The Kiss of the Dead (Revised)

Chapter 4

Before the first watch of my pirate career, I meandered to the bowsprit. I didn't wish to be lashed for getting in the way. So rather than hamper the pirates on shift, I danced around them. The slightest bump as I passed could have a drastic impact - chiefly, the cat - the cruelest whip to grace a man's flesh.

The forward-most beam of the ship was the safest place to smoke, so there were always men idling around it.

Pirates.

I was a pirate, now.

They were no longer some amoral villainous cult. As Rackham said, they were my equals. My brothers. They were my crew. My family. No matter how much I wished they weren't.

The ship's population was sparse, contrary to the crushes of the big-ships. Vane's Ranger was a large ship, and yet there was such a small crew for its size. I knew that there had been more, but two-hundred fresh men would still leave the corridors echoing. The naval versions I'd once worked aboard had carried so many men that three shared each bunk.

Sailors of fortune were oft-painted many ways by the crown. None good. But even though Vane relished such descriptions, many of the crew that I passed, didn't fit so cleanly into the portrait of piracy. There were men who could read. Men-at-work who sang, and one of the smoking crew sat writing in the margins of a book.

'All I've seen for forty nights.' Cried one of the masters, breaking the quiet on deck.

'Ebb and flow. Ebb and Follow,' a tuneful shout from the crew.

The writing man's quill sped along the margin in a show of skill and speed. I admired the delicate strokes his hand made, mimicking them with mine.

'Waves' reflection of our lights.'

'Ebb and flow. Ebb and flow.'

The man seemed content scribing the marks that I couldn't distinguish. I'd never heard the shanty before, but singing had been forbidden on almost all of my previous contracts. It felt so different to the navy, and even to the merchant ship I'd been filched from. But, for the latter, I was grateful.

I sat on the rail near the bowsprit, wrapping my legs into a tight hold around two of its short, varnished balustrades. Smiling gingerly at the sailor who passed me a lamp from the beam, I winced at the one sided gesture.

My arrival, met with barely-hidden contempt. These men were brutes in stature, towering over me as I sat. But it was not their height that was so intimidating. The thing that gripped me most clearly was their width. The size of each man was at least twice my own starved physique. Through their badly patched shirts were solid, bulky torsos. They weren't covered in those perfect, finely-toned muscles that the strong-men of the circuses had. These were real muscles. Made of stone and crafted into great ungodly mounds.

'How small I am in this wide world.'

'Ebb and flow. Ebb and follow.'

Such a big ship, carrying such a small complement of men, rations went further. Food had clearly never been a problem aboard, and nowhere was it more apparent than the bulky bodies that surrounded me. It seemed the crown had their own descriptions of pirates. Descriptions that served themselves, surely. The royal reports described them as "giants of men", however, and this was true. They were enormous. They were huge and muscly to a ridiculous degree. But compared to what? The starving-poor seafolk of the Caribbean? It was like comparing a tiger to a house cat.

Feeding the crew well made good sense. It benefitted Vane not least with their loyalty. How could a half-starved and exhausted navyman compare in strength to that of a well-fed pirate?

'How a mind can come unfurled.'

'Ebb and flow. Ebb, and, flow.'

Lighting my pipe from the wick of a lamp, I tried hard to hide the nerves that plagued me.

I was an outsider. An outcast. I would never make officer on this ship, that much was obvious. But with the size of these men, I might never earn any place on the pecking order. I considered deserting.

The shanty ended, and the men continued their tasks in silence. For the moment.

'You're one of the new ones, ain't you?' Asked the giant opposite me, cutting sharply through my thoughts of cowardice.

His gruff sea-accent was one that would only begin to develop after a decade on the waves. It would have been difficult for many to understand, but it was something that I shared. Something that bonded us. That marked our long servitude under the sails. Words rolled into each other, accents from many towns across countless countries, colliding between his lips. But his aged voice and leathery, well-weathered skin betrayed a pair of young, sharp eyes.

'I am, yes' I replied quietly. I cursed myself for not at least faking confidence. The man's eyes met mine briefly. He held my stare. The moment continued, that bit too long. Mine dropped to the deck.

The giant laughed along with his friends, turning back to the horizon.

'Definitely not worth his share,' he mocked, turning away from me.

There was a clear and uneasy chasm between the crew and I, yet the approaching Rackham seemed not to see it. He asked me my name.

'Out of his way, boy.' sounded the coarse voice of the giant that mocked me.

'Less of the boy, lads, he's a sailor like you or I.' Rackham smiled, defending me.

'A sailor? With arms like that? Vane wouldn't hear of it surely? That scruff's little more than a boy,' insulted the giant, as if I were not present.

'Aaaah, so he is more than a boy then? Even by your own logic you've fessed as much,' jeered Rackham.

'You know what I'm saying, John, he's a whelp like any other turncoat. I don't give him more than a month.' I felt a rising anger at the conversation, but armed men were deterrent enough to calm me for the moment. The angered sailor kicked his feet up onto the rail. Whereas mine were wrapped tightly, his were relaxed. Unconcerned. His trust in his balance was absolute.

'He survived didn't he? So he must be better than a whelp, surely. But as for being a turncoat, we're pretty-much all turncoats... I started on a merchantman from Cuba, until the captain's throat happened to slice itself apart.' Rackham smirked, winking at me.

It felt good to laugh. But not for long. The giant jumped to his feet. I tugged at the old sword on my hip, but he quickly hammered his weight into me. His massive fist clenched tight around my neck, cutting off my breath with ruthless efficiency. Lungs spasmed. Panic rose.

I couldn't breathe as he leant me over the rail. My face burned, filling with blood that could not escape. Losing their grip, my legs gave way and left me completely at the giant's mercy. His tight grip on my throat, the only thing that kept me out of the sea.

'Rusty blade? Whelp?'

I widened my eyes, frantically begging to be released in every way but speech. The cartilage inside my throat ground unnaturally against itself, cracking loudly. Desperately trying to draw in an essential breath, my stomach began to ache from the tension.

In their darkening periphery, my eyes screamed to Rackham. He rolled his in displeasure, slowly drawing a fine sabre. The fast-moving blade nicked the back of the giant's neck, before coming to rest beside his jugular. No longer the jester, Rackham was nothing but the controlled killer that made him pirate.

'You know the articles.' Rackham's words lost every hint of his naturally light-hearted humour. He spoke coldly - almost calmly. 'No man to lay a malicious hand on another 'cept in punishment. All disputes to be settled on land, by ball or by blade... I'll be damned if any man disobeys the ship's code in front of me.'