The boy doesn’t hesitate. “Bugger off,” he says, giving the Captain a sharp jerk of his chin. “I ain’t joinin’ nuffin’ of yours. Got it. Mate?”
The Captain cocks his head, examining the boy like he’s no better than a roach in the pantry. The Captain turns on him and, in a motion so swift that the boy could not have predicted it, he rams his glove-covered fist into the boy’s gut. The boy goes down hard, his moan echoing on the winds as he crumples over, unable to clutch his stomach with his hands bound as they are.
Stepping back, the Captain watches with barely concealed disgust as the boy writhes on the floor, desperately trying to catch his breath. When he has almost stilled and when his breathing is more labored than erratic, the boy tries to come to his knees. But as he struggles, the Captain crouches and lifts the boy’s head by his hair. The boy tries to jerk away, but the Captain’s grip is too strong.
“I’ll ask you once again, lad,” he says, his voice carrying over the wind. “Will you join us?”
The boy glares at the Captain, his nostrils flaring in anger or pain or some combination of the two. After a beat, he wrinkles his face and, with some effort, sends a gob of spit directly at the Captain’s face.
The boys on deck shift uneasily as a murmur ripples through the crowd, but the Captain doesn’t react. He lets the boy fall to the deck as he wipes the spittle from his cheek with a handkerchief from his pocket.
“I see,” the Captain says, and I cannot stop the gasp that escapes when he unexpectedly gives the boy a savage kick to the gut. Taking the time to fold the scrap of material into a precise triangle, he places it back into his pocket while the boy writhes in pain at his feet.
With the handkerchief tucked away, he gives a slight nod. Will and the boy with the dreads move forward and flank the prisoner. Together they lift the still-moaning boy back to his knees and jerk his head back, forcing him to look up at the Captain.
“Let’s try this once again, shall we?” The Captain pulls his long triangular blade from its sheath and runs the edge of it along the boy’s throat. “It’s like I’ve told you, lad. You’ve got yourself two choices: you can join with us or you can be leaving.” His tone is calm, almost conversational, as he gestures to the sea.
A few of the other prisoners in the line whimper, but the Captain doesn’t spare them a glance. The defiant boy jerks his head away from the two holding him and glares at the Captain with a cold fury. “And it’s like I told you,” he sneers, “sod off.”
The Captain studies him for a moment, his back stiff and straight. “Your choice, lad.” He looks to the two boys holding the prisoner. “Gareth, Will, perhaps you could escort our guest off the ship?”
The two holding the boy nod, almost in unison, and start to drag the prisoner to the bulwark of the lower deck. As they pull the stocky boy along, the Captain glances up at me. I can’t read the emotion in his features. I can’t tell if it’s exhaustion from the battle or regret for what he’s just done that makes him look so drained. He doesn’t bother to watch the progress of the boys or to offer assistance, though. Instead, he climbs the steps back to his perch next to me on the higher deck.
The boy doesn’t go easily. At first he collapses onto the deck, making himself into a dead weight, but it doesn’t work. Little by little, Will and Gareth drag him to the bulwark of the ship. The closer the boy gets, the more he begins to panic—his legs jerking out desperately to find a foothold, his face turning as white as the sails that flap above us.
I understand his panic. I know too well what’s it like to be dragged away against your will. What it’s like to feel fear closing up your throat. And I know just how cold and dark and deadly that water can be.
“Captain!” the boy’s voice cracks. His eyes are wild with fear now. “Captain, please! I’ve reconsidered.”
I let out a breath when I hear his words, relieved that he has finally decided to save himself. But the Captain doesn’t move. Not a muscle in his face shows any signs of softening.
“Please!” The boy is practically squealing now, sobbing, and his screams grow more desperate with each inch he is pulled closer to the railing. Beyond, the sea is quiet. Waiting.
“Go with God, lad,” the Captain murmurs, giving the boy a small salute.
The boy’s legs go out from under him at the words, and a wet stain spreads on the front of his pants, but still Will and Gareth drag him to the rail of the ship.
“No!” I’m moving before I think better of it, jerking away from the two boys who are supposed to be guarding me before they even know what’s happening. “You can’t do this.” I grab the Captain’s arm.
He turns on me, his eyes narrowed, vicious. “Can’t I?”