Pirate Souls

I - Chapter 3 - Perdition

Time passes. Nothing happens. He does not come. Fear is slowly starting to invade my veins. Hunger is twisting my gut and anxiety gnaws at my stomach. I hesitate to call out for someone. The door is locked, I have checked, but the establishment must be occupied by clients. Am I permitted to ask for food?

The darkness of night is falling. I can hear noise on the ground floor. Most likely brothel patrons.

The door to the room is flung open. Steven and Cook are watching me from the dark corridor. I want to tell them I am famished, that their treatment of me is intolerable. The tightness of their shoulders discourages me from giving them a speech on how to care for women.

The Cook hands me a sort of bonnet. His massive, hairy forearm is covered in scars and nauseates me. I understand that I am supposed to put the accessory on my head.

"Hide your hair inside it," Steven says impatiently. "And pull it down well over your forehead."

I obey. He then hands me a pint.

"Drink it!"

I do not understand what he wants of me so I wet my lips with the yellowy liquid. Beer mixed with a stronger spirit.

"You don't get it!" he rants. "Drink it all!"

"The whole tankard?"

"Down to the last drop. And hurry up about it!"

I look at him, dumbfounded, and cast a curious glance at Cook. He is as closed as an oyster.

Steven's cheeks and forehead are becoming redder and redder. I do what he orders. And I drink.

I know that he wants me to drink quickly, but I have to stop once or twice. An empty stomach and alcohol are not good companions. I am afraid I might bring everything up and draw his anger.

Everything that happens after this is likened to a nightmare in which you know that you are going towards an atrocious end. I nevertheless continue to advance towards my distressing fate. Steven and Cook have hold of each of my arms. Once in the main room, we head for the door.

"Put your head down!"

The alley is teeming with soldiers in red tunics. I have never been so pleased to see Englishmen in my life. They are looking for me! I am sure of it.

All of a sudden, I feel Steven's hand grab my neck. He forces me to adopt a staggering gait. We walk a few yards. I have lost all hope of trusting my sense of direction. The alcohol is taking its toll and my head bent forwards towards the ground is making me feel all the... Oh no, I am going to vomit. I know it for certain now.

"Lordy! Is everything all right, sirs?"

This is my chance. I think there is a soldier blocking the way. I want to raise my eyes, but Steven keeps holding my head down.

"Yes, Smith had too much to drink, as is his wont," Steven answers in a singsong voice.

He is good. He almost gives the impression that he is in a really festive mood.

Fear and despair get the better of me. Nausea too. A stream of vomit leaves my stomach.

"What did I tell you? Old Donovan's wenches know how to get their patrons drunk," he added with a loud guffaw.

The soldier laughs in turn. I am lost. The men exchange a few words more and then we continue on our way.

My body is pulled in all directions. My only markers are the town's cobblestones. I can smell sea spray.