Chapter 37-The Pirate's Lair

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Point of view third person
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The brig was a disgusting place, rats fought within the corners, the foul smell of human waste and body odor filled the air. Lucas was grateful for the small bit of plank, held up by rusted chains bolted into the wall. Serving as a hard bed of sorts, one covered in a layer of salt and long dead mold.

For five long days he's been here, keeping track of the days by counting how many times they have thrown a moldy bread loaf into his prison. Stuck in a cell only big enough to pace back and forth in three long strides. Of course when it's not submerged in nearly a foot of water. Allowing the rats to swim round and a round, flashing their sharp little teeth and sending the other two prisoners scurrying up the cell bars.

"They won't come after you if ya don't give them a reason to," Lucas mutters, watching with heavy lidded eyes as the old weather worn seamen hold onto the bars for dear life.

"Oh, be quite ya demon," one of the humans says, hissing through the gaps of missing yellow teeth.
"Don't need you charming 'em with your singing."

Lucas rolls his eyes, tapping a finger against his knee while his bare feet dangle just above the putrid brine.

"As I've told all the bastards on this ship, including you Kricus," Lucas replies, meeting the old man's disgusted stare with his own far more threatening grin. "Only when a Mer has grown a barb on their tail, will their voice be able to send a man to his watery grave."

"Ah, I keep forgetting that," Kricus utters with a nasty chuckle. "No wonder the blokes didn't go stiff when ya tried to jump ship, after they caught your sorry skinny arse."

Lucas goes stiff and growls, low and threatening that has the men shaking in their boots until the brig door opens with a heavy bang.

"Alright ya sorry shits!" the sweating bull of man snarls, stepping down the planks with heavy leather boots. "Enough yammering, the cap'in wants a little talk with the water rat."

Lucas narrows his eyes as the big man tromps over and yanks open the cell. The Mer hunter's large sunburned hand, grabs hold of the lad's lean arm, dragging him through the foul sewage and up the warped steps.

"Not so cocky without that cannon o'yours?" the man drawls, mocking the young lad as he steers him across the deck bathed in the silver rays of the moon over head.

"We both know I don't need a cannon to finish you landlubbers off," Lucas seethes, forcing himself to ignore the beating bruises on his legs, and the blooming one under the man's meaty fingers.

The big man laughs, stopping in front of the captain's quarters before slamming the young lad and pinning him by the neck against the wall.
"Aye I do," the man smiles, showing of a golden incisor and the scar that stretches from the left corner of his mouth up to his bald head. "But best to keep that bit a talk to yourself. Wouldn't want for you to join that pretty lass I got with the end of my sword now."

Swallowing thickly, Lucas hurriedly nods his head. Satisfied with his silent answer, the Mer hunter lets the lad down onto the deck. Then without another word, he pulls open the door and walks on in. Dragging the young Mer into the lantern lit room, holding fine bookshelves, an expensive rug and curtains. A sturdy black desk heaped with maps, books, and charting tools, while a tall man gazes at a vast detailed map nailed to the black painted wall.

Lucas tenses, silently taking in the knee length leather coat, black breeches, boots, and the matted locks hanging from the top of the man's head. He knows this man all to well, the one who pulled a pistol on him and dragged him from his home. Leaving his sister on the jungle floor, unconscious, bleeding, and possibly even dead.

"Ah, we meet again son of Elias," the man drawls, turning around to greet his unwilling guest. "I hope you can answer some questions, now that you are hopefully more reasonable than when we first meet."

Captain Drake gives the young lad a cold smile, while rubbing a hand against his bearded chin. The stump of his middle finger shining under the lanterns, a ragged bit of useless flesh and bone.
With a leasurly gait, the sea weathered hunter walks up to the young Mer as his crewman let's go of the lad's arm.

"Tell me, who was that girl on the island?" Drake questions, pulling out his pistol and pressing the muzzle against Lucas's vest covered chest.
"Don't play games with me now, the wench had the same hair as you so you better be honest. Or I will not hesitate to let the holy men at the church have your sorry arse placed in glass box."

Captain Drake expected fear to flash in the lad's eyes, but all he saw was kindled silent rage. Unknown to this human, Lucas already faced his share of fears. Like Corintha, the lad had met a similar fate of sharp teeth and scars. Except, his was by a mother leopard protecting her cubs, and not starving eels at the bottom of a waste pit. Fear was always present to him, but it did not cover him in a shroud of panic nor fright.  This human was like any other snake, calculating, patient, and one to keep sated till it was time to strike.

"The one your first mate got with his sword?" Lucas drawls, letting an evil grin appear on his face. "That girl was someone you should never have messed with. She will hunt you down and set your ship on fire. I wouldn't doubt for my sister to already have that planned for your damn bloody souls."

Drake Norzem's turns a shade of ghostly white, not in fear but in anger. With a heavy hand, he knocks the lad out cold with the butt of his pistol. Lucas falls to the ground in a heap, gangly limbs and all.  "Throw this sea sludge back below," Drake grumbles, stomping over to his desk and settling into the chair. "I have a message to write."

Without a word, the big man nods and throws the young Mer over shoulder like a flour sack. Once the door closes, Drake throws the contents on his desk to the floor. His rage hammering into the candlesticks, curtains, books, and shelves. All while a pair of keen eyes watches from the smoke stained porthole, right above the captain's desk.

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