The Scourge - Pirates & Privateers

Chapter 4 - The Surgeon

Martin emerged from the hold, the morning sunlight stinging his face. When his eyes adjusted to the glare, he caught sight of Emily standing at the bow of the ship, staring out over the sea as the horizon rolled closer. The wind rustled her hair making the red coils dance around her shoulders. She seemed lost. Something in her face reminded him of statues he'd seen in churchyards; angels doomed to weep forever over those they are bound to.

'Um, miss?' Martin tapped Emily on the shoulder.

She spun around, almost knocking the cup from his hand. 'What?' she snapped.

'I-I brought you something to drink,' he stammered and offered her the tankard in his hand. 'I thought you might need it.'

'Oh,' she mumbled. She took the cup without a word of thanks, for which Martin was grateful.

Almost as soon as the drink touched her lips, Emily's eyes widened with alarm. Martin wasn't quick enough to dodge the fine mist of spit that soaked him through to his skin.

'Jesus Christ,' Emily spluttered, her eyes bloodshot, her body convulsing with rasping coughs. The tankard slipped from her grasp and rolled from side-to-side at Martin's feet. 'What in Hell is that?!'

'Grog.' Martin passed his sleeve over his dripping face. 'It's all we have. Quartermaster isn't done dividing up the wine, yet, and the water ran out weeks ago.' Martin picked at his fingers nervously. 'When the wine has been rationed, you can have my share, if you like? I don't mind.'

'You mean you actually like drinking that disgusting poison?' Emily asked, astonished. She wiped a string of spittle from her mouth in as dignified a manner as possible, in spite of the circumstances.

Martin shrugged.

'You get used to it.'

She tilted her head.

'You're a strange one, Mister Hamish. Has anyone ever told you?'

'You have to be to sail this part of the world,' Martin nervously chuckled. 'The straighter you are, the easier it is for the sea to swallow you whole.'

Emily cleared her throat awkwardly. Martin noticed her scratching the swollen skin of her arm, hissing with discomfort under her breath.

'We should probably let the Doctor look at that for you. Would you care to...?' He gestured towards the gangway to the bowels of the ship. Emily stopped scratching and peered down her nose into the shadow below, broken up only by the dim light of a soot-crusted oil lamp.

'Uh... I...' She hissed again. Her arm reddened where she had gouged grooves in her scaling blisters with her fingernails. 'Oh... Very well, then.'

'After you, miss,' Martin said.

As they descended into the lower deck, air rushed up towards them. Emily drew back and gagged as if the atmosphere itself were enough to poison her.

'What is-?' Emily interrupted herself with her own retches.

'It's a lot of things,' Martin sighed, barely taking notice of the stench burning his nostrils. 'Bilge water, rotten food, woodworm slime, rat's blood, vomit, piss, shit; the lot, really.'

'How...' Emily rasped. 'How can you... stand this? It's appalling.' With a trembling hand, she withdrew a monogrammed handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her nose and mouth.

'You... get used to it,' Martin sighed again. He momentarily forgot where he was, inhaling a hot, putrid cloud of stench that turned his stomach.

They continued their expedition, passing slowly through the gundeck. The sound of rolling chains and crates scraping against hollow boards deafened them as the gunning crews went about securing the loose cargo and ammunition. One of the iron cannonballs rolled across the floor, not very fast, but still struck Emily's foot with an audible thump.