doesnotkneel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doesnotkneel) wrote2017-12-09 11:15 pm
doesnotkneel) wrote2017-12-09 11:15 pm
The High Seas, January, 1713
The ship they were after was a merchant ship run by the East India Company. There’d been many rumblings below decks regarding the wisdom of the enterprise. They knew that by attacking such a prestigious vessel they were making themselves wanted men. But the captain had said there were only three naval warships and two naval sloops patrolling the entire Caribbean Sea, and that the East India Company’s ship, the Amazon Galley, was said to be carrying treasure, and that providing they brought the Galley to a halt in open water out of sight of land, they should be able to plunder the ship at their leisure, escape and be out of it.
Wouldn’t the crew of the Galley be able to identify them, though? Edward wondered aloud. Wouldn’t they tell the navy they’d been attacked by the Emperor? Friday had just looked at him. Edward didn’t care for that look.
They found it on the third day of hunting.
“Sail ho!” came the cry from above. Moments later they’d confirmed it was the Galley and the Emperor set off across the water towards it.
As they approached the ship raised a red ensign, the British flag, and sure enough the Galley remained where she was, thinking them an English privateer on her side.
Which they were. In theory.
Men primed their pistols and checked the action of their swords. Boarding hooks were taken up and the guns manned. As they came up alongside and the Galley crew realized they were primed for battle, the crew of the Emperor was close enough to see their faces fall and panic gallop through the ship like a startled mare.
They forced her to heave to. Ready for battle. Edward had no pistol and his sword was a rusty old thing the quartermaster had found at the bottom of a chest, but even so. Squeezed in between men twice his age but ten times as fierce, Edward did his utmost to scowl with as much ferocity as they did. To look just as fierce and savage.
The guns below were trained on the Galley opposite. One word and they’d open fire with a volley of shot, enough to break their vessel in half. On the faces of their crew was the same sick, terrified expression. The look of men caught out, men who had to face the terrible consequences.
“Let your captain identify himself,” the Emperor's first mate called across the gap between the two vessels. He produced a timer and banged it down on the gunwale rail. “Send out your captain before the sands run out, or we shall open fire.”
It took them until their time was almost up, but he appeared on deck at last, dressed in all his finery and fixing us with what he hoped was an expression of defiance — which couldn’t disguise the trepidation in his eyes.
He did as he was told and ordered a boat to be launched, then clambered aboard and was rowed across to the Emperor. Secretly Edward couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. He put himself at the Emperor's mercy in order to protect his crew, which was admirable, and his head was held high when, as he ascended the Jacob’s ladder from his boat, he was jeered at by the men manning the mounted guns on the deck below, then grabbed roughly by the shoulders and dragged over the rail of the gunwale to the quarter-deck.
When he was hauled to his feet he pulled away from the men’s clutching hands, threw his shoulders back and, after adjusting his jacket and cuffs, demanded to see the captain.
“Aye, I’m here,” called Dolzell, who came down from the sterncastle with Trafford, the first mate, at his heels. The captain wore his tricorn with a bandana tied beneath it, and his cutlass was drawn.
“What’s your name, Captain?” he said.
“My name is Captain Benjamin Pritchard,” replied the merchant captain sourly, “and I demand to know the meaning of this.”
He drew himself up to full height but was no match for the stature of Dolzell. Few men were.
“The meaning of this,” repeated Dolzell. The captain wore a thin smile, possibly the first time Edward had ever seen him smile. He cast an arch look around his men gathered on the deck, and a cruel titter ran through the crew.
“Yes,” said Captain Pritchard primly. He spoke with an upper-class accent. Oddly, Ed was reminded of Caroline. “I mean exactly that. You are aware, are you not, that my ship is owned and operated by the British East India Company and that we enjoy the full protection of Her Majesty’s Navy.”
“As do we,” replied Dolzell. At the same time he indicated the red ensign that fluttered from the topsail.
“I rather think you forfeited that privilege the moment you commanded us to stop at gunpoint. Unless, of course, you have an excellent reason for doing so?”
“I do.”
Edward glanced across to where the crew of the Galley were pinned down by their guns but just as enthralled by the events on deck as they were. You could have heard a pin drop. The only sound was the slapping of the sea on the hulls of the ships and the whisper of the breeze in their masts and rigging.
Captain Pritchard was surprised. “You do have a good reason?”
“I do.”
“I see. Then perhaps we should hear it.”
“Yes, Captain Pritchard. I have forced your vessel to heave to in order that my men might plunder it of all its valuables. You see, pickings on the seas have been awfully slim of late. My men are getting awfully restless. They are wondering how they will be paid on this trip.”
“You are a privateer, sir,” retorted Captain Pritchard. “If you continue along this course of action, you will be a pirate, a wanted man.” He addressed the entire crew. “You all will be wanted men. Her Majesty’s Navy will hunt you down and arrest you. You’ll be hung at Execution Dock, then your bodies displayed in chains at Wapping. Is that really what you want?”
Pissing yourself as you died. Stinking of shit, Edward thought.
“Way I hear it, Her Majesty is on the verge of signing treaties with the Spanish and the Portuguese. My services as a privateer will no longer be required. What do you think my course of action will be then?”
Captain Pritchard swallowed, for there was no real answer to that. And, for the first time ever, Edward saw Captain Dolzell smile enough to reveal a mouth full of broken and blackened teeth, like a plundered graveyard. “Now, sir, how about we retire to discuss the whereabouts of whatever treasure you might happen to have on board?”
Captain Pritchard was about to complain, but Trafford was already moving forward to grab him and he was propelled up the steps and into the Navigation Room. Men, meanwhile, turned their attention to the crew of the ship opposite and an uneasy, threatening silence reigned.
Then they began to hear the screams.
Edward jumped, his eyes going to the door of the cabin from where they had come. Darting a look at Friday, Ed saw that he too was staring at the door of the Navigation Room, an unreadable look on his face.
“What’s going on?” Edward asked.
“Hush. Keep your voice down. What do you think is going on?”
“They’re torturing him?”
He rolled his eyes. “What did you expect, rum and pickles?”
The screams continued. Over on the other ship the men’s expressions had changed. A moment ago they stared resentfully, balefully, as though biding their time before they might launch a cunning counter-attack. Like the crew of the Emperor were scoundrels and knaves and would soon be whipped like the scurvy dogs they were. In their eyes now was sheer terror that they might be next.
It was strange. Edward felt both ashamed and emboldened by what was happening. He'd never been able to abide cruelty for its own sake. Dolzell would have said, “Not for its own sake, boy, to find out where the treasure was hid,” but he would have been telling a half-truth. For the fact was, as soon as the men swarmed their vessel they’d quickly locate whatever booty was aboard. No, the real purpose of torturing the captain was the changing faces of the men who stood opposite. It was to strike terror in their crew.
Then, when the screams had reached a peak, when the heartless sniggering of the deck-hands had been exhausted, and even the most pitiless man had begun to wonder if, perhaps, enough pain had been inflicted for one day, the door to the Navigation Room was thrown open and Dolzell and Trafford appeared.
Wearing a look of grim satisfaction the captain surveyed the men of their own ship, then the apprehensive faces of the other crew, before pointing and saying, “You, boy.”
He was pointing at Edward.
“Y-yes, sir,” Ed stammered.
“Into the cabin, boy, guard the captain, while we find out what his information is worth. You too.” He was pointing at somebody else. Edward hurried to the front of the quarter-deck, barging against the tide of a surge towards the gunwales as men readied themselves to board the other ship.
He had the first of two shocks as he entered the Navigation Room and saw Captain Pritchard.
The cabin had a large dining-table, which had been set to one side. So too was the quartermaster’s table, on which were laid his navigation instruments, maps and chart.
In the middle of the cabin Captain Pritchard sat tied to a chair, his hands bound behind him. Lingering in the cabin was a brackish smell Edward couldn’t place.
Captain Pritchard’s head hung, chin on his chest. At the sound of the door he lifted it and focused bleary, pain-wracked eyes on Ed.
“My hands,” he croaked. “What have they done to my hands?” Before Edward could find out he had his second surprise, when his fellow jailer entered the room and it was none other than Blaney.
Oh shit. He pulled the door shut behind him. His eyes slid from Ed to the wounded Captain Pritchard and back to me again.
From outside came the cries of their crew as they prepared to board the other ship but it felt as though they were cut off from it, as though it were happening far away and involved people not known to us. He held Blaney’s gaze as Edward walked around to the back of the captain, where his hands were tied behind his back. He realized what the smell had been. It was the smell of burnt flesh.
Dolzell and Trafford had pushed lit fuses between Captain Pritchard’s fingers in order to make him talk. There was a scattering of them on the boards as well as a jug of something that, when Ed put it to his nose, he thought was brine they’d used to pour on his wounds, to make them more painful.
Pritchard's hands were blistered, charred black in some places, raw and bleeding in others, like tenderized meat.
Edward looked for a flask of water, still cautious of Blaney, wondering why he hadn’t moved. Why he hadn’t spoken.
He put Edward out of his misery.
“Well, well, well,” he rasped, “we find ourselves together.”
“Yes,” Ed replied drily. “Aren’t we lucky, mate?”
He saw a jug of water on the long table.
Blaney ignored his sarcasm. “What would you be up to, exactly?”
“I’m fetching water to put on this man’s wounds.”
“Captain didn’t say nothing about tending to the prisoner’s wounds.”
“He’s in pain, man, can’t you see?”
“Don’t you talk to me like that, you little whelp,” snapped Blaney with a ferocity that chilled Edward's blood. Still, he wasn’t going to show it. Full of bravado. Always tough on the outside.
“You sound like you’re fixing up for a fight, Blaney.”
Edward hoped he came across more confident than he felt.
“I maybe am at that.”
He had a brace of pistols in his belt and a cutlass at his waist, but the silver that seemed to appear in his hand, almost from nowhere, was a curved dagger.
Ed swallowed.
“What do you plan on doing, Blaney, with the ship about to mount a raid, and us in charge of guarding the captain here? Now, I don’t know what it is you have against me, what measure of grudge it is you’re nursing, but it’ll have to be settled another time, I’m afraid, unless you’ve got a better idea.”
When Blaney grinned a gold tooth flashed. “Oh, I’ve got other ideas, boy. An idea that maybe the captain here tried to escape and ran you through in the process. Or how about another idea altogether? An idea that it was you who helped the captain. That you untied the prisoner’s hands and tried to make good your escape, and it was me who stopped you, running you both through in the process. I think I like that idea even better. How’s about that?”
He was serious. Blaney had been biding his time. No doubt he wanted to avoid the flogging he would have received for giving Edward a beating but suddenly he had Ed where he wanted him.
Then something happened that focused Edward. He’d knelt to see to the captain and something caught his eye. The thick signet ring he was wearing bore a symbol he recognized.
The day he’d woken up on the Emperor he’d found a looking-glass below decks and inspected his wounds. He had cuts, bruises and scrapes. Edward'd looked like what he was: a man who’d been beaten up. One of the marks was from where he’d been punched by the man in the hood. His ring had left its imprint on Edward's skin. A symbol of a cross.
He saw that very same symbol there, on Captain Pritchard’s ring.
Despite the poor man’s discomfort Edward couldn’t help himself. “What’s this?”
His voice, a little too sharp and a little too loud, was enough to arouse the suspicions of Blaney, and he pushed himself off the closed cabin door and moved further into the room to see.
“What is what?” Pritchard was saying, but by now Blaney had reached them. He too had seen the ring, only his interest in it was less to do with its meaning, more to do with its value. Without hesitation, and heedless of Pritchard’s pain, he reached and yanked it off, flaying the finger of burnt and charred skin at the same time.
The captain’s screams took some time to die down, and when they had, his head lolled forward onto his chest and a long rope of saliva dripped to the cabin floor.
“Give me that back,” Edward said to Blaney.
“Why should I give it to you?”
“Now come on, Blaney . . .” he started. Then they heard something, a shout from outside, “Sail ho!”
It wasn’t as though their feud was forgotten, just placed to one side for a moment. Blaney pointed his dagger and said, “Wait there,” as he left the room to see what was going on.
The open door framed a scene of sudden panic outside but as the ship lurched it slammed shut. He looked from the door to Captain Pritchard, groaning in pain. Edward’d never wanted to be a pirate. He was a sheep-farmer from Bristol. A man in search of adventure, it’s true, but by fair means not foul. He wasn’t a criminal, an outlaw. He’d never wanted to be party to the torture of innocent men.
“Untie me,” said the captain, his voice dry and pained. “I can help you. I can guarantee you a pardon.”
“If you tell me about the ring.”
Captain Pritchard was moving his head slowly from side to side as though to shake away the pain. “The ring, what ring . . . ?” he was saying, confused, trying to work out why on earth this young deck-hand should be asking him about such an irrelevance.
“A mysterious man I consider my enemy wore a ring just like yours. I need to know its significance.”
He gathered himself. His voice was parched but measured. “Its significance is great power, my friend, great power that can be used to help you.”
“What if that great power was being used against me?”
“That can be arranged as well.”
“I feel it already has been used against me.”
“Set me free and I can use my influence to find out for you. Whatever wrong has been done to you, I can see it put right.”
“It involves the woman I love. Some powerful men.”
“There are powerful men and powerful men. I swear on the Bible, boy, that whatever ails you can be solved. Whatever wrong has been done to you can be put right.”
Already his fingers were fiddling with Pritchard's knots but just as the ropes came away and slithered to the cabin floor, the door burst open. Standing in the doorway was Captain Dolzell. His eyes were wild. His sword was drawn. Behind him was a great commotion on the ship. Men who moments before had been ready to board the Amazon Galley, as organized a fighting unit as we could be, were suddenly in disarray.
Captain Dolzell said one word, but it was enough.
“Privateers.”
[[ nfb, nfi! taken from the Assassin's Creed: Black Flag novelization. TW for torture under the cut. ]]
Wouldn’t the crew of the Galley be able to identify them, though? Edward wondered aloud. Wouldn’t they tell the navy they’d been attacked by the Emperor? Friday had just looked at him. Edward didn’t care for that look.
They found it on the third day of hunting.
“Sail ho!” came the cry from above. Moments later they’d confirmed it was the Galley and the Emperor set off across the water towards it.
As they approached the ship raised a red ensign, the British flag, and sure enough the Galley remained where she was, thinking them an English privateer on her side.
Which they were. In theory.
Men primed their pistols and checked the action of their swords. Boarding hooks were taken up and the guns manned. As they came up alongside and the Galley crew realized they were primed for battle, the crew of the Emperor was close enough to see their faces fall and panic gallop through the ship like a startled mare.
They forced her to heave to. Ready for battle. Edward had no pistol and his sword was a rusty old thing the quartermaster had found at the bottom of a chest, but even so. Squeezed in between men twice his age but ten times as fierce, Edward did his utmost to scowl with as much ferocity as they did. To look just as fierce and savage.
The guns below were trained on the Galley opposite. One word and they’d open fire with a volley of shot, enough to break their vessel in half. On the faces of their crew was the same sick, terrified expression. The look of men caught out, men who had to face the terrible consequences.
“Let your captain identify himself,” the Emperor's first mate called across the gap between the two vessels. He produced a timer and banged it down on the gunwale rail. “Send out your captain before the sands run out, or we shall open fire.”
It took them until their time was almost up, but he appeared on deck at last, dressed in all his finery and fixing us with what he hoped was an expression of defiance — which couldn’t disguise the trepidation in his eyes.
He did as he was told and ordered a boat to be launched, then clambered aboard and was rowed across to the Emperor. Secretly Edward couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. He put himself at the Emperor's mercy in order to protect his crew, which was admirable, and his head was held high when, as he ascended the Jacob’s ladder from his boat, he was jeered at by the men manning the mounted guns on the deck below, then grabbed roughly by the shoulders and dragged over the rail of the gunwale to the quarter-deck.
When he was hauled to his feet he pulled away from the men’s clutching hands, threw his shoulders back and, after adjusting his jacket and cuffs, demanded to see the captain.
“Aye, I’m here,” called Dolzell, who came down from the sterncastle with Trafford, the first mate, at his heels. The captain wore his tricorn with a bandana tied beneath it, and his cutlass was drawn.
“What’s your name, Captain?” he said.
“My name is Captain Benjamin Pritchard,” replied the merchant captain sourly, “and I demand to know the meaning of this.”
He drew himself up to full height but was no match for the stature of Dolzell. Few men were.
“The meaning of this,” repeated Dolzell. The captain wore a thin smile, possibly the first time Edward had ever seen him smile. He cast an arch look around his men gathered on the deck, and a cruel titter ran through the crew.
“Yes,” said Captain Pritchard primly. He spoke with an upper-class accent. Oddly, Ed was reminded of Caroline. “I mean exactly that. You are aware, are you not, that my ship is owned and operated by the British East India Company and that we enjoy the full protection of Her Majesty’s Navy.”
“As do we,” replied Dolzell. At the same time he indicated the red ensign that fluttered from the topsail.
“I rather think you forfeited that privilege the moment you commanded us to stop at gunpoint. Unless, of course, you have an excellent reason for doing so?”
“I do.”
Edward glanced across to where the crew of the Galley were pinned down by their guns but just as enthralled by the events on deck as they were. You could have heard a pin drop. The only sound was the slapping of the sea on the hulls of the ships and the whisper of the breeze in their masts and rigging.
Captain Pritchard was surprised. “You do have a good reason?”
“I do.”
“I see. Then perhaps we should hear it.”
“Yes, Captain Pritchard. I have forced your vessel to heave to in order that my men might plunder it of all its valuables. You see, pickings on the seas have been awfully slim of late. My men are getting awfully restless. They are wondering how they will be paid on this trip.”
“You are a privateer, sir,” retorted Captain Pritchard. “If you continue along this course of action, you will be a pirate, a wanted man.” He addressed the entire crew. “You all will be wanted men. Her Majesty’s Navy will hunt you down and arrest you. You’ll be hung at Execution Dock, then your bodies displayed in chains at Wapping. Is that really what you want?”
Pissing yourself as you died. Stinking of shit, Edward thought.
“Way I hear it, Her Majesty is on the verge of signing treaties with the Spanish and the Portuguese. My services as a privateer will no longer be required. What do you think my course of action will be then?”
Captain Pritchard swallowed, for there was no real answer to that. And, for the first time ever, Edward saw Captain Dolzell smile enough to reveal a mouth full of broken and blackened teeth, like a plundered graveyard. “Now, sir, how about we retire to discuss the whereabouts of whatever treasure you might happen to have on board?”
Captain Pritchard was about to complain, but Trafford was already moving forward to grab him and he was propelled up the steps and into the Navigation Room. Men, meanwhile, turned their attention to the crew of the ship opposite and an uneasy, threatening silence reigned.
Then they began to hear the screams.
Edward jumped, his eyes going to the door of the cabin from where they had come. Darting a look at Friday, Ed saw that he too was staring at the door of the Navigation Room, an unreadable look on his face.
“What’s going on?” Edward asked.
“Hush. Keep your voice down. What do you think is going on?”
“They’re torturing him?”
He rolled his eyes. “What did you expect, rum and pickles?”
The screams continued. Over on the other ship the men’s expressions had changed. A moment ago they stared resentfully, balefully, as though biding their time before they might launch a cunning counter-attack. Like the crew of the Emperor were scoundrels and knaves and would soon be whipped like the scurvy dogs they were. In their eyes now was sheer terror that they might be next.
It was strange. Edward felt both ashamed and emboldened by what was happening. He'd never been able to abide cruelty for its own sake. Dolzell would have said, “Not for its own sake, boy, to find out where the treasure was hid,” but he would have been telling a half-truth. For the fact was, as soon as the men swarmed their vessel they’d quickly locate whatever booty was aboard. No, the real purpose of torturing the captain was the changing faces of the men who stood opposite. It was to strike terror in their crew.
Then, when the screams had reached a peak, when the heartless sniggering of the deck-hands had been exhausted, and even the most pitiless man had begun to wonder if, perhaps, enough pain had been inflicted for one day, the door to the Navigation Room was thrown open and Dolzell and Trafford appeared.
Wearing a look of grim satisfaction the captain surveyed the men of their own ship, then the apprehensive faces of the other crew, before pointing and saying, “You, boy.”
He was pointing at Edward.
“Y-yes, sir,” Ed stammered.
“Into the cabin, boy, guard the captain, while we find out what his information is worth. You too.” He was pointing at somebody else. Edward hurried to the front of the quarter-deck, barging against the tide of a surge towards the gunwales as men readied themselves to board the other ship.
He had the first of two shocks as he entered the Navigation Room and saw Captain Pritchard.
The cabin had a large dining-table, which had been set to one side. So too was the quartermaster’s table, on which were laid his navigation instruments, maps and chart.
In the middle of the cabin Captain Pritchard sat tied to a chair, his hands bound behind him. Lingering in the cabin was a brackish smell Edward couldn’t place.
Captain Pritchard’s head hung, chin on his chest. At the sound of the door he lifted it and focused bleary, pain-wracked eyes on Ed.
“My hands,” he croaked. “What have they done to my hands?” Before Edward could find out he had his second surprise, when his fellow jailer entered the room and it was none other than Blaney.
Oh shit. He pulled the door shut behind him. His eyes slid from Ed to the wounded Captain Pritchard and back to me again.
From outside came the cries of their crew as they prepared to board the other ship but it felt as though they were cut off from it, as though it were happening far away and involved people not known to us. He held Blaney’s gaze as Edward walked around to the back of the captain, where his hands were tied behind his back. He realized what the smell had been. It was the smell of burnt flesh.
Dolzell and Trafford had pushed lit fuses between Captain Pritchard’s fingers in order to make him talk. There was a scattering of them on the boards as well as a jug of something that, when Ed put it to his nose, he thought was brine they’d used to pour on his wounds, to make them more painful.
Pritchard's hands were blistered, charred black in some places, raw and bleeding in others, like tenderized meat.
Edward looked for a flask of water, still cautious of Blaney, wondering why he hadn’t moved. Why he hadn’t spoken.
He put Edward out of his misery.
“Well, well, well,” he rasped, “we find ourselves together.”
“Yes,” Ed replied drily. “Aren’t we lucky, mate?”
He saw a jug of water on the long table.
Blaney ignored his sarcasm. “What would you be up to, exactly?”
“I’m fetching water to put on this man’s wounds.”
“Captain didn’t say nothing about tending to the prisoner’s wounds.”
“He’s in pain, man, can’t you see?”
“Don’t you talk to me like that, you little whelp,” snapped Blaney with a ferocity that chilled Edward's blood. Still, he wasn’t going to show it. Full of bravado. Always tough on the outside.
“You sound like you’re fixing up for a fight, Blaney.”
Edward hoped he came across more confident than he felt.
“I maybe am at that.”
He had a brace of pistols in his belt and a cutlass at his waist, but the silver that seemed to appear in his hand, almost from nowhere, was a curved dagger.
Ed swallowed.
“What do you plan on doing, Blaney, with the ship about to mount a raid, and us in charge of guarding the captain here? Now, I don’t know what it is you have against me, what measure of grudge it is you’re nursing, but it’ll have to be settled another time, I’m afraid, unless you’ve got a better idea.”
When Blaney grinned a gold tooth flashed. “Oh, I’ve got other ideas, boy. An idea that maybe the captain here tried to escape and ran you through in the process. Or how about another idea altogether? An idea that it was you who helped the captain. That you untied the prisoner’s hands and tried to make good your escape, and it was me who stopped you, running you both through in the process. I think I like that idea even better. How’s about that?”
He was serious. Blaney had been biding his time. No doubt he wanted to avoid the flogging he would have received for giving Edward a beating but suddenly he had Ed where he wanted him.
Then something happened that focused Edward. He’d knelt to see to the captain and something caught his eye. The thick signet ring he was wearing bore a symbol he recognized.
The day he’d woken up on the Emperor he’d found a looking-glass below decks and inspected his wounds. He had cuts, bruises and scrapes. Edward'd looked like what he was: a man who’d been beaten up. One of the marks was from where he’d been punched by the man in the hood. His ring had left its imprint on Edward's skin. A symbol of a cross.
He saw that very same symbol there, on Captain Pritchard’s ring.
Despite the poor man’s discomfort Edward couldn’t help himself. “What’s this?”
His voice, a little too sharp and a little too loud, was enough to arouse the suspicions of Blaney, and he pushed himself off the closed cabin door and moved further into the room to see.
“What is what?” Pritchard was saying, but by now Blaney had reached them. He too had seen the ring, only his interest in it was less to do with its meaning, more to do with its value. Without hesitation, and heedless of Pritchard’s pain, he reached and yanked it off, flaying the finger of burnt and charred skin at the same time.
The captain’s screams took some time to die down, and when they had, his head lolled forward onto his chest and a long rope of saliva dripped to the cabin floor.
“Give me that back,” Edward said to Blaney.
“Why should I give it to you?”
“Now come on, Blaney . . .” he started. Then they heard something, a shout from outside, “Sail ho!”
It wasn’t as though their feud was forgotten, just placed to one side for a moment. Blaney pointed his dagger and said, “Wait there,” as he left the room to see what was going on.
The open door framed a scene of sudden panic outside but as the ship lurched it slammed shut. He looked from the door to Captain Pritchard, groaning in pain. Edward’d never wanted to be a pirate. He was a sheep-farmer from Bristol. A man in search of adventure, it’s true, but by fair means not foul. He wasn’t a criminal, an outlaw. He’d never wanted to be party to the torture of innocent men.
“Untie me,” said the captain, his voice dry and pained. “I can help you. I can guarantee you a pardon.”
“If you tell me about the ring.”
Captain Pritchard was moving his head slowly from side to side as though to shake away the pain. “The ring, what ring . . . ?” he was saying, confused, trying to work out why on earth this young deck-hand should be asking him about such an irrelevance.
“A mysterious man I consider my enemy wore a ring just like yours. I need to know its significance.”
He gathered himself. His voice was parched but measured. “Its significance is great power, my friend, great power that can be used to help you.”
“What if that great power was being used against me?”
“That can be arranged as well.”
“I feel it already has been used against me.”
“Set me free and I can use my influence to find out for you. Whatever wrong has been done to you, I can see it put right.”
“It involves the woman I love. Some powerful men.”
“There are powerful men and powerful men. I swear on the Bible, boy, that whatever ails you can be solved. Whatever wrong has been done to you can be put right.”
Already his fingers were fiddling with Pritchard's knots but just as the ropes came away and slithered to the cabin floor, the door burst open. Standing in the doorway was Captain Dolzell. His eyes were wild. His sword was drawn. Behind him was a great commotion on the ship. Men who moments before had been ready to board the Amazon Galley, as organized a fighting unit as we could be, were suddenly in disarray.
Captain Dolzell said one word, but it was enough.
“Privateers.”
[[ nfb, nfi! taken from the Assassin's Creed: Black Flag novelization. TW for torture under the cut. ]]