The Storm

The storm had already raged for hours on end and the end did not seem in sight. The screams of terror had ceased quite quickly. The men being too sick or too horrified to produce any sound. Only occasionally when the ship tipped sideways in a steep angle some cries would sound. For now most of them needed all their strength to stay in their hammock, else they would all be dragged by one another into a messy heep of chains and bodies.
To Benjamin's surprise Luther had managed to fall asleep depite the storm. He couldn't help but admire the man for that skill. He wondered how long the storm would last. In these parts storms of hours were not uncommon. After what seemed like an eternity Benjamin dozed off, only to be awoken by a loud crack, then a heavy thud that reverbrated through the whole ship.
'There went a mast,' Étienne whispered. 'Let's hope they hack it away in time and dump it overboard.'
Shouting above deck could be heard. Followed by the sound of axes biting into wood in a fierce rhytm. Besides that only some incidental shouts could be heard over the storm.
Benjamin could only imagine the chaos and frenzy on deck. The haste to cut the mast loose, cutting the ropes and try to rescue the sail. However that last bit might not be possible in a storm like this. The risk being too big that sailors got tangled in sail or rope and went overboard with it.
After the hacking had stopped the junk dipped heavily to one side as the sailors worked hard to get the mast overboard. The rattling and flapping of rope and sail against the side of the junk could be heard when the mast finally went overboard. All anyone could hope for now was that the sea would wash the mast away from the ship, so it would not ram and dammage the hull by bumping into it.
With one mast gone, the junk was more vulnerable on the raging sea. The roll became different inspiring a wave of nausea in the men without salt in their blood, who spilled their stomach content around, adding to the stench and air density belowdecks.
Benjamin was certainly not a fan of storms, but he was sure that however heavy the storm was, it could not be worse on deck than down here. What he would not give for a bit of fresh air. However the hatches stayed closed and remained so for hours.

It was night when the hatches were finally removed. The Russians came downstairs, their mouth covered against the stench. Quickly they selected a few prisoners, released them from their chains and took them above deck. Benjamin was among them. Once in the fresh air he inhaled as much of the fresh sea air as he could. The men he was with did the same. Their guards allowed them a few moments, then threw bucket after bucket of seawater over their heads. When they were all wet and kind of clean (taking the meaning of clean in the broadest sense of the word), the buckets were shoved in their hands.
'You clean your deck. Be quick about it.'
After stillness for so long, it took Benjamin a while to find his gait. Now that he moved from above to below deck the stench below seemed even worse. Benjamin and his fellow prisoners were not the only ones released to work. It looked like a work crew from each deck was selected to clean away the vomit, piss and excrement that had flooded the decks below. Cherishing the fresh air, Benjamin took as much time as he dared above deck to fill his bucket and to clean out the poobuckets. It felt like the work was done way too soon. Of course their guards did not need a spotless deck for the prisoners, just clean enough so their boots would not get too dirty.
After the cleaning bowls with water, pretending to be soup, were handed out.
'Well, isn't this just like dining in the Pujiang Hotel,' Benjamin remarked to Étienne and Luther, who just shrugged and wolved down their meal.
'Better than being hungry,'Luther remarked.
'Well, i seriously doubt that,' Benjamin replied.
Luther held out his hand, 'if you won't eat it ....'
Benjamin shook his head and downed the soup in two big gulps, which tasted even worse than imagined. But he managed to keep it down.

The remainder of the crossing from Hirado to Vladivostok was uneventfull. However the quality and the size of the rations improved. According to Étienne because no one would buy a worker that looked like the living dead.
The storm had blow The Foechoer off course quite a bit, so there was more time for their imprisoners to get them looking more healthy and cleaner than they had been on the start of the journey. They were even aired once a day in small groups. This was the only moment of the day that Benjamin and his fellow prisoners were not shackled.
Standing at the railing with Étienne and Luther, Benjamin pondered on where they would be put to work. Of course the Chines traded with the Russians, but they also traded with their countrymen who had set up shop in Vladivostok.
'It will be easier to escape if we are bought by Russians,' Benjamin thought, 'we look like them. If we are bought by a Chinaman, we stick out like ravens in the snow.'
'No use in wondering,' Luther said, 'I intend not to plan until I know where I'll be. Even if we are bought by Russians, if they put us to work outside the city, escape will be much harder. Winter is coming soon and you don't want to be in the middle of nowhere with bloodhounds and angry bosssess on your tail then. If they won't get you, the frost will.'
'Aren't you the optimist.'
'Just being real.'
'Well, keep that realism to yourself. It is not helping.'
Luther shrugged.
'What are your ideas,' Benjamin asked Étienne, who had been quiet so far.
'On this one I agree with Luther. However as soon as we know what kind of tradesmen are looking to buy, I plan on having all the skills the man with the biggest business is looking for. It seems more easy to me escaping from a boss with hundreds of workers than with a boss with only a few dozen workers.'
The men spitballed some more about which trades they might find themselves in.
'Wouldn't it be great to be put to work in one of the distilleries,' Luther said.
'If you are handing out dreamjobs, put me to work as a heavy for the cities finest brothel,' Étienne replied. 'And what about you goldilocks?'
'Diplomatic service.'
'You get to choose from all the businesses and you want to be a paperpusher and a muppet to some high born snob?'
'There will be balls, attended by the finest ladies,' Benjamin winked, 'they are usually so bored by their antique husbands that they will be like wax in my hands. Only too glad to dance and flirt with a man their own age and still in posession of all his teeth. Believe me, they will be ripe for the plucking, and,' he added with a grin at Étienne, 'they won't charge. Very unlike the ladies put into your care.'
The men chuckled and were rewarded with a smack around the head from the guards on deck.