Page 2 of The Lost Child

TWACK.

“Seven!” I grit out, silent tears streaming down my cheeks.

That one had been the hardest I’d ever received. He growled behind me, working himself up into a proper rage.

TWACK TWACK TWACK!

I screamed instead of counting. It was too fast. Too hard! I couldn’t catch my breath in between them. I wouldn’t be able to sit for a week!

“Father, please—” I begged, frightened for the first time ever during a punishment. I glanced over my shoulder only to see rage looking back at me. His face was red, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. Oh gods above, he was drunk. He might accidentally kill me.

BOOM. BOOM BOOM.

We both froze as someone thudded on the door three times. Father glared at me and slapped his belt back around his waist, giving me silent instruction to stay put. He stomped to the door and threw it open. “What? This better be important, because otherwise—”

I recognized Danix, one of my father's lieutenants who had a bad lisp and never looked you in the eye. I flushed as he shot me an embarrassed glance, then quickly stared at the floor while addressing my father. “I would never bother you for something elsewise,” he intoned, wringing a wrinkled leather hat between his hands. Like most of the other men, his blond hair and beard were braided down his back.

My father ripped open the second drawer on the right. He withdrew a gleaming dagger from within and slammed it into the wood on top of his desk inches from where I was stretched out. The jewels glinted in the hilt, the blade buried almost up to it.

It was my father's favorite knife, so it remained razor sharp at all times.

Danix’s calmly said, “The shipment is here.”

My father’s entire demeanor changed abruptly. He snatched the dagger away and slammed it back in its sheath at his waist. He tucked in his white shirt, open at the chest to display his necklaces and various tattoos—proof of his past conquests. Danix grabbed my father’s leather weapons belt, his hat, and his sword with blood-red hilt, handing them wordlessly over and helping him quickly dress.

Both ignored me. I was fine with that.

“Come, he’s waiting for ya,” Danix said to the floor as he finished tying a red sash around my father’s waist, the symbol of our company.

They hurried from the room, leaving me alone and half naked draped across the chair. I stayed frozen for another few minutes, half-convinced this was an obedience test. He’d done crap like that before.

My legs were cramping, and my bottom felt raw. I made a split-second decision and slid off the chair to the floor and onto my hands and knees. Shakily, I stood and slowly slid my breeches carefully up around my tender bottom.

Now to hide somewhere until he forgot about me.

That was one benefit of living on a massive pile of beached ships; if I decided to hide, they’d be searching for days. The fortress itself was a hodge lodge of old ships; I guess the pirates who came before us figured it was easier to modify the shipwrecks already here than to brave the hard, cold rock of the island with no trees or much vegetation in sight. Easier to build onto what was already here, right?

Despite being an island, it wasn’t a sunny paradise. It was often cold and raining. The fog and mist that surrounded the island meant any ship that tried to get here without knowing where to go would likely crash on the rocky shore. It also shielded us from view, protecting the working ships as they moored quietly all around our make-shift fortress.

The floors were tilted. Some places you had to rope climb to get where you were going. If too many people moved at once, the ships swung as if caught in a breeze. The men sometimes called me spider monkey because of how much fun I had swinging and jumping. It was like living in an obstacle course.

I loved it.

Speaking of too many men moving at once, the ships exploded with movement as I stepped into the hall and men poured from every direction, like a horde of ants who’d discovered a pile of melting sweets. Old men with silver in their hair and beards mixed with men in their prime, all jostling and pushing through the cramped passageways to be the first down to the beach. I used rungs from the ceiling, swinging peg to peg overtop of them to avoid the horde. Mutterings of ‘it’s here!’ and ‘the weapon’ swirled around me. The scent of unwashed, sweaty bodies made my nose twitch, and I hurried to get into the open air and smell the sea.

Despite the heat radiating from my backside, I kept pushing until I hit the final ring. I dropped down to the sand below, finally mixing with the other men as we all fanned out along the shore. What sort of weapon could father have bought that had all the men in a tizzy? It had to be something large. Something massive and deadly. I followed everyone else, lingering towards the back. No one glanced at me. They were too excited.

Those of us stuck in the back began climbing the chains hanging from a dead ship’s rigging, climbing up and swinging down onto its barnacle-covered deck to get a higher vantage point. I bit my lip and jumped as high as I could, my smaller fingers just missing the lip from the chains that you could use to swing down onto the other side. I growled, angry at my weakness. Everyone was taller than me! When would I finally grow?

“Need some help there, missy?” rumbled a deep, threatening voice behind me. I turned and beamed, throwing myself against a hard plane of muscles and toughness. Crusty Jack was one of the most-feared pirates around here. The others kept far away from him.

He was my favorite person.

His arms tightened around me, fingertips cracked and dirt caked under his nails.

I didn’t care. Jack was the coolest person I knew, and he had no patience for anyone here except me. I wanted to be just like him when I was older: tough, feared, and respected. Father wouldn’t dare to smack someone like Crusty Jack!

“Jack! I want to see the weapon! What is it?”

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