The Scourge - Pirates & Privateers

Chapter 10: Emily's Odyssey

The following night, face still throbbing, Martin prepared to go on watch. As he wandered down the deck of the cannon chamber towards the main hatch, he suddenly found himself swept off his feet by the collar.

A deckhand, thick ribbons of tattoos decorating his head and neck, pinned him to the wall by his throat.

'Fresh bastard. Just because you get your face a little cut up, I have to give up a nice bed and a good whore?'

Martin had stared wildly around for anyone to help, but deep in the bowels of the hold, there were only deckhands, gunners and weevils. At best, some of the crew present would have just turned a blind eye to what was happening, but most of them would have wanted Martin to resist or retaliate. They were always spoiling to see a fight.

'Get off me!' Martin struggled.

'Captain's bloody pet.' The tattooed deckhand tightened his grip on Martin's collar. 'Slightest whimper of discomfort from you and the Captain's has us scurrying off with our tails between our legs. Is that it? The Hell is that fair?'

'I-it isn't?' Martin stammered. 'But I-.'

'You're damned right it's not fair. What is fair is that I am paid what I'm due for that whore; she was none too cheap and neither was the bed. It's your fault I had to leave, so it's you who'll have to pay. Now, cough it up, scar-boy. A pound ought to do.'

Martin cursed. Had he not given his last peso to Boatworm, he might have satiated his attacker's hunger for coin. Now, it was hopeless. 'I don't have that kind of-.' Martin yelled as the sailor pinned his head to the wall by his hair, tugging at the roots. He held his hand under Martin's nose.

'Less talk, more coin.' The deckhand must have known he didn't have that kind of money on him - no sailor did. He was just looking for an excuse to blow off some steam. In fact, he seemed to be eagerly anticipating Martin's refusal.

'Leave him be, Ostrid,' a voice had groaned behind the tattooed hand's shoulder.

He turned to see Schleckt resting against an upturned barrel with Jennes, Jacobi and Young. They had halted their game of cups and dice and stared up at the pair in the shadows. Schleckt took out his knife and started peeling the rind off an apple.

'It's no more his fault than yours. If you've got to take it up with anyone, take it up with the Captain.'

Ostrid grumbled, released his grip on Martin's hair and snarling at Schleckt, just as he had reached the end of his coil of apple.

'You think I'm a bloody moron? Captain's fault or not, no one in their right mind would... He'd shoot me on the spot-.'

'So, because you're too much of a coward to face him, you pick on the boy instead?' Schleckt slid the ribbon of red skin into his mouth with a triumphant glint in his eye. 'Have some self-respect, man.'

'I'm no coward,' Ostrid had spat. 'Insult me again and you'll find that out for yourself. As for you,' he turned to Martin, jabbing a finger in his face. 'You'd better have my money next time I clap eyes on you, or I'll take my knife and carve pieces off you to sell by the pound like butchered bacon.' With that, Ostrid had stormed off into the dark of the hold.

Martin, backed against the wall, looked over to Schleckt. The wave of relief that washed over him was broken by the look in the topman's eye. It was a look Martin had seen before plenty of times.

On the street, most of the people that looked down on him would either avert their eyes, or only spare a momentary glance at the cap at his feet before reaching into their pockets and emptying them of a few coins. Occasionally, there would be one who would look at him directly in the eye, and in their glassy-eyed stare, Martin would feel the weight of their pity, a hot brand pressed against his chest which burned away a piece of his soul with every second that passed.