“Boy, get up!” the booming voice of Ray, the second bosun, rang out across the deck, jolting Arthur from his stiff hammock in the hold.
“Coming!” the boy called back, scrambling up.
He bounded onto the main deck, leaping over coils of rope, crates, and scattered gear.
In an instant, he stood on the upper deck.
Sunlight blinded him momentarily until his eyes adjusted to the bright gleam of the sea.
This was the third or fourth day aboard the Black Beta, though the days had begun to blur into one another.
Much had changed since Matthis, the captain’s son, had pulled him from the icy water.
Arthur never imagined he would find himself as a cabin boy on a galley belonging to the royal fleet, commanded by Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships.
Yet when Captain Davos Seaworth, known as the Onion Knight, offered to drop him at Dragonstone so he could return to King’s Landing, Arthur had done everything in his power to prove his worth aboard the ship.
He had approached the crew himself, offering help wherever he could, until finally Davos assigned the eager boy to Ray, the second bosun.
The seasoned mercenary had given the boy a chance, and Davos himself understood Arthur’s motives better than most.
After all, if he hadn’t seized his own opportunities all those years ago, who knew if a simple cabin boy from the Cobbled Cat could have risen so far?
Yet doubts still gnawed at him, for the orders Stannis Baratheon had entrusted to him, rather than to ravens, meant only one thing war.
And his ship would not escape the conflict unscathed, a place where the boy had no business being.
“Arthur, today your job is to scrub the deck and help with the provisions!” Ray barked the order without turning.
“Yes, sir!” Arthur replied, grabbing a mop and bucket.
The sea air was thick with salt and the smell of tar used to seal the planks.
The deck hummed with activity: sailors pulled lines, soldiers drilled under their officers’ watchful eyes, and near the stern, Captain Davos spoke quietly with his first mate.
“Hey, cabin boy!” a cheerful voice called out.
Matthis appeared beside him.
“Scrub faster!
Get used to it if you want to be a real sailor.”
“I’m getting used to it,” Arthur replied, scrubbing diligently.
“It’s just…
unfamiliar.”
“Get used to it, then, since it’s unfamiliar,” Matthis chuckled.
“We all went through it.
If you do well, I’ll train you in swordplay this evening!”
“Awesome!” Arthur didn’t realize he’d started scrubbing with renewed vigor.
The day aboard the Black Beta continued, measured by the rhythm of waves against the wooden hull.
Arthur scrubbed the deck, imagining he was holding a sword, practicing the strikes Matthis would teach him.
His movements grew faster, and thoughts of the upcoming training lifted his spirits despite the scorching sun, the biting wind, and the stench of fish guts left behind from the sailors’ catch.
“Boy, don’t scrub a hole in the deck,” the bosun said with a grin as he passed by.
His hoarse voice was warm with amusement.
“If you’re this easy to inspire, maybe I should promise you sword lessons every day?”
“Let’s do it!” Arthur shot him an eager look, and the man bit his lip to keep from laughing.
“Well…
for now, Matthis will be enough,” the man said, smiling.
“But if you can beat our sailor Seaworth, I’ll give you a few lessons myself.
Got it, cabin boy?”
“Got it, beat Seaworth,” Arthur replied, trying to imitate a phrase he’d heard somewhere.
Ray burst out laughing, wiping tears from his eyes.
Arthur smiled hesitantly too, only after realizing what he’d said.
He still wasn’t sure how to react to the older sailors’ jokes, but he felt himself becoming part of this lively, noisy family called a crew.
When the sun reached its zenith, a bell rang out, and a cry came from the side:
“Food’s ready!”
The shout sparked instant activity.
As if on command, all the sailors began moving toward the galley.
Ray waved at Arthur:
“Come on, boy, leave the mop.
Eat while you can; don’t expect luxury tonight.”
The galley was cramped, but the aroma of hot stew and boiled fish made it almost sacred.
Arthur squeezed through to the large pot, took a wooden bowl, and found a spot by the wall.
Matthis settled beside him, greedily devouring his portion.
“Eat up, Arthur,” he winked.
“You’ll be exhausted by evening if you don’t fill your stomach properly.
Get seconds.”
A few years older than Arthur, Matthis had clearly taken the rescued boy under his wing, and Arthur was genuinely grateful for it.
Arthur nodded, but his attention was caught by commotion on the upper deck.
Through the open door of the hold, he saw the watchmen shouting from the crow’s nest, pointing at the horizon.
“What is it?” Arthur set down his bowl and moved toward the ladder.
By the time he reached the deck, his heart was pounding faster.
On the horizon, dark shapes of numerous islands appeared.
He quickly recognized the famous “Steps,” which he’d heard stories about from sailors in King’s Landing.
“They say this archipelago formed when the sea swallowed the Arm of Dorne, the land bridge between Westeros and Essos,” said the boy with an air of importance.
Though Matthis was just a sailor, his father the captain had given him a good education, and Arthur enjoyed listening to him.
Matthis always knew interesting things and was happy to share them.
Arthur stopped at the railing, peering at the distant outlines of the Steps.
The islands looked grim, like the bones of some ancient beast cast upon the waves.
Dark cliffs, overgrown with thorny bushes, rose steeply from the sea, creating dangerous shoals and narrow passages.
“Run to Paul, he’s at the bow.
Get ready for the maneuver.”
“Right away!” Arthur replied, grabbing his legs and quickly heading to the indicated spot.
Work was already in full swing at the bow.
Matthis and several sailors hauled on ropes, preparing the galley for passage through the narrow strait.
This required caution: the waters around the Steps were notorious not only for dangerous currents but also for hidden reefs.
“Paul, Ray sent me…”
“Ah, the cabin boy?
Come here,” Paul said, nodding at a free end of the rope.
He was a stocky, bearded man who could probably have handled the simple work himself.
“Hold this and pull on command.”
Arthur gripped the rope with both hands, straining every muscle.
For a moment, he felt part of a large, well-coordinated machine that was the Black Beta’s crew.
Every movement, every word mattered, and the fate of everyone aboard depended on their coordination.
“Port side!” the captain’s firm voice rang from the stern.
The helm spun sharply, and the ship began to turn smoothly, entering the narrow passage between two islands.
From the shore, the empty eye sockets of caves stared at them, and birds darted among the crevices of the cliffs, filling the air with piercing cries.
Arthur followed the work shown by the older sailor, while greedily taking in the surrounding view.
The cliffs did indeed somewhat resemble steps.
Arthur struggled to pull his gaze away from the Steps.
The tall cliffs, covered with green patches of vegetation and scarred by time, seemed to beckon with their mystery.
Birds circling above the cliffs cast chaotic shadows on the churning water.
And deep inside, he felt the same pull he’d experienced when seeing Dragonstone a feeling that something was drawing him toward the large caves visible in the distance.
“Watch yourself, boy!” Paul called out, nodding.
“Hold that rope tight, or it’ll pull you overboard.”
Arthur frowned and gripped the coarse rope tighter, trying not to miss any commands.
The galley moved slowly and carefully through the narrow strait.
Suddenly, a cry came from the lookout above:
“Ship on the starboard side!”
These words made everyone on deck freeze.
Sailors and officers quickly turned their gazes in the indicated direction.
Arthur squinted, trying to make out the vessel’s outline on the horizon.
It moved slowly, almost hidden behind one of the islands.
“What flag?” Davos called out, snatching up his spyglass.
“Can’t see, sir!” the lookout replied.
A tense silence fell.
Everyone waited for the captain’s command, and Arthur felt his heart racing in his chest.
“Too far,” Davos said at last, lowering the glass.
“Probably a merchant ship.
But better to be cautious.
Everyone stand ready!”
Sailors rushed to the weapons lockers.
Even Arthur found something to do; he began helping distribute arrows.
Soon, however, the ship that had appeared on the horizon vanished behind the cliffs, as if it had never been there.
“Gone,” Matthis said quietly, stopping beside Arthur.
“Pirates?” the cabin boy asked, breathing heavily.
“Maybe.
Or maybe just merchants who didn’t want to take chances,” Matthis shrugged.
“But no one feels safe around here.
Monford Velaryon tries to keep order, but he clearly doesn’t have enough men.”
The tension on deck slowly eased, and the crew returned to their duties.
But the unease still hung in the air.
Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling that the mysterious ship’s appearance near the Steps wasn’t a coincidence.
When the galley emerged from the strait into more open water, the captain ordered them to hold course.
The waves calmed, and the sea seemed to regain its enchanting serenity, as if nature itself had decided to rest after the dangerous narrow passage.
After supper, Arthur stood at the rail, watching the water’s surface, full of surprises.
Shimmering fish, silver in the fading sunlight, leaped from the water as if competing in grace.
They surfaced in the foam and disappeared so quickly Arthur could barely catch a glimpse.
Gulls circled above the galley, crying piercingly, and sometimes, almost playfully, they dove toward the water, snatching fish from it.
“Look, boy,” Paul called out, passing by again.
“Flying fish.
See there?”
Arthur followed his gaze.
Several small fish with elongated fins literally “flew” above the water, like tiny seabirds.
“They fly!” Arthur exclaimed, eyes wide.
“They don’t fly, they glide,” the experienced sailor chuckled.
“Nature made them that way so they could escape predators.
Beautiful, aren’t they?
Arthur nodded, watching the fish disappear beneath the waves.
He thought about how wondrous and mysterious this world was, beyond the city wall.
The world around him, which not long ago had frightened him with its boundlessness and unfamiliarity, had become a source of wonder.
“There are two kinds of people,” Paul said thoughtfully.
“Those who live by the sea, feed from it, and take it for granted.
And those who are drawn to the sea, to its vast, boundless waters, full of mysteries and secrets…”
He said it in such a way that Arthur clearly understood which kind the older sailor belonged to.
“Interesting to know which one you are,” the man said half-jokingly.
Arthur thought about it.
Not long ago, he’d probably have belonged to the first type, but now…
“There are also those who return from the sea,” Ray added gruffly, appearing from nowhere and ruffling the boy’s black hair.
“True enough,” Paul grunted.
“That storm was something…
may the Seven protect us.
It’s a miracle you…”
“Hey, Arthur!” Matthis called, standing by the mast and stretching slightly.
“Coming to train, or are you going to keep watching the fish?”
The boy turned to him, smiling.
“Coming!”
“Go on, then, runt.
I’ll watch!” the second bosun said, crossing his arms.
For an experienced mercenary who’d been through several campaigns, watching the boys train was just a game.
Though he admitted that Matthis had learned something from his teaching.
Not least because Davos had hired him for his skill with a blade.
The former smuggler, who had risen to heights unattainable for many through sheer luck, had seven children.
He wanted to give them everything he himself had been denied.
Arthur left thoughts of the sea’s wonders behind and strode quickly toward Matthis, who was waiting with two wooden practice swords.
The young sailor looked confident, even slightly mocking, as if anticipating some fun.
“Catch,” he tossed one of the swords to Arthur, who barely caught it.
His fingers slipped awkwardly over the smooth wood, but he managed to grip the hilt, clutching the roughly fashioned practice weapon as if it were a knight’s blade.
“Today we’ll cover the basics.
If you don’t want to end up in a fight empty-handed, better start learning now.”
“I’m ready,” Arthur said seriously, settling into an awkward stance.
“Well, let’s see,” Matthis grinned, and without giving the boy time to think, stepped forward with a light lunge.
Arthur, startled by the sudden attack, tried to parry, but instead nearly lost his footing on the wet deck.
Matthis laughed.
“At least straighten your stance, cabin boy!
Otherwise, not just Greyjoys, but the first fisherman you meet will beat you with his rod!
Stand like I do.” He paused to show him.
“Bend your knees a little, they’re like sticks…”
Arthur bit his lip, trying not to show his annoyance.
He knew Matthis was right, but the comments still stung.
He was trying!
The boy straightened up, trying to copy the other boy’s movements, and gripped his sword tighter.
“Again,” he said, his look showing he wasn’t giving up.
Matthis nodded respectfully and attacked again, this time slower, allowing Arthur to get used to the movement.
With each strike and block, Arthur felt his body growing more accustomed to the new rhythm.
Just a few days ago, he’d barely held a sword; now he was beginning to understand proper movement.
For a moment, he even felt like he knew “how it should be done.” But the feeling was so fleeting that he barely noticed it before it vanished.
Matthis, seeing the cabin boy’s effort, grew more serious, and his strikes now required real concentration.
“Good,” he breathed after another exchange.
“But don’t relax.
In a real fight, no one gives you time to think.”
The training lasted another half hour until Arthur was completely exhausted.
He sat on the deck, wiping sweat from his forehead, feeling his hands tremble.
His body ached from the missed thrusts from the practice stick.
Matthis sat beside him, offering him water.
“Not bad for a start,” he said thoughtfully.
“Actually, very good.
You’ve got a strong strike…
but don’t get cocky.
I was going easy on you.
You’ve got a long way to go before you can hold a sword like something other than a peasant with a pitchfork.”
He was clearly imitating someone, laughing at the end.
“A long way…
yes,” Arthur replied absently, gazing at the horizon where the sea seemed to ignite gold in the sunset rays.
Glowing with the same gold before his eyes hung the annoying inscription.
One of the few he could actually read: “Skill: One-Handed Weapons: 10.”