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The creaking of the ship’s hull brought Garvin out of his nap. The brig was dark, lit only by a single candle. Judging by the grey skies visible through the fist sized porthole in his small cell it was just before sunrise.
Something warm and furry slid from his feet as he sat up, mewing indignantly. The ship’s cat, it seemed, had elected itself his guard.
Checking the lock on the cell , the first thing Garvin noted was the shoddy workmanship. A simple out of date and oversized lock. The second thing he noticed was that his boot knife and lockpicks were still in place, though his sword and dagger hung from a hook not ten feet from the cell.
Well, the security arrangements we’re certainly lax. If he’d wanted to escape he’d be nearly to the cargo hold by now. Still, best not to be hasty.
Garvin’s morning workout took precedence of course. Tossing his shirt to the side he began with pushups and was deep into sit ups when he heard the metal lock on the brig’s wooden door slide out of place.
“Breakfast.” The sailor growled, sliding a bowl of warm mush under the bars.
“When might I expect to be released?” Garvin asked.
The sailor snorted. “Be glad we ain't thrown you overboard, stowaway!”
Garving stood with indignation painted on every feature.
“How dare you!” He shouted, loud enough for any passer by to hear.
“My passage is bought and paid for, my name is Garvin Santiago and I'm a guest and friend of Lady Torrid.”
The sailor rolled his eyes, “sure you are.”
“I demand to speak with the captain,” Garvin insisted, putting a little edge in his voice.
“I’ll pass it along, finish that mush, I gotta take back the bowl.” The sailor’s tone was less than encouraging.
***
As comfortable a cell as it was, one could only contemplate the frollacing mermaids painted so expertly on the ceiling for so long before a layman’s knowledge of art fails him. It was in the pointillist style, which was odd in itself for a number of reasons, least of which was the move toward realism in the last two centuries. The contrasting colors and embattled figures suggested a kind of religious symbolism he couldn’t quite grasp.
The archetypes were all wrong, the mother and child, for instance were cast in a sinister and almost wicked light. Meanwhile the hideous creatures attacking the merpeople were depicted as almost noble.
“Dwarven mythology.” The voice startled Garvin from his contemplation. He sat up and was met by deep green eyes set in a thickly bearded face and shaded by a wide brimmed hat.
“That’s why you don’t understand it, the Dwarves don’t think in the same way a human might.”
The man could practically have been a Dwarf himself. He didn’t top four and a half feet but was built like a rock and in the right light there was a nearly imperceptible hint of blue to his skin and hair.
The captain, for Garvin understood right down from the cut of his coat, polish of his boots and command of his posture that the man could be no other, strutted to just out of arm’s reach.
“I understand you demanded to see me. Quite haughty for a stowaway aren’t we?” He chuckled.
“The Regal Lady is a passenger ship for the elite. They pay a lot to be the only ones on this ship who don’t work their arses off. You stowed away on my ship, that makes you my property. The minute I unlock this door you go to work, the work nobody else on this crew wants to do.”
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The keys jangled in the captain’s hands.
“Wait!” Garvin leapt to his feet, knowing that the moment the noble passengers saw him working like a common laborer his reputation with them would be ruined along with his chance of seducing, cheating, fleecing or otherwise conning them.
“I’m a paying passenger, I swear.” His left hand probed his pocket only to find it torn open along with the gash in his pants and the ticket missing. “It seems my ticket may have been misplaced.”
The captain laughed.
“How clumsy of you.”
“I swear I’m not a stowaway,” Garvin insisted. “Surely you must have some kind of passenger roll, my name is Garvin Santiago.”
The captain sighed, shaking his head.
“I’m a busy man, Santiago. You demanded to see me, so I took the time to come down here and now you demand I spend more of my time looking over records. If I don’t find your name on that roll I warn you, it will mean the lash.”
Garvin swallowed hard at the thought of his last flogging. The captain stopped at the door, turning with a jingle, he let the keychain dangle in his fingers.
“I could of course, forget all of this and put you to work now.”
Garvin shook his head. The captain swung his weight around and marched out the door, slamming it behind him.
Of Course, Garvin thought. There’s always the chance that i’m only listed as Lady Torrid’s nameless guest, in which case…
He winced at the phantom pain of the whip, his fingers absently probing the scars left on his back from the last time.
The following hours were not kind to Garvin, his mind constantly drifting back three years to the immeasurable pain of the lash.
***
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“Garvin Santiago, I find you guilty of all charges, the sentence, thirty lashes to be administered forthwith.”
Garvin struggled against the stonelike hands that jerked him to his feet. He kicked and pulled as the hulklike goons pushed him forward, as unfazed by his protests as statues. His wrists ached raw as he desperately tugged at the leather binding strapping him to the wooden post.
“You’ve made a mistake!” Garvin impotently shouted as the Sheriff leisurely approached.
“You made the mistake, boy. When you impersonated a noble.” The sheriff said as he took the bullwhip in hand.
Garvin flinched at the terrible sound of it’s crack. The Sheriff laughed.
“Steel your stomach, boy. This time’s for real.”
CRACK!
Pain like lightning.
“Oh, God!”
“God won’t help ya, boy.”
CRACK!
His body quaked and spasmed.
“P..Please!”
“And thank you, will get you farther than the falsehoods that got you here.”
CRACK!
Tears blurred his vision.
“Stop, stop, I’ll do anything!”
“Then bear with it to the end.”
CRACK!
The world began to spin.
***
Garvin opened his eyes, his body shivering violently. He shook his head.
“Just a bad memory,” he thought. “No reason to believe it will turn out the same way here.”
But his fingers couldn’t help from tracing the scars on his back and he couldn’t stop himself from feeling a deep fear.
Walking to the small desk at the edge of the cell he kicked aside the cat, who hissed indignantly and poured himself a glass of water. His hand shook as he downed it, thoughts of his flogging not quite banished from his mind.
“The past is past and the future is mine alone.” A family mantra, hearing it aloud calmed his nerves.
“Who is Garvin Santiago?” He asked himself.
“Whoever he chooses to be,” he replied.
“Where are his responsibilities?” He asked.
“Only with himself and his desires.”
“Sounds lonely,” a gruff voice said.
His head spun at the sound of an opening latch. The cell door swung open.
“You’ve got liberty of the ship, Santiago.” The captain said. “Though I find it hard to believe that such a scoundrel as you is friends with Lady Torrid.”
Garvin snatched up his sword and dagger from the table. He still lamented the permanent loss of his knife and his hand brushed the thigh which had once briefly housed it’s blade.
“You’d find my enemies equally impressive,” he said.
“Cabin Thirteen.”
Garvin plucked the tossed key from the air, hardly even minding the unlucky cabin number.
“I thank you, captain for the unique hospitality.”
The captain snorted.
“Cause trouble on my ship and I’ll make certain you get the lash, powerful friends or not.”