Excerpt from "Quest" by Kathleen Duble

At last, we are off! Lord, it is good to have the feel of a ship beneath my feet again. It has been too long!

I have climbed the mast, swinging myself into the air. Twenty feet below, things wheeled and rolled beneath me. I felt my stomach heave. What a glorious feeling!

Father yelled for me to come down before I killed myself. But as usual, I have ignored him. I love these heights. I love the feeling of the boat, rolling side to side with the wind. I love the feeling that I may fall to my death. For how can one ever really enjoy life if you are not always living constantly at its edge? That's the place I most want to be.

Already I am thinking on what we may see this trip. How my heart goes out to all those poor boys left behind in London: farmers who must rise each day to milk the same infernal beast, butchers who spend their days bloody with dead carcasses, blacksmiths who must pound over and over the same shape into their iron. Other than being a prince, there is nothing I would rather be than an explorer. It is a grand life. One never knows what to expect -- white bears with huge fangs, fish as big as my own vessel, savages that cannot speak my tongue. These are the wonders I have seen on my last voyages, and God willing, there will be more this time around.

Before we left today, I was forced to attend church with the rest of the crew and their families at St. Ethelburga's. (Father feels God should be on our side before we leave the harbor, but I would say the crew below me is more godless than God-fearing.) My mother sat near me, expecting as always for me to provide a good long snore in the midst of that blasted priest's long-winded prayers. Truly, the man must take lessons on how to bore a person to death. But today, I did not sink into a stupor. No, today, I spent the hour recalling each and every minute of last night.

This is the first time I can ever remember that I have actually been a little sad on leaving London. I know it is all due to Isabella. I have wooed many a girl before, but never one quite like her. Mostly, I find girls mere distractions, but there is something wonderfully wild about Isabella. And so today, I am praying that she will be waiting for me at the end of this voyage. Who could have ever guessed that I may be longing more for the kiss of a girl than the good company of my mates after those many long months at sea?

Lord, I hope it is a cheerful crew this time around, for a serious lot can make a voyage dreadful dull. Already I have been aboard ship, making mischief. I have hidden a cask or two of ale from the cook. He will roar when he thinks we are short, and give it good to Henry King, who is responsible for loading provisions. Oh, how it will delight me to watch them argue -- with Henry insisting he brought the required number of casks aboard and Cook insisting that he did not. I hope the others will join in the fun when I let them in on the secret.

Below me, I can see Nicholas Syms trying to go about his work. His face seems a bit green -- not used to the seas, from the looks of it. I wonder who he truly is. I have sailed with the crafty Nicholas before, and the man below me is not he. It will be good sport spending this journey on a mission of discovery. His story must be interesting to have to pretend to be another. Of course, Father will never notice. He hardly pays the crew any mind, so intent is he on the voyage itself.

Aha, I can see the spires of Westminster Abbey far in the distance. The shore is rolling away from us quickly, and the smell of salt is strong in the air. The seagulls circle our boat, sending out their insistent cries. The wind is in my face. And I am satisfied by my kiss from Isabella last night. A drink of ale tonight, a good night's sleep in my hammock rocked by the waves, and the look on impostor Nicholas's face when he finds I have sewn all his shirtsleeves and necks together. Lord, what more could a seventeen-year-old boy like me want?