The Pilgrimage — Chapter 2 Messman Best

Not a priest. Not a knight. Not a prophet. I was the one who ladled thin bean soup into chipped bowls, scrubbed the galley floor with salt water, and broke up fights over the last hard biscuit. The pilgrims called me “Messman Best” because I never shorted a portion and because I had a habit of humming old fishing shanties while I worked. On a ship bound for miracles, I was the most ordinary thing aboard.

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