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"Aren’t we feeling chatty today?" asked the particularly hairy and fierce-looking hobgoblin stepping through the doorway. Although much shorter in stature than the usual you would find, it did little to dull his intimidating presence. He was adorned with a tattered captain’s uniform and entered the room with a lumbering hobble. He slowly made his way next to the large wooden table that took up most of the centre of the room. He then stopped to regard each of us in turn.
"Do you perhaps feel like falling down a well today, captain?" I asked with a defiant attitude. I stared intently at him while I spoke, displaying the kind of ignorant bravery that only a child could muster.
"Careful there, boy. You don’t want to make Captain Morpo get out his hot poker again, do ya?" he asked while he hobbled slowly to the smouldering remains of last night’s cooking fire. It was still radiating enough heat to warm the room in the evening air.
Mr. Underbrook reacted quickly. He was fully aware of the dangers of an angry pirate—something that seemed to have skipped my mind.
"Sir,” he said, “that will not be necessary. The boy is just tired and hungry."
"Hungry?” Morpo yelled while slamming a large fist down on the table. “How much more porridge does he need? We go through the trouble of housing and feeding you lot for weeks, and this is the way you speak to me? I suppose I shouldn’t have expected better manners from this kind of rat. I’ve had just about enough of him and that mouth of his."
He looked at me up and down. I stared back, but I took Mr. Underbrook's hint and quietened down again. If it hadn't been for him, I would have already ended up in the porridge by then. He then turned his attention to Renna.
"Remember me?” he asked. “Or were you too busy sleeping to notice?"
"I know your voice. It’s grating as ever," said the elf coolly.
Though she knew better, Renna shared my defiant attitude and couldn’t help but tell this pirate what she thought of him. Upon hearing this, I let out a snort of laughter, which caused Morpo to snap his head in my direction. Without another word, he reached for the poker by his side and began to make his way toward my cell. His shambling, ungraceful walk might have been funny if not for the menace behind his intention.
Morpo stabbed into the cell with the poker repeatedly. I backed away into the corner, just barely out of reach of the burning touch of the metal. Though the strikes couldn’t cause any damage, the threat was enough to scare me and singed the edge of my clothes.
"Stop!" shouted Renna.
She slammed her fists against the bars of her window, trying to break Morpo’s attention away from his cruel display.
Morpo paused, hearing Renna’s shout, and turned his head towards her. His poker was still poised for more. When he spoke again, he did so calmly and with the understanding that he was in command here.
"I hope we can all be civil going forward. What do you think, elf? Can we do that?" he asked with a snarl.
"Yes," answered Renna quickly. The word came from Renna’s mouth, despite herself.
"Good," replied Morpo, finally.
He dropped the poker and hobbled back toward Renna’s cell, leaving me to tend to my singed clothes and shaken spirit.
"Then we won’t have a problem," Morpo continued. "I just dropped by to let you know you’ll be shipping out tomorrow. We got a buyer for the whole lot of you. We’ll be taking you across the ocean, all the way to your brand new home in Akadeli. You’ll all be working the mines together."
Renna said nothing, her gaze falling to the floor. The weight of her situation settled deeper with each word.
"You should be saying thank you right now," Morpo said, his smile grotesque in its sincerity. "Morpo got you and your friends all working together. Just like one big happy family," he added without a hint of sarcasm. In his own twisted way, he believed he was doing us a favour.
Renna remained silent. Her mind was racing, but her lips were sealed.
"Nothing to say?” asked Morpo with a huff. “Well, that’s fine too. See ya tomorrow then."
He grinned again, satisfied that his long-awaited payday was nearly there. He turned toward the exit and bellowed to the guards outside. "I want you boys in here all night; do you hear me?!” he screamed. “Keep an eye on them—especially the little one. If this deal falls through, I’ll hold you three personally responsible."
When Morpo stepped out, three intimidating figures took his place. The first was a dwarf with a blue bandana and a stern look across his face. When he spoke, he did so with powerful lungs and a voice that could shatter glass. He seemed to think of himself as the ringleader whenever Morpo wasn’t around.
“LIGHTS OUT! Big day tomorrow!” he squealed.
The stocky dwarf entered the jailhouse and swaggered around in a small circle, trying to intimidate us. He was really a chip off Morpo's block.
The next to enter was an exceptionally tall orc, who towered over his dwarven crewmate. Bearing face tattoos and with a large quarterstaff strapped to his back, he certainly added a lot to the intimidation the dwarf was attempting to muster.
“Lights out! Big day!” he shouted, parroting the dwarf.
I made a move to shout something before the orc stopped dead in front of his cell. His imposing frame towered over me. From my perspective, he looked like a silhouetted statue against the shine of the torches behind him.
“No sudden moves; do you hear me?” he asked in a deep growl.
Finally came a wilderkind. His eyes shone with a brilliant red and orange hue, and his hair seemed to wave continuously with a life of its own. His face was gaunt, and his skin was pale. He was the kind of man who was impossible to read—the kind who never looked happy to be anywhere.
He came in without so much as a word, walked clear through the room, and began to stoke the fire. It was a part of his routine before the three guards settled in for the night. Not getting much success, he stuck out his hand, and a small sphere of flames began to form. After a moment, the sphere launched from his palm and struck the half-burnt wood, reigniting the fire.
After taking care of that, he went around to snuff the torches on the wall, casting the room in darkness as they went out one by one. The only light at that point came from the fireplace and the torches of the pirates outside, who would be celebrating outside long into the night as usual.
In the corner of the room, there was an old bookcase that was falling apart. Once the routine was done, he simply walked over to it, took up a chair, and started shuffling through some of the books on the floor beside him. With a sigh, he picked one of them up, gave it a quick look over, and began to quietly read.
The orc sauntered over and placed a gigantic hand on the wilderkind's shoulder. “Sometimes,” he said, “I wake up in the night and see your eyes just glowing there. It looks like an angry cat just wandered in. Don't you ever sleep?”
The wilderkind did not answer or even turn to regard the orc.
“Nothing to say?” the orc continued. “Did the cat get your tongue while he was in here?”
“Just leave him, De’nan,” said the dwarf in his distinctively shrill voice. “Focus on the captives. Remember—big day tomorrow.”
“Sure, Junk,” replied De’nan. “Big, big day.”
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