Chapter VII – Boredom and Uselessness
Rubbing his arms where the ropes had dug in, Michael examined his pirate tattoo indifferently. He was still stuck in his room, although finally trusted out of bed, his ribs wrapped up tight. The only thing for him to do was contemplate the simple bluish markings on his arm. The depiction of his name was a knife with blood dripping off it. It hadn't taken him long to earn the nickname Cutthroat. It was at the beginning of his career as a young boy on the Black Pearl. With the original crew. Back then he had been a lowly, kicked around cabin boy. But it had strengthened him. Bootstrap Bill and Captain Jack Sparrow had taken a real shine to him though. However, cabin boys are supposed to be pushed around, so the captain didn't do much about the abuse. Although he could tell that his youngest crew member had been educated at some point. He found that interesting, but every time he had asked about his "learned cabin boy" Michael just shut his mouth firmly, shook his head and continued cleaning.
Perhaps it was the young boy's age that had made Jack more amiable towards him. But it was after the first raid he had been on, thereby earning his pirate name, that the captain really warmed up to him.
It was actually a very nice day out. The crew was itching to plunder and rape, get themselves some booty of every sort. The captain was, as usual, thirsty for rum, having dried out the supplies the day previous. So they headed towards port, but halfway there, came across another pirate ship. It was smaller and no where near as skilled or equipped, but the two ships fought anyway. The Black Pearl was boarded – stupidly Jack and Michael still thought – and the others attempted to attack. They ran onto the Black Pearl and everyone began fighting. It was a mess of men shooting and hacking at each other. Although young, Michael had come up from the bowels to see the action. He watched for a bit, then was spotted and attacked. Fast as lightning his knife was out and through the pirate's throat. For a split second, everyone ceased their battle, stunned. Then it resumed. The boy stared for a long while at the corpse before him, the corpse he had created. Blood dripped heavily off his glimmering blade. He stared, entranced with the sight, with what he had just done.
Then he wiped the blood off onto his clothes, calm as could be, and looked around. All the older men were locked in battle, so he was in no trouble. No one paid any attention to him again, too engrossed with who they were fighting with at the moment.
He looked up at the helm, and watched the captain fighting three men. He seemed quite competent and Michael was just happy to be watching a great pirate such as Jack Sparrow at work. But then he realised something was wrong. Although felling two of the enemy pirates in a spectacular splash of crimson, the last one was beginning to best Jack.
Without a thought and blind loyalty the only thing pulsing through his veins, Michael jumped up, ran to the wheel and clambered onto the top of the column. Jack spotted him, ready to leap onto the man he was fighting with and gave a slight nod and a smirk. The boy threw himself at the large man, locking his heels into his ribs and his arms around his neck. Shocked at this strange onslaught, it gave Jack the advantage he needed. The only flaw in the plan was if he stabbed the pirate, he could also stab the cabin boy.
However, Michael took care of this. Once again, in a quick flash, his knife was out. All this happened in a second, but the pirate's mind was starting to work again. He didn't get much time, though. The blade of the young boy's knife was drawn cleanly across the massive pirate's throat, blood splashing out of his slit jugular, coating Michael's hands and hitting his captain.
Jack jumped back and grinned wickedly at the boy as he fell with the pirate he was still on. Scrambling up, he stood and gazed up at his captain.
"Well, cutthroat, don't ye have a story to tell . . ."
And, once all the pirates had been either killed or driven off the Pearl, the men sat, impressed with the boy's work. And they spoke of how he cut the two pirate's throats without hesitation, without thought. At first they teased him by calling him cutthroat, but soon it became his respected name.
He was damned proud of that.
Leaning his head back against his bed, slouching on the floor, Michael knew he had to be bored and in a bad place to have to bring up happy times. Reminiscing about the great things he had done, usually with Jack, because once they had found each other after the mutiny, they were inseparable. Well, more of Michael searching Jack out after the mutiny, which had taken some time. And inseparable except when Jack had left Michael behind before heading to Port Royal. When Jack returned to fetch his first mate, as he had appointed him years previous, Michael had stormed up to him and punched him in the face.
He had deserved that. And he well knew it.
He turned his head and gazed blankly at the door. Monkey ran across the captain's bed and onto Michael's head. He made a few sounds, moving his hands, then rested, watching the door eagerly.
Michael was hoping for some sort of escape, trying to formulate a plan as he stared out the only exit of this room; and Monkey was just a strange little animal.
"The cap'n made me first mate, matie, long ago." He sighed and Monkey scuttled down his master's skull to the end of the bed, staring at him. He chattered for a moment then stopped to listen, having put in his few words.
Reaching over, Michael patted him on the head. "But why?" he snarled, "I mean, lookit me! I canna do my duties!"
The door slammed open and Jack sneered, taking his first mate completely by surprise. Monkey however, applauded the spectacular entrance as if expecting it the whole time.
"Traitor," Michael mumbled under his breath, getting a reproachful look from Monkey.
"Canna do yer duties?" Jack said loudly, strolling into the room as if he owned the place – which he did. "Ye did yer duty and need to rest. Git yer usless lump of a body back in bed." He pointed out towards the steps, eyes wide. "I'll git Anamaria."
Glowering up at the captain, thinking that was quite an unfair tactic, Michael slowly stood and slid onto the bed. Captain and first mate still had their eyes locked in a glower-contest.
"Stay," he said calmly, holding out his hands, looking around them on either side a few times, to make sure Michael was listening. And also because that was just how Jack moved. "Monkey!"
Monkey ran over and sat on Jack's shoulder.
"We need ye on deck." With that, Jack left Michael completely alone and in pain.
"Scallywags!" Michael roared when the door closed, "bleedin' maggot infested vermin!" He sat in a huff, but was unable to cross his arms for his ribs. His mood gave him an itch to kill and his body just wasn't healing fast enough. And he was needed on deck. He was supposed to be aiding in the running of the Pearl, and how was he to do that if he was down in the captain's room, lazing in bed?
He was not lazy and would not have the condition pressured onto him! If things had to be done, and on a ship there were never shortages of work, then he should be there, doing more than his fair share.
Listening carefully for anyone in the corridor, Michael then slid carefully and gingerly out of bed. He took a few steps, wincing as his ribs gave off sharp pangs. This just wasn't fair. His hands burned, his ribs ached and his whole body was stiff and sore. It took him about two minutes to make it to the door. By then he had become more used to the pain and, although in near agony, was able to fake feeling fine. His fingers touched the doorknob and he took a deep breath, straightening up. His eyes hardened and a sneer formed on his lips as he opened the door and stepped out into the dark hall. Shutting the door behind him, he squinted at the stairs. Walking purposefully towards them, biting down the constant pain he was in, he put his foot on a step and brought his other foot up beside it. Slowly he mounted them, determination etched deeply on his face. There was no way in hell he would show his discomfort, no way in hell he would show an ounce of pain. Making it to the top he opened the hatch and stepped up onto deck.
He took a deep lungful of sea air, having never smelt nor tasted anything so sweet. The sound of the ocean was beautiful, the sun warming his flesh. Being out of bed, back on deck where he belonged, out in the open, was a taste of heaven. He closed his eyes, pain flooding out of him as the sun beat down, as the warm winds, made slightly cool because of their speed, brushed by him. He had felt this good on rare occasion. It was better than being loaded on rum with Jack, it was better than constantly escaping the clutches of the bumbling English navy.
The sky was clear blue with a few fluffy clouds, the sun was bright yellow and the sea smelt perfect. Michael was just so overwhelmed by freedom from the cabin that he didn't know what to do. How to react.
He just stood there for a few minutes, arms out, face tipped up to the sky with his eyes closed, inhaling salty air as deep as he could.
Once he had sufficiently adapted to his new surroundings, his eyes fluttered open. His arms lowered and the pain flooded back so quickly that it made his eyes water. Taking a shaky, careful breath, he regained his composure, stuffing all the pain away as best he could.
Looking up at the helm, he saw Jack standing there, one hand on the wheel. His other hand was on his hip and he was staring either blankly or intensely out at sea. Michael headed over and stood beside the captain for a full minute before clearing his throat, getting Jack's attention.
"What?" he blinked a few times, staring up at his first mate. He was not expecting this. The last thing he wanted was Michael doing something stupid and getting himself hurt. They needed him healed. Then again, even the lad's dreadlocks, so much like the captains, seemed limp. One of Michael's dreads hung against his cheek, bright beads twined in his blonde hair, the shark tooth on the end gently swinging against his cheek with each laboured breath.
"Cap'n, I can't stay abed – I'm useless there."
Jack eyed him then raised his finger, looking questioning. "Who is captain?"
"Uh, you, sir."
"Right, I thought so. So matie, ye have no choice. Get to bed."
Michael glowered, lip curling dangerously. Jack however, paid no mind.
"I be useless down there!"
"Ye'll be useless up here too, lo . . . lad!" He noticed the first mate grimace slightly after yelling. "Yer in pain." He put his hands on the wheel, changing their direction slightly to better use the wind. "You can go yerself, but if ye don't, I'll have ye dragged down."
"Fine, captain," Michael spat, walking off with his back straight and head held high. Jack watched him go to the hatch and clamber down the stairs. What he didn't see was Michael collapsing against the wall once he was deeper in the ship, reaching out and clutching the side of the staircase. Walking like that had hurt, but he could show nothing. He had to have pure grit or he was useless.
Useless.
Shuffling back to the captain's quarters, he opened the door then slammed it behind him, really needing to kill.
How the captain allowed him to stay in bed for this long was beyond him. He was supposed to be working, not babied.
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Um, well, Mika just emailed me the other day. She's settling into her new University life and such . . . I'll let her tell you herself when we resume work on the sequel, lol. So . . . nothin' much to put here . . .
Review please.
Sukkumbus (and the absent Mika)