by Fran Friel
"You'll do, but if ye ken what's good fer ye, you'll be keepin’ yer mouth shut and do what yer told. No questions asked. It's nothin’ to toss a troublin’ bairn overboard. Ye hear me?"
Will nodded, feeling sick to his stomach. He shoved his hand in his pocket, searching for the letter. It calmed him to know it was there, but he wasn't sure how he'd keep his promise now.
* * * *
After a fitful night of sleep, Will awoke to the voice of Missus Cavender.
"Come on, lad,” she said, a gentle tone in her voice. “I'll get ye yer breakfast. The men will be risin’ soon."
She set a bundle on the side table and lit the candle.
"I've packed ye some food, washed yer clothes, and cleaned that awful wool coat as best I could."
Will climbed from his bed, his bare feet on the cold floor, and wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Thank you, Missus,” he said, holding back his tears.
He would miss her and the inn. The work was hard, but he felt safe in this place. He did not feel safe knowing where he was going, being pulled away again from everything he knew.
Still, a part of his fear was soothed by a secret excitement. His mother had warned him to stay away from the docks for fear pirates would steal him, but from time to time Will and his friends would sneak to the waterfront and hide to watch the men loading and unloading the goods. They were boisterous and often violent, so unlike his father had been, but their life at sea seemed an adventure to him and the other village boys. They played pirate in the creek behind the school house, waging battles, hunting treasure, and singing shantys they heard at the docks—songs their mothers would never approve.
So Will's fear was mixed with the call of adventure. But when the men took him away, the look on Missus Cavender's face made him wonder if there was something more to worry about than he was aware of.
* * * *
The ship's cook was assigned the duty of looking after Will, and he put him to work immediately. For hours, alongside the ship's crew, he loaded sacks of food and supplies aboard the ship. Some of the sacks and crates were nearly his own weight, but the sailors cursed him and pushed him out of their way, so he worked hard to look strong, dragging what he couldn't carry.
Once the supplies were aboard, the cook handed him a mop and a pail full of water. Will's arms were so tired from loading the ship he could hardly lift the pail.
"Get to swabbin’ the galley floor, lad. They'll be screamin’ for their grub soon.” The cook grinned at Will's sagging shoulders. “Go on, before the cap'n has ye flogged."
Will dragged himself through the task of washing the filthy floor. As he shoved the mop under a table, a huge orange tabby cat darted out with a shriek.
"Oh, sorry boy,” he said to the indignant cat. He knelt down and put out his hand. The cat flicked his tail and circled Will, finally rubbing his broad face across Will's fingers.
"Well, if that ain't somethin',” said the cook from the doorway. “That cat don't bother with nobody. He's a mean bastard."
"What's his name?"
"That's Mog. The only reason we keep the blaggard ‘round is his mousin’ skills.” Heading back to his preparations, he made his voice gruff. “Enough of this bilge—when yer done with that floor, get in here. Supper ain't fixin’ itself."
Will dragged the pail to the deck to empty it over the side. He had been below when they set sail, so he stood at the ship's rail, enjoying his first taste of the open sea while the wind cooled the sweat beneath his heavy coat. Since he had boarded the ship, the weather had improved and the sun had warmed the chill from the air. The smell of the sea and the power of the sails moving the vessel across the waves felt like magic to Will, but his pleasure was short lived.
"Boy, what ye be doin’ on the deck?” shouted Rutt. “You've work waitin’ down below. And speakin’ a down below, I'll be seein’ ye in me cabin after supper.” He laughed a lusty laugh and the crewman on deck roared along with him.
"I'll be waitin’ me turn,” shouted the man at the helm. His claim was echoed by many.
Will wasn't sure what they meant, but he felt exposed and very small as the men leered and taunted him. With aching muscles, he lifted the pail and dumped the dirty water overboard. As he turned to go, a large gull lighted on the ship's rail beside him. He reached out instinctively and stroked its back. The bawdy laugher and joking from the men stopped.
In silence they watched the boy stroke the gull, while another soon alighted beside him. He spoke to the birds in soft tones, hardly noticing the silence that had come over the men.
Knowing the superstitious nature of a ship's crew, Rutt intervened.
"Oy, what did I tell ye? Get below, boy. And ye poxied gits, back to work!"
The men mumbled to one another, glancing at the boy. It took another shout from the mate before they returned to their duties.
* * * *
The cook was ready to give Will a lashing for his absence, but when the boy looked shaken, he inquired. Will told him what the men said to him and what happened after the gulls visited him. The cook raised his eyebrows. He said no more on the subject, but appeared to be deep in thought. Absentmindedly, he handed Will a knife and pointed to a pile of potatoes waiting to be peeled.
* * * *
Many days passed with the cook keeping Will busy below in the galley and finding excuses to keep Rutt's demands at bay, but the ship's mate was becoming impatient. Whenever Will asked the cook what Mister Rutt wanted with him, the man always found a way to change the subject. Still, it was clear he was worried for Will.
That evening, after the cook served the captain and the rest of the crew ate, the bell rang on deck for all hands. The men grumbled and climbed the stairs to the main deck. The captain stood on the quarterdeck waiting for the men to settle, and Will, nearly asleep on his feet, followed the cook to a place behind the sailors.
"Men, there was rumor in Eastville of traders en route, so there's swag to be had on the morrow or the next. Keep your eyes sharp and your weapons at the ready.
"It has also come to my attention that we've a good omen in our midst. Since he came aboard, the storms have ended, the wind has been brisk, and no illness has followed us to sea. It is my ruling that Will Pennycock is to be protected at all costs until such time as I say otherwise. Look after him in our dealings with the traders."
There was an unusual hush amongst the crew. Normally, at the mention of conquering a trader vessel and the promise of booty, there would have been hoots and cheers. But talk of an omen, and this omen in particular, made them nervous. The first mate was quick to speak, and he struggled to cover his anger at the captain's edict.
"But cap'n, I won the lad fairly. Keepin’ me bed warm at night won't bring ‘im harm. It'll make ‘im a man."
The crowd of sailors snickered.
"You're an arse, Mister Rutt. I'll not have my ship's safety endangered by a horny Scottish dog,” said the Captain. “Mister Spiers,” he said to the cook, “the boy will remain your responsibility. Keep him safe from these blaggards."
A wave of grumbling flowed through the ranks, but the captain paid it no mind. He headed to his quarters without further discussion. The sailors filed back to their stations and to their cold suppers, but Mister Rutt waited for the cook and his charge to pass.
Standing at his full six feet, he glared down at the stocky cook. “This is yer doin', Spiers, and I'll no have ye tinkerin’ with me affairs. The laddie's mine and I've a right to ‘im. I'll be seein’ to it. Aye, I promise ye that."
The cook glared back at Rutt and nudged Will ahead toward the door leading down to the galley.
"I'll have ye, Lad. O’ that ye can be sure,” shouted Mister Rutt.
* * * *
Will could hardly keep his eyes open. Holding him by the shoulders, the cook gently guided him to his pallet and sat him down. With a sigh, Will fell into the thick pile of empty food sacks.
Yawning wide, he looked up at the cook. “
What's Mister Rutt mean when he says he'll have me?"
The cook shrugged his shoulders, “Ain't nothin’ for ye to worry about, boy.” The cook cocked his head, looking at the hem of Will's coat. “What's this?” He tugged at a silver chain hanging from a frayed corner of the garment, and a disk of smooth green stone engraved with a crest slipped out from inside the hem. Will's eyes widened and a smiled lightened his weary features.
"My mother's amulet,” he said, reaching for the stone. “She always wore it around her neck. It belonged to her mother, and my grandmother, too."
"That's a fine piece, lad. You'll do well to keep it hidden from the thievin’ lot on this ship. I'd a mind to have it meself, but since it was your ma's..."
Before he could finish, Will was fast asleep with the amulet clutched to his chest. The old salt tugged the coat tight around the boy, covering his treasure from the prying eyes of the crew. Not only was it a valuable piece, but from the family crest embossed on the stone, this boy was descended from money and would surely bring a fine ransom.
* * * *
Will awoke to the sound of a loud explosion and a jolting of the ship. He was still holding his mother's amulet. He kissed it, like he saw her do so many times, and put the chain over his head, tucking it deep beneath his clothing. He ran up the steps to the deck and into the middle of a battle. The pirates’ hooks and lines were fastened to a small trader's ship, and with cutlasses, pistols, and pikes they boarded the vessel. Will stood dead still in the doorway, having never witnessed such violence. The crew of the trader fought wildly, but the pirates were merciless, cutting them down with practiced ease. Will gasped as he saw a sailor's cutlass slice through the neck of another man, blood spurting and pouring from the wound, splashing on the deck. He retched at the sound of the man's cries gurgling through the thick blood and torn meat of his throat. Will closed his eyes, but the sound of death and violence engulfed him. Playing pirate had been a fantasy, but this was real, so real he could smell the putrid stench of death.
"Boy, what are ye doin’ on deck? Get below,” shouted the cook, securing a thick line to the rail. A moment later, Will heard an ear-shattering blast and the cook collapsed onto the deck.
"Mister Spiers,” Will cried, running to his side. The man's shoulder was a blackened and bloodied mass of meat.
"Get below, boy,” he rasped, as he struggled to get to his knees.
"But your shoulder..."
"The cap'n ‘ll do worse than this if somethin’ happens to ye.” Another pistol blast came from behind them, striking the mainmast and just missing Will's head. “Begad! Leave me be and get ye below."
Will kissed the green amulet, ignoring the cook's warning, and helped him to his feet. A strange noise amidst the chaos caught their attention. Looking up, they saw a writhing shadow blot the sky above the ship. It descended, filling the air with the screeching cries of seabirds. They dove toward the captured ship, lighting only on the sailors of the trader. The pirates retreated as they watched the horror unfold. Men with eyes plucked from their sockets like bulging grapes collapsed on the deck, the stringy flesh left dangling down their bloody cheeks. Shrieks of birds and their victims filled the air as razor claws tore through clothing and flesh, leaving ribbons of meat on the deck to feast upon.
Will and the cook watched rapt in shock as the crazed birds continued to flay and blind the beleaguered sailors. Screams from terrified pirates and dying traders alike rose with the cacophony of bird sounds. Men slashed at the birds with swords and daggers, but the avian attack was swift and deadly. A few survivors remained, some cowering on the deck or thrashing overboard into the rough sea.
Without thinking, Will pulled the amulet from beneath his clothing and kissed it once more. He acted with complete instinct, as he had seen his mother do so many times in the forests and meadows of Eastville. She had a special way with animals, and with the amulet it seemed Will had it, too.
With a violent sound of flapping wings, the flock of birds returned to the sky, their shadow dissipating like a storm cloud on the wind.
The cook was not the only one who witnessed Will's actions. Rutt glowered at them from the deck above.
* * * *
"I saw it with me own eyes, cap'n. The bairn's a bloody witch!” The first mate stood in the captain's quarters, shaking with feigned concern. “For the safety of the ship, that boy must be hanged at first light, lest the heathens slit his throat and throw ‘im in the sea. Without a proper hangin’ we'd be cursed with the ghost of a witch."
Busy with his charts and headings to trawl for their next trade acquisition, the captain sighed. “I should have seen it coming. Well, see to it, Mister Rutt, and make sure the cook keeps an eye on the boy until morning."
The lamplight flickered across Rutt's face, and a faint smile crossed his lips. “Aye, Cap'n, but Mister Spiers is ailin’ from his wounds. I volunteer to take the bairn in me care until the morn."
The Captain looked up from his work with a knowing glance. “So be it, Mister Rutt,” he said with an air of disgust. “Then hand the boy over to the master of arms for a proper hanging at first light."
With a triumphant stride, Rutt left the captain's quarters and headed for the galley.
* * * *
Will carried a full tankard of grog to the fevered cook. Using two hands, he was careful not to spill a drop on the threat of being lashed by Mister Spiers as soon as he was well again. But the sudden appearance of the first mate startled him, and brown liquid splashed on the floor.
"Boy!” yelled the cook in a rasp from his perch in the corner of the room. His shoulder was bandaged and his arm neatly slung, but his white face and dark-circled eyes radiated the state of his fever. “What did I tell ye? I'll have the cat ‘o nine tails on yer hide when I'm able. Now bring me the grog and clean up yer mess."
Without acknowledging Rutt's presence, the cook seized the tankard from Will and took a long, thirsty swallow. He closed his eyes with the pleasure of the drink and the tension melted away from his features. With a weary sigh, he opened his eyes and looked to the smug face of Mister Rutt.
"What is it you be needin', Mister Rutt?"
"On the order of the cap'n, Will Pennycock is to be hanged by the neck at first light. He be a witch, and a danger to our good ship."
Will's knees went weak, and he looked to the cook with sharp terror piercing his gut.
"The boy ain't no witch. I'll be talkin’ with the cap'n about this.” He pushed himself up from the pallet and with a swoon, tumbled to the floor. Will rushed to help him back to his bed.
Rutt laughed—a deep, wicked sound. “By the time ye be fit to talk with the cap'n, the bairn's carcass will be swayin’ from the boom."
Will found it hard to breathe. The image of his mother hanging from the gallows flashed through his mind. The sharp angle of her broken neck, her cold grey skin, and the stench of her emptied bowels. And her red hair, it was gone. They had shaved her bald, ridding her, it was said, of the mark of the devil.
Touching his fingers to his own red hair, Will was flushed with fear. He felt like a caged bird, frantic to escape. He darted around a table and dodged the first mate, fleeing up the stairs. Rutt followed, laughing, already enjoying the chase.
* * * *
On deck, Will met with stares and hisses from the crew on duty. Scurrying in a panic, he looked for a place to hide, but a large black-skinned pirate approached, small bones rattling in his long, twisted braids.
"Where you tink you goin', boy? The devil no save you now.” The black-skinned man pulled a long dagger from its sheath at his waist. “Come—me blade she's thirsty.” He closed in on Will while the rest of the crew slowly drew in around him, tightening the circle like a noose. Gulls circled overhead.
Rutt viewed the show from the galley door. Flushed with the pleasure of watching the boy's terror, he stepped in before the sailor completed his task.
"Hold fast, mate,” he shouted. “The bairn's under me care. If ye have argument
with that, ye'll have me to fight.” The men shouted dissent, their fear making them hungry for blood. “Back to yer posts, ye wee heathens,” he said, his booming voice menacing. “I'll not have the witch's blood spilled on me watch. He'll be hanging soon enough."
Rutt pushed through the circle of angry men and grabbed Will by the collar of his coat. “Come along, laddy. We've business to attend to in me quarters."
As Rutt dragged the crying boy below deck, the black-skinned sailor shouted a warning.
"Careful wit dat one, mate. He got spirits, he do, and dey ain't happy. Kill ‘im now, I say, before it be too late."
* * * *
Shuddering uncontrollably, Will watched as the first mate swept the debris from his bunk and unbuckled his sword belt. Laying the weapon aside, the pirate grabbed him by the back of the hair and yanked his head back. Will squealed in pain, and with a husky groan the man pressed his lips to the soft skin of his neck, biting and kissing him. Rutt stripped off the heavy wool coat and Will felt like he'd been stripped of his skin.
Rutt breathed heavily, his stinking breath filling Will's nose, as the man ripped at his trousers. Will reached for the amulet on his chest as his pants fell to the floor. The sweating pirate's lips pressed hard against his mouth, and Will gagged as the stinking tongue penetrated into his throat. Struggling to release his own trousers, the pirate held Will fast, turning him around and bending him over the side of his bunk.
Sobbing, Will begged the pirate to stop. Still gripping his amulet, he felt the ship shudder. An instant later, Rutt released his grip, screaming in agony. Will tumbled onto the bunk and turned to see a black serpent, its fangs embedded deep in the pirate's bare leg. With his trousers pooled around his ankles, Rutt stumbled backward, falling hard against a heavy table. He lay there silently as Will clutched the green amulet against his chest.
A sudden pounding came at the door, followed by the shouts of a crewman.
"Mister Rutt! Mister Rutt! We be rammed by humpbacks. A pod be circling the ship, sir."
