"I've caught a stowaway!"
Jack Sparrow caught hold of the back of the boy's shirt and dragged him into the air. The boy hung limply, like a soft toy and glared at the crew, who had turned round and were looking at him in an interested way.
The second in command- Jonathan Shreever- grabbed the boy from Jack and threw him onto the deck. The boy cowered for a moment, then tried to stand up but was pushed roughly back down by Shreever. He sulked, staring moodily at the planking of the deck.
"What shall we do with him, boys?" Shreever called to the crew, taking a swig from a belt flask.
"Who says we give him a punishment for tardiness?" There was a loud chorus of 'Aye's from the men.
"What'll it be, Jack?" The boy watched the Captain ponder his fate, a thinking expression crossed the tanned face and a ring-bedecked hand stroked his beard.
"You know, we should let him walk the plank!"
There was a monstrous roar of agreement across the ship.
"Aye, aye-the plank!" Repeated Shreever approvingly, nodding and looking pleased with the decision.
"But what say you to this young lad being our…extra hand on deck?" He paused, trying to explain it in a confusing way for the crew. They looked at him in horror. This boy becoming part of the crew? Surely not! What was their captain talking about?
"B-but Captain…?"
"You see," Began Jack, a smile curving the corner of his mouth, "Here is a boy, who quite…wrongly….stowed himself away on our ship!" He encouraged a response and there was a renewed vigour of 'Aye's!' around the deck.
"And tricked us into believing us he was part of our cargo! Therefore he should be punished!" More 'Aye's' and stamping of feet.
"He is obviously of a 'higher-class' than us poor shoddy pirates so what would be more shameful to him? Being forced to be our cleaning rat or being locked up in the ship's bowls as a prisoner? I believe his higher class family would not approve him helping pirates…do thee agree, crew?" Jack Sparrow's men had no choice to agree to what they didn't understand. Jack must know best… There was a disjointed mumble of 'Ayes'.
"Now let him clean the deck!" Finished the captain dramatically, throwing both arms in the air and trotting to the sip's steering. This produced a rousing response from the crew of the black pearl and suddenly there was a bustle of activity, running round in the sunlight, "Where's the mop? The scrubber?" as the men made the boy do their chore, so they had one less to do that week.
Tom gritted his teeth and glared at the scrubber that had just been thrust into his hand to scrub the deck with.
"Get scrrrubbin' !" Commanded Shreever jovially and shoved the boy unceremoniously onto the floor. The boy tried to get up again, but as a bucket of water was dumped by his head he gave up. What was the point of protesting? They had swords!
"Stupid pirates." He muttered grumpily and dunked the scrubber into the water to pull it gingerly across the first line of planking.
The deck took nearly all day to clean. By mid-noon Tom was sweltering hot in his normal attire and dying for a drink. Determined not to speak to the pirates or ask for any help with his work he toiled on. The pirates, for the most part, ignored him or forgot he was there. It wasn't malicious, it was laid back and just due to their relapse into a normal day at sea. But, as Tom was about to find out, life on Jack Sparrow's ship was never quite that 'normal' Listening to the crew talking, Tom picked up amazing stories and tales from their travels.
"You remember last summer?"
"Ha! And Davy Jones' crew?"
"That was something to be proud of. We nearly lot this little ship 'ere. That would have been the end for us, for Jack."
"Yeah, good 'ole Captain Jack." Once Shreever past, talking to a shipmate.
"You know, it reminds me of how 'e was, before the dead man's chest." They both shared a mutual shiver of fear. Shreever crossed his fingers over his heart in a gesture of warding off evil.
"When 'e couldn't find his heading…" The two passed out of hearing to the ship's side.
Tom sat still for a moment, closing his eyes as a wave of exhaustion passed over him. It was too hot, compared to the cool, airy rooms of his home. The sweat was pouring off him and his clothes sticking to him in most patches like a second layer of skin. Ack. He slicked the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and