Ministry Protocol: Thrilling Tales of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Page 17
*****
Flowerdew bolted up right. He looked around to see what had woken him. Night had fallen while he was asleep. A shadow detached itself from the darkness of the doorframe and stepped into the centre of the cabin. “I said it was dinner time, Mr Flowerdew,” the shadow said. Striking a match, Flowerdew lit the lamp on the end table. He held it upward to shed some light onto the shadow, revealing a small Mayan boy in an apron. Collecting himself, Flowerdew thanked the boy and asked his name.
“Cookie callz me Cricket,” the boy replied.
“Cricket?”
“Yez sir, because I am always jumping to action. When I am not, I am still as stick. Plus Cookie likez me singing. If you can come with me, I’z can take you to the mess hall.”
Checking his boots for bugs, he grabbed his gun belt and walked out into the night, the boy staying close to his side.
“Where are you from, Cricket?” Flowerdew asked as they walked across the yard.
“I’m from right here. Well I was right here before I moved, but I come back. This is where I belong.”
“Who…uh…. who taught you English, Cricket?” The cross section of different dialects was starting to confuse Flowerdew. Cricket spoke in a form of pigeon English that looked like it took samples from the Queen’s English, Jamaican, Southern United States, and who knows where else.
“Whoever wants to talk with me in camp. Cookie been teachin’ me most of it, but the men, they help too.”
Ahead of them, the sound of plates and knives clashing and raucous merriment filtered softly through the air, then poured out the door like a flash flood. Entering the mess hall, a wave of heat and smells assaulted Flowerdew’s nose, painting a picture of daily life. Cricket escorted him to the foreman’s table, before disappearing into the crowd.
“Everyone seems so happy, Mr Bates. I wouldn’t think people would be this happy out here,” Flowerdew yelled to Bates over the roar of the room.
Bates, transformed now to a picture of joviality, guffawed, clapping Flowerdew on his shoulder. “Things are not normally this boisterous, but that ship you came in on had all of our supplies for the next month. The men tend to be a little heavy handed with the rum the first few nights. It’s a bit like a celebration,” Bates answered.
Nodding, Flowerdew turned back to the table to find Cricket emerging from the crowd. He deposited a plate of food before him, and then vanished again.
“Quick as lightning, that lad is,” Flowerdew said before he tucked into the food on the table. A hearty meal, full of spices, something he was used to and made him feel like he was back at home. Eating his meal slowly, Flowerdew was fascinated by the pure sea of humanity that was the mess hall. People laughing, eating, drinking, and generally just so happy with life. It was hard to believe that these were the same people that at any moment could be the next victim. On the other hand, it made sense. If you do not know when your last breath will be, you might as well live life to the fullest. Flowerdew thought it was what he would have done when he was younger.
Having eaten more than his fill, Flowerdew excused himself, traversed the hall, and headed back to his cabin. The trip, he suddenly realised, after his head returned to the pillow, must have left him more exhausted than he had earlier assumed.