Page 15 of Captive of the Pirate King
“Where did you get those clothes?” asks the Captain.
“From the hold, sir,” I say.
“You didn’t ask me if you could have them. You just took them. Do you know what would happen if I let every man aboard take bits and bobs from our plunder? There’d be some who would take more than their share, and others who’d get nothing. Does that seem fair to you?”
“No, Captain.” My stomach is a rock, dragging my body downward. My knees quiver beneath me.
“Stealing carries a very severe penalty aboard theArdent,” says Captain Neelan. “We steal from our targets, but never from each other. Never from your own crew, do you hear me, Nick?”
“Yes, Captain,” I murmur. “I’m sorry, sir. I was allowed to have the boots, so I thought I might get one set of clean clothes—”
“Did I ask for your excuses?” Captain Neelan snaps.
“No, sir.”
“I should tie you to the mast for three days, or lob you overboard,” he says tightly. “But Cook tells me you’re the best worker he’s ever had. You’ve done more than your fair share of work since you came aboard—more than that lazy good-for-nothing cousin of mine ever did. So I’ll give you mercy, this once.”
“Thank you, Captain.” I sink to my knees, bowing my head, but Neelan grips me by the hair and drags me upright again.
“We kneel only to the Pirate King,” he says. “Stand like a man, and take your punishment like one. Five lashes. Mr. Hanschel will deliver them. Take off your shirt.”
With growing horror, I clutch the neck of my shirt. How am I going to get out of this one?
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“Did you hear me, boy?” Captain Neelan frowns at me, his thin black brows forming a V above his sharp nose. “Take off the shirt!” He raises his voice, looking around the deck. “Everyone else, gather round! You’re about to see what happens to the man who steals goods aboard my ship!”
My heart is beating so fast I’m terrified it will give out altogether. Black flecks dance before my eyes.
I have to do this. I have to strip and reveal myself, and beg for their mercy. Though from what I’ve seen of Captain Neelan, he won’t be lenient. He’ll have me tossed over the side before the men can even begin to process that there’s a woman aboard.
My fingers slide down to the hem of my shirt, and I start to pull it up.
“Captain, if I may.” It’s Locke, striding forward, the sun gleaming on his black eye-patch. He’s still wearing the blue bandana—not a strand of hair in sight.
“Well, speak up! What is it?” growls the Captain.
“I told Nick he could take a set of clothes from the hold,” Locke says. “It’s my fault, sir. He thought it was allowed.”
Neelan rounds on Locke, looking confused and angry. Locke isn’t the first mate, just one of the regular sailors, but I’ve noticed that Neelan relies on him more than the others. There’s a mutual camaraderie between them, a respect which seems rare for a captain and a crewman.
“You told him to take the clothes?” asks Neelan. “And who gave you authority to dispense such permission?”
“No one, sir.” Locke bows his head. “I humbly ask to take the whipping, sir, since the boy knew no better. I was the one at fault.”
My teeth find the sensitive inner flesh of my cheek and bite hard as emotions well up inside me. I’ve had my fair share of whippings—more than most girls of my station. My parents believed that strict discipline would yield a docile daughter. They didn’t realize that with every smack of the paddle on my behind, every sting of the switch against my thighs, they were feeding my inner rage and rebellion, stoking the fire to fresh heights.
That fire burns in me even now, fueling my will to survive, my determination to find my brother, and my resolve to escape my former life.
Yes, I’ve been beaten and chastised many times. But not once has anyone volunteered to take my punishment for me.
Locke is accepting the blame for my thoughtlessness. He didn’t actually tell me to get clothes from the hold last night—maybe he assumed I had some of my own clothing stashed elsewhere. But he’s claiming full responsibility for what I did, to spare me.
I don’t protest his offer. I stand quietly, while Captain Neelan looks from Locke to me.
“Is this true, Nick?” the Captain asks. “Did Locke tell you to find clothes among the swag in the hold?”
I dart the tiniest glance at Locke. He’s not looking at me. His face is calm, acceptant.
