*This is just an opening bit... May well continue it for a laugh XD *

The yard lurches and I grab for the rope above my head, gritting my teeth as it cuts into my palm. Between my legs, the wood is slick with rain, and below the sea boils, iron grey.

"Jesse!" Francesco there on the rigging, his hair plastered against his face. "Come back!"

The ship lurches again, and this time I almost fall, biting back a scream. My heart beats so fast and my head is spinning, but I crawl back along the yard and Francesco grabs my shirt, yells into my ear.

"Stupid English boy! You'll kill yourself!"

As we climb back down to the deck, my arms are shaking and the rain is so heavy I can hardly see. And it is a run across to the hatches, down into the belly of the ship where Francesco and I live and we can wait out the storm.

Outside, the noise is deafening, but it is no less as we make it below, wet to the skin and shivering. The other sailors sit around their tables, some trying to eat, many praying. One man is huddled in the corner retching and holding a bucket.

Me, I cannot stay here. I tug at my shirt, pull it away from my skin, and push down the deck, down towards where the other boys will be, shouting and wrestling and trying to pretend the storm doesn't frighten them.

Nino grabs at my sleeve. "Hey, Jesse, slow down. Is it bad out there?"

"I need to change. I'm cold." I hunch over the sea chest that we boys all share, digging through for a clean shirt that will fit me, and stay facing the wall as I pull off one soaking sleeve, pull on one dry one. It seems long ago that I could change my clothes freely, like the others do. When the sun shines, they swagger around bare-chested like savages, and they take pride in their wiry muscles and bronze skin.

Not me.

Although Nino is laughing as if the sea is calm like a millpond, the others are easier to read. Lucia has his rosary in his hands, muttering something under his breath which I know to be a prayer. They call me a heretic, but I cannot understand why they need beads to pray, or a man to hear their confession.

"Is it bad?" Nino asks again.

I shrug. "It's bad."

"Why do you worry?" Juan elbows Lucia and little Paulo, whose face is the colour of chalk. "The Portuguese have the best sailors in the world! If we can't get through this storm, no-one can."

I snort. "The Portuguese aren't the best. The English have reached Japan too."

Juan rolls his eyes. "Sorry, boys, I forgot. The fabled Alexandria, of course."

"Stop it!" I kick him beneath the table, and he winces. "My father and Jack did reach Japan!"

"Oh, aye, and they got through Magellen's Pass?" Juan's face contorts into a sneer. "You're living on fairy tales, English boy."

"The English are better sailors than anyone else!" I have to raise my voice again as the wind howls and the waves slam against the sides of the ship. "Who's the best rigging monkey out of us?"

Little Paulo grins. "You!"

He likes Juan even less than I do.

"Who's the best at knots?" I continue. "Who learns fastest? Who climbs highest?"

Nino shakes his head a little. "Leave it, Jesse. You've made your point."

I stick out my tongue at Juan and hold out an arm to wrestle. After all, I need to show him that I'm as good as him. Better. Not because I'm so proud of my English blood, and not because I hate him.

Because that's what boys do.

And I have to be a boy now.