FULL CIRCLE
Chapter 2 Discoveries
Captain Marcus was glad to find the three crewmen and several baskets overbrimming with fresh bread already at the longboat when he, James, Scar, and their newest recruit arrived at its hidden location. As soon as the boy, still very unconscious, was made as comfortable as possible-which Marcus saw to, for the two who had taken the brunt of his struggles were inclined to toss him in and just let him lay as he landed-and the baskets of bread stored, they were off. All but Captain Marcus rowed, although James and Scar looked sore and moody, and the injuries they had taken in the kidnapping were showing up on their persons. Marcus had a feeling his own bruises were going to be with him awhile. However, the men rowed strongly, and soon the twin lanterns of the Black Arrow's poopdeck came into view even in the murkiness of an early summer night's fog, which hid most of the large ship from view. Marcus knew the fog would not last. He could feel the wind already rising, beginning to disperse the tendrils of mist.
Things were ready for them when they reached the vessel, and as soon as everyone was aboard and the longboat secured to the deck, her sails were filling with sufficient wind that the moment the anchors were lifted, the ship began her journey away from the waters beyond the Bay of Sarentre, heading toward open sea.
Marcus was busy for awhile. He'd told James and Scar to take the new recruit down to the orlop deck and tie him so he would not hurt himself or escape, and then get ready to do their duties on deck. The bread was stored where humidity would least reach it.
"Any trouble from the young man brought aboard earlier?" Marcus asked a crewman passing by.
"Not I've heard tell of, Cap'n. Seems a bit resigned, but not overmuch resentful."
Marcus smiled. He ordered him fed, but kept below until first light. "Then let him loose and put him to work at what he likes best to do. I'll have him sign his X to the Code when I've time in the morning."
"What about the other one, just brought on like a sack of potatoes?"
Marcus considered. "Let him rest. He fought like a whale--gave James a shiner and swollen face. Have everyone leave him alone until daylight, then see if he's hungry."
Marcus was busy well into the night, laboriously keeping his log up to date, puzzling through the math of what he had bought and paid for it. He added the bag of coins taken from their new recruit's mark to the wealth to be divided by the crew when it came time for that. And he eyed with great respect and admiration that lovely Spanish sword now sitting in the corner cabinet in his cabin.
The candle lantern had burned low, and the ship was making good time out to sea before Marcus took his walk around the deck and stood for a time behind the bowsprit, watching the way ahead. The wind had vanquished the fog, and the stars shone brightly. Orion was bright still, but near the horizon, setting. Spring was past. The summer stars were taking Orion's prominent place.
Captain Marcus could not help but relax and feel a surge of joy run through him as he breathed the salt air and listened to the creak of wood, automatically listening for anything out of place, any sign of weakening boards or bad rigging. The sails sounded as they should. All was well. He smiled to himself, whispered "Good night" to his ship, and gave her nearest rail a fond pat before he returned to his cabin and went to bed.
Morning came too soon, and with it a patch of rough seas. Not unexpected, for there were currents here that had a lot of play with the waves. Marcus rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of older shoes, and after washing his face and running a tortoisshell comb through his hair and fixing the brown grossgrain ribbon that kept his hair in a tail at the back of his neck, he donned his frock coat and left his cabin.
*****
Spot woke up with a headache worse than he had thought possible, but that wasn't his main problem. During the first few seconds, while still badly disoriented, he had been convinced that something heavy was pressing on his chest, and he tried to push it away, which led to the realization that- though standing-he couldn't move at all. The fact that he also could see nothing at all around him when he opened his eyes didn't help either. It was almost pitch dark. Almost. That meant-and movements of his head proved it-that the blindfold was gone. Still, it took him quite awhile to get over the first panic, calm down and start thinking clearly enough to fully analyze his situation.
He was standing in a not exactly comfortable position with his arms pulled back and hands tied behind a wooden pillar. In addition to that there had to be at least a mile's worth of rope wound all around him, preventing him from making any movement whatsoever. That had been the weight against his chest, he realized, and there was no way to get rid of it.
He swore. It was only in his head, because, while the blindfold was gone, they had left the gag in place.
They!!! Pirates. They had come to Sarentre and despite his best efforts to prevent it, they had taken him captive. He was ON THEIR SHIP! He could feel the vessel sway on the waves, regular, gentle movements. They were under sail.
Knowing that he was about to give in to his panic Spot tried to calm himself. At least they had been considerate enough to put a bandage on his head. It didn't help against the pain, though. Well, that was okay, he'd been through worse.
Worse...
Fear ran through him the likes of which he had not known for a long time, but at the same moment rage took over. Hot, burning rage. He fought against the ropes, knowing it was futile, until he was utterly exhausted and gasping for air.
Calm down calm down calm down! He couldn't. Over and over again he swore that whenever he could get his hands on one of these pirates the guy would be really sorry. But it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon. No one seemed very interested in him. He was left utterly alone.
Above he could hear the steps of those going after whatever their chores were while he himself could just as much as breathe - barely - tied up against the pillar as he was. The gag didn't help either.
Spot cursed silently some more.
******
Marcus strolled slowly, his gait steady on the gently swaying deck. His crew was busy, and he didn't notice any unusual looks or signs of trouble coming.
The Black Arrow was a fine ship, longer and sleeker than the average merchant vessel. The first time Marcus had seen those sails he has fallen in love with her. She had the perfect rigging, beautifully arranged on four masts - enough sail to catch the wind and drive her forwards through the sea. Close to the wind there was a small problem with drift, but nothing they couldn't handle.
With her eight and sixteen cannons on each side of the main and between deck, plus three smaller, movable cannons she was well, but not exceedingly armed. And the weight wasn't too great so she stayed very maneuverable.
All in all she was the one ship that Marcus ever dreamed of. When he had been captain of the White Star, and had answered the call that there was a merchant vessel almost adrift, and he had seen her through the spyglass, his immediate response was, "Pursue and prepare to board!" Clearly the ship was in some kind of trouble.
She was. The Black Arrow had suffered an outbreak of desease and lost half her crew, and the other half was weak and could hardly handle the ship. So Marcus took her over, and since their captain had succumbed to the fever, he became the Captain of his dream ship.
Oddly, it was the only choice he had, for the crew had feared pirates and gotten off a lucky single broadside, which took down the White Star most unexpectedly. But they got everything they needed aboard the Black Arrow before she went beneath the waves.
The only problem with the merchant vessel was that she was low on crew. Those men who were willing enough to join with Marcus did so, and the others were left on an island frequently visited by merchants, and their supplies would last them two months if they were reasonably frugal and didn't waste anything. Likely, rescue would take less than half that time.
But that still left Marcus short handed, for this was a bigger vessel. And then the fever struck again, and took half his original crew, so finding men became a need. It was a problem he was slowly starting to fix, but it would take time. Men were easy to find. Dependable men for pirate vessels were hard to find. Marcus thought again about his newest two..
He could not help but notice that James and Scar were a bit bruised--he smiled to himself; they both looked like they had lost a brawl. He was well acquainted with his own bruises from the night before.
This kept his mind on his new recruits. He saw the first of them--he'd get his name later--working on rigging. Good, that was a promising start. He would ordinarily have approached him right off, but he found himself wondering about the fighter.
Marcus went over to James, who was working his usual chores. "What about the eel? How is he today? Any less fierce?"
James shrugged. "Don't know, Cap'n. Haven't checked. Been busy."
An odd feeling formed in his gut. Such little interest was unusual, and he remembered his orders to check the boy in the morning. "Has anybody checked on him?"
James grunted, which meant he didn't know. Marcus frowned. That meant no one had. He turned and headed for the hatch over the fore hold.
"Aft hold, orlop," called James, after the briefest hesitation.
Marcus instantly changed direction and hurried. It was a beautiful day above, but he could swear he felt a bit seasick. He went down two decks and followed the narrow aisles between goods and cargo until he reached the cramped space where new prisoners were kept. He had grabbed and lit a lantern, and when he reached the little space, he hung it from a peg.
What he saw caused him to swear and stop in his tracks. "Good God!"
*****
Slowly the headache was getting better - not much, but Spot had learned to savor even the tiniest positive aspects that he could find. That didn't mean that he was getting used to this situation. Alright, his heart had stopped beating like a drum, but only because it just couldn't keep up the high speed forever.
Spot's temper could! His fury hadn't subsided in the least during the hours he had been here. It had to be hours. He'd become quite good at judging the time in situations like this, and he HATED it! Fury was the right word for what he felt and nothing else.
Finally he heard steps coming closer. He wasn't sure whether he liked it or not. Indeed his heart started pounding harder again, but finally he would have someone to unleash his fury at-even if it were only with his eyes.
A shape with a lantern was coming nearer. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark during those long hours, so he blinked and couldn't see much at first. That didn't keep him from glaring daggers at whomever was approaching. Two questions were written on his face: 'How dare you?' and 'What now?'
In all his years at sea, Captain Marcus did not believe he had ever seen anyone so trussed before, and marvelled even as he gasped that the young man could still breathe! He saw that lethal look in those green eyes, and something inside him reeled. Of course the lad was angry, but this kind of fury...something slammed into him internally, and he wondered why he felt he should recognize the feeling. Of course, had it been him, he would have felt.....exactly the same way.
Dear God, he thought. There had been times when he had felt exactly the same way. Marcus stepped forward briskly, going to work on some of the ropes holding the young man immobile against the post. "Can you even breathe? It's a wonder if you can," he said, and worked rope after rope free until he was held firmly, but not so absurdly. Marcus hadn't forgotten the way he had struggled before, and didn't want him to hurt himself getting overly enthusiastic fighting his bonds, but enough was enough.
As soon as he had removed the unnecessary ropes, he began to run his hands along his limbs and body, trying to work back some of the circulation. "This should help you feel better, a little. You'll likely get pins and needles later; I'm sorry about that-"
'Can you breathe?' What kind of a question was that? Of couse he could, somehow; he would have suffocated long ago if he couldn't, even though the ties did their best to prevent him from doing it. Spot recognized the man from the alley and found an urge to kick him in some seriously vulnerable parts. The guy was lucky he was tied up!
Then the man started to loosen the ropes. Although Spot was a little surprised about that it didn't do much to dampen his fury. In his book, the man had to be planning something, and with pirates Spot had some experience of what that might be. The gag prevented him from giving any comments, though, and he was not the least bit surprised when soon he realized that loosening the ropes didn't mean freeing him. It so seldom did.
Still, it puzzled him a bit. Why would he bother to keep him held firmly, but not find some other equally unpleasant way to re-tie him? But before he could even think about it he felt hands running along his limbs. Sure, his body was stiff and with little feeling from hours of immobility, but he could very well feel those hands!
He stiffened, as far as that was possible, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. "DO NOT TOUCH ME!" he shouted, or would have without the gag. As it was the shout came out as a forceful but muffled sequence of barely intelligible sounds.
One did not become captain without instincts, instincts about many things. Oddly enough, one acquired an ability after a life spent at sea to understand many of the words of a gagged man.
Still, these had not been the words Marcus had expected, nor their vehemence, and again something twisted inside him so that he immediately ceased his efforts to help the captive and instead did the opposite of what his ordinary instincts would have been. He stepped back and into his sight, putting sufficient distance between them that the young man might calm down a little.
His fury was like a living thing, no ghost. Living. And puzzling. Marcus took a few moments to work out what his instincts were telling him. Something about him...last night. Something he had seen last night..
In a burst of intuition it came to him, and he knew what it was: that unscarred back, that the torn shirt had revealed to him for a moment. Marcus knew what the contradictions were: handsome young man, unscarred. Physically. But, it seemed, not emotionally.
He swallowed. This one had been with pirates before. And they had hurt him. On the inside. This one carried his scars on the inside.
Marcus felt like he was on a pitching deck. These were rough, dangerous seas, but he knew what he had to do, and he knew it would be hard to do it: gain the young man's trust. He knew it would take time. But his own past dictated the course through the difficult waters.
He swallowed again, and asked, "If I take off the gag, will you behave?" He spoke as unthreateningly as possible, knowing now that he was dealing with the most primal of the instincts: survival, and desire to flee to safety. The lad was under the command of his emotions, not his reason. If he could somehow reach that-
Spot glared. His heart was ready to jump right out of his throat and his hands balled into fists as far as the ties allowed. He took his time, unable to react any faster. He didn't like this man, and he wouldn't be fooled by any kind words! But that gag had become a real nuisance. It hurt after the long hours spent here. A break would do good. Spot nodded. It would take some self control, but he didn't have much of a choice.
Marcus went behind the captive who he very much now wanted to release, but realized with a sinking feeling how unsafe it would be to do so, and how the lad would be unable to understand why not. He would think the worst, and there was little Marcus could do to affect that. Still, he would do all he could. So he only worked loose the knots of the gag, and without touching the young man, removed it. He stepped back, beyond touching range. "Your name?" Normally he would have followed that question with, "Your usual shipboard duties?", but this time he ommitted that question, for he knew already the answer.
The moment the gag was released Spot drew a deep breath, which resulted in a short string of coughs as his lungs got used to free breathing again. He didn't stop glaring, though. In fact, he felt like spitting at the man, but he had promised to behave and besides, he didn't have enough spit left to waste. Man, he was thirsty! Unfortunately he had learned that more often than not asking for water was the best way NOT to get it. So he settled for simply answering the question. He opened his mouth and nearly said 'Spot' before he stopped himself again. That name was part of a past he would rather like to forget. He had been called that since he could remember, but that wasn't his real name.
"Martin." He finally answered. To hell if he told anybody his nickname ever again.
Marcus nodded. "Martin. I'm Captain Marcus. This ship is the Black Arrow. She was a merchant ship until she sank my ship and I had to take her over. She is now a pirate ship, but we do not follow the usual policies of wanton mayhem and cruelty. You will learn that. This crew is hand-picked, and no one is going to hurt you." He watched those green eyes for reaction.
Spot did not even try to hold back a sneer. The guy didn't really think he would believe him, did he? No cruelty indeed! Ha! He could very well remember the words of a different captain ...'We don't want him to get hurt, do we?'... and that captain hadn't even kidnapped him first and left him to wait for hours tied up like something to eat! This time Spot didn't answer.
Marcus could have smacked himself on the forehead, but he didn't. When he reviewed what he had said, he realized that an unscarred cabin boy would have heard all of this before, and would be even more distrustful of hearing this now. Well, there was nothing for it but to try to do something to show he meant Martin no harm. He said, "Will you be quiet if I go and get you some water, and food? And another shirt? Yours is in shreds. I cannot untie you yet. I know you would attack. Will you be silent until I return? I will not be gone long."
Another nod, not a friendly one and certainly not an enthusiastic one, but a nod. He could be quiet, no problem, for if he refused then the gag would just be used again anyway. And water sounded good, really good. Yes, he had learned when it was better to be quiet.
Captain Marcus watched that face, and saw hints of expressions he was not sure Martin was aware of. How well he knew that look! That same part in his gut twisted again, and even as he reached for the lantern, he stopped. He looked at Martin, and let his hand drop, empty, to his side. He knew his ship and could go topside without light. "I will leave the lantern with you." With that, he quickly made his way back to his cabin, and pulled out the first shirt he came to. It was navy blue cotton, and Marcus had another one almost identical to it. It would be too big for the lad, but not by much. He left his cabin, looked quickly around with his sharp eyes and saw that all was running smoothly. The sky was not threatening storm, the seas were not too choppy, and the wind was from a favorable direction. He hurried onward, and took up the topmost loaf of bread in the first basket he came to, filled a large tin cup of water, and grabbed an apple from the barrel that he passed as he went below. He also managed to snag another lantern, and somehow kept everything from dropping into a pile on the deck.
Once he had reached Martin again, he put the food and tin cup atop a barrel, pegged the lantern, and took back up the cup of water. "I am going to hold this to your lips. Drink slowly."
He was leaving him the latern? This was the first real surprise for Spot. Never had anyone ever bothered to leave him a light. What did this darn pirate plan?
Well, he would find out soon enough, but somehow he wasn't ready to just wait until the solution was presented to him. The moment the Captain was out of sight Spot started to feverishly work on his ties. Sure, he'd spent fruitless time on this task already, but now the ropes had been loosened and maybe he would find a weakness...
He didn't.
Soon enough, steps could be heard again and the Captain returned. Spot never took his eyes off him to even blink. He was scared, he was angry, and now he also needed to figure out this pirate, especially find out about his intentions and weaknesses. The water was a relief, though.
He even smiled when the cup was put to his lips. 'Drink slowly.' Of course, no problem. He knew the drill. He had found out early that great thirst and hasty gulps didn't mix well. So he drank carefully, as much as he could, but no more than his body could take at once. When the cup was empty he hesitated for several seconds. Should he say it or should he not? What would be seen as less provocative? He decided to try good manners. "Thank you."
Marcus patiently held the cup until Martin had finished it. He was surprised by the courtesy. "You are welcome, Martin."
He felt it unwise to say more, so he turned to the food. And his eyes lit on that loaf.
He could have sworn. It was from the bakery where he had first seen Martin. That boy would recognize it, by sight, and by taste, and he would fear for his friends back in Sarentre. So Marcus stalled for time, trying to think of a way to keep the young man from feeling panicked again when he saw the bread. He mumbled, "Getting more water," before dashing off to do just that. He returned quickly. The loaf wasn't going to vanish into thin air, and the young man needed food. There was nothing to do but see what happened. He picked it up and tore off a piece. In as casual a voice as he could manage, and avoiding looking in Martin's eyes, he said, "You must be hungry, too." And he held the piece of bread to Martin's mouth.
Puzzlement was the only word for what Spot felt when the Captain - what was his name? Marcus - suddenly dashed away. Could it be that Marcus was a bit out of his mind? If so, then Spot was in real trouble! His heart started beating yet a little bit faster.
He looked around, carefully, trying to find any more hints, anything that might help him understand his situation. There wasn't much. The lanterns were just ordinary lanterns like those he had seen aboard the...no, he wouldn't think of that! The shirt that was lying on the barrel as far as he could see was just as unremarkable, and the bread...."Holy shit!"
It was only a whisper, but just as strong a curse as any shout could be. Christopher's handiwork was hard to mistake. He always managed to get the loaves into the weirdest forms. Spot had seen a lot of them over the months. This bread was made by Christopher.
What good the water had done to Spot's throat vanished again and his mouth became dry. Christopher didn't sell to pirates. Never. Not willingly. He hated pirates almost as much as Spot did.
He had been angry all along, but now it reached new heights as fear about what would happen to him was pushed into the back of his mind to be replaced by pure rage of what might have happened already to his friends. When Marcus returned and commented on him being hungry, he said, "I am," in a voice that trembled and held the promise of certain death, were he free. He didn't take a single bite.
Marcus watched every expression, resigned to enduring the lad's distrust. He took the bread away, and then was struck by something. Yes, he knew Martin's expression--he was afraid. Not for himself, but for his teacher. The bakers. But what if they were not just friends? Uncle and Aunt, perhaps? Had he stolen the boy from his family? Dear God. He would have to procede slowly and with even greater care.
"Yes, I know you recognize the bread. I followed you earlier yesterday, and watched the fencing lesson in the back. And I bought some bread, and since the ship was low, I had the bakers make more. I sent my most trusted men, dressed like gentlemen with manners to match, and paid the bakers well for their efforts. We did not hurt anyone. All I did to earn the title of pirate was to steal that Spanish sword you were using. I took it. It is in my cabin." For some reason, Marcus added softly, "It is still yours."
Spot nearly hissed. He was confused, he was afraid, he was angry. And he didn't believe a word. Why would a pirate bother to dress up to fool a baker, especially a pirate who went about taking people against their will? Oh, come on! Walking in with swords and pistols was so much easier, besides... "No one just walks into Christopher's shop and steals a sword." he hissed. "He isn't as simple as you think."
"And this isn't as complex as you believe it to be, Martin," Marcus stated as quietly as he could keep his voice, although he knew what the man was thinking, and felt offense rise in him. Yet he had the presence of mind to realize the lad had not said 'Uncle Christopher.' Good. They were not relatives. "I told you, we did not hurt your friends. I know you think my word is as worthless as spit, but I gave it to you, and I am Captain of this ship. If my word is worthless, you have no one on board to trust at all."
He gentled his voice. "Give in, lad. Your friends are not hurt beyond losing your company, which I am sure will be painful, but I cannot help that. I needed crew. You looked able. Now, are you going to eat, or do I leave you here for awhile longer? Believe me, lad, it is not my wish to leave you down here any longer than you make it necessary."
Spot didn't take his eyes off the man. He listened and didn't believe him any more than before. Pirates lied, especially to boys. There was one thing he agreed with, though. He had no one on board to trust at all. Well, that wasn't anything new either, right?
He swallowed, hard. Giving in was not an option, he just couldn't do that! Wasn't there something he could do? Dammit!
"Then don't keep me down here. I .. don't .. want .. to .. be .. here. I don't care about your ship, your plans or you. I am not one of your crew and I will never be."
He was talking himself into a fury, into a more outspoken fury than before, and he knew it. He didn't care. The blow would come soon and cut him off. It didn't matter. Anything was better than ... "I won't give in!" he nearly shouted.
Marcus waited, his insides knotting, as Martin raged, anger fueled by fear and past experiences. How well Marcus remembered his own youth. The beatings...yelling anyway, because he would be beaten no matter what. He felt as if he were looking back at his own past.
He waited, stomach churning, until Martin's fury blew itself out, and then he waited a little longer. And then Marcus said, very quietly, "I know, lad. I know."
And then his voice grew stronger, but without threat. "You want to know why I will not harm you? And why I will not let anyone else harm you? It is very simple." Methodically, he took off his frock coat, and finally, almost shaking, took off his shirt. He turned fully around, letting Martin see everything. Scars showed everywere. His voice shook when he faced the lad again. "That is why. I was not always a captain. I was for a long time the plaything of the captain. And then the crew. No one, ever, on my ship, faces this fate."
Now Marcus had to be silent for awhile to calm himself. He pulled his shirt over his shoulders and the coat over that. He dropped his eyes from Martin as he buttoned every button and tied every lace, until he was covered again from wrists to neck, his scars again hidden.
"Now, will you eat?"
Spot's mouth opened, but not because he wanted to say anything. The blood had drained from his face and the rage that had been hot a moment before left him almost shivering now. Shock and confusion mixed with all the other emotions that he felt. Trust wasn't one of them. He didn't know what to believe. He had seen scars like that before, and the fact that that person had been hurt had never meant the he wouldn't hurt Spot. On the other hand there was something in that voice...
He didn't realize he was shaking his head. Suddenly he didn't feel like eating at all. "Please leave me alone." He was even too confused to realize that he had used the word 'please', the word that he had learned long ago not to use on a pirate ship.
Marcus sighed heavily. He had no choice in what he had to do next, and he wished it could be avoided. He turned and left Martin, and when he returned, he held chains and shackles in his hands. "Don't fight me," he said dully. Despite Martin's bonds, he tore the ragged shirt from him, and carefully untied him a little at a time-never allowing him full freedom- until he got the navy blue shirt on him, being careful to touch him as little as possible as he did the laces at the neck. Then he ripped strips from the wrecked shirt and wrapped Martin's writsts before locking the manacles around them. He did the same for his ankles, so the fetters wouldn't abrade his skin, and left him enough chain to take a short but reasonable step.
"I will not leave you down here, and I cannot let you loose, so I am putting you in irons until you are no danger to me, yourself, or anyone else. If you do not come with me, I will have you brought anyway. You will stay locked in my cabin until it is safe to let you out. But you are not my 'boy'--you understand that? I have to put you somewhere. Do you fight and still end up in my cabin, or do you come with me with such dignity as there is left in this situation? It is up to you."
Spot had his eyes closed. Why could the man not just leave him alone? By now he was breathing heavily, shying away from every touch, but unable to do anything about it. Chains! Of course, he should have expected that, which did not mean that he had to like it. Oh please, why couldn't he just wake up and find himself safe in Sarentre again?
Marcus had nearly finished his last sentence when Spot finally opened his eyes again and looked at him.
The man was right, fighting would not gain him anything. But could he just follow him to the cabin, the CAPTAIN's cabin?
"I cannot." he said, almost inaudible. God, he had never thought he would ever feel this helpless again! He swallowed once more and summond a little more of his voice. There was something he needed to know, no matter what asking the questiong might cost him. "I will come if...." Another gulp, and yet a little more of his voice. "Do ...you swear by your soul, this ship and everything that is on her that neither Christopher nor Charlene are hurt?"
Marcus did not expect that question. Not that one. But he nodded. "I swear. I had my men pay them generously for the batch they made for us. I swear we did not hurt them, nor send others later to do it. They are, as far as I know, unhurt. But I think they will miss you."
Spot nodded. He still was not sure if it meant anything, but he was ready to accept these words for now. There would be time to puzzle this out later. "All right then."
When this time he swallowed, he braced himself for what was to come. "But that is all. I am not going to be ... I am NOT going to give in!"
Ordinarily Marcus would have put his hand on the young man's shoulder and thanked him. He had been prepared to do what he had to to get him to the cabin, and was relieved not to have to resort to force that would only frighten Martin even more. Instead, he merely nodded. "Follow me, lad." He took up bread, apple, and lanterns, and led the way, giving Martin the trust that he would be true to his word and follow.
(to be continued, even faster with reviews.)
Chapter 2 Discoveries
Captain Marcus was glad to find the three crewmen and several baskets overbrimming with fresh bread already at the longboat when he, James, Scar, and their newest recruit arrived at its hidden location. As soon as the boy, still very unconscious, was made as comfortable as possible-which Marcus saw to, for the two who had taken the brunt of his struggles were inclined to toss him in and just let him lay as he landed-and the baskets of bread stored, they were off. All but Captain Marcus rowed, although James and Scar looked sore and moody, and the injuries they had taken in the kidnapping were showing up on their persons. Marcus had a feeling his own bruises were going to be with him awhile. However, the men rowed strongly, and soon the twin lanterns of the Black Arrow's poopdeck came into view even in the murkiness of an early summer night's fog, which hid most of the large ship from view. Marcus knew the fog would not last. He could feel the wind already rising, beginning to disperse the tendrils of mist.
Things were ready for them when they reached the vessel, and as soon as everyone was aboard and the longboat secured to the deck, her sails were filling with sufficient wind that the moment the anchors were lifted, the ship began her journey away from the waters beyond the Bay of Sarentre, heading toward open sea.
Marcus was busy for awhile. He'd told James and Scar to take the new recruit down to the orlop deck and tie him so he would not hurt himself or escape, and then get ready to do their duties on deck. The bread was stored where humidity would least reach it.
"Any trouble from the young man brought aboard earlier?" Marcus asked a crewman passing by.
"Not I've heard tell of, Cap'n. Seems a bit resigned, but not overmuch resentful."
Marcus smiled. He ordered him fed, but kept below until first light. "Then let him loose and put him to work at what he likes best to do. I'll have him sign his X to the Code when I've time in the morning."
"What about the other one, just brought on like a sack of potatoes?"
Marcus considered. "Let him rest. He fought like a whale--gave James a shiner and swollen face. Have everyone leave him alone until daylight, then see if he's hungry."
Marcus was busy well into the night, laboriously keeping his log up to date, puzzling through the math of what he had bought and paid for it. He added the bag of coins taken from their new recruit's mark to the wealth to be divided by the crew when it came time for that. And he eyed with great respect and admiration that lovely Spanish sword now sitting in the corner cabinet in his cabin.
The candle lantern had burned low, and the ship was making good time out to sea before Marcus took his walk around the deck and stood for a time behind the bowsprit, watching the way ahead. The wind had vanquished the fog, and the stars shone brightly. Orion was bright still, but near the horizon, setting. Spring was past. The summer stars were taking Orion's prominent place.
Captain Marcus could not help but relax and feel a surge of joy run through him as he breathed the salt air and listened to the creak of wood, automatically listening for anything out of place, any sign of weakening boards or bad rigging. The sails sounded as they should. All was well. He smiled to himself, whispered "Good night" to his ship, and gave her nearest rail a fond pat before he returned to his cabin and went to bed.
Morning came too soon, and with it a patch of rough seas. Not unexpected, for there were currents here that had a lot of play with the waves. Marcus rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of older shoes, and after washing his face and running a tortoisshell comb through his hair and fixing the brown grossgrain ribbon that kept his hair in a tail at the back of his neck, he donned his frock coat and left his cabin.
*****
Spot woke up with a headache worse than he had thought possible, but that wasn't his main problem. During the first few seconds, while still badly disoriented, he had been convinced that something heavy was pressing on his chest, and he tried to push it away, which led to the realization that- though standing-he couldn't move at all. The fact that he also could see nothing at all around him when he opened his eyes didn't help either. It was almost pitch dark. Almost. That meant-and movements of his head proved it-that the blindfold was gone. Still, it took him quite awhile to get over the first panic, calm down and start thinking clearly enough to fully analyze his situation.
He was standing in a not exactly comfortable position with his arms pulled back and hands tied behind a wooden pillar. In addition to that there had to be at least a mile's worth of rope wound all around him, preventing him from making any movement whatsoever. That had been the weight against his chest, he realized, and there was no way to get rid of it.
He swore. It was only in his head, because, while the blindfold was gone, they had left the gag in place.
They!!! Pirates. They had come to Sarentre and despite his best efforts to prevent it, they had taken him captive. He was ON THEIR SHIP! He could feel the vessel sway on the waves, regular, gentle movements. They were under sail.
Knowing that he was about to give in to his panic Spot tried to calm himself. At least they had been considerate enough to put a bandage on his head. It didn't help against the pain, though. Well, that was okay, he'd been through worse.
Worse...
Fear ran through him the likes of which he had not known for a long time, but at the same moment rage took over. Hot, burning rage. He fought against the ropes, knowing it was futile, until he was utterly exhausted and gasping for air.
Calm down calm down calm down! He couldn't. Over and over again he swore that whenever he could get his hands on one of these pirates the guy would be really sorry. But it didn't look like that was going to happen anytime soon. No one seemed very interested in him. He was left utterly alone.
Above he could hear the steps of those going after whatever their chores were while he himself could just as much as breathe - barely - tied up against the pillar as he was. The gag didn't help either.
Spot cursed silently some more.
******
Marcus strolled slowly, his gait steady on the gently swaying deck. His crew was busy, and he didn't notice any unusual looks or signs of trouble coming.
The Black Arrow was a fine ship, longer and sleeker than the average merchant vessel. The first time Marcus had seen those sails he has fallen in love with her. She had the perfect rigging, beautifully arranged on four masts - enough sail to catch the wind and drive her forwards through the sea. Close to the wind there was a small problem with drift, but nothing they couldn't handle.
With her eight and sixteen cannons on each side of the main and between deck, plus three smaller, movable cannons she was well, but not exceedingly armed. And the weight wasn't too great so she stayed very maneuverable.
All in all she was the one ship that Marcus ever dreamed of. When he had been captain of the White Star, and had answered the call that there was a merchant vessel almost adrift, and he had seen her through the spyglass, his immediate response was, "Pursue and prepare to board!" Clearly the ship was in some kind of trouble.
She was. The Black Arrow had suffered an outbreak of desease and lost half her crew, and the other half was weak and could hardly handle the ship. So Marcus took her over, and since their captain had succumbed to the fever, he became the Captain of his dream ship.
Oddly, it was the only choice he had, for the crew had feared pirates and gotten off a lucky single broadside, which took down the White Star most unexpectedly. But they got everything they needed aboard the Black Arrow before she went beneath the waves.
The only problem with the merchant vessel was that she was low on crew. Those men who were willing enough to join with Marcus did so, and the others were left on an island frequently visited by merchants, and their supplies would last them two months if they were reasonably frugal and didn't waste anything. Likely, rescue would take less than half that time.
But that still left Marcus short handed, for this was a bigger vessel. And then the fever struck again, and took half his original crew, so finding men became a need. It was a problem he was slowly starting to fix, but it would take time. Men were easy to find. Dependable men for pirate vessels were hard to find. Marcus thought again about his newest two..
He could not help but notice that James and Scar were a bit bruised--he smiled to himself; they both looked like they had lost a brawl. He was well acquainted with his own bruises from the night before.
This kept his mind on his new recruits. He saw the first of them--he'd get his name later--working on rigging. Good, that was a promising start. He would ordinarily have approached him right off, but he found himself wondering about the fighter.
Marcus went over to James, who was working his usual chores. "What about the eel? How is he today? Any less fierce?"
James shrugged. "Don't know, Cap'n. Haven't checked. Been busy."
An odd feeling formed in his gut. Such little interest was unusual, and he remembered his orders to check the boy in the morning. "Has anybody checked on him?"
James grunted, which meant he didn't know. Marcus frowned. That meant no one had. He turned and headed for the hatch over the fore hold.
"Aft hold, orlop," called James, after the briefest hesitation.
Marcus instantly changed direction and hurried. It was a beautiful day above, but he could swear he felt a bit seasick. He went down two decks and followed the narrow aisles between goods and cargo until he reached the cramped space where new prisoners were kept. He had grabbed and lit a lantern, and when he reached the little space, he hung it from a peg.
What he saw caused him to swear and stop in his tracks. "Good God!"
*****
Slowly the headache was getting better - not much, but Spot had learned to savor even the tiniest positive aspects that he could find. That didn't mean that he was getting used to this situation. Alright, his heart had stopped beating like a drum, but only because it just couldn't keep up the high speed forever.
Spot's temper could! His fury hadn't subsided in the least during the hours he had been here. It had to be hours. He'd become quite good at judging the time in situations like this, and he HATED it! Fury was the right word for what he felt and nothing else.
Finally he heard steps coming closer. He wasn't sure whether he liked it or not. Indeed his heart started pounding harder again, but finally he would have someone to unleash his fury at-even if it were only with his eyes.
A shape with a lantern was coming nearer. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark during those long hours, so he blinked and couldn't see much at first. That didn't keep him from glaring daggers at whomever was approaching. Two questions were written on his face: 'How dare you?' and 'What now?'
In all his years at sea, Captain Marcus did not believe he had ever seen anyone so trussed before, and marvelled even as he gasped that the young man could still breathe! He saw that lethal look in those green eyes, and something inside him reeled. Of course the lad was angry, but this kind of fury...something slammed into him internally, and he wondered why he felt he should recognize the feeling. Of course, had it been him, he would have felt.....exactly the same way.
Dear God, he thought. There had been times when he had felt exactly the same way. Marcus stepped forward briskly, going to work on some of the ropes holding the young man immobile against the post. "Can you even breathe? It's a wonder if you can," he said, and worked rope after rope free until he was held firmly, but not so absurdly. Marcus hadn't forgotten the way he had struggled before, and didn't want him to hurt himself getting overly enthusiastic fighting his bonds, but enough was enough.
As soon as he had removed the unnecessary ropes, he began to run his hands along his limbs and body, trying to work back some of the circulation. "This should help you feel better, a little. You'll likely get pins and needles later; I'm sorry about that-"
'Can you breathe?' What kind of a question was that? Of couse he could, somehow; he would have suffocated long ago if he couldn't, even though the ties did their best to prevent him from doing it. Spot recognized the man from the alley and found an urge to kick him in some seriously vulnerable parts. The guy was lucky he was tied up!
Then the man started to loosen the ropes. Although Spot was a little surprised about that it didn't do much to dampen his fury. In his book, the man had to be planning something, and with pirates Spot had some experience of what that might be. The gag prevented him from giving any comments, though, and he was not the least bit surprised when soon he realized that loosening the ropes didn't mean freeing him. It so seldom did.
Still, it puzzled him a bit. Why would he bother to keep him held firmly, but not find some other equally unpleasant way to re-tie him? But before he could even think about it he felt hands running along his limbs. Sure, his body was stiff and with little feeling from hours of immobility, but he could very well feel those hands!
He stiffened, as far as that was possible, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. "DO NOT TOUCH ME!" he shouted, or would have without the gag. As it was the shout came out as a forceful but muffled sequence of barely intelligible sounds.
One did not become captain without instincts, instincts about many things. Oddly enough, one acquired an ability after a life spent at sea to understand many of the words of a gagged man.
Still, these had not been the words Marcus had expected, nor their vehemence, and again something twisted inside him so that he immediately ceased his efforts to help the captive and instead did the opposite of what his ordinary instincts would have been. He stepped back and into his sight, putting sufficient distance between them that the young man might calm down a little.
His fury was like a living thing, no ghost. Living. And puzzling. Marcus took a few moments to work out what his instincts were telling him. Something about him...last night. Something he had seen last night..
In a burst of intuition it came to him, and he knew what it was: that unscarred back, that the torn shirt had revealed to him for a moment. Marcus knew what the contradictions were: handsome young man, unscarred. Physically. But, it seemed, not emotionally.
He swallowed. This one had been with pirates before. And they had hurt him. On the inside. This one carried his scars on the inside.
Marcus felt like he was on a pitching deck. These were rough, dangerous seas, but he knew what he had to do, and he knew it would be hard to do it: gain the young man's trust. He knew it would take time. But his own past dictated the course through the difficult waters.
He swallowed again, and asked, "If I take off the gag, will you behave?" He spoke as unthreateningly as possible, knowing now that he was dealing with the most primal of the instincts: survival, and desire to flee to safety. The lad was under the command of his emotions, not his reason. If he could somehow reach that-
Spot glared. His heart was ready to jump right out of his throat and his hands balled into fists as far as the ties allowed. He took his time, unable to react any faster. He didn't like this man, and he wouldn't be fooled by any kind words! But that gag had become a real nuisance. It hurt after the long hours spent here. A break would do good. Spot nodded. It would take some self control, but he didn't have much of a choice.
Marcus went behind the captive who he very much now wanted to release, but realized with a sinking feeling how unsafe it would be to do so, and how the lad would be unable to understand why not. He would think the worst, and there was little Marcus could do to affect that. Still, he would do all he could. So he only worked loose the knots of the gag, and without touching the young man, removed it. He stepped back, beyond touching range. "Your name?" Normally he would have followed that question with, "Your usual shipboard duties?", but this time he ommitted that question, for he knew already the answer.
The moment the gag was released Spot drew a deep breath, which resulted in a short string of coughs as his lungs got used to free breathing again. He didn't stop glaring, though. In fact, he felt like spitting at the man, but he had promised to behave and besides, he didn't have enough spit left to waste. Man, he was thirsty! Unfortunately he had learned that more often than not asking for water was the best way NOT to get it. So he settled for simply answering the question. He opened his mouth and nearly said 'Spot' before he stopped himself again. That name was part of a past he would rather like to forget. He had been called that since he could remember, but that wasn't his real name.
"Martin." He finally answered. To hell if he told anybody his nickname ever again.
Marcus nodded. "Martin. I'm Captain Marcus. This ship is the Black Arrow. She was a merchant ship until she sank my ship and I had to take her over. She is now a pirate ship, but we do not follow the usual policies of wanton mayhem and cruelty. You will learn that. This crew is hand-picked, and no one is going to hurt you." He watched those green eyes for reaction.
Spot did not even try to hold back a sneer. The guy didn't really think he would believe him, did he? No cruelty indeed! Ha! He could very well remember the words of a different captain ...'We don't want him to get hurt, do we?'... and that captain hadn't even kidnapped him first and left him to wait for hours tied up like something to eat! This time Spot didn't answer.
Marcus could have smacked himself on the forehead, but he didn't. When he reviewed what he had said, he realized that an unscarred cabin boy would have heard all of this before, and would be even more distrustful of hearing this now. Well, there was nothing for it but to try to do something to show he meant Martin no harm. He said, "Will you be quiet if I go and get you some water, and food? And another shirt? Yours is in shreds. I cannot untie you yet. I know you would attack. Will you be silent until I return? I will not be gone long."
Another nod, not a friendly one and certainly not an enthusiastic one, but a nod. He could be quiet, no problem, for if he refused then the gag would just be used again anyway. And water sounded good, really good. Yes, he had learned when it was better to be quiet.
Captain Marcus watched that face, and saw hints of expressions he was not sure Martin was aware of. How well he knew that look! That same part in his gut twisted again, and even as he reached for the lantern, he stopped. He looked at Martin, and let his hand drop, empty, to his side. He knew his ship and could go topside without light. "I will leave the lantern with you." With that, he quickly made his way back to his cabin, and pulled out the first shirt he came to. It was navy blue cotton, and Marcus had another one almost identical to it. It would be too big for the lad, but not by much. He left his cabin, looked quickly around with his sharp eyes and saw that all was running smoothly. The sky was not threatening storm, the seas were not too choppy, and the wind was from a favorable direction. He hurried onward, and took up the topmost loaf of bread in the first basket he came to, filled a large tin cup of water, and grabbed an apple from the barrel that he passed as he went below. He also managed to snag another lantern, and somehow kept everything from dropping into a pile on the deck.
Once he had reached Martin again, he put the food and tin cup atop a barrel, pegged the lantern, and took back up the cup of water. "I am going to hold this to your lips. Drink slowly."
He was leaving him the latern? This was the first real surprise for Spot. Never had anyone ever bothered to leave him a light. What did this darn pirate plan?
Well, he would find out soon enough, but somehow he wasn't ready to just wait until the solution was presented to him. The moment the Captain was out of sight Spot started to feverishly work on his ties. Sure, he'd spent fruitless time on this task already, but now the ropes had been loosened and maybe he would find a weakness...
He didn't.
Soon enough, steps could be heard again and the Captain returned. Spot never took his eyes off him to even blink. He was scared, he was angry, and now he also needed to figure out this pirate, especially find out about his intentions and weaknesses. The water was a relief, though.
He even smiled when the cup was put to his lips. 'Drink slowly.' Of course, no problem. He knew the drill. He had found out early that great thirst and hasty gulps didn't mix well. So he drank carefully, as much as he could, but no more than his body could take at once. When the cup was empty he hesitated for several seconds. Should he say it or should he not? What would be seen as less provocative? He decided to try good manners. "Thank you."
Marcus patiently held the cup until Martin had finished it. He was surprised by the courtesy. "You are welcome, Martin."
He felt it unwise to say more, so he turned to the food. And his eyes lit on that loaf.
He could have sworn. It was from the bakery where he had first seen Martin. That boy would recognize it, by sight, and by taste, and he would fear for his friends back in Sarentre. So Marcus stalled for time, trying to think of a way to keep the young man from feeling panicked again when he saw the bread. He mumbled, "Getting more water," before dashing off to do just that. He returned quickly. The loaf wasn't going to vanish into thin air, and the young man needed food. There was nothing to do but see what happened. He picked it up and tore off a piece. In as casual a voice as he could manage, and avoiding looking in Martin's eyes, he said, "You must be hungry, too." And he held the piece of bread to Martin's mouth.
Puzzlement was the only word for what Spot felt when the Captain - what was his name? Marcus - suddenly dashed away. Could it be that Marcus was a bit out of his mind? If so, then Spot was in real trouble! His heart started beating yet a little bit faster.
He looked around, carefully, trying to find any more hints, anything that might help him understand his situation. There wasn't much. The lanterns were just ordinary lanterns like those he had seen aboard the...no, he wouldn't think of that! The shirt that was lying on the barrel as far as he could see was just as unremarkable, and the bread...."Holy shit!"
It was only a whisper, but just as strong a curse as any shout could be. Christopher's handiwork was hard to mistake. He always managed to get the loaves into the weirdest forms. Spot had seen a lot of them over the months. This bread was made by Christopher.
What good the water had done to Spot's throat vanished again and his mouth became dry. Christopher didn't sell to pirates. Never. Not willingly. He hated pirates almost as much as Spot did.
He had been angry all along, but now it reached new heights as fear about what would happen to him was pushed into the back of his mind to be replaced by pure rage of what might have happened already to his friends. When Marcus returned and commented on him being hungry, he said, "I am," in a voice that trembled and held the promise of certain death, were he free. He didn't take a single bite.
Marcus watched every expression, resigned to enduring the lad's distrust. He took the bread away, and then was struck by something. Yes, he knew Martin's expression--he was afraid. Not for himself, but for his teacher. The bakers. But what if they were not just friends? Uncle and Aunt, perhaps? Had he stolen the boy from his family? Dear God. He would have to procede slowly and with even greater care.
"Yes, I know you recognize the bread. I followed you earlier yesterday, and watched the fencing lesson in the back. And I bought some bread, and since the ship was low, I had the bakers make more. I sent my most trusted men, dressed like gentlemen with manners to match, and paid the bakers well for their efforts. We did not hurt anyone. All I did to earn the title of pirate was to steal that Spanish sword you were using. I took it. It is in my cabin." For some reason, Marcus added softly, "It is still yours."
Spot nearly hissed. He was confused, he was afraid, he was angry. And he didn't believe a word. Why would a pirate bother to dress up to fool a baker, especially a pirate who went about taking people against their will? Oh, come on! Walking in with swords and pistols was so much easier, besides... "No one just walks into Christopher's shop and steals a sword." he hissed. "He isn't as simple as you think."
"And this isn't as complex as you believe it to be, Martin," Marcus stated as quietly as he could keep his voice, although he knew what the man was thinking, and felt offense rise in him. Yet he had the presence of mind to realize the lad had not said 'Uncle Christopher.' Good. They were not relatives. "I told you, we did not hurt your friends. I know you think my word is as worthless as spit, but I gave it to you, and I am Captain of this ship. If my word is worthless, you have no one on board to trust at all."
He gentled his voice. "Give in, lad. Your friends are not hurt beyond losing your company, which I am sure will be painful, but I cannot help that. I needed crew. You looked able. Now, are you going to eat, or do I leave you here for awhile longer? Believe me, lad, it is not my wish to leave you down here any longer than you make it necessary."
Spot didn't take his eyes off the man. He listened and didn't believe him any more than before. Pirates lied, especially to boys. There was one thing he agreed with, though. He had no one on board to trust at all. Well, that wasn't anything new either, right?
He swallowed, hard. Giving in was not an option, he just couldn't do that! Wasn't there something he could do? Dammit!
"Then don't keep me down here. I .. don't .. want .. to .. be .. here. I don't care about your ship, your plans or you. I am not one of your crew and I will never be."
He was talking himself into a fury, into a more outspoken fury than before, and he knew it. He didn't care. The blow would come soon and cut him off. It didn't matter. Anything was better than ... "I won't give in!" he nearly shouted.
Marcus waited, his insides knotting, as Martin raged, anger fueled by fear and past experiences. How well Marcus remembered his own youth. The beatings...yelling anyway, because he would be beaten no matter what. He felt as if he were looking back at his own past.
He waited, stomach churning, until Martin's fury blew itself out, and then he waited a little longer. And then Marcus said, very quietly, "I know, lad. I know."
And then his voice grew stronger, but without threat. "You want to know why I will not harm you? And why I will not let anyone else harm you? It is very simple." Methodically, he took off his frock coat, and finally, almost shaking, took off his shirt. He turned fully around, letting Martin see everything. Scars showed everywere. His voice shook when he faced the lad again. "That is why. I was not always a captain. I was for a long time the plaything of the captain. And then the crew. No one, ever, on my ship, faces this fate."
Now Marcus had to be silent for awhile to calm himself. He pulled his shirt over his shoulders and the coat over that. He dropped his eyes from Martin as he buttoned every button and tied every lace, until he was covered again from wrists to neck, his scars again hidden.
"Now, will you eat?"
Spot's mouth opened, but not because he wanted to say anything. The blood had drained from his face and the rage that had been hot a moment before left him almost shivering now. Shock and confusion mixed with all the other emotions that he felt. Trust wasn't one of them. He didn't know what to believe. He had seen scars like that before, and the fact that that person had been hurt had never meant the he wouldn't hurt Spot. On the other hand there was something in that voice...
He didn't realize he was shaking his head. Suddenly he didn't feel like eating at all. "Please leave me alone." He was even too confused to realize that he had used the word 'please', the word that he had learned long ago not to use on a pirate ship.
Marcus sighed heavily. He had no choice in what he had to do next, and he wished it could be avoided. He turned and left Martin, and when he returned, he held chains and shackles in his hands. "Don't fight me," he said dully. Despite Martin's bonds, he tore the ragged shirt from him, and carefully untied him a little at a time-never allowing him full freedom- until he got the navy blue shirt on him, being careful to touch him as little as possible as he did the laces at the neck. Then he ripped strips from the wrecked shirt and wrapped Martin's writsts before locking the manacles around them. He did the same for his ankles, so the fetters wouldn't abrade his skin, and left him enough chain to take a short but reasonable step.
"I will not leave you down here, and I cannot let you loose, so I am putting you in irons until you are no danger to me, yourself, or anyone else. If you do not come with me, I will have you brought anyway. You will stay locked in my cabin until it is safe to let you out. But you are not my 'boy'--you understand that? I have to put you somewhere. Do you fight and still end up in my cabin, or do you come with me with such dignity as there is left in this situation? It is up to you."
Spot had his eyes closed. Why could the man not just leave him alone? By now he was breathing heavily, shying away from every touch, but unable to do anything about it. Chains! Of course, he should have expected that, which did not mean that he had to like it. Oh please, why couldn't he just wake up and find himself safe in Sarentre again?
Marcus had nearly finished his last sentence when Spot finally opened his eyes again and looked at him.
The man was right, fighting would not gain him anything. But could he just follow him to the cabin, the CAPTAIN's cabin?
"I cannot." he said, almost inaudible. God, he had never thought he would ever feel this helpless again! He swallowed once more and summond a little more of his voice. There was something he needed to know, no matter what asking the questiong might cost him. "I will come if...." Another gulp, and yet a little more of his voice. "Do ...you swear by your soul, this ship and everything that is on her that neither Christopher nor Charlene are hurt?"
Marcus did not expect that question. Not that one. But he nodded. "I swear. I had my men pay them generously for the batch they made for us. I swear we did not hurt them, nor send others later to do it. They are, as far as I know, unhurt. But I think they will miss you."
Spot nodded. He still was not sure if it meant anything, but he was ready to accept these words for now. There would be time to puzzle this out later. "All right then."
When this time he swallowed, he braced himself for what was to come. "But that is all. I am not going to be ... I am NOT going to give in!"
Ordinarily Marcus would have put his hand on the young man's shoulder and thanked him. He had been prepared to do what he had to to get him to the cabin, and was relieved not to have to resort to force that would only frighten Martin even more. Instead, he merely nodded. "Follow me, lad." He took up bread, apple, and lanterns, and led the way, giving Martin the trust that he would be true to his word and follow.
(to be continued, even faster with reviews.)