4
We'll take what we please! And we'll live by our own rules. For that is the best form of all!
An hour or so after the crew had left, Hook reappeared. Evidently his ugly rat of a first mate had reported back. Delila wondered if Smee had told his Captain all the details-like the fact that they'd started off jeering and laughing, but after twenty minutes of prodding her with the needles, they'd fallen into an uncomfortable, almost respectful silence. She'd remained curled in a tight ball throughout the entire process, making no noise except the occasional whimper when she couldn't stand it any more. In the end, the torture was no fun for anybody.
At least she'd stayed put on one side, rather than writhing around: only half of her body was riddled with pinpricks and cuts. Though small, the wounds stung and smarted horribly, spotting her shirt and trousers with blood, making the fabric stick to her skin.
Hook sauntered over, putting himself in her line of sight, but from the brooding look on his face she knew Smee had told all.
"Ready for it to be over, sweetheart?"
"Not by half."
"Look at you. Your clothes are bloody, your hair's a mess, you're freezing cold. You're starving and thirsty. Don't you want to come up to my cabin and have a nice hot meal, and something to drink?"
"You've tidied it up, then."
"Aye," he chuckled, "you pesky thing. It's all back to the way it was."
"Who was that woman in the picture?"
His features barely moved; only his eyebrows dropped a fraction. "Someone I used to know."
"Is that what your revenge is all about? Did she betray you for the Dark One or something?" Delila paused, reading his expression. "No. He took her away from you, didn't he."
"You're a sharp one."
"Did he take your hand, as well?"
"Aye, he did."
"What a bastard," she mused. "It's a shame you deserve it. I'd have a little more sympathy otherwise."
"I don't want sympathy. I want my vengeance, and I'm getting impatient."
"Well, you know what I want. No need to go over it again."
At this his face creased into a scowl, a real scowl with no trace of his former humour, his teeth bared slightly as his eyes bored into hers. Delila stared back defiantly.
"So be it," he growled.
Turning on his heel, his leather coat whirling after him, he stormed back up the steps and out of sight. He wasn't away for long, however, and when he returned it was with Smee.
"Take her out of the cage," he ordered. "String her up by her wrists."
The first mate hurried to obey, fetching a key from the wall and ensuring the manacles on the hanging chains were unlocked. Delila could no more resist him than sink the entire ship: her limbs were like dead weights, her legs so cramped she could hardly straighten them. She dangled from the chains like a fish on a line.
"Cut her shirt off, Smee."
Hook was bent over a nearby chest, browsing its contents. As Smee obeyed, Delila cursing and cussing him with all her might, the Captain brought out a long, thin black whip with a single bladed tail.
"As I said, love." Spreading his arms, he let the whip trail along the ground as he approached her. "I'm all out of patience."
Dressed in nothing but her trousers and breast band, she followed his movements with a mounting panic as he circled her. Hook came to a halt a couple of yards behind her, and with a flick of his wrist, drew the whip back.
"Last chance."
With a deep breath, Delila forced herself to turn her head away. Her entire body vibrated with fear, the breath coming and going too quickly from her lungs.
"Go to hell."
Smee gave a little jolt, the whip whistled through the air, and Delila's body was ripped in half. She let her body go limp, the manacles biting into her wrists. No point in trying to hold the screams in this time. Her voice echoed horribly around the brig, eerie and inhuman. The crew was probably used to it, she thought savagely as she struggled to her feet again. They probably hadn't even turned over in their hammocks.
"Where can I find out about the Dark One?"
"In hell, when you finally get there."
Another lash, this one even worse than the first because she knew what was coming.
"Where can I find out about him?"
"Not telling," she sang, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from her chest.
The third stroke turned her vision dark and made her retch, though there was nothing to bring up. For a moment Hook didn't speak.
"Where?" he asked finally, his voice as cutting as the whip.
She simply hung there, taking one breath at a time, ignoring him. Part of her wondered how she was doing this, how she hadn't already told him everything. The other part answered: it wasn't a choice.
Hook's sigh was long and heavy. "Mister Smee, fetch the pickles, if you please."
Pickles? Delila didn't have long to wonder what he meant before the first mate was back with a wooden bowl-not of pickles, but juice. Hook cast the whip aside and took the bowl, dipping his hand into the liquid.
"Are you really sure you don't want to tell me?" he murmured as he came to stand beside her.
"I can't," she wheezed. "Don't you get that yet?"
"Everyone thinks they can't. Then suddenly they can. You should just jump the gun, love. Save yourself the trouble."
Then he was running his hand over her back, and wherever he touched turned to liquid fire. She barely noticed his hands cupping her face.
"Just tell me."
"Make it stop!"
"Tell me and I promise it'll stop."
"I can't, I can't! Make it stop!"
"Tell me."
"No!"
Gradually, gradually, the pain dulled. Just enough that she could think again. Dimly she was aware of Hook in front of her, almost holding her off the ground, and Smee a squat, hulking figure beside him.
"I think we need something more, Captain. What'll it be? Branding? The rack? Keelhauling? I'll wager she'll talk once the barnacles have stripped the rest of her flesh off."
With difficulty she concentrated on Hook's face. He was still scowling, but there was something different about it now. His jaw was set, the muscles of his face clenched, lips closed in a firm line. His blue eyes flickered back and forth between hers.
"You're really not going to tell me?" he murmured.
Sluggishly she shook her head. He was swimming in and out of focus; the pain came in great throbs that blurred her vision, as though she were dipping her head in and out of water. Then, impossibly, he shook his head.
"Bad form," he said softly to himself. "No point in going any further."
"What's that, Captain?"
More loudly, Hook addressed Delila. "Is this treasure real?"
"It is, I swear it is."
"I take half of it. Then you tell me what I want to know. Deal?"
Delila smiled. "You want half of my treasure?"
"Swear to me, or I'll start taking Smee's advice and use you as a barnacle remover."
"Alright," she whispered. "Alright. I'll share."
Letting her go, Hook stepped back. At once he began talking to Smee, giving some kind of instructions, but the words drifted over her in a blur.
It was over. It was over.
Her body pulsed with agony, her eyes closing as she let her head drop, lungs struggling to take in air as her arms stretched tight above her. Exhaustion enveloped her like a sheet, wrapping her up in a warm nothingness, until even physical sensation had lost all meaning. The pain was just there, neither good nor bad. Her body was gone. The room was gone.
She sank into a velvety darkness, and forgot everything.
