When Captain Marcus turned to lead the way to his cabin, there was a moment
of hesitation in Spot that lasted for several rapid heartbeats. He did not
want to follow, did not want to go the Captain's cabin - at the thought
Spot's throat constricted somewhat and his breathing became even more
irregular. Yet, he did not want to stay in the hold either. Actually, Spot
realized with a sinking feeling, what he wanted did not matter at all. He
had promised to go. He had given his word. Why? Because it gave him a
small feeling of having made a choice, when the truth of the matter was
that he had no real choice at all. There were more than enough men on the
ship to make him do whatever they wanted him to..
Slowly he started moving, following after the Captain. The chains did not hinder him much; after awhile one learned to move wearing them. He had become quite good at it.
Once outside the hold he stopped for a minute while squinting into the sunlight. He had been in darkness long enough that his eyes needed to adjust to the brightness. There were men going about, working on the usual chores aboard a ship. Some were looking in his direction, most were ignoring him, but the looks of those few who were looking made him fell very concious of his situation.
He was on a pirate ship. He was a prisoner. He was in CHAINS! And he was young.
No. Calm down. Calm down. Remember the laughter in your face, the grins when you cried. Don't show your fear! Don't let them see your weaknesses!
He moved again, his steps as sure as he could manage. He avoided looking left or right. The cabin was not very far now and he reached the door in no time...and stopped dead right outside.
For two long seconds he just stared inside, his already rapid breath turning into a clearly audible pant while the glint in his eyes spoke of the rising anger.
The cabin, a typical cabin, but with ... the two, spaced wooden pillars, the metal bar joining them at ankle height - he had seen such before, knew how they were used...
"No!"
*****
Captain Marcus had very quietly signalled James and Scar to leave their duties and follow, for he had a feeling his cabin would scare Martin even more than it would just because it was the Captain's cabin. He remembered that it had the pillars, with the footbar down below, for the previous captain had liked to abuse his boys. For that reason, Marcus had at first hated the room, but since there was no way to remove the pillars or bar without structurally damaging the cabin, he had left them in and ran a line between the pillars, to hang his laundry to dry. Over time he had learned to ignore everything but the laundry line. He did not even see the structure anymore.
But there was no laundry hanging just now and just in time he remembered the pillars. He knew what would happen when the door opened and Martin saw...
He sighed. Sure enough, Martin began to tremble and it was only a moment before the explosion happened. "James! Scar! Hold him, but don't hurt him!" he called at the same time as the young man made his first frantic move.
He turned to Martin and said as calmly but as hurriedly as he could, "It is not what you are thinking, lad. I do not use them--my word was good below, and I give it again! You will not be ill-treated!"
It was no use. Spot did not even hear the Captain's words over the rush of blood in his ears. But even if he had heard them, he would not have believed them one bit. After two seconds of being rooted to the spot he flung himself around and made off - he did not know where, he did not care where, as long as it was away from that cabin.
The moment he turned he saw the two men coming towards him again - number two and three from
the previous evening, one of them with a nicely swollen face. They were cutting off his escape.
Spot gave it no thought; he was far beyond the point where his brain did anything remotely rational. He just DID. Crying out, he used the chain that bound his wrists as a weapon to deliver a blow that might free the way. He tried to kick at the same time, but when he tried, the chain between his ankles was too short and he was nearly knocked off his feet. Still, every instinct told him not to let anyone come near enough to touch him, and he had fists, fingers, teeth and two kicking feet to keep everyone at bay - and he would use them anyway he could. When the two men grabbed him, he went wild, shouting and fighting.
Marcus grabbed one of his stockings from the previous day and ran forward, bellowing at his men to keep hold of Martin long enough for him to do what he felt he had to do. He hated seeing Martin so frightened--it spoke volumes about what he had endured in the past. But Marcus knew people. He could see that Martin was beyond reason, beyond seeing, hearing or thinking anything. He was in a panic, and the only thing to do with that was wait for it to burn out and keep the one panicking from hurting himself and everyone around.
"Don't hit him!" Marcus yelled over the din, which was a more than necessary order, because James and Scar obviously had not forgotten about the previous night's fight. Somehow he managed to get the gag on the captive. At least he could neutralize those biting teeth. He was taking a beating, as were James and Scar, who looked ready to explode. But finally Marcus wrapped his strong arms around Martin from behind, squeezed so those arms didn't flail, and lifted him off his feet. "Grab his legs and get him into the cabin!" This was a spectacle the entire crew was now watching with undisguised attention.
Marcus shouted at large, "Someone bring chains! Hurry!" He wanted to end this as soon as possible. As it was, there would be gossip all over the ship.
But Spot did not give up so easily. They were stong, all of them, but he could not-he must not-no no no no no NO! He hit something with the shackle around his right wrist, which hurt, but he did not even feel it. Nor did he care who or what he had hit. He did not stop shouting and swearing when another gag was shoved into his mouth.
Swinging his arm in an arc he managed to hit another nose - a fact that did not quite register - before he was grabbed and lifted off the ground. No! He kicked. He kicked backwards towards the shins of whoever was behind him, with both feet, then forwards, towards the stomachs of the two in front of him... A cornered horse could not have kicked harder.
Marcus cursed at the beating his shins and nose took, but he kept his hold, tightened it, and soon Scar had a secure hold of Martin's legs. Moments after that, they were inside the cabin. "Where are those chains?" he yelled. As soon as Jardin came with them, he dodged another head butt, and wondered if anyone would ever be safe around this lad. At the moment it did not seem like it, but they were finally gaining the upper hand. Soon they held him so he was unable to kick or flail his arms. He was trussed again. Marcus grabbed Martin and shouted, "Calm down! You are hurting yourself!" Inside he knew he might as well have told Martin to jump off a cliff for all the good it did.
Even if Spot had been listening, he would not have done what he was told. There was no way he was going to calm down. He did not care if he hurt himself as long as he fought those holding him. Hitting and kicking were now useless-which did not mean that he stopped trying. However, squirming was still possible. Every muscle in his body worked hard and he was twisting and turning to try and break the hold of these people.
Spot was panting and sweating heavily, but his efforts did not subside one bit! He would bite despite the gag if he could reach someone with his teath! He tried everything his instincts saw as a possible way of defence - and his instincts were well honed.
Marcus, watching pure panic in action, sighed as heavily a he ever had in his life. He told Scar to sit on those chained legs, and he himself sat across Martin's chest. "Lad, I'm truly sorry for this." With that he drew back and let fly a hard fist, which connected with Martin's jaw like a hammer on wood, and knocked Martin senseless.
He wasted no time. "Get him on the far side of the bed from those pillars." The men lifted the unconscious man and flopped him not gently onto the bed, which swayed but for Marcus holding it steady. Soon, they had redone his chains so he was made fast to the frame of that side, and not going anywhere. Marcus left the gag in place before turning to his battered and bloodied crewmen, who were looking like they were eager to dump Martin right overboard. "Outside," he panted. "He is not going anywhere now. The worst he can do is sway the bed a bit. I have to address the crew."
Captain Marcus followed James, Scar, and an astonished looking Jardin, who suddenly wasn't so sure anymore that James and Scar's story of the lad's kidnapping had been really that much exaggerated, onto the deck outside his cabin. He told them to all get cleaned up, but to listen to what he said while they did it. He noticed off to one side the other new recruit, whose name he did not yet have, looking worried and nervous while others looked more astonished. A few had the fine beginnings of suspicion written across their formerly trusting faces. He cursed silently to himself. What a mess.
He had forbidden anyone on his ship from doing exactly what it looked like he had just done. So he rummaged around in his shaken mind, and grasped at what seemed to be a good explanation. He would have to tell it to Martin later. He hoped the boy would go along with it just to save himself the consequences, which would be berthing with the crew. They weren't bad men, but Marcus was sure that they would scare Spot even worse than he was already scared, were such a thing possible.
Glancing at James and Scar, he realized he had a bloody face himself, and so he called over the assembled men, "I will have a word with all of you in a moment."
He went back in, and made sure Martin was still unconscious. That impossible haircut... He looked so young, so alone, much different from the skilled young thief in Sarentre. Marcus wondered which one was the real Martin. Maybe they both are.
He shook his head when he saw the bruise on Martin's jaw. He knew his teeth would hurt on that side--he knew from experience that being punched while gagged was hard on the teeth. So much for not hurting the boy.
He hadn't wanted to.
He found a cloth and soaked it in water from his basin and pitcher, and placed it against the darkening bruise. It would help a little. Then he got out his shaving mirror and took a look at himself. He swore. Bloody nose, bloody damn near everything. Bruises-he looked as if he had fallen down a very long stone staircase. He looked like James and Scar. He grabbed another cloth and cleaned himself up as much as he could, as quickly as he could, then went back out. He closed the door firmly behind him.
"All crew of the Black Arrow!" he called over them all, and their soft murmurs silenced quickly. He saw a lot of thoughts plainly on a lot of faces. Surely the story of Eel, as James and Scar had nicknamed the boy, was already taking on a life of its own and planting some questions and doubts into some hearts.
So he addressed the matter head on. "This is not what it looks like! The boy's name is Martin, and he is my...nephew! At least, I think he is. He looks like my brother's son." Jesus, forgive me for lying! "So he is not my 'boy'." Instinctively he especially emphasised that last sentence. The reasons for that might be lost on several of the crew, but actually those were to be considered lucky. "I think he is my nephew, and so I intend to look after him honorably. No one will harm him or even touch him from this day on. He will be left to me. I will honor my responsibility. -And that is all it is! Is that understood by everyone?"
There was a chorus of "Aye, Cap'n," from below. Marcus studied the faces below, and saw suspicion remaining on some. He noticed that James and Scar were looking at each other wise raised eyebrows.
So, the matter was not yet settled. Marcus exhaled quietly and long. "Are there any questions? Feel free to raise them. Let the air be cleared, doubts put to rest."
Murmuring broke out again, and finally a midshipman named Conrad spoke up. "What happens t' the boy if he don't turn out t' be your kin? He hit Cap'n and crew, and that aint supposed to be allowed without punishment."
Quite a few yelled "Yeah" and other confirmations of that question, and a rigger named Billy commented, "You all look fresh kilt! We did that, we would be marooned!"
Marcus quieted the men by raising his hands. "Martin is deathly afraid of pirates. We did not learn that until it was a little late to."
"How come he be so afraid o' pirates, Cap'n?" asked James, fingering his mouth and asking a lot of other questions with his eyes. But he did not say anything out loud of his doubts concerning the talk of the boy being the Captain's nephew. After all, the two had had a private conversation down in the hold..
"You two were down in the hold awhile, alone," spoke Vincent, and Marcus saw James shoot him a glance and guessed the man had had a similar thought. "But if you gives yer word nothin' untoward happened, we believe you, Cap'n Marcus," finished Vincent. "Ye never did lie t' us before, an' I for one don't believe ye' would to protect a boy who's bloodied an' bashed ye to bits."
Marcus held up his hands again, for the talk and murmurs had grown in volume after Vincent's speech. "Aye, I do give you my word that nothing 'untoward' happened before, during, or after Martin and I talked in the hold-"
"Cap'n?" asked a loud voice. It was Parker, a junior gunner, who looked like he had trouble believing him. "Why come does yer buttons on yer vest not be done right nay more when they did afore ya went down to the.to speak with that boy you says is kin?"
Marcus did not look down at his vest buttons, despite his instinct to do so. He instead looked Parker in the eyes, for the man's words had increased the tension on deck until it was palpable, like a heartbeat now drumming. The rest of the crew was now silent and uncomfortable, waiting to hear the answer, and worrying what it would be.
Marcus spoke, his voice more stern and commanding than it had been. "You are asking me several questions, Parker. The first is, Can the Captain's word be trusted? The second is, What really happened in the hold? The third is, you do not believe I think the boy is my nephew." He raised his voice. "But behind them all is one single accusation. Parker, are you calling me a liar?" Marcus held the man's gaze head on, for to back down under such conditions would be to appear weak, and while he might feel it physically after battling Martin, now was not the time to show it. No matter the ship, no matter the chain of command, at the core of any successfully run vessel there had to be discipline. Marcus knew it was his responsibility to see that discipline did not break down because of these events.
Parker realized all eyes were on him, and ears too. The only sounds to be heard were those made by a ship under sail in a friendly sea.
Parker, a tall, almost gangly man who was good at his job and did not know the Captain was planning on promoting him to full gunner, held his ground, albeit nervously. "No Sir Captain Marcus. I, uh, was just wondering, Sir. About the other things." He raised his chin and said what Marcus knew many were or would be thinking when they reviewed this matter in their minds. "We never had this happen on this ship before. We all are pirates under the technicalities of English law, but we aint bad men, Sir. We aint true pirates, and I for one do not wish to be. If the code on this ship has changed, I want to know, Sir."
Marcus nodded gravely, and smiled a little at the junior gunner. It was out in the open. No more delicate dancing around the subject. Now he had to catch this wind before it became a storm. "Thank you, Parker. Have no fear of saying what you truly worry about." He sat down on the top step of the ladder/stair leading up to his cabin. Everyone could still see and hear him easily. "Nothing will change on this ship." That was mainly what the crew wanted to hear, but Marcus knew it would not be enough to silence the rumors. "I am worn out from those fights. The lad is.unexpected. Let me put your fears as much to rest as I can. Last night, there was something about him which I recognized. Only today when I talked with him did I realize what it was. You know my past, what I was, and why I allow no cabin boys or lascivious behaviour on my ship. Martin--that is his name-- was a cabin boy at some time. I am sure of it. And he fears more than anything being such again. That is why we had that scene just now. He panicked when he saw my cabin."
"But, Captain, he was in chains already," said Scar, and a few men nodded in approval. They were not so easily satisfied.
"Aye, he was. I had to protect my crew and myself, and hopefully Martin in the bargain." Marcus said, looking at both Scar and James. "You both know what he is capable of. He is so afraid, he cannot yet think rationally. And now he fears those chains. There was no winning this time, and there will not be until he learns to trust a little. I hope that happens soon. I am doing what I can to reassure him." He touched his nose, and the tension was sufficiently broken that there was a round of wry laughter. "I had to show him my scars," admitted Marcus, glancing with a shrug toward Parker. "I guess I got my buttons off kilter after that."
The laughter had died down. Marcus saw several of the newer crew, including the newest addition, look startled and very uncomfortable. So he added, his voice lower than before. "I was a captain's boy for a long time, and seldom as obedient as was demanded of me." That was enough of an explanation. It was certainly as much as he was willing to give right now. The old stories would circulate anew, and some would look at him differently for awhile. He was used to that.
"But he still hit you good," Billy said, raising the point again that he had addressed earlier, and Marcus realized that despite the explanation at least some of the crew expected the rules to be followed. Here Marcus was in a fix. Exceptions led to more exceptions, and more exceptions to even more exceptions... which would quickly undermine the discipline and respect the crew had for him.
Marcus raised his voice just a little. "Martin is not a member of the crew. At the moment, he is a civilian passenger, and not subject to the full laws aboard this vessel." He ran a hand through his hair. "The best I can think of right now is to give him a chance to calm down, and then see what happens."
Billy pressed. "But if he was a pirate before, he knows the code. He's gettin' off Scott free, after fighting you and crew. I don't like that, Cap'n."
Marcus studied Billy and said evenly, "He never signed the register of this ship. And right now he is in heavy chains and hardly able to move. And we gave him some bruises too..." Marcus winced at that, inwardly, while keeping his exterior demeanor more commanding. "I hardly see that as getting off 'Scott free'."
"It still seems light fer what he did," muttered Billy, and Marcus gave him a long, assessing look. He had been of a mind to promote this man soon, to full gunner status, but now he hesitated. He studied the man, and realized that the ready smile he had never entirely been comfortable with was more of an effect than a fact. The man squinted his blue eyes so hard, his mouth turned up. But now the effect was more harsh than friendly. Even when he was not squinting, that turned-up mouth could easily fool one into seeing friendliness where perhaps it did not truly exist. Marcus would be sure and watch this crewman more closely. He was about to restate his position when James spoke up. "Billy, he aint signed the codes, and that means he aint done wrong yet. Not officially."
"Exactly." Marcus said, but Billy was even faster. "And if he doesn't sign the code?"
Marcus made his voice carry louder than it needed to, even as he frowned slightly at the junior gunner. "If Martin does not sign the codes, he will be put ashore somewhere, and we will move on. Does that please you sufficiently, Billy?"
Billy still did not look too pleased, but by now most of the crew seemed to see Marcus point as several nods and murmurs indicated. And Billy was intelligent enough to realize that. He nodded. "It'll do, Captain."
After a pause, James said, "We trust ye, Cap'n. No need t' say no more."
Marcus gave James a grateful smile, for loyalty meant a lot to him. He was about to continue with the explanation when an impromptu chorus of "Aye!" began and built quickly. He stood and tried to quiet the chorus, but it would not lessen. A voice was heard, "Go tend yer nephew, Cap'n," and the chant picked that up.
The Captain knew better than to go against the united wishes of his crew, so he looked around at everyone, judging facial expressions, and decided the crisis has passed-for the moment, anyway. He waved and thanked his crew, then turned to go back into the cabin.
******
Gus had not really been afraid when he'd been suddenly snatched from behind while mending nets in Sarentre. He knew such things happened, and were best taken gracefully. Whatever life put in his way, he took and made the best of it. If he found himself in a bad situation, he took the first opportunity to get out of it.
He slid through life, making such friends and acquaintances as he could. He had been in Sarentre since his former ship made port there the previous October, and he had made sure he was not on it again when it sailed out to find a deeper, bigger harbor to wait out the winter.
Now that had been a fairly nasty ship. And he learned soon enough that this port was friendly to pirates, so he kept out of the way when ships came in. Spring had been rough, with short crews looking for new men. He hadn't liked any of the ships he'd seen, so he'd kept out of the way. And the upper part of the town hadn't been so bad, but in order to find work and keep an eye on events - especially ships coming in - he had to stay near the port. He had been lucky enough to find a fisherman who needed an extra hand and his nets mended. Gus worked as a fisherman by day, and mended nets by lantern light until he had to sleep to ready for the next day.
He had not expected to be kidnapped onto a ship. Once on board he had been taken below and left, still bound and gagged, but only till morning. Then a fellow named Jardin had come and led him to meet the First Mate, who seemed nice enough. Gus had no choice to put his X on the paper that, he figured, now officially made him a pirate.
During the night, while he had waited patiently, sitting with his back to a post, another man had been carried by, all tied up and out cold. He had a bandage on his head, and the two men carrying him grumbled and looked like they'd been hit by anchor chains. Gus had smiled a bit. *Got 'em a fighter!* But he hadn't gotten much of a look beyond that first one.
Until he'd seen the Cap'n leading him....what were those chains for? Gus had felt worried about that. Jardin had told him they didn't have cabin boys on this ship. He'd been glad, because he wasn't that old yet, and older sailors sometimes still gave him the eye.
So he had listened closely to the crew's worries, and even closer to what Cap'n Marcus said in reply. As he listened, his intuition had been confirmed: this was a good ship-although Gus came to distrust the blond fella who kept challenging the Cap'n. But Captain Marcus handled him, Billy was his name, and seemed also to be giving that one a closer look. Gus' worries had drained away. The Cap'n was a canny fellow who looked after his crew and did not play the dictator. He seemed a nice sort who was gonna take care of his nephew like he should. Sounded something like how a gentleman should behave. Maybe--
Gus didn't always stop and think; sometimes he acted on instinct. This was one of those times. He went forward and called after the Cap'n. "Would now be a right bad time to have a word wi' ye, Sir?"
Marcus turned at the sound of the unknown voice, realizing immediately it belonged to the other new man. "Now is fine, if you don't mind coming inside the cabin. I need to check on my nephew." Nephew. He would have to get used to using this word. For the moment it felt strange - like a lie, he realized. Well, it was, but one he would have to live with. He had told the crew all he was prepared to about his complicated past experiences, and the vague conclusions and plain guesses those experiences had led him to understand about Martin. There was still a lot he did not fully understand himself yet. He wondered if he ever would. "You can give me a hand, unless you are squeamish about that kind of thing."
"Nay, that be fine by me, Cap'n. Martin you said his name was. I'll help any way I can." He climbed up the steep stairs / ladder, and followed the Captain inside the cabin. He saw the pillars and brass bar at the bottom, and swallowed a bit. He had seen and heard enough to know what they were for.
Marcus was speaking. "Thank you. What is your name? Everything has been topsy turvy since Martin..Usually I meet the new men first thing and get an understanding of what they are like. But I got worried about Martin, and then he gave me some trouble, and I have been worried about doing the right thing. He is so afraid of pirates." He saw the young man looking at the same thing that had so frightened Martin, and snapped, "I do not use it. Never have."
Something in the man's voice made Gus believe him, and he would think about the rest of what that voice put in his mind later on. He decided on the spot that he liked this Cap'n. "Oh, beggin' yer pardon, Sir. I didn't mean nuthin'. My name's Gus. Gus Smith. I don't got no family, and I work hard, and if I had my violin still, I'd give anybody a tune when I'm not on shift. Now, what's the young fella need? Ya gonna keep all those chains on him?"
That was the very question Marcus was considering. "I sure do not want to, Gus." He was standing over Martin, and took the opportunity to check that head wound from last night. James and Scar had not exactly taken special care when bandaging it. "Wet a cloth, Gus. Maybe we can get him cleaned up a bit before he wakes up. And...yes, I think we'll get some of those chains off. Help me out here."
The wound did not look too bad. It just needed a new bandage after washing. But that hair was an impossible mess. The blood in there made it look like it belonged to some ferocious animal. Marcus wet a washcloth and put some soap on it and rubbed it gently over Martin's hair, and after rinsing the cloth, did the same thing. It did not get the hair completely clean, but it did help it look much better. Now it was time to do something about those chains. "Help me out here, Gus."
Gus liked the care Cap'n Marcus was showing. So he helped where he could and soon Martin was still chained down, but as comfortable as he could be made. At least he was lying on a matress. "Ya got one of those nice big beds, here, Cap'n. You intend t' use the other side? There be plenty of room.""
"No," said Marcus, quickly and flatly. "Martin is on the far side because he is afraid of the pillars." He sighed and rubbed his face with one hand, until his hand encountered some of the painful evidence that Martin had good aim. "Everything came with the cabin, Gus." Marcus looked around. It was a pretty typical cabin, if smaller than would be found on some of the grander vessels. The room was nigh on twelve feet by twelve, and contained two portholes on opposite sides, a wash stand with basin and pitcher, well anchored for bad weather, a doored cabinet for maps and belongings, a smaller cabinet for weapons, a small clothes press, and a bounty of sconces for candles or lanterns. And of course those pillars, and some rings on the wall Marcus used to hang tapers and clothes instead of chained boys.. But the bed was nice, if one ignored the iron rings and such on the frame, some of which were now unfortunately put to the use for which they were intended. The whole thing was as wide as two regular berths and hung from the ceiling by wrist-thick ropes, so the ship could sway while the bed stayed level, allowing the sleep of the captain to be undisturbed by anything but the worst of storms. "We better hurry and get him cleaned up. I am surprised he has been out cold this long."
Marcus turned to Gus when Martin was washed and relatively comfortable. "You have been a big help, Gus. Thank you."
"No big thing," replied Gus with a warm smile, for he was unused to much courtesy. And then his eyes fell on something in the corner, in a cabinet. A fiddle. He swallowed, but said nothing. But he felt his whole insides practically call out in yearning. A fiddle! Music! "Do you play, Cap'n?"
"Do I play?" What--? Oh, the lad was staring at Robert's violin. "No. It belonged to a friend, almost a father-figure to me in a lot of ways. I keep it in his memory." Marcus turned away from it and looked again around the cabin, finally unlatching the porthole nearest Martin, so if he came to and looked out, he could see the sky. He might appreciate some fresh air, too.
He turned once more to Gus. "I do not want to leave Martin alone now, but I have duties. Do you mind sitting with him? You can turn the request down."
"Oh, I don't mind, Cap'n," said Gus with a ready smile.
"Thank you. I appreciate this. But.I will need your word of honor that you will not touch him or hurt him, and if he wakes, you will come get me straight off, no dillydally."
"Aye, Cap'n. You have my word." He watched as Marcus checked his nephew's breathing and awkwardly plumped the pillow just a little. "I think that is all I can do for him right now. Are you sure you do not mind?"
Gus tried to keep his eyes from that fiddle. He noted the cabinet it was in wasn't locked. Which didn't mean nuthin, since it was the captain's personal property, and to touch it would mean he'd as good as disobeyed a direct order - something that meant big trouble on any ship. "Nah. I like t' help out. I'll come git ya right away if he wakes up, my word, Cap'n."
Marcus smiled briefly. "Thanks, Gus." He stared long at Martin, and then quickly left the cabin.
Gus saw the cabin only had one chair, and he didn't feel right about sitting down in it, for it belonged to the ship's captain. So he went to the porthole and looked out, turning often to look at Martin, and acutely aware that he wanted to play that fiddle. He withstood the temptation.
*****
How come each time he woke up lately he woke up with a headache? Only this time the main pain was lower, somewhere in his jaw. Automatiacally he tried to reach up and feel the side of his head. He couldn't. At that point Spot finally opened his eyes.
Great! His wrists were chained together, locked to a chain around his waist, and there was a gag in his mouth. Pirates! In case anyone was interested, he hated chains! He especially hated being chained to.a bed! He quickly assessed his situation, and realized it could be worse. His ankles were chained together, meaning that he was not in as...vulnerable a position as it could be. That did not change the fact that the situation already had his heart pounding hard again, and he could feel his anger rising.
When he turned his head to check how the chains were fixed to the bed he realized that he was not alone. There was a man over at the porthole, maybe a little older than Spot himself, looking directly at him. Had he seen him before? He thought so, but when and where he would sort out later. He had something elso on his mind now.
After about two seconds of eye contact Spot turned his head back and, ignoring the man, started systematically testing the chains. God, he was angry!
Gus turned from the porthole at the first sounds of stirring from the Cap'n's nephew. He watched how the young fella woke up, and noticed what he noticed, and something in his mind went on alert and tried to be calming all at once. He'd think later.
He'd expected a greeting...was just about to give one when Martin turned away and began to methodically try to find a weakness in the chains. Gus felt he had to speak up then. "Oh, Cap'n and me--I'm Gus, the other new man aboard, took the same night you was, in fact!--we made you comfortable, and the Cap'n even gentle-like washed your hair a bit. He's real worried about you. Oh! I've got to fetch him! He told me to."
Gus ran to the door and threw it open hard, but not so it banged. He yelled down to a hand on the main deck, "Get Cap'n Marcus! Tell him Martin woke up!"
Despite the fact that Spot was seemingly ignoring the guy he paid just enough attention to understand what was being said. So, Gus was the fella's name; good to know, although not very interesting. And how he talked about that Captain! Jeez, you really are of the trusting kind, aren't you? Well, here's some bad news for you, fella: The world is a cruel place and you had better learn to watch out for yourself.
Damn, these chains were strong! This was in no way his definition of comfortable. Think about it, Gus-guy. If these pirates are all nice, what do they need all the chains for? Not to mention certain other devices that he could see in this cabin...No! No, don't even think of it. You have to stay calm. Stay calm. Just concentrate. There has to be a weakness somewhere.
*****
"Hey, Cap'n, Sir," yelled one of the riggers down to Captain Marcus. "That new guy, Gus, just called fer ya, says yer nephew woke up."
Marcus had not heard Gus, but he heard the rigger. "Thanks," he called upwards before turning and working his way along the deck until he reached the stairs up to his cabin. Gus was waiting. "Good lad." He longed to ask how Martin had been upon awakening, but he quickly saw for himself. Angry, possibly sullen, and still determined to find any weakness he could in his bonds.
"Gus, leave us now. Go to the galley and tell Cook I want a hot meal prepared for Martin, something I can spoon feed him if that is necessary. Hearty, but easy on the stomach. Come back in an hour with the food. Get yourself something to eat while you wait. Cook always has stuff around."
"Aye, Cap'n! I didn't notice till right now, but I am a mite hungry." He smiled and hurried off.
Marcus closed the door after Gus, and turned to Martin. He spoke quietly, but with a touch of sad authority. "I have the keys on my belt. I cannot let you loose until you are no longer a danger to yourself or anybody else. I thought I made that clear before." Making sure Martin could see him do it, he put the ring of keys in a drawer in his desk. He also put down any knife or weapon Martin might get his hands on if Marcus got too near. In his current emotional state the boy was dangerous. He would not forget that, no matter how well he understood.
He knew Martin had seen some of the things that were kept in the cabin, things kept there simply because they had been there when Marcus became captain. Iron rings could hold things other than chained victims.clothes, for the most part. The rings reminded him of his own painful youth spent aboard ships, and made him determined not to be that way to anyone who served with him.
Martin would not believe him. So he only said, "If I wanted to use you that way, lad, I would already have; I have had ample opportunity. Have I hurt you in any way you did not bring upon yourself? Have I allowed others to hurt you when I could prevent it? Do you see floggers or whips or canes? There are none here. Are you as you were as a cabin boy, with no clothes and hands pawing you constantly, words and threats constantly scaring you witless while you are so helpless? Have I not done everything to try to calm you?"
Marcus stopped talking, feeling it was no use, but hoping something he had said had reached the boy.
His words were heard, but not in the way they were intended. The moment he heard the footsteps, even before the Captain appeared in the doorway, Spot ceased his efforts with the chains. He watched, every single detail. Details mattered. He had learned to watch out for them. Listening was also important, although he gave the appearance that nothing could interest him less. But as the Captain kept talking, slowly that mask drained away and he stared daggers at Marcus again. If not for the gag, he would give the man some hard but really true answers!
I am a danger to someone: ha! What, without the chains I would run around and try to hurt people, like, say, chain them to a bed? At these thoughts he gave the chains another angry pull.
No Sir, I do not believe a word. 'If I wanted to use you that way, lad, I would already have.' All good and well, but was has not happened yet can still happen in the future. Hawk always took his own time, enjoyed drawing things out. You might have had ample opportunity, only that most of the time I was unconcious anyway, so what would have been the fun?
Hands touching him, words, threats, endless fear... Damn, the man knew what he was talking about! Please no, it could not happen again.
Spot had not realized that he had closed his eyes and was drifting into old memories. With some effort of will he pulled himself together and back to the present. His eyes rested on the Captain with calm determination. He would endure whatever came his way, but take any chance to escape, do anything that was necessary. He had killed for his freedom once, and he was ready to do it again.
Marcus could see he had failed to reach Martin at all. The world felt too big and too hard. He did not know what to do. So he went to stand over the boy--no, young man. He voice was quiet. "I am going to check your forehead wound, and take the gag off. Do not try to bite me, for I used that trick myself. I will only touch what I have to to treat your injuries. I am sorry about your jaw, but you were in a frenzy, and I only know one cure for that."
Carefully he removed the gag, and then the bandage on Martin's forehead. The cut looked closed; he decided to leave it uncovered. But the bruise on Martin's jaw was more swollen. He found the cloth which had fallen off the bruise, and re-wetted it with cool water. He put it on the bruise, taking care to avoid teeth, should Martin go that course. The lad did not. Marcus was not sure whether or not he should take that as a good sign.
"If you cause the cloth to fall off, I will just let the bruise be, for I will not force treatment on you."
He sat down in his chair and ran his hands through his sun-lightened hair, turning his back to Martin after awhile. In a few minutes, his peace was disturbed by a knock on his door. Feeling old and weary, he went to answer it.
It was Wilson, with his laundry. "Got it washed, here ya go, Cap'n'."
"Thanks, Wilson. Good job."
Since Martin seemed to want to be ignored, he ignored him while being acutely aware of him. He put the wet shirts and breeches on the clean floor, then got the rope he strung between the poles. He hung his laundry up to dry as usual, pegging it to the line in case the seas roughened. He also opened the porthole on that side of the cabin, to give the place more air.
Still ignoring Martin, Marcus returned to the desk. Might as well scan the maps again, he thought. He hoped Gus would return soon with food. The situation felt somewhat awkward. He leaned over to the cabinet built into the wall next to the desk. Opened, it revealed two neatly folded shirts, another pair of breeches, and the shoes he had worn the previous day. It also held the Spanish sword he had taken, which belonged to Martin. And on upper shelves, there were paper,ink, quill, and a slew of rolled maps.
Marcus selected one, and closed the cabinet.
Once the gag was removed, Spot experimentally moved his jaw and found that although his teeth still hurt there did not seem to be any serious damage. Well, one point in your favor, Captain!
He also had not bitten, although he felt a very strong urge to try it, but he was calm enough now to realize that it would gain him nothing. No, it was better to behave and wait for a chance! So he let everything happen with a stoic calm, not offering any comment, encouragement or protest-in short, he did not react visibly at all.
What he did was watch, carefully. Some things that he saw did not fully register, or fit. That laundry line for example, that was something he had not seen before. The conversation was strange. Where was the bite from the Captain, the fear in the crewman? The Captain hanging laundry? That did not fit into any situation Spot had ever found himself in on board a ship.
He did not expect it to be easy. But this Captain.it would take a while to figure out this Captain.
When the cabinet was opened, he turned his head and strained a little more against the chains than he already unconciously did, to see what was inside. It was not easy, but he got a good look. There was.. nothing. Except for some personal items there was nothing that could tell him what might await him. He bit his lip and was tempted to ask, but did not do it in the end. Questions were seldom answered with anything but threats or lies. The truth.he would find that out soon enough.
But there was the sword, Hawk's sword! If he could get his hands on it! It had bought him freedom once; maybe it would do so again.
*****
Marcus was studying the map closely. It was only to fill the rest of the hour before Gus returned with the meal for Martin. He did not need to look over any of the charts or maps. He knew this one well enough that his eyes barely even saw it. What they saw was a pair of furious green eyes.
He rolled up the map and got out parchment and writing supplies. He had to concentrate when he practiced his letters, so he began to laboriously write. But he discovered he kept writing one word--a name. Martin. He wondered.. Maybe they could have a conversation after all.
He turned to...he had better start thinking of Martin as his nephew. He turned to his nephew and asked very conversationally, because he was curious. "Do you know how to read and write?"
For some reason Spot was startled when he was suddenly addressed. His breath caught in his throat and he stiffened even more, but managed to get himself under control again soon.
Dammit, boy, you are not fifteen anymore! Pull yourself together!
Still, he blinked at the question for a while. Read and write? This was the very first time anyone-including himself-had ever even thought about that.
"No." It was all he could say in his astonishment.
Marcus decided to ignore the way the lad acted like a skittish colt. He got up very slowly, but not too slowly, and approached Martin, and very absentmindedly (or so it would look, for nothing Marcus did around Martin could ever truly be uncalculated yet) put the cloth back over the bruise. "Would you like to see what your name looks like? I can teach you how to read and write, if you would like. It will open up whole new doors to your future. You could be anything you dreamed of being."
It worked. When he concentrated on it he could be calm. Just don't let yourself drift into memories! He hardly blinked when he saw the Captain walk over to him.
That changed when he heard the question. Then he blinked a lot, in confusion. Me? Learn to read? What kind of game is this? My future? Well, thank you Sir, but I'm very much busy with the present at the moment. See, I have a bit of a problem here, called CHAINS!
"I don't have any...dreams."
Only when he had finished that sentence did he realize just how much it was true. He had always lived from day to day, hoping that the next one would be a good one, or at least not bad.
Since he was lying on the bed he could not lower his head and look at the floor. He averted his eyes and stared instead at the ropes that held the bed aloft. He did not notice the cool cloth again fall from the bruise on his jaw.
Marcus watched everything closely. He saw the flash of surprise, then anger, the tightening of Martin's wrist muscles. And then the draining of the anger. He almost replied in astonishment when Martin admitted he had no dreams. Without dreams, what did anyone have? Without dreams, how could one move on from the past into the future? The boy needed dreams.
Marcus wanted to run his hands through his own hair, or soothe Martin, but he knew any moves he made had to be carefully thought out, so instead he nodded. He had to avoid touching Martin at all. He did not even put the cloth back on the bruise, since it would only fall off again. So he said, his voice a little sad, but hopeful, "I had none when I was your age, too." He would not mention Robert yet, his father-figure, who had patiently won his trust. For a moment he wondered what it had been like for Robert when they first met. Had it been anything like this? "But I do now! I want to be legitimate, a merchant. It is my dream, so I am learning my letters. Would you like to see what your name looks like? I wrote it down."
That was a bit much for Spot to digest at once. A merchant, and legitimate?
Excuse me Sir, but you are a pirate, I do not know whether you are a very successful one, but a pirate. And if I understand aright, you go about kidnapping people for your crew. Sorry, but does not look like you plan to give up the trade in the near future. Really, I will believe it when I see it!
But the offer was appealing. He was curious. "Yes."
Then he started to think about that offer and found it odd. For a short moment he was too confused to be frightened. "Why? Why did you write my name?"
Marcus' hopeful smile faltered at Martin's suspicion. He turned and looked out the porthole. The question had caught him off guard. Of course Martin was suspicious of everything he did. Would not he have been? Had not he been? So why was he doing everything wrong with this young man? He should have anticipated.
He turned halfway and did not look at Martin. In a very sad voice, soft so even he barely heard it, he said, "I know you cannot think worse of me than you do. And I understand that. I know you think...It does not even matter what I say or do. All that is real are chains and being taken against your will." He took a deep breath and went on. "Do you know why I took you? You did not look like a pirate. I do not like pirates. I like those who have some humanity in them, and so I avoid the pirates. The bad kind. Sure," he continued, turning to Spot, and his voice was now angry with himself. "Sure I could go into any tavern and shout, 'I need three able bodies for my ship!'--and the ones who answered would be hard and heartless. And at night I would not sleep for knowing that someone wanted to cut out my heart and feed it to me so he could have my ship, or raise another rung on the ladder. So I pick orphans with humanity. I picked you. Sorry, but we both have to live with it now."
He took a deep breath and tried to let go of the anger he felt at his life, how it had made him what he was, and why he did what he did. He fastened on what was in his hand. He held out the paper to Martin. With his voice under control, he spoke. "Here. Here is what your name looks like in letters."
At first Spot had winced at the slowly raising voice. Although there was no real menace, there was anger in it. His instincts kicked in. If he could he would have turned and run. But he could not and soon the upcoming fear was replaced by an equally strong emotion: anger. For now he ignored the paper with the letters on it and kept his eyes fixed on the Captain. His voice was shaking, but loud enough to understand-and it also grew louder as he spoke. "Well, maybe you are wrong. Maybe I am not the right guy. What tells you that I am not hard and heartless? I do not care about you. I do not care about this ship! And I would gladly cut your throat, at night or at any time I got the chance. Have a nice sleep and I hope you have no trouble living with that!"
He was still steaming with rage when he looked at the letters.
They looked beautiful to him.
He swallowed. There were many beautiful things in the world, he had caugh glimpses of much. But these things were not for him. He would not learn how to write, just as he had not fully learned how to play the flute or use the sword properly. He stared at the writing, but at the same time he felt like burying his head in his hands. He could not, so he kept staring.
Marcus felt his emotions tumbling, like he was being beaten by Martin's raging words. He would have taken a step back, but his own rising anger-- and very real pride--kept him from doing that. It was on the tip of his tongue to rage back at this impossible, distrusting problem he had saddled himself with. He wanted to yell at him to give up his clinging to stubbornness, and have a little heart, even if he had to re-invent it to have it! Those words stung, and Marcus felt them to his gut. And he did not like them at all.
If Martin did not ease up, he would end up in chains until they reached the next port, a month away! And if it took that long, he would never reach the boy, which would mean dumping him ashore. And Martin's soul would be lost. Marcus hated the possibility of that.
But it existed. He was about to shout back some of his fears when he saw the way Martin stared at the paper. At his name. It seemed to change him, give him something to focus on besides rage.
So Marcus checked his own anger and fears, and he stepped a little closer, and pointed to each letter as he sounded out the name, patiently, like a teacher. "There, see? Not so hard, once you know how these things work. M-a- r-t-i-n." Suddenly he had thrust the paper into the lad's hands. "You keep it. You can study it, trace the letters with your finger."
Marcus felt suddenly weary. He did not want to watch the boy crumple the paper into a ball and toss it to the deck. So he turned quickly back to his desk and sat down, his back to Martin. He said, quietly, his fingers tangled in his own hair as he rested his head in his hands, "If I was anything like the monster you believe me to be, I would have beaten you to a bloody pulp for raising your voice to me and had you on your knees for me to use instead of offering to teach you how to read and write."
Slowly he started moving, following after the Captain. The chains did not hinder him much; after awhile one learned to move wearing them. He had become quite good at it.
Once outside the hold he stopped for a minute while squinting into the sunlight. He had been in darkness long enough that his eyes needed to adjust to the brightness. There were men going about, working on the usual chores aboard a ship. Some were looking in his direction, most were ignoring him, but the looks of those few who were looking made him fell very concious of his situation.
He was on a pirate ship. He was a prisoner. He was in CHAINS! And he was young.
No. Calm down. Calm down. Remember the laughter in your face, the grins when you cried. Don't show your fear! Don't let them see your weaknesses!
He moved again, his steps as sure as he could manage. He avoided looking left or right. The cabin was not very far now and he reached the door in no time...and stopped dead right outside.
For two long seconds he just stared inside, his already rapid breath turning into a clearly audible pant while the glint in his eyes spoke of the rising anger.
The cabin, a typical cabin, but with ... the two, spaced wooden pillars, the metal bar joining them at ankle height - he had seen such before, knew how they were used...
"No!"
*****
Captain Marcus had very quietly signalled James and Scar to leave their duties and follow, for he had a feeling his cabin would scare Martin even more than it would just because it was the Captain's cabin. He remembered that it had the pillars, with the footbar down below, for the previous captain had liked to abuse his boys. For that reason, Marcus had at first hated the room, but since there was no way to remove the pillars or bar without structurally damaging the cabin, he had left them in and ran a line between the pillars, to hang his laundry to dry. Over time he had learned to ignore everything but the laundry line. He did not even see the structure anymore.
But there was no laundry hanging just now and just in time he remembered the pillars. He knew what would happen when the door opened and Martin saw...
He sighed. Sure enough, Martin began to tremble and it was only a moment before the explosion happened. "James! Scar! Hold him, but don't hurt him!" he called at the same time as the young man made his first frantic move.
He turned to Martin and said as calmly but as hurriedly as he could, "It is not what you are thinking, lad. I do not use them--my word was good below, and I give it again! You will not be ill-treated!"
It was no use. Spot did not even hear the Captain's words over the rush of blood in his ears. But even if he had heard them, he would not have believed them one bit. After two seconds of being rooted to the spot he flung himself around and made off - he did not know where, he did not care where, as long as it was away from that cabin.
The moment he turned he saw the two men coming towards him again - number two and three from
the previous evening, one of them with a nicely swollen face. They were cutting off his escape.
Spot gave it no thought; he was far beyond the point where his brain did anything remotely rational. He just DID. Crying out, he used the chain that bound his wrists as a weapon to deliver a blow that might free the way. He tried to kick at the same time, but when he tried, the chain between his ankles was too short and he was nearly knocked off his feet. Still, every instinct told him not to let anyone come near enough to touch him, and he had fists, fingers, teeth and two kicking feet to keep everyone at bay - and he would use them anyway he could. When the two men grabbed him, he went wild, shouting and fighting.
Marcus grabbed one of his stockings from the previous day and ran forward, bellowing at his men to keep hold of Martin long enough for him to do what he felt he had to do. He hated seeing Martin so frightened--it spoke volumes about what he had endured in the past. But Marcus knew people. He could see that Martin was beyond reason, beyond seeing, hearing or thinking anything. He was in a panic, and the only thing to do with that was wait for it to burn out and keep the one panicking from hurting himself and everyone around.
"Don't hit him!" Marcus yelled over the din, which was a more than necessary order, because James and Scar obviously had not forgotten about the previous night's fight. Somehow he managed to get the gag on the captive. At least he could neutralize those biting teeth. He was taking a beating, as were James and Scar, who looked ready to explode. But finally Marcus wrapped his strong arms around Martin from behind, squeezed so those arms didn't flail, and lifted him off his feet. "Grab his legs and get him into the cabin!" This was a spectacle the entire crew was now watching with undisguised attention.
Marcus shouted at large, "Someone bring chains! Hurry!" He wanted to end this as soon as possible. As it was, there would be gossip all over the ship.
But Spot did not give up so easily. They were stong, all of them, but he could not-he must not-no no no no no NO! He hit something with the shackle around his right wrist, which hurt, but he did not even feel it. Nor did he care who or what he had hit. He did not stop shouting and swearing when another gag was shoved into his mouth.
Swinging his arm in an arc he managed to hit another nose - a fact that did not quite register - before he was grabbed and lifted off the ground. No! He kicked. He kicked backwards towards the shins of whoever was behind him, with both feet, then forwards, towards the stomachs of the two in front of him... A cornered horse could not have kicked harder.
Marcus cursed at the beating his shins and nose took, but he kept his hold, tightened it, and soon Scar had a secure hold of Martin's legs. Moments after that, they were inside the cabin. "Where are those chains?" he yelled. As soon as Jardin came with them, he dodged another head butt, and wondered if anyone would ever be safe around this lad. At the moment it did not seem like it, but they were finally gaining the upper hand. Soon they held him so he was unable to kick or flail his arms. He was trussed again. Marcus grabbed Martin and shouted, "Calm down! You are hurting yourself!" Inside he knew he might as well have told Martin to jump off a cliff for all the good it did.
Even if Spot had been listening, he would not have done what he was told. There was no way he was going to calm down. He did not care if he hurt himself as long as he fought those holding him. Hitting and kicking were now useless-which did not mean that he stopped trying. However, squirming was still possible. Every muscle in his body worked hard and he was twisting and turning to try and break the hold of these people.
Spot was panting and sweating heavily, but his efforts did not subside one bit! He would bite despite the gag if he could reach someone with his teath! He tried everything his instincts saw as a possible way of defence - and his instincts were well honed.
Marcus, watching pure panic in action, sighed as heavily a he ever had in his life. He told Scar to sit on those chained legs, and he himself sat across Martin's chest. "Lad, I'm truly sorry for this." With that he drew back and let fly a hard fist, which connected with Martin's jaw like a hammer on wood, and knocked Martin senseless.
He wasted no time. "Get him on the far side of the bed from those pillars." The men lifted the unconscious man and flopped him not gently onto the bed, which swayed but for Marcus holding it steady. Soon, they had redone his chains so he was made fast to the frame of that side, and not going anywhere. Marcus left the gag in place before turning to his battered and bloodied crewmen, who were looking like they were eager to dump Martin right overboard. "Outside," he panted. "He is not going anywhere now. The worst he can do is sway the bed a bit. I have to address the crew."
Captain Marcus followed James, Scar, and an astonished looking Jardin, who suddenly wasn't so sure anymore that James and Scar's story of the lad's kidnapping had been really that much exaggerated, onto the deck outside his cabin. He told them to all get cleaned up, but to listen to what he said while they did it. He noticed off to one side the other new recruit, whose name he did not yet have, looking worried and nervous while others looked more astonished. A few had the fine beginnings of suspicion written across their formerly trusting faces. He cursed silently to himself. What a mess.
He had forbidden anyone on his ship from doing exactly what it looked like he had just done. So he rummaged around in his shaken mind, and grasped at what seemed to be a good explanation. He would have to tell it to Martin later. He hoped the boy would go along with it just to save himself the consequences, which would be berthing with the crew. They weren't bad men, but Marcus was sure that they would scare Spot even worse than he was already scared, were such a thing possible.
Glancing at James and Scar, he realized he had a bloody face himself, and so he called over the assembled men, "I will have a word with all of you in a moment."
He went back in, and made sure Martin was still unconscious. That impossible haircut... He looked so young, so alone, much different from the skilled young thief in Sarentre. Marcus wondered which one was the real Martin. Maybe they both are.
He shook his head when he saw the bruise on Martin's jaw. He knew his teeth would hurt on that side--he knew from experience that being punched while gagged was hard on the teeth. So much for not hurting the boy.
He hadn't wanted to.
He found a cloth and soaked it in water from his basin and pitcher, and placed it against the darkening bruise. It would help a little. Then he got out his shaving mirror and took a look at himself. He swore. Bloody nose, bloody damn near everything. Bruises-he looked as if he had fallen down a very long stone staircase. He looked like James and Scar. He grabbed another cloth and cleaned himself up as much as he could, as quickly as he could, then went back out. He closed the door firmly behind him.
"All crew of the Black Arrow!" he called over them all, and their soft murmurs silenced quickly. He saw a lot of thoughts plainly on a lot of faces. Surely the story of Eel, as James and Scar had nicknamed the boy, was already taking on a life of its own and planting some questions and doubts into some hearts.
So he addressed the matter head on. "This is not what it looks like! The boy's name is Martin, and he is my...nephew! At least, I think he is. He looks like my brother's son." Jesus, forgive me for lying! "So he is not my 'boy'." Instinctively he especially emphasised that last sentence. The reasons for that might be lost on several of the crew, but actually those were to be considered lucky. "I think he is my nephew, and so I intend to look after him honorably. No one will harm him or even touch him from this day on. He will be left to me. I will honor my responsibility. -And that is all it is! Is that understood by everyone?"
There was a chorus of "Aye, Cap'n," from below. Marcus studied the faces below, and saw suspicion remaining on some. He noticed that James and Scar were looking at each other wise raised eyebrows.
So, the matter was not yet settled. Marcus exhaled quietly and long. "Are there any questions? Feel free to raise them. Let the air be cleared, doubts put to rest."
Murmuring broke out again, and finally a midshipman named Conrad spoke up. "What happens t' the boy if he don't turn out t' be your kin? He hit Cap'n and crew, and that aint supposed to be allowed without punishment."
Quite a few yelled "Yeah" and other confirmations of that question, and a rigger named Billy commented, "You all look fresh kilt! We did that, we would be marooned!"
Marcus quieted the men by raising his hands. "Martin is deathly afraid of pirates. We did not learn that until it was a little late to."
"How come he be so afraid o' pirates, Cap'n?" asked James, fingering his mouth and asking a lot of other questions with his eyes. But he did not say anything out loud of his doubts concerning the talk of the boy being the Captain's nephew. After all, the two had had a private conversation down in the hold..
"You two were down in the hold awhile, alone," spoke Vincent, and Marcus saw James shoot him a glance and guessed the man had had a similar thought. "But if you gives yer word nothin' untoward happened, we believe you, Cap'n Marcus," finished Vincent. "Ye never did lie t' us before, an' I for one don't believe ye' would to protect a boy who's bloodied an' bashed ye to bits."
Marcus held up his hands again, for the talk and murmurs had grown in volume after Vincent's speech. "Aye, I do give you my word that nothing 'untoward' happened before, during, or after Martin and I talked in the hold-"
"Cap'n?" asked a loud voice. It was Parker, a junior gunner, who looked like he had trouble believing him. "Why come does yer buttons on yer vest not be done right nay more when they did afore ya went down to the.to speak with that boy you says is kin?"
Marcus did not look down at his vest buttons, despite his instinct to do so. He instead looked Parker in the eyes, for the man's words had increased the tension on deck until it was palpable, like a heartbeat now drumming. The rest of the crew was now silent and uncomfortable, waiting to hear the answer, and worrying what it would be.
Marcus spoke, his voice more stern and commanding than it had been. "You are asking me several questions, Parker. The first is, Can the Captain's word be trusted? The second is, What really happened in the hold? The third is, you do not believe I think the boy is my nephew." He raised his voice. "But behind them all is one single accusation. Parker, are you calling me a liar?" Marcus held the man's gaze head on, for to back down under such conditions would be to appear weak, and while he might feel it physically after battling Martin, now was not the time to show it. No matter the ship, no matter the chain of command, at the core of any successfully run vessel there had to be discipline. Marcus knew it was his responsibility to see that discipline did not break down because of these events.
Parker realized all eyes were on him, and ears too. The only sounds to be heard were those made by a ship under sail in a friendly sea.
Parker, a tall, almost gangly man who was good at his job and did not know the Captain was planning on promoting him to full gunner, held his ground, albeit nervously. "No Sir Captain Marcus. I, uh, was just wondering, Sir. About the other things." He raised his chin and said what Marcus knew many were or would be thinking when they reviewed this matter in their minds. "We never had this happen on this ship before. We all are pirates under the technicalities of English law, but we aint bad men, Sir. We aint true pirates, and I for one do not wish to be. If the code on this ship has changed, I want to know, Sir."
Marcus nodded gravely, and smiled a little at the junior gunner. It was out in the open. No more delicate dancing around the subject. Now he had to catch this wind before it became a storm. "Thank you, Parker. Have no fear of saying what you truly worry about." He sat down on the top step of the ladder/stair leading up to his cabin. Everyone could still see and hear him easily. "Nothing will change on this ship." That was mainly what the crew wanted to hear, but Marcus knew it would not be enough to silence the rumors. "I am worn out from those fights. The lad is.unexpected. Let me put your fears as much to rest as I can. Last night, there was something about him which I recognized. Only today when I talked with him did I realize what it was. You know my past, what I was, and why I allow no cabin boys or lascivious behaviour on my ship. Martin--that is his name-- was a cabin boy at some time. I am sure of it. And he fears more than anything being such again. That is why we had that scene just now. He panicked when he saw my cabin."
"But, Captain, he was in chains already," said Scar, and a few men nodded in approval. They were not so easily satisfied.
"Aye, he was. I had to protect my crew and myself, and hopefully Martin in the bargain." Marcus said, looking at both Scar and James. "You both know what he is capable of. He is so afraid, he cannot yet think rationally. And now he fears those chains. There was no winning this time, and there will not be until he learns to trust a little. I hope that happens soon. I am doing what I can to reassure him." He touched his nose, and the tension was sufficiently broken that there was a round of wry laughter. "I had to show him my scars," admitted Marcus, glancing with a shrug toward Parker. "I guess I got my buttons off kilter after that."
The laughter had died down. Marcus saw several of the newer crew, including the newest addition, look startled and very uncomfortable. So he added, his voice lower than before. "I was a captain's boy for a long time, and seldom as obedient as was demanded of me." That was enough of an explanation. It was certainly as much as he was willing to give right now. The old stories would circulate anew, and some would look at him differently for awhile. He was used to that.
"But he still hit you good," Billy said, raising the point again that he had addressed earlier, and Marcus realized that despite the explanation at least some of the crew expected the rules to be followed. Here Marcus was in a fix. Exceptions led to more exceptions, and more exceptions to even more exceptions... which would quickly undermine the discipline and respect the crew had for him.
Marcus raised his voice just a little. "Martin is not a member of the crew. At the moment, he is a civilian passenger, and not subject to the full laws aboard this vessel." He ran a hand through his hair. "The best I can think of right now is to give him a chance to calm down, and then see what happens."
Billy pressed. "But if he was a pirate before, he knows the code. He's gettin' off Scott free, after fighting you and crew. I don't like that, Cap'n."
Marcus studied Billy and said evenly, "He never signed the register of this ship. And right now he is in heavy chains and hardly able to move. And we gave him some bruises too..." Marcus winced at that, inwardly, while keeping his exterior demeanor more commanding. "I hardly see that as getting off 'Scott free'."
"It still seems light fer what he did," muttered Billy, and Marcus gave him a long, assessing look. He had been of a mind to promote this man soon, to full gunner status, but now he hesitated. He studied the man, and realized that the ready smile he had never entirely been comfortable with was more of an effect than a fact. The man squinted his blue eyes so hard, his mouth turned up. But now the effect was more harsh than friendly. Even when he was not squinting, that turned-up mouth could easily fool one into seeing friendliness where perhaps it did not truly exist. Marcus would be sure and watch this crewman more closely. He was about to restate his position when James spoke up. "Billy, he aint signed the codes, and that means he aint done wrong yet. Not officially."
"Exactly." Marcus said, but Billy was even faster. "And if he doesn't sign the code?"
Marcus made his voice carry louder than it needed to, even as he frowned slightly at the junior gunner. "If Martin does not sign the codes, he will be put ashore somewhere, and we will move on. Does that please you sufficiently, Billy?"
Billy still did not look too pleased, but by now most of the crew seemed to see Marcus point as several nods and murmurs indicated. And Billy was intelligent enough to realize that. He nodded. "It'll do, Captain."
After a pause, James said, "We trust ye, Cap'n. No need t' say no more."
Marcus gave James a grateful smile, for loyalty meant a lot to him. He was about to continue with the explanation when an impromptu chorus of "Aye!" began and built quickly. He stood and tried to quiet the chorus, but it would not lessen. A voice was heard, "Go tend yer nephew, Cap'n," and the chant picked that up.
The Captain knew better than to go against the united wishes of his crew, so he looked around at everyone, judging facial expressions, and decided the crisis has passed-for the moment, anyway. He waved and thanked his crew, then turned to go back into the cabin.
******
Gus had not really been afraid when he'd been suddenly snatched from behind while mending nets in Sarentre. He knew such things happened, and were best taken gracefully. Whatever life put in his way, he took and made the best of it. If he found himself in a bad situation, he took the first opportunity to get out of it.
He slid through life, making such friends and acquaintances as he could. He had been in Sarentre since his former ship made port there the previous October, and he had made sure he was not on it again when it sailed out to find a deeper, bigger harbor to wait out the winter.
Now that had been a fairly nasty ship. And he learned soon enough that this port was friendly to pirates, so he kept out of the way when ships came in. Spring had been rough, with short crews looking for new men. He hadn't liked any of the ships he'd seen, so he'd kept out of the way. And the upper part of the town hadn't been so bad, but in order to find work and keep an eye on events - especially ships coming in - he had to stay near the port. He had been lucky enough to find a fisherman who needed an extra hand and his nets mended. Gus worked as a fisherman by day, and mended nets by lantern light until he had to sleep to ready for the next day.
He had not expected to be kidnapped onto a ship. Once on board he had been taken below and left, still bound and gagged, but only till morning. Then a fellow named Jardin had come and led him to meet the First Mate, who seemed nice enough. Gus had no choice to put his X on the paper that, he figured, now officially made him a pirate.
During the night, while he had waited patiently, sitting with his back to a post, another man had been carried by, all tied up and out cold. He had a bandage on his head, and the two men carrying him grumbled and looked like they'd been hit by anchor chains. Gus had smiled a bit. *Got 'em a fighter!* But he hadn't gotten much of a look beyond that first one.
Until he'd seen the Cap'n leading him....what were those chains for? Gus had felt worried about that. Jardin had told him they didn't have cabin boys on this ship. He'd been glad, because he wasn't that old yet, and older sailors sometimes still gave him the eye.
So he had listened closely to the crew's worries, and even closer to what Cap'n Marcus said in reply. As he listened, his intuition had been confirmed: this was a good ship-although Gus came to distrust the blond fella who kept challenging the Cap'n. But Captain Marcus handled him, Billy was his name, and seemed also to be giving that one a closer look. Gus' worries had drained away. The Cap'n was a canny fellow who looked after his crew and did not play the dictator. He seemed a nice sort who was gonna take care of his nephew like he should. Sounded something like how a gentleman should behave. Maybe--
Gus didn't always stop and think; sometimes he acted on instinct. This was one of those times. He went forward and called after the Cap'n. "Would now be a right bad time to have a word wi' ye, Sir?"
Marcus turned at the sound of the unknown voice, realizing immediately it belonged to the other new man. "Now is fine, if you don't mind coming inside the cabin. I need to check on my nephew." Nephew. He would have to get used to using this word. For the moment it felt strange - like a lie, he realized. Well, it was, but one he would have to live with. He had told the crew all he was prepared to about his complicated past experiences, and the vague conclusions and plain guesses those experiences had led him to understand about Martin. There was still a lot he did not fully understand himself yet. He wondered if he ever would. "You can give me a hand, unless you are squeamish about that kind of thing."
"Nay, that be fine by me, Cap'n. Martin you said his name was. I'll help any way I can." He climbed up the steep stairs / ladder, and followed the Captain inside the cabin. He saw the pillars and brass bar at the bottom, and swallowed a bit. He had seen and heard enough to know what they were for.
Marcus was speaking. "Thank you. What is your name? Everything has been topsy turvy since Martin..Usually I meet the new men first thing and get an understanding of what they are like. But I got worried about Martin, and then he gave me some trouble, and I have been worried about doing the right thing. He is so afraid of pirates." He saw the young man looking at the same thing that had so frightened Martin, and snapped, "I do not use it. Never have."
Something in the man's voice made Gus believe him, and he would think about the rest of what that voice put in his mind later on. He decided on the spot that he liked this Cap'n. "Oh, beggin' yer pardon, Sir. I didn't mean nuthin'. My name's Gus. Gus Smith. I don't got no family, and I work hard, and if I had my violin still, I'd give anybody a tune when I'm not on shift. Now, what's the young fella need? Ya gonna keep all those chains on him?"
That was the very question Marcus was considering. "I sure do not want to, Gus." He was standing over Martin, and took the opportunity to check that head wound from last night. James and Scar had not exactly taken special care when bandaging it. "Wet a cloth, Gus. Maybe we can get him cleaned up a bit before he wakes up. And...yes, I think we'll get some of those chains off. Help me out here."
The wound did not look too bad. It just needed a new bandage after washing. But that hair was an impossible mess. The blood in there made it look like it belonged to some ferocious animal. Marcus wet a washcloth and put some soap on it and rubbed it gently over Martin's hair, and after rinsing the cloth, did the same thing. It did not get the hair completely clean, but it did help it look much better. Now it was time to do something about those chains. "Help me out here, Gus."
Gus liked the care Cap'n Marcus was showing. So he helped where he could and soon Martin was still chained down, but as comfortable as he could be made. At least he was lying on a matress. "Ya got one of those nice big beds, here, Cap'n. You intend t' use the other side? There be plenty of room.""
"No," said Marcus, quickly and flatly. "Martin is on the far side because he is afraid of the pillars." He sighed and rubbed his face with one hand, until his hand encountered some of the painful evidence that Martin had good aim. "Everything came with the cabin, Gus." Marcus looked around. It was a pretty typical cabin, if smaller than would be found on some of the grander vessels. The room was nigh on twelve feet by twelve, and contained two portholes on opposite sides, a wash stand with basin and pitcher, well anchored for bad weather, a doored cabinet for maps and belongings, a smaller cabinet for weapons, a small clothes press, and a bounty of sconces for candles or lanterns. And of course those pillars, and some rings on the wall Marcus used to hang tapers and clothes instead of chained boys.. But the bed was nice, if one ignored the iron rings and such on the frame, some of which were now unfortunately put to the use for which they were intended. The whole thing was as wide as two regular berths and hung from the ceiling by wrist-thick ropes, so the ship could sway while the bed stayed level, allowing the sleep of the captain to be undisturbed by anything but the worst of storms. "We better hurry and get him cleaned up. I am surprised he has been out cold this long."
Marcus turned to Gus when Martin was washed and relatively comfortable. "You have been a big help, Gus. Thank you."
"No big thing," replied Gus with a warm smile, for he was unused to much courtesy. And then his eyes fell on something in the corner, in a cabinet. A fiddle. He swallowed, but said nothing. But he felt his whole insides practically call out in yearning. A fiddle! Music! "Do you play, Cap'n?"
"Do I play?" What--? Oh, the lad was staring at Robert's violin. "No. It belonged to a friend, almost a father-figure to me in a lot of ways. I keep it in his memory." Marcus turned away from it and looked again around the cabin, finally unlatching the porthole nearest Martin, so if he came to and looked out, he could see the sky. He might appreciate some fresh air, too.
He turned once more to Gus. "I do not want to leave Martin alone now, but I have duties. Do you mind sitting with him? You can turn the request down."
"Oh, I don't mind, Cap'n," said Gus with a ready smile.
"Thank you. I appreciate this. But.I will need your word of honor that you will not touch him or hurt him, and if he wakes, you will come get me straight off, no dillydally."
"Aye, Cap'n. You have my word." He watched as Marcus checked his nephew's breathing and awkwardly plumped the pillow just a little. "I think that is all I can do for him right now. Are you sure you do not mind?"
Gus tried to keep his eyes from that fiddle. He noted the cabinet it was in wasn't locked. Which didn't mean nuthin, since it was the captain's personal property, and to touch it would mean he'd as good as disobeyed a direct order - something that meant big trouble on any ship. "Nah. I like t' help out. I'll come git ya right away if he wakes up, my word, Cap'n."
Marcus smiled briefly. "Thanks, Gus." He stared long at Martin, and then quickly left the cabin.
Gus saw the cabin only had one chair, and he didn't feel right about sitting down in it, for it belonged to the ship's captain. So he went to the porthole and looked out, turning often to look at Martin, and acutely aware that he wanted to play that fiddle. He withstood the temptation.
*****
How come each time he woke up lately he woke up with a headache? Only this time the main pain was lower, somewhere in his jaw. Automatiacally he tried to reach up and feel the side of his head. He couldn't. At that point Spot finally opened his eyes.
Great! His wrists were chained together, locked to a chain around his waist, and there was a gag in his mouth. Pirates! In case anyone was interested, he hated chains! He especially hated being chained to.a bed! He quickly assessed his situation, and realized it could be worse. His ankles were chained together, meaning that he was not in as...vulnerable a position as it could be. That did not change the fact that the situation already had his heart pounding hard again, and he could feel his anger rising.
When he turned his head to check how the chains were fixed to the bed he realized that he was not alone. There was a man over at the porthole, maybe a little older than Spot himself, looking directly at him. Had he seen him before? He thought so, but when and where he would sort out later. He had something elso on his mind now.
After about two seconds of eye contact Spot turned his head back and, ignoring the man, started systematically testing the chains. God, he was angry!
Gus turned from the porthole at the first sounds of stirring from the Cap'n's nephew. He watched how the young fella woke up, and noticed what he noticed, and something in his mind went on alert and tried to be calming all at once. He'd think later.
He'd expected a greeting...was just about to give one when Martin turned away and began to methodically try to find a weakness in the chains. Gus felt he had to speak up then. "Oh, Cap'n and me--I'm Gus, the other new man aboard, took the same night you was, in fact!--we made you comfortable, and the Cap'n even gentle-like washed your hair a bit. He's real worried about you. Oh! I've got to fetch him! He told me to."
Gus ran to the door and threw it open hard, but not so it banged. He yelled down to a hand on the main deck, "Get Cap'n Marcus! Tell him Martin woke up!"
Despite the fact that Spot was seemingly ignoring the guy he paid just enough attention to understand what was being said. So, Gus was the fella's name; good to know, although not very interesting. And how he talked about that Captain! Jeez, you really are of the trusting kind, aren't you? Well, here's some bad news for you, fella: The world is a cruel place and you had better learn to watch out for yourself.
Damn, these chains were strong! This was in no way his definition of comfortable. Think about it, Gus-guy. If these pirates are all nice, what do they need all the chains for? Not to mention certain other devices that he could see in this cabin...No! No, don't even think of it. You have to stay calm. Stay calm. Just concentrate. There has to be a weakness somewhere.
*****
"Hey, Cap'n, Sir," yelled one of the riggers down to Captain Marcus. "That new guy, Gus, just called fer ya, says yer nephew woke up."
Marcus had not heard Gus, but he heard the rigger. "Thanks," he called upwards before turning and working his way along the deck until he reached the stairs up to his cabin. Gus was waiting. "Good lad." He longed to ask how Martin had been upon awakening, but he quickly saw for himself. Angry, possibly sullen, and still determined to find any weakness he could in his bonds.
"Gus, leave us now. Go to the galley and tell Cook I want a hot meal prepared for Martin, something I can spoon feed him if that is necessary. Hearty, but easy on the stomach. Come back in an hour with the food. Get yourself something to eat while you wait. Cook always has stuff around."
"Aye, Cap'n! I didn't notice till right now, but I am a mite hungry." He smiled and hurried off.
Marcus closed the door after Gus, and turned to Martin. He spoke quietly, but with a touch of sad authority. "I have the keys on my belt. I cannot let you loose until you are no longer a danger to yourself or anybody else. I thought I made that clear before." Making sure Martin could see him do it, he put the ring of keys in a drawer in his desk. He also put down any knife or weapon Martin might get his hands on if Marcus got too near. In his current emotional state the boy was dangerous. He would not forget that, no matter how well he understood.
He knew Martin had seen some of the things that were kept in the cabin, things kept there simply because they had been there when Marcus became captain. Iron rings could hold things other than chained victims.clothes, for the most part. The rings reminded him of his own painful youth spent aboard ships, and made him determined not to be that way to anyone who served with him.
Martin would not believe him. So he only said, "If I wanted to use you that way, lad, I would already have; I have had ample opportunity. Have I hurt you in any way you did not bring upon yourself? Have I allowed others to hurt you when I could prevent it? Do you see floggers or whips or canes? There are none here. Are you as you were as a cabin boy, with no clothes and hands pawing you constantly, words and threats constantly scaring you witless while you are so helpless? Have I not done everything to try to calm you?"
Marcus stopped talking, feeling it was no use, but hoping something he had said had reached the boy.
His words were heard, but not in the way they were intended. The moment he heard the footsteps, even before the Captain appeared in the doorway, Spot ceased his efforts with the chains. He watched, every single detail. Details mattered. He had learned to watch out for them. Listening was also important, although he gave the appearance that nothing could interest him less. But as the Captain kept talking, slowly that mask drained away and he stared daggers at Marcus again. If not for the gag, he would give the man some hard but really true answers!
I am a danger to someone: ha! What, without the chains I would run around and try to hurt people, like, say, chain them to a bed? At these thoughts he gave the chains another angry pull.
No Sir, I do not believe a word. 'If I wanted to use you that way, lad, I would already have.' All good and well, but was has not happened yet can still happen in the future. Hawk always took his own time, enjoyed drawing things out. You might have had ample opportunity, only that most of the time I was unconcious anyway, so what would have been the fun?
Hands touching him, words, threats, endless fear... Damn, the man knew what he was talking about! Please no, it could not happen again.
Spot had not realized that he had closed his eyes and was drifting into old memories. With some effort of will he pulled himself together and back to the present. His eyes rested on the Captain with calm determination. He would endure whatever came his way, but take any chance to escape, do anything that was necessary. He had killed for his freedom once, and he was ready to do it again.
Marcus could see he had failed to reach Martin at all. The world felt too big and too hard. He did not know what to do. So he went to stand over the boy--no, young man. He voice was quiet. "I am going to check your forehead wound, and take the gag off. Do not try to bite me, for I used that trick myself. I will only touch what I have to to treat your injuries. I am sorry about your jaw, but you were in a frenzy, and I only know one cure for that."
Carefully he removed the gag, and then the bandage on Martin's forehead. The cut looked closed; he decided to leave it uncovered. But the bruise on Martin's jaw was more swollen. He found the cloth which had fallen off the bruise, and re-wetted it with cool water. He put it on the bruise, taking care to avoid teeth, should Martin go that course. The lad did not. Marcus was not sure whether or not he should take that as a good sign.
"If you cause the cloth to fall off, I will just let the bruise be, for I will not force treatment on you."
He sat down in his chair and ran his hands through his sun-lightened hair, turning his back to Martin after awhile. In a few minutes, his peace was disturbed by a knock on his door. Feeling old and weary, he went to answer it.
It was Wilson, with his laundry. "Got it washed, here ya go, Cap'n'."
"Thanks, Wilson. Good job."
Since Martin seemed to want to be ignored, he ignored him while being acutely aware of him. He put the wet shirts and breeches on the clean floor, then got the rope he strung between the poles. He hung his laundry up to dry as usual, pegging it to the line in case the seas roughened. He also opened the porthole on that side of the cabin, to give the place more air.
Still ignoring Martin, Marcus returned to the desk. Might as well scan the maps again, he thought. He hoped Gus would return soon with food. The situation felt somewhat awkward. He leaned over to the cabinet built into the wall next to the desk. Opened, it revealed two neatly folded shirts, another pair of breeches, and the shoes he had worn the previous day. It also held the Spanish sword he had taken, which belonged to Martin. And on upper shelves, there were paper,ink, quill, and a slew of rolled maps.
Marcus selected one, and closed the cabinet.
Once the gag was removed, Spot experimentally moved his jaw and found that although his teeth still hurt there did not seem to be any serious damage. Well, one point in your favor, Captain!
He also had not bitten, although he felt a very strong urge to try it, but he was calm enough now to realize that it would gain him nothing. No, it was better to behave and wait for a chance! So he let everything happen with a stoic calm, not offering any comment, encouragement or protest-in short, he did not react visibly at all.
What he did was watch, carefully. Some things that he saw did not fully register, or fit. That laundry line for example, that was something he had not seen before. The conversation was strange. Where was the bite from the Captain, the fear in the crewman? The Captain hanging laundry? That did not fit into any situation Spot had ever found himself in on board a ship.
He did not expect it to be easy. But this Captain.it would take a while to figure out this Captain.
When the cabinet was opened, he turned his head and strained a little more against the chains than he already unconciously did, to see what was inside. It was not easy, but he got a good look. There was.. nothing. Except for some personal items there was nothing that could tell him what might await him. He bit his lip and was tempted to ask, but did not do it in the end. Questions were seldom answered with anything but threats or lies. The truth.he would find that out soon enough.
But there was the sword, Hawk's sword! If he could get his hands on it! It had bought him freedom once; maybe it would do so again.
*****
Marcus was studying the map closely. It was only to fill the rest of the hour before Gus returned with the meal for Martin. He did not need to look over any of the charts or maps. He knew this one well enough that his eyes barely even saw it. What they saw was a pair of furious green eyes.
He rolled up the map and got out parchment and writing supplies. He had to concentrate when he practiced his letters, so he began to laboriously write. But he discovered he kept writing one word--a name. Martin. He wondered.. Maybe they could have a conversation after all.
He turned to...he had better start thinking of Martin as his nephew. He turned to his nephew and asked very conversationally, because he was curious. "Do you know how to read and write?"
For some reason Spot was startled when he was suddenly addressed. His breath caught in his throat and he stiffened even more, but managed to get himself under control again soon.
Dammit, boy, you are not fifteen anymore! Pull yourself together!
Still, he blinked at the question for a while. Read and write? This was the very first time anyone-including himself-had ever even thought about that.
"No." It was all he could say in his astonishment.
Marcus decided to ignore the way the lad acted like a skittish colt. He got up very slowly, but not too slowly, and approached Martin, and very absentmindedly (or so it would look, for nothing Marcus did around Martin could ever truly be uncalculated yet) put the cloth back over the bruise. "Would you like to see what your name looks like? I can teach you how to read and write, if you would like. It will open up whole new doors to your future. You could be anything you dreamed of being."
It worked. When he concentrated on it he could be calm. Just don't let yourself drift into memories! He hardly blinked when he saw the Captain walk over to him.
That changed when he heard the question. Then he blinked a lot, in confusion. Me? Learn to read? What kind of game is this? My future? Well, thank you Sir, but I'm very much busy with the present at the moment. See, I have a bit of a problem here, called CHAINS!
"I don't have any...dreams."
Only when he had finished that sentence did he realize just how much it was true. He had always lived from day to day, hoping that the next one would be a good one, or at least not bad.
Since he was lying on the bed he could not lower his head and look at the floor. He averted his eyes and stared instead at the ropes that held the bed aloft. He did not notice the cool cloth again fall from the bruise on his jaw.
Marcus watched everything closely. He saw the flash of surprise, then anger, the tightening of Martin's wrist muscles. And then the draining of the anger. He almost replied in astonishment when Martin admitted he had no dreams. Without dreams, what did anyone have? Without dreams, how could one move on from the past into the future? The boy needed dreams.
Marcus wanted to run his hands through his own hair, or soothe Martin, but he knew any moves he made had to be carefully thought out, so instead he nodded. He had to avoid touching Martin at all. He did not even put the cloth back on the bruise, since it would only fall off again. So he said, his voice a little sad, but hopeful, "I had none when I was your age, too." He would not mention Robert yet, his father-figure, who had patiently won his trust. For a moment he wondered what it had been like for Robert when they first met. Had it been anything like this? "But I do now! I want to be legitimate, a merchant. It is my dream, so I am learning my letters. Would you like to see what your name looks like? I wrote it down."
That was a bit much for Spot to digest at once. A merchant, and legitimate?
Excuse me Sir, but you are a pirate, I do not know whether you are a very successful one, but a pirate. And if I understand aright, you go about kidnapping people for your crew. Sorry, but does not look like you plan to give up the trade in the near future. Really, I will believe it when I see it!
But the offer was appealing. He was curious. "Yes."
Then he started to think about that offer and found it odd. For a short moment he was too confused to be frightened. "Why? Why did you write my name?"
Marcus' hopeful smile faltered at Martin's suspicion. He turned and looked out the porthole. The question had caught him off guard. Of course Martin was suspicious of everything he did. Would not he have been? Had not he been? So why was he doing everything wrong with this young man? He should have anticipated.
He turned halfway and did not look at Martin. In a very sad voice, soft so even he barely heard it, he said, "I know you cannot think worse of me than you do. And I understand that. I know you think...It does not even matter what I say or do. All that is real are chains and being taken against your will." He took a deep breath and went on. "Do you know why I took you? You did not look like a pirate. I do not like pirates. I like those who have some humanity in them, and so I avoid the pirates. The bad kind. Sure," he continued, turning to Spot, and his voice was now angry with himself. "Sure I could go into any tavern and shout, 'I need three able bodies for my ship!'--and the ones who answered would be hard and heartless. And at night I would not sleep for knowing that someone wanted to cut out my heart and feed it to me so he could have my ship, or raise another rung on the ladder. So I pick orphans with humanity. I picked you. Sorry, but we both have to live with it now."
He took a deep breath and tried to let go of the anger he felt at his life, how it had made him what he was, and why he did what he did. He fastened on what was in his hand. He held out the paper to Martin. With his voice under control, he spoke. "Here. Here is what your name looks like in letters."
At first Spot had winced at the slowly raising voice. Although there was no real menace, there was anger in it. His instincts kicked in. If he could he would have turned and run. But he could not and soon the upcoming fear was replaced by an equally strong emotion: anger. For now he ignored the paper with the letters on it and kept his eyes fixed on the Captain. His voice was shaking, but loud enough to understand-and it also grew louder as he spoke. "Well, maybe you are wrong. Maybe I am not the right guy. What tells you that I am not hard and heartless? I do not care about you. I do not care about this ship! And I would gladly cut your throat, at night or at any time I got the chance. Have a nice sleep and I hope you have no trouble living with that!"
He was still steaming with rage when he looked at the letters.
They looked beautiful to him.
He swallowed. There were many beautiful things in the world, he had caugh glimpses of much. But these things were not for him. He would not learn how to write, just as he had not fully learned how to play the flute or use the sword properly. He stared at the writing, but at the same time he felt like burying his head in his hands. He could not, so he kept staring.
Marcus felt his emotions tumbling, like he was being beaten by Martin's raging words. He would have taken a step back, but his own rising anger-- and very real pride--kept him from doing that. It was on the tip of his tongue to rage back at this impossible, distrusting problem he had saddled himself with. He wanted to yell at him to give up his clinging to stubbornness, and have a little heart, even if he had to re-invent it to have it! Those words stung, and Marcus felt them to his gut. And he did not like them at all.
If Martin did not ease up, he would end up in chains until they reached the next port, a month away! And if it took that long, he would never reach the boy, which would mean dumping him ashore. And Martin's soul would be lost. Marcus hated the possibility of that.
But it existed. He was about to shout back some of his fears when he saw the way Martin stared at the paper. At his name. It seemed to change him, give him something to focus on besides rage.
So Marcus checked his own anger and fears, and he stepped a little closer, and pointed to each letter as he sounded out the name, patiently, like a teacher. "There, see? Not so hard, once you know how these things work. M-a- r-t-i-n." Suddenly he had thrust the paper into the lad's hands. "You keep it. You can study it, trace the letters with your finger."
Marcus felt suddenly weary. He did not want to watch the boy crumple the paper into a ball and toss it to the deck. So he turned quickly back to his desk and sat down, his back to Martin. He said, quietly, his fingers tangled in his own hair as he rested his head in his hands, "If I was anything like the monster you believe me to be, I would have beaten you to a bloody pulp for raising your voice to me and had you on your knees for me to use instead of offering to teach you how to read and write."