Chapter 3~ At Your Service
There was luck for me buried in the crevices of the nightmare. The dimmed rays of sunlight had warmed my skin, rushing me to wake up and hide the rags for the Cabin Boy's sake. I did wake and snuck it in my trousers, thinking otherwise of risking the blood seeping into the white of my blouse. Not many moments later, the door burst open and in stormed just who you’d expect.
"Why, Tew," I gasped, propping myself up by the palms of my hands, "I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow morning." He brushed off my attempt at an insult and barked, "Shut up, ignorant girl. You don't seem to understand the situation you're in. Right now, bastard girl, you are alone in the world. No one is searching for you. You are trapped here, and you will die here. This I will make sure of—"
"And you, Captain Tew," I yelled, raising my dominance over him, "do not seem to comprehend the situation either. I know I will die here, and this I do not fear. Luckily for me, I will have the pleasure of watching you struggle to squeeze the information out of me. Each dying second of mine will be filled with your suffering—not mine—and I don't regret it a bit."
Unfazed, Tew glared back at me for what seemed like an eternity; then, he reached behind him and possessed a long knife with a curve in its blade. I stared at it, wondering how it possibly could've been crafted. Yet, there was not much time to ponder over it. Tew had grabbed my wrist and brought the blade down onto the skin. It sliced open like a blade to fruit. Blood splattered the floor and my shirt. A scream passed my lips, and I was very sure he cut a vein. "That was for your whorish tongue. Let's see how far we've come." His eyes pierced mine dramatically.
"Now I'd like for you to tell me one simple thing. How many men are on your father's vessel?" Seething in pure pain, I attempted to ignore the burning and immediate aching in the wound. My teeth were gritted so tightly I was afraid they might break.
“Forty…Forty…Forty men.” His greasy lips pulled into a wide grin, presenting yellowed and browned teeth. They were crooked and chipped, much like ancient-looking gravestones in cemeteries. Instinctively, I gagged and pushed myself to the back of the wall.
"How much cargo is in your father's ship?" Tew inquired. My choked laughter filled the air. "How subtle you are." Tew shrugged, pretending not to care if I cooperated or not. The knife came down like a hatchet.
My mother was a very beautiful woman, delicate from fingernail to ankle. She had pale skin with ice for eyes. Her eyelashes were black coal, and her touch was a kiss itself. What I remembered most about her was the sweet melody of her voice—the crescendo when father argued with her and the legatos of her love for me. I remembered her once telling me that her father was a pirate and kept most of his brothers as crewmen. She knew every shanty they'd sing. Sometimes, she'd sing them to help me sleep. She knew a fine deal about piracy until it caught up with her and one of her father's enemies fired a bullet straight through her skull. I could still picture her black curls flying in the wind like a ship's flag, like my father's flag.
The energy I once possessed was leaked into the wood of the hull. The constant sway was not pleasant nor did it distract me from the prickling death pleading to give me a final grasp. My arms were wet with blood and somewhat mangled. They laid limp at my sides, but the pain was not much of a severe conflict as was my thoughts. Lines of misery now were artwork on my forearms. They would never look clean and pure again. I was not crying that time but breathing in short, unpredictable gasps. It ended around three hours ago and went on for about three hours as well. The darkness was leaking in like water from an old bucket. The colors of the night danced a light show all its own. Nothing was more beautiful. Reaching out, I twirled my fingers around the dark like it was silk. How mad I might’ve looked.
A faint outline of a smile appeared on the blank expression on my own face; this was not fear but so much courage. The door opened without my conciseness of it. In came the Cabin Boy, struggling with a tray of food and a bucket of water. My fading wanderlust diminished quickly at his sudden presence. The same clothes from yesterday were on his back. When the boy's eyes met mine, I sighed in exhaustion. He put down the food and water and crouched next to me like he had yesterday. Lifting my wrist to his sights, he made a tsk, tsk, tsk noise.
"Banged you up pretty good, didn't he?"
I gagged a laugh and looked at the cuts darkly.
"Pretty good? I'd say as accurate as a French archer."
He didn't look up for my benefit. "Do you have the rag, Every?"
My eyes peered at my own hand, now curling in weakly. The bloody cloth was intertwined in my fingers, so he peeled it out. Then he soaked it in the water, rung it out, and dabbed my gashes. There was so much I longed to say at the moment. The boy's brown orbs, unmoving, were clouded with focus and masked anger.
"What's your name?" I asked, taken aback by the confidence of my voice.
He pretended not to hear, so I repeated it enough for him to surely hear me. His eyes lifted up to mine, and his hand halted in midair.
"I'm not supposed to talk to you."
"You're not supposed to help me either."
He rolled his eyes, scoffing as well. The rag proceeded to dab the blood away. "I'm not helping you. Honestly, I couldn't care less if you dropped dead now. Unfortunately, I would have to clean up your blood and handle your corpse—not my idea of a pleasant evenin’, lass."
My eyes narrowed at him. Imaginary daggers jabbed his skin all over inside my consciousness, but, sadly, even I couldn't pull that off at the existing moment.
"I'm not a child, you know," I prosecuted, "I have a name."
A smirk played dice on his lips, and his eyes softened. "And what's that?"
Suddenly unnerved by my invitation to even know my name, I closed my mouth silently. He knelt on a knee next to me, my embarrassment now entertaining the Cabin Boy.
"C'mon then. Out wit it."
Is this safe? I don't even know if this is a trap or not? But what's the harm in telling him my name anyway? Just do it, you coward.
Sucking in a small breath, I replied, "Constantine…Every." His smirk faded into a sweet smile. Lightly without meaning to cause harm, he touched the cloth to my skin and wet it again.
"That's an odd-sort-a name. Don't hear that much 'round Havana or Kingston. Named after your Mum? Mum's mum?"
Sitting up straighter, I shook my head. "My mother. She was slaughtered when I was small."
The Cabin Boy let his smile fall but did not look at me pitifully like I hated so much of people.
"My apologies, lass. I understand what it's like to lose your family."
It was my turn to roll my eyes—rubbish. "That's rich," I snapped, "you're a pirate. Lives are inferior to every one of you."
Instead of looking offended, the Cabin Boy smiled. "I wouldn't entirely consider myself a pirate just yet. At least the other men don't think of me as such. But you'd be surprised how much people like me have lost. Before this, I lived with my father in Kingston. He used to be a privateer but retired to take up his real passion—patchin’ others up. He was the best doctor ‘round."
His head ducked down, and he was no longer washing out the wound.
"I remember the man whom my father had once tracked to the ends of the earth. My mum and father and I were by the docks one day admirin’ the birds. The wretched man had sailed his ship halfway to the other side of the island and found us. He raised his gun and shot my father three times in the chest then took my mum to let his sailors have their way with her. She was killed onboard. I was the only one left, and he threatened to kill me if I said a word about my father's death. I refused, spittin’ in his face and trying to escape. Before I knew it, I was being tackled to the dirt and dragged onboard his vessel. The man held me hostage for a few nights before offerin’ a position on the ship. I refused yet again, knowin’ my father wouldn't want that. Soon, it came to a matter of life and death. I couldn't decline any longer and agreed to work for life."
The Cabin Boy dunked the rags in the water and began to wash them both out. I watched him intently, a pang of hollowing guilt shadowing my heart.
"I'm so sorry. Your father sounded like a good man. As did your mother." The gloom left his eyes and was replaced with a satisfied smile.
"But what am I doing relatin’ my tale of woe to you? Like you said, lass, I'm a pirate."
"That was wrong of me. I haven't had any experience with any…kinder pirates. Well, maybe except my father."
He wrung out the rags and carefully wrapped them around the wounds, tying a knot at the end of them.
"Now, when Tew returns, hide these like before. I'd prefer not to share my father's fate." I nodded knowingly. He stood to leave.
"Wait," I called, "I told you my name. It seems only fair I learn yours."
He smirked. "Of course.”
The boy did an amusing bow that brought a real smile to my face.
"Edmund Hemingway, at your service." Then, he met my eyes and returned my smile. Edmund picked up the bucket and left the room. It suddenly felt much colder.
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