Somewhat swayed by his view, I chuckled, “Well, I guess I’ll have to see for myself, eh?”
“Going off pretty boy Aaron’s words, you’ll see for yourself in about a week’s time, but I think he’s dead wrong.”
“You never finished telling me what you think about him.”
“It’s simple. That dandy licking fop is a liar and possibly a thief.”
A bit humored by his tone, but also curious about the information backing his stance, I shook my head as I chuckled. “That’s a big accusation.”
“And I’m a big boy, who has seen a lot of the world and has met plenty of people. You stick by me and I’ll tell you who is worth a damn and who is worth throwing overboard. And if I was in charge, Aaron Jenson would be swimming with the sharks.”
“Well, I’m no one to say anything about anything around here, especially navigation. That business looked absurdly complicated. How do you know he isn’t doing it right?”
“Navigation is absurdly complicated. I can’t read a damn word and have no idea how to write my own name, so my lack of trust has nothing to do with what’s on his charts, but what’s on his face and in his tone. If you pay attention to a man’s behavior, he’ll show you who he is, and I don’t like what Aaron Jenson has shown me. As for you, Mason Bentley, I haven’t known you long, but I like you. I can tell you’re a good man who just wants to work. And I’ll tell you what, when we get to Barbados, I’ll pay for your first whore. Tell me, what do you prefer, blonde, redhead, brunette?”
Still not ready to commit to the notion of bedding a woman who was paid to share her sex, I just laughed, “Thanks mate, I’ll let you know when we arrive.”
We talked for a while longer, but once the sun broke through the clouds and the men began stirring around the decks, Barlow and I went out on the foretop yard to make sail.
Once the large canvas sheets were away, we went below to loose the rolling and the truss. By now I knew the names of these lines and understood their jobs. It was the rolling and the truss which held the yards to the mast and kept it from wobbling around when we went aloft. But with our feet back on deck, they needed to be loose as to not put too much stress on the masts.
After we finished with the lines, Boa shouted, “Let go and haul!”
With that, we took the lines off the pin rails and started hauling on the sheets, which brought the sail corners down to the bottom yard. About halfway through, Boa called, “Haul the halyard!”
We did as he commanded.
Once the top yard was hoisted into place, he shouted, “Sheet home.”
The sheets were hauled on until they were right, and then we heard, “That’s well on the sheet.”
One down. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I let out a quick breath then rushed along to set the next sail.
After all the sails were set to catch the favorable wind and Autumn Moon was well on course, I headed toward the galley to take my turn in the mess hall. The food was never good and the portions were meager, but Chef Clarence was always entertaining.
Filling my bowl with whatever gruel he had concocted today, the tall and gangly, fair-skinned chef, flashed a toothless grin. “Good morning, Mister Bentley.”
“Good morning, Clarence. Did you have any foretelling dreams last night?” This man had the most vivid of dreams and I was greatly amused by his wild interpretations of them.
“It was a very nice dream, and that worries me, you know? Peaceful nights can be a sign of troubles to come. See, there was a night, years ago, that I dreamt of a field, blooming with wild flowers and swarming with butterflies.” He waved his hand around, eyes wide and bright like he was setting his sights on the lovely scene again. Then he clamped his hand shut. Eyes dark and narrow, he hissed, “Then I woke up to find my mother dead on the floor.”
Shocked by the harsh outcome, I jerked my head back and squinted at him. “That’s awful.”
“Butterflies can be deceiving, Bentley,” he whispered.
Sanders playfully slapped my arm. “Aye, they could mean death or they could mean hope, depending on what kind of mood ol’ Clarence is in.”
The others laughed.
Clarence shook his head, annoyed by their lack of faith in his premonitions.
Putting his arm over my shoulder, Sanders—the sailor who had been the novice until I arrived—walked me to the table. “So, tell me, Bentley, how does it feel picking up the shit I’ve been served for the last two journeys?”
As happily as kings at a fanciful feast, Sanders and I talked and laughed over our gruel, and listened in as Clarence interpreted the dreams of the other men in line.
Once my bowl was empty and my belly was full, I headed out to the deck feeling good about the day ahead. If Jenson was right about being a week away from Barbados, it wouldn’t be long until I set foot on a new shore. And with any luck, I’d find a sweet woman to spend my nights with…not a whore.
Spotting Barlow near the portside gunnel, replacing weathered belaying pins, I headed in his direction. My jolly mood swayed off course when I walked past Boa. Leaning against the gunnel and roughly witling a piece of wood, the mean and haughty bosun who clearly hated me, was staring at me with his usual threatening glare. I planned to look away as I often did, but my attention was drawn to the knife in his hand. It was my knife!
I stormed toward him. “What are you doing with that?”
He stood up straight and looked down at me. “I am witling, in case you are too dumb to know.”
His fearful height halted my angry stride. Suddenly feeling small and helpless, I had to force myself to speak steady against my trembling nerves. “That’s my knife, Boa.”
Looking at the piece I had carefully made myself, he squinted. “Oh, is it? Might this be the one that went missing?”
“Yes. Yes it is. And I want it back.”
Running his finger alongside the bladed edge, he hummed, “You know, I once used a knife quite like this to gut a man. You’d be surprised by how much damage can be done with such a small blade.”
Realizing that—once again—a crowd had gathered and the leaders were nowhere in sight, I thought about how well this arshole planned these assaults of character. I respected Captain Burton, and I’d rather not risk his opinion of me in order to stand face against this bully, but I would not be walking away without my knife. Calmly, I put my hand out to accept what was rightfully mine. “Hand it over.”
Boa looked at my hand, then at the knife, then back at my hand. Would he hand it over, would he try to stab or gut me, or surprise me with something else? Frozen solid where I stood, I watched every twitch of the bulging veins webbed across his massive hand as he squeezed the handle. Preparing for whatever action he may pursue, I watched him slowly move his hand toward the gunnel. He held his hand over the ledge. Then, that son of a bitch opened his palm and dropped my knife into the sea.
“Oops.” He flashed a miserably sarcastic smirk.
The beating of my heart intensified so loudly I could hardly hear his friends laughing. The wind slapping at the sails became a distant blur, and the hot, sticky air surrounded me like a suffocating blanket. Boa might be big and threatening and might even gut and kill people from time to time, but he would never make a victim out of me.
I lunged toward him and punched that smirk right off of his face. His gigantic head flew to the side. I knew if I left him a chance to catch his footing, he’d do me in for sure. So, I hit him again. And once more, but that was it. He charged at me and shoved me over into Barlow’s work area.
I fell hard on a pile of tools. The moment Boa’s big body landed on top of mine, he threw a solid punch to my temple. I felt my skin tear open. Blood flowed over my eyes that were now seeing stars. Dazed from the hit, I gagged on my breath as he hit me in the mouth. Tasting copper and smelling blood, my mind flashed over the time Robert Hale shoved me down. The feel of Boa’s massive fists crashing against my face hurt badly, but more than the pain itself, it triggered my memories of b
eing beaten in the mud as my sister was taken from her bed. Punch after punch, my mind wandered deeper into the details of that God-awful night. I saw Robert busting into my house and I heard Lace screaming my name. The torment intensified each time the rock hard knuckles smashed against my head.
Feeling my consciousness fading in the blur, I realized I could not let it. I could not lose this fight. I would never again be defeated like I was that night.
As Boa cocked back to hit me again, I gathered enough sense to look around. Through my swelling eyes that were curtained by bloodshed, I barely caught a glimpse of a belaying pin in Barlow’s pile and grabbed it. As Boa’s fist fell low toward my face, I raked the wooden pin against the side of his head. I hit him again and again until his head spun around and away from me, giving me a mild opportunity to rise.
Free of his weight, I lunged at him and managed to push him to the ground. Though he wriggled and twitched and bucked like an untamed horse, I somehow braced his big body to the deck with my knees. Having lost grip of my weapon at some point, I hit him again with my bare fist. As my blow connected with the side of his face, blood splattered across his lips, painting his gangly teeth as he hollered.
Thunder roared in the background as I pummeled his face. Rain began to fall as I smashed his head against the wooden planks. Watching blood splatter from his mouth and nose, my mind flashed with visions of the nightmares I’d survived until the world turned blood red around me.
I was awoken from my deadly trance when someone yanked me up by the collar.
Envisioning myself as a boy, flying through the air, and preparing to turn and face my grandfather’s strong, but sensible wrath, I was stunned by a far different reality when my feet hit the planks. Billy Barlow and Captain Burton were shoving me against the mast and the rest of the crewmen were staring in awe at the gigantic bully who was now lying senseless on the rain sprinkled deck. Noticing the lifeless gaze on Boa’s blood splattered face, I wondered if I had killed him.
Just as my gut began to churn with regret, he sat up. Looking dazed, but angry, with blood oozing from his mouth, his hazy gaze leveled in focus as he set his sights on me. At that moment, I figured a nightmare far worse than a ghost would now be stalking my trail. Revenge.
Hopping to his feet and staggering for balance, Boa spit out a wad of blood and then shrieked, “That damn kid knocked my tooth out. Where’s my fen-sucked tooth?”
As Boa’s mates scampered around like alley rats, scrounging for their leader’s lost tooth, the captain roared, “I don’t give a damn about your tooth! There is no fighting on this deck and you both will pay for this.”
Boa spit out more blood. “I told you he was trouble.”
His mates all chimed in about how I started the fight.
Captain Burton looked at me. The disappointment on his face reminded me so much of the looks my grandfather gave me during his lectures. And during those lectures, my grandfather taught me there was no use for excuses. Wrong was wrong and in this case, there was no fighting on deck.
Bowing my head, willing to accept whatever punishment Captain Burton had in store, I was surprised to see Billy Barlow take a stand beside me. “Rules are rules, captain, and there’s no denying that Mason started this fight. But thievery is also against the law and Boa stole Mason’s knife and threw it overboard.”
Brows furrowed, the captain turned toward Boa.
Boa’s swollen face contorted in the most peculiar way, but he did not speak a word.
Laying his wrinkled face in his hand, the captain took a deep breath, and slowly ran his palm across his head as he exhaled. “I could string you both up and have Dabney whip the rebellion out of your hides for raising such a fuss on my ship. I could, and by God, I will if there is but one more problem between you.” He looked back and forth between us. “But if this problem is hereby solved and you can both guarantee to not disturb the morale of my crew again, we’ll leave this as a warning.”
Regardless of what Boa had planned for a response, I nodded to agree. “You have my word, sir. And I apologize for the troubles.”
Boa grunted at first, but then promised the captain that he would also behave.
The crewmen returned to the paths they were on before any of this had happened, but with my face and head throbbing and bleeding like they were, I was having a hard time remembering just what I had been doing before. As I rubbed my swollen head, feeling around for lumps, Doctor Hubert Humphry grabbed my arm and dragged me down the gangway. “Come now, boy. I’ll clean your wounds in the sick berth.”
The nervous old man blathered on about the rules and how lucky I was to not have been whipped as he dressed my wounds. “Dabney was ready with that whip, and I thought for sure you were going to be beat with it. I’ve tended to lacerated flesh before, but I don’t like to. Not one bit. So, don’t you go causing any more trouble like that.”
I spit out a wad of blood, but did not respond.
He carried on as if I was answering. His voice was unusually high pitched—not at all fitting his square, fat covered frame. Each word he spoke seemed to pierce my aching skull like a needle. I wanted so badly for him to stop talking but he kept chirping. “…and you know, Master Boa is very upset about his tooth. If I were you I’d go find it and apologize.”
Thinking back on how Boa shrieked like a crazy lady when he found it missing, I let out a delirious chuckle.
“It isn’t at all funny, Mister Bentley. For your own safety, I suggest you find a way to make this right. Boa has killed for less, I have seen it. And you are too smart of a sailor to have to die that way.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I grumbled, and that was all I had to say to the doctor who continued telling me tales to influence me to apologize. But I wouldn’t. Ever.
Once my wounds were tended, I headed out of the sick berth. While struggling to walk across the teetering planks in the hall, I bumped into Billy Barlow. Tugging me toward the corner, he whispered, “Looky here, mate. I’ve got something for you.”
He opened his sweaty palm, revealing a small brown item.
Squinting with my swollen eyes, I asked, “What the hell is that?”
“It’s Boa’s tooth.”
“Why do you have that?” My voice rose with shock.
“Shush up, you fool. I found it during the fight and I figured you may want to keep it, like a trophy of sorts.”
“I don’t want it. No. You’re out of your mind.” I shook my throbbing head and began to walk away. Of course, he followed behind me. Grabbing my arm, he turned me to face him. “You did a good job out there today and you should be proud of yourself.”
“Good job?” I winced. “That was stupid, foolish, and selfish, all over a damn knife.”
“Barlow patted my back. “It wasn’t about the knife, Bentley. It was about pride. You not only stood up to the man all these sailors fear, but you beat the tar out of him. See, lots of men think about doing things like that, but don’t have the courage to see them through. But you, Mason Bentley, you are a brave man who doesn’t need a leader to pursue his will. And you can bet your salty arse that every man on this deck will remember your name from this day forward.”
Chapter 10
Monster Below Deck
Keeping our promise to the captain, Boa and I stayed away from each other. But the dark, unspoken undercurrent flowing between us seemed to affect the entire mood aboard the ship. Regardless of our attempt to act civil, the gap in Boa’s teeth stood as a sound reminder of the dangerous stand I had made, and left the men whispering about the things he would eventually do to me to settle the score.
As for the officers, Captain Burton kept his distance from both of us. He only spoke with Boa about sailing and nothing more, and no longer joined me for evening chats or complimented my good works. With Dabney, it was plain that he wished his whip had been laid upon our rebellious hides. Mine particularly, for in his mind, ranks were ranks and I was but a lowly sailor who had disrespected the bosun and was
indeed the cause for this foul air on deck. As for the crewmen, other than Billy Barlow—who carried on with me as if nothing had changed—they did their best to stay away from me.
Barlow insisted that the captain did not hate me, but was meticulously balancing his loyalties in a way to avoid stirring mutiny. He also swore that the division of the men had nothing to do with their siding with Boa, but rather, their fear of him. He stated these thoughts like they were facts of life, but I couldn’t be too sure. To me, it seemed like it would only be a matter of time until someone threw me overboard. As the heat of high noon beat down on the deck, I began to wonder if this would be the day.
Heavy humid air surrounded us like a wet blanket, choking the life out of every one on deck. It was so hot, I wanted to take all my clothes off, but so sunny that my skin would burn up in an instant if I removed a single layer. The wind was calm enough that I was able to wear my hat, so my face was shaded, but the band around my head caused me to sweat more. Unsure of what was worse, but knowing nothing better was anywhere to be found, I kept to myself while struggling through my discomfort.
Barlow on the other hand, said every damn thing he was thinking, and he said it loud. “It’s so bloody hot here! This is why there are so many wars in the Caribbean. They say it’s over the land, but I think it’s just because everyone is so angry about the goddamn heat!”
Fanning his fat face with his beat down hat, he grumbled on and on, breaking the otherwise tense and uncomfortable mood on deck.
Eventually, his complaining led to bickering among the men.
“Your blathering don’t make it no better to bear,” Tennison barked from where he stood at the helm, keeping Autumn Moon steady on her course.
Barlow puffed up like a wet sponge. “And your face doesn’t make anything better so turn it away from me afore I slap it off your gangly little head.”
King of My Nightmare (King of My Nightmare, Book 1): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 14