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The creature thrashed and wriggled like a blind worm on a hook. In a last act of defiance, the serpent bashed its crusty head against the forward strakes. The pirate schooner rocked in reply and the men of the crew cried in alarm. But the blow was not enough to sink her and she only took on a bit of water, though it scared some of the cockiness out of the crew. A monster from another age, it splayed hideous in its death throes and sank from sight. Darek watched, spellbound, paddling on his piece of driftwood, hoping to escape the enemies’ notice. Other drowning men clambered to get on to his bit of sanctuary, but he kicked them off, pushing away with his strong legs.
The surviving ship rounded in to pick up the survivors in the bloody froth. Bits of ship and men floated everywhere; masts, rigging, an arm, cracked planks and splintered oars littered the sea. Gulls and other seabird scavengers gathered and squabbled jealously over the feast.
A thick hand reached out and seized Darek by the scruff of the neck. Rude hands hauled him aboard. He cursed and struggled, though he had hardly any energy left to fight.
Briad lay on the sopping floor of that longboat like a beached mackerel, sucking air into his lungs.
“Aye, a scratcher and biter, this wee little one,” croaked one of the six hardened rogues in the boat, yellow teeth flashing in a sneer.
“Give him a bit of medicine, Alred. That’ll teach the beggar.”
A buffet to the crown lay Darek low, dazed him. He found himself flat out on the sodden planks, shaking the stars out of his head.
The schooner, battered but alive with motion, anchored and set herself in irons. Rocking in the swells, she accepted survivors. The longboat bumped against her side and ropes slapped down to draw men up. Darek, in his haze, saw the stark black lettering under her gunwales: the Persephone.
He was thrust rudely on the deck and wallowed in his hurts, bruises and aches. Briad slumped at his side. A medley of bearded faces and hairy fists wielding knives and other weapons crowded in to leer at them. Rough deckhands prodded the two aft of the foredeck where the captain could get a look at Darek and the other survivors.
“A sorry mess. The serpent’s dead,” said the Harpoonmaster aside a keg of ale, muttering into his beard.
“Too bad we couldn’t have got its filthy head and strung it on a spit,” growled the captain, his black eyes narrowing thoughtfully on the captives. “Could have been a nice trophy to roast over our fires for the spring feast.” He spat a wad of phlegm on the deck.
“’Tis a dark and gloomy day, Serle. I see this as an ill portent.”
“Quiet your tongue, Gibar. You’ll jinx the seadogs. It only proves we’re dauntless. We’re men that can kill anything that swims, true lords of the sea. There’ve been more of these fiends every week. Vipers! Normally they stick to the eastern deeps, not venturing this far west.”
“Dark magic is about, Serle,” said the bosun who had joined the group, grumbling. “Demons come from the bowels of the sea. Like great Osun said of old, beasts be beasts, and the bane of our heritage.”
The captain grimaced, his lips curling at mention of ‘beasts’ and that ancient name. “Osun will protect us.”
The schooner was still taking on water. A visible, jagged crack in her ribs ran to midships on starboard.
The captain called down into the hold a crisp, irate command. “Man the pumps. Amest, have ten men down there with buckets! Where’s your mend kit?”
“Here, Captain.”
“Get a move on. Smear the sides with tar and board her up.”
Darek’s gaze swung from the sprawl of wreckage out in the swells to the savage pirate leader. He had finely-rendered dragon tattoos running up his throat. His lean muscled height gave him a sense of presence, a roguish twinkle to his eyes, mirthful yet as cold as the depths and as hard as an anchor. Most of these rogues sported ratty beards, some braided, others dangling with beads, but he had only a sandy mustache, oiled and pointed at the ends.
While others helped the injured, the man in the crow’s-nest yelled down, “No other serpents, Cap'n, nor ships—the water be clear.”
“Very well, Halpar, haul it into Ridderwin.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n!”
Darek, squatting on the deck, growled a curse under his breath. The noise caught the attention of the captain.
“This stripling must have been out for a joy ride on his daddy’s boat. Cost him dearly—and me too. Tow in his sloop. Seems as if it’s the only collateral we have against our own losses.”
One of the brawny men who had drawn in Darek and his companion, replied, “Poor Manx, the blighter, lost his ship and went down with it. Reckon we lost nearly twenty men.”
The captain chewed his lip. He toyed idly with the strange lettering on his cutlass. “Get the survivors cleaned up and these fingerlings in irons.”
Five deckhands, with no gentle handling, hauled Darek and Briad midships and plunged them through a trap in the deck to the prison hold below. The door shut and darkness swept over them. Only the smell of moldy straw and rotten fish reached Darek’s nostrils. A trickle of foul water oozed at his feet. “Well, at least we’re alive,” he muttered.
Briad groaned. “I think I’d rather be dead.”
* * *
Later that day, the two were brought up on deck again into the setting sun’s glare.
More grim faces swarmed around them, as the pirates discussed their fate.
“These mangy rats caused us a lot of grief, Serle, and they should be put to death.” The bosun fingered his cutlass and brought it close to Briad’s neck. “This one’s a mousy specimen.” The haggard man shifted back.
“Well, they’re fisherboys—kids, my guess. Look, how soft this one is. The other’s got a bit of meat on him.”
Another snarled. “Aye, lost us a good ship and hearty men.”
“Death’s too good for ’em!”
“Here, here,” snorted others.
“I didn’t ask you to attack my ship,” sneered Darek in a croaking voice. “You got what you deserved—hope you all die by serpents, or mauled by monster squids.”
The captain blinked at him, his gaze demanding silence. “A tetchy tongue you have.” His eyes squinted in surly amusement, as if wondering how one stripling and a wayward fisherman could have survived a serpent attack. “I don’t know how you did it, boy, but you’re on my ship now. Only by my grace have I spared your hide, so you’d better keep a civil tongue in your head. Many of the lads wish to slit your throat.”
There were many grumbles to this effect.
“Where you from?”
“Swordfish Isle, Cape Spear,” Darek replied sullenly.
“So, an islander? A soft Red Clan Islander?”
“A lie,” snorted a red-bearded thug. “His friend’s got a Black Claw slave mark on his wrist. See it here?” He pulled at Briad’s right forearm to show the others. “See. A runaway?”
“No,” croaked Briad. “A—A wizard branded me. Killed my father, set a serpent on us. My brother’s been eaten—alive.”
The pirates laughed. “And my mammy’s the Queen of Nevermore. Wizards! There’s no wizards about. No lies, pilgrim. It’ll go worse for you.” The red-beard boxed his ears and tripped him to the ground with his foot.
Darek stirred and rose angrily. “Leave him alone. He speaks the truth.”
The captain rubbed his chin. “Perhaps, boy. We’ll see. Helmsman! Guide the Persephone fair and true—to the homelands. Darmestra’ll be expecting us, and will have my balls if I’m not back with some choice spoils!”
Chapter 6.
