Page 78 of Paid to the Pirate

We stared at one another in a battle of wills I was sure to lose. With the crew looking on, Colt couldn’t afford any disobedience to a command. Not that I’d have fared much better in private.

Capitulating, I brought the bread to my mouth and chewed. It tasted like nothing.

Like my future. Like all that was left for me now.

Nothing.

#

That night I stood alone on the stern deck, hidden from the watchman’s view as best as possible. The moon glistened off the soft night waves, beckoning. I wanted to dissolve into that bubbling sea foam or those glistening beams of moonlight. My hands clutched the railing. I placed one foot on a wooden beam, then another, stepping up, closer to my destiny.

Death.

Holding onto the ropes for balance, I climbed barefoot onto the rail. I let my head fall back, taking one last deep breath of air.

Father, I’m coming,I thought.

My muscles tensed, ready to leap --

-- a hand roughly grabbed my arm and yanked me off the railing, making my stomach flip.

Shaken, the blood drained from my face as I met Colt’s fierce black eyes staring down at me.

“If you ever try that again, I’ll beat your arse so hard you won’t be able to walk,” he swore. “Do you hear me?” Colt shook me with his last words. I could only nod frantically.

“Say it!”

“I - I hear you,” I stammered.

“You want death? Have we treated you so poorly on this ship that you seek to end your life?”

The fire in my breast rekindled and I shouted, “No, captain, it’s what you did before you kidnapped me onto this ship! Or did his life mean so little to you that you’ve forgotten?”

Colt’s eyes narrowed. “He was an inadequate father. He could barely provide for his only son. We did you a favor.”

“That was for God to decide, not you!”

He scoffed. Colt seemed to disdain religion of any kind. “Maybe God sent us to you.”

I didn’t know how to argue that, so I cried, “I hate you so much! One day I’ll have my vengeance, do you hear me? I will avenge my father.”

Colt loosened his grip on my arm. “I look forward to it,” he mocked. “But how, boy, do you intend to avenge your father if you’re dead?” Colt tipped his head in the direction of the ocean. He raised his eyebrows once. Then he spun on his heel and left me shouting curses at his back.

I hated that he was right. I couldn’t avenge father from the grave.

I’ll be patient,I vowed to Colt’s back.I’ll remain quiet and watch for an opportunity.Then one day… I’ll make you sorry.

#

I hated Colt most of all, and Robert, or Redhands, as they called him, made me very nervous. Yet amongst the crew, another man stood out as more fearsome than all the rest. And he didn’t even lift a finger to do it.

Maurice was older than Colt by a good twenty years, and he seemed to function as a sort of father or authority figure to both Colt and Robert, and perhaps the entire crew. Lean, quiet, and watchful, Maurice often stood back, observing Colt and Robert, whom I noted often looked to him for a sort of permission to proceed in an endeavor.

I learned there was some history between the three men, Maurice having brought Colt and Robert into piracy years before and acting as a sort of mentor. At some point, Maurice had supported Colt’s rise to captain and it wasn’t hard to see why. Colt was quick-witted, clever, and possessed a restraint Robert lacked. But Robert’s taste for violence was the one area in which he beat Colt and matched Maurice. It was as if Maurice would like to have forged the perfect boy to mentor, could he merge the two men. Whenever the crew raided, Colt’s careful planning enabled the win, making Maurice crook a small smile. But Robert’s bloodlust -- often leading to slaughtering a choice few crewmates or townsfolk who’d peacefully surrendered -- brought a gleam to Maurice’s eye.

Captain Colt always looked displeased about the breach of honor but said nothing. The killings earned him more of a reputation for cruelty than he would have gained if he’d murdered a crew en masse. The arbitrary selection of those put to the sword had a distinct malice for its casual unpredictability.

Once, I’d heard Colt argue with Maurice about it.

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