image [https://i.imgur.com/rDXnDde.png]

Picaro tried to keep his friendship with the cook a secret lest the rest of the crew bully them, but that didn’t last long. Mord already distrusted the boy for his former mischief. When Mord and his group of goons found out about their budding friendship, he made a point to make Picaro remember it. Onion was the only person that really stuck up for Picaro, and they made fun of him for it, calling him Onion and his little piece of garlic. But Onion didn’t care, and for this Picaro was quite fond of him.

Mord was a high ranking member of the crew. He worked directly under Metron, the chief gunner. Mord the Merciless, men called him. He was a bruising warrior and an unforgiving man.

One day, Picaro was below deck in one of the cargo holds he liked to hang out in when he wanted to get away from the crew. It had a small porthole he would look out of onto the rolling sea, and there was almost always a crate the perfect height for him to sit on. It was where he smoked his first cigarette when he was ten. But at eleven, he didn't like smoking anymore.

Rancid, a gunner, and one of Mord's little cronies, caught wind of the boy's hiding spot after he was sent to stash something in the remote cargo hold. He sent word to Mord, and four of them went down to corner the boy. Picaro's stomach dropped out of him when he saw them lumbering through the cargo hold. He deftly moved the crate to block the walkway, and stole behind a pair of casks, crouching low. Mord and them came up to the crate. "I thought you said he was here," said Mord.

"This crate was over there before. I swear I saw him looking out that window," Rancid said, pointing to the small porthole.

"Maybe he's gone," said Blue, another of the ship’s gunnery crew.

"Or he saw us coming," said Mord. "Check around."

"Bet he's in here thieving again," said Rancid. "Wait till we tell the captain."

"Tell the captain? I'm gonna make that little piggy squeal afore I do," said Mord.

As the men were talking, Picaro began to ease his way around the side of the cargo hold. He stepped out onto the walkway just behind them. Rancid saw him first. "Oi, there he goes."

Rancid reached for Picaro's shirt, and Picaro tore his sleeve in an effort to get away. Rancid lunged for him, and Picaro punched him square in the nose. Picaro hurt his hand in the process, but it was worth it. Rancid’s eyes grew watery and he clutched his nose, tripping and falling forward on top of the boy. Picaro squirmed to get free, but as he was rising to one knee the man grabbed him again, and Picaro was unable to get up. Another of Mord's accomplices was on him then, grabbing the boy's shoulders and hoisting him up.

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"Come 'ere little piggy. Now, squeal," said Mord as he struck Picaro with the belt he had unslung from his waist. Picaro stifled a cry. The men all stood and laughed. "Think yer a big man now, uh? A free man? Yer a freeloading swine, a rat bastard. Only reason yer 'ere is cause Valgur’s gone soft, y'hear me?"

Picaro scowled and kicked the closest man in the nuts. The man fell, gasping. Picaro turned and stumbled toward the exit to the cargo hold. It was just enough of a diversion for him to make it through the door before his pursuers were on him again. Picaro tried to close the door behind him, but it was no use. Mord pushed through and Picaro staggered backward. They were in a small sleeping quarters just off the mess hall.

Mord bore down on Picaro again, striking him in the back with the belt. Picaro slipped in his effort to get away. His back stung terribly. Mord lunged at him. Picaro kicked and clawed. Mord yolked him up by the collar, and Picaro spat in his face. Mord growled and sunk a fist into Picaro’s stomach. The boy gagged as his wind left him. He doubled over, suddenly woozy, but Mord held him aloft. The man was readying himself to strike the boy again when Onion popped his head in from the mess hall. "Oi, what's all this? What ye doing down here? Dinner isn’t for another hour."

Mord held the boy by the collar, grinning a bit sadistically at Onion. "Jus' talking."

"Just talking? Have you no honor? Take yer hands off ‘im," said Onion. Mord kept grinning, but slowly he let the boy down. Picaro found it difficult to catch his breath. He staggered over to Onion and made for the door.

"That yer star pupil, eh? Apple of yer eye? Onion and his lil piece of garlic."

"The boy ain't none of yer concern. Quit bullyin' him. Now leave or I'll be forced to tell the captain you've been roughing him up again."

"Go run and tell daddy then, why don't ye," said Mord, and he walked past Onion with a murderous gleam in his eye.

“Y’alright, lad?” said Onion. Picaro merely nodded and tried to walk away. Onion grabbed him by the arm. Picaro looked away, trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes. “Did you y’get one of ‘em good lad?”

Suddenly, Picaro spat out a laugh. He smiled weakly at a Onion. “Yeah, I did.”

Onion winked. “That’s all y’can ask for.”

The rest of the crew thought it was a right laugh of an affair. Onion served the food with a cold look, but said nothing. There were too many and they were too rowdy to corral. Jokes flew, and Picaro sulked in a dark corner before retreating to the main deck. Valgur was nowhere to be seen. Likely taking his dinner in his private quarters with Grit, going over some plan.

Picaro found he couldn’t lie down on his back for two days without feeling the welts Mord had left him. After that, Picaro began to brood. His last hiding place had been discovered, so he took to sitting in the crow’s nest for hours whenever Shrimp wasn’t stationed, avoiding everyone, even Onion. He didn’t want to bring the cook into his problems if he could help it. As always, he felt it was better to be alone where no one could get him, or could get hurt for helping him. Even if someone tried to climb up the rigging, Picaro was confident he could evade them and scamper down the ropes himself. Since an early age, he was an adept climber.

Valgur, seeing this, in his own fatherly wisdom, placed Picaro under the tutelage of Grit to teach him the martial arts. “Man needs to know how to defend himself, ‘specially a free man,” the captain said one night as they leaned upon the rails, surveying the sea.