"The Road to Silverwood"

The night brought heavy rain, and by morning, a sharp, wintry wind cut through the air, carrying scattered clouds across the sky. Despite the bitter weather, I rose before dawn, ventured to a nearby stream, and plunged into its icy depths. The cold water shocked my senses, leaving me wide awake and refreshed.

Back by the warmth of the fire, I sat and contemplated my precarious situation. My uncle, Richard Ashfield, had shown nothing but malice toward me, and I was now certain he sought my ruin. Yet, I was young, confident, and, perhaps foolishly, believed in my ability to outwit him. The thought of turning the tables on him filled me with satisfaction.

As I stared into the flames, I imagined myself uncovering his schemes and rising to a position of power over him. But for all my fanciful daydreaming, I saw no hint of the storm that lay ahead—no ships, no treacherous captains, and no sign of the trials waiting to ensnare me.

With confidence swelling in my chest, I climbed upstairs and freed my captive uncle. He greeted me civilly, and I returned the courtesy, though my smile carried a hint of triumph. Over breakfast, I decided it was time for us to address matters directly.

"Well, Uncle Richard," I began, leaning back in my chair, "have you nothing to say for yourself?"

He mumbled something about a joke gone too far, but I cut him off.

"Enough," I said. "It's time we understood each other. You treated me like a simpleton, but I'm no fool. What reason could you possibly have for deceiving me and attempting to harm me?"

Before he could reply, a sharp knock at the door interrupted us. Leaving my uncle in the room, I went to see who it was. On the doorstep stood a boy, no older than thirteen, dressed in sailor's garb. Despite his attempts at cheerfulness—snapping his fingers and dancing a jig—his pale face betrayed his misery.

"Hello there," he said in a voice that cracked from the cold.

"What do you want?" I asked sternly.

"Oho! No fun about you, eh? I've got a letter for Mr. Ashfield," he said, holding it out. "And mate, I'm starving."

I took the letter and brought him inside, offering him a share of our breakfast. As the boy devoured the meal with gusto, my uncle read the letter and his demeanor shifted. He pulled me aside, his voice hushed.

"Take a look at this," he said, handing me the note.

It read:

> The Harbor's Edge Inn, Queen's Ferry

Sir,

I'm anchored here and send my cabin boy to inform you. If you have further business to discuss, today is your last chance as the wind is perfect for departure. I've drawn on you for the usual amount. I trust you'll handle any issues with your lawyer.

Yours respectfully,

Captain Elias Hawthorne

Uncle Richard explained that Captain Hawthorne commanded a ship called The Horizon. He suggested we accompany the cabin boy to the Ferry to settle matters with the captain and then visit his lawyer. The thought of seeing a bustling harbor—and the lawyer who knew my father—piqued my interest. Despite my reservations, I agreed.

We set off, the wind biting at our faces. The cabin boy, whom I now knew as Jamie, kept up a constant chatter. He spoke of life at sea, the ship's rough crew, and their fearsome captain. Jamie showed off his tattoos and even hinted at dark tales of violence aboard The Horizon. His bravado did little to mask the cruelty of his life, and I felt a pang of pity for him.

Finally, we crested a hill and looked down at the Ferry. The inn sat near the pier, and offshore, the ship lay at anchor. Sailors bustled about, readying it for departure. Despite its fine appearance, I felt an inexplicable dread at the sight of the vessel.

"Uncle Richard," I said firmly, "I'll go no closer to that ship."

He paused, seemingly startled by my resolve. "Well, well," he muttered. "We'll see what can be done. But let's get out of this wind—it's freezing!"

With that, we descended toward the inn, my unease growing with every step.