In the darkness, a growl, a menacing sound signaling to prey that they should run or stand to end it all. Kincade chose to run yet did not move, pumping his legs, taking deep breaths, and forcing the air from his lungs. Then, from the darkness, something leapt at him. The creature was large with flaming red hair and claws of gleaming steel. The beast buried curved claws into Kincade's flesh. The pain and suffering were without description and would not stop. The creature's maw lowered to Kincade's ear, and it spoke in a voice sounding of gravel. "Scream for me, my lovely."

Screaming, Kincade sat bolt upright. His arms flung about before grabbing hold of the hammock's sides. His face throbbed in pain, and he fell into the hammock he slid down into it. His hand touched his face, and he cried in pain, cried for what he lost, cried for what he had become. The world had taken such a turn; he was once so passionate about all that he could achieve. But then, one night, he ran into those men. One seemed familiar to him now, and they had taken his future from him, and Harry McCabe would pay for that crime.

"Hold there, lad," Boson said, placing his hand on Kincade's chest and patting it. "Just stay there and rest." Boson soothed.

"Wa-Water?" Kincade asked.

"Aye, lad." Boson offered.

"Here you go, sit up for it. And take just a small sip," said Boson softly. "Now, rest some, lad," and darkness took Kincade.

* * *

"Boson, help me out of this hammock?" Kincade asked.

"Aye, lad, give me a moment," Boson shuffled over to the side of his hammock, holding out his hand for Kincade to grab for support. Rolling out, Kincade grunted as his muscles ached. First, his feet, then his knees hit the deck, and he remained kneeling like a swaying cobra.

"Lad, it is alright," said Boson as he pulled him, catching him under the arm.

"Thank you, Boson," Kincade steadied himself, bent over, and swayed with the ship's movement. He raised his hands to his face to find that someone had wrapped his head and face in bandages.

"Lad, don't be pull-in at that," Boson said.

"What..." Kincade paused. "What does it look like?" Kincade asked, unwrapping the bandage, and tentatively touched his hand to the exposed, puffy red scar.

"Boson, hand me something with a shine on it," Kincade asked.

"Aye, lad," Boson said, fishing around in a drawer. One of Kincade's hands was outstretched, palm up. With the other, he prodded the scar on his face.

"Boson, a mirror. Give me a mirror, dam it," Kincade said.

"Hold on, lad. Hold on, I am getting to it," Boson replied and shut the drawer. Then, after a few moments, he handed Kincade a small mirror about the same shape and size as a letter envelope folded in two.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Gingerly, he peered at his reflection, tilting the mirror to the left and right, and touched his face with the tips of his fingers. The shape of an octopus ran from just under the outside corner of his eye to his jawline, red, raw, and angry.

"Why does it not hurt?" Kincade asked.

"Doc says the flesh is dead now. And put some sort of cream on it. You will be right as rain," Boson offered.

"Right as rain. I am right as rain," Kincade whispered, staring at the mirror.

Boson stood watching Kincade. Both men were unmoving, save for the sway of the ship. A heaviness came over him. The hours passed, and he climbed back into his hammock. This time, Kincade did not fight when his body surrendered to sleep.

The next day passed quickly, and Kincade quietly worked to stoke the engine, and the morning passed without a word. Finally, as midday came, Boson set about to get some food together for them. After a while, he set a few pieces of cheese and bread on the workbench.

"Here, lad. We have food," Boson called to Kincade. "That's it, lad. Work and food, the two will see you right," he continued.

"Right as rain," Kincade spoke into his bread.

"You will be yourself in no time at all," Boson replied, and they sat in silence together.

* * *

The rhythm of the day was the same, day in and day out, day after day, and then week after week. Kincade would wake, climb out of his hammock, and stoke the fires. And when the day was half done, Boson called to him and offered him food for the day. Then, as the day ended, they both retired and slept.

The food was always the same. The bread was fresh, and the cheese was hard. The stew had meat in it could have been a bird or mutton. It would have all tasted the same.

"Kincade, time for a grub," Boson called, and Kincade made his way over to him. Then, with a scant nod, he took the bread and ate.

"Lad, I have got a treat for today. Beer for us both." Boson said.

"Thank you," Kincade whispered into his chest.

"Lad. How is your face feeling?" Boson asked.

"Right as rain," Kincade replied as he shuffled in his seat.

"Let me see how the healing is coming along," Boson reached out to Kincade, gently placed his fingers on Kincade's chin, and turned his face towards him.

"Aw, lad. That is healing well," Boson said

"Yes. I am right as rain," Kincade said again.

"Of course you are, my lovely," Wallace said as he descended into the cabin.

Kincade jerked his head out of Boson's grasp, turned to face Wallace, and almost fell out of the chair, watching the big man strode towards him. He loomed over them like a great, silver-backed gorilla, noble and terrifying, defining and shaping the future of his domain and all its creatures. Wallace reached Kincade and shot out his hand, grabbing Kincade by his collar and pulling him close until they were face to face. Kincade went limp. His chin dropped to his chest, but his hand remained by his side, hands open.

"Right as rain, my lovely, ain't you, just? Let's look at my lovely work, shall we?" Wallace said, drawing him in closer to scrutinizing the scare that had formed in the shape of an octopus.

"That's my mark, lovely. You going to cause me any more trouble, my lovely?" Wallace asked. Kincade's head remained limp, and his eyes looked to the left at the engine.

"I should do some more work, Mr Wallace," Kincade said.

"That was not what I asked!" Wallace screamed.

"No, Mr Wallace," Kincade said.

"No, to what?" Wallace raised his voice again.

"No, I will not be any trouble in the future," Kincade said in a half-whisper.

"Aw, my lovely. I know you won't," Wallace said and released his grip on Kincade, giving his face a light slap.

"Here, give me your hand!" Wallace demanded. Kincade offered his arm; it floated limply in the air, and Wallace wound the mechanism on the bracelet. After Wallace left, Kincade wiped the spittle from his face and, with shoulders slumped forward, returned to work.