Link entered the cargo-hold and was relieved to find the Zarep brothers inside. He had searched every inch of the ship to no avail and was beginning to suspect that the men had abandoned ship.
The Zareps did not notice him come in. Link watched curiously as Junior stood above his brothers, a small watch in hand, as he called out numbers.
"Forty-one! Forty-two! Forty-three—get the lead out Flammy—Forty-four…"
Below him, the remaining Zarep brothers were arranged in the shape not unlike the Triforce with each oddly positioned man representing a point on the triangle.. Almost horizontal to the floor, the men supported themselves with only their hands and the tips of their toes. With each successive count, they lowered themselves to the ground only to rise, over and over and over again. Strapped to their backs were small barrels that Link recognized as holding either sugar or salt.
For the life of him, the boy could not tell what the Zareps were doing, but continued to watch in silence as Junior finished the count.
"Fourty-nine, and… FIFTY! Good job, guys, you're free to collapse now."
As his brothers crumpled to the ground, Junior turned around, took a step, and saw Link. He folded his arms and smiled good-naturedly.
"Here to cuss us out, kid?"
Cruton, Flammy and Joe looked up from the floor but seemed too tired to say anything.
Link took a deep breath. "No," he said in a voice lower than usual, "I'm here to get stronger. And my name's not 'kid'—it's Link."
Junior looked to his shoes, mocking embarrassment. "My mistake. What makes you think I can make you stronger, Link?"
Link pointed a hand towards his brothers. "Watching you guys tonight, that's what. I want to know your secret. How is it that you're so much stronger than even Nudge?"
Junior swept his hand backwards, mimicking Link. "You're looking at it."
The boy raised an eyebrow and stared at the three tired Zareps. "You mean strapping barrels to your back?"
"Yes—I mean, no!" stammered Junior, caught off-guard; Cruton laughed, appreciating his quickness. "Well, that's a part of it. The key is exercise."
"Ex-her-size…" said Link, trying out the word, "what's that?"
Junior craned his head in surprise. "Well, uh, it's…"
"Is it like training?" asked Link.
Junior had been busy thinking and hadn't heard what the boy said. "Come again?"
"Is it like training, you know, to fight?"
The Zarep pondered it for a moment and nodded his head. "Yep, it's just like that. Except you don't do it to learn how to fight…"
Link looked confused. "What do you do it for, then?"
"Strength, I suppose," said Junior, conceding, "to get stronger. Guess that's right up your ally, eh kid?"
"Sure is," said Link rubbing his hands, "so when do we begin?"
Now it was Junior's turn to be confused. "Begin what?"
"My training," said Link brightly, "oh, I mean, my exorcising…"
Junior brought a hand to his mouth and suppressed a laugh. Walking over to a piece of paper atop a crate, he looked to his clock and wrote something down. Link stood waiting anxiously for his answer.
Finally, Junior said, "Come back tomorrow at midnight. We're done for tonight."
Link bowed happily. "Thank you, sir."
Junior motioned for the boy to leave. "Can the 'sir-bit,' Link. From now on, you call me Junior like everyone else…"
"Sure thing, Junior."
"And for your information, you're going to be exercising tomorrow, not exorcising. Get it straight."
"Yes, Junior."
"Alright, see you tomorrow."
Joe watched as the boy in green left excitedly. When he was gone, he turned to his older brother, smiling. Junior looked back, then to the others, before laughing.
"Can you believe that kid?" he said. "Exorcising…"
Joe shook his head. "Yeah, I wish…"
From out of the black came a lingering creak as the door opened. In that instance, below the edge of his blindfold, the man saw a glimmer of light shine and fade. The door closed with a gentle click. The man could feel his chest tightening as he once again found himself in darkness. The latch locked into place with a loud tap.
"There," said a voice, "we won't be bothered this way."
The man opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry and his voice quiet and coarse.
"W-who… Who… are you?"
Footsteps. The man listened as the sound of boots—like a heartbeat—passed across the room. They stopped to the left of him.
The bound man flinched as a match was struck and a new light shone from below.
"That's better," said the voice, "now let's just take this off then."
More footsteps, then the sensation of hands on the back of his head, the loosening of cloth, then light. The man closed his eyes as direct light hit them for the first time in many hours. After several moments of blinking, they focused again and the man saw before him a dark figure silhouetted by the glow of a large candle. It shone in stark contrast to the surrounding black.
The figure tossed the blindfold to the side and, bringing a chair from the corner table, took a seat before the bound man, mere feet away. He brought a foot to his knee and crossed his hands over his leg congenially.
After several beats, the man cleared his throat and began to speak in a quiet, gentlemanly voice.
"So. You're name is Brynn Goldu is it not?"
Mr. Goldu nodded his head and grunted hoarsely.
"Good." said the figure. "Good."
"What do you want?" croaked Mr. Goldu. He swallowed painfully.
The figure tilted his head to the side curiously. "Are the ropes too tight?"
Mr. Goldu's jaws squared as his limbs strained against their bindings. The plain black chair in which he sat stood rigidly bolted to the floor. Behind him, his wrists were raw from struggling with the rope. His ankles were tightly bound to the two front legs and his waist was anchored to the back of chair. In short, he couldn't move.
"Bastard." said Mr. Goldu before spitting a stream of blood-stained saliva. The wad landed in the lap of his captor's navy blue pants creating a purple stain. The figure grimaced at the spot, pulling out an embroidered handkerchief from his back pocket stiffly. He looked at the man as he patted his bloody spit dry.
"My men really did a number on you didn't they?" said the figure sympathetically.
Mr. Goldu just stared at him defiantly. A butcher by trade, he was used to the sight of blood and the fact that his own was dribbling down his neck did not faze him. His fingers ached to grasp the small butcher's prong lining the inside of his boot. He smiled slightly as he imagined the neat puncture wound it would put in his captor's thick neck.
The man in the captain's pants tossed his handkerchief to the side and blew gently on the stain before speaking to Goldu again.
"Not in a talkative mood, I see." said the man. "That's unfortunate. You could've saved yourself a lot of pain by simply telling us what we want to know."
Goldu narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
The man glared at Goldu for several seconds. He uncrossed his legs, planting them firmly on the floor. He then leaned over so that his face was roughly a foot away from his captive.
When he spoke again his words were slow and deliberate. "Do not play dumb—I am not as kind as my men in my interrogation practices."
"Interrogation?" exclaimed Goldu. "What interrogation?"
The man stared silently at the butcher.
Goldu continued. "The only time your men opened their mouths was to spit and curse me between beatings." he said, trembling with fury. "If you consider that to be 'interrogation,' then I have only two words for you…"
The man ignored Mr. Goldu's curse, his expression remaining the same save for his eyes which expanded for an instant before becoming slits again, like two stars going nova in the same constellation.
"Is that so," said the man in a gravel-low voice; he tapped his index fingers on his legs, "would you excuse me one moment?"
Mr. Goldu followed the man as he quickly walked out of the door, slamming it behind him. The candle flame flickered and died from the force and the bound man once again found himself in darkness.
It was a peculiar end to an uneventful day. One moment he had been closing up shop—cleaning the last of his knives, no less—the next he was being "escorted" by a gang of surly looking sailors to a sleek vessel docked in the bay.
Mr. Goldu grimaced as his mind was filled with images of his wife, Lon, standing by the door of their apartment house searching the faces of passersby for her husband as their children slept. His eldest son, Bron, would be out looking for him by now. Goldu prayed to the Gods that he did not find him…
The door opened slightly with a small creak. Mr. Goldu turned to the frame of yellow light and the sound of a man speaking. His voice was hurried and desperate.
"…he's lying. No captain, n—"
Goldu closed his eyes as someone familiar burst through the door and landed in a heap before him. The man in the tattered pirate's clothing coughed as he struggled to lift himself from the ground.
"Stay right there!" came the voice of Goldu's captor. "Don't you move!"
The man froze on all fours and out of the corner of his eyes looked to a horrified Goldu. Even in the dark the butcher could see that the man's arms were trembling. A streak of blood glistened from the corner of his mouth. Goldu bared his teeth as he recognized the man as the person who had ordered his beating.
The man in the captain's pants appeared at the door and leaned against the frame. Goldu could see his shadow bob up and down as he tried to catch his breath.
"Remember him?" he asked. "Was it him?"
Surprised by the question, Goldu hesitated to answer.
The figure of the man took one last deep breath and began to walk towards the pirate.
"Well!?" he barked. "Was it!?"
Goldu looked to the man again. The face that had been so jubilantly cruel mere hours ago was now overrun with an expression of pleading terror. His eyes seemed to whisper, "Please don't tell him—for the love of God…"
Seeing Goldu's fixation on the man's horrified face, the Captain swiftly dug his foot just below his rip-cage. The bound man watched as the pirate writhed, choking on his pain.
Above him, the Captain swept back his dirty blond hair revealing fine, aristocratic features. He glared in disgust at the filth below him. Then he fixed his gaze on the butcher.
His nostrils flared with anger. "Still not in the talkative mood, I see."
Goldu half screamed as the Captain grabbed the man by the back of his collar, twisted, and thrust his face towards him. His legs struggled to support his weight and for a moment it seemed like he was going to choke on his own shirt.
"Sit up, wretch!" screamed the Captain, reaching behind him.
Mr. Goldu's eyes grew wide with fear as the Captain drew a pistol and pointed it to the back of the pirate's head. The only time he had ever seen one was once during an auction his father took him to years ago. The weapon the Captain held, however, was different. The one sold at the auction decades earlier was nothing more than a long metal cylinder with a fuse in one end, yet it sold for 8,000 rupees. The pistol currently digging into the back of the pirate's skull was smaller, with an ivory handle adorned with royal engravings—a fierce looking animal with a bushy mane rearing as tapering flames swirled around him—and a spine of flattened gold running down the spine of the barrel. Goldu could not imagine its value.
The Captain cocked the gun eliciting a whimper from the terrified pirate. Mr. Goldu sat speechless as the man's face tightened in anticipation, caught between the light of the doorway and the darkness of the room.
"You don't have to say a word, Mr. Goldu," breathed the Captain, "I can tell by the look on your face that this is the one…"
"I'm sorry, Captain, I'm sorry—"
"Shut-up!"
"I'm sor—"
The Captain cocked the gun again; if he pulled the trigger now, they would both be dead.
"Don't apologize to me," hissed the Captain, "apologize to Mr. Goldu."
The pirate was crying now. "I'm sorry! God, I'm sorry…"
The Captain slowly removed the pistol from the man's head.
"Good," he sighed, "now get out…" He let go of the man's shirt and the pirate went scampering out the door.
The Captain stared at Mr. Goldu as the pirate's bloody spit ran down his cheek, mixing with his own.
"Now, then," he said, "let us begin the interrogation."
Mr. Goldu coughed as he landed on the sand. Behind him he could hear the laughter of the pirates as they wiped their hands.
"You're lucky, old man. Cap'n Shin's too merciful for his own good. If it were up to me, you'd be dead."
Goldu struggled to his feet. The pirates watched bemusedly as the aging man turned around. Only the light from the ship's lanterns overhead illuminated his face..
"Got a problem, pops?"
Mr. Goldu's fists curled inwards as he pondered grabbing his butchering prod and killing as many of the pirates as he could before being cut down.
Before he could take action, however, a familiar voice thundered from above.
"Makel! Tora! Shark!" he shouted. "Leave him be!"
The three pirates gritted their teeth before yelling, "Aye-aye." They started up the boarding plank, muttering obscenities under their breathes.
Mr. Goldu looked up to see the Captain towering above him.
"And you, Brynn Goldu, I suggest you get to your family."
The butcher nodded slowly before starting towards the spiral path. In the distance, he could see Windfall's windmill slowly spinning in the scarce breeze. The events of the last couple of minutes cycled endlessly through his mind.
"Recognize this man?" Shin had asked, holding a pictograph towards Goldu. In his other hand, he held his pistol pointed to the ceiling.
Mr. Goldu squinted at the picture. It was a shot of more than a dozen burly looking men. Most were standing rigid with nervous smiles as if this had been the only time in their lives that they had ever had their pictures taken. A few stood posed in exaggerated shows of strength. One such flexed man standing near the center of the black and white pictograph had his face encircled in bright red.
"Well," said the Captain, re-gripping the pistol, "do you?"
"I can't see in this light." responded Goldu.
The Captain sighed, then yelled, "Men!" towards the hallway.
Three mean-looking pirates fumbled into the dark room and stood before Shin anxiously.
"Sir?" they said, not in unison.
"Untie this man and bring him to the hall." ordered Shin, walking out the door.
"Aye, sir!"
In the light of the hallway, Mr. Goldu stood holding the picture in his hand. Behind him the pirates stood in a row waiting to carry out a body. Captain Shin held his pistol pointed squarely at Goldu's forehead.
"Well?" he threatened.
Goldu looked up from the pictograph.
"What do you want with these boys?" he demanded.
"Ah," said Shin; the hammer clicked once, "so you do know him…"
Mr. Goldu tightened his lips and looked down at the face of the man circled in red and to the three men at his sides.
"What business have you with the Zarep boys?" he whispered.
The captain looked to the butcher wildly. His laughter rang through the hall crazily; the three pirates, not knowing what to do, began to chuckle nervously.
The laughing stopped as the pistol hammer clicked the second time.
"What business do I have with them, you ask?" said Shin, smiling. "Perhaps the better question is, what business did they have with you?"
Mr. Goldu stopped to lean against the trunk of the tree that grew at the base of the spiraling path. He shivered as he recalled the fear he experienced as he gazed into the mad eyes of Shin and his pistol. How even as he spoke of death their was a tinge of mirth in his voice.
The old butcher looked over his shoulder and saw as the anchor of Shin's ship emerged from the water.
The worst of it had occurred after Mr. Goldu had told him everything—how the Zarep brothers had come to him one day, seeking work; how they labored long hours for the meager pay that he could afford without never once complaining; how they joked with Bron and treated him as if he were their brother; how he later found out that his was only one of the many jobs they worked day in and day out. But that was not what Shin wanted to know.
"Where are they now?"
Pistol now aimed directly at his heart, Goldu broke down. "The last I heard they had signed on with a ship headed due East." he said in a quiet, defeated voice.
A victorious smile spread across Shin's face; his teeth were small and white, like pearls. "Dragon Roost." he hissed. "Dragon Roost…"
"What are you going to do to them?" pleaded Goldu as the pirates clasped his arms tightly.
"I thank you for the cooperation, Mr. Goldu. For your pain…" he placed a small bag of rupees in Goldu's shirt pocket, patting it gently. "I thank you."
The butcher ignored the money. "What are you going to do to them?" The pirates began dragging him away. Shin holstered his pistol and turned around to leave.
"Let go of me!" writhed Goldu in vein. "What are you going to do to those good boys?!"
Shin stopped. Turning around, he ordered the men to do the same, and stared at Goldu with deadly eyes. Then he began to laugh again, a slow and joyless chuckle.
He raised his hands and shrugged his shoulders as if it were all out of his hands.
"Well," he said with a jokester's tongue, "I'm definitely going to kill one of them…"
As Mr. Goldu started up the spiraling path, he grasped his shirt pocket with his scarred hands and wondered what was the right thing to do. Not finding an answer easily, he decided instead to pray for the Zarep brothers. When he got home he would make sure that his wife and children did the same.
Especially for Joe.