"Stop scratching it!"

Ragetti pulled away his hand from the dirty rags that were tied around his head. He had hardly noticed what he was doing. Instead his focus had been on the ongoing fight further into the gloomy bar. Now he looked at his uncle with shame.

"Sorry…"

Pintel shook his head.

"We 'ave to get you an eyepatch, lad."

"Can't we jus' wait for me eye to grow back?"

Pintel raised his eyebrows. Of course the boy was only fourteen, and had grown up without any sort of education, but sometimes his cluelessness baffled him.

"No we can't. Eyes don't grow back, stupid", he sighed.

Ragetti stared down at his bony knees. He was so tiny. Pintel wasn't even sure that he was fourteen. Perhaps his sister had counted wrong, after all she had never been good with sums. Pretty much the only thing they had in common. The boy could be eleven for all he knew.

"Sorry lad", Pintel gave his nephew a pat on the shoulder. Ragetti didn't look up, and Pintel thought he heard a quiet sob. How very typical.

"Tell ye what," he said, in a half-assed attempt to try and cheer the boy up. "I'll get us somethin' to drink!"

Ragetti looked up, his one eye glistening with tears. Pintel had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

"Be back in a moment", he said, ruffling the boy's blonde mop of hair in a way he hoped was reassuring.

When he left he heard yet another sniffle. Pintel swore quietly to himself. His sister hadn't even warned him. She had practically shoved the boy at him as soon as he had walked down the gangplank.

"Just a few years out at sea!", she had pleaded.

And she had rambled on about how the boy was too dependent and she was sure that those few years out at sea would sort him out. It was obvious that she just wanted him to take her son off her hands. In her profession, children were frowned upon, but Pintel didn't have the time to watch a sniveling lad while he was running around on the ship. The incident had made that apparent.

He managed to make his way around the crowd of people watching the fight, and get to the bar. When he returned to the table it was with two tin mugs full of grog. As he put them down he noticed Ragetti's skinny hand sneaking up towards his bandage again.

"What did I tell ye?" he growled. The boy immediately stopped, looking up at his uncle.

"Sorry, Pint..." he mumbled once again.

Pintel didn't even bother to comment, instead he just handed his nephew the mug.

"What is it?"

"Good for ye, that's what it is."

"I've had alcohol before", Ragetti said, suddenly sounding defiant. "I just wanted to know what kind."

"It's a little bit of this and that", Pintel said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Ragetti took a large swig, his cheeks protruding comically before he swallowed it with one big gulp. Immediately he started coughing.

"Don't drink it too fast, lad!"

"I drink as fast as I like!", the boy wheezed.

Pintel watched as he put the mug to his lips one more time and gulped down another mouthful of water, rum, sugar and whatever else was in there. This time he managed to hold back the coughs, but he closed his eye tightly as if in physical pain. When he opened it again, it looked dim and unfocused. Another swig like those, combined with that tiny frame of his… He wouldn't even remember the rest of the night, Pintel thought to himself.

Before even having time to reflect over it, he had pulled the mug out of the boys hand and put it out of reach at the far end of the table.

"No more for ye, me thinks."

Ragetti pouted and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ye said we'd find a ship here", he said, sourly.

Pintel sighed.

"I said we might find a ship here, lad. Don't get yer hopes up."