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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