Chapter 2 - Scene 2

Sall had reached a subdued calm by the time he was below, and only three pirates remained to drop him on his back in his cell. His hands were shackled together in his lap. Sall groaned and lifted his face out of the bilge. His head spun.

‘My water,’ he said, voice croaking.

A pirate with a weepy red boil on his neck clanked the cage shut, stepped back and pocketed the keys. Damned pirates, Sall thought, as the pirate withheld the flask. One of them had a face riddled with warts, another a scraggly, oily beard, his mouth stocked with mushy teeth let rot gray by the combined forces of scurvy and cheap tobacco. He looked bad. The other was a clear drunk. He’d seen halfbred mutts scavenging the docks alongside gulls healthier than these three.

Sall’s last employer had bred two dogs to guard his storehouses. They were big, slobbering beasts who kept half a pace behind him every time he walked the yard, and watched the property at night when Sall was asleep. Some dogs know they are dogs. Most men Sall had met had yet to learn.

‘Now we got ya,’ the pirate with the boil said. ‘Did we all lose on this grub?’

The others nodded their heads. The scurvy one bared his teeth, exposing his foul gums. ‘Every penny I fucken had.’

The one with the boil was taking charge. ‘What do you boys think we should do with him?’ He put the flask away inside his waistcoat and stepped up to the bars. His head shaded the light from the lantern the drunk held. Sall moved into a sit and crossed his legs. The pirate was careful, putting a hand on the pistol crossing his belt. He leaned on the bars.

Sall looked at the pair behind him. One of them had a fishing knife in a sheath. The other was unarmed, but with the scurvy he wasn’t much of a threat anyway. ‘Granger’ll have our necks if we hurt him too much,’ he said.

‘Granger’s problems aren’t mine,’ said the one with the boil.

The scurvy one scratched at rashes on his legs. ‘Cunt underpaid me last week, but I’m off this ship once we make port anyway.’

‘Aye, the Captain’s luck’s abandoned him,’ the drunk nodded.

‘Mine too, if I can’t pay for treatment.’

Sall watched the pirate with the boil. He was looking down at Sall with a finger on the flintlock of his pistol. He said, ‘it’s about a week’s sail. I don’t think the big fella here’s gonna last that long.’

The captain had no control over his ship. Sall felt the cold iron bars, knowing now was his only chance to stay alive. ‘You’d mutiny?’ He said.

The one with the boil hmmed. ‘Mutiny’s a fancy word for it.’

A pistol wasn’t much good at close range if he couldn’t fire it. Sall spotted his water flask’s cork peeking out from behind the fold of the pirate’s shirt. He could make this work. He had to be careful.

‘I suppose,’ Sall said, ‘if any of us want something in this world we’ve gotta take it, right?’

The pirate’s hand closed over his pistol. ‘What’s that?’

‘Well if you want your money back, you’re going to have to either take it off the punta, or you’re going to have to take it off the captain.’

The other two pirates became nervous. They shuffled their feet and looked at each other. They obviously hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘Well,’ said the one with scurvy.

‘You could kill me in this cage,’ Sall said. ‘You could, but you’d be no better off than you were. Maybe worse off, if Granger takes offence.’ They heard the frankness to his tone, which they took to mean, and of course, he would.

The one with the boil was quiet.

‘Or you could let me out of this cage, take me to Granger, and let me sort it out.’

The one with the boil chuckled. ‘Tell everyone you broke free, or somethin? Is that it?’

Sall shrugged. ‘That’s up to you. I want off this ship same as you.’

‘You’ll try kill us if we let you out,’ the last pirate said. He had his hand on his knife. He looked back and forth between the other two, hoping for one of them to make a decision.

The pirate with the boil rubbed his fingers together, still studying Sall. ‘Captain’s busy with Deadweight. He don’t care about nothing else, least of all this beat navy dog. I care about my fifty-five shekels. And Dreyfuss.’ He scowled. ‘Coward way to kill a man.’

Sall shrugged. ‘Fight had no rules, and he turned his back. Hand me my water.’ If they gave it over Sall reckoned they might be interested in what he had to say. By their expressions he might have convinced the pirate with the scurvy. The other two could go either way. Ships like these were democratic, more or less. In Sall’s current situation, the majority were voting against him.

The pirate’s boil wept a little as he shook his head. ‘You’re not coming out, not after what you did to Dreyfuss.’

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Sall drew a breath. ‘So that’s how it’s going, then,’ he said, and struck at him. He grabbed the pirate by his belt and yanked him hard into the bars. The pirate’s head struck iron. The two behind him leaped forward, but it was too late. Sall had the pirate’s gun out of its holster and his wrist chains pulled tight over his windpipe.

He pressed the cold end of the barrel against the pirate's head. 'Nobody else wants to get hurt tonight,' he said, thumbing back the hammer. ‘So let’s talk about the three of you taking me to see Captain Strommken. Him, or that punta.’

The pair exchanged a glance. ‘He’d have our hides,’ the scurvy one said.

‘I’ll have em before he does. I’m coming out of this cage one way or another, so you’d best decide soon.’ This gave them pause.

Sall’s hostage was trying to talk. He wheezed, and Sall saw his complexion running red. He loosened the chain. ‘Take- take the fucking keys.’ He fumbled at his belt, unhooked the keys and put them in Sall’s waiting palm. As the iron touched his skin the hand stiffened, and the pirate tried to break loose. In the jumble with Sall’s bound wrists he grabbed the gun’s barrel. Sall pulled the trigger.

The shot cracked loud through the hold. Blood streaked the side of Sall’s face. Behind him, the old prisoner’s wailing began anew. The remaining pirates were startled, expressions angrily darkening at the sight of their dying mate.

He let the dead pirate slide to the ground, dropping the gun with him. He had time to stab a key into the lock and turn it before they’d readied themselves. One was saying something, but Sall’s ears still rung from the shot.

The scurvy pirate charged the cage, aiming to slam it shut, but he was too slow. Sall gave the door a shove. It was heavy iron and swung hard into the sick pirate. He went tumbling in a flurry of knees and elbows. The other’s hand snapped to his fishing knife and he dodged his mate’s fall.

The door made a heavy clang! and bounced back. Sall stepped around it and over the scurvy pirate wheezing on the ground. He advanced on the knifewielder, who made wild slashing motions between them, keeping Sall from striking, his warty face contorted in brittle anger now Sall was loose, more fearful than vicious.

The old prisoner’s screams broke a high, desperate screech, distracting them with its harsh pitch. He clutched his skull on both sides as though Sall and the pirates were demons and this a horrible nightmare he might squeeze out of his head. His mind was gone. Sall could only guess what terrors were left behind.

Sall blinked and parried a close slash from the knife. The blade hit his shackles. To both of their surprise, he knocked it clean from the pirate’s hand. It spun skittering into the bilge, landing a few feet away.

‘Whoops,’ Sall said. They glanced at each other. They both went for it, but a layer of bilgey scum on the planks had turned them slippery, and Sall’s leap turned into a slip, then a fall, and Sall crashed down hard, landing with a splash and a bump to the chin. Still, he was close enough to grab at the pirate and pull him away from getting his hands on the knife.

They grappled in the shallow water, both of them of similar size and build, neither able to take advantage over the other due to the slippery deck. They wrestled, swatting each other this way and that, until Sall broke loose of him and reached out where the knife had been –

But it was no longer there. Sall came up empty. He pushed away and rose to his knees as a sharp downstab whooshed past his ear. The scurvy pirate had the knife. His teeth were bared, his gaze tight, the knife’s point down, making to stab Sall as he scrambled around him. The knife stabbed between his legs, missing his thigh. Sall swung left, dodging again, as the knife came down between his fingers.

Sall pushed off his knees and leapt back, finding himself landing in the waiting arms of the other pirate. He too was back on his feet, and smarter than before. His big arms caught around him, circling under his armpit and over the other shoulder, trapping him in a tight hold made worse by Sall’s bound wrists.

‘Gut him! Gut him, quick!’ he shouted at the scurvy pirate, who rushed. Sall braced against the pirate holding him and kicked out, slamming the scurvy pirate flat in the chest. He went flying into the bars of Sall’s cage, smacking the back of his head against the iron. He collapsed, lights out, with a subdued groan.

Sall grabbed the last pirate’s wrist and heaved forward now, turning his weight against him and wrestling him over his shoulder. He hit the planks and Sall took hold of his arm. He gasped as Sall twisted.

‘Don’t make me break it!’ Sall said, and when the pirate tried to buck loose Sall snapped the joint by turning the elbow out and dropping his knee on the pirate’s back. The joint separated with a sickening cluck! The pirate screamed. Sall fell back, gasping a lucky breath.

The pirate fainted from the pain. Sall saw him face down in the bilge and shoved him over onto his side. He’d drown in it otherwise. Sall didn’t need another man’s death on his conscience.

He looked at the pirate with the boil, his head half blown away, and sighed. He got up, crouched over the corpse, and took the flask from inside his coat. There was another key with it, with which he unclasped his shackles and rubbed the raw skin. He popped the cork and took a long draught. It was full, blessedly full, and he thought to preserve half of the water. He flexed his fingers. His hands were free now. He let out a sigh of relief.

The old prisoner’s screams were petering out as his lungs ran empty and exhaustion overtook his fear. Sall considered freeing him but decided against it. He couldn’t bring him along. Running footsteps sounded from higher in the ship. A crush of them came storming towards the ladders, by the sounds of it.

Sall had to hide. In a hurry he looked around for the knife, found only the discharged pistol and stuffed that into his belt. He might be able to spook someone with it. He looked around.

There were stacks of crates further towards the rear of the ship, and sacks of canvas and old barrels with rusted hoops caught dully in the lanternlight. He looked towards the ladders. Shadows flitted above them. No going that way, but he could stall them once they came down.

Sall hurried over and doused the lantern. The hold was plunged into darkness but for the slivers of light breaking through the planks in the ceiling.

There were always little ratways in these old ships, passages he could use to climb higher. He ducked amongst the tall stacks, into the smell of old stores and cargo half turned to rot by bilge sloshing around for Saints knew how long. He came into their temporary safety as a dozen more pirates came flooding down the ladders.

He held his breath and tread lightly. The pirates found their downed mates. One shouted to spread out and search the entire hold.

‘Light! Someone gimme some matches!’

Sall studied the ceiling, peering through the shades of darkness for the solid shadow of a hatch. There. He spotted a rope ladder dangling down from the ceiling. Sall grabbed hold of a rung and scaled it quickly, feeling the old rope stretch and tear under his weight. He nudged up through the darkened hatch at the top and climbed through with barely a moment to spare. Lamplight pierced the stacks below his retreating feet.

The hatch shut with a soft click.