Full Circle

by Alicia Pascal

The Pirate ship Black Arrow is in need of crew members. To solve the problem the Captain turns to kidnapping. In Sarentre he takes two orphans, but soon finds out that one of them had met with pirates before and didn't like the experience.

6. Losses

Chapter 6: Losses

For a long time Spot just lay there, and slowly his breathing became more and more calm, until in the end the minutes went by and it seemed like he was hardly alive. Finally he pushed himself up, leaning against the metal wall for a moment, completely ignoring the blankets and hammock he fixed his eyes on the key that was now lying in the dark corner where he had tossed it. He picked it up. "It is the only key." the Captain had said. "Don't lose it."
Lose it!
His hand closed so tightly around it that his knuckles turned white and he slowly but purposefully made his way to the deck. There he didn't look at anyone, didn't stop or react to anything, until he stood right at the bow, looking down at the foaming water that was parting in front of the ship.

Come on boy, what are you waiting for? Just throw it.

The hand with the key opened, but all he did was look down at it. He was vaguely aware of the symbolism of this key, at least the symbolism for him. When it was gone, no one would be able to lock him into that hold anymore .. On the other hand, as long as he had it he had the power to lock them out, so that no one would be able to rach him, touch him..
In the end he let go of the key, but it didn't disappear into the ocean. When it hit the deck with the sound of metal on wood Spot spun around, scooped it up and shoved it into his pocket. Then he returned to staring out across the water with his hands clutching the railing, the wind trousling his hair into an even greater mess.

Marcus had managed to stay calm and upright until he was out of Martin's sight, and a little further for pride, but then he found some bundles to almost collapse against. Damnation, that boy had broken at least one of his ribs, and he could hardly breathe! Not to mention the bites, scratches, scrapes, and general bruising. Avoid everyone. Marcus knew he was bleeding, from several places, and the crew would go after Martin unless he told them not to. But he could not clean up before he showed himself. That was going to be tricky.

Marcus finally moved on, went up a deck, then headed for the aft of the ship, to come up nearer his cabin. Twice he had to stop just to catch his breathe. If I did not understand you, Martin, I would throttle you myself. He finally found the steps up, and hoped not many crewmen were around.

He slipped on the steps and came down hard on one already bruised knee. He swore under his breath, and pushed himself upright, favoring his damaged ribs.

Carlton had been standing a little to the side, relaxed for the moment. There was little to do. Everything was moving smoothly now that he had the crew back to work after the Captain had disappeared belowdecks. Usually he did not question Marcus' actions, but during the last two days there had been more happening than the deep trust of a First Mate in his Captain could take in silence. He was going to talk to him, soon.

The soon turned to now when he finally saw him appear from below. Carlton took three long steps, frowning darkly. Just as Marcus managed to get up again he caught him around the shoulders and hoisted him up, not entirely gently. "We have to talk," he said in the voice that usually told crewmembers not to fuss around, and inconspicuously herded him towards the Captain's cabin.

Marcus knew that 'no nonsense' voice, and he knew Carlton. But if anyone had to find him, it was best it was his First Mate, not some random crewman. "Easy on the shoulder, please. I do not know what he did to it, but it hurts." He allowed himself to be herded into his cabin, where he sank down on the chair. "I need to clean up, and talk to the crew, and calm down enough not to kill him myself." He knew they both knew who the "him" was.

Carlton was standing right next to the chair and observed the damage. He was no doctor, but he had seen enough in his life to know that the way Marcus moved - or avoided moving - indicated some injury beyond the visible bruises. "I am not sure if I am pleased to hear that he is not already dead," he said, starting to work his friend and Captain out of his shirt, generally ignoring the indicated shoulder. "I hope you have him locked up well."

Marcus groaned, and hunched way over his right side. "Broken ribs," he grunted. "Carlton, I have not locked him up at all. I gave him the key to the hold. He probably has the door locked tight, and..." Marcus managed to extricate his hand, which got tangled in the cuff of his shirt. He did not even think about his scars around Carlton. "I did everything I could for Martin. I tried my best. I give up. I promised him we would get him back to Sarentre. I cannot reach him. He is as bruised in his soul as I am on my body. What is the assessment?"

Carlton studied Marcus, touching one bruise after the other to find out if there was more injury than visible. He did it with the care of a friend who thought that Martin had earned at least part of what he got. "You are a mess," he said simply, in brutal honesty. "If he is half as stubborn as you, then it is small wonder you cannot reach him. What was driving you anyway? Anyone else would have been locked up yesterday and left in the hold until we get near land again. I have stayed out of it because I thought you knew what you were doing, but it seems that maybe I should have intervened much earlier. Now, if you do not mind I will get the doc and then find that wild boar and put him where he cannot do any more damage--"

Marcus clutched at Carlton's arm. "No! No, you must not. I made a promise to him that he would be left alone. He just needs to be left alone." Marcus sighed, and spoke softly. "I remembered how Robert helped me. I wanted to help Martin. He reminded me of myself. I cannot turn my back on him, Carlton. You should be able to understand that. I will not have him harmed. He has suffered enough. Let us take him home. Then we can...get back to normal." There was a pause, while Marcus concentrated on breathing. "He is not a bad one. He is only scared."

Carlton sat down on the table and looked down at his Captain, still serious, although his face now showed understanding among the worries. "Whether bad or scared, he is dangerous. There is no telling how the crew will react to him. There has been too much trouble already, and no way you can keep this..." he softly touched one of the broken ribs, just enough to remind Markus that they were there. "..from the crew. Javert can stay quiet, but simply put, this is too much."

Sighing he got up to dig out a towel and soap so Marcus could start cleaning up. While doing that he observed the chains in the corner and the rest around the bed, and once again shook his head. "Listen Marcus, I do not say you cannot do it. You can try to tame that boy, you can bring him home if you want. But we must not let it affect the ship. We have a responsibility to the crew."

Marcus winced when the rib was touched, but he also sighed, and began to use soap and water. "Carlton. He will stay away from everyone on board. That is all Martin wants, to be left alone. Do not lock him up. As a favor to me. If there is another incident, do what must be done. But for now--I will stay out of sight as much as I can until things are less colourful." Marcus sighed. "Call Gus to get Javert. I cannot fix this alone. I have made a mess of this. I should have known. I am no Robert."

Carlton did not move, not yet at least. "Maybe this boy is just no Marcus," he said, in a very friendly and understanding voice. He had made his point and he had been listened to. So now it was time to for the First Mate to step back and let the friend do his work.
"There are few like you about, and some just are not strong enough to be saved." He started to pat Marcus on the shoulder and held back just in time before he touched the bruise. "As a favor to you I will stay away from the boy, for now. But I will watch." Then he sighed and went to the door to call for that new guy, Gus. At least the stop in Sarentre had brought them more than just problems. This one seemed good enough. As soon as Gus hurried to the Captain's door, Carlton told him, "Go and get Doctor Javert, and try to do it quietly."

Marcus listened, and when Carlton stepped back in, he smiled up at him. "You...are a good friend. And the best First Officer. When we get back to Sarentre, would you like to come ashore with me and Martin? He will not trust the crew, but he might...he might not attack if we are both there. I think I may still need the help."

Carlton, upon closing the door, had leaned against the wall next to it. Now he smiled a bright smile that lit up his features like a thousand candles. "Anything you want, Captain," he said, now much less grave and serious, and more in a jesting mood. He studied Marcus again, now cleaned up somewhat, although the reminders of the fight were still clearly visible. They would be colourful for quite a while. "You know, I never thought a whelp like that could take you."

Marcus looked at Carlton with a laugh that caused him to wince. "You get to hold on to him next time he goes into his 'eel' thing. He is...amazing. He could teach us all how to escape kidnapping! I wish there was something we could teach him. Trust."

The smile vanished. Which was good timing, for Javert came then, and said virtually nothing through tight lips as he examined Marcus, then bound the three broken ribs and applied iodine and other medicines to bites and scrapes and scratches. "And how is the boy? Does he need medical attention?"

Marcus was trying to get used to the wrapping on his ribs. "No," he said, shortly, and looked away. "He wanted me to fight him. I refused." Marcus ignored the doctor's eloquent grunt. Shortly afterwards, he took the drink Javert gave him, and within minutes he sank forward, asleep.

"As usual, you leave the work to me," Carlton said with a smile to his sleeping friend. He signaled Javert to wait for him outside and then hoisted Marcus up onto the bed. He made him as comfortable as he could before he pulled the covers over him. "You can only teach things that you know, my friend. Do you trust yourself?" Finally he shook his head at the madness of the situation and left.

Outside he saw Javert watch what looked like the back of a statue at the bow of the ship. "No matter how he looks, do not go there. It is best if we ignore him altogether." That was all the explanation he was ready to give. Realizing that several of the crew gave the boy similar looks he quickly started to make sure they all were busy.

Marcus, asleep because of the drug, drifted eventually into nightmares. He felt hands holding him, and saw a shadowy face coming closer and closer to him with the hot poker. He kept pleading for them to not burn him, promising in utter panic to be faster, more obedient, better—anything! But they touched the poker to him, and he screamed even as he smelled the stench of his own burning flesh. He screamed until he felt nothing, and his world was black.

Time was not of much importance to Spot. It passed, and as long as he lived and was free the passing did not matter much. Every moment was a new moment, and as long as it was good, life was good.

His gaze had stayed on the horizon for he did not know how long. As a child he had wondered what lay beyond it, and had dreamed of a wonderful, glittering world. But when he finally travelled beyond the horizon, he had found just the same world as before, just as cruel and even more dangerous.

Finally he grew tired. The pain in his side had not eased much, and he thought perhaps he should take a look at it. So he turned and chose the shortest way down that would at the same time keep him as far away from the crew as possible.

However, after only five steps he stopped, and for the first time looked directly at one of the crewmen. There was nothing special about him except one small thing. A gleam appeared in Spot's eyes and he changed direction to walk over to him in a cat-like movement. When he stopped in front of him his eyes were fixed on the object in the man's right hand. "That is mine," he said, strangely calm.

James was intent on his work of preparing the fish his lines had pulled in. Salt fish was fine, but men needed fresh now and then. He had caught several, and still had one line to pull up. He was cleaning the fish with the knife he had picked up in the alley in Sarentre...A shadow. Head, shoulders...That new kid. He could tell by the shadow of his spiky hair.

James sighed. He put the knife behind him and slapped the fish against Martin's chest. "Sure kid. You want it? You can have this one."

Spot flinched when the fish hit him, but he did not step back. In fact he made a movement as if to grab the man, which he only stopped in the last possible moment. The tension, however, was clearly visible in his body and face. "Give me the knife!" he demanded a little louder, and this time he did not sound quite as calm.

James stood up, and he was taller and bigger than Martin. He had the knife in his hand, holding it now in front of him, unthreateningly...or close to that. "How do you want it, Cap'n-Beater? Gut? Leg? Happy to oblige you, just tell me where. We do not like those who take advantage of Cap'n Marcus' generosity. You hurt him pretty bad. We want to hurt you pretty bad, but he told us not to. I figure on obeying my Cap'n, unless you push me too far." His voice made it clear he really hoped Martin pushed him too far.

Up in the Captain's cabin, Marcus was coming awake groggily to the sound of voices. James and…Martin? Oh no, what was going on? He rolled out of bed and hurried down to the deck, wondering idly why it seemed to pitch oddly. Must be a storm coming, and we are picking up early swells. His legs felt weak, his head strange. No wonder. Martin's hysterics, and the doc's medicine. Enough to make anyone feel strange. His bandaged left hand also felt sore and swollen, but he had no time for that now.

The gleam in Spot's eyes became even stronger and he started to breathe just a notch heavier. Fear and the urge to act held their balance for a moment. "Give it back." The balance shifted and Spot lunged. He grabbed the arm that held the knife and yanked it sideways.

James let out a yell just as Marcus arrived, with Gus not far behind, and most of the crew behind him. "Do not interfere!" shouted Marcus, and grabbed Martin's arm. "Let James go NOW!" He reached and took the knife from James. It was a big knife, and he did not want to hold it, but he did.

The First Mate, Carlton, skidded to a halt right next to the melee right when Marcus shouted his order. He was very much tempted to ignore it. And, just as he had expected, the boy did not seem too impressed with it either.

"Give it back!" the whelp repeated and spun to shake the Captain's hold of his arm. At the same time he lunged after the knife just as it was handed over. His voice now had the tremble of strong emotions, very close to panic again.

Marcus only had a partial grasp on the knife, and his hand was cut, making it slick to hold. But he did. "Everyone, stay back! Captain's orders!" He shouted it, and felt his side like a burn but had to ignore it. "James! Back off! I said back off!" It looked to him as if the entire complement of the ship was crowded around. "I said back off!"

Only a few stayed close, which was okay. But Marcus had manoeuvring room now. He finally had Martin cordoned off. He did not look at the knife, for he dared not take his eyes off Martin. "You say this is yours? How did James get it? I think I should lock this away in my cabin."

Spot stood with his legs apart, feet firmly planted on the floor, ready to fight. His hand was still outstretched to take the knife, but he was not so far gone as to charge blindly at Marcus, not yet. "No. You already have the sword. Give me my knife," he said, not realizing how much like a child he sounded.

Then he remembered the he had been asked a question. His mind made a quick connection and once again his stance changed into anger. "He took it. He was one of the two who were with you when you attacked me that night. You took me and he took the knife..." Suddenly he turned around and directed a pair of blazing eyes at James. "You people think you can just take everything, do you?" he shouted with a voice that vibrated with anger and some fear.

Marcus muttered disgustedly, "And he has already forgotten that he gave me the sword, insisted I take it after I tried to return it to him. How like your twisted mind to conveniently forget everything it wants to." Marcus lost his temper. He shouted at Martin, not caring that the whole crew was listening. "More accusations! Do they ever end? Why should we even listen to you? You never listen to us, and you only see what your twisted perceptions let you see. Your happy little fantasy world—the sick, unjust world, according to Martin! I have news for you, boy: you have hurt us far more than we ever hurt you! And OH the reason we have to hurt you! BUT HAVE WE TIED YOU TO THE MAST AND FLOGGED THE SKIN OFF YOUR BACK, AS YOU DAMN WELL DESERVE? YOU TELL ME!"

Marcus took a few breaths, for his side was like fire, and strangely his hand, and he was swaying on his feet. "Bastard! James could have left that knife behind...probably should have left that knife behind. Instead, you have a chance to get it back. And I saved you, dammit! You would have been killed the way you were stealing from real pirates in Sarentre. Oh, but I forgot that in your world, it is perfectly fine to hurt those you think are pirates. It does not even matter to you—I doubt you have ever given it a thought—that the pirates or whomever you pick on are NOT THE ONES WHO HURT YOU! They might be men hurting inside just as badly as you. Never thought about that one, did you? I know. Poor Martin, the only victim who matters, who accuses others freely of having no heart while his is ICE WITHIN HIM!"

He glared at Martin. "Whoever you think is a pirate is a good victim, eh? Steal from us, fight us, hurt us—and you do not even know us, though we have given you plenty to know. But you do not give a damn. No. Because people in your past treated you badly, did not care, now it is fine for you to treat everyone like that. 'Care about me; do not hurt me! But I do not give a damn about you and will hurt you as it pleases me.' That is what you have shown us, kid. You bastard! The abused becomes the willing abuser. To hell with you! HERE--TAKE YOUR DAMN KNIFE!" He thrust it out at Martin, hilt first, and his hand shook. "JUST TAKE IT! GET BELOW! AND IN SARENTRE, LEAVE MY SHIP, BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT WORTHY TO SERVE WITH THIS GOOD CREW. YOUR HEART IS BLACK. I WANT YOU OFF THIS SHIP." A wave of weakness passed through Marcus after his outburst, but he kept it to himself, so strong was his fury.

Spot spun around again, still blazing with anger, although it had turned more cold than the hot anger before. When Marcus shouted at him he sometimes flinched and looked like he was about to take a step backwards – but he didn't. At the end of the tirade he was trembling, although out of anger or fear or despair wasn't clear, for those three emotions flashed in his eyes in turns. "Better dead than with pirates." he hissed. Then he snatched the knife out of Marcus' hand and pushed through the small crowd towards the hatchway down.

Marcus mood changed. He blanched, and misunderstood. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!" he yelled, and raced after Martin, catching him before he reached the hatch. "NO!" He spun him around and grabbed his face. "Life is always better, because it means there is hope! You have to at least learn that!"

Spot blinked. He did not know where the thought came from, because it was a new one; One that would have offered an easy way out years earlier, if he had ever thought of it. In a way, it offered some comfort, because it opened a way of escape, although a desperate one. He relaxed a little, but grabbed the knife tighter with his hand. On his lips there was a hint of a smile, although the rest of his face and body language showed his peculiar mix of fear, anger and desperation.

"Why not? What..?" his thoughts were redirected. Would he have been able to do it if he had thought of it back then? Maybe not, but he could now. "This is something that cannot be taken from me."

Marcus understood what Martin meant, and he feared. He locked his shaking but strong hands over Martin's, and would not let him turn the knife. "You will take it from yourself over my dead body, and not on this ship. I will keep you in irons forever before I will let you use that knife on yourself. Give it to me. I mean it, Martin. I have men who will help me, and they will do what I tell them to do. Give me that knife. You will not hurt yourself with it."

Marcus yelled to the men at his back. "Circle! Someone get behind him, and have irons ready! Block all hatches and rails."

For once Spot did not struggle against Marcus' hold, but he would not relinquish the knife either. When the men started to take positions around, following Marcus' order, he tensed to the fullest again. His panic was rising. Irons…."No. Tell them to back off." After a moment of thought he added the one word that he had once learned was seldom effective. "Please."

"Let go of the knife," ordered Marcus, not willing to be fooled by this boy again. "I will call them off when you let go of the knife." In the meantime, he not only held the knife, he also effectively held Martin from doing anything with it.

Spot swallowed. A tremble ran through him, but in the end he did let go. He had been a fool to think that he would be able to take control of his life. It had been a nice dream, and again, for a short time it had looked like it might come true...until another ship came along. His gaze dropped to the deck and it looked like he was going to cry - if he had tears.

"Take it, keep it. Keep the sword and..." With as much force as necessary he freed one hand out of Marcus' grasp and pulled the key from his pocket, dropping it to the deck. "...keep this."

Marcus wasted no time in finally wrenching the knife away. He handed it off to anyone behind him, with the order to leave it in his cabin. "Give us space!" he now ordered everyone. "Put the irons away!" He knelt down on the deck and picked up the key. He changed his hold on Martin's other hand, so he simply held it. He struggled back to both feet, and slipped the key back into Martin's pocket.

"No. I gave it to you. And the sword is yours, and the knife, to be returned to you in Sarentre." He used his free hand to lift Martin's face so he had to look him in the eyes, and his voice was soft. "There will be no irons. I keep my word." He tried to smile. "Besides, you said 'please'. You see, sometimes, it works."

Spot's stance had not changed much. Outwardly he was just as tense as before, but it was an act. Deep down in him, barely visible in his eyes, was the feeling of utter defeat. His lips trembled and for a moment it seemed like he was going to say something. But in the end he simply took a step away from Marcus, so that he slipped out of his reach, turned and headed down.

Marcus was at a loss. He had been at a loss for days, since Martin had come aboard. Now he took one unsteady step forward, and paused, and then followed Martin.

But he felt a wave of dizziness hit him at the top of the hatch, and he lost his balance, tumbling with a startled cry down the steep steps to the deck below. He hit his head, and his ribs, his shoulder—everything—again, before landing in a heap in the narrow passage at the foot of the steps. He found himself staring up at a hazy square of light. It had to be the hatch. Was it the hatch? He was not sure. He tried to move, and discovered he could not. He lay there, struggling just to breathe.

Spot heard the cry behind him and at first nearly started into a sprint, but then he turned. He arrived at Marcus' side at the same time as Calton, who did not waste any time calling the Captain a name in private and then glaring at the boy. "You ..." Then he waved him away and gave up, for now. He would deal with him later, after Marcus had been taken care of. "Someone come down and help me," he called. "Get doctor Javert!" And to Marcus he added: "Please tell me you are going to stop this now. Can you move?"

To his surprise the boy knelt down next to him and opened Marcus collar, ran two fingers along his throat and then placed a hand on his brow. "What are you doing?"
Martin did not answer.

Marcus kept trying to breathe. "I f-feel cold," he managed to say. "The Captain will burn me again. Robert? I have to get up...I-I need to hide." He was shivering so badly, he hurt so badly, he had to avoid more hurt. "Robert, help me hide? I can take the cold."

"Oh no..." Calton said. He was about to shoo the boy away when Martin said to Marcus, "You are hidden."

Marcus sighed and let his head loll back. "Hidden. Good. Blow out the candle. He will see the light…."

Now the First Mate looked puzzled, feeling like he was listening to a conversation in a language he did not understand. He was even more puzzled when the boy pointed at Marcus' feet and told him to help him move him to his cabin. What the hell was happening?

Just to pretend that he did have some control over the situation, he told James, who had come down to help, to get out of the way. The lad was a handful and then some—he was unpredictable as a storm, and just as dangerous. At least while he was here he could keep an eye on him. So Calton allowed Martin to carry the Captain up the narrow steps with him.

Marcus felt so cold...so cold. But it was better than being burned. "Why are you carrying me? You said we were hidden." It was not Robert. "No," he whimpered, and then yelled "NO!" as loud as he could. "Do not take me to Hawkwell!"

At the sound of that name Spot froze and nearly dropped Marcus to the deck, but he caught him again just in time so that the impact was a soft one. "What?" he whispered to the wind, and a moment later flung himself around and fled, down the steps so fast that he actually tripped, and finally bolted into the hold which he firmly locked behind him. Then he sank down, his hands gripping at the metal of the wall as he leaned against it.
Almost too low to hear above the creaking of wood and his ragged breathing where the whispered words: "I hate you, I hate you…"

Gus was nearby. His emotions were boiling like a stew, and with about that many different feelings all jumbled together. First he wanted to strangle Martin, and then he wanted to...he was not sure, but if he was helping for a change, he could wait to strangle him...Garth had fetched Javert, who had arrived just as the Captain, not in his right mind after the fall, yelled that about someone named Hawkwell, and Martin almost dropped the Cap'n.

Gus had heard of a Captain Hawkwell, very mean and feared. From Martin's reaction, he had heard of him too. Maybe, maybe more than heard of him.

There were enough crew with the Captain, not to mention the doc and the First Mate. He waited just long enough to hear Doc Javert say something about the Cap'n burning with fever, that his hand was badly infected…and he was delirious—which explained him acting strangely. James and Calton moved the Cap'n the rest of the way to his cabin, and Gus decided to go talk to Martin.

Gus turned and went after him. He followed him to the hold, and sat down against the bulkhead and watched him, listened to him whisper. "Heard of a Cap'n by that name, a mean piece o' work, no doubt about that. I understand you for hating him. It explains a lot."

Spot heard Gus approach and heard him talk, but he did not listen to the words, or so it seemed at first. His whispers had stopped. He was shaking his head, not much, but steadily. "No you do not. You could not even start." For once his voice did not sound challenging or accusing, merely stating a fact. He was not even looking at Gus.

Gus leaned back against the bulkhead. After awhile, he nodded. "Yer probably right, Martin. But I know pain when I hear it and see it. And I hear it and see it now."

Again, silence settled in, only to be broken again by a few words spoken in a low, almost expressionless voice. "Then maybe you should go up and help him."

Gus showed little reaction, but for the first time in his life he wished he had a pipe to smoke, or something to do with his hands. "Cap'n is surrounded by people right now. Doc is there, and Calton. James, too, and a bunch o' the crew waiting to hear what happens...T'aint room for me at the moment, so I thought I would keep company with you."

Now Spot looked up. "Make yourself comfortable." Then he shifted a bit and leaned his back against the wall, concentrating on his breathing.

Gus did, as much as he was able. He kept glancing up the passageway. "I got a feeling the Cap'n was a bit out of his head when he said some of those things," he said eventually. "Truth is, I feel a bit worried about you and him. Both. Not sure who I worry for more."

"He has a fever. If he takes the rest he needs, he should be fine," Spot said, shifting again, trying to get find a position that was easier on his side, which was hurting more again. Oh yes, he had been planning to check on that. Well, not yet….

"Doc said Cap'n's hand is infected," said Gus after a pause. Then he sighed and changed the subject. "I helped the Cap'n make that hammock. Need any help setting her up?"

Spot looked over at the small heap of hammock and blanket that was still lying where they had been dropped. He shook his head. "No, I will manage." The next words took a little longer. "Thank you." Again, this silence...which Spot finally broke. "Aren't you scared?"

Gus had pulled his knees up till his chin could rest on his arms, which rested on his knees. He glanced at Martin. "Scared?" He wished for a pipe again. "Scared o' what?"

Martin finally turned his head to look at Gus, fully ready to remark what a stupid question that was. "Of…" But then he got to the point in his mind where he had expected the answer and found none. "...being here," he finished the sentence, several seconds later.

Gus decided he would take up whittling, for the truth was he did not care much for pipe smoke. But he also did not have a bit of wood for whittling at the moment. So he kept sitting there, with his arms folded on his knees and his chin resting on his arms.

"Of...being here, talking to you? No. Of being on this ship? No. This ship is different than others I been on. One was bad. Not as bad as they get, but bad. This one is...different. Nobody been mean t' me yet. Cook's a nice fella named Angus, he tells me stories. An' Cap'n says I can play the fiddle anytime I want, when I go off duty. I figure to play her fer Sundays, and mebbe after supper in the evenings. I was going to play her tonight, but with the Cap'n being sick and all, I guess I better wait."

Angus. Spot had not heard that name yet, and he filed it away fro later use. It was always good to remember names. And the mentioning of the cook reminded him that he was hungry. He would think of a solution to that problem later, after he had time to take a look at bruise or whatever it was that hurt... he shifted again, easing it a bit once more. Suddenly he wished it was Sunday.

"I am ..." Scared was the missing word, but he could not bring himself to admit it that openly.

After awhile, Gus let out a deep breath. "That is kinda why I am here right now. And I feel scared fer the Cap'n." Gus looked over at Martin, and noticed some of the little moves he was making. "Ya need someone to fetch the doc fer you? Do you got a pain somewhere? Wouldn't surprise me none."

"No," Spot said, far too quickly, and started a bit, which then was followed by a short wince, but he shook his head. "It will be all right. No need to fetch the doctor." A few seconds passed and then he added as an afterthought: "He is busy anyway. No need to bother him."

Gus swallowed, and then looked at Martin by turning his head sideways on his arms. "Martin? I don't know what you been through. I think I'm scared to know. I just know it hurt ya bad. Maybe...maybe sometimes I can come and fiddle down here, if you don't mind the company. I remember seeing you sometimes, in Sarentre. I don't much think in terms of making friends, since a person either does or don't become one. But I would prefer we were on good terms than bad. But if you want me to stay away, I won't bother you none." He sighed.

"No, it's..." Again, one of these things that he could not seem to be able to get past his lips. "I don't mind. I'm just not used to..." Suddenly his head snapped up as another thought hit him, seemingly out of nowhere. "The crew doesn't like me. It might be dangerous if you stay with me."

Gus smiled. First Martin showed concern for the Cap'n, and now for him? He was full of surprises, but these were good ones. "Don't worry none about the crew. You been kinda rough on the Cap'n, and he's well-liked, but everyone knows he likes you like..." Gus struggled for the word for awhile. The silence when he did it didn't bother him any. "I don't recollect much about my pa, but I think it must be like that. And James--" Gus laughed a little bark of laughter, and his face was truly lit up. "He aint used to no feller besting him, and you did. He's mad about that, but not mad mad, just...the fellas been teasing him. I wish you would teach me to fight like that, since it is so unexpected."

He face grew serious again. "You don't need to be scared of the crew. I aint heard nobody saying nothing bad. You could give 'em all fight lessons, and they'd be happy for it."

Spot thought about this for a moment, which was rare enough. Usually he reacted first and left the thinking to people who had time for that. One thing was for sure, he would avoid that James guy for a while... preferably forever. Most of what Gus had said was beyond his understanding. So he did not even try. In his experience there was not much difference in mad or mad mad. One might hurt a little less, but both had better be avoided. "They want me off the ship as soon as possible, and I guess they are right. I don't have much luck with ships, or they with me." Suddenly he laughed when he tried to picture himself teaching anybody anything. "And if I really knew how to fight, I would not be here."

Laughter from Martin. Gus did not need to ask how long it had been. He would have to tell Cap'n Marcus about it. He wanted to hold the mood, so he changed subjects. "Name yer favorite tune. If you don't know the name, hum a bit of it, and I'll pick it up. I'll play that next time I get my hands on the fiddle." But he could not help adding, "And three to one, those are stiff for the best fighter. You got some respect, but I don't reckon anyone will admit that fer a bit yet. Now, about that tune?"

Songs, music; those had always been good for Martin. Only too often there had been none, or else he had not dared to even think about it. Not so now. Gus' approach to the topic made it easy. "Oh, I have a lot. What do you think of this...?"

Settling fully relaxed and comfortably against the wall he started to first hum and then sing a gentle ballad.

Calton had spent about a second looking after the boy as he ran off so suddenly, first puzzled and then more than a bit angry. No, he corrected himself, that Martin was not as unpredictable as a storm. He was far worse. But there was no time to pursue that thought. Already James had stepped forward and picked the Captain up. Together they him settled in his bed in no time.

He left Marcus with Doctor Javert while he quickly went outside again to talk to the crew. "Get back to work. The ship does not sail itself." After meeting a few concerned looks he added, a little less stern. "I will keep you informed."

With that he disappeared into the cabin again and allowed his face to show the deep worry that he felt. "Doc?"

Javert was not wasting time. He cut the shirt from Marcus, and told Calton to put a cool wet cloth on the Captain's forehead. Then he fully cut the bandage from Marcus' left hand. And swore. He had felt the heat from it before, outside on the deck. But now…it was grossly swollen, with several red lines running toward the wrist. The sword blade wounds and the bite were oozing bloody pus. "Not good," he said grimly. He looked up at Calton. "Help me get him tied down."

Calton swallowed once when he saw the infected wounds, and then again at the doctor's words. But then he nodded slowly and did as he was told. He worked fast, partly because it kept him from thinking. "How bad?" he asked quietly, just after they had finished and he placed a calm hand on his Captain's arm.

Javert was studying the hand, and concentrating. Everything was infected. Fingers, palm, back of hand...Gently he laid the hand on the bed and went to his bag of supplies. He fetched a rubber sheet, which he slid under the arm. He looked around, and pulled down a board from a shelf. He slid that under the arm as well, and began to tie the arm to the board. He stopped just below the elbow joint.

"I need a basin full of water, and another full of spirit. And a...an old bucket. Tourniquet. Clean cloths. A lot of bandages..." He turned, his voice strained, apologetic. "There is no saving it, Calton. His hand...I can not work miracles. I need to sterilize things, and get the bone saw."

Marcus was drifting in and out, twitching and muttering, lucidity for the most part gone. But even in delirium, he knew what it was that he saw held up. "NOOOOO!" he screamed, and fought to escape wherever he was. Tied down! He felt his arm atop a wood board. "Please, PLEASE!" he begged and tried to thrash. "Please, no. PLEASE DO NOT TAKE MY ARM! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" he cried and screamed at the same time.

At the scream, every crewman who heard turned ice cold inside, and afraid. Glances were exchanged, and the praying men began to pray. A few turned away and hid tears. Down in the galley, Angus found a stool to sit on and put his head in his floured hands and began to cry like a baby, for he remembered too well what it had been like to lose his leg. The ship, but for sounds of creaks and groans from wood, rigging and sail, was silent now. Everyone was listening, and everyone felt afraid.

Down in the hold the two young men had made it about halfway through the song, when suddenly something cut into the melody that the two voices were weaving in a fairly good harmony. Marcus' scream. It broke every bit of the peace and magic of the moment, and made their blood freeze. Spot instantly turned white as a sheet and he let out a short cry of his own. His instincts took over and he scurried into the farthest corner, and curled up into a shivering ball.

Gus tensed up, and while he was aware of Martin, he was also feeling a profound grief like he had never fully felt before. He moved over to the bars, and leaned against them, as close to the nearest human being as he could get. He drew his knees tighter, and hugged them, and he began to cry.

Javert instruments—including the saw—were soaking in pure spirit, to sterilize them. Basins of water were waiting. Marcus was crying in a quiet delirium, still muttering, "No, please."

The doctor signaled to Calton that he was ready. He took up a bottle of cloying liquid and poured some on a cloth. "It is ether. Put this over his nose and mouth. He has a knot on his head, so this is chancy, but I will not…cannot...do this if he is conscious. When he falls asleep, I need you to regulate the tourniquet. It is a little late to ask, but can you do it? I suggest you do not watch what I do."

Calton nodded again without a word. He could and would do whatever was necessary, quietly. That was what made him a good first mate. He took the cloth from Javert and was relieved when Marcus' struggle ceased soon. 'Do not think about it,' he told himself. There would be time for that later. Now, thinking would mean hesitation and loss of concentration, and that would be dangerous in the current situation. So he bit his lip and cleared his mind save for the orders given to him by Javert.

Not much more than a half hour later, Javert sat back when it was done and the last of the bandages applied. The bleeding was now minimal, and all looked good; the surgery had gone well. He wiped his hands on a towel, and then began to undo the straps holding Marcus down. "His fever should break within twelve hours, and after that, he should heal. He will heal." He turned to Calton. "Captain Calton, what are your orders?"

Calton had been leaning on the bed, glad it was over. He was now considering taking some rest - after giving the crew the promised news. Now his head snapped up. "What?" he asked, thinking that he might have misunderstood.

Doctor Javert put the last of the instruments in their alcohol bath, and washed away the last of the blood on his hands. He took off his gory apron, and tossed it in the bucket with other things to be thrown overboard. When that was done, he began to roll his sleeves back down.

Only then did he approach Calton. "First Officer assumes the Captaincy in such situations. Until and possibly if Marcus can resume his duties, you are Captain of the Black Arrow." He squeezed the man's shoulder and arm. "Marcus has complete faith in you. The ship and crew are in good hands..."

Javert swallowed. He would have trouble with that word for awhile.

Calton allowed himself a small groan before he pushed himself up. "Well... I had better go and tell the crew... twelve hours, you say?" In twelve hours they would know more. Marcus should be fine, but of course there was always some risk. And there was no telling how he would take the loss of one hand... Difficult times ahead. Calton sighed. They would face those problems if or when they arose. For now, he had to tell the crew, who were already waiting anxiously.

James made his way slowly down into the deep hold, and wiped back a tear and blew his nose as he reached his destination. Gus was scrambling to his feet, standing a little protectively in front of the hold door. He could see the kid curled up in the corner. "Uh," he said, and cleared his throat. "Thought you should know what Cap'n Calton just announced. Cap'n...Cap'n Marcus lost his left hand and wrist, and will be laid up for awhile. He came through okay. Doc thinks he will do fine now. I, uh, just thought you should know."

Now Spot, who at the sound of steps had tried to curl up a little further, raised his head for a moment, he had felt like he knew that voice... James! His breath caught in his throat as he looked at the man, wide eyed, without blinking. There might have been a tear shining in his eyes, but in the dim light that was hard to tell.

James was not sure what to make of Martin, but he smiled at the kid. "Um, sorry about yer knife before. I woulda give it back to ya, but I was cranky about you and getting teased. But that don't matter now. Some things aint that important, and I shoulda give it back to you. Anyways, Cap'n Marcus, he needs looking after when he wakes up, and we are taking turns."

Gus immediately said, "I will sit with him anytime. My duties are not set yet, so I can talk to Calt...Cap'n Calton, and take any time I'm not on duty."

Spot's mind reeled. What was this? Was this pirate apologizing to him? Now, that was something new. Spot was confused, but slowly he managed a nod and finally he had to start breathing again, too. Suddenly he was afraid of being alone down here. "Gus...!" He still seemed unable to move, but at least his voice was working, although shaking. "I don't have any duties," he said without thinking.

Gus turned and put one hand through the bars. "Thanks, James. I will talk to Martin a bit more, then come on up."

James nodded, then left, making his way slowly up to the main deck.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Gus turned to Martin. He avoided mentioning that he had picked up on his fear to be alone. "I don't have much yet, and my hammock is in the Captain's cabin. Anyone watching him will probably use it. Tell ya what, Martin. When I'm sitting with the Cap'n, you can come up there, and when I have to sleep, I can put up a hammock right out here."

James absence helped a lot, but still it was hard for Spot to relax. Panic took a long time to overcome, especially if he was not alone... but strangely Gus seemed to have a different effect. He did not feel like a threat, at least not right now. "You can use this one," he heard himself say.

Gus smiled. "Tell ya what. We'll work together to make another one. And then we'll both be comfortable. OH! I was supposed t' fetch you some supper. I know the doc will stay with Cap'n Marcus till the fever goes down. Docs always do that. Want to come with me to the other hold, under the galley? If you don't feel up to meeting Angus, you can hear what is said there. It won't feel like you are alone. And Angus, he knows Marcus is looking out for you like a pa. He'll give you extra."

"Pa?" That was the second time Gus had used that word. First uncle, then this…."I would not know," he murmured and finally fully uncurled, again wincing a little as he stretched. Gus had mentioned food, and Martin's stomach spoke a very clear language. Also, he had learned to take food when he could get it.

Gus fetching him supper...food sounded good, but he did not feel fully comfortable with the fetching part. "Uhm I will come with you…"

Unlocking the hold was surprisingly easy, but he could not bring himself to fully close the distance between him and Gus. What would happen when he met Angus no one could tell.

Gus understood on a level that did not require words to explain. He signaled with his hand. "C'mon, I can show you the way that avoids going above till we get to the galley. If ya want, I will stick with you the first few times you have to be above, because those are the hardest." On the way Spot found out that he and Gus seemed to have similar instincts concerning hiding places. He was leading him through passages that crossed the ship from larboard to port side, and pointed out some of the places along the way where he might feel safe hiding, if he ever wanted to do that. "Sometimes a fella needs be alone, and sometimes he don't want that. I like to pick places most people don't use, so these should be good." Spot noted those that he pointed out and a few more, which were a little stranger.

They could smell the galley by then. "Listen. We can hear if Angus is alone." They listened, for three minutes. "Aye, he is. Come on up and meet a pegleg Scotsman."

Now Martin was hesitating a bit more. But he nodded and motioned for Gus to take the lead still. If something went wrong, at least he would not get trapped between the two of them.

Gus was picking up so many clues from Martin now that he felt he knew his emotions, and those were important. He carefully put himself between Angus and Martin. "Angus, I brought the other new fella to meet you. This here is Martin, and he aint eaten for a long time."

Spot's stomach underlined Gus' words with a low growl. Yes, he was really hungry. He managed a smile, but did not go any nearer than necessary although over the course of the few minutes that it took Angus to ready the food he relaxed almost visibly.

Angus picked up on clues, too. It was good for a cook to do that. He nodded and grinned a greeting, but did not offer his hand. Instead, he filled two big bowls and put a plateful of slightly overcooked biscuits on a large tray, and added two big slices of apple pie, and a little plate of butter. He added a full waterskin. "A man has to eat. Martin, you feel hungry, you come to me and I give you as much as you can hold."

He stopped and leaned on the counter. "Sorry for the biscuits. I only just heard the news, and they...but the stew did not burn. I am right pleased to finally meet you, Martin. Now, off wi' you both, and fill those bellies. I know you'll want to go below, for fellas come in and out at this time of the evening." He nodded. "But if you want more, you just come back."

"Thank you, Sir," Martin said finally before he turned and hurried back, although not so fast that it could be called fleeing.

Gus turned back to Angus and shrugged, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. It said everything he needed to say, and Angus nodded. He handed Gus the spoons.

Gus followed Martin and caught up to him outside the hold. He held up a spoon with a grin.

Spot looked at Gus' grin for a moment, and then at the spoon, and finally a smile appeared on his lips. He had forgotten about the spoon! He thanked Gus and pushed open the door to the hold. "Come in," he said like someone who was inviting a friend to his home, before he comfortably settled himself with his back against the wall.

Gus handed over the spoon as soon as he entered the hold. He was not sure whether to close the door or not, so he left it slightly ajar, and gave Martin space as he too sat down against the wall. They ate in silence for awhile, and only once Gus commented on the biscuits, of which there were a generous eight. "Even a bit crusty, they are nice and soft inside." He only had two with the stew, leaving the others in case Martin wanted to store them away.

When he finished, he sat back against the wall, and looked up. "There's hooks so you can hang your hammock any way you like it. I saw an empty crate up top--if you want that for a place to put your clothes, that works out. I can bring that down to you. A lantern, and a privacy blanket, and you'd be okay. There's places to overhear what's going on abovedecks, so you can keep as much to yourself, or not, to suit how you feel. I'll kindof keep a bit of eye on you, to make sure have what you need. It's what a big brother would do. Not saying you need such, but it's always nice to have someone watching your back."

It was almost a miracle, but during the meal Spot had completely relaxed. He sat with his legs stretched out in font of him and his attention mostly on the food. Out of habit he was still watching the door, but that no longer ruled his actions. Now he turned to look at Gus, and although he did not tense again, he was serious when he said: "Watching other people's backs can be dangerous."

Gus closed his eyes, and all tension went out of him, except for the worry over Cap'n Marcus. But that would be with him awhile, and he accepted that. News would spread like a wave at his slightest change in condition, so he knew they would hear everything promptly. So he closed his eyes and relaxed into the corner, letting it prop him up. "I know," he answered Martin, but did not open his eyes. "Just, not watching them can be more dangerous."

"Have you been sent to keep an eye on me?" Spot asked, although his tone was not quite as suspicious as the question. He did not really care, not today.

Gus sighed. "Tomorrow will be long." He was feeling tired enough, he could fall asleep right there, right where he was. "I liked that song you taught me before. Right pretty tune. Ya got a good voice."

The mentioning of songs alone worked its magic. Martin smiled a little but then Gus spoke about his singing..."Do not tell anyone."

Gus opened one eye and grinned. "Why would I tell anyone? If you want anyone else to know, you'll tell 'em." He yawned widely, and stretched, and climbed to his feet. After he had piled the tray with empty bowls, he waved off the waterskin. "Keep it down here, for if ya get thirsty. You can keep it topped off from the water barrel. I better take this stuff back to the galley. I might be gone a half hour--have to get the stuff fer making another hammock. I'll get word on the Cap'n, too. If there is any. You got a lantern and matches? I'll scrounge some if you need anything, and bring that crate. Don't worry none if you're asleep when I get back; I'll be quiet as a mouse."

He indicated Martin's hammock. "Sure you don't want help hanging that?"

Spot, now getting sleepy himself, waved at the lantern. Yes, he was well equipped that way. He followed Gus' lead in getting to his feet, simply because he was not comfortable sitting there, while someone stood next to him. He shook his head and went over to pick up the hammock. "No, I will be fine," he said with a smile.

Gus nodded and opened the door, and then pulled it closed behind him. "G'nite, Martin. Be back in a bit, and hope you don't snore." He laughed, and carried the tray away, feeling heavy in his heart over Cap'n Marcus, and light in a different way. Seemed the ice was finally broken between him and Martin. He hoped it lasted, but expected, as with so many things, that it might be a bit of a bumpy ride. The road was never smooth for the wounded, and he realized in a way he could not explain in words that Martin was very wounded inside. He would take it one day at a time.

For a moment Spot just stood there, hammock in hand, and the smile on his face did not only stay, but widened a bit. Then he quickly opened the door and fastened the hammock outside. He had told Gus that he could have it, and he wanted them to know that he kept his word. That done he returned to the hold, locked the door and curled up in a corner to sleep. The day having been the way it had, with all the fear and excitement, he was asleep almost immediately.

Gus' errands took him awhile, but not quite the half hour he had expected. He took back the dishes and peeked in on the sleeping Cap'n Marcus. Doc Javert was changing the moist cloth on his patient's forehead, and nodded encouragingly at Gus. But the young man paled and swallowed when he saw, stretched out on the bed, Marcus' left arm which ended in a wrapped stump, supported by a pillow.

"We'll...I'll sit wi' him tomorrow, Sir," he said, and left, sobered.

Quickly he gathered up a blanket and pillow, and everything to make another hammock. Then he found the empty crate and returned to the hold, all but tiptoeing.

And he found Martin curled up in the corner of the hold, and the hammock hanging outside, for him to use. A slight smile formed, and Gus shook his head. Quietly, he put everything down, and reached inside the hold with the blanket and more or less tossed it over Martin. Then he climbed into the hammock, settled himself, and went to sleep.

tbc