of the hold where the livestock was kept. Here chickens and pigs were caged up in the darkness. Madeleine’s heart ached for them. Even though she knew their fate on a ship, it didn’t mean she couldn’t feel for them, trapped down in the dark, cool, suffocating brig the same as they.

The more time passed since departure, the more frequently came the visits from crew members venturing into the hold to retrieve food, rum, or oil for lamps. Madeleine and Charlotte became quite adept at ducking down and quieting their breathing to near inaudible whenever footsteps sounded in the stairwell.

However, their presence couldn’t remain unnoticed forever. Eventually their couple bites here and there from the food supply would become apparent, and besides that, Madeleine needed to be found if she was going to bargain.

So after what felt like nearly a week but was in fact just over two days, Madeleine grabbed Charlotte’s arm and said, “This is it. It’s time we talk to the captain. We’re far away enough from port now, I think, that he’ll be more willing to listen to us.”

“Wait, what do you–“

Footsteps sounded in the stairwell and Charlotte fell silent out of habit. Madeleine gave her hand a squeeze, then stood up and walked forward. The light from the man’s lantern cast a dim glow surrounding him, and within seconds the edge of it splashed across Madeleine’s skirts.

Of course the man noticed this anomaly and, stepping closer to let his wide eyes trail up the wearer of the skirts, he gasped to see Madeleine standing so innocently in the center of the dark hold. Her arms hung loosely by her side as she smiled up at him.

“What the hell–“

”Bonjour,” she smiled, bringing her hands together in front of her. “Est-ce que je peux parler avec votre capitaine, sil vous plait?”

The man continued to stare at her blankly, and Madeleine could have laughed. Of course he couldn’t understand her. One didn’t parade onto an English ship and speak French to the sailors.

With a small giggle, Madeleine repeated, this time in his own language that she suddenly was glad to have painstakingly learned, “May I speak with the captain, please?”

The man dropped his lantern, turned, and fled up the stairwell, slamming the trap behind himself. The lantern, upon hitting the ground, shattered into a dozen sharp fragments and splashed oil all over the floor boards, which quickly accepted the flame.

Charlotte began to scream, “Fire! Fire! Put it out, Madeleine!”

“How?” Madeleine cried back. She lifted her skirts to reach out precariously with one boot and begin stomping on the flames, but this only splashed the oil further. The fire spread.

Both girls were screaming by this point, and neither knew what to do. The flames hadn’t yet attached to the wood and were only burning the oil off, but it was only a matter of time, and common sense decreed that once the weathered wood of the ship caught flame, it would go up like the tapers at Christmas.

Fortunately, it wasn’t much longer until the trap at the top of the stairwell was pried open again and several men came scurrying down.

“Le feu! Le feu!” Madeleine and Charlotte were both shrieking, Madeleine still stomping madly at the smallest of flames, Charlotte still searching frantically for anything to help. The men stared for only a second before one grabbed a bucket resting near at hand, scooped filthy water up from the space between the boards, and cast if over the entire area, effectively soaking Madeleine and a portion of Charlotte’s skirt.

Charlotte yelped and stared open-mouthed at the man holding the bucket, as though she couldn’t quite comprehend that he had indeed just done that. Madeleine wiped at the dirty brown water dripping from her chin, then insisted loudly,

“Cet idiot a presque brûlé le bateau entier mais vous essayez de nous noyey?” (That idiot almost burned the entire ship but you try to drown us?)

“Il n’est pas un passager clandestin sur mon bateau,” came the steady reply. (He is not a stowaway aboard my ship.) The French surprised Madeleine and Charlotte but was spoken with an English accent so that the words were almost amusing to them. No true foreigner could master the French tongue, Madeleine’s father had insisted.

A man held up one of the lanterns and stepped closer, then stepped aside so that the captain, the dark-haired Englishman from the tavern, could order, “Montrez-vous.” Charlotte took Madeleine’s arm and even Madeleine felt the breath catch in her throat the slightest bit at his command. There was nothing kind or comforting in his voice. He had spoken to them as though they were any other street creatures that had snuck onto his ship.

It was Charlotte who pulled them forward into the circle of light, their faces paling at the grim sneers aimed in their direction.

The captain hardly even glanced at them before ordering his men, “Bring them on deck.” Instantly men were at Madeleine’s and Charlotte’s sides, grabbing their arms and hauling them towards the staircase. Charlotte gasped but Madeleine kicked her legs and tried to rip her arm away.

“Laissez-moi partir!” she yelled, twisting this way and that. It was no use, though. The man holding her merely tightened his grip until his fingers were digging painfully into the muscles of her arm.

“They do not speak French,” the captain called over his shoulder to them in French. Madeleine didn’t let that deter her from insisting that he let her go, she could walk on her own. It wasn’t until they were on the deck, though, that the men dropped Charlotte’s and Madeleine’s arms to step back among the rest of the crew that was ambling over to see what all the commotion was.

Charlotte grabbed onto Madeleine’s arm again as the younger girl raised her chin defiantly to face the captain, ignoring the whistling and mumbling of the men behind her.

Only then did the captain get a good enough glance at their faces to frown, “The drunk girls from the tavern.” The crew grumbled that most of them didn’t understand the foreign words being tossed around, but the few who did were happy to mutter translations, though their accuracy was debatable.

“Yes, well, we weren’t really drunk,” Madeleine retorted.

“I didn’t tell you to speak,” the captain barked, his frown darkening. He was not so very old at all; probably no older than Charlotte, yet the seriousness of his stares aged him. “Now who are you and what are you doing aboard my ship?”

Silence.

“Madeleine. . .” Charlotte whispered, giving her a nudge.

Madeleine whispered back, though loudly enough for the captain to hear, “Well he asked a question but he didn’t tell me to speak.”

“Are you playing a game, little girl?” he demanded, stepping closer. “I’ll have you know that my own men do not speak to me in such a manner and I will not stand for you to, either.”

“I’m just trying to follow orders,” Madeleine retorted. “And seeing as Charlotte and I are ladies, I do not think we can be compared to your . . . men.”

“Madeleine!” Charlotte hissed again. Sensing that this was not going to go well, she gathered her courage and answered instead, “I’m terribly sorry, Captain . . . well, you see, it’s all just some big misunderstanding--”

“I can speak for myself Char–“

”Enough!” the captain interrupted. “You have still not answered my question and I am already granting you more privilege to speak than I grant most stowaways. Do not abuse my kindness.”

Madeleine returned almost cheerfully, “Well I thank you for that, then. This is Charlotte and I am Madeleine Devereux.”

The way in which she announced her name led the captain to inquire, “Is this supposed to mean anything to me?”

“Well not yet. I haven’t told you what I know about the treasure yet.”

At the word “trésor” a roar ripped through the crew, for though they knew little to no French, they knew what “trésor” meant.

“Silence!” the captain barked at them and instantly it was so. The captain didn’t speak for several long minutes during which Charlotte was sure her knees were knocking together loudly enough to be heard. Several men called out suggestions of what the captain should do to the ladies.

“Hand ‘em over to us, Cap’n! We’ll take care of ‘em!”

“Toss ‘em overboard! No need to feed two little princesses!”

“Feed ‘em to the fishies!”

The captain ignored their shouts, narrowing his eyes as he asked the ladies cooly, “And what makes you think I have any desire to know of this treasure of yours?”

“Oh, well it’s not my treasure,” Madeleine retorted. “But it’s not yours either. The Scotsman and that bald guy have made sure of that.”

The captain’s eyebrows raised and his lips parted in surprise, but not for the reason Madeleine smugly assumed.

“Come with me,” he ordered after a moment’s hesitation. Turning to the man at his right, he ordered, “You as well, Massey.”

“But Cameron, I don’t speak French,” Massey frowned.

“That’s all right. If I remember correctly, at least one of these fair ladies speaks English perfectly fine,” he assured him, casting one more glare at Madeleine. He then turned his back and began walking.

Madeleine and Charlotte hesitated for a moment, but remaining with the crew was a much more terrifying prospect than following the cooly in control captain. They shuffled after him, Massey bringing up the rear and closing the door behind them once the captain had led them into the master cabin.

“You both speak English?” the captain pressed, not facing them until he had sat at the broad table dominating most of the room.

“Better than you speak French,” Madeleine retorted.

“Madeleine!” Charlotte hissed. The captain’s eyes just narrowed.

“Have a seat,” he encouraged. Madeleine eyed him warily, then followed Charlotte in doing so.

“You understand it is not typical to invite a stowaway into my cabin to converse,” he began, nodding when Massey took up standing by his side. “My instinct is to turn you over to my men. Tossing you into the ocean would be too merciful for the disrespect you have shown me.”

Charlotte leaned forward to beg, “Please don’t! You don’t understand, Madeleine is just a . . . an absolute fool. She’s just a little girl. She doesn’t understand how serious this is.”

“Serious indeed,” the captain continued. “Perhaps now if you cooperate, I will feel it in me to be merciful.” Charlotte nodded and at his intense stare, Madeleine gave a small, slow nod as well. “Now, then. You acted as though you held information with which to bargain. Now is your chance to do so.”

Madeleine offered at Charlotte’s nudging, “Well they didn’t tell you the truth.”

“About what?”

“About anything. They didn’t tell you that even though you have the first key, there’s another key you need, too. And they pointed out the wrong lines to you on the map.”

“How did you come to know this?”

“Well, this little rat stole our bags when we were eating, so I took off running after him–“

”The short version, Maddie,” Charlotte encouraged gently. Massey worked to keep the amusement off his dirty face.

“I eavesdropped,” she abbreviated. “They didn’t know I was listening.”

The captain stared hard at the table for a moment, then leaned in closer and ordered, “Now think carefully. Did you hear them say anything about a camp?”

Madeleine screwed her face up in confusion, “A camp? Don’t you want to know where the treasure is?”

“I couldn’t bloody care less where the treasure is! Did they say anything about a camp?” the captain yelled. It was such a sudden outburst that Madeleine and Charlotte both leapt back in their chairs with fright. The captain pushed himself up from the table and strode to the window. The ladies shared anxious looks while Massey attempted to remain stoic. When Charlotte glanced at him, he only looked sternly back at her, then turned his eyes toward his captain.

Once the captain’s shoulders, his back still to them, had returned to their usual bold squareness, Madeleine answered with a shake of her head, “No. They never said anything about a camp.”

He nodded and said without turning away from the window, “Very well. You are dismissed. We will make port at Brest in a matter of days and there bid you farewell.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte sighed, but Madeleine insisted, standing up, “But the treasure?”

“I don’t care about the treasure.”

“But–“

”Madeleine, leave it,” Charlotte insisted. “Thank you, Captain. But what about your crew?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her for only a second, then turned back and nodded, “Massey, make clear to the crew that they are not to bother the ladies. In return, the ladies are not to say a single word to any member of my crew.”

“Are we free to roam, then?” Madeleine asked hopefully.

“The ladies are allowed on the top deck only where a close eye can be kept on them.” As if sensing that Madeleine would only see this as a challenge, he added, “Anyone who breaks these rules shall be tossed overboard without regret.”

“I’d regret it–“ Madeleine mumbled but Charlotte elbowed her sharply. Massey nodded and motioned for the ladies to follow him to the top deck, wishing he could understand their whispered conversation.

“How can he not care about the treasure?” Madeleine demanded of Charlotte.

Charlotte shook her head, “You could have gotten us killed!”

“All he cares about is some stupid camp. What kind of camp anyways?”

“Just be grateful he’s letting us live and putting us safely ashore. Don’t go tempting his wrath, Madeleine!”

“I’m not giving up this easily. We’re going on a treasure hunt if it kills me.”

Charlotte sighed, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

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