The Kiss of the Dead (Revised)

Chapter 3

Inside the cramped officer's quarters of Vane's frigate, our captain shivered uncontrollably. Supported by two of the boys, he stood, shirtless. A large spear of shrapnel, now sawn down close to his body, sealed the unnatural cavity it had created. Still it bled. Still it oozed faded yellow gunk around the edges. The cabin stank and the rug beneath our feet became a splattered canvas of bodily fluids.

The captain wobbled a moment, delirious from the pain. Raising his arm, he pointed at Vane and whispered 'Mother. I'm... I'm sorry, mother.' One of the boys propped up his head, wiping away the crusty blood-and-vomit that congealed on his lip. 'I should have listened.' The cabin of gawping pirates erupted in laughter.

Despite his useless state, none of the pirate crew had tried to kill him. Not without permission. He wore an exquisite and rare blade on his hip, with a small pistol barrel fixed to each side. Their weight had thrown the fuller-less blade off balance though. Its downfall, its beauty. It was hardly a common carry. Any man with such a unique blade had to be two things. Wealthy, and stupid. It didn't matter whether he was the Captain or a passenger. Either would have money, and that's all Vane wanted.

'He's no good to me in this state' Vane muttered to his neighbour. 'Send him to the surgeon. I want to know who he is and who'll pay for his safety.' His low voice intimidating, even without its usual volume.

The man was like every story painted him to be - and so much worse. The sea was just like anywhere else; there were unwritten rules that everyone obeyed. Perfidy was illegal, but Vane's ship masqueraded as Spanish without care nor concern for the consequences. Pirate, through and through. No honour; no respect. As for the constant promises that his heart was black, I doubted he had one of any shade.

Vane stood up to address our remaining crew. We stood as proud as we could, all things considered. The poor boy's ear hung slightly away from his head. And, amongst the three adult men, there were three battered jaws and more bloodied eyes. All scathing, still we kept silent. This cruelest of men had broken every law of the sea. But I shouldn't have expected any different.

The articles of war were an unwritten code of conduct that all sailors followed. Always. Even pirates. They were the same under any of the sea's crowns. Most important of all, prisoners are to be treated justly. This scum though, treated us with no more grace than a used napkin. Fit for purpose until purpose ends.

I could have killed the man where he stood. I was sure I could have. And yet I didn't. Once his deadened eyes landed on me, I couldn't move.

'I don't care if you like me or not. I'm not here to win your approval. I'm here for shine, and shine alone. If you wish to earn from my company, sign the ship's roster.' His eyes strolled along the line without urgency, the floorboards creaking as he did so. 'You'll pledge yourselves to me.' But they didn't need to rush. The longer he stared at each one of us, the more our bodies froze and hearts raced.

'Be aware though, for this is not a shipping contract. You will not walk free upon the next sandy shore... This is will be your life. You will be giving it to me. Until I see fit to discharge you, or until I have the need to throw you to the waters whence you came.' He walked over to a window in the cabin, and continued his lecture, facing the horizon. 'You will be richer with me, than without. You will live past today. Your choice is simple, so make it.'

With that, Vane seated himself in a chair by the window, seeming oblivious to the tension, and the people in the room.

A brightly dressed, black man with irregular white blotches on his face stood forward. With a gentle voice, and a gentleman's manner, he introduced himself as John Rackham, the quartermaster. He seemed a different sort, with his shaven cheeks and kindly eyes. Gentle and sophisticated, yet not out-of-place aboard the pirate frigate. He carried with him a battered, leather-bound journal, and an offcut of velum.

'In this book, you will make your mark, and on this scroll you will sign. From then on, you're in the books. I'll keep a tally of your entitlement, from food rations, to those meaningless shiny metals that so many kill and die for.'

He presented the book to the captive on my left. Who laughed and spat in the face of the gentle-pirate.

Wiping the spit from his eye, he continued 'Once you sign the velum, you are committed to our articles.' John waved an open palm at the man in front of him. Without a word uttered, another of our captors dragged a curved blade neatly across the insubordinate's throat.

'Once you are committed to us, you are one of us. Our equal, our brother.'

The man's throat began to ooze. Rackham looked down at the other costly rug beneath his feet, tutting and shaking his head in disappointment. 'There goes another.'

An awkward moment passed amongst us all while we listened to the dying sailor's gurgles, drowning in his own blood. The journal was thrust into my face. 'Welcome to the Ranger...' prompted Rackham.

'Sepp,' I mumbled timidly.

Rackham offered me the peacock-feather quill, which I took reluctantly.

My eyes dropped to my feet. I drew a cross where prompted, and handed him back the ornate pen. I watched silently as he wrote my name next to my admission of illiteracy.