Maeve
“If you wake up earlier, you’ll have a better shot of getting a real breakfast, miss.” Robbie was sitting on a crate, a thick canvas sail laid over his waist as he sewed a patch into it, the needle nearly as long as his hand.
I looked down at my bowl of cold sludge, which was the only way I could describe such a thing. It was oats, probably, with a hint of… fly. I picked the fly out of the bowl with my finger, wiping it on the crate I was perched on and looked around, taking it all in as though for the first time.
“Why does the Persephone use sails and not engines? I know this ship has power. I saw the electric lights.”
“No one can see us if the ship’s powered down.”
“What do you mean? A ship like this? It stands out, trust me.” I stirred my oatmeal, trying to find the confidence to take a bite.
“Captain Keaton is a traditionalist, you could say,” Robbie breathed, wincing as he pricked his finger with the needle.
“You mean a pirate—”