Captain Blackheart’s treasure

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What would happen if Noel and Julian lived in mid 18th century England.

Or what do you get when you tastelessly mix The Boosh, Brokeback mountain and anything by Robert Louis Stevenson…? A twisted Pirates tale.
Beta by the wonderful plainJane.

Oh, and GIVE ME FEEDBACK, PLEASE!

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Chapter 5 – The cook’s lament

Contents

Chapter 5 – The cook’s lament

Author’s Notes:He didn’t feel like giving the crew anything that wasn’t delivered at a considerable speed by a cannon and he knew there was no reason in the world to make it easy on them.

And there was certainly no reason to make it easy on himself.

Noel could still hear the crew jeering as his feet tore the surface with a loud splash. Then the water quickly closed over him and he was pulled down with a horrifying WHOOOOOSH pounding in his ears.

It was a long fall.

When it finally slowed, he kicked as hard as he could and swam towards the light.

After what seemed like forever he broke the sea cover and took a loud and desperate breath.

The cloths still in his mouth were soaked and he couldn’t help but intake water with every inhale. This made him cough and panic even more.

The last thing he needed was to gag. If he threw up he’d choke on it, and he knew it.

Calm down, calm down. You can do this.

It took him a good couple of minutes before he finally managed to settle his breath.

He needed to assess his situation and took a look around him.

Wide open sea, no seagulls, islands or other vessels in sight, hands tied, can’t even cry for help…

They sure wanted him dead, didn’t they?

Julian was right about them… God, Julian! He really needed to stay focused if he wanted to save him.

Ha!

How are you planning on doing that, when you can’t even save yourself?

Well, it could have been worse, he thought.

They could have tied up your legs, blindfolded you, they could have hanged you, keelhauled you… All things considered, you were pretty lucky!

He let out a strange chuckle. Was he laughing or crying? He wasn’t entirely sure.

At least the sea was quiet. There were no storms, no strong winds and no waves.

As long as he stays afloat he’s going to be alright!

Don’t think of sharks, don’t think of sharks…

Noel knew nothing about the properties of rope, but he hoped the water would eventually loosen the binding cords.

It didn’t, the time that passed made that perfectly clear. If anything, the knots felt tighter… or maybe it was just the pain taking its toll? The truth was, he wasn’t sure his arms would function even if they weren’t tied together… who knows what damage he suffered?

He’ll have to continue and make do without them. Use his legs.

He can do that, easy! He is a good swimmer after all!

He was reminded of all those summers spent by the lake. How he tried to impress the ladies by jumping into the water from some tree, or by crossing from one bank to the other then back before they could count to 30… How the girls giggled and blushed in adoration as he came out, wet, breathless and brimming with pride.

Yes, he was a good swimmer.

He’ll just have to keep swimming. You never know what’s round the corner…

What corners, you idiot? It’s the ocean!!

Something has to happen! It has to! This can’t end here. Not like this…

Something will come up, it always does!

Noel found he couldn’t really swim for long periods of time without the use of his hands, so he floated on his back and paddled with his legs. It didn’t really advance him anywhere but, by god, it felt so much less like drowning.

Whenever he felt strong enough, he tried swimming again, but that never lasted long and he resorted to floating again, preserving his strength and settling his breathing.

Keep going, just to keep going…

If initially the slap of the ocean’s cold water woke him up, invigorated him, now that the adrenalin faded he was becoming more and more tired.

Noel felt his skin burn in the ruthless sunlight and the sense of thirst was unbearable.

Don’t stop, stay afloat, keep going…

He swam for eight hours straight. Or maybe it was seven, or only five, he really couldn’t tell anymore… But after long hours, he finally succumbed to exhaustion.

He couldn’t support his back and was too weak to keep his head above water. His legs continued to give more kicks but the moves were too weak and far apart to keep him afloat.

He closed his eyes and mouth as his head quietly disappeared underwater.

I’m sorry.

The two dolphins were peacefully swimming along, enjoying the after-noon sunrays, when a strange body fell by them.

The smaller dolphin looked up at the sea surface.

“Oy, stop throwing humans! If you can’t stay on the fucking wooden thing, don’t get on it! It’s not like you have any business being in the sea in the first place…”

“Who are you shouting at?” the larger dolphin asked “There’s no one there!

And why do you always get yourself so worked up?” the dolphin continued, though it knew it was a lost cause.

“They keep spilling over, I don’t fucking get it”

“Just ignore it!”

“Alright, I will!”.

But the smaller dolphin couldn’t help it for very long. He soon took a look at the creature slowly and continually descending…

It was clearly still alive: It gave an unconvincing flap with one of its weird fins and let out air bubbles from two tiny blowholes located in his odd snout.

There was something about him…

“Are you coming?”

“In a second!”

The dolphin was mesmerized by the human, who had now opened its eyes and was staring at him.

He was so white he was positively glistening in the afternoon light.

His eyes were big and blue, as blue as the ocean itself, and they had a sad look in them.

He looked like a puppy seal.

And unlike the others that fell before him, he seemed smooth and soft…

“Are inter-species relationships always doomed?”

The larger dolphin gave the aquatic equivalent of a sigh. “We’ve been through this…”

“I know, but… just look at it! Can’t I keep it?”

“NO!”

The dolphin grunted water and circled around the helpless creature one more time, examining him carefully… probably looking for another, larger, blowhole.

The human winced in an incredulous and horrified look, then let out a single air bubble and rolled its eyes shut.

“So… are you gonna save it or what? It hasn’t got long, you know.”

“I suppose. But that’s the last one!”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that every time”

“This time I mean it, you’ll see!”

The two dolphins worked hard at the thankless job. They swam fast for miles, keeping close to the surface, constantly but gently bumping up the human so his head stayed mostly above water. It looked scared and confused and a bit suspicious of some of the smaller dolphin’s accidental ill-placed nudges, but at least it was alive and awake.

Then, as it was getting dark, they saw a small Chinese fishing boat and left their bound delivery to tangle in its net.

The two fishermen could not contain their excitement as they pulled the mesh from the water. They rubbed their eyes in disbelief and gasped in amazement…

“美人魚 ! 美人魚 ! 美人魚 !”

They were, of course, wrong, but with no ships or land in sight, who could blame them for thinking they fished a mermaid?

“Show me the monkey dance, No!”

The morning after the trial, the cook was burning up. His fever was running high and he was delirious. The ship’s doctor, now sober for the first time in 5 years, was thankfully able to treat him. He assured the captain the mad ramblings were due to the high temperature rather than the two blows to the head.

“But will he be alright?”

“Aye, he be out of Davy Jone’s grip, if that’s what yer askin’“

“When will he be strong enough?”

“A week, maybe two”

“I HAVEN’T GOT TWO WEEKS!”

The captain immediately restrained himself. “How about 3 days? Could he be ready in three?”

“This isn’t a negotiation, cap’ain. I can’t guarantee when he be well enough, only time will tell.”

“But it’s possible, yes?”

“Well, aye, but at the moment it seems mighty unlikely ye could get anythin’ out of him so soon: He be too weak, doesn’t respond to people, has wild hallucinations and be talkin’ nothin’ but crazy talk.”

“He’s strong, I can count on that… he’ll be ready on time.”

“Suit yerself” the doctor shrugged. Captain Mann was in one of his determined moods and if experience taught him anything it was that you can’t talk sense into him when he’s like that.

The cook tossed and turned violently. He was sweating and sighing and mumbling, with sudden loud outbursts. Repeating the same three sentences over and over again, while hopelessly fighting his covers.

“Where you be goin’, No?

No, No, No….

The boat is on the other side, No!

NOOOOOOOOO!!!”

The doctor shook his head in concern as the two men left the room.

“See? Notin’ but crazy talk.”

On the second day, the ship anchored in Singapore and Julian woke up from a bad dream rattled and confused.

God, that really was a nasty piece of nightmare…

He let out a long sigh of relief as the clouds of haze scattered and he realized he was safely tucked in bed.

Best not think of the dream anymore, he decided, especially as he was feeling ridiculously hungry.

He rubbed his eyes and pulled himself up to a seating position when it hit him… sights and sounds resurfaced. Alleviation replaced within a split second with the sheer horror of realization.

The pain washed over him like a tidal wave, pulling him down fast, and he couldn’t breathe.

He was alone and he was drowning.

In those two days that passed since his fever subsided, Julian lay on the bed, drifting in and out of a nightmare…

Seeing as the danger was behind him, the cook was now expected to regain his strength and he was mainly left alone in that cabin at the belly of the ship.

From time to time the room was briefly invaded by one of the men—who pointlessly brought him food or cleared his bedpan, and the doctor who checked up on him.

Why was he being kept alive? He wondered… when he was clear minded enough to think.

He would never be allowed in the kitchen again, amongst the knives and fire. There was no way they’d let him resume his job as cook, or do any other duty on board for that matter, so what use was he to them?

Was it the captain’s respect for him that was protecting him, or was it something altogether different?

It was dark when Julian woke from his shattered sleep on the fifth day by the sound of the door slamming, and assumed it was the evening or night time. He turned around to see the room entered by two figures, their outlines he knew all too well. Samson remained by the door while Captain Mann advanced towards the bed. He stopped and stood still, intermittently lit up by the flickering, pale light of the lamp that hung on the wall.

“Hello Barratt” he said serenely.

The cook said nothing. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to speak anyway.

He looked up at the captain and saw him pull up a stool and sit himself down close, with a heavy sigh.

“You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

The cook shook his head to signal he didn’t.

He wasn’t really lying, because he may have had his suspicions but he didn’t know for sure.

“You two stole the map, didn’t you?”

Julian gasped. He used to fear the moment that Mann caught up about the map, but it all seemed so ridiculous now.

“No.” he croaked.

“No, of course not. I meant you copied it.”

“… No.”

Julian lingered a split second too long to make his answer convincing and a smile spread across the captain’s face.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. You were in my cabin and you were constantly sniggering ‘tween yourselves. I know. Can you get it for me?”

The cook fought against the rush of pain as a succession of images of the boy flashed through his mind.

“No”.

The captain leaned closer, assuming an affable tone, as if he was confiding in a friend.

“You do know I had no hand in the boy’s… fate, right?”

Julian turned his head away.

“By the time I got there the trial was over and the men were already too frantic to control. It was either allowing them to go through with it or be up there on the plank with him. And you. They wanted you to go next. I had no choice but to go along with it. I hope you realize that.”

The cook shut his eyes.

It did make perfect sense. The crew was on the verge of a mutiny, and Mann worried about his position as captain, as well as his safety, maybe even the safety of the entire staff of command, he needed to let them have their way just this once, he had little choice in the matter… yes, it was all plausible.

But nothing forced him to turn the gun on Julian, to make him watch…

And nothing can explain that glint of joy in his eyes as he did it.

“Will you help me, Julian? Will you get me that map?”

The cook turned his head to stare straight at Mann’s face.

“We made a copy”

The captain’s eyes lit up “Yes? Yes? Can you bring it to me, my boy?”

Julian’s mouth curled into a contemptuous smile.

“It was on ‘im… when ye threw ‘im off board. He took it down with ‘im to meet ol’ Davey Jones..” He felt his voice start to break. “Ye be welcome to follow ‘im!”

The cook saw the color instantly fade from the older man’s face and he turned away, biting his lip hard to stop himself from crying.

Silence fell over the cabin, and Julian could almost feel the steam emitted off the captain as he fumed in frustration. He started pacing up and down.

“How do you know this?” He finally asked, barely holding himself back from shouting.

“He carried it everywhere, in a flask.” The cook replied dryly without turning back to face him.

“In a flask?” The captain demanded.

“Rolled in a flask… for safe keeping” Julian snorted bitterly.

“So, so, how do you know the map was even in it? It has to be somewhere on the ship!”

The cook grunted impatiently and turned to face him again. “I know because I have seen ‘im take it out to look at it, then roll it into the flask again, a thousand times a day.”

“But-but, are you sure it was the right map? Maybe it was another map!?”

“Leave it, captain, ye be wastin’ both our breaths. I’ve seen it a thousand time, it was the treasure map alright, I would know it anywhere, there is no doubt ab…”

The captain stopped dead in his tracks and the cook’s look caught his glare. Julian could SEE the thoughts racing behind those eyes, forming into conclusions, and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

“You know it by heart, don’t you, boy?”

“N-no”

“You can draw the map yourself, can’t you?!”

“NO!”

“Yes, yes you can… and you will!”

“I don’t know what ye mean” Julian pointlessly insisted but the older man wasn’t convinced. He didn’t seem enraged, but animated.

“Now, this is what’s going to happen, Barratt. I will get this map from you, one way or another. And you can choose which. Do you understand?”

The younger man stared at him blankly and said nothing.

“Are you going to be a good boy and play nice or are you going to make it difficult on yourself?”

“I don’t know what ye mean” the cook replied without blinking.

“Suit yourself” the captain said with a loud and pained sigh and shaking his head mournfully. But as he left the room with Samson at his heels Julian could have sworn he heard the captain whisper “thank you” through smiling lips.

On the sixth day, Julian was awakened by Samson, who burst into the room and wordlessly grabbed him and flipped him over on his belly. He was rough and sharp and Julian guessed the henchman’s eye must still be sore.

The cook offered no resistance as the giant tied his wrists together behind his back, then his ankles, and dragged him barefoot and in his breeches out of bed. Samson slumped Julian on a chair in the middle of the room, secured him to it with yet another rope and left.

This is interesting…

His heart was pounding while long minutes passed and no one came into the room. The captain was definitely putting on an impressive show for him.

Well, he’d be the sort of man who prefers a captive for an audience… Julian surprised himself by chuckling at the thought.

He should probably just draw Mann the map.

He knew it by heart and he didn’t need it or care about the stupid treasure anymore… But why on earth would he help?

He didn’t feel like giving the crew anything that wasn’t delivered at a considerable speed by a cannon and he knew there was no reason in the world to make it easy on them.

And there was certainly no reason to make it easy on himself.

He sat alone in the room waiting, shifting on the chair and wriggling his arms. The ropes felt tight against his wrists. It was uncomfortable, but not as painful as he had thought… as he’d imagined.

What felt like an hour passed before Captain Mann finally entered the cabin, accompanied by Samson and wearing a carefully designed expression of sorrow on his face.

“Julian…” The captain nodded. “I trust you slept well and you’re feeling alright”.

The cook ignored the pretend question and merely followed the captain with his eyes as he approached him.

“What did you decide? Are you gonna behave like a sensible man?

Are you going to give me what I want?”

The cook’s heart quickened and he sighed his answer. “I don’t know what ye want from me”.

The captain clenched his fist and took a deep breath.

“I just want the map… Please, Julian, don’t make me hurt you.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help ye, sir”.

The slap that closely followed threw the cook’s head hard to the right. He quickly turned it back and raised his eyes to look at the captain, shocked.

He knew it was coming, so why was he so surprised?

His eyes became wet. It wasn’t the pain that hurt him, though his cheek was stinging, but the power of the intent behind the slap. He was flogged many times in his life, but it was never as painful, as insulting… or indeed as enlightening.

“Will you draw me that map?”

Julian coughed away the tears before they managed to overflow.

“I don’t know how to help ye”.

He was ready for that second slap and it didn’t hurt nearly half as much as the first.

“Don’t try my patience, cook. Will you draw me the map?”

“Ye be confused. Only one man could draw ye that map and ye threw him off boa…”

He couldn’t even feel the third slap as it fell across the same place as the previous two, though the warm and salty sensation that quickly spread in his mouth told him that he was bleeding.

Mann looked at his heavy gold ring and back at the cook’s cut lip, and sighed.

“You realise it hasn’t begun yet, cook, yes? Just a little taste of what’s to come. This is your expertise, isn’t it? Try to think of it as an appetizer, COOK, before I start serving you the main course.”

Julian rolled his eyes and grunted. Nothing can more painful than Mann’s jokes, surely?

“You can stop this. Easily. Before it even starts. Will you draw me the map?”

“I can’t help ye” The cook shrugged.

“As you wish!”

The captain signalled Samson and both left the room. This time Julian wasn’t left wondering for long. Within a few minutes Samson and Johnson, yet another member of the pack of scurvy dogs that were once his friends, came into the cabin pushing a barrel filled with dark, murky fish waters. The cook’s heart missed a beat.

I’ll be picking out scales from my hair for 3 weeks after that… he smiled to himself.

Johnston approached the cook and used his cutlass to severe the rope fastening Julian to the chair. Then he hoisted the bound man upright and dragged him towards the barrel, clumsily and unceremoniously. It was at that point that Mann stormed back into the room, visibly impatient. The cook’s heart was thumping in his chest.

Show time.

The captain gestured the men on both sides of the cook and each immediately grabbed an arm.

“Last chance, Barrratt, will you draw me the map?”

“I don’t know what ye mean” Julian replied and took a deep breath.

The water was cold and thick and disgusting. The cook shut his eyes and mouth as tight as he could and waited… Some long moments later, the hand on his hair tightened its grip and he was pulled out.

When he opened his eyes and took a loud breath he saw the captain staring at him, examining his face.

“Well?”

Julian momentarily stopped his panting to shrug at Mann.

“They say dead men draw no maps”

The second encounter with the contents of the barrel was longer and harder. He was running out of air and his body started twitching and wriggling wildly on its own. The hand at his head was struggling to keep him down and another, bigger one, joined to help it by pushing at his shoulder. Then he was pulled out and he gasped desperately.

Mann grabbed him. “I’m warning you, cook. The next time won’t be as merciful!!!” He paused, studying his face. “WELL?!”

“What… was… the question… again?”

Mann’s eyes were bulging out when he cued the two men to shove the cook’s head in the barrel once more.

Julian was already out of breath and the cold water was pounding in his ears.

Persistent hands kept his head in place despite his desperate struggles, and by instincts he couldn’t control anymore he opened his mouth to inhale. The water quickly filled his mouth, making him violently choke. His entire body jerked and panic, real, deep, primal panic, took over every inch of his being. But relentless hands were determined to keep him under.

Then a thought that went through his mind sent everything limp and quiet.

This is what Noel felt.

“Captain? CAPTAIN?! He ain’t movin’ no more!”

Though feeling cheated, the captain reluctantly signaled the men and within seconds the semi conscious cook was out of the water and on the floor. He sat slumped against the barrel, coughing water, overwhelmed by the revelation.

“Barratt? Barratt? BARRATT?!”

“Em, captain? Maybe we best be stoppin’ now?” Johnson mumbled as Mann shook his captive. The captain shot him a dirty look that scared him to the bone, and immediately turned his attention back to the cook.

“You will give me what I want, YOU HEAR ME?!”

He stood up and pulled the cook, then forcefully pushed his head in the water, again and again and again…

After seeing he wasn’t getting any results, he gave Samson new instructions.

The giant man obeyed by cutting the cook’s hands loose. The dazed cook stood there swaying and panting and made no attempts to struggle. The henchman grabbed both his wrists and tied them together to the front, then took a long rope and looped one end between Julian’s hands. He pushed him to the middle of the room where he threw the other end of the rope over a ceiling beam and pulled it till Julian’s arms were raised overhead, then he secured it to a bolt in the wall.

Mann nodded in approval, went out and came back holding a whip.

The men were then sent out and ordered to stand and “guard the door”. They stood there for hours, resentful for not touring the brothels of Singapore with the rest of the crew.

They could hear the captain’s repeated loud questions, then horrible gut-wrenching screams, followed by silence and sometimes a laugh, which they mistook for Mann’s.

“YOU WILL GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!!!” The captain echoed himself.

But the cook wasn’t in a state to give him anything. He seemed in a place of his own, eyes staring into space, glazed.

When Mann finally gave up he called the men into the cabin. “I’ll let you rest now” he spat his words in the cook’s direction. “After all, tomorrow is a big day for you and you must save your strength…”

Though he used his most threatening voice, Julian barely blinked in response. The captain let out a frustrated grunt and stomped out.

Samson cut the cook down and carried him over to the bed then gently laid him on his belly. He covered him with the blanket and left the cabin. Julian made one clear determined decision before he passed out, spent.

Tomorrow I’ll struggle.

It’s early in the morning of the seventh day. I come into the room just as the visibly agitated Samson leaves it.

The atmosphere is different this morning and I can’t quite give it a name but it’s very much felt.

HE is sitting on the chair, just as I instructed, but he is rocking and growling wildly between heavy breaths. There are fresh cuts on his face and judging by Samson’s bruised mug, I’d say he gave almost as good as he got.

My prisoner finally acknowledges me standing here and stops his struggling. He looks up at me, eyes so full of hate I just want to run up to him and grab him, and shake him and, and… I don’t know what exactly but I just need to do it.

I don’t.

“Good morning, cook” I say and immediately regret it. Should have gone with something colder… The tone was good, though. I think.

I’m not the least bit surprised when the prisoner doesn’t respond. It still enrages me, but I must keep up appearance.

“I hope after yesterday you came to see sense”.

He doesn’t answer.

“Will you draw me the map?”

Nothing.

“Draw it and all this goes away. I’ll set you free”.

He says nothing but one of his eyebrow rises. He knows I’m lying.

“Last night was nothing. If you don’t draw me the map, by god, I will give you such pain you’ll be begging for another flogging just to ease it!”

This I mean, but the prisoner doesn’t look impressed.

I grab his hair and push the head back, exposing the neck. There’s a sharp intake of air when I do that.

Ha! Can’t ignore that, can you?!

I draw my cutlass, put it to his throat, stroke him with it.

“I’d make you wish you were never born”

The neck position makes it hard for him to do so, but nonetheless the prisoner snorts.

My hand trembles at the base of the knife. “Will you draw me the map?!”

My captive rolls his eyes away, looks at the room.

How dare he?!

“Simple question: YES OR NO?!”

Silence.

Then he makes a hissing sound as the tip of the knife breaks the skin and draws blood.

“You can stop this, boy. Stop me.”

He shuts his eyes, says nothing.

How dare he ignore me? This isn’t a game!

“THIS ISN’T A GAME!!!”

The cut now runs from the base of his jaw nearly to his Adam’s apple. The blood trickles down.

He bites his lower lip, eyes still closed. Smiles.

What the hell is this?!

I abruptly remove the blade, let go of the hair.

The captive opens his eyes, looks surprised… disappointed even.

I head towards the door and call in the men. I hold the door as Johnston and Milky come in the cabin carrying a large, steaming pot and set it on the table next to him.

I smile at my prisoner.

“That’s boiling oil, Julian. In case you were wondering.”

Deep down I know he wasn’t.

“This is pain beyond anything you ever experienced” I say. I pick up the ladle off the table and signal the two crewmen to leave the room. I see them exchange uncomfortable looks but they soon obey.

“This is your last chance to stop this. What do you say?”

He isn’t saying anything.

“This is the point of no return, boy…”

I’m not quite sure what to do. I thought about this a million times but now that it’s finally here—I’m a bit lost. I hide my shakiness and dip the ladle in the oil. Then I pull the head back by the hair and tip the spoon over quickly.

The splat of oil hits the chest and at first there’s silence but then the prisoner lets out a horrifying scream and his body spasms violently.

Oh god.

Oh god.Oh god.Oh god.

I immediately drop my grip and the head falls forward.

I need to speak. I have to say something now or he’ll know.

“There’s a pot full of this, boy. A POT full! Now, have you got something to say?”

He doesn’t even raise his head to look at me.

“Draw the map, or so help me god, I will make you bathe in this!”

Why do I still so desperately care?

I don’t really need that map anymore… Not now they’ve reached Singapore and the crew has been spending all their days eating and drinking and exploring the whorehouses. Nobody cares if it’ll take them a day or a week to find the treasure now that they have all their needs met.

But I care. I need to finish this.

A moment later, I dip the ladle and grab his hair again. It’s wet and stringy with sweat. I take my time pouring the oil onto him.

The prisoner’s entire body jerks and his uncontrolled movements make the oil largely miss his chest and hit his right shoulder.

He lets out deep, loud bellows that don’t even sound human and tears burst out of his shocked, wide open eyes.

Then there’s no more oil in the spoon and the captive falls suddenly quiet. There’s something almost heartbreaking about it. I let go and step back.

“Give me the map”

The prisoner doesn’t speak, his shoulders rise and fall with every labored breath and silent whimper.

I start to pace up and down the cabin.

This is going nowhere…

No. No, he is close to breaking point, I know it! Has to be… Why doesn’t he break?

I stop. From that angle of the room I notice the captive’s constant wriggle of the wrists and the pool of blood that dripped onto the floor.

I feel so very lost.

WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!

Why is he doing this to me?!?

“What are you mad at me for, cook?!” I ask in an almost whiney tone.

“I have always been nothing but fair to you, haven’t I? And here you are, y-you scurvy ingrate, doing all this, trying t-to… What? Why? What have I ever done to you? Why are you punishing ME for Merritt and the crew’s actions? Just give me the map, Julian, JUST GIVE IT TO ME!”

“Merritt?”

I am so surprised by the response I don’t quite know what to do with myself.

“W-well, yes. It was his idea, don’t you remember? You were right there in the cabin with them!

I had nothing to do with it. Didn’t even know about it until it was too late!”

My captive looks at me with big haunted eyes.

“Yeah, he planned the whole thing, got the men, went there and grabbed the boy, had the trial, everything.

Now will you help me?”

He turns his head away, consumed by his thoughts.

“Will you draw me the map now?!”

There is no answer.

“COOK!”

It’s like he doesn’t even remember I’m there.

“LOOK AT ME!”

I’ll make him look.

I briskly move to the table, plunge the ladle in the pot and go to him. I grab him forcefully by the chin, level him. The prisoner finally returns a stare and my heart misses a beat.

I filled the ladle to the brim this time and without looking at it I slowly and gradually spill the contents of the spoon. Savor it.

Fresh tears wash his face and he sounds like a wild animal.

Without breaking eye contact, I move my hand from the chin and put it over my captive’s mouth, feel the scream vibrating against my palm…

There’s real horror in those light brown eyes.

The ladle is soon empty again and I realize I forgot to breathe.

I take my hand off the man’s mouth.

His screams fade into whimpers and suddenly he bucks, his eyes flutter and roll shut. Then, he falls limp, head hung, his body held only by the ropes binding him to the chair.

For a split second I seriously panic, check his pulse. Make sure his heart didn’t fail to beat from the shocking pain.

Then I stand there, staring at him for a while, waiting for him to come to. When he doesn’t, I exit the room and leave him there.

Does he really hate me so much that he would endure the worse kind of pain just to spite me?

What kind of sick vendetta is this?

I shudder.

I now know I need to go about it in a whole different way.

The vessel sways and the door opens… There are more of them. Noel’s legs are shaking and his teeth are knocking over the gag.

They drag him across the cabin and though he does his best to struggle, he is out numbered, they are far bigger than him and with his arms bound so tightly he can’t even slow them down.

They cast him to the floor, face down. He tries to speak to them, beg them, but they don’t understand him, even though they know exactly what he’s asking.

He turns his head towards them, to plea for mercy with his big, wet, blue eyes.

They laugh mockingly and one of them kicks him in the gut.

The laughter becomes louder as he gasps in pain and curls into a ball. A booted leg is pressed onto his head, forcefully pinning his cheek to the floor. He can’t do a thing beside lay there and wait.

He looks at him now.

They tug and pull and tears start trickling down his face. His hands twist, his fingers curl, his breathing short and fast.

Then a grunt is pushed out of him with the weight hurled over. The boot is lifted and a hand comes in its stead, the fingers dig into his light brown hair and bunch into a fist.

He tries to put up a fight, but all he can do is wriggle. In return, his head is pulled back and then slammed against the floor, he shuts his eyes momentarily but they immediately go back and fix on him.

The men cheer and their laughter stands in the stifled air. A second hand grabs his shoulder and pushes down.

Then it starts, sharp, sudden, and he yells into the heavy cloth.

The side of his head is nudged up and down against the floor, grated harder and harder, faster and faster, and he is choking on his own screams…

He looks at him all the while, through pouring streams of tears.

Then it’s finally over.

But before he knows it, they switch.

He doesn’t dare move, but he can’t stop his whimpers. New hands grab and tug, different weight traps him under.

He can’t even make a sound anymore. His eyes and mouth are all dried out.

With every thrust the air is edged out of him.

He looks at him, begs with his eyes. There’s such sorrow, such disappointment in them. He is right there! Why won’t he help him?

Then it’s Merritt’s turn.

The boy’s eyes are now hollow and blank. How could you let this happen?

Julian woke on the ninth day with a start. The lump in his throat made it almost impossible to breathe, let alone swallow. The pain rolled from his gut to his chest. He tried to arch his back to relieve it, only to discover he was fastened to the bed.

He lifted his head. Saw that his chest and shoulder were bandaged and that the many ropes that kept his body in check, strapping him from the neck down to his feet, seemed to carefully avoid his wounds.

He started to wriggle his hands and learned his wrists were dressed but unbound. He rubbed them against the bed, but there was not enough friction. He slammed his head back into the mattress, letting out a frustrated growl.

“Can’t have you hurting yourself, now can we?”

Mann was sitting there, waiting for him. The cook turned his head away, tried to wipe the tears on the mattress, so the other man won’t see them.

“Ye still here, captain?” he croaked.

“Let’s stop this, Julian” The captain sighed. “We both know how this ends, so why drag this? Draw me the map!”

The cook turned his head to look at him with disdain. Mann saw, but ignored it.

“Give me what I want and, by god, I’ll give you whatever you want. Fair trade”

“Not even ye and yer god can give me what I want, so I will ne’er give ye anythin’. How’s that for fair?”

There was silence. Then the captain broke it. “Ahh, of course. You’re still thinking of the boy…

Can’t be easy being you right now, aye, cook? You lost your only…” he fumbled at the word “… friend. You’re still here with the people who did this. Your body is in pain. I understand… but I need that map”

The cook wanted to scream. He had to lie there and listen to the captain with no way of distracting himself. Mann made sure of that. But screaming will only give the captain a reason to touch his mouth again, so he bit down on his lip instead.

“You must’ve been so l-lonely, until he came along…

You always saw yourself as better than everyone else, you never was one of the crew. You even think you’re better than me, don’t you, boy? But why him?” he demanded. “Of all people, why him? Why that ridiculous landlubber? He wasn’t a real woman and by god he was less than a man!”

The captain paused to allow his captive to respond, but the cook, eye shut tight and trembling all over, remained silent.

“You’re not like the others, are you?” he tried. “For hell knows what reasons, they all went insane over him. But for you it was different. You weren’t just starved like them. At least Merritt had the good sense to kill that fiend. But you actually wanted him. You’re just all wrong.”

The cook struggled against the binds in vain. It was only when his body screamed in pain that he could silence his thoughts.

“Shut yer mouth!”

“It all makes sense to me now… You, at the brothels, with the women… Always such a sad pathetic sight…” He chuckled. “I imagine your mother would have been proud. To know her son is a disgusting deviant.

Lucky she’s dead, aye?”

“SHUT YER HOLE!”

“… Come to think of it, they all die on you, don’t they? Never stick around for long, do they? Hmmmm… Ever think god’s trying to tell you something?”

He has. All his life.

He kept making that same mistake, over and over. Dared to think he deserved to be happy, despite of what he was. And each time, others paid the price. Whenever he looked for… love, for a lack of better term, his dear ones suffered. First his parents, then the other orphans, and now…

He didn’t deserve happiness and destiny made sure he’d never get it.

But, no, that’s all it was. Merely love. Every human is worthy of that, surely? If they are good, hard working and honest?

Damnation! Even now, after all that’s happened he still couldn’t shake that blasphemous thought.

He deserved to love and be loved.

The captain as if read his mind. “You l-loved him, didn’t you?” The words seemed to sear him when they left his lips.

“God! That must be hard for you, then, to think you shared him with the others.” He paused, examined the cook’s sudden pale expression.

“Come on, you’ve seen him that morning, the state of him. Hell, you were right there in the cabin with them… Oh, no, wait, that’s right, you chose that time to have a little sleepy.

Still, they must’ve had one hell of a party… Not that I could blame them, mind” He said with a sly smile.

“With his face down, that long hair and fair skin he almost looked like the real thing! And with him being all trussed up and ready to go… hell, even I would!” he exclaimed cheerfully.

The cook slammed his head against the mattress, breathing heavily.

Julian spent all his waking and sleeping hours in torment thinking with horror about Noel’s last moments on earth, praying to all gods they were as painless as possible…

His tears were now flowing, unstoppable, un-hide-able.

“Yeah, I’d cry too.” The captain continued, spurred by the response. “I’m quite the jealous guy, myself, and that would just drive me mad.

I mean, just thinking of all the guys having what belonged to you! How can you bear the thought of having to share him?”

The cook let out a strangled cry. “Oh god…”

“The others knowing what that boy tasted like… Making him moan, making him sweat, making him scream… Knowing how tight and warm he feels on the inside.”

Julian tossed his head from side to side… but he could still hear those words.

“I feel your pain. That should have been private information. Your secret… Just for you to know”

The cook stopped his struggles then averted his eyes, trying to avoid Mann’s glare. The older man gasped.

“Oh no… don’t tell me! Don’t tell me you two haven’t?!”

“Shut up!”

“Oh, my! All those months, spent in the same room, sleeping in the same cabin, night after night, just the two of you… and you still couldn’t?! What’s wrong with you, boy? Have you not got your manhood about you?!

The captain broke into a loud laugh, eyes twinkling in glee.

“And now you’ll never know. How does it feel? To realize others know what you never will?

I can ask them for you, if you want… Hah!” The captain wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Oh, dear…”

“Please… don’t…” Julian whispered.

The sense of regret was unbearable. What a fool he was to wait, to play games, to even hesitate. What a sad creature, with a life not lived.

He longed for a fire, to burn his mind clean of thoughts.

“What a disappointment you were to him.

You know, I imagine he still believed, almost up to his very last breath, that you’d save him.

How does it make you feel? To know that his last thought was that you let him down?

“I couldn’t… There were too many…”

“He always waited for you… for you to fuck him… for you to wake up… for you to save him. What an endless string of disappointments you are!”

“I tried, but there were just too many… forgive me, I tired…”

“What a sad excuse of a man.”

“Forgive me…”

Julian broke into a loud, childlike cry and Mann had to hold himself from falling back by the overwhelming pleasure this gave him. He never saw the other man so weak, so vulnerable, so pathetic…

It was something ten times more satisfying than any whip, blow or burn… the sound of something breaking inside.… and suddenly he was overcome with pity.

He sat there for an hour listening to Julian cry, until his prisoner fell asleep, exhausted.

When the cook woke up, the captain was still there, in the same place.

“Can I go to the toilet, please?” He muttered in a tiny voice.

Mann agreed, Got Samson to cut him free and escort him.

Julian was tired. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He didn’t care for revenge or silly games. He just wanted this to end. He looked for ways to escape, but knew he could never outrun or outfight the giant.

When they got back to the cabin, the cook took a pen in a trembling hand and drew a map. He wasn’t much of a painter but it was clear enough.

Mann looked at the map and nodded.

“I’ll keep my word, cook.” He smiled at Julian. “When we reach the treasure, I’ll set you free.

Heck, I’ll even pull the trigger myself!”