Scribbles and Drabbles

Black Spot 3

The storm turned everything on the boat into chaos. Everything that wasn't tied down rolled across the deck, and some fell into the raging water. Everything was wet, and water rushed over the floors. 

James did his best to stick out of everyone's way. He was ten and onboard for the crossing to meet his mother's parents. His uncle, escorting him, was busy helping the sailors out and trying to get down money things. Something crashed in front of him, and the boat creaked dangerously loudly. A firm arm wrapped around his waist and hauled him further up the ship, someone trying to get him to higher ground. 

More waves attacked, and the boat tilted alarmingly. The sailor held on as walking became impossible. He slipped slowly, the man desperately clinging to him and the railing, James clung back, but the ship hit the water hard. It shifted the opposite way, and this time, James plummeted.

He groped blindly as the boat tipped again. His fingers curled around someone's leg to stop him from slipping into the violent waves.

The boat stilled, and silence settled.

James found himself looking at a clear sky as storm clouds circled the boat. The leg belonged to a man with coral growing out of his head and a shock of while dreadlocks. The storm reflected in his eyes, twinkling with unnatural magic. He let go and scurried backwards. He didn't get far before a hand yanked him to their side.

The man's name sat on his tongue, but every story his grandpa taught said never to say it. The demigod who collected souls and, for a price, delivered them to the afterlife. That meant they were dead, night?

"What did we catch?" Captain Jones asked, voice like grinding date a nasty weeze.

The sailor, who grabbed him, said a curse and a blessing under his breath. James pressed back into the man as his pain itched. His mum didn't want to send him by sea. His Dad thought it was suspicious nonsense. 

The crew got rounded up. James didn't see his uncle anywhere. The sailor, Benny, kept hold of him. One by one, the men got shoved in front of the Captain. Some paid the toll, others got thrown overboard into an abyss of faces.

James didn't have money; he had a debt to pay.

"Hello, son," the Captain smiled with yellow teeth and hungry eyes. "You were awfully young. Did they teach you to keep some gold on you to pay the toll?"

"My family has no gold, sir. I have, James patted his pockets and pulled out a pound coin. "A pound?" 

A hand caught his wrist. His mistake was easy to spot; he'd let the Captain glimpse his hands. The Captain flipped his hand and hummed as he studied his palm. The Captain's thumb rubbed at the centre of his palm, and James winced as it sparked hot.  His skin burned black instead of white under the pressure.

"You had a familiar taste to your soul," the Caplan nodded. He turned to one of his men, neck clicking unnaturally as he did. "You know what to do?"

"Aye, sir"

"James!"Benny yelled as the Captain picked him off the deck. There wasn't much time to struggle as the world spun and shifted around them. Benny's voice followed him like an echo, but they weren't on the deck anymore.

"Sir?" James asked as the Captain set him down on a wooden bench.

"Your soul belongs to me."

"But I thought people who had black spots owed you," James tried to copy the action from earlier to see the black. "I don't carry the spot."

"You know the stories," the captain said, sitting on a chair, a pleased hum in his voice. "Good, it's easier when they know the stories. You don't have the spot, but I wager your dad does."

James opened his mouth before hesitating. "I heard he does from Grandpa."

"Your Dad not around? No shame in that. Many a sailor leaves sons in ports while they serve the sea. The spot works as a beacon to declare who holds the debt. He still owes it, but you would have gained it when you came of age."

"Oh," James shivered." So you're taking it early?" 

"In a manner of speaking. You died, son. Your soul can't pass over with a debt attached to it, and with your Dad on land, he can't trade the role."

James nodded, not sure what else he could do.

"Your soul is in my hands now. Don't worry, as long as you behave, I'll keep the others off you," the Captain smiled again, voice low and threatening. His hand ruffled James's hair. "Shouldn't be too hard. You are very young."

"If I'm dead, does that mean I won't age any more?"

"You'll age, I'll see to it. Fate will let me sort that out," the Captain said. "You need to age normally to be of use."

"I want to go home," sniffed James. 

"I know. I'm sorry, son," Jones bounced him. "Stiff upper lip, now. Crying will get you nowhere, here."