Chapter Text
The slice of the whip through humid air made every man on board flinch. It had been going on for three days. Over and over, throughout the days, whenever Christoph de Rapier grew irate at some issue or error, the boy tied to the grate paid the price. The crew grew anxious as pain and sun-exposure weighed heavily on the teen. Some of the men began to whisper prayers, though not for their captain to stop. They only prayed that the boy went quick to end his suffering and their own…
The ship was currently drawn alongside an island to restock, and repair damage caused by the escape from Shipwreck Cove. Jack Teague hadn’t been on the ship more than a week before Christoph found a better use for him than rotting in the brig. When deck scrubbing didn’t satisfy the captain’s desire to debase Jack, he turned to the whip. Most of the crew knew the sting of Christoph’s whip but none had been under it as long as Jack. And none ever would, it seemed, since they were certain the boy would die.
Jack was in and out of awareness. Pain was so constant, he could hardly tell the passing of time. But even as he grew weaker, held up only by the ties on his wrists, there were no prayers on his lips. He didn’t deserve to pray. Only the whip was his god now… And he was deserving of its strike.
He released the rogue pirates. This was all his fault…
In his delirium, Jack didn’t see the white sails coming around the island. By the time the night watch spotted the approaching vessel… It was far too late.
***
The Silent Mary was well named. A large ship that managed to move quietly – if slowly – through the water and allowed them an opportunity to ambush the filthy pirates plundering the island. Every pirate recognized her, from the size of the ship to the eagle flying on her main sails. And by the time you knew who was hunting you, the battle was already lost.
Armando Salazar watched from the deck as his men dispatched any pirate that did not immediately surrender. All of them would be killed but how would be decided by their behavior. His kindness was that simple.
It didn’t take long at all. The pirates were outmatched by his well-trained men, and out manned by far. He was about to step away, to leave his men to the hunt and enjoy a celebratory drink, when his first mate rushed back across and up the stairs to the helm.
“Captain, there is something you may want to see.” Lieutenant Lesaro was always a serious man, but something in the furrow of his brow made Armando pause.
“What has disturbed you so badly, my friend?” He didn’t hesitate to follow him down to the main deck and across to the pirate ship though he grimaced at even touching the tainted ship.
“There is a boy… I thought he was a pirate, but he has no brand and his condition…” His lieutenant trailed off.
Under the pure silver of the moon, blood looked black where it sluggishly seeped from flesh turned to ribbons. A captain who overused the lash was often not worthy of their position. But to do it to a child… Armando was confident in the slaughter of this crew.
If the boy was a pirate, however… “Bring me a member of the crew. Not the captain. Kill him for his foolish cruelty.” Any questions posed to the captain would lead to vicious lies and pointless pleading. But a man who knew death awaited them might be a little more honest in his final moments. If Armando offered him a chance at absolution.
Lesaro chose well. The man he selected clutched a rosary in shaking hands. He had a single eye and whispered prayers with a desperation only those who knew they weren’t going to God’s arms could have.
“Tell me about the boy, mi amigo.” Armando offered the man a confession, a chance to speak of the crimes committed against the boy tied to the grate. His men hovered around, uncertain if they should untie the teen or wait for their captain’s orders.
“Kidnapped, sir… Our captain kidnapped him during a raid.” The man bowed his head in shame.
“For ransom?” Had the youth’s parents decided not to pay, or perhaps couldn’t pay?
“No, sir, no… There’s no one to ransom him too.” The man held the rosary to his forehead, “The captain shot his father.” His eyes shifted to the boy then back to the deck.
Sin weighed heavy in the air. “Thank you for your confession.” Armando hovered a gloved hand over the man’s bowed head. A sword plunged through the man’s heart from behind. “That is my mercy.” Armando raised his own cross to his lips and left the man’s body to bleed upon the deck.
“Cut down the boy! I will take him to the Silent Mary. Go ahead and ready the surgeon, Lesaro.” Poor child, kidnapped, orphaned, tortured all because of the plague that pirates bring everywhere they go…
There was no way to hold the boy without staining his uniform or touching the raw flesh of his back. Armando didn’t care about the mess, but he could feel the heat burning off the bloodied skin. The boy was sweating, eyes opening only to roll around unseeing in delirium before sliding closed once more.
“Da…” A broken whisper from cracked lips as the boy went completely limp.
It would be a miracle if he survived. But Armando felt somewhere in his chest that he would. It was a strange sense. But it had already been a miracle that they crossed paths, surely a further one would bring the boy to health. He did not believe in coincidences. He was led here, to this moment, by his mission. This boy was meant to be in his path. With that singular faith, Armando carried him across the planks to his pristine Galleon.
Life was about choices.
Make the right ones and you could live a life of no regrets. Make the wrong and spend eternity repenting on your knees. When the surgeon met them on the deck, Armando chose his own quarters as the boy’s resting place.
“Do all you can for him. I will tend to his needs.” Armando ordered, calm and collected.
Lesaro placed a hand upon his shoulder when the boy was laid belly down upon the sheets. The surgeon and his assistants called for water, set to cleaning the terrible mess of flesh, to stitch what they could and abrade what could not be salvaged.
“This kindness is good for the men to see.” Lesaro smiled.
Armando knew how his orders occasionally unnerved his men. To kill those who surrendered, to kill anyone associated with piracy if he could. But they did not know his vows, they did not know the depth of his mission. He could not force them, nor could they afford to rebel. A steady truce was made. His orders were obeyed in the name of the crown, and the men slept without guilt, comfortable in the knowledge they had followed orders in any case.
“I am not so keen to kill someone for simply being aboard a pirate vessel.” Armando arched a brow.
“We do not doubt that. But you have been the scourge of pirates for so long that some believe you are not human at all, only a sea wraith here to devour the souls of the damned.” Lesaro shook his head.
Armando did not feel that description was wrong… But he did not press Lesaro on the matter. His friend knew he was only a man. Only a simple mortal who bled red as anyone was able to make the choice to kill other men. That was how it had to be. Still, he took the words to heart. It felt important to cross paths with this boy, and for that alone he would dedicate himself to the youth’s care.
In the hours after he left the teen in the care of the surgeon, Armando had his men remove whatever goods and supplies they could from the pirate ship, cut down their jolly roger to add to his collection, and crippled the ship with the bodies aboard. Whoever found the ship would know the fate they met.
When he returned to his quarters, the boy had been stripped bare and washed of blood and grime. Blistering sunburns on his shoulders and face were treated with salve; his back was bandaged but it was clear they would need to be changed regularly. He was in terrible condition.
“We cut away the blood matted hair and did what we could for his back. He is burning with fever, though from what source I could not tell you. Sun sickness, infection, or simple emotional torture.” The surgeon removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He will need constant care through the night. If he does not awaken by tomorrow evening, I fear he may never.”
“I shall tend to him myself. If his condition worsens, I will summon you.” Armando dismissed the man.
Alone, he set to removing his soiled uniform jacket. He rolled his shoulders to relieve tension in his spine. What came next would be up to God. He could only offer support to the boy; ensure he had every chance of survival. He poured himself a good goblet of wine, drinking half before taking up his self-appointed post beside his own bed.
He brushed black hair away from the boy’s face, running a finger along a jawline still soft with youth and free of whiskers. His hair was braided in parts, the beginning of dreadlocks worked in amongst the strands. A few beads and a coin or two were hidden within his hair.
Armando pulled away to collect a cup of water and a clean rag. He dipped the corner of the rag into the cup, letting it soak up the liquid before gently pressing it to the boy’s dry lips. They were cracked and peeling, crusted with blood where the boy had bitten into them during his torture, but they parted at the first touch of water.
Instinct was alive in the boy. Even now, even unconscious, he was fighting for life.
He continued to feed the boy drops of water until half the cup was gone. He couldn’t know how much the youth drank but it was a start. With water, there was hope. Armando soaked a different cloth in a basin of tepid water that was left by the surgeon. He placed that on the back of the boy’s neck, holding it there as slim fingers curled reflexively in his sheets.
“Easy, you need to be cooled off.” He spoke softly, moving to sit on the bed.
With the boy stripped naked, it was easy to see all his injuries. Bruises littered tan skin, blooming like dark flowers across his legs and arms. There was a shadow along his temple where someone must have knocked him over the head. Had he even known half of what was happening to him? Armando’s mind spun images of the boy’s agony, a fantasy of what he must have overcome to end up in his hold.
“You will be safe now. To live or die are your own choices, but I will see you safely to either.” Armando whispered.
He should leave the boy to sleep. He should move to his desk or at least the chair… But the boy looked so small within his bed, delicate and broken like a baby bird fallen from its nest. With a sigh, he stood only to set his boots aside and claim one of his favored books before settling along the boy’s side. With gentle hands, he worked tense fingers from his sheets to settle the hand on his thigh and cover it with his own.
With nothing else to whittle away the hours, Armando Salazar began to read aloud.