My cabin boy was a girl.

I let go her hands and sat up. The torch was lying nearby and I snapped it on - definitely a girl. The dark hair was ragged and plastered to her grimy face, she was unkempt and pale - but the dishevelled appearance and dirt could not disguise the fineness of the features or burning intensity of the eyes. A bit younger than me; seventeen or eighteen at a guess.

There was a reddening mark on one cheek where I had hit her. I reached down to touch the place. Her eyes flashed hatred. A hand swept out of the gloom, fingers curled like talons to rake my face, but I knocked the hand aside. 'I didn't mean to hit you!' Well, I hadn't - I'd thought she was a bloke. 'What are you doing down here anyway?'