The Life Of A Pirate

The Life Of A Pirate

A tale by David Luther Stevens

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The Life Of A Pirate

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D.L. Stevens - Phoenix Tales™ -

The Life Of A Pirate A tale of Gaiaworld™

A tale by David Luther Stevens

The Life Of A Pirate

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Copyright © 2008 by David Luther Stevens All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall

not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior

consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition

including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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The Life Of A Pirate

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The Life of a Pirate

By D.L. Stevens

Third Chronicle of Gaiaworld.

A vast, sparkling blue sea stretched so far that it

touched the horizon in every direction, a broad, blue dome of crystal contrasted by a sky of paler hue, in which

hung a few wispy white clouds. The ocean was vast and totally empty- empty, that is, except in regards to a single

object; a ship, crafted mostly from oak, drifting steadily across the quiet waves. From this emitted musical sounds

that leapt across the ocean water; the sound of rushing feet on wood, the sound of a mop splashing on the floor,

the hiss of ropes being pulled up and down, the creaking of the ship, and even the noise of song:

‘Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest,

Yo ho ho ho and a bottle of rum!’

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In fact at first glance it all seemed very merry, if one overlooked the flag that hung above the ship, flapping in

the noontide breeze; on a surface black as pitch was set a

deathly white leering skull, under which a bone crossed over with a rusty blade: the Jolly Roger. At a closer

glance, one might also have noticed that the merry, singing men, who were garbed in baggy, silken clothes, the

poorness in worth of those garbs contrasting greatly with the clinking jewellery they wore, which was of every shape and size, mostly made of gold or brass, also tended to

have daggers and one-shot pistols at their sides. And

one may have noticed the other men; the men that did not have any measure of finery on their persons, nor did most of them have any garbs at all except for loincloths tied to

their wastes with old rope. These men were not singing.

These were the ones bound in shackles, and chained to the twenty-four or so oars that were on each side of the

ship, two to each oar. And below this there was a chamber below deck, where there were another forty-

eight oar-slaves toiling with their oars to push the ship onwards. Now and again a broad, sallow-skinned man would lash out with a whip of dark cord at some slave who

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he thought wasn’t “pulling his load” and doing his bit for

the “good of the crew”. Otherwise, the lasher would stand around eyeing every slave, or stride back and forth

with head held high, obviously taking deep pride in his work, along with the other slave-drivers.

Now, on the right side of the ship, near the middle section, there was a man holding the right side of the oar;

his bare chest, brow and thick muscles were moist with

perspiration, his dark locks of hair fell down to his shoulders, and he grimaced in his short, black, pointed beard as his muscles ached and knotted with the pulling of the oar.

His partner, who sat at his left side, was a dark-skinned

lad of about seventeen years of age, with black, curly

hair, a skinny frame and emerald green eyes. ‘You’re new here,’ commented the boy. ‘Where are you from?’

‘I be from Midwest, Sprigan and Singrin; I take the name of Arwin,’ the oar-slave answered. ‘I was goin’ north, but then bandits from the east came and captured me, that they did.’

‘How were you captured?’

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‘As I say I’d been goin’ alone, and a blonde man, prob’ly

from Northrealms, came up from behind a hill; he smiled

and introduced himself, and he asks me casual questions about who I was and where I was goin’ to, and then politely asks if I could spare ‘im some food. “No”, I tells him, and he just smiles. Then another man comes up from

behind the hill and says “that ain’t very nice”, and the first one says “no, mate, that ain’t very nice at all”. Then he asks me agin for somethin’ t’drink, and I says to him “no!”.

Then a third one comes up from behind the ‘ill, and then I begins to realise that I’m in trouble. So I gives the blonde

one somethin’ from my travellin’ pack; a piece o’ bread and a drop o’ rum, and he gulps it down, and then smiles.

“Well,” says I, “if that’s all, I’ll be goin’ now”, but then a

gunshot makes the earth near my foot spray up fountainlike, and he says to me, he says “ye ain’t goin’ nowhere. Y’see, somethin’ to eat and a drop o’ rum was all I asked

of ye, but now I’m embarrassed in front o’ me men, ‘cause they’ll be wonderin’ why I get a drop o’ rum and they’re

left thirsty, and why they’re left hungerin’ while I’m eatin’…” and the long and short of it is, the more I gives,

the more they asks, and whenever I refuse, another one

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steps up from behind the hill. Then, when I had nothin’ left t’give, twenty of ‘em fell on me and wrestled me t’the

ground, punchin’ an’ bashin’ an’ kickin’. Then they takes

me to a line o’ slaves bound by a shackles, all linked by two long, thin chains, and I was put somewhere near the

back o’ the line. Then we was made to run with whips

crackin’ behind us, and we was taken past hill country,

river-lands and crags and a bandit camp, right to the southern coastlands, and sold to this ‘ere pirate ship.’

‘Shh!’ the boy hissed fiercely, and looked behind his

back fearfully, then explained ‘they don’t like to be called pirates. They prefer the title “gentlemen of fortune”.’ Arwin grunted. ‘Well, where be you from, lad?’

‘Pyra,’ replied the boy, ‘and I’m not very strong, so you’ll

have to do most of the hauling, I’m afraid, otherwise Gero will lash us both.’

‘Gero? You mean the fat one walkin’ back an’ forth along the deck?’

‘Aye, that’s the one; for nick, the crew call him Whiplash.’ ‘Huh…’ Arwin said quietly.

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Suddenly Arwin felt a sudden, sharp, burning agony sear through his back as it was cut open; he bent backwards and screamed aloud.

‘Aye,’ a loud voice said, and then suddenly the broad, toothless, sallow man was leaning down to leer into his

face; ‘Whiplash be what they calls me, and now ye knows

why. Ye be new here, eh? Well, I’ll show ye how we gentlemen o’ fortune welcomes new slaves!’ he whipped Arwin two or three times more; ‘Row, slave!’ he roared.

Two or three more red slits opened up through Arwin’s back, and he felt warm blood trickling down the back of

his body as he rowed, and then Gero stalked off, chuckling to himself.

From that moment on, Arwin rowed harder, even though

every time he did, it caused the wounds in his back to sting as they opened and closed.

For some hours Arwin found himself forced to row

across the open sea; his muscles felt like they would burst into floods of lava and his head swam as if with delirium.

Now, there was a kind of wooden platform at one end of

the ship to which two staircases led, one on either side,

and on this there was the captain’s cabin. The door to

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this, which was made of black wood and had a golden

doorknob, suddenly opened, and out sauntered a figure onto the wooden platform. He stood at the edge of the wooden platform, his hands resting calmly on the wooden rails before him as he looked down onto the deck, where

the pirates and slaves toiled. This man, whom Arwin had never seen before, wore a rich black coat and a black, wide-brimmed hat edged with gold. His skin was deathly

pale and his eyes were grey, black dreadlocks of hair

falling down a little past his shoulders. Two large, brass earrings hung from his ears; at either side he wore a

cutlass, and two guns crossed over his front, hanging from his gold-buckled, brown leather belt.

‘Who’s that?’ Arwin asked the boy beside him.

When the boy looked up, his face became a mask of fear, and he quickly looked down again, focusing on rowing the

oars. ‘The Captain of this vessel,’ he mumbled quietly. ‘The crew call him “Crow”.’

‘What d’they call ‘im that for?’ Arwin asked, not noticing the boy’s evident fear of the man.

‘Everyone has nicknames aboard the ship,’ explained the lad, ‘a crow is dark and mysterious, I guess… like him.’

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‘What do ya mean?’ Arwin imagined this “Crow” fellow to

be a rougher, tougher and ruder version (if that were possible) of the other pirates on the ship. But what the boy said in answer was a surprise…

‘Crow’s a strange one, he is; all the men here speak

sailor-slang, but not Crow; he doesn’t talk much at all, but when he does, he’s very eloquent and well-spoken, and very soft and quiet-like in speech.’

‘Then shouldn’t he’ve been killed by now?’

‘You’d think so; but they’re all scared t’death of him. The

crew, I mean. He’s ominous, he is. And he’s been known to be temperamental; once, when his previous second-in-

command came to give him information about the usual goings-on aboard, Crow drew his gun and shot him through the head, just like that! Blasted the man’s brains out! Then he picked the first corsair that his eyes

happened to fall on, and made him the new second-incommand. It was later found out that Crow shot the man

because he just didn’t feel like being spoken to at that particular time, so the crew say it’s dangerous to approach him.’

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‘Huh,’ Arwin mumbled quietly, and looked up at the

Captain with a new impression of the man, as Crow’s grey eyes scanned the ship steadily and calmly, his face expressionless. They never fell on any of the oar-slaves,

but always looked above them. If Arwin had thought deeply about associating a word to the expression Crow

had, it would have either been “tired”, “calm” or “bored”; dark rings hung under the Captain’s eyes.

For that whole day the slaves were made to row, then at

last the dome of the ocean paled to grey, and the sun sunk below it so that the western horizon was tinged with red.

The pirates went below deck, and soon laughter was

heard below, drifting upwards as they sung and joked and

became drunk on rum. Since the slave-drivers had gone below as well, the oar-slaves were given some peace. But

Arwin had nothing but a loincloth, and the night was piercingly cold; a salty breeze blew from the black east, causing his locks to swirl softly.

‘I haven’t been on this vessel long myself,’ the boy said,

‘but I hear a lot, and I’ve heard some of its history. The first captain was called Captain Tinder- he was the one

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that actually started the crew. But his second-in-

command was Crow; he betrayed and killed him, and became the new captain.’

‘And the crew allowed all o’ this?’ Arwin asked, a little confused.

‘Well, yes,’ the boy said thoughtfully, ‘Crow, or Captain

Sunder –that’s his real name- he was the one who liberated the entire pirate crew from the hand of their tyrant leader, Captain Tinder.’ ‘That be true?’

‘Of course, if Sunder had failed and Tinder had succeeded, it would have been the evil Captain Sunder

who desired to steal ownership of the vessel and the crew, and rule over it like a tyrant, but who was bested by the heroic Captain Tinder.’

Arwin frowned thoughtfully.

‘Strange, isn’t it? But that’s how things work on board a pirate vessel, I guess. Even then Sunder was known as “the Crow”, but none dare call him that to his face, of

course. If they address him personally, or speak about him while he’s listening, they call him Captain Sunder.’

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With that final word, the last light of the sun sunk below

the horizon; the sky was a vast sheet of dark blue sprinkled with stars, and the ocean was black as an abyss. It was freezing cold, out at sea in the middle of the ocean, chained to the oars with nothing but a loincloth. Arwin shivered.

Suddenly Gero came up from below deck and tossed a

small piece of dry bread to each slave, and gave each a small portion of water in an iron cup.

After he had gone down, Arwin scowled as he found that the water was lukewarm, while the smell of roast meat

wafted up from below, and the singing became even louder as the pirates grew more and more drunk.

‘You’re learning how to be an oar-slave now,’ said the

dark-skinned lad beside him after Gero had gone back down; ‘we never leave these oars. It doesn’t matter what time it is, day or night, we’re always chained here. We eat

here and sleep here, and regardless of weather and season, the only clothes we ever have are the ones already on our backs…’

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‘Bah!’ said an aged, red-haired man in front of them; ‘I’ll tell ye the long ‘n’ short o’ bein’ an oar-slave: ye don’t never leave the oars. You’re here for life, mate!’

Arwin’s legs ached agonistically from having to sit down

all day, while his arms ached from a day of rowing. It was

very uncomfortable, but eventually Arwin managed to fall

into a troubled sleep, his head resting against the oar, but

always those haunting words “ you’re here for life, mate… ” woke him up during the night, drifting unwanted into his already-disturbed dreams.

At last, just shortly after Arwin had finally settled into a sleep with a measure of peace in it, he was awoken rudely by a familiar searing agony stretching down his right arm.

‘Wakey, wakey!’ roared Gero’s merry voice, ‘it’s already mornin’!’

Arwin felt terrible, the ship floating in the middle of the

dull grey ocean on a freezing morning. Immediately he was forced to row, and then to row even harder as Gero lashed him again and again, each whip gashing his flesh in

a red spray of blood mingled with sweat. Arwin’s throat became soar from screaming, and his muscles cracked and

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stretched painfully in the chilly weather after an even colder night as he rowed.

As the sun climbed higher, a rumble sounded in the sky, which was filled with brooding clouds, gloomy in texture,

and then heavy rain was hurled directly down from the sky in stinging grey lines as white lightning flashed above.

‘Row, you dogs!’ Gero’s voice shouted from somewhere

behind a grey haze as he whipped the dark-skinned youth

by Arwin’s side; the boy cried out in pain, and tears fell from his eyes as he began to row even harder, his arms shaking with the effort.

‘Don’t worry yerself,’ Arwin grunted, ‘I’ll row harder for ye, so that it looks like you’re doin’ more work.’

Eventually the rain stopped, leaving the slaves drenched to their clattering teeth.

At night-time a squall hit the ship; everything, sky and

ocean alike, was pitch black, except for a few yellow

lights on board and an occasional flash of shinning blue thunder above. A mist was over the waters, and the heavy rain turned to piercing hail while waves crashed and

raged. Towards the end of the night the squall passed away, and just a few hours later the first light of sun was

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seen, so that the tired, hungry oar-slaves were made to row again. The next day was clearer, and the day that

followed was even a little warmer. Many days of hunger

and thirst, toiling and coldness and persecution went by,

and Gero seemed to have hatred especially against Arwin, since he always seemed to pick on him; he would

whip Arwin more than the other slaves, and gloat over him with that broad, toothless grin of his, and taunt him with the cruellest words he could think of.

Throughout these days Crow would occasionally stand on the upper deck and look out at the goings-on of the

ship with that same expression of bored calmness, or walk back and forth slowly across the deck. Arwin studied the

man often, somehow intrigued by him; Crow never made

eye-contact with any of the slaves, but always kept his

eyes above them. He hardly ever spoke, and generally when he did, it was one, two or three quiet words, scarcely

audible, and yet they were treated by the rest of the crew

with instantaneous action, and every member hurried to carry out his command as though their lives depended on it- which, of course, they did. Arwin never knew what

Crow could have done to have such a rough-looking crew

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fear and respect him in such a manner, although he did

seem to radiate an aura of authority, and there was a

sinister atmosphere about the man, whose hand was usually near the handle of one of his swords or pistols.

As Arwin contemplated these things while gazing at Crow, who stood on the upper deck, he asked ‘Why

does he have two swords? Which one does he use? And be he left-handed or right?’

‘From what I hear,’ came the Pyran youth’s reply, ‘he’s as good with his left hand as he is with his right- and he uses both swords at once, one in each hand like.’

Arwin looked at the emerald-eyed boy in surprise; ‘but wouldn’t he tangle himself up tryin’ t’fight like that?’

‘From I’ve heard he’s an incredible duellist, and none have ever defeated him in a single duel. But then, I suppose

none of the, ah, gentlemen here have ever been defeated in a fight- otherwise they’d be dead.’

‘And how is he with those guns o’ his?’

‘From what I hear, none can best him in accuracy with the

pistol either. He’s a skilled man in combat, Crow is, but not only that, he’s highly intellectual and well educated-

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maybe even the smartest and most cunning member aboard ship!’

Arwin looked at Crow with renewed wonder, who was looking out to sea with grey, tired eyes, his hands resting

calmly on the rails as a breeze whispered through his locks of hair. He was indeed an enigma, and Arwin wondered where such a man had come from, his history

before becoming a pirate, and why he had become a pirate in the first place; by the looks of him, he was of a mixture of Igairish or Talgaronian and Janman descent.

Suddenly Crow sauntered down the staircase, his hands

clasped calmly behind his back. He strode right by Arwin

and the Pyran boy, then bent down, looked Arwin directly in the eyes and briefly said; ‘You, oar-slave; I have plans for you…’ with those words, he stood up and continued his stroll, his back turned on them.

For a few moments Arwin sat there in shock, and the Pyran boy by his side looked somewhat paler. ‘What was that about?’ Arwin mumbled dryly.

‘I think…’ mumbled the boy, ‘I think he’s planning on elevating your position.’

‘You be sure he’s not jokin’ to lift me hopes?’

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‘Crow’s not the type to joke- at all. I don’t know why, but he wants to elevate you- to replace some other member of the crew that he’s not pleased with. But that member

of the crew doesn’t know Crow’s displeased with him yet, and that Crow plans to get rid of him…’

‘How do ye think ye know all this?’ demanded Arwin dubiously.

‘I have the gift of perception,’ replied the youth. ‘What?’

‘Hearken to me; Crow is going to test you. Things will

get much harder for you, but show absolute obedience,

don’t cry out, and don’t complain. And when Crow kills the one of the crew he doesn’t take a liking to, cheer his name. Do as I say?’

Arwin hesitated; ‘awright,’ he said, ‘I can’t see the harm in it. Who’s the one Crow’s not ‘appy with, then?’ ‘I don’t know.’

‘Right,’ Arwin said, thinking to humour the boy, ‘well, if ye

speak true, I’ll put in a good word for ye when I’m up at the top.’

‘No need for that,’ the Pyran youth replied casually; ‘I’ll be dead before then.’

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‘What?’

‘I’ve lived my life for seventeen years, (the best part of

which was spent in slavery) and that’s been more than

enough to see the cruelty of mankind.’ He shook his head slowly, as if recalling far off memories. ‘No,’ he said,

‘this world isn’t for me- I’ll be happy when I’m with the

Lord, and thankfully, God will grant this for me. I’ll pass

away soon, to that other place.’ The dark-skinned lad

looked at Arwin meaningfully with those emeraldcoloured, almond-shaped eyes of his, then went back to rowing the oars.

‘Hmph,’ grunted the red-haired captive in front of them; ‘the brat’s lost ‘is mind from too much labour, if ye ask me.’ Arwin didn’t doubt those words.

The weather heated up as winter turned to summer, and then the slaves found themselves red from sunburns and sweating like pigs from the heat of each passing day.

One day, a farsighted man in the crow’s nest called down; ‘Argh, ship ho!’

Laimens, Crow’s second-in-command, turned to the

Captain, who made no sign that he had even heard.

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Turning back to the crew Laimens cried ‘at it with a will, me hearties!’

Laimens was an aged man, and was nicknamed Whitelock, since his white hair was in locks.

Arwin looked ahead, and there was indeed a speck on the horizon.

Immediately pirates were running this way and that, and

simple daggers were replaced with cutlasses, broad sabres and scimitars from the weapon storage facility;

leather vests were donned, the pistols had their triggers pulled back, and the Jolly Roger rose up high. The ends of loaded canons emerged from the side of the vessel as

it chased the speck ahead, and Whiplash and the other slave-drivers were screaming, whipping and cursing more than ever.

‘Row! Row! Row!’

Eventually the speck became the figure of a ship- a

merchant ship, smaller, thinner, and not armed with any

canons. There were a few guards standing on board with fencing swords and pistols, but so few that it was a

wonder the captain of that craft even bothered with guards.

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Crow’s vessel caught up with the merchant craft, above

which was raised the Igairish flag. The Igairish flag was

pulled down, and instead was raised a flag of pure white;

the symbol of peace. The merchant ship stopped, waiting patiently on the ocean. It was because of this that the

pirates didn’t immediately attack, but approached suspiciously. Now the two ships were side by side, and the loaded canons were pointing towards it. Those on

board the ship stood with palms raised silently, including the captain, who wore a blue coat and hat with a white seagull feather.

‘We will cooperate,’ called the captain in a clear but shaking voice, ‘so long as ye make an oath on yer honour, not to harm any aboard.’

Crow mumbled some words to Whitelock, who then called out ‘Ye have our oath, that none of us will harm

anyone or anything aboard, so long as ye take heed t’our

orders! Our first demand! All bearing arms must lay ‘em down!’

‘Lay ‘em down!’ the captain of the merchant craft ordered, and the few guards there were laid down their

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fencing swords and pistols; many clicking noises sounded on the deck.

‘Our second demand!’ Whitelock called, ‘ye must allow our armed members to board yer vessel and take up the arms that have been laid down!’ Here the captain hesitated. Crow stared at him. ‘All right!’ he called.

Pirates cast hooked ropes over so that they clung to the wood of the merchant vessel, and with amazing dexterity, ran across the ropes to land on board while brandishing

swords and drawing guns. They took up all the weapons that had been laid down, and took them onto Captain Sunder’s ship, piling them in a heap at the mast.

‘Our third demand!’ Whitelock continued, ‘ye must allow

those of our crew on board to search every corner o’ your craft, and take all o’ the foodstuffs, drink, arms,

clothes, jewellery, and any other supplies that may be found.’

This was done, and Arwin watched as the pirates

accomplished this with organized rapidity, and heaped them all in different piles on board the pirate vessel; one

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pile for food, another for gold jewellery, another for brass jewellery, another for silver, another for drink, and so on.

When all that was done, Whitelock called ‘Our fourth demand! Women are also part o’ the plunder! Ye must hand over all women aboard!’

At this a great laugh went up from the pirates, but the merchant captain said ‘There are no women aboard!’ The laugh turned to an angry moan.

‘Then ye must allow the men to search for ‘em!’

‘I’m a man of honour,’ replied the captain, ‘do as ye please.’

The ship was searched again, but no women were found, to the disappointment of the pirates.

‘Our fifth demand!’ Whitelock shouted, ‘all of those who wore weapons must fall on their knees, and allow us to bind ‘em in shackles, and take ‘em over to our side!’

A cry went up from the guards, but the captain,

beginning to panic and fidget with his hands, cried; ‘all

right, all right! So long as none of the rest of us are harmed! Go ahead!’

But the guards were trained fighting men, and, even though unarmed, they were pushed to desperation, and

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began to punch. However, the pirates far outnumbered

them, and a group of the brigands would surround each

defenceless guard, tackling him to the ground and locking him in shackles; the guards shouted out to the members of their own crew for help, but they hesitated, looking at each other unsurely.

‘Any who disobey our demands free us from our oath of

honour!’ Whitelock warned, and that was enough. The crew did nothing to help them. As their reward for loyally

defending the merchants, the guards were dragged

aboard the pirate vessel, where they were taken below and locked in cages.

‘Is… is that all?’ asked the captain of the ship.

‘That is all-’ Whitelock began, but Crow interrupted him; ‘There is one more thing!’ he said.

Now the eyes of everyone, oar-slave, merchant, and gentleman of fortune, were upon Crow. ‘Here is my sixth

demand! Every member of your crew, and yourself,

captain, must commit suicide right now! You have until three!’

‘W-what…?’ the merchant captain stuttered.

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Suddenly a roar of laughter went up from the pirates; Crow had been clever, and found a way to keep his title

as a man of honour while getting everything he wanted; if

the merchants didn’t kill themselves, they violated his demand, and therefore he was freed from his oath of honour, and could harm them however much he wanted. ‘Three!’ Whitlock counted clearly.

‘W-wait a moment-!’ the timid captain began, as his folly of not demanding a more accurate oath was revealed to him, and his crew began to panic. ‘Two!’

Suddenly the captain, screaming, ran and leapt overboard, splashing into sparkling foam. ‘One! Ye have violated the oath!’

Immediately swords flashed and men were cut down screaming, their blood spraying into the air, and guns

banged, blasting through skulls, and many of the

merchants were crushed to the ground and bound in shackles. Some leapt overboard in panic, and these were gunned down, their blood turning the waters misty red as

they sunk below. Crow mumbled a word or two to

Laimens, who immediately leapt onto the banister, then

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dived into the sea, swimming after the captain of the

merchants, who was dragged back and thrown onto the deck at Crow’s feet, weeping and grovelling.

Crow gave him a disdainful look, then turned on his heel and strode calmly back up to his cabin.

Those who were captured and not seriously harmed were locked in cages below, any seriously wounded were

immediately shot in the head and hauled overboard, and as for the captain of the merchants himself, he was tied to the mast as he quailed and implored.

Then Whitelock divided the goods among different members of the crew, though to their disappointment

most were simply put into storage, and Whitelock selected a few choice things for Captain Sunder himself.

After that, the merchant ship was searched once more, before oil was poured over it, and then, when all the

pirates were back on their own craft, torches were thrown, and before long the entire merchant ship was ablaze. The smoke of the fire drifted upwards behind them as they sailed away.

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The man who had once been a captain now sat, his arms

tied behind his back, and his body tied to the mast, ignored by the pirates for now.

‘Why, now that we’ve got spare ones in cages,’ Gero

cried to the oar-slaves gleefully, ‘we don’t need you lot so much no more! An’ any what don’t pull the load and do their part for the good o’ the crew, won’t just be whipped, they might just be hung, or made t’walk the plank, or shot dead right then and there!’

The oar-slaves, determined now not to be killed, began rowing with renewed vigour.

‘This calls for a celebration!’ Whiplash continued, laughing, ‘instead o’ the whip o’ punishment, as a reward

for all yer efforts, I think I’ll bring out the whip of

encouragement!’

To the dismay of the slaves, he brought out a whip with no less than nine ends, and mingled into them were loose bits of stone and flint; it was a whip of death. A great

moan went up from the oar-slaves; ‘Shut yer holes!’ screamed Gero, and began lashing at everyone cruelly.

That night there was a great deal of feasting and

laughing among the pirates below deck, and of course

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rum. Arwin could not see him, but below, the captain of

the merchants had been stripped of not only his uniform,

but also of his dignity; he was made to wear the clothes of a jester and dance in front of the entire jeering crew, who

through scraps and rubbish at him, and sometimes made him eat it off the ground.

All except Captain Sunder himself attended that feast;

the grim man brooded in his chamber, perhaps over old

maps and compasses, though really none knew what thoughts went through the Captain’s mysterious mind, or why he spent so much time in solitude, or what he did.

The pirates, however, were so excited about their newfound loot, they forgot all about Crow, and the oarslaves as well, who went unfed that night.

From that day on, things did indeed grow much harder; a skinny old fellow near the front of the ship coughed and

panted as he attempted to row with his powerless limbs.

Gero lashed him repeatedly, screaming at him to row, but just then the poor fellow died of a heart attack. He was

casually tossed over board and new slave, one of the

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muscled guards from the merchant ship, was chained to the oars to take his place.

‘Who knows?’ Whiplash said, leering as he usually did over Arwin; ‘ye could be next!’

Arwin glared back and resumed rowing, while the Pyran beside him kept his eyes downcast.

‘At least someone knows their place,’ grumbled Whiplash, and kicked the youth fiercely in the head so

that it knocked hard against the oar, dazing him. Even so,

the poor boy persevered, continuing to row with what might he had.

The summer became even hotter, and now a few of the

slaves suffered delirium; a few were shot and thrown

overboard to be replaced, but then Whitelock forbid this,

saying ‘We can’t go about wastin’ our loot! Give ‘em some wet towels to dab o’er their brows when they get too hot.’

This helped a little, and no more slaves were shot, but

Gero whipped them more often in anger, since his authority had been ruled over in front of them all by Laimens, the Second-In-Command.

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Every day was burning hot, and Arwin panted and sweated with all his labour; terrible blisters now mutated his hands, and his legs had grown skinny and weak, while

his arms and biceps were larger. And always there

Whiplash would be, laughing at him, making jokes about him in front of the crew, bullying him in any way he could,

and Arwin gritted his teeth. But the Pyran lad shook his head calmly at him, and Arwin didn’t complain, and tried his hardest not to cry out when lashed repeatedly.

Over all this Crow stood, standing there silently on the upper deck, looking out calmly, always looking above the

slaves and never at them. Since the time he had spoken

with Arwin, Crow had never once so much as looked at him again, but had ignored him completely.

Arwin now began to wonder if it had all been some joke of Crow’s, or a way to instil morale so that he would row

harder, or even if the Captain Sunder had forgotten completely.

One morning, shortly after Arwin had been awoken by a whip lash from Gero, the curly-haired boy by his side had

a strange look in his eye. ‘Today’s the day,’ he said quietly; ‘today I’m going to enter God’s kingdom.’

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The red-haired oar-slave in front roared in laughter, while Arwin shook his head, giving the lad a funny look.

For a few hours they rowed across the sea, then Captain Sunder emerged from his cabin, stood for

awhile looking over the deck on his upper deck, and then began to stride across it. He paused as he stopped by the Pyran youth’s side, and laid his grey eyes upon the boy.

Feeling the Captain’s gaze, both Arwin and the lad rowed even harder, but the youth was visibly struggling to pull his load; sweat seemed to be falling in torrents from his arms and brow, his arms were shaking, his mouth was quivering with the effort- but it still wasn’t enough.

Crow calmly drew his gun and pulled back the trigger with a click.

The Pyran boy stopped rowing, and looked up at Crow, looking him directly, boldly in the eyes. The gun was

placed against the youth’s temple, but the boy didn’t flinch, he didn’t quail, or say anything. He simply looked

calmly back into the Captain’s eyes. Then there was a

BANG, and where a moment before a poor boy had

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been bruised and scarred, yet breathing and alive, now he was dead- stone dead.

Crow calmly tucked his gun back into his belt, and continued his stroll, mumbling a word or two to Gero as he passed by.

Whiplash leered, and then shouted; ‘Row!’ and lashed Arwin’s back.

Arwin now found himself having to row the entire oar by himself, the corpse of the boy at his left side. For the rest of that day Arwin had to row the oar alone, and at night,

when he leant back, panting from exhaustion at the torturous effort, a pirate came up from below and unchained the boy’s body.

For a moment Arwin saw the shadowy shape of the pirate holding the boy’s body in his arms against the pale moon, with stars twinkling above. Arwin suddenly realised that he had never asked the lad his name, and he

wondered what it was. Other than that he was of Pyran descent, and had been a slave for most or all of his life,

Arwin didn’t really know anything about him. He also wondered about his history, and how he had come to be a slave, and where his home had been before then. I’ll be

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happy when I’m with the Lord… The boy was cast overboard, and white, sparkling foam shrouded his body, which sunk below into the darkness, and then it was all gone.

Without a word, the pirate, somewhat drunk, staggered back down below to continue feasting with the others.

‘Huh,’ Arwin mumbled quietly; ‘guess that’s that then.’

He looked around, wondering why another more able slave hadn’t been brought up to replace the boy. Maybe the slave would be brought up the next day?

Arwin fell asleep that night with his head resting against the side of the ship, and was once more woken up by being lashed in the side.

‘Rise an’ shine, lil pup!’ Whiplash said cheerfully, and whipped him again.

For that day, Arwin was forced once again to row the

oar alone, and to make things worse, he was whipped now more than ever- it was as if Gero had lost focus on every

slave except Arwin himself. Now the relentless pirate was becoming snider in his comments, and seemed to take even more pleasure in Arwin’s pain and misery.

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By the end of the day Arwin wondered why he hadn’t

died of sheer blood loss, since lashes seemed to cover his entire back and arms, and on top of this rowing the single oar had seemed to tear his muscles apart. He fell asleep

almost immediately that night, and slept deeply, yet it

seemed only a moment before he was lashed awake yet again, after having received no medical treatment in any form for his wounds. This time Gero not only whipped

Arwin’s back and sides, but no struck out at his front, slashing open his chest and face. At one point, towards

noon, Gero actually lashed at Arwin’s left eye, who screamed out in agony as it was blinded and ruined forever.

Whiplash laughed even more; ‘From now on,’ he said, ‘instead o’ sayin’ “aye aye, cap’n”, ye can just say it once!’

The surrounding pirates roared with laughter while

Arwin felt at his face numbly, trembling with growing panic as it dawned on him that his eye was lost. But then

Gero suddenly became angry, and said ‘I never said stop rowin’!’, and with that, he lashed out again at Arwin’s arms.

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That night Arwin couldn’t sleep at all for fear of what

the morrow would bring, and for fear of seeing Gero’s

leering face again; but the time passed, even if it seemed an eternity, and the sun did dawn, even if Arwin’s world

always seemed to be in darkness, and Whiplash’s face

did appear, and he was made to row again.

That day, though, something even more unusual happened, even if at first it had just seemed to be

another day of life aboard the Hullabaloo; while Crow looked out on the deck as usual, a large group of crew

members had gathered together on the far side, and were

murmuring to one another. Among them was a very tall, bald, and very dark-skinned man, having thick muscles and

a fierce demeanour. Another was paler and shorter, with a silver ring in his nose, and yellow hair.

‘Ahoy there!’ Laimens cried angrily, who was standing on

the stairs near where Crow watched the group calmly; ‘get back t’work!’

Arwin suddenly noticed that this suspicious group had cutlasses among them, and guns. They strode forwards, the blonde man in the lead, across the deck.

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‘So,’ Crow said calmly, sauntering down the stairs, pushing Whitelock aside as he did so, and standing before them. ‘What might this be about?’

The group pushed the yellow-haired man forward, who took off his hat and fiddled with it; ‘well, Cap’n,’ he began awkwardly, ‘it’s just that…’ here he turned to look back at

the group, who nodded encouragement, and one said; ‘Go on, Squalor, if anybody can do it, you can…’

The man called Squalor turned back to Crow, his confidence enhanced by his companions; ‘It’s just that

some of the crew are questioning the way ye do things…’ he said.

‘The coward gathered up the courage to face me at last,’

Crow commented; ‘yes, Mr Squalit, I know what you’ve been doing behind my back. It began with snide remarks

about every decision I made that someone had a problem

with, and then you began to say things like “why, if I was Captain, I’d do such and such”, to the agreement, and then even cheering, of certain members of my crew.’

Squalor looked taken aback, and looked to his friends for support.

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‘Who here is still loyal to their Captain?’ Sunder demanded, and a few pirates who had been watching the

spectacle mumbled an ‘Aye aye, Cap’n!’ and ‘we’re with ye all the way, Cap’n!’ and ‘we’d never leave old Cap’n Sunder!’

Squalor glared at Crow; ‘The long and short of it is,’ he said, ‘is that I’m challengin’ ye to a duel- to the death. Right here. Right now.’ A

moment

passed

between

Squalit

(nicknamed

Squalor) and the Crow, and then with the suddenness of a striking snake, Sunder charged forwards, both blades flashing out, one in either hand.

Squalor reached quickly for his pistol, but Crow’s speed

was incredible; even as he drew his gun the Captain was

upon him; one sword slashed the weapon right out of

Squalit’s hands, while the other slammed downwards, crunching through his shoulder-bone right down to his chest! In a swirling of blood the man struck the ground like a stone with a frightful gasp of pain. Almost as soon as it

had begun, the duel had ended, but Crow had not; even

as Squalor hit the floor he had leapt forwards, into the

very middle of the group of rebellious pirates! Two quick

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flashes of his blades, and two heads fell to the floor, and

before the group knew what was going on, one of Crow’s blades had lashed upwards, then the Captain leapt out of the group before any could lay a hand on him.

The tall, dark-skinned man’s right arm was completely severed at the shoulder, so that he wailed in furious

agony as his arm, still grasping a large scimitar, struck the deck.

The pirates stepped back in panic, Crow now standing a short distance from them, his face red with fury as he

panted, chest and shoulders heaving in rage; then he

cried in a remarkably commanding voice, shocking to hear from one who was usually so delicate of speech; ‘Curs!

Cowards! Dogs! Does anyone else here dare attempt lay hands on the Crow!?’

For a moment there was silence, apart from the wailing of the tall, bald, muscular man who clutched at his shoulder

where an arm had once protruded, and now fell to the floor, growling in pain, angry tears forming in his eyes.

And there was silence, apart from the groans of Squalor, lying mangled, red and broken on the ground.

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The oar-slave’s eyes were wide, their mouths were open,

and the pirates gazed at their Captain with renewed fear and respect.

Satisfied that the demonstration of his power was enough to fully assert his authority as Captain and lord

of the crew, Crow nodded, and sheathed his bloodied cutlasses with an ominous hiss of metal.

‘You lot,’ he ordered, ‘take Squalor and toss him. This’ll

be a symbol of your servitude; I’ll take it as an oath of

honour that nothing like this will ever happen again. After that the merciful Captain will forgive you your treason against him.’

There was a short silence, and the group, including the one-armed man, mumbled ‘Aye, Cap’n; thank ye, Cap’n,’ and ‘we was always with ye in heart, Cap’n; ‘twas

Squalor what done it, and put us up to it…’ and even ‘it was so kind o’ good ol’ Cap’n Sunder t’save us from that

nasty tyrant, Squalor!’ And they, (the one-armed man not included, since he was still writhing on the ground) went forwards to take up Squalor.

Squalit himself, however, with tears protruding from his

eyes, began gasping; ‘Cap’n Sunder! Surely ye

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wouldn’t do this t’me, good ol’ Squalit! Me hearty! Me

Cap’n! We was the best o’ mates, you an’ I! Remember the good ol’ days?’

Crow, however, didn’t even bother looking at Squalor as he turned on his heel and began marching back towards his cabin.

Now, at that moment, not at all knowing what possessed

him to do so, Arwin shouted out; ‘Hurray for Cap’n Sunder!’

All of the slaves and pirates looked at Arwin in surprise,

even Squalor- all of them except for Crow, who stopped dead in his tracks as if stricken by lightning.

There was a silence, then Gero, who had been by Arwin’s side, growled; ‘Why, you-!’ and drew his scimitar with a hiss of metal, holding it high in the air, preparing to slam it down on Arwin and kill him.

But even as Gero had first begun to speak, Crow had turned and come quickly forwards, so that a moment

before Gero would have split open Arwin’s head, Crow’s hand pressed softly against Gero’s wrist.

‘Enough there, Mr Gero, sir,’ Crow warned quietly, ‘I know that you played a large part in this rebellion as well.’

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Gero paled. Crow’s hand, which was pressing against his scimitar-wrist, closed about his wrist, so that the Captain slid Gero’s own scimitar back into its sheath.

They stared at each other, Crow looking him down.

Then suddenly the Captain drew his pistol and pointed

it towards Arwin, and pulled the trigger; there was a click, as of an empty gun when the trigger is pulled. Sighing

inwardly, Crow instead drew his other pistol, and pointed it at Arwin. Arwin, panic surging through him, trying to

say or do something, anything that would stop him from ending up dead, couldn’t think of anything; his mind when blank from fear.

BANG! Arwin’s chains were blasted apart from the oar with stunning accuracy, leaving Arwin himself unharmed.

‘You’re taking the traitor Squalit’s place,’ Crow said calmly, ‘and as for you, Mr Gero; I’m displeased.’

Gero began to stutter; ‘I… I don’t know what ye mean,

Cap’n! I’d never dishonour good old Cap’n Sunder! Whenever someone o’ the crew asks me who I think the

bes’ Cap’n, the bes’ man, in the Seven Seas is, ye know what I says? I says to ‘em, I says “why, none other than good ol’ Cap’n-” ’

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‘Your new duty is deckswabber.’ Gero stopped short.

‘And the old deckswabber will be taking your place, Mr

Gero… And by the way,’ here Crow addressed Arwin, and Arwin thought that if Crow’s face had not been

expressionless, the man might have actually been smirking; ‘what with your new position, you have absolute authority

over Mr Gero here.’ With that, Crow turned and stalked off back to his cabin, and Arwin, who now had only one

eye, glared at Gero, who, looking at him, became even paler.

There was a lot of bustle about the crew shortly

afterwards; namely, Squalor was tossed overboard. Gero fetched the mop and bucket, and tossed the two

decapitated bodies (and their heads), along with the arm,

overboard, (though the scimitar the arm held had been

pinched by someone when no-one was looking) before miserably scrubbing the blood and bits of flesh away. Two fresh slaves were brought up from below to replace

Arwin, who had trouble balancing on his thin legs, which he had not been able to stand on for weeks. The onearmed man was also taken to the ship’s hospital to be

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attended to, along with Arwin, whose wounds were creamed and bandaged, and he was fed medicine, then

the manager, Chipmick by name, a dwarf of a man wearing glasses and having straight white hair came and explained what he was to do in his new position.

‘Squalor was the head slave-driver,’ he said; ‘he had authority over the other slave-drivers, to tell them who to

whip and who not to whip, and when, and of course he had authority to punish slaves himself, who weren’t doing

their part for the good of the crew. Your job is basically to see that things are all in order amongst the slaves and

the drivers. Oh! And Captain Sunder has informed me that you are allowed to do whatever you wish to Mr

Gero. But before all of your work begins, you are to rest for two days in bed to recover. You should go right now-

but before you do…’ Chipmick handed Arwin a black eye patch. ‘Here,’ he said.

For two days and two nights Arwin did just that, and rich

bread, thick slices of meat and cheese, and some rum were brought to him, which he ate and drunk with relish. When the two days were up, he was washed and cleaned,

before his wounds were tended to again and new

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bandages were placed over them. After that, he was given a brand new coat, rich and embroided, a symbol of his position, and also a hat with a feather in it, the feather

being an emblem of authority on board. Whitelock himself had two feathers in his hat. In addition, Arwin was led to

the weapon storage facilities to take what he wished to

wear, more, perhaps, as forms of decoration and further

symbols of power than for actual use in fighting. He selected a pistol decorated with gold and silver, and a fine cutlass. He also took a dagger to keep hidden in his

boot, and another in his coat, thinking himself rather

cunning for doing so. After all that was done, being suitably washed, dressed, fed, tended to and rested, his

first day of “work” began. None other than Whiplash himself stood before Arwin and raised his hat to him with a warm smile after the man who had once been an oar-

slave emerged from his private cabin. ‘G’mornin’, Mr Arwin, sir!’ he said happily.

Arwin narrowed his eye at Gero suspiciously, before giving a curt nod of his head.

‘And a lovely day it is, too,’ commented Whiplash, smiling, but sweating. ‘Yes, yes… lovely day. Why, I must say, Mr

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Arwin, sir, ye do look awful brilliant in that new jacket o’ yours! An’ that nice hat really suits you, matey!’

Arwin looked at Gero hatefully, and for a sickening moment he wondered if all this had been some joke of

Crow’s, and Arwin was only made to think he had been elevated, when really he still had the rank of oar-slave.

‘Why, whenever I was down below deck drinkin’ rum, I’d say to me hearties, I’d say to ‘em; “someday, that Arwin’s

gonna be a leader among us, ye mark my words!” aye, that’s what I said- and look at ye now! Won’erful, I tell ye!

Splendid!’

Realization dawned on Arwin; Crow hadn’t been joking. Gero was making a desperate -and Arwin thought quite a pathetic- attempt to befriend Arwin to save his hide.

Arwin smiled ruefully. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about

ye so quickly,’ Arwin said ominously, now positively

glowing with satisfaction; ‘aye, Whiplash, m’lad’ he added, recalling the joke Gero had made.

Gero now looked even paler and began stuttering; ‘O, th-that…? I, it, was, err… What? I’m not sure I, ah…’

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The more he stuttered, the more Arwin puffed out his

chest triumphantly; ‘Get back t’work, you dog,’ he said quietly.

‘Yes, sir…’ Gero mumbled, and did as Arwin commanded just like that.

Now Arwin new it really was true! He had won! In the

midst of his excitement he called ‘And by the way, Crow

has given me complete authority over ye! Don’t go thinkin’ I won’t lash out an eye o’ yours with a whip soon enough!’

Gero quailed in fright.

Arwin strode back and forth across the deck proudly, with his head held high, smiling inside as a member of the

crew would occasionally look up to admire his brand new

coat. Things were finally going his way. But suddenly

Arwin stopped short; something terrible was happening! One of the slaves –a new one, who had been brought

from the cages below just recently- wasn’t rowing hard

enough. Arwin was astonished at the selfishness of that

vile man who lazily, stubbornly, no- arrogantly refused to do his part for the good of the crew.

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‘Row!’ Arwin shouted angrily, and lashed at the fellow,

cutting open his back. The man screamed in pain and, seeing that the slave now rowed with renewed vigour, Arwin nodded in satisfaction.

The red-haired slave, who was working the oar just in front of the oar-slave Arwin had lashed, shook his head.

Arwin looked at the deck, and, not spotting any more

whom he thought lazy, selfish and arrogant, Arwin felt

inclined to go below deck and see to the slaves down there. Now, down below where the slaves rowed, cages

hung solemnly from the ceiling, in which were housed thin,

gaunt fellows, some of them grasping the bars feebly, others crushing their knees to their chests, others simply

sobbing quietly. At the end of the passage, opposite from the staircase Arwin had just descended, a black shield hung from the wall, with the emblem of the skull and crossbones.

That night Arwin, feeling somewhat tired from his first day of hard work, and fancying something delicious to

satisfy his rather vigorous appetite and quench his thirst,

feasted alongside the other pirates, and drank with them.

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Any that had a feather in their hat, he spoke to equally,

though any that were not high enough in rank to bear

such a token, he scarcely bothered looking at, as he delved into his tasty meat pie with gravy, or sampled one

of the various cheeses available, or even risked tasting some plum pudding and trifle. And, of course, he gulped down rum, beautiful rum, with a will. When Arwin saw

Gero sitting in a corner and glancing nervously at him,

however, and drinking rum to help sooth himself, Arwin became furious on the inside; ‘Avast there, Whiplash!’ Arwin called, and Gero paled; ‘from now on you’re not

allowed t’drink no rum! In fact, yer not allowed to join us ‘ere when we feast! At night ye can sleep in one o’ the empty cages!’

Some of the crew, who had never quite liked Whiplash, laughed aloud and made fun of him as the man skulked away miserably.

The next day, Arwin awoke in his private cabin, after having drunk rum for most of the previous night, and to

his pleasure discovered in a basket two loaves of bread,

some fruits including grapes, and a complementary bottle

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of rum; all a gift from Captain Sunder, probably in congratulations of his new, important position.

That day Arwin whipped any slaves whom he thought he

weren’t doing their part, and then a few more random slaves at a whim, just to make sure they remembered to do

their part after he was gone. Arwin would often make jokes about Gero’s new profession, and all around would laugh at the man, who blushed with shame.

The next night Arwin drank himself silly again and lost all memory of it. This went on for a few days, all the while

Crow seeming to ignore Arwin (as he generally did everyone), standing on the upper deck or striding back and forth across the lower, gazing over the ship or over the sea on those rare occasions when he left his chamber.

One day, Arwin decided to strike up conversation with

Laiemens, the Second-In-Command to Crow, and the only one who wore no less than two feathers in his hat. ‘Ahoy there, Whitelock, mate!’ Arwin said cheerfully.

Whitelock, however, glared at Arwin as though he had

been deeply offended; ‘That’s Captain Laimens to you!’ Arwin, surprised, opened his mouth to answer when

Whitelock cut over him; ‘Think you’re something special,

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don’t you, boy?’ here the man leaned in close, his rancid breath rushing into Arwin’s face with every word he

spoke, his eyes and tone filled with such hatred that it was astounding: ‘I’ve seen you, striding about in your

brand new coat, puffing out your little chest, looking pretty with your precious hat! But underneath all that you’re still just a slave, boy! Another one of those filthy, stinking, oar-slave pigs! Now get out of my sight!’

Hurt, Arwin slunk away, and then noticed Gero bending down as he scrubbed the decks. Taking out his anger on

him, Arwin kicked the man in the face heatedly, causing

Whiplash’s jaws to knock together and bloody his mouth. ‘Clean up this mess, ye dog!’ Arwin growled scornfully, ‘and from now on, all you’re allowed t’drink is water from

the mop-bucket at the end o’ the day, and while I’m in charge, ye’ll eat nothin’ but slave-bread!’

Arwin turned to look back at Whitelock, who was now

speaking to a golden-haired man, who looked at Arwin

and laughed. As for Whitelock himself, when turned around, his eyes were above Arwin. Angrily Arwin turned and stalked away below deck, where he whipped a few slaves to sooth his temper.

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That night Arwin skulked and brooded, scarcely touching the precious rum, and not eating anything. He

began to think to himself that something in Whitelock’s words rang true; what was he to the rest of the crew? All this time he had been proud, but really the rest of the

crew (except maybe Gero) must be laughing at him

behind his back! The oar-slave that thinks he’s the head slave-driver! With this realization came a sense of loneliness; Arwin realised that he had no real friends

aboard the Hullabaloo; the lesser pirates feared him, but that was not the same as friendship. Those with a feather in their hats, like Arwin, tended to be taciturn towards

him, since he had originally been an oar-slave, and they

still regarded him as such, more than likely. There was no

need to even mention Captain Sunder, who never spoke

or glanced at anyone, nor Captain Laimens, who utterly detested Arwin, and certainly no need to consider the oar-slaves. At least when he had been an oar-slave, as awful and traumatic as life had been, at least he had had

someone to talk to. Arwin was pleased with his new job, he admitted to himself; pleased with his new coat, and satisfied with the food. It was good; a pirate’s life was a

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good life, he supposed, when all was said and done. But

he was lonely, and that feeling of loneliness was such in nature so as to almost be physically compressing.

It was as Arwin was thinking this that a man came and sat

beside him; the pirate had a purple bandanna about his head, the beginnings of a black beard, a ring of amethyst

about his middle finger, and when he smiled, he revealed to rows of dirty, broken and crooked teeth, some of them made of gold or silver.

‘Ahoy there, me hearty!’ he said cheerfully.

Arwin, who would usually have looked over a lesser ranked member of the crew as he might a dog in the dirt,

now replied sadly; ‘Ahoy there,’ having a desire in his heart for some kind of companionship.

The man smiled with friendliness; ‘Cinnamon!’ he stated, ‘that’s me name! But they calls me by me nick; “Gold”.’ ‘Well, hullo, Cinnamon Gold; I be-’

‘I know who ye be!’ Gold said incredulously, as though this should be obvious; ‘why, you’re famous, you is, aboard this ship!’

Arwin grunted miserably.

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‘Why, you’re a man I respect,’ explained the pirate, ‘an’ many others here do as well, though ye might not know it yet.’

Feeling comforted, Arwin’s humility was lost and his

pride renewed; ‘As well they should,’ he said, feeling happier.

‘As well they should!’ Gold agreed, and poured Arwin

some rum, ‘and do ye knows what they call you fer nick?’ he asked.

Arwin looked at him questioningly.

‘Eagle, they calls you, that they does,’ said Gold, ‘the Eagle- ‘cos just how eagles saw up-like, you rose up from bein’ a slave to a head! That’s pretty amazin’, mate, and

no oar-slave on the history o’ this ship, and prob’ly the

history o’ any other, has managed t’do that! Well, that’s somethin’ to be happy about, ain’t it?’

Arwin smiled as he came to realise this. ‘Thank ye, Gold,’ he said, and the merry pirate patted him cheerfully

on the back before going off to join some others and speak to them. As Arwin watched Gold, he noticed that

all the other pirates seemed to be leaning towards him,

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waiting on his every word and laughing at his every joke. Evidently the man was charismatic and popular.

Smiling to himself, Arwin turned his attention to a silver

bowl on the table before him, which was filled with plums

spread with honey so that they sticky and golden on top,

and deep purple or scarlet underneath. Thinking of

himself as an indulgent fellow, he bit into the fruits greedily…

Arwin became drunk once again that night, so that

everything seemed to be swimming around him; he staggered from the feast, (or at least “feast” was what he

called it in his mind, as the oar-slaves did) into the

passage where the lower oar-slaves were sleeping in their

seats, and where Gero snoozed quietly in a cage, and made his way across to the black shield at the other end,

where he examined the emblem. Arwin shrugged and turned around, and to his horror, saw an inhuman creature at the other end of the hall staring at him. It was human in shape, but Arwin somehow knew that it was

anything but human; it was hooded and robed all in pitch black, and about its person, and shrouding its feet, was an icy mist, sparkling faintly as with dark green emeralds.

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Immediately a chill came over Arwin; a terrible chill, as

though cold fingers were stroking the back of his neck and spine, and suddenly he felt sick in his stomach, which

churned painfully. Then the figure turned calmly, and walked away to the right, and, to Arwin’s amazement and

abject terror, instead of making contact with the wall, the

thing sunk right through it. Silently the mist faded away,

and Arwin was left staring at the empty end of the passageway, frozen. How long Arwin stood there he didn’t know; was it an hour? Was it more? But at last

Arwin found his willpower, and was able to move and think again; now he was no longer drunk at all, instead he was stern and serious.

Nearby Gero snored softly, and then Arwin noticed in one of the cages a man whom he recognized as the old

captain of the merchant ship! He slept gloomilyevidently the pirates had grown board with making fun of him, and had so left him to lie in his cage.

Trying to shake the thought out of his mind, Arwin headed off to his private cabin, drunk the whole bottle of rum that Crow had had sent to him, and fell into a sleep disturbed by black nightmares of that dire figure.

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He woke up at noon or so the next day, and, when he realised the time, Arwin panicked, rushing out onto the deck to whip a few slaves.

‘Don’t stress yourself,’ Chipmick the manager said to him, who happened to be passing by; ‘as the head of

slave-drivers, you’re not expected to work daily. They can handle themselves. It’s perfectly acceptable for you to work just once every other day, so long as they’re checked on frequently.’

It was then that Arwin came to realise that evidently those in higher position worked less.

Arwin wondered where Gold was, but didn’t see him that

day, so in the evening when they ate and drank, he met Cinnamon there, and asked him his profession.

‘I work in the crow’s nest,’ Gold explained, ‘aye, that I do! And I watches from afar, I does, t’make sure anythin’

sighted is made known afore it poses any danger! Aye, ye just trust old Cinnamon Gold with that!’

For the next few days Arwin spoke with Gold often, and came to take a deep liking to the man. He was always

ready to lend a helping hand, always ready with some witty joke or comment, a marvellous singer, and an

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interesting converser. His personality was the kind that seemed to draw people to him like a magnet; he always

seemed happy, and he was very sociable. Arwin even took to meeting Gold alone on the deck at nights after

everyone had eaten and drunk, and below the stars, over a cold, watery ocean, they would speak together, sitting on the ship’s edge.

One night, Cinnamon said; ‘I have a lot of eyes, I do, and I sees more’n your average gentlemen o’ fortune. Aye,

and I hears rumours goin’ among the crew. Ye might not know it, Arwin, but we all look up to ye, we does, all but a

few, and ye can trust your old Cinnamon Gold on that.

The Eagle; the man that soared up from oar-slave to head. A great story, wouldn’t ye think? And ye might not

know it, Arwin, but some o’ the men are even comparin’ ye to…’ here Gold’s voice quietened, ‘… Crow.’ ‘Comparing me to him?’ Arwin asked.

‘Think about it, mate,’ Cinnamon said, ‘an eagle is way

more powerful ‘an a crow. An’ who else has risen t’the

height ye have from bein’ a simple oar-slave? Aye, the crew look up to ye, they do, even if ye don’t know it. And, matey, I look up to ye.’

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There was a pause.

‘And what does they see when they compares Eagle to

Crow?’ Gold asked aloud; ‘I’ll tell ye what they sees, Arwin, me hearty; they sees grim, miserable Crow, who

never speaks to no-one, and who they’re scared t’death of, in case he shoots ‘em at a whim! And then they sees

cheerful Eagle, the one who soared up outta slavery, who rowed an oar single-handedly for three days, who’s

always checkin’ to make sure the slave-drivers and the slaves do their job, whose always ready t’joke and t’talkthat’s what they see, and I sees it in ye too…’

‘Why,’ Arwin said quietly, ‘do they now? That’s interestin’, that is.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Cinnamon, and then said something that made Arwin think deeply; ‘why, the long and short of it is: most here’d be happier if you was cap’n o’ this ship.’

There was a long, slow silence as the ship lapped serenely over the waves.

‘Do ye have a plan, mate?’ Arwin asked softly, glancing over his back to make sure all the slaves were asleep, and no-one was listening.

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‘I got a plan,’ Cinnamon whispered; ‘see, Crow never eats with the rest o’ the crew- always by himself, in his

own little cabin. And he doesn’t eat nor drink out o’ the same stash as the crew does; in fact, he has his own personal keg o’ rum. It’s a simple matter o’ findin’ that keg o’ rum, and slippin’ something in it. By mistake.’

Arwin nodded slowly; ‘I see where this be goin’.’

‘I’ll brew ye the stuff,’ Gold said, ‘at first he’ll be as happy and normal as ye like, but then, after a few weeks or so,

he’ll start feelin’ sick-like, and then… he’ll drop dead. I’ll

give ye the stuff, and can unlock Crow’s door with a pick, but ye must be the one to do it.’ ‘Why me?’

‘If ye like, ye can get someone ye trust to do it for ye- but

I won’t do it! I’m puttin’ enough on the line as it is brewin’

the stuff, and I’m sorry t’say I’m a coward at heart, that I

am.’ Here Cinnamon looked slightly sad. ‘A brave Eagle like yerself has t’be the one t’do it. Aye, when I first saw ye, I says to meself, I says; “Cinnamon, now there’s a man

with potential to become somethin’ great! To become a

leader, even!” And I says to meself, I says; “it’s on’y right that a man o’ such rare qualities should achieve what’s his

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due, it is!” And so, me hearty, me mate, me friend; I made it me mission to help ye on that road, that I did! Yer a fine man, Eagle- you just trust old Cinnamon Gold!’

There was a pause. Arwin looked about himself again; no one was listening.

‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’ll do it.’ Three days or so later, Cinnamon slipped Arwin the poison one night when they sat once more on the ship’s

edge, handing it to him with the foreigner and thumb of

one hand on the cork while the bottle rested in the palm of his other hand, as though Gold was loathe to even touch the bottle. It was in a dark green glass bottle with an almost triangular bottom and a thin stem, with a cork at

the top. On the glass was illustrated an angry black skull and crossbones, and inside was the dire, toxic substance.

‘His keg’ll be in ‘is own cabin,’ Gold said quietly, ‘prob’ly

below a trapdoor in a cellar. The key to it should be somewhere in ‘is room, or on ‘is person.’ ‘I’ll do it tonight,’ Arwin said.

‘T-tonight!?’ Cinnamon whispered, ‘shouldn’t ye wait til some night when everyone be drunk, and then do it?’

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‘No, mate,’ Arwin said quietly, ‘they’re drunk enough already. Let’s get this over an’ done with. Besides, the longer I keep this stuff, the more risk I run o’ bein’ caught!’

Cinnamon looked around himself fearfully; ‘Awright, awright, mate!’ he said, ‘do as ye must, after I’ve picked

the lock.’ Withdrawing a twisted piece of wire from his pocket, Gold tinkered with the keyhole to Crow’s door

until a click was heard, then turned to Arwin and said ‘but I’m not t’have anythin’ t’do with this, ye hear?’

‘Fair enough, fair enough,’ replied Arwin, ‘and when I’m made Cap’n, I’ll remember old Cinnamon Gold, an’ I’ll kill

Whitelock, kill all ‘is friends, and make ye the new Second-In-Command, that I will.’

‘Thanks, me hearty,’ Gold said gratefully, then turned and scurried off below deck to sleep in one of the hammocks where all the lesser pirates slept.

Arwin, however, turned towards Crow’s cabin; as he stood there on the upper deck, he looked about at the

lower. Confident that the slaves were sleeping and that the pirates were all below, he pressed his ear to Crow’s

door, and listened: he didn’t hear a thing. He turned the

knob slowly, before carefully easing the door open; it

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creaked loudly and Arwin stopped immediately. A moment later Arwin pushed the door open smoothly,

stepped into Crow’s room and shut the door quietly behind him. At the other end there was long, rectangular-

shaped window through which the sea and stars could be seen, and at the right corner of the far wall was a large,

comfortable bed, where the silent form of Crow lay.

Arwin searched around the floor til he found the trapdoor near the left wall, then set to searching for the

key. Eventually he found it on Crow’s person, hanging from a ring at his belt, along with Crow’s cutlasses and

pistols, which the Captain evidently wore even in his sleep. Arwin sweated as he carefully reached out; his

hand grasped the key-ring, then withdrew quickly again as Crow stirred slightly in his sleep. Arwin exhaled silently, heart pounding, and reached out for the second time; if the Captain woke up, Arwin thought, he’d be dead. Arwin wondered if he should forget all about the poison,

and kill the captain right then and there? But he wasn’t sure how the crew would react. It would obvious to them

who the killer was; Arwin, who was upstairs alone, and then came down alone, before Crow was found dead the

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next day. No, it must be done with the poison, so that Crow died of an “unknown illness” many days later, to

make things less obvious… Arwin carefully slid the key-

ring from Crow’s belt a moment before the Captain

rolled over in his sleep. He was about to roll off his bed onto the floor, but Arwin quickly reached out his hand

and pushed against him to stop him falling; the Captain recoiled from his hand, rolling back in the opposite direction before being still once more in his slumber.

As swiftly as he dared, Arwin made his way to the

trapdoor, and fumbled with keys, trying each until he

found the right one, then opened it with a quiet creak. Down a ladder he went, and then he was in a cellar with a

single wooden keg, bound at top and bottom with iron.

Opening up the square-shaped hole in the top of the keg brought the strong scent of rum to his nostrils, and

then he poured the liquid in; Arwin had imagined the poison to be deathly green in colour, but this stuff was clear, and looked very much like water.

‘All the better, I s’pose,’ Arwin mumbled to himself quietly.

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When the contents in its entirety had corrupted the rum,

Arwin shut the lid of the keg, shoved the bottle into his

pocket, climbed back up the ladder, shut and locked the trapdoor behind him, then went back to the sleeping form of Crow. He carefully attached the key-ring to his belt

once more, and Crow didn’t stir. With all this done, Arwin left the chamber, shutting the door behind him.

He felt relief roll over him like a wave of cool water as he

smelt once more the salty night air, then quickly went back down to Cinnamon, who was lying in his hammock. The

pirate jumped as Arwin touched him; ‘It’s done,’ Arwin

said quietly, ‘but the door’s still unlocked. Ye’ll have t’relock it with the pick.’

Gold went back upstairs, and a short while later came back down again. ‘It’s all dealt with,’ he said quietly.

When Arwin went back to his private chamber that night, he walked back and forth through the room, retracing

every step he had made in his mind to make sure he had done nothing wrong, left no evidence, made no mistake.

Then, feeling satisfied that all had gone well, he lay down and went to sleep, feeling pleased with himself. After all, he thought to himself happily; within just a few weeks,

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he’d be Captain Arwin. He liked the sound of it. Captain Arwin, of the Hullabaloo.

Over the next few days Arwin always kept his weapons close by his side, but Crow acted as he usually did. Cinnamon Gold, however, now seemed jollier and more talkative than ever, though they never mentioned to each other anything to do with the poison again. If Arwin had

been proud when he had strode back and forth along the

deck before, now he was positively haughty, welling with

his own self-indulgence, and complementing himself on his clever tactics, his cunning plan, his masterful bravery, his control

over

himself

in

difficult

situations,

his

determination for ultimate victory which led to his success- soon he would be Captain Arwin. He smiled

and waved at Whitelock, who glared back at him, and then even looked smugly up at Captain Sunder, who stood silently on the upper deck, and gave him a merry ‘Mornin’, Cap’n!’ to which he didn’t reply. But that didn’t diminish

in the least Arwin’s good mood, who now drank deeper of the rum, and laughed and joked more. He felt relieved, and good inside; soon, Sunder would feel the first signs

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of the poison, and then he would collapse and die. Arwin

would proclaim himself captain, along with his supporters,

including Cinnamon Gold, and any who disagreed would be quickly dealt with, and their bodies hurled overboard.

Then everyone Arwin didn’t like, whether it was Whitelock, or Gero, or anyone else- all of them would die as well.

‘It’s the life of a pirate fer me!’ he said to himself gleefully,

befor biting into one of those delicious, honey-covered plums, the delightful and scrumptious taste of which he so enjoyed to partake in.

One evening, Captain Sunder Crow invited Arwin Eagle and Laimens Whitelock into his private cabin to dine with him instead of with the rest of the crew, or in

their own private cabins- this was surprising, since eating

with any kind of company was something Arwin had never heard of him doing before. Presently Crow sat at the end

of an oblong table, with Arwin on one side and Laimens

on the other, the latter two eyeing each other coldly, both of whom had been made to leave their weapons outside,

and had both been searched for any hidden weapons by

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one a pirate before he was sent away by Crow. Set before the three was roast chicken, some soup and salad, pork, biscuits and cakes. In the middle of it all was a golden vessel surrounded by three golden goblets.

‘Unfortunately I’ve been feeling somewhat sick of late,’

Sunder remarked with casual serenity, looking at Whitelock strangely, who eventually turned away, then Crow’s suspicious grey pupils rolled slowly to look upon Arwin, as if studying him. There was a silence.

‘Well, no matter,’ Crow said, ‘it’s not important. What is

important is that I’ve invited you both here; my two most trusted men’ –Arwin felt surprised at this description of

himself, and surprised also by the way Crow was

speaking; he never spoke this way to anyone! Why would he now?- ‘to dine with me in person tonight. I don’t know if

you’ve noticed, I usually like to dine alone. But it’s good to have a drinking partner or two once in a while.’ Here Arwin froze.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Crow continued, ‘I’d like you two jolly

fellows, my two most trusted men, to share a drink with me, from my own personal keg of rum.’

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‘Ah! How delightful!’ Whitelock commented, clapping his

hands excitedly, quite forgetting his disappointment at Arwin joining the meal. Arwin himself suddenly felt ill.

Crow took the golden vessel and poured the rum into the

three goblets, and set one before each member of the table.

‘A toast,’ said Crow, and here he eyed Arwin, and then Whitelock; ‘to my long lasting, and good health.’

Now Arwin saw what Crow was up to; the Captain was suspicious that someone had corrupted his rum, that much was obvious, possibly as a result of feeling “sick”

lately, as he put it. And, for reasons known only to Crow, he suspected either Arwin or Laimens of poisoning his

brew. In testing them, he sought to find out if someone had truly poisoned his rum, and if so, who. Arwin’s eyes became hateful as they fell on Crow, and Crow looked

calmly back at him, as if asking; will you drink, or will you make some excuse to avoid it…?

They all rose their goblets and touched them gently together above the food in the middle of the table, and

Crow set his goblet to his lips without seeming to actually drink any of the stuff inside, while Laimens gulped down

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his entire cup happily. Crow’s grey, tired eyes turned from Laimens and rested steadily on Arwin, studying him unblinkingly over the rim of the cup.

Arwin felt as if he was going to throw up.

‘What’s the matter?’ Sunder enquired politely; ‘is the rum not to your liking?’

‘I…’ Arwin began awkwardly, ‘Argh, I’ve had problems with the ol’ liver o’ late, from too much drink, ye unnerstand. I should prob’ly decline yer generous offer.’

‘Oh?’ Crow asked politely, as if in slight surprise, ‘but

this is a toast to my long-lasting and good health. You want that, don’t you? If so, it would be impolite not to drink it.’

‘Really,’ Arwin said quietly, ‘I can’t.’ It was too late that

Arwin realised those last two words were practically the same as a confession.

There was a silence even more awkward than the last

one. Everyone except Crow seemed to be feeling uneasy.

‘Can’t?’ Crow repeated, and slowly leaned in closer; ‘the

way you go on about this rum, Arwin,’ he said quietly, ‘one would think there’s something wrong with it!’

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Arwin gulped.

‘Come now,’ Crow urged again, softly, ‘a little bit’s not going to kill you.’

‘… Yes,’ Arwin mumbled quietly, ‘yes, right ye are, Cap’n. I don’t want to offend.’ Arwin gulped down a little of the

rum. ‘There,’ he said, as cheerfully as he could, and opened his mouth to show Crow; ‘all gone! See?’

Captain Sunder leaned back carefully in his chair, Whitelock looking from one to the other suspiciously. ‘Did I, ah, miss something?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Crow said, ‘I just thought Arwin was acting slightly

impolite. It was quite annoying…’ here Crow eyed Arwin

again; ‘so annoying I almost felt inclined to shoot the fellow. Still, no point in dwelling on that now, I suppose.’

With that Crow rose, turned from the table and gazed out of his window. ‘I’m glad you both came, truly I am. Now you can go. Goodbye!’

‘Wh-wha-?’ Whitelock began, ‘j-just like that?’

‘Just like that,’ Crow agreed, not bothering to turn and look at either of them; ‘you’re both dismissed. Leave.’

Arwin and Whitelock looked at each other, rose and quietly left.

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The epitome of calmness itself, Arwin carefully descended the stairs and went to his private chamber,

shutting and locking the door behind him. He lay down on his front on the bed, his face in the pillow, and then he screamed and screamed and screamed, fury surging

through him like red lava through black tunnels. At length he rose up, walking back and forth across the small room; ‘Damn him!’ he growled, his fists clenched so tightly his

knuckles almost ripped open. ‘Damn him! The curse of all the judgements of all the Hells on that confounded man!

Damn him! Curse him! May Crow be condemned to Davie Jone’s Locker forever!’

A thought struck Arwin; ‘An antidote,’ he whispered, ‘there has t’be an antidote! And Gold will know it!’

The next day Crow acted as he usually did; he spoke to

no-one and ignored everyone, never making eye-contact with them yet never quite looking away from them, and coming out from his chamber only once or twice to breathe fresh air as he gazed out at the salty ocean, or to

walk back and forth across the deck with his hands behind his back. The day passed slowly, and at night-

time Arwin impatiently waited the right time to ask

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Cinnamon to leave with him so that they could speak outside.

At last he found himself once more standing on deck with Gold; ‘Listen!’ he said fiercely, but the pirate put his finger to his lips and said ‘shh…’ softly.

Arwin, understanding the direness of this warning, quietened his tone to a faint whisper; ‘I need an antidote!’ he said, and explained to Gold everything that had happened.

The pirate shook his head sadly; ‘This ain’t good,’ he whispered, ‘this ain’t good at all.’

‘Well can ye do somethin’ or not!?’ Arwin demanded, ‘yer

not me mate nor me hearty unless ye can do somethin’! Otherwise I’ll tell Crow all about just what yev been up to, I will, ye mark my words! Me life’s finished anyways!’

Cinnamon looked up at Arwin in shock; ‘ye wouldn’t!’ he whispered, ‘not after all I’ve done for ye!?’

Arwin glared back, and Gold knew the man wasn’t

bluffing. ‘Awright,’ Gold gave in at last, ‘I can get an antidote. I can find the ingredients easy ‘nough in the storage facilities, and have it for ye in a day or two.’

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‘Thanks, mate,’ Arwin replied, relieved, ‘yer a true friend, you is!’

The very next day, Arwin was his proud self again, and

strode back and forth along the deck, whipping slaves here and there with a will. He even looked up at Crow

(when the Captain emerged) and gave a cheerful

‘Afternoon, Cap’n!’ to which he received no reply. This did not dampen Arwin’s spirits, however; soon, Gold would waft him up the antidote! Crow would die thinking

that he had taken Arwin with him, but Arwin would

survive! He would live and reign as Captain of the Hullabaloo! Let the fool think he’d won, ha!

On the second night from that day, however, Gold looked panicky as they stood once more alone on deck.

‘Did ye bring it?’ asked Arwin impatiently, ‘hand it over, I’m warnin’ ye!’

‘Arwin, the stranges’ thing’s ‘appened!’ Gold said, his eyes wide with the shock of it; ‘I was able to find all o’ the

ingredients needed fer it ‘xcept one! It’s the one that’s crucial t’the potion, and there can’t be no antidote without it!’

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‘What?’ Arwin breathed, barely believing his ears.

‘Anthremope it’s called,’ Gold said, ‘a white powdery stuff. But all supply of it’s just disappeared from the storage facilities! Vanished plain into thin air from the cellars!’

Arwin said through clenched and gritted teeth; ‘Don’t speak like a fool, Gold; things don’t just “vanish inta thin air”!’

‘I’m tellin’ ye, mate- it’s been stolen, all stolen! An’ it’s

been disposed of, it has! All of it! Someone must know about us, Arwin, about you an’ me!’

‘I don’t want t’die,’ Arwin said half angrily, half imploringly.

‘And I don’t want ye to die neither,’ replied Gold; ‘look here, me hearty; I’ll see what I can do. I have good friends aboard that might be able t’help me- no, t’help ye.’ ‘Don’t go tellin’ no one about us!’

‘I won’t tell ‘em nothin’!’ Gold said, ‘don’t ye worry, ye just

leave things to old Cinnamon Gold, he’ll come up with

somethin’! Aye, every second man ‘ere owes somethin’ t’me, they does, and with a few favours maybe I can come up with some sort o’ remedy!’

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Arwin, not really knowing what Cinnamon meant, but feeling assured that something would indeed be done, replied, ‘Fine, ye do that! And meet me-’

‘In a few nights I’ll meet ye,’ said Gold, ‘and if I don’t ‘ave it by then, I’ll tell ye how it’s all been goin’. Don’t fret;

ye’ve some time ahead o’ ye yet, and that should be more

‘an enough! Don’t fret, Eagle- ye just trust old

Cinnamon Gold! This is a nasty mess we’ve got ourselves into, you an’ me, but old Gold’ll set things aright, ye mark my words!’ With that, the pirate went off hastily.

The very next day, when Arwin awoke feeling anxious indeed, and left his private chamber, he found Crow standing on the upper deck earlier than usual. Then the

Captain did something he had never done before; looking down directly into Arwin’s eyes he said; ‘Mornin’, Cap’n!’

Arwin was so furious that he couldn’t find any words to

say, but simply looked at Crow in amazement, turned, and left.

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Two or three nights later, Arwin and Whitelock were

invited once more to dine with Crow privately, their weapons left outside like last time after they were

searched. With the guests presently sitting in the same seats as the other night, Crow began tucking in to roast fish without saying a word.

Arwin and Whitelock looked at each other, then copied him; everyone ate in silence.

At last Crow withdrew something, seemingly from under the table, and placed it on top, fiddling with it casually. It

was a small white pouch, which, to his horror and disgust at Crow, Arwin found to be labelled: anthremope.

Crow eyed both Arwin and Whitelock suspiciously, and, seeing that both had noticed the bundle, he tied it to his

belt and resumed eating as though nothing had happened.

So that’s his plan, Arwin thought darkly, to lure me into tryin’ t’steal the stuff from ‘im, and so find out who the real traitor is! But he already suspects me the most- no, he knows I’m the one!

As Arwin thought of these things, Arwin came to realise that the fact he recognized the obvious trap for what it

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was didn’t help him in the least, and Crow knew it; as the

poison took hold, he’d be forced to try and steal the bundle eventually. One way or another, it seemed certain

that he would die- unless there was some way to get the

bundle without falling into whatever trap Sunder had planned for him. To do this he’d have to find out what

the trap was first. But at that moment even this seemed

impossible. But that bundle was most likely the last source of anthrmope on the entire vessel…

Forget Crow’s games, Arwin thought to himself, I’ll just wait for Gold to come up with something!

Cinnamon, however, admitted to being clueless on their next meeting.

With mounting anger and impatience Arwin told the pirate of what he had seen in Crow’s chamber; he told of what Captain Sunder had shown him.

‘Then he knows yer the one,’ Cinnamon said in a dismaying tone, ‘or at least that it be either ye or

Whitelock. And I’ll wager it was he who had the facilities

emptied, and all the anthremope in the ship ‘xcept that small bag will’ve been thrown overboard!’

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‘And not only that,’ Arwin added in rage, ‘but if he knows

what anthremope is, he must know what sort o’ poison it was poisoned him! How could that be!?’

‘I’ll wager he discovered what sort o’ poison it was based

on the symptoms,’ said Gold thoughtfully, ‘and it’s known

that he’s well educated, more knowledgeable’n most. He was able t’guess what kind o’ poison it was what hurt ‘im,

an’ already knew the antidote for it. Clever… I thought I was the on’y one aboard who knew that poison- not even

the doctors aboard should know of it! But Crow must’ve… he’s smarter than I thought, he is!’

‘Aye,’ Arwin added in rage, ‘and now he’s the one that’s well and I’m the one that’s gone and been poisoned! But

it might not even be anthremope in that accursed bag! Crow might’ve used the last o’ the stuff for himself, and that bag could be a fake!’

‘More’n likely,’ said Cinnamon thoughtfully.

‘You cur!’ Arwin growled, ‘yev gone an’ killed me, ye have! This’s all your doin’!’

In his mind Arwin began to panic; ‘Argh, why did he even raise me up in the first place?’

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‘I guess,’ Gold replied, ‘Crow was bored. He don’t joke around, does Crow- but I think he has a mind t’mess with

people and see what ‘appens. He wanted t’know what an oar-slave’d be like as a slave-driver. And I s’pose it was

outta curiosity o’ his as well as ironic punishment t’place

Whiplash unner yer control, after commandin’ ‘im to make ye, Gero’s most hated slave, row alone.’

‘So ye think Crow does joke around in ‘is own way,’ Arwin said, ‘on’y jus’ not like anyone else. He ‘as a dirty, twisted sense o’ humour, he does.’ ‘Aye.’

‘The cur’ll be laughin’ to himself right now then, in ‘is little cabin, curse ‘im! Huh!’

‘Aye, that he will. But come off it! Not all’s lost!’ ‘Ye have another plan, me hearty?’

‘I ‘ave shipmates, me hearty! An’ here’s what I’ll do: I’ll have ‘em watch! See, his room’ll be guarded from now on,

more’n likely, and these shipmates o’ mine will learn the nature o’ the guard. Hopefully, and with a spot o’ luck, we can make a distraction an’ while the guard’s turned, ye

can sneak in an’ take the antidote for yerself and replace

it with a fake- I’ll take care o’ the fake, ye just trust old

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Cinnamon Gold t’that. Then, here’s what we do: we starts thinkin’ up a new strategy, we does, an’ quick- it’ll be dangerous fer us from then on, if that Cap’n finds out ‘is anthremope’s been taken! An’ he’ll ‘ave t’be dead, an’ it’ll ‘ave t’be done in secret afore he knows!’

‘Why can’t we jus’ kill ‘im and take the anthremope at the same time? And why can’t someone else take the antidote?’

‘In answer to the first, coz I haven’t thought of a plan yet,’

Gold replied simply, ‘an’ as fer the secon’, coz you’re the one what needs it, not us! Far be it from any o’ the crew to risk their neck for ye, however much they might respect ye, and far be it from me t’do more’n I’ve awready done,

and more’n I’m doin’ for ye now, mate! But listen, if ye

want t’be Cap’n, ye’ll have t’do somethin’ fer yerself first, and they’ll respect ye all the more for it afterwards, when

all o’ this nasty business ‘as been done an over with, ye unnerstand?’ ‘Awright,

Cinnamon,

mate,’

Arwin

answered,

‘I

unnerstand.’ Arwin felt a little relieved now, but his heart

was pounding. He stood thoughtfully for a moment.

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‘Awright,’ he said again, ‘awright, ye do what ye needs t’do- I’m puttin’ my faith in ye, I am.’

‘Aye,’ agreed the pirate, ‘ye just put yer trust in Old

Gold, you do; I’ll set things awright again, why, ye mark my words I will! I haven’t failed ye yet!’ and with that he rushed off.

Another two or three days passed by slowly, and then Arwin spoke to Cinnamon Gold again.

‘It’s the stranges’ thing!’ the pirate said, eyes wide with

the shock of it; ‘I’ve had people watch the Cap’n’s door

day an’ night, I have, but they’ve ne’er seen a single guard! I’m tellin’ ye, mate, not one!’

‘Ye speak true!?’ Arwin demanded, glaring at Gold in amazement, ‘but ‘ow could that be? Are ye sure there isn’t a guard that’s in ‘is cabin constantly?’

‘Awready thought of it, mate, but all the crew’s

accounted for! Even none o’ the slaves ‘ave gone missin’! I’m tellin’ ye, that old Crow’s crafty or dead stooped, but he ain’t done nothin’!’

‘That don’t make no sense at all!’ Arwin said quietly.

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‘Ye think I don’t know that?’ Cinnamon demanded; ‘but look; Crow’s a brave one, he is, and there’s on’y one thing I can think o’ t’make some sense of all o’ this, but it’s… well, it’s…’ ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve studied Crow a long time, see, an’ I know more’n

anyone ‘ow the man thinks. An’ let me tell ye, he’s a strange ‘un. He’s not posted no guards coz, and this is just me own guess, he’s not posted no guards coz he

wants the one what tried t’kill ‘im to enner ‘is room, and he wants to duel that man, one on one, t’the death. An’ from

this, he’ll also find out who it is what actually tried t’kill ‘imit’ll be the one what tries to get the anthremope.’ Arwin looked at Gold in amazement; ‘… What?’

‘Aye, as I said, he’s different from anyone else. An’ as ridic’lous as it may sound, let me tell ye that a spy o’ mine

climbed t’the end o’ the ship, looked right through

Crow’s window, an’ saw ‘im designin’ somethin’ fer ‘is door. It’s a piece o’ string tied t’the knob, an’ the other end of it’s tied to a bell on the edge of a shelf, just above

the door. The long and short of it’s that when it’s

opened, no matter ‘ow quietly and ‘ow slowly, the bell’ll

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fall down an’ make a ring, and that’ll wake ‘im up it will, coz

he’s a lighter sleeper’n most! That’s the on’y guard he set! An’ let me tell ye, the long an’ short of it is: he

reckons ye ain’t got no choice, mate, and by the look o’

things, he could be right. We’re gonna ‘ave t’play the

game by his rules now, mate, an’ he don’t want no secrets! He’s decided t’duel ye up front, fair an’ square!’

‘That’s ridiculous, that is!’ Arwin said fumingly. ‘How’m I s’posed t’kill a man like that fair’n square? And what about that spy o’ yours- does he know-’

‘He don’t know why I asked ‘im t’spy on Crow,’ said

Gold, ‘an’ he don’t know nothin’ about ye. Don’t fret. But as fer fair’n square, ye could jus’ try firin’ a bullet

through ‘is door,’ Gold pondered.

‘Even if I tried firin’ a bullet through ‘is door, providin’ he still sleeps in ‘is bed an’ the bullet don’t miss, it’d ‘ave t’be

fatal at first shot after it’s awready been through a thick block o’ wood!’ Arwin was flaring now; ‘an’ aside from that, everyone’d be awoken up, they would!’

‘Aye, an’ ye won’t be made Cap’n unless ye kill ‘im

without any o’ the crew findin’ out, or unless ye kill ‘im fair’n square in front o’ them. But listen, mate, coz here’s

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somethin’ else: yer lucky ye placed yer hopes in Old Gold, ye are, coz from what I’ve heard o’ his plans, yer old

shipmate ‘as thought up a little somethin’ himself! The long an’ short of it’s that what if ye could get into ‘is room

without ringin’ the alarm?’ ‘How do I do that?’

‘It’s simple, mate; see, my spy ‘as told me every little detail

‘bout this neat little contraption o’ Crow’s, and the

Cap’n believes that he’s the on’y one aboard what knows about it. But he ain’t, and I knows that the bell won’t fall unless ye open the door a certain amount- but ye can open enough so that ye arm fits through, and bends

around the door. If ye open it this much an’ no more’n

that, the alarm won’t trigger. Then what ye do is, and listen coz this is the important part: what ye do is, is that

ye bends yer arm rounds the door, and ye cuts the string

with scissors. Then, when the alarm’s been silenced, ye opens the door all the way, ye enter, and then ye kill ‘im in ‘is sleep.’

‘But it’ll be obvious to everyone that it was me!’

‘No, mate, no,’ Gold said, ‘I didn’t want t’resort t’ye havin’ to kill ‘im like this, but I still have a backup. I’ve got

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shipmates, ye see, and they owes me, and they’ll speak

for ye, sayin’ that while everyone was all drunk-like, they saw ye, and ye never went above deck, not once.’

‘But if ye ask them to speak fer me like that, then it’s

obvious t’them after Crow dies, who’s the one what killed their Captain!’

‘Aye, I know, shipmate,’ said Cinnamon regretfully, ‘but

it’s the on’y chance ye have, far as I can see. But even if a few suspicions arise that ye were the one what killed the

old Captain when yer made the new ‘un, the alliance of the crew won’t be made with one what’s awready dead, ye

unnerstand. So all ye ‘ave t’do is kill any what had a soft spot for Crow, and ye’ll be safe as ye like.’ ‘And who ‘as a soft spot for Crow?’ Gold winked; ‘No-one does!’

Arwin managed a quiet laugh as the pirate chuckled and patted him on the back.

‘Good one, Gold,’ said Arwin, a little more cheerfully.

‘Aye,’ said the pirate, ‘after yev gone an’ done this, ye come quickly back down afore any notice yev been gone

–but they’ll prob’ly all be asleep anyways- an’ then,

backed up by people that’ll speak for ye if anyone points

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fingers, and havin’ the respect o’ the best part o’ the crew, ye’ll be made Cap’n in no time!’

‘Aye,’ Arwin replied, feeling relief wash over him once more; ‘aye.’ But in his mind Arwin thought: no. After I’m

made Cap’n, t’make sure there’s no rebellion, I’ll ‘ave

t’find out everyone o’ Gold’s spies what had anythin’ t’do with this, an’ kill any what disagree with Crow bein’

killed, and I may even ‘ave t’kill Old Gold himself. It’ll be a

simple matter of makin’ up some excuse, or findin’ someone t’frame ‘em so I can kill ‘em in front o’ the crew.

An’ as for any I can’t find any excuse for, or who turn out too hard t’frame for one reason or ‘nother, they’ll just

disappear mysteriously in the night. When all that’s done, then I’ll really be Cap’n, an’ no-one’ll be left t’deny me o’ my rightful place!

Arwin looked at Gold, and his smiling face, with a twinge

of something like regret; Gold had been very kind to him. Arwin thought that maybe he’d give Gold a chance to live, and if not, well, death was a part of life. The long and short of it was, after all, that some lived, some died, and

that was that. Arwin simply planned to be one of the survivors- he planned to politely deny death and

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misfortune when it came knocking at his door, and instead accept the more gracious idea of good fortune. Coz

that’s what I be, when all’s said an’ done, he thought to himself, with an attitude of one who shrugs their shoulders in acceptance of the inevitable; a gentleman of

fortune.

‘I’ll get it done tomorrer,’ said Arwin, ‘that’ll give ye time to tell yer spies what t’say ‘bout me afore Crow dies. But I also want somethin’ else done.’ ‘Oh?’

‘At about midnight, I want a spy o’ yours to look through Crow’s window again, an’ see if he’s really asleep.’

‘Awright,’ said Gold, ‘I’ll do that for ye. If he be’s

asleepin’, I won’t say nothin’; ye jus’ get yer job done. But if he be’s awake, then I’ll warn ye.’

‘Well then,’ Arwin said, and held out his hand, ‘on the day

I’m made Cap’n an’ the day yer made secon’-in-command, I’ll make a toast to ye of bein’ proper gennelmen o’ fortune!’

The very next night, some time after midnight but still long before the sun would rise, Arwin, with scissors in his

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pockets, approached the door to the Captain’s cabin. He cursed his foolhardiness when he remembered that

he needed Gold’s skills at lock-picking, but he found the

door unlocked. Of course! Crow had wanted to challenge him! Shrugging, he turned the knob carefully,

reached in with scissors, but couldn’t find any string.

Arwin put the scissors back in his pocket, and reached his hand upwards until he could feel the shelf above, where he found the bell. He carefully took it down with

his one hand, not letting it emit a single ring, pulled it back through the doorway and gazed at it; there was no string

attached. Arwin wondered at this- what did it mean?

Shrugging, he put the bell down, then opened the door the full way, entered, and shut it behind him again. This all went smoothly- no alarm sounded. In front of him he saw the shadow of Crow lying in his bed. Arwin came forwards quickly, and, seeing the bundle tied to Crow’s

belt, began to fumble with it, and then… a click was heard just behind his head. Arwin froze.

‘Step back, slowly, and with palms raised,’ a voice commanded.

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His blood frozen, Arwin did exactly as he was told. Then suddenly Crow’s eyes opened, and the man sat up. Drawing both pistols, he pointed them at Arwin. ‘These are loaded,’ he said calmly.

Now Arwin was positively astounded.

‘Search him,’ Crow ordered, ‘and don’t forget to check

under his coat and in his boots. They always have a dagger tucked away there- all of them.’

Arwin felt hands searching his back and legs, and then he

was turned around to face the man behind him, who turned out to be none other than Laimens, who at once

began to search his front. Then Laimens looked coldly at Arwin, and suddenly tore off his beautiful coat, knocked away his feathered hat from his head, and

unsheathed his embroided pistol and cutlass, tossing them in a pile. With every symbol of his power and authority that was torn away, Arwin’s soul cried out in woe as though his heart was being prodded with a

stinging knife, and Arwin became more and more afraid. Finally everything was stripped from him except his white

undergarments, and both his hidden daggers were removed. He was led outside by Laimens into the cold

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night air, before having his hands locked behind his back with shackles. His shirt was torn off, so that he had

nothing on his person but a pair of thin, white trousers.

Then rope was tied around his arms, chest and the mast,

so that his back was glued to the mast tightly, and he was forced to remain on his knees.

Now Crow put his guns back in their place, and looked

over Arwin, towards the sea beyond, as though he had forgotten all about him.

As for Laimens Whitelock, however, this man looked

directly into Arwin’s eyes and sneered ruefully, before striking him hard in the face. Arwin let out a gasp of pain

as one or two of his teeth were knocked clean from his

mouth, and another wobbled. Then Whitelock thrust a large apple into his bleeding mouth and tied a piece of

cloth around it, hard. After that, he looked down venomously into Arwin’s eyes; ‘I told you,’ he said quietly,

‘that you’re nothing but an oar-slave.’ Then he spat full in Arwin’s face, and glared at him for a moment longer before turning on his heel and walking off.

Arwin looked up at Crow helplessly, but the Captain still didn’t seem to notice him.

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Presently none other than Cinnamon Gold himself emerged on the deck.

‘Mr Cinnamon,’ Crow said quietly as the man approached, not turning to him, but still gazing out at the sea.

‘Aye, Cap’n,’ said Gold, and took off his hat. ‘Well done indeed, Mr Cinnamon.’

‘I suspected ‘im all along, sir,’ said the pirate in reply, (Arwin’s eyes went wide) ‘I thinks to meself “that ‘un’s up t’no good, he is, I must tell Cap’n Sunder at once!” ’

‘I suppose I should thank you,’ said Crow, his grey eyes, as tired as ever, watching Gold strangely.

‘Not at all, not at all, Cap’n!’ Gold said merrily, ‘When I first saw ye I says to meself, “Cinnamon,” I says, “that one there’s a man o’ fine and rare quality, an’ it won’t do

t’see those qualities goin’ to waste! No,” I says to meself, “a man o’ quality like that deserves what’s his due, he

does”, and so I made it my mission to help ye. Why, ye jus’

trust old Cinnamon Gold, ye does, an’ he’ll always be the one t’set things awright!’

It made Arwin feel terrible to hear the same words of

flattery used in reference to himself, now used by the

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same man in regards to another, and, as he heard those words, he began to realise how foolhardy he’d been.

‘And as a reward for helping me,’ said Crow, ‘I’m going to

elevate your position. From now on, you’ll be third-in-

command; that means Mr Laimens will be wearing three

feathers in his hat and you’ll be given one with two. As a symbol of your new position you can take the slave’s old

coat, hat, cutlass, pistol and other things, and you can sleep in his old private chamber from now on.’

‘Thank ye gratefully, Cap’n!’ Cinnamon said cheerfully, but Crow was already walking back to his cabin.

For a moment Cinnamon stood there watching the shut

door for a while, after Crow had left, then looked beyond it to the dark ocean. He breathed in the salty air loudly, and sighed; ‘Ah!’ he said, as if refreshed by the scent.

Then, as if suddenly remembering or noticing something, he turned to Arwin as if in polite surprise.

Arwin himself, tied to the mast and made to remain on his

knees, glared back up at Old Gold, who gloated over him and said ‘This must all be very confusin’ for ye- but the least I can do for ye is ‘xplain, I s’pose. See, remember

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that “poison” I gave ye t’slip in Crow’s keg? It wasn’t actually poison, mate; it was water. It made no difference at all t’the rum! But afterwards, I met Crow in secret an’

told ‘im that I overheard two people talkin’ about poisonin’ the Cap’n’s rum, and I mentions to ‘im that, even though I had no idea who the two people were in the

darkness, an’ couldn’t recognize their voices, I did overhear the name o’ the poison.

‘So at this stage, Crow o’ course thought he’d been

poisoned, but I said that as I’d heard the name o’ the

poison, I could whip ‘im up an antidote. I does this for ‘im,

but o’ course what I gave ‘im was jus’ a horrible tastin’

drink that don’ do nothin’. But Crow’s smart, he is, an’

when I gives it to ‘im, he asks me the recipe, an’ I readily

explains to ‘im that the crucial ingredient is anthremope. Then o’ course he makes me drink some o’ the antidote

first. So he asks me a hard question, an’ then makes me

swallow me own brew t’test me, an’ make sure I wasn’t makin’ it all up t’try an’ poison ‘im meself. Aye, Crow’s

smart, he is, an’ obviously good at guessin’ what people are thinkin’, all based on the way they react t’his hard

questions, an’ even the unconscious movements they

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make with their bodies; the fiddlin’ of the hands, for instance, or the position o’ their eyes, an’ so on. But anyway, that was all I had t’do. I left the rest up t’Crow.’

Arwin tried to speak but his voice was muffled. He looked up at Gold questioningly.

In reply, Cinnamon laughed, and then explained: ‘well, y’see, mate, Crow’s a very smart man. All I had t’do was

make ‘im think he’d been poisoned, an’ make someone

aboard believe they’d poisoned ‘im, an’ then leave it t’the Cap’n t’find out who they was. An’ when he did, lo! I was the one what informed ‘im of it, so I’m the one what gets a grand elevation o’ position! That’s all I did- trusted

Crow. That must make me very gullible, or the Cap’n’s

intelligence very reliable, eh? Anyhow, what does Crow do? I’ll tell ye what he does! Without tellin’ me nothin’, he

empties out all the anthremope in the cellars ‘xcept for a small bundle, which he keeps all to ‘imself, an’ then he acts

all normal-like, as if he doesn’t know nothin’, but no-one knows that he’s secretly examinin’ each member o’ the

crew, an’ watchin’ the way they act t’spot any kind of change in ‘em. As I said, he’s good at noticin’ the subtle

actions and mannerisms o’ people, he is. I have no idea

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how he done it, but he narrowed his suspects down to

two people; yerself and Whitelock, his own Second-incommand. An’ believe it or not, ye must’ve greatly influenced Crow’s decision; why, ye began acting so differently the minute ye thought ye’d finished ‘im that a child could’ve spotted ye! Honestly, how stupid could ye

get? Wishin’ ‘im a good mornin’ with that triumphant attitude o’ yours!’

The more Arwin heard, the more his own stupidity was

revealed to him, and the tighter the ropes seemed to hold him to the mast, and the more hopeless his situation came to be.

Here Cinnamon Gold smiled smugly, thoroughly enjoying the look in Arwin’s eyes; ‘an’ why did I pick you t’poison the man, ye may ask? Well, because ye was in

high position, which meant I’d be elevated to a high position. After all, it’s been Crow’s way to replace a lesser member o’ the crew he’s pleased with, with a higher

member of the crew he’s displeased with. An’ I chose ye coz ye was new aboard, and therefore not on’y naive and an easy target for me, but also more untrustworthy to the

Captain than most others on deck! Additionally, having

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been an oar-slave would’ve made ye t’be one o’ the ones what hates the Crow, more’n likely. And, well, that’s the long an’ short of it, I s’pose.’

Cinnamon chuckled victoriously in Arwin’s face, emitting his smelly breath up Arwin’s nostrils. Arwin’s chin fell to his chest in despair, and a few sparkling tears fell from his eyes to dry on the hard deck.

Seeing this, Gold laughed even more: ‘By the way, when I said that the crew looked up t’ye and called ye “Eagle” an’ all that- I lied. No one noticed ye in the least, ‘xcept

t’laugh at ye behind yer back when ye strode back and forth along the deck like ye was somethin’ special. But no hard feelin’s, lad!’ he added joyfully, smacking Arwin in

the back, ‘it’s jus’ the life of a gentleman o’ fortune, it issome live, some die, and that’s that, they say! I’m sorry I

couldn’t speak longer with ye, mate, but I’ve really got t’get some sleep in your private cabin. Got a big day

ahead o’ me tomorrer, ye unnerstand; lot’s o’ work t’do in the new position the Cap’n ‘as in store for me! A greater

share o’ the food an’ drink I’ll get, more breaks, better treatment, an’ o’ course a greater share o’ the loot when

we plunder. But oh, when I think o’ what a dangerous man

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like Cap’n Crow has in store fer the likes o’ you, well... I shudder, that I do!’ and with that sinister conclusion to his mockeries, he turned and went down below deck, not looking back.

Arwin, garbed in nothing but a white piece of clothing as

thin as silk, was left to freeze in the cold night. He

considered trying to tell Sunder that it had all been

Cinnamon’s fault- that the cruel, deceitful man had put him up to it, but even if he was proven right, it would still

be known that he himself did attempt to kill the Captain. And besides, he probably wouldn’t be given a chance to explain himself, and if he did, who would believe him? “It wasn’t me, ‘twas ‘im what done it!” “It was ‘im what put me up to it” “It was ‘im, I tell ye!” “It was ‘im, not me!” “It was

‘im!” How many times must Crow have heard these same old lines? No- there was no way he’d believe Arwin, not now. A familiar feeling of loneliness came on Arwin, then; he realised that he was alone and lost in a vast, merciless world, and he didn’t know what to do…

The next day, when the beginnings of orange light in the

east set the horizon aflame, and the black ocean was

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turned to icy grey, the oar-slaves were whipped into work

once more, and the pirates themselves went about their

daily work. Some of them cast surprised glances at Arwin as they went past, to see him beaten and on his

knees and tied to the mast. Most of them just ignored

him, although he did hear the oar-slaves mumbling things about him to each other: ‘Look where he is now! Tchah!’

‘Not so great and mighty, now, is he?’ ‘He was always just a slave like the rest of us!’

As for Gero, now he had a higher position than Arwin again, even as deckswabber. He would often mop the

floors near Arwin on purpose, just to strike him hard with the mop before laughing in his face. ‘Sorry, mate!’ he would say, ‘ ‘twas jus’ an accident, ye unnerstand! Clumsy me!’

Some of the nearby pirates, and even some of the oarslaves, began to chuckle at this.

Towards noon Captain Sunder emerged from his cabin to stand on the upper deck and look out as he usually did at the goings-on of the ship. He didn’t look at Arwin, but mumbled a word or two to Laimens.

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One end of Arwin’s rope was then taken and hauled

above the lowest of the horizontal wooden poles that held the sails, then this was pulled by a strong looking

pirate so that Arwin was raised upwards. Then the end

was tied to an anchor which was made to lean against the mast. The result was this: Arwin, tied around his chest

and back with rope so that his biceps were glued to his sides, was left to hang above, higher than the upper deck

but lower than the lowest sail. The tight, strong rope felt as if it was slowly cutting into his arms as Arwin hung there, looking down at the pirates going to and fro below, the apple still in his mouth, kept there by the cloth, his hands still tied at the back with shackles.

For the whole day he was left to hang there, in the hot

sun, and given nothing at all to eat or drink. He also found that dangling from such a height and in such a manner made him feel sick and nauseous.

The sun went down and darkness and coldness cloaked the vessel once again, and the sounds of merriment from

below reached Arwin’s ears, and the smell of their meals

reached his nostrils. His lips, mouth and throat were parched and stinging, and he longed for a drop of rum or

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water to soothe them, and his stomach began to rumble.

When he thought of what Crow would do to him when he

decided it was time to enact punishment, Arwin’s heart pounded, and he trembled; or would he merely be left to hang up here until he died?

‘What’s wrong with ye, matey?’ one of the oar-slaves down below cried; the red-haired man who had once rowed in front of Arwin; ‘are ye hungry? Are ye thirsty? Look at us! Least we’ve got some bread an’ water, but what about you, eh?’

Arwin gathered some saliva together- the last of it in his

dry mouth, and spat down at the slave, but missed miserably; it landed almost directly below, on the deck.

Laughter sounded up from some of the slaves, and from

others shouts of anger. They began to call him names, and shout heathen curses at him.

The next day Arwin felt wretched, sick and weak- and he

was hungry and thirsty, his stomach now rumbling loudly. But he wasn’t given anything to eat or drink that day

either; he was just left to hang. He looked at Crow, standing on the upper deck, but the Captain was looking

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out to sea, completely, it seemed, unaware of him.

Eventually the sun set again, and Arwin lived through

the tormenting night. Then after what seemed like infinity, the sun rose yet again, and that day followed much the same as the last. Gero Whiplash now stood with his mop in a group of five or six pirates.

‘I heard when he’s hung there for long enough,’ one said loudly, ‘the Cap’n’ll make ‘im walk the plank!’ ‘What? Ye speak true?’

‘No!’ said a third, ‘that’s rubbish! I heard when Crow thinks he’s been hung long enough, he’ll be keelhauled!’

‘Har, har, har! Keelhauled! That’s a harsh ‘un, that is! But I thought he’d have his feet or toes cut off and then be made to dance in front o’ the crew as they ate?’

‘I don’t think so, mates; I heard tell he’ll be nailed t’the mast by ‘is shoulder bones, he will!’

‘Eh? Not left to hang by ‘is neck with rope?’

‘Maybe Crow has a sense o’ humour after all, and he’ll load the canons with ‘im afore shootin’ ‘im out!’

This last suggestion was treated with a great deal of laughter.

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‘But,’ one asked, after the comedic moment had past, ‘how long ‘til he’s been left there for “long enough”? Days? Weeks?’

‘I dunno, lads,’ this time it was Gero himself who answered, and he looked up at Arwin with twinkling eyes

before continuing; ‘but Cap’n Crow’s a very patient man!’

Another round of laughter met this comment. Once again the sun set, and a few hours into the cold

night, rain began to fall lightly. Arwin bent back his neck and looked up, trying to get every drop of rain in his

mouth as he could, hoping against hope some small drop

of water might manage to sink through the cloth into his mouth. His neck and back began to ache, but he

persevered for sake of that sweet, fresh water- even if he couldn’t taste it, and even if all it would do was preserve a life he might be better off not living.

The sun dawned and another dry day passed, and then another, and then, just as the next dark morning was

becoming a little lighter, it happened: a small group of

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pirates, five or six or so in number, led by Titan, the tall,

dark-skinned one-armed man, came to the anchor and untied the rope, then lowered Arwin down, none to

gently. After being released from his bounds, Arwin struggled to stand up and keep his balance after five

days of eating nothing, and dangling from above. Unsurprisingly, he failed, and fell backwards into a sitting position.

‘Avast there, Arwin,’ said Titan quietly, before grabbing

Arwin by the hair, pulling his head back and thrusting a

bottle to his mouth roughly. Arwin gulped down the water vigorously, and then Titan thrust a thick piece of meat into his hands, which Arwin wolfed down.

‘Now wait a moment, then eat and drink some more,’ Titan explained in his gruff, deep voice; ‘wait, so that ye don’t throw up, and wait, so that yer strength returns.’

Arwin sat there a short while, breathing deeply, then said ‘More.’

Titan held out another flagon, and Arwin downed the

water, then took to gobbling down meat and cheese, which were offered to him. ‘Rum,’ he ordered, and then gulped deeply from this flagon as well.

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‘Argh!’ he said at last, a little loudly, ‘that’ll do, lads!’

A new change of clothes were handed to him including a

bright blue coat and black trousers, and shoes of black leather, all of which he donned hastily, and then he was presented with a new cutlass and pistol, each finely crafted.

Suddenly one of the oar-slaves woke up, and, seeing them, shouted out at the top of his voice: ‘prisoner escaping! Prisoner escaping!’

The other oar-slaves woke up quickly, so that before long they were all shouting: ‘prisoner escaping! Prisoner escaping!’ it was like a great war of ocean waves, plunging and splashing throughout the entire ship.

The pirates that had helped Arwin now surrounded him, drawing swords and pistols and pulling triggers back with

many clicks, pointing their guns at every doorway from which other pirates might emerge.

Then, as pirates did begin to emerge, and saw to their

shock that the escaped captive was surrounded by a group of willing men, Arwin shouted out: ‘I challenge Captain Sunder to a duel!’

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These words were so unexpected that the shouting of

the oar-slaves quickly ceased, and the emerging pirates

didn’t immediately shoot down the group surrounding Arwin, though most drew their guns and scimitars.

‘I challenge Captain Sunder to a duel! I challenge Captain Sunder to a duel!’

At the top of his voice Arwin shouted those words out, again and again, his voice powerful as it soared through

the ship like the eastern wind, blowing and howling above waves shimmering with pearls and foam.

By now every pirate had emerged and was standing on

deck- every pirate, that is, except for Captain Sunder and Laimens Whitelock.

It was a small group of five or six pirates surrounding Arwin defensively against the rest of the ship; in that

dangerous situation, silver blades glinted in the rising

sunlight, and the barrels of guns were pointed. But no one attacked.

‘I challenge Captain Sunder to a duel!’ Arwin’s final call

rang out before fading on the sea. Then there was only

silence. Pirates began to look at each other awkwardly, no-one quite sure of what to do. But then they were

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spared the thought of it, because at that moment Laimens Whitelock emerged from Crow’s cabin, followed by Crow himself, who strode our calmly, armed with his

two cutlasses and two pistols. His hands rested on the front rails of the upper deck as he looked down at them.

The morning sun shone down from Crow’s left, and the colour of the wood of the ship was red and orange in the light, where it wasn’t darkened by long shadows.

Arwin was somewhat taken aback to see that Crow didn’t seem afraid, or uneasy, or even in the least bit surprised at all as he gazed down at the sight before him. If anything, he looked as bored and tired as he ever did.

‘So,’ Crow said calmly, grey eyes roving the deck slowly, ‘it’s come to this, has it? And who rescued you? Ah, none

other than the same group that backed up Mr Squalit, I

see.’ Then his tired, heavy eyes fell once more on Arwin himself. ‘I accept,’ Crow said, ‘and when I win, all of the

ones that helped Arwin’ll be nailed to the mast. Name your terms.’

‘The duel takes place here on deck,’ Arwin said, disguising

his

uneasiness

at

Crow’s

indifferent

demeanor; ‘as soon as our path be cleared. Anythin’ is

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allowed, ‘xcept help from anyone else, in any form. Aye, I’ll fight ye man t’man, Crow, fair’n square as ye like!’

Typically, Crow was not at all daunted; if anything, the dark rings below his grey eyes seemed heavier.

All of the pirates cleared to each side of the ship, even

the ones that had helped Arwin, so that the most part of

the deck was empty. Arwin and Crow stood facing each other as a salty sea breeze came up from the west, and the waves lapped against the ship softly.

Crow sauntered slowly down the steps, his eyes never

leaving Arwin, until he stood on the lower deck, right across from Arwin. There was silence. Then suddenly Arwin made to draw his pistol, and with quick reflexivity,

Crow drew both of his own; Arwin’s gun fired with a bang, and one or two fingers of Crow’s right hand were

blasted away along with his gun; but Crow had two guns, and was as good a shot as one as he was with the other,

so that even as one of his hands was blasted apart in bloody foam, he fired with his other weapon. The bullet

zipped right past Arwin’s head and the crew gasped as

they witnessed something that they had never witnessed before: Crow missed.

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Arwin set to quickly reloading his weapon as the Captain reeled, trying to reload his gun even as he tried

to comfort his destroyed hand. The two duellists pointed

their guns at each other again, but once again, Arwin fired first: Crow’s other gun was blasted away as a

second bullet sunk through his other hand. Crow screamed aloud like a tormented slave.

‘Face it, Crow,’ Arwin said, voice ringing loud and clear, ‘yer finished.’

A gasp went up from the crew as the truth of these two

words dawned on them, and they dawned on Crow as well, but Captain Sunder of the Hullabaloo refused to accept them with all of his willpower. He turned to Arwin,

his calm demeanour gone and his true emotions revealed: his expression was an inhuman snarl of utmost loathing, his bloodied teeth gritted; with a shout and a growl Crow

actually managed to somehow draw his cutlasses with his red, broken hands. His scarlet fists clenched about their

handles as he charged forwards like lightning, yelling a

heathen curse that rolled like thunder. Arwin, who had reloaded his gun, pointed it at Crow, and was about to

pull back the trigger when an image popped into his mind

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unbidden: he remembered seeing Squalor in the exact same position before being defeated. Arwin withdrew his

hand an instant before Crow’s white blade would have slashed his gun away; this was all so sudden that Arwin’s

gun actually slipped from his fingers. But the other blade came down, a blade which would have split apart Arwin’s ahead, but instead it cut off one of his locks as he leapt

backwards- one moment sooner and he would’ve been dead. But Crow wasn’t giving any quarter, and didn’t allow Arwin to regain any of his balance or posture as he

fumbled for his own cutlass. Crow spun recklessly and in

blurring speed with the momentum of his falling sword,

and, as he came to face Arwin again, his other sword

swung horizontally, the next blade following through with an uppercut an instant later. Arwin leapt back a second

time, avoiding both of these desperate, ferocious attacks. Then, with a mixture of adrenalin and good fortune, he finally managed to draw his own cutlass, striking one of Crow’s clenched fists with it in such force that it was cut

open, and Crow’s sword was bashed out of his hand.

Even as his hand was blasted through a second time, however, Crow lunged out with his other sword, but at

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the same moment Arwin daringly lunged in, and Crow’s blade slid past Arwin’s neck, the sharp side facing outwards as Arwin bumped bodily into him. From here

Arwin’s knee came up, crushing Crow’s groin, and then as the Captain bent forwards, Arwin rose up his cutlass, striking Crow under the chin with its handle; the

Captain’s jaws crunched together in a breaking of teeth and a swirling of blood, and then Arwin fell on him, so

that now Crow, dizzied and stunned, lay on the floor with Arwin on top, where Arwin bashed his face again and

again with the base part of the handle of his cutlass, and

Arwin continued to bash him until the Captain died. Then Arwin stood up, and the whole crew saw Crow’s

body; where once his smooth, handsome face had been, now there was nothing but a hideous red mess of blood, brains and bone. They all saw it: the duel had ended, and Arwin was the victor.

Arwin took up the captain’s black, gold-brimmed hat and placed it on his own head, then stood with the body of Crow at his feet and scowled around at the crew, still

holding his fine cutlass with its bloodied handle, the rich hat on his head and a beautiful bright blue coat on his

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back. A salty, sea breeze blew up again from the west,

and Arwin did indeed look the part of a picturesque and

conquering captain. The crew were so amazed at seeing Crow himself defeated by this stranger who had once been an oar-slave, that silence reigned momentarily.

‘Would ye lookit that,’ someone whispered, ‘he slew ol’ Cap’n Crow he did!’

A shout went up from Titan as he raised a broad scimitar in his left hand, ‘Hurray for Cap’n Arwin, who singlehandedly killed the Crow!’

‘Aye!’ someone else called, a blonde, green-eyed fellow, who had also been on of the men to free Arwin; ‘hurray for Cap’n Arwin, our heroic hero what saved us from the tyranny o’ the Crow!’

The fact that Arwin had received two shouts in support

of himself from two different parts of the ship was enough for rest of the crew; in their eyes, this meant he seemed to

have everyone’s support, so they all went along with it and cheered, overjoyed.

‘Hurray for our new Cap’n!’ ‘I always knew he could do it, I did!’ ‘I was with ye all along, Eagle!’ ‘I’m so happy t’be

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free from that horrible monster, Crow! Hurray for Cap’n Arwin, the hero what saved us all!’

That was what most of the crew were saying, but, of course, not everyone was happy. The oar-slaves, for instance, looked on sadly, while Gero Whiplash, Cinnamon Gold and old Laimens Whitelock looked on fearfully, and as for Sunder Crow, well, as one might imagine, he didn’t have much of a say in the matter at all as he was no longer in possession of a mouth as befitting the description.

‘Awright!’ Arwin roared above the din, ‘I want ye t’grab Whiplash, Whitelock an’ Gold’n tie ‘em up!’

Whiplash and Gold were immediately set upon, wrestled to the ground, Gold shouting things like; ‘Gerrof me, mates! Ye wouldn’t do this t’me after all I’ve done for ye!

Have he forgotten poor Old Gold?’ while Gero merely let out a high-pitched scream unashamedly.

Laimens, however, leapt backwards from his pursuers, brandishing his cutlass; ‘Yer a traitor to yer captain, ye is! Get Arwin! He’s the real enemy here!’

But unfortunately for Whitelock, he had not been the

most popular man aboard ship; he tended to favour only

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people who were blonde of hair, blue of eyes, pale of skin and of Igairish descent. If they lacked any of these

virtues, (or unless they were Crow) he scorned them, and the more distant they were from this ideal, the more fierce

his hatred was. So it came to be that while blonde-haired

green-eyed people and dark-haired blue-eyed people disliked the man, dark-skinned dark-haired brown-eyed men of Aragyptian descent, for instance, utterly loathed him, and, unfortunately, his very narrow and specific tastes formed only a minority of the crew. This minority,

who had once hailed and praised Whitelock, seeing that the odds were against him, had already thought better of

associating with the man, and were busy congratulating Arwin or carrying out his commands (including the

capture of Whitelock). As it so happened, the majority of the pirates that now faced Whitelock, and looked

upon him with none to much kindness, tended to be

blonde-haired and green-eyed or dark-haired and blueeyed.

So, finally realising that the odds had turned on him at last, Laimens shouted ‘Argh! Ye’ll never take me alive!’

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At this the pirates that had their pistols pointed at him turned to Arwin enquiringly, who replied; ‘Take ‘im alive!’

With that, Laimens was set upon quickly, unable to much

harm except that one pirate suffered a wound to the head.

When these orders had been carried successfully, the three captives were stripped of their weapons, their fine

clothes, their hats, and of course the hidden daggers in their shoes before being bound and set in a line before Arwin on their knees. In the meantime, Crow had been

stripped of anything of worth, which had been stolen by the crew, and his body tossed carelessly out into the ocean.

‘Well, lads,’ Arwin said to the three captives before him, ‘what am I goin’ t’do with ye?’

Gero immediately fell down with his face on the ground

and grovelled, weeping unashamedly, while Whitelock glared upwards hatefully. Cinnamon Gold, however, looked sad; ‘Argh, it’s a sorry thing that it came t’this, it is, eh, Eagle?’ he said regretfully.

‘D’ye really believe ye can flatter yer way outta this ‘un?’ demanded Captain Arwin.

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‘No,’ Gold said sorrowfully, looking at the floor with downcast eyes; ‘no, Cap’n, I don’t. I jus’ thought it was a sorry thing it had t’end up this way. Why, we shared some

laughs, didn’t we, me hearty? I can remember -though it seems far-off now- I can remember those good ol’ days when-’

‘Yer too dangerous to be left alive fer too long,’ Arwin said; ‘Give ‘im an apple! In fact, all o’ them! Why,’ he

added angrily as apples were thrust into their mouths and cloths wrapped roundabout; ‘if ye was left talkin’, Gold, ye’d sow division an’ disrespect amongst me crew while

tryin’ t’take advantage o’ the sympathy o’ this poor old Cap’n’s kind ‘eart!’

For a moment Arwin looked thoughtful; ‘I want all o’ them t’have their clothes torn so that they got nothin’ but their thin, white trousers. Then I want Whiplash hung up,’ he said, ‘in just the same way I was, while I decide what t’do

with ‘im. What do ye think I should do, Whiplash, eh? Make ye walk the plank? Keelhaul ye? Nail ye t’the mast, maybe?’

Gero went paler than he had ever went in his life.

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‘An’ I want Old Gold tied t’the bottom ‘o the mast while on ‘is knees! As for ye, Whitelock, I ‘ave somethin’ special planned for ye!’

Arwin strode over to and shot one of the oar-slaves

through the brain before he had his body tossed overboard, then said; ‘I remember ye once said t’me, Whitelock, that I’d always be an oar-slave.’

Arwin laughed gruffly, and, not wanting to get on the

wrong side of their captain, all those around Whitelock

laughed as well, not least the Igairish, blonde, pale, blueeyed men.

Arwin beckoned with a toss of his head, and Whitelock

was chained to the oars in the very seat where Arwin had once sat as a slave, enraged beyond belief. And then, as

a final insult, as Whitelock scowled at Arwin, the cloth still tied around his mouth, which was full of apple, Arwin spat full in his face.

Whitelock let out a muffled scream of such a nature that it was a wonder his voice box wasn’t permanently broken-

but his unspeakable fury, of course, didn’t change his situation in the least. If anything, the pirates roundabout laughed even more.

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‘An’ I don’t want Whitelock fed nothin’ for six days, ‘xcept fer that apple. After that, the cloth and apple can be taken out an’ from then on he’ll be given the same rations as the other slaves get.

‘And as for that ‘un right in front o’ Whitelock,’

Arwin said, ‘that ‘un with the red hair, he’s never t’be

given any bread nor water again, ‘til he dies. But that doesn’t be mean he shouldn’t be whipped if he don’t row ‘ard enough, an’ do ‘is part for the good o’ the crew.’

The slave Arwin referenced had been the one, of course, that sat in front of him when Arwin was still an oar-slave, and who had been the one to tease him as he was hung from above about not having anything to eat or drink, while the slaves did. He whimpered.

Meanwhile, Gero Whiplash was hung up to dangle above deck, and Cinnamon Gold was tied below him, just as Arwin had commanded.

‘And now for what should be me last order o’ punishment

fer t’day,’ Arwin said, and then, pointing out a few members of the crew he didn’t like, which included two or

three of those who had been talking with Gero and

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discussing what Arwin’s punishment might be, as well as the man who had looked at Arwin and laughed after

Whitelock had spoken to him (or least people who looked

like them, since Arwin couldn’t remember their faces exactly), he had these lined up before him and slaughtered, then their bodies tossed overboard.

When all this was done, Arwin organized some men to take the place of those who had been killed, he had word

sent down to the oar-slaves below deck, (who of course hadn’t witnessed his victory) of his victory so that they

would know who their new captain was, and as for those

who had freed him –Titan and the others- they were all given the highest positions on board.

‘Awright!’ Arwin cried to them all, when all of this had been accomplished, ‘ye can all take a rest! A bite o’ lunch an’ a drop o’ rum!’

This was met with an enthusiastic cheer, and then Arwin

went and looked down at Cinnamon Gold, tied to the mast, his mouth silenced with cloth and apple.

‘Well, well, well,’ Arwin said, standing before him and out

of the hearing of the rest of the crew, ‘would ye look at

this? This must all be very confusin’ for ye, mate, so the

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least I can do for ye is ‘xplain.’ Cinnamon looked up at Arwin. ‘Y’see,’ Arwin said in a voice welling with pride and triumph, ‘I recalled the man who had lost ‘is arm coz o’

Crow, an’ when I met ‘im I learned that ‘is name was Titan. I also learned that he was still unhappy with Crow bein’ cap’n; an’ so were all o’ the ones what had

supported Squalor. So, ye know what I does? I has ‘em

brew a poison for me, an’ I slips it in Crow’s rum. Aye,

that’s right, mate, I slipped in two poisons, not jus’ your one, an’ why, ye might ask? Well, Titan an’ the others’d never believe that I, an oar-slave, could find a way t’get

inta Crow’s room and corrupt ‘is keg o’ rum unless I gave

‘em proof o’ the poison itself. But I didn’t fully trust ‘em I didn’t, an’ so if I provided proof, I risked the evidence bein’ made know t’Crow. So what does I do? I has each

o’ them brew me a poison, so that when I accept it, they knows I’m serious, an’ so that if the evidence was made known, they risked their own necks in speakin’ of it- coz it was them what brewed the stuff!

‘So from this I was able to gain their trust, an’ trust

‘em in return, so that I’d ‘ave friends if I ever landed inta

trouble, and people t’cry out in support o’ me bein’ made

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cap’n, persuadin’ the larger group. Aye, I had a backup for meself, I did, and when it came to it, (poisonin’ Crow,

that is) I thinks to meself, “well, Arwin, since ye has these

two ‘ere poisons, ye may as well use the both of ‘em!”.

But ye didn’t know about Titan did ye, Gold? And neither did he know about me dealings with you.

‘Well, after Crow made me drink his rum, ye weren’t

the on’y one I asked fer an antidote. Y’see, since there was two poisons, I figured I needed two antidotes; my

mate Titan was able to provide me with a cure quick enough, but then there was still the case o’ treatin’ the

other poison, which on’y you knew the nature of. Aye, I could’ve asked Titan t’help in getting’ this other antidote, I s’pose, but I guess I trusted ye more’n I trusted them, Gold, an’ I thought that if ye couldn’t get

the antidote for me, neither could they, who prob’ly would never ‘ave even heard o’ the stuff.

‘After all this, o’ course, I fell into yer trap- I shoulda

known when I didn’t find the string on the knob- I know now that o’course “Crow’s alarm” was a lie ye made up

t’make yer story ‘bout Crow wantin’ me t’enner ‘is chamber fer a pers’nal duel (not an ambush) more

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believable. Yer full of fibs, ye are, Gold. Still, after all

that nasty business was done, an’ I was tied t’the mast,

and had found out that your “poison” was naught but water, I didn’t ferget about the “other” poison, or the real

poison, which I had been cured of, an’ Crow hadn’t. So I waited. Five days I waited, Gold, danglin’ from the sky,

not eatin’, not drinkin’ nothin’!’ here Arwin’s voice turned

to an angry growl; ‘for five long days, Gold! I admit I wondered if Titan would betray me more’n once- leave me to me fate. But it paid off, Gold! It paid off! Coz when it was time for the poison t’take action, me real

mates took me down, an’ they fed me so that I had me

strength back, an’ they clothed me so that I had me dignity back, an’ would look acceptable in front o’ the crew when they witnessed me victory.

‘As ye know I made the duel, and poor Sunder

found that he couldn’t fight at ‘is best. Crow didn’t know

why this was- I saw it in ‘is eyes, mate, he knew somethin’

wasn’t right. But he was poisoned; the fool never

guessed that there might be a second poison! But even with that poison, I confess he was still so quick an’ strong

as t’make me shocked, an’ I wondered if the feller wouldn’t

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kill me anyways. I was kept on me toes, that I was, but I

finally managed t’kill the scum, an’ the crew, seein’ me best

Crow in a battle o’ sheer might, fair’n square, (or so they

thought), well, they inevitably hailed me as Cap’n,

especially when Titan and the others cheered my name t’make it look like I had everyone on my side. And, Old Gold, well, I s’pose that’s the long an’ short of it.’

Now Captain Arwin smiled down at the pirate, and thoroughly delighted in the look in the man’s eyes when he said ‘But no hard feelin’s, mate. It’s jus’ life, when all’s

said an’ done. Some people succeed, an’ others, well,

they fail. An’ ye know what, Old Gold, mate? Ye jus’ lost, ye did. An’ when I think o’ what I’m goin’ t’do t’ye when the whim takes me fancy, well… I smile, that I do.’

Leaving Gold to ponder his words in dread, Arwin marched up onto the upper deck, and looked down at his crew.

‘Avast, ye scurvy curs!’ he cried, ‘who told ye scallywags t’laze about the deck like ol’ dogs!? Get back t’work! We set sail now!’

Pirates scrambled to and fro with a will, and the oar-

slaves (including Whitelock) were whipped into rowing

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with a heave-ho, and before long the ship was sliding smoothly across the sea.

Arwin had won; the realization of this made him shine on the inside, as the taste of sweet victory dampened his

tongue and boastful pride surged through all the veins in

his body. He had won. Now he was Captain Arwin of the Hullabaloo. No Cap’n like me, he thought to himself happily.

It was at this moment that Arwin put into practice a

speech he had been working on while hanging from above: ‘Look here, ye curs, an’ hearken t’me, coz we set sail

across the sea!

Over the silver foam an’ blue waters, t’the blood and plunder o’ men by the hundreds!’

A wild roar of laughter and cheering went up from the crew.

‘Hurray for Cap’n Arwin!’ they cried, ‘Hurray for Cap’n Arwin!’

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An Afterword On “The Life Of A Pirate”.

Two characters of this short story of mine were inspired

from characters from the original “Treasure Island” by

Robert Louis Stevenson. These two are Long John Silver, on whom Cinnamon Gold was largely based in personality; in fact, it is an in-joke of mine to name him

“Gold” since he is based on “Silver”. The second character from R.L.S’s Treasure Island is Flint, of

whom my character Tinder has a role somewhat similar to. Obviously, the naming of this character “Tinder” is another joke of mine in reference to the novel.

-22 May, 2008, 5:25pm, D.L. Stevens.

Notes:

“The Life Of A Pirate” is actually the first part of a

series entitled “The Adventures of Captain Arwin”, the

next section of the series being named “Stranded On

Bone Island”. All stories forming this series, and various

other works of mine, take place in “Gaiaworld”, a “world” I

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created for the purpose of many of my stories and novels. “The Adventures Of Captain Arwin” are set in the

Third Chronicle of Gaiaworld, after the Flood but

before the Second Cataclysm, these two Judgements

dividing the Third Chronicle from the Second and Fourth Chronicles, in which alternate tales are set. In this

way, “The Adventures Of Captain Arwin” bear relation to other series’, short stories and novels, all of

which take place in various parts and ages of Gaiaworld,

and yet can be read each individually. For an introduction to and information on Gaiaworld itself, the

best story would be “The First Chronicle of

Gaiaworld”, also entitled “The Tale Of Yaoei”. “The Life Of A Pirate” itself is also classified as a story belonging to Phoenix Tales, a series made of different

short stories that, other than being set in Gaiaworld, seemingly bear no relation to each other.

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“The Life Of A Pirate” is actually the first part of “The Adventures of Captain Arwin”, the next part being

entitled “Stranded On Bone Island”. “The Life Of A Pirate” is also a book belonging to the Phoenix Collection.

-Other Phoenix Tales-

Lamentia of the Wengai

The Shadows of Lunar Forest The Life Of A Pirate

The Faeries of Darkness Also look out for: -Crystal Tales-

The Ghost Carnival The Kerashim

Dizckah’s Travels

Tundra of Despair

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This is a story of high adventure on the open, sparkling sea- a tale of murderous scallywags waving high their

blood-soaked blades, a chronicle of villainous men who love nothing better than to plunder and pillage, set in a

merciless age of Gaiaworld where treachery, cunning and guile mean success, providing these are supported by a ready sword and loaded gun, while the concepts of chivalry, death.

Make way for one of the most rueful, bloodthirsty and hilariously treacherous band of pirates to ever set sail over the Seven Seas of Gaiaworld!

A tale by David Luther Stevens