The boy, too terrified to even think of trying anything, kept his mouth shut.
The two pirates brought him aboard the terrible vessel and pushed him to the deck. “’Ere’s the little scunner Cap. What should we do wif ‘im?” The boy looked up, trembling, and stared into the steely gray eyes of the Captain. A single long scar distorted his face. His lips bent down in a sneer. A large dark hat topped his head. Too scared to look away, the boy continued to stare at the Captain. With a voice like cold steel the terrible man spoke. “Put him in your charge, Chef, and have him prepare my breakfast tomorrow morn’. If I do not enjoy my breakfast I shall run him through and let the sea swallow him with the rest of that crew.” His verdict pronounced, the Captain turned on the silver heel of his boot and marched away. With the Captain gone, the crew burst into laughter. A pudgy hand landed on the boy’s shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “Looks like you and Oi are goin’ to be good friends.” The ogre-pirate called “Chef” bellowed, “if you know ‘ow to cook, that is.” Another round of boisterous laughter followed the Chef’s comment, and the boy lost all fear of the churning waves for dread of the Captain’s frozen eyes. Shoved down a steep set of stairs, the boy saw a dimly lit room that smelled of death. In the center was an aged iron cooking pot that bubbled ominously. “Ere’s the galley then,” bellowed the Chef, “Make a mess of it an’ Oi’ll see that the Cap’n doesn’t like your cookin.” His ugly laugh sounded again. Piles of litter covered the room. The boy could imagine no possible way to make the disgusting galley any more vile. He found hope in that thought. He was at once set to cleaning by the Chef, and bit-by-bit he scrubbed away the mess. Each moment the careful eye of the ugly pirate watched him, but the boy decided to follow orders whether or not he was being watched. He did not care to think of the alternative. His overseer yawned and stretched his swollen body. “Well, is abou’ time fer me to sleep. If ye care fer yer life though, ye may wan’ to star’ thinkin’ o’ the Cap’n’s breakfast.” His thudding footsteps clunked out the door and into the hold where the crew slept. Once again terrified, the boy panicked. The galley, hardly any cleaner than before, was no fit place to cook. Still, the image of the Captain’s sword pushed him to try something, and all night the boy searched his mind for something to cook. Finally an idea came to him, and as the sun began to rise he was done. A crewmember peaked through the door, “The Captain is waiting for his breakfast in his quarters.” The door slammed shut, making the boy jump. He looked at his creation, a piece of fish and roasted vegetables baked over the fire. His father often served a similar dish in his inn. His hands shook as he carried the plate upstairs to the Captain’s room. More than once he almost dropped it, causing his heart to skip a beat. At last he entered the most beautiful room in the ship, and there sat the Captain, steel-eyed and cold. Without a word the boy set the plate in front of the Captain. The Captain’s long slender fingers picked up the fork and knife. He began to eat. Agonizingly slowly the fish and vegetables began to disappear. Time crawled by. At last the plate was empty. The Captain wiped his mouth and glared at the boy. “You have bought yourself one more day, boy.” He stood up and brushed a few crumbs from his shirt. “Do whatever Chef asks, and stay out of the way.” The rest of the day passed quietly. The crew seemed sullen at their lost sport, but their fresh loot distracted them. The boy continued to clean under the Chef’s careful eye, and when at last the sun began to sink, the Captain came to the galley. “I will have my breakfast at sunrise.” He said, and he looked at the boy with a queer smile. “Good night,” he said. “Sleep well. I hope to kill you in the morning.”
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Once upon a time in a fair kingdom by the sea, there lived a young lad who was terrified of the ocean. He watched ships go out to sea, but each time they set sail he imagined himself standing on the deck watching the land sink away. His stomach turned over and his fear forbade him to set foot on one of the great sailing ships.
This terrible fear of the sea was likely the fault of the sailors’ many tales. Often when the ships came to land, the sailors came to the inn of the boy’s father. There they bested one another with terrible stories of sea witches, giant serpents, and the terrible Kraken. Even when the sailors were not telling tales of monstrous creatures they traded news of pirates. Many of those burly men bore vicious scars from the raiding brigands. “Sea Devils,” they called the pirates. He hated listening to those stories, but as much as he despised them, they amazed him. Now one-day the boy’s father announced a plan to travel to a distant land. The boy was delighted, for he would never again need to stare at the ships going out to sea. Neither would he listen to the terrors of the sea as the sailors traded stories. His father’s announcement of their new home soon crushed that delight. They were moving to an island. The boy panicked at this news, for in all his life he never once imagined a fate more terrible than living on an island. An island, he thought, was more like a ship than real land. Yet the day of their departure came, and the boy gripped his luggage with white knuckles. Ahead of him menaced the white sails of a ghastly ship. Far behind him stood the lovely white caps of the mountains. With his knees shaking and stomach writhing, he crawled up the wobbly gangplank and stumbled onto the ship. The next thing he remembered was laying in a hammock in the belly of the ship and trying to hold in the contents of his own belly. He failed. Day by day the rocking of the ship put terrible visions of sea beasts and pirates into his mind. Though his father tried to nurse him back to health he showed little improvement. The boy could not be persuaded to leave his bed for anything. One fateful day as they sailed on and on - for it was quite a long journey - a ship appeared on the horizon. Its black sails towered into the sky, and a red flag fluttered in the sea wind. No one came below deck to tell the boy, but he heard the shouting, the readying of canons, and the clamor of swords being drawn. The clattering became silent for a long while, and the boy hoped the pirates had left them alone. An unfamiliar voice crushed those hopes. “Give us your treasure, or we take your lives!” The boy could not think of any reason a dead man might need gold and quickly decided he preferred life to treasure. He hoped his captain thought the same. The booming of canon fire dashed his frail hopes once again. Gaping holes opened in the walls of the ship, and the boy saw sunlight for the first time in weeks. His absolute terror prevented him from caring. He felt the boards of the ship breaking apart underneath him and clung desperately to a wooden beam. His ears rang from the cry of canons. His stomach rolled and twitched. He could smell the burning canon powder mixing with the salty air. Water gushed into the ship. Another canon roared, and the boy found himself trying to hold on to a piece of wood bobbing in the open ocean. Around him floated the wreckage of his own ship, and there, standing against the cloudy sky, was the ship with black sails. A menacing red flag fluttered in the wind. “Oi! We’ve got a live one ‘ere cap’n!” Yelled a rough voice. “Bring it aboard!” Came a smooth and dreadful reply. A strong hand grabbed the boy, and he was rudely plopped into a small boat between two incredibly ugly men. The uglier of the two – though both sported grand-champion scars, warts, and wildly disproportionate features – pointed a rusty blade at the boy and smiled. “Try anyfing an’ Oi’ll gut you quicker ‘an you can blink.” |
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