(Disclaimer: Pintel and Ragetti aren't mine.)
Just the Way it Should Be
The afternoon sun was hanging directly above the Glass Urchin as Pintel reemerged onto the deck. Its sudden brightness made him squint at first, but he quickly ignored the blazing ball and gave it no other response as he continued forward. Let his eyes hurt, he thought bleakly. Then he came to a lifeless stop at the first set of rigging he could find; some work would help take his mind off of the unbearable guilt.
But just as he reached for the ropes, his stocky outline caught the attention of none other than Yager, who was kneeling on the deck nearby and using his green bandanna to bind the arm of a surprisingly obedient Wood.
Looking up from the bloody mess, Yager spotted the smaller crewman and beamed.
"Pintel!" he called out, sounding relieved. "Your mate there got himself a battle scar he wasn't expecting, did he?" The bearded man waved his hand dismissively. "He's young; he'll sleep it of. That lad's got a right old monster in him, he has!"
"Well I'd rather he 'ad both 'is eyes in 'im!" Pintel shot back loudly, his ungratefulness for the comments—reassurances though they'd been—clear in his tone.
Yager's grin immediately died and he stopped, stunned by this apparent revelation. Beside him, Wood kept his gaze down and said nothing.
Pintel continued to glower distastefully at the pair until Nequom came over and called his name just then. Still frazzled, the burly pirate snapped his balding head around to glared at the new arrival as well. "Wot?"
Nequom faltered slightly and pointed over to the quarterdeck. "The cap'n wants t'see you in his cabin."
Pintel turned towards him a little more at this, shedding his standoffish demeanor. In its place came a confused one. The captain wanted to see him?
He finally nodded, glancing downward. "Aye…" Then he deserted his task at the rigging and trudged off in the indicated direction.
One of the cabin doors was wide open, and from where he was looking, Pintel could see Pellinore standing inside with his pale hands clenched into fists at his side. The Englishman looked stiffer than usual, and he wore a particularly frigid expression as he saw his summoned follower approaching, but he was in perfect condition. Not a scratch or a bruise to suggest he'd been bested at all in the brawl. The crewman noted this without the slightest bit of curiosity, and gave his superior an acknowledging nod.
"You, eh… wanted to see me, Cap'n?"
Pellinore pointed curtly to a nearby chair. "Sit."
The sharpness in his voice surprised Pintel a little, but he dully complied. Seeing how submissive the pirate was, Pellinore wasted no time in getting to the point.
He spoke slowly and calmly, taking a few steps past the chair. "Let me be perfectly clear, Mr. Pintel. I'm sure you're aware that, as a captain, I have little tolerance for a stowaway on my ship." He turned then, and his tone suddenly grew harsh. "But I'll have you know, I have even less tolerance for members of my own crew sneaking them on board!"
Pintel lowered his head drearily. "Wif respect an' all, Cap'n…I fink we bof' figured out it was a mistake."
"Not nearly enough." Pellinore leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You deliberately disobeyed a direct order from me, Mr. Pintel, and as a man in my position, I do not intend to be disobeyed." He met his crewman's eye sternly. "I will make an example of you to the rest of the crew."
Pintel nodded. "Aye. Wot'll it be, then? Five lashes? I'll take 'em." He was welcoming of pain and scars now.
Pellinore shook his head and stood up straight. "I assure you, I don't resort to such barbaric devices." There was a brief pause, and he went on with the voice of a schoolmaster. "As I see it, my entire ship is covered and dripping with the…remnants of that ghastly battle. Those remnants will have to be cleaned, and it will take a long time to do so."
The other man understood. "Do it all by meself, Cap'n?"
"I believe it's fitting."
"An' wot about the kid? Wot'll yeh do to him?"
Pellinore furrowed his brow. "What can I do but keep him below deck? I've already told you that I have no use for him on my crew, Mr. Pintel. He'd be no good to me even as a deck swabber."
"I wouldn't say 'e's entirely useless, Cap'n," Pintel said cautiously. He wasn't sitting so well with their conversation anymore.
The suggestion earned a scowl from Pellinore, who turned his back to the foolishness of it. "Spare me. This is a mission, not an excursion. Problems arise—dangers arise! I need experienced crewmen who can handle a sword to deal with them, not a gutless child."
That was all it took for Pintel to lose it again.
"He's got a lot more guts than you do!"
Everything stopped. Pellinore's blood ran cold, and he whirled around irately. Pintel was on his feet now, and he refused to let the shock of what he'd just said surface on his sneering mask of a face. It was too late for that.
The captain's eyes glinted dangerously. "What did you say?"
Pintel stiffened only slightly at the burning gaze, then decided to elaborate. "Runnin' from Scarborough instead of firin' at im. Makin' us empty the ship, keepin' fightin' as a last resort. An' where the hell were yeh when the fightin' did start? Hidin' 'ere in your bloody cabin?"
The pirate paused to take in a steadying breath. Each sentence had been like a barrier being crossed; a piece of a staggering riddle that he was finally beginning to solve. The disgust Pintel felt now was enough to make him want to kick himself.
Pellinore continued to glare through his crewman for a tense moment, then swiftly reached back and slammed his cabin door shut. He kept his gaze locked firmly onto the stocky fellow, but his twitching eyes betrayed his withheld panic all the while. The Englishman stalked closer, and Pintel held down his own pounding heart as he squared his jaw. He suddenly wasn't afraid of this man anymore.
Pellinore spoke through gritted teeth. "You overstep your boundaries."
"I just says what I saw, Cap'n," was Pintel's snide reply.
"Enough!" The other shot forward as he barked. "You will scrub every last drop of blood off of that deck, and you'll serve on watch duty every night until we reach port!"
"You would've left the 'ole crew t'die if you could've, wouldn't yeh?!"
"AND you'll lose your share of the profit!"
"What profit?" Pintel snapped. Now it was his turn to step forward. "You never told us wot we was lookin' for! You never told us about Scarborough! You never even told us wot was in the bloody case, 'cause yeh didn't want us to know, did yeh? These lads ain't gettin' a cent fer their trouble—we was just doin' the legwork to get you back some scrap a' stolen merchandise, and yeh brought Winchcomb into it to keep us all in line!"
He was spot on with his accusation, chillingly so, but it was Pellinore who ultimately held the reigns of final authority in their face-off.
"You will regret ever learning to speak if you say one more word!" he shouted, all traces of his composure suddenly gone. The livid captain leaned even closer then, using his superior height as a threat. "I can make your punishment as severe as I want, Mr. Pintel." Then he narrowed his eyes to carry his message home. "…And I can extend it to someone else if I see it necessary. …Is that understood?"
The last word was all but spat in Pintel's face, and the discontented crewman immediately lost his prowess when the meaning behind the warning sank in. His eyes wavered anxiously for a second, his outburst forgotten. Pellinore wasn't bluffing, and Pintel knew exactly who the Englishman meant by "someone else."
Finally, the pirate's shoulders sagged heavily and he lowered his gaze, defeated.
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Cleaning the deck that afternoon was an experience that Pintel would have gladly sold his soul to forget.
Blood was everywhere. It covered the wooden floorboards and cabin walls, and oozed sluggishly back and forth on the steps and rails with the ship's swaying, engulfing everything in its dark crimson shade. Even some of the rigging was still dripping red tears. On briefly inspecting the gory scene, Pintel dismally discovered that the Urchin's old warped planks were making the excess blood run, guiding the red fluid down towards the vessel's main mast, and so that was where he decided to begin his grueling task. Understanding that nothing could make him forget his guilt right now, he'd dropped his bucket and self gloomily down in front of the largest puddle there.
Scrubbing at the poor lad's blood was every bit as horrible as looking at him in person, and that grim conclusion only reminded Pintel that he woukd eventually have to face Ragetti again before the voyage was over. Worse yet, the pirate couldn't pull his mind away from the lingering dread that he might find…it…somewhere in this mess; he didn't know how he'd react if he saw that lonely little blue and white orb gazing up at him from the deck with its eternally dead stare. Fortunately for Pintel, he never did find it.
Rub stood directly behind him, adjusting the sails. The taller man seemed caught in some inner debate for a moment as he kept glancing away from his work, then a bright idea visibly came to him and he smirked through his beard. Keeping his eyes locked forward on his goal, he stepped away from the mast.
"Be right back, mate," he said when Pintel lifted his head. "I'm gonna get some more rope."
Pintel nodded dismissively and resumed his scrubbing. The water in his bucket was becoming just as grimy as the filth he was trying to remove, and the rag he was using was already a deep shade of scarlet. The sight of it made him wince; he'd never been squeamish about these things before, but the connection that he felt to it this time left him sick to his stomach. It was too much too soon, and he finally threw down his rag in frustration and sat up straight. Dejected, the balding man glanced to his right in thought. Just as he did, he spotted a coiled length of rope draped over a nearby barrel. Pintel frowned to himself—Rub had just wasted a trip.
He turned around then and craned his neck to search for his comrade. Oddly though, he didn't see the tall man anywhere. Pintel squinted through the sunlight and continued glancing around at the others on deck. Where'd that Rub gone to?
An instant later, he received his first hint of an answer as a muffled sound echoed up from the ship's lower level. It was a scream—a child's scream.
Pintel jerked like he'd been slapped and glared angrily back at the rope. That lying maggot! That lousy, miserable—he'd raise him right through his ugly skull if he did anything to that kid! And then the enraged uncle moved to do exactly this.
However, just as he began to rise, he caught sight of Pellinore and stopped dead in his tracks. The captain was glowering directly at him from behind the wheel, and the look on his face reminded Pintel of the threat he'd been given earlier. The pirate took a wary step back and shifted his eyes towards the steps that led below deck. Here was Pellinore, silently ordering him back to work while Rub was doing who-knew-what behind closed doors—Ragetti would be in a fix no matter what happened.
Another cry floated up from the crew's quarters just then, muted by the deck planks.
Pintel twitched at the sound, but Pellinore's focus never left him. The captain wasn't about to let him go anywhere. Another wave of dread came over Pintel, and he slowly sank back down to his bucket and rag, maintaining an impassive expression. He would have to think of something.
No sooner had he decided this than Yager came up calmly beside the captain and said something too low for Pintel to hear. It must have been an important question, because Pellinore reluctantly turned away from the deck swabber to address it properly. Yager stepped a little closer then, prompting the Englishman to turn a little more towards him. Pintel saw his chance and climbed to his feet.
He knew where his loyalty lay.
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"Aaah!"
Rub stalked around the next hammock a second after Ragetti crawled underneath it. "You been sneakin' around behind me!" he growled, sounding sadistically amused at the same time. "Listenin' to me secrets, eavesdroppin' on me!"
"No!"
"Yeh been spyin' on me, 'aven't yeh, yeh lit'l bastard!"
"No!" Ragetti quickly scrambled out from his pathetic fortress and crossed underneath another hammock, trying to get away. The boy was crawling away in fright on his knees and elbows, too weak from toil and blood loss to do anything else.
Rub just cackled at the pitiful escape and tore the hammock aside. He wasn't done tormenting this kid just yet. "I'll show yeh what I does to eavesdroppers! Come 'ere!"
"Aaaaah!"
Now Ragetti was crawling on his side, trying to watch the man with his one remaining eye. His pursuer paused to watch him for a moment, then abruptly made an intimidating lunge. The boy yelped and sprang away, but failed to see the wooden support beam on his right and collided sharply with it. Rub smirked triumphantly and continued his approach.
He didn't make it another step.
Rub had no idea what happened. One minute, he'd been following this scrawny little rabbit of a boy around the room, and the next, something heavy had plowed right into him, sending him staggering backwards. Then the bearded scoundrel found his balance again, and he and Ragetti both stared in shock at the unexpected assailant.
Pintel stared back at Rub for a single chilling instant, then sneered and held up the loop of coils. "I found that rope you was lookin' for."
The look of speechlessness on that ugly bearded face was just what he'd wanted to see, and the second it appeared, Pintel tossed the rope at his crewmate with a rigid arm. Rub quickly caught it, but had to step back to avoid toppling over from the momentum. The confrontation ended there—Pintel's fiery scowl was more than enough to put the other man further in his place.
With that, the stocky pirate turned and hoisted his amazed charge up by the arm. "Come on," he said gruffly. Then he sent his opponent a final warning glance, and led Ragetti calmly up the stairs.
Alone in the crew's quarters, Rub stared at the departing victor in utter shock.
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Ragetti was in bad shape. The lad barely had enough energy left from his wound to walk to the mast, and when the pair finally did make it there and sat down, he discovered that his collision with the support beam had started the bleeding all over again. Pintel responded to this by tearing another strip of cloth from his shirt, which he dutifully tied around Ragetti's head as a makeshift eye patch. Once that was finished, he studied the boy's grimy face from a slight distance.
"'E do anyfing to yeh?"
Ragetti shook his head.
The pirate grinned slightly. "Too fast for 'im, aye?" His voice lowered then. "…'Ow's the eye?"
The youngster shrugged and looked up nervously at him. "Still got one…" he murmured.
Pintel nodded and lifted an eyebrow in agreement. Then his other itching conflict came back to mind, and he quickly gazed up at the quarterdeck.
To his surprise, Pellinore was still speaking to Yager, completely unaware of Ragetti's sudden arrival on deck. The captain's conversation went on for another minute, then immediately stopped with an understanding nod from his listening crewman. With that, the two turned from each other and resumed their previous activities without a word.
Yager looked at Pintel as he descended the quarterdeck stairs. There was a humble, even apologetic light in his dark eyes, and then just before the bearded fellow turned to face Wood again, he sent his balding companion a quick nod.
Pintel blinked. What had that meant? He had to stop and think before the answer came to him at last, and his eyes widened when he realized what the other man had done to help him.
Suddenly, he could see why Ragetti liked that Yager fellow so much.
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Kind of a busy chapter, but I really wanted to keep these two scenes together.
