"Manifest?" He realized then he was sitting on a beach with pieces of a ship around him. "Oh. I'm with the crew."
"You? With those little chicken wings? There's not a captain in Britain who'd take a scrawny little thing like you. Now, out with the truth, boy. Where did you come from?"
"I don't know. I swear, I can't remember." His stomach rumbled again. "Could I have something to eat?"
"We earn our food here. You do some work and then you can have some food," the man said. He motioned to the beach. "Start cleaning this up. Put the wood in one pile and anything else of value in another."
"All right. Sounds easy enough."
The man grabbed his arm, squeezing until Wendell winced. "If I catch you stealing anything I'll have you quartered." The man swatted Wendell in the ribs to emphasize his point before stomping away. He waved at a sandy-haired man and an older man. Wendell squinted, thinking they looked familiar, but he couldn't be certain.
His stomach continued to plague him as he dragged heavy pieces of wood from the shallow water onto the beach. He took off his wet shirt, tearing it into strips to protect his hands from splinters. After wrestling four pieces of wood ashore, he sank to his knees in the sand to rest.
On a rise above a line of boulders, he saw canvas tents and wooden lean-tos that didn't look as though they could survive a stiff breeze. In his mind he saw how to fashion the tents and shacks into sturdy buildings, but the dull ache in his left arm reminded him no one would listen to him.
He got to his feet and shuffled along the beach to bring in more of the driftwood before the man with the walking stick showed up. A glint of metal in the surf caught his eye. He squatted down to find a curve of silver in the sand. He brushed the sand away to reveal a pocket watch.
The glass on the face of the watch was shattered and the hands stuck at seven thirty-five. With a jagged piece of glass he popped open the works, staring with fascination at the gears. With the right tools I could get this working, he thought. A fine watch like this would fetch a fine price-
The walking stick came down on Wendell's hands, knocking the watch to the ground. The man seized Wendell by the neck, lifting him into the air. "I knew it! You're nothing more than a thieving wretch. Thought you'd take that watch for yourself, did you? Now you'll see what we do with thieves."