Kincade stood in the room, his hand outstretched, palm up. The shake was uncontrollable. The body of Walter was sprawled at his feet, on top of the boy and he squirmed under the dead weight. Trapped beneath in a growing pool of blood. The boy, for his part, pushed at the body, pulling and grabbing at Walters's clothing. In this short but desperate struggle, his tiny hands would slip, losing grip on the blood-soaked cloth.

"Please, mister, please don't kill me," the boy whispered, forcing his way free.

In the minute that had passed, Kincade remained unmoving like a statue, his hand outstretched motionless. Then, the boy's words shot through him like a bolt of electricity; Kincade's body shuddered as if he was resetting his awareness of existence. Kincade pointed a crooked index finger at the body.

"I am not going to kill you. That is why I killed that," Kincade said, finger crooked in the body's direction. Kincade's voice sounded strange, emphasizing the almost absence of humanity, a mechanical sound and cadence to his speech.

"What are you going to do with me, then?" the boy asked as he edged closer to the door, staying just out of Kincade's reach. He shifted his feet in a shuffle, back and forth, like a boxer, alert and ready.

"I am not sure, but do you hear the sound of fighting? There are more like him, and they are going kill you if they get hold of you," Kincade pointed towards the sounds of commotion.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

For the first time, Kincade could see the boy who was not more than twelve or thirteen. In many ways, he was average. He was of average height and build, with nondescript brown hair and an average-looking face. But the eyes gave something else away, something mischievous.

"My name is John," he offered Kincade his hand. Kincade took it. The symbol of trust was not lost on Kincade.

"What is it that you are doing here? Are you with your parents?" Kincade asked. Turning over to see his palm blood red. A pact was made in this moment.

"I'm a cabin boy. Making my own way in this world. I will be a Captain for a long time in a short time; just you wait and see," John offered defiantly.

"Well, John, you can call me Kincade. We need to find a way of hiding you so that when they find this body, they don't find you," said Kincade.

"Then what?" John asked.

"You know that is going to be the fun of it. I am not at all sure, but all in all, I will work out how to get you on the Raven's Claws or hide you here as a stowaway. I really don't know yet," Kincade said. "Get back into that trunk. With luck, they won't find you," Kincade finished.

"You are quite daft. That is the first place they will look after finding your handy work. Don't you worry? I know many a nook, cranny, and bolt hole or two," John offered, a small smile on his face.

"Then off with you," Kincade said. As he watched, John left the cabin. He lifted one of the corridor wallboards, squeezed into the space, and let the board fall behind him.

Kincade went to leave the cabin, then turned and walked back to Walters, pulling the knife out of his skull. He wiped the blade on the dead man's pant leg. Then he walked out the door, headed upright and shoulders now held back and square.