edit: I Cut it down to exactly 998 words, including the title. Didn't know if you would be so touchy about that, seeing as it is an important contest...
It's an origin story.
Spoiler! :
Hackney
: The Boy Who couldn't Fly
July, 1718 – Off the western shore of Florida
_____________________________________________________________________________
Hackney stood there dumfounded, staring deeply into the eyes of the boy. He had not expected the lad to be in his cabin at this hour and assumed that the lad had thought the same thing. Although in a state of both shock and frustration, he retained his cool composure.
“What’s your real name, Lad?” The boy shook, but Hackney smiled, taking it as a compliment. Hackney wasn’t known for his intimidating appearance, that being attributed to Thatch. Ever since the Jolly Roger had broken from Blackbeard’s fleet, Hackney heard a rumour that the madman blockaded Charles Towne. Hackney wanted no part in that, which is why he decided to sail west towards the Gulf.
For a time, he considered taking Old Flint up on his offer to sail to Madagascar, but he decided to strike out on his own.
“I’ve already told you, Captain,” the boy said, “It’s Pan.”
“Liar!” yelled the captain, throwing a knife into his desk before briskly approaching the lad. Hackney towered over him, his furnished red coat resembling dark blood. He did not wear his hat, with its conspicuous ostrich-feathered plume and pompous nature.
He collected himself, kneeling on one leg putting a hand the boy’s shoulder. “I ask you again,” he whispered, “what is your name, Boy?”
“I don’t got one,” he replied, “It’s just ‘Pan’.”
Hackney backhanded the lad, blood spilling down his cheek. As soon as this happened, the shutters flew open, causing Pan to shiver, his tattered, green outfit not able to keep him warm.
The boy placed his own hand over his check, trying to hold back the pain. He reached for the goblet of water on Hackney’s desk and splashed it on his face. James didn’t bother to intervene. He didn’t face the boy, instead looking out the window, gazing over the sea, hands clenched arrogantly behind his back. “Who sent you?”
“I was sent by nobody. I just joined up!“
Hackney turned his head. “Save it!” he brusquely said, raising a hand and walking towards the boy again. “If you were a simply cabin boy, as you claim to be, there’d be no reason to enter my chambers and look through my letters.”
“What if I was just curious?”
The two of them just stared at each other for a good minute. There was extreme tension; it seemed as if, in the bitter stare, that the minds of both Pan and Hackney were at war. “I ask you once again, Boy, what is your real name?” There was no answer. He wrapped his hands around Pan’s neck, constricting ever so subtly. “You do realize that I could kill you with ease, right here and right now?” he threatened bitterly. “All it will take is one little snap…nothing more than a slight pop.” He could sense the fear in the boy’s eyes, letting go once it reached its pinnacle. “But I am not unkind.”
The boy gasped for breath as he dropped to his knees. “Peter, Sir...Peter Barrie.”
Hackney smiled. “ That is all I wanted to hear. It wasn’t too hard?” There was no response. “The question now is, why are you here?”
Peter remained silent, but Hackney, being an impatient man, cocked his flintlock, pointing it at Peter, who clenched the gold locket that he wore around his neck in his hands. For a moment, Hackney stopped before walking over, raising the boy’s chin, and yanking it out of his hands. When he opened it, he saw a beautiful young girl of fifteen or so, initials reading W.D. “You’re from Jamaica, aren’t you, Boy?”
Peter sighed and calmly asked, “How did you know.”
Hackney grinned, licking his cracked lips as he did so. “This is a portrait of Wendy Darling…the Colonel’s daughter.”
“I-“
Hackney put up his hand as to cut the boy off. “You care for her?” Pan nodded. “It seems that there is more to you than meets the eye.
“You might as well tell me what you were doing in my room, Master Barrie,” Hackney said with a sigh of boredom. “Or, I could shoot you.”
“I’m in service of the governor. I won’t go into detail, but I will say that I ran into trouble with the guards after I was caught stealing bread to feed my little sister, Belle.” Hackney listened, sensing that the boy was telling the truth. “After being thrown into a cell, I was approached by a representative of the governor. I went before him and he promised me my freedom if I…” He stopped.
“If you what?”
Peter sighed. “The governor believes that you’re in correspondence with Blackbeard.” Hackney knew just what the boy was talking about. Ever since his departure from the fleet, Hackney had been exchanging letters, mostly regarding Blackbeard’s moving up the coast. “I was to pose as a member of your crew and retrieve the letters.”
“And to think, I trusted you.” Hackney felt betrayed. He had taken a liking to the boy and thought him trustworthy. Clearly he had been wrong. “Tis’ truly a shame that I have to kill you.” The boy froze before Hackney yelled, “Smee!” Within seconds, the portly boatswain arrived.
“At your service, Captain.” The Irishman said earnestly.
“Prepare a longboat. We’re going ashore.”
“Ashore, Sir? But the crocodiles!”
“You’ll go topside, prepare a longboat, and return when you’re finished. UNDERSTAND?!”
“Aye, aye, Sir.” He left the room.
Hackney turned back to Peter and giving a wicked smile. “Crocodiles are known for…chewing their prey slowly. I myself, have never much cared for them, but I see that you’ll be thoroughly introduced to one in due time.” He looked at his clocklike stopwatch; the one given to him by his father. “Tis’ nearly five AM. We best get going. Try and fly out of this one, Pan.”
: The Boy Who couldn't Fly
July, 1718 – Off the western shore of Florida
_____________________________________________________________________________
Hackney stood there dumfounded, staring deeply into the eyes of the boy. He had not expected the lad to be in his cabin at this hour and assumed that the lad had thought the same thing. Although in a state of both shock and frustration, he retained his cool composure.
“What’s your real name, Lad?” The boy shook, but Hackney smiled, taking it as a compliment. Hackney wasn’t known for his intimidating appearance, that being attributed to Thatch. Ever since the Jolly Roger had broken from Blackbeard’s fleet, Hackney heard a rumour that the madman blockaded Charles Towne. Hackney wanted no part in that, which is why he decided to sail west towards the Gulf.
For a time, he considered taking Old Flint up on his offer to sail to Madagascar, but he decided to strike out on his own.
“I’ve already told you, Captain,” the boy said, “It’s Pan.”
“Liar!” yelled the captain, throwing a knife into his desk before briskly approaching the lad. Hackney towered over him, his furnished red coat resembling dark blood. He did not wear his hat, with its conspicuous ostrich-feathered plume and pompous nature.
He collected himself, kneeling on one leg putting a hand the boy’s shoulder. “I ask you again,” he whispered, “what is your name, Boy?”
“I don’t got one,” he replied, “It’s just ‘Pan’.”
Hackney backhanded the lad, blood spilling down his cheek. As soon as this happened, the shutters flew open, causing Pan to shiver, his tattered, green outfit not able to keep him warm.
The boy placed his own hand over his check, trying to hold back the pain. He reached for the goblet of water on Hackney’s desk and splashed it on his face. James didn’t bother to intervene. He didn’t face the boy, instead looking out the window, gazing over the sea, hands clenched arrogantly behind his back. “Who sent you?”
“I was sent by nobody. I just joined up!“
Hackney turned his head. “Save it!” he brusquely said, raising a hand and walking towards the boy again. “If you were a simply cabin boy, as you claim to be, there’d be no reason to enter my chambers and look through my letters.”
“What if I was just curious?”
The two of them just stared at each other for a good minute. There was extreme tension; it seemed as if, in the bitter stare, that the minds of both Pan and Hackney were at war. “I ask you once again, Boy, what is your real name?” There was no answer. He wrapped his hands around Pan’s neck, constricting ever so subtly. “You do realize that I could kill you with ease, right here and right now?” he threatened bitterly. “All it will take is one little snap…nothing more than a slight pop.” He could sense the fear in the boy’s eyes, letting go once it reached its pinnacle. “But I am not unkind.”
The boy gasped for breath as he dropped to his knees. “Peter, Sir...Peter Barrie.”
Hackney smiled. “ That is all I wanted to hear. It wasn’t too hard?” There was no response. “The question now is, why are you here?”
Peter remained silent, but Hackney, being an impatient man, cocked his flintlock, pointing it at Peter, who clenched the gold locket that he wore around his neck in his hands. For a moment, Hackney stopped before walking over, raising the boy’s chin, and yanking it out of his hands. When he opened it, he saw a beautiful young girl of fifteen or so, initials reading W.D. “You’re from Jamaica, aren’t you, Boy?”
Peter sighed and calmly asked, “How did you know.”
Hackney grinned, licking his cracked lips as he did so. “This is a portrait of Wendy Darling…the Colonel’s daughter.”
“I-“
Hackney put up his hand as to cut the boy off. “You care for her?” Pan nodded. “It seems that there is more to you than meets the eye.
“You might as well tell me what you were doing in my room, Master Barrie,” Hackney said with a sigh of boredom. “Or, I could shoot you.”
“I’m in service of the governor. I won’t go into detail, but I will say that I ran into trouble with the guards after I was caught stealing bread to feed my little sister, Belle.” Hackney listened, sensing that the boy was telling the truth. “After being thrown into a cell, I was approached by a representative of the governor. I went before him and he promised me my freedom if I…” He stopped.
“If you what?”
Peter sighed. “The governor believes that you’re in correspondence with Blackbeard.” Hackney knew just what the boy was talking about. Ever since his departure from the fleet, Hackney had been exchanging letters, mostly regarding Blackbeard’s moving up the coast. “I was to pose as a member of your crew and retrieve the letters.”
“And to think, I trusted you.” Hackney felt betrayed. He had taken a liking to the boy and thought him trustworthy. Clearly he had been wrong. “Tis’ truly a shame that I have to kill you.” The boy froze before Hackney yelled, “Smee!” Within seconds, the portly boatswain arrived.
“At your service, Captain.” The Irishman said earnestly.
“Prepare a longboat. We’re going ashore.”
“Ashore, Sir? But the crocodiles!”
“You’ll go topside, prepare a longboat, and return when you’re finished. UNDERSTAND?!”
“Aye, aye, Sir.” He left the room.
Hackney turned back to Peter and giving a wicked smile. “Crocodiles are known for…chewing their prey slowly. I myself, have never much cared for them, but I see that you’ll be thoroughly introduced to one in due time.” He looked at his clocklike stopwatch; the one given to him by his father. “Tis’ nearly five AM. We best get going. Try and fly out of this one, Pan.”
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