MIDLOGUE
The rear windows of the captain’s cabin offered a breath-taking view of the white sea. But the man inside had no interest in the vista. His yellowed eyes were riveted on a small bronze pocket watch. The seconds ticked away at a frightening speed, each seeming to echo in his skull like the gong of a great bell.
Tick, tick, tick, tick…
A loud rap on the door jerked his head up. The cover of the watch snapped shut, and he slid it underneath his vest.
“Get in here!”
The door opened to let in a rugged man in battered sailor garb, along with the ruckus of the crew at work, and a muffled singing voice that seemed intent on hitting every single note as far off-key as humanly feasible.
“—sailed their ship 'cross the ocean blue~ A blood-thirsty captain—”
The door closed.
“Potkins! Any news on Fredrick?” the captain snarled before the newcomer could utter a sound.
The man called Potkins had taken off his bandana and was wringing it nervously. His grimace revealed stumped and missing teeth. “Err… Nay, captain. Not a peep.”
“That inbred scurvy firecracker!” A half-empty rum bottle smashed on the wall next to the sailor’s head. He ducked, too late, but could avoid most of the splashing alcohol.
The captain grabbed another bottle from a chest on his desk, yanked the cork off with his teeth and spat it out before downing a greedy swig. “Arrr! What does he think he’s doing?! He’s been there close to a week now! This is not some recreational shore leave he’s on. The cur! That scallywag’s excuse better be death, or he’ll be begin’ me for it before I cast his body to Davy Jones’ locker and his soul to Tartarus!”
“Squaaaawk! Imbecile! Bloody imbecile! Squaaawk!” In a corner of the room, perched on the skull of a horned beast, a bright green parrot reacted to its master’s uproar. The bird’s eyepatch could lend itself to ridicule, but the evil gleam in its big remaining eye would make the wannabe jokester think twice.
The captain stood and hobbled around his desk, towards the frightened seaman who pressed his back against the cabin wall. His one nostril flared in anger. The other had been ripped off by the claw that also tore through his cheek. A nasty scar ran through his face and beard as a souvenir.
As he reached the shivering Potkins, the captain’s rage abruptly seemed to abate. He smiled, showing off darkened gums and gold teeth. His yellowed, veiny eyes were wide and inquisitive. “Then, pray tell, Mr Potkins! What crucial information is it, that you thought required going against my order not to disturb me unless it concerned Gent Fredrick or his quarry? Hmm?” He spoke with a honeyed tone, even as he ran his prosthetic left hook against the side of Potkins’ sweaty face.
The pirate swallowed nervously, eyeing the sharp curved steel. “It… it’s about the prisoner, captain. She’s gone and sung that bloody song for the entire mornin’. The crew’s goin’ ravin’ mad.”
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“Oh? And what do you suggest we do about this… unpleasant vocal performance, Mr Potkins?”
“Me and the boys, we thought we could go to the brig and gag her… captain.”
“Very interesting. Why haven’t you done so, then?”
“B-Because you said…”
“I said?” The captain raised a bushy black eyebrow.
“You said… not to go into her cell… under no circumstances.”
“Yes. And it appears you have an issue with following orders, don’t you, Mr Potkins?”
The man’s eyes bugged out in fear. “Never capt-AAAAH!!”
The hook had gone through his ear, pulling his head down violently and mottling the floorboards with red. Screaming, Potkins tried to pull it off, but his captain mercilessly dragged him towards the door. The tearing pirate was forced to stumble awkwardly along.
The door banged open, and they were on the bridge. In a flap of wings, the parrot followed them out. Outside were blinding rays of sunshine, damp air, and strong winds all around, ruffling the long feather of the captain’s cavalier hat.
All activity abruptly ceased when they emerged. The only noises that remained in the deadly quiet were Potkins’ moans, the sharp knocks of the captain’s wooden right leg on the planks, and, of course, the muffled, tune-torturing singing.
“—money's in the ground, there's murder in the air~ Murder in the air~ One more time now!”
The captain ignored it all and dragged the now pleading Potkins to the bulwark. With a shove, he ripped the hook out of the man’s ear and a scream from his throat, and he sent him stumbling backwards until he hit the railing. His good hand pulled a large ornate pistol from his belt.
Potkins held his bleeding ear and waved in panic. “No, no, no! Captain! I didn’t mea–”
The bark of gunfire exploded over the quiet bridge. Potkins lifeless body careened overboard. It disappeared into the white swells below.
“Squaaaawk! Bloody imbecile! Squaaawk!” Like a sinister vulture, the bright-coloured parrot landed on its owner’s shoulder.
“Shiver my timbers, shiver my bones~ Yo ho, heave-ho!”
Sneering, the captain returned the pistol to his waist and spun to face the silent crew.
“There are secrets that sleep with old Davy Jones~ Yo ho heave-ho!”
“Anyone else here feels like my orders might be subject to… interpretation?” His yellowed eyes scanned the men and few women on board. None met his gaze. Their faces pearled with sweat, which could have been caused by the smouldering sun “Arrr.” He spat on the floor. “Scalper!”
“Squaaaawk! Run along, bloody imbecile! Squaaawk!”
A lean man hurried out of the group. “Aye, Captain?” Something came flying towards his face. He snatched it in mid-air and looked into his palm. There laid, gleaming with an inner fire, a small black pendant fastened to a golden chain.
“It was dark a tale as was ever was told~”
The man called Scalper gulped. “Me, captain? Isn’t that a bit…”
“Perhaps you would prefer to provide our dearly departed Mr Potkins with some company?” the captained asked with his ironically honeyed voice.
“Ah! Nay, Captain! I’ll get this done. No quacks.”
“Of the lust for treasure, and the love of gold~”
“Good. Take whoever you think you need, but get me that priestess! I hope I need not remind any of you rotten landlubbers what hellish fate awaits should we fail to secure the pious wench? And don’t go and get caught. You don’t want to be caught on that accursed island, trust me, lads. My attentions would be like a courtly dame’s caresses compared to what they’d do to you there.”
“Squaaaawk! Imbecile! Bloody imbecile! Squaaawk!”
Without waiting for an answer, he spun, his long coat fanning around him, and hobbled back into his cabin.
“And those buccaneers drowned their sins in rum~ The devil himself would have to call them scum!”
“At least sing it in the right order,” he grumbled, then slammed the door shut.
His one hand grabbed the opened rum bottle and brought it to his lips. Before he could drink, the verses of that damned rhyme intruded unbidden in his thoughts. The bottle thumped on the desk. “Sing while you can, I’ll deal with you later. I’ll show you scum, lassy. Arrr.”
He dropped back in his seat and pulled out the pocket watch. Snapping the cover open, he stared at the racing needles.
Tick, tick, tick, tick…
The pirate ship rocked, and the Wheel of Fate turned.
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