Kincade ran into the narrow and dark halls of the ship. Someone had dimmed all the lighting, and the vessel was running dark, moving forward and down an unfamiliar hallway. The sound of steps, hard slapping steps, was coming at Kincade. Heavy boots, he thought, so one of the soldiers, not the bare-footed sailors, he reasoned. In the darkness, the steps clapped against the deck. But there was another sound. Irregular and the sound of a second person clearly struggling, thuds of shoeless feet kicking against the deck and walls.
At pace, Kincade ran down the hall. Deep in his chest came a cry of frustration, a cry of release. The months he had swallowed the pain and suffering, the loss of his self-worth and respect have taken from him from once a person of standing in society to a slave. The words of Epictetus, the Roman slave who became a free man and one of Rome's great thinkers in the time of Nero, jumped into his head. 'No man is free who is not a master of himself.' All of this was let out with a single primal scream. Echoing from the walls of the hall.
The scream stopped abruptly when Kincade crashed into a man with his hand wrapped around John's upper arm. Kincade and the man slammed into the deck, and both moaned as they hit the deck. Kincade landed on top. John pulled away and ran into the darkness towards Kincade's cabin.
"Get off me, you great arse!" the man below Kincade yelled. There was venom in the words, much more than a simple collision of crew in a dark cabin should call forth.
"Settle," said Kincade. The smell of sweat dripping from the man below him was unpleasant and offensive.
"Kincade, get off me, you indentured idiot." Finally, Kincade recognized the man's voice. It was Walters, the elder brother of the man he had killed. Walters reached up and pushed and pulled on Kincade shoulder, making a move that only a trained soldier or back ally bully knew. The move both lifted and twisted Kincade until he was thrown off to the side. Both men scrambled to their feet and ended up face to face. Kincade lashed out with punches so quickly that the air snapped with each blow. As a grandma would show a house fly, Walters batted away each strike. Countering with a single slap to the side of Kincade's head. Kincade blinked once and dropped down onto his bum.
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Turning away, Walters yelled into the darkness ahead, "Come here, boy, I will kill you over a week's worth of pain for what you did to my brother!" his voice lowered to a growl.
Blinking, Kincade's vision cleared, and the hall's darkness gave way to the light shining back from his engineering cabin. John's screams called down the hallway to him. In the cabin, Walters was positioned in front of the doorway, blocking John's escape.
"I didn't do nothing," Screamed John at Walters. John moved to his right and probed for a way out the door. Walters moved to his left, cutting John off.
"I know you killed my brother, and I know you are working with someone else. You little tea leaf cut-throat, I caught you with all these lock-picking tools." Walters said.
"It's not true. I am just a cabin boy," John said, then ran to the door, skirting to the left of the cabin. Walters was too fast for the boy and, like a death adder, latched his meaty hand around John's arm, yanking him closer.
"No, don't hurt me. I didn't do it." John protested.
"Then who?" Walter spat back at the boy.
"Me!" Kincade rammed his knife into Walter's back, twisted it, and held it still. Walters dropped John, then fell to his knees. The action pulled him free of the knife blade, and wordlessly, Walters slipped away. Coldly, Kincade looked at John and reached out to wipe a small tear away.
"Are you OK? I will make sure you get to a safe harbor." Kincade said.
"I know," replied John, who gathered the lock-picking materials and ran out the door.
Kincade looked down at Walters, then reached down to grab the body's wrist and lifted the remains over his shoulders like the carcass of a pig slaughtered for the pit. He turned and left the cabin for what he knew would be the final time.