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him,
hoping for one last glimpse of her.
    “Genevieve!” he
called.
    He spotted a
glimpse of her between the swarming crowd.
    “Royce!” she
called back, weeping.
    Yet there was
nothing either of them could do.
    Royce was led
through the arched gates, away from the city, away from his life, banished forever
from everyone he’d ever known and loved and facing a journey before him that
would be far worse than death.
    The Pits , Royce thought. Better to have died.
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Royce stumbled,
shoved from behind, and bumped roughly into the group of boys as they were all
herded onto the ship’s long ramp. One eye still swollen shut, his head and body
still killing him from all the lumps and bruises, Royce did not think he could
feel any worse—until he finished climbing the ramp and set foot on board the ship.
It rocked violently in the choppy waters, and as it lurched and he bumped into
boys to the left and right of him, he received sharp elbows in the ribs and
kidneys in return. He did not know which was worse: the elbows, or the sudden
feeling of nausea.
    Royce winced as the
soldier grabbed him roughly from behind and threw him forward. He tried to turn
and swing back, but he could not, his wrists still bound tightly behind him.
    Still reeling
from the events of the last few hours, still trying to process how his life had
changed so dramatically so quickly, Royce tried to snap out of it, to take in
the scene around him as best he could. As much as he felt like dying after
being separated from Genevieve, from everyone he loved, his survival instincts
kicked in, and he knew that if he wasn’t on alert, he would get killed on this
ship.
    He looked around
and saw hundreds of boys being prodded aboard, some appearing innocent, as
shocked and disoriented as he, while others looked like professional criminals.
Many of them, he noticed, were taller, broader, older, with rough stubble,
prominent scars, shaved heads, and a look that told him that they’d kill over
nothing. Even the boys his age looked prematurely aged, as if life had had its
way with them.
    It was a sea of
desperate faces, of boys and men who knew they were being shipped off to their
deaths and who had nothing left to lose.
    The plank was
raised behind him, slammed shut, and Royce felt his apprehension deepen, a
heavy knot forming at the base of his throat, as he was shoved forward, deeper
into the ship. He turned and watched the soldiers sever the ropes keeping the
ship at shore, and all of a sudden, the ship began to move.
    Royce lost his
balance as the ship lurched forward. He looked out as the land began to get
farther away and saw the docks were filled with bustling people—none of whom
even looked their way to say goodbye. This ship, it seemed, was filled with
people who were expendable. As they gained even more distance from shore, Royce
knew that his life was about to change forever.
    The waters
became rougher as they left the harbor, and Royce struggled to gain his balance
with his hands still bound behind him. The crowd became even thicker as all the
boys surged forward, so thick he could barely breathe, the stench of unbathed
men overwhelming. The ship seemed to groan with all the weight; it seemed as if
there were too many people on board to survive the ship ride. Maybe that was
the point, Royce realized. Maybe they wanted to kill some of them off.
    Indeed, Royce
looked around and noticed several boys lying on the deck, unmoving. They were
being trampled over casually by the masses, as still more people moved forward
on the ship. He marveled that these boys were so hardened that they did not
care about stepping on others, and he wondered why the boys lying down on deck
weren’t crying out in pain.
    And then he
realized. He looked down and saw the eyes wide open, and he knew with a chill
that they were dead. Whether they had died from being trampled or from something
else, he could not tell. One of them, he noticed, had a small dagger