White Eyes (part eight)

It was not long before Morgan reached the door from which the noise seemed to be emanating. She winced as there came from within a loud crash and a roar of pain. Following the noise came a series of shouts and further crashes, and in the midst of it all, a small voice demanding order.

Morgan’s breath caught in her throat. That had to be Peg – even from outside she could recognise his insolent tone. Now her thoughts were bent on how to peek inside without being spied. She silently cursed the heavy wooden door in front of her. Doubtless it would creak, she thought. After attempting to reach a safe solution, she decided that she would just have to risk being heard.

Just as she reached this conclusion, she heard from within an especially loud shout, and leapt aside just as the door was flung violently open. Pressing herself against the wall, she hung grimly on to the edges of the door, knowing that it was her only screen from the raggedy crowd that was almost bursting the frame as they tumbled over one another to escape the room. Just as the last scruffy excuse for a man was booted out the doorway, Morgan slipped quietly inside the room and propelled herself with unnatural speed underneath the low table in front of her.

Breathing heavily, heart pumping in a fevered race, she listened as a man’s harsh voice grated out loudly after the crew.

“An’ don’t you dare come back in, you raggedy-bottomed scum!” The slam of the door caused the timbers underneath her to shudder. Then the tramp of heavy boots on wood could be heard, and a giant of a man plonked himself down at the table.

Morgan observed with distaste the great hairy legs before her nose. Scraps of filthy material hung loosely from them, and the reek was unbearable.

“Now, sonny,” began the man – whom Morgan assumed was captain – in a cordial tone. “Whaddya have fer yore ole pal Trunky, eh?” There was a silence, and Morgan could imagine him eyeing the sack Peg held protectively under his arm. “Something good, I ‘opes?”

Morgan swivelled round on her toes. Pegasus’ legs were shaking violently, his knees audibly knocking together.

He gulped.

“G-good, you ask? Yes … when … when has it not been g-good …?”

Above the table, Trunky grinned amiably.

“Aw, course it is. Now, if ye’d just let me see it…”

There was a rustle of material as Peg drew his sack closer to him. Morgan noticed that his legs shook harder than ever. She felt like reaching out to stay them; his nervousness was contagious.

Peg gulped again, but did not relent.

“N-not till … not till you tell me h-how much you’ll give me for – for it …” He faltered as the captain’s affable smile broadened.

“Now, don’t be afeared, sonny. I’m honest, ye can trust me; I’ll keep me werd.”

Morgan was reminded forcefully of the ragged man by the gate, and did not trust the captain for a moment.

Peg, however, was obviously tempted by his words. He did not want to have to haggle overlong with this man, no matter how amicable he might appear. He peered doubtfully at the smiling face of the captain, and gulped for the third time. Morgan wished he would shut up and get on with it.

“I … I want …” Peg cleared his throat and tried again. “I want – to know how much you’ll give me.”

The man sighed, seemingly in resignation.

“Ah well, if you insist. Why must there be so much distrust among friends?”

Peg’s voice came out surprisingly strong, although it was high pitched and squeaky.

“You’re not my friend!”

The captain laughed.

“You may in truth think that before the end, laddie!” Before Peg had time to figure out what he meant, the captain had continued.

“So, enough gossip. Such things are fer girls; our minds are set on more important matters.”

Morgan burned with indignation at the captain’s jab at females, but held her tongue and contented herself by glaring hard at his legs and imagining snapping them, or pulling the long, curling hairs out one by one.

“So,” began Trunky, quite unaware that his feet were being slowly sawn off at the ankles, “where shall we start?”

“I’ll give you … the whole sack for – for one hundred jashii.”

“Not so fast, boy. Tell me first – what’s in the sack? I need to know what I’m paying for.”

Peg hesitated, and swivelled in his chair, obviously making sure they were alone. “Trust me,” he muttered in an undertone, once he had ascertained this fact, “you won’t regret paying one hundred jashii for what I’ve got.”

Trunky sneered, for a moment forgetting to put on his friendly façade.

“That depends, sonny.”

Peg’s voice dropped even lower.

“Thirty bottles of Ole Barney’s,” he whispered.

The captain was obviously impressed, though he tried to hide it.

“Well now, that ain’t so bad,” he said casually. “And how might a poor town boy have come across such loot, eh?” He paused, as if thinking. “Can’t have been from stealing, can it now? We wouldn’t want our honest little associate engaging in such unlawful activities, would we?” He laughed humourlessly.

Peg croaked out a little strangled chuckling noise, like a duck being throttled, and then shook his head.

“No, sir. Certainly not, sir. I don’t steal, sir – I earned them.”

“Alright, then. Let’s see ‘em. Come on now, no more delayin’.” There were several heavy clunks and a ripping sound, and then the captain let out a low whistle. “See now. I knew you wiz telling the truth.” Suddenly he became businesslike. “I’ll give ye twenny jashii for ‘em.”

Peg bristled with indignation.

“Sir, twenty is a day’s work for my Pa and I. Collecting this was a month’s. I’ll accept no less than one hundred. That’s being generous.”

“Nay, son. That’s cheating, you ‘ear, not generosity. I’ll show ye true kindness. I’m giving you twenny-five for the whole lot. Ye see, most men I know, being generous, wouldn’t even offer ye that. Yer gettin’ a good deal here, sonny. Take it or leave it.”

“I don’t take it; nor do I leave it. I ask for no less than seventy.”

“Seventy! My Lord, boy, what d’ye take us for? We ain’t all that rich – we be but humble sailors. Pray lower the sum. I’ll give thirty.”

“Sixty-five.”

“Thirty-five, then! Ye can’t get a better offer than that.”

“I’ll settle for fifty.”

“Forty.”

“Fifty and no lower.”

“Forty an’ no higher!”

“You shan’t get them till you agree to fifty.”

“Maybe I’ll just not pay up, slit yore throat an’ take it all. Yore alone, boy. It’s just yew an’ me. Yeh’d best do as I say.” Peg fell silent. Obviously he had not thought of that. He glanced swiftly towards the door, and noticed that his adversary, across the table, was blocking his way to it.

“Forty,” said the captain softly.

Peg tried a last desperate attempt that trailed off into silence.

“Forty-five …?”

He was saved the trouble of finally admitting defeat by an incredibly loud commotion from outside. Trunky stood up, his brow furrowed in anger and annoyance, and began striding towards the door.

Once he had opened the door, he got no further than “What in carnation …?” before he was bowled over by a tumbling ball of flailing limbs.

Morgan peered under the rim of the low table cautiously, and pulled her head back in quickly as the confusion of bodies rolled past her hiding place. The wood above her head shuddered as Peg leapt onto the tabletop to escape the fray. He was yelling out incoherent encouragements and curses to different people, safely out of the way of any harm.

The fight ended abruptly when a man of immense girth squeezed with difficulty through the doorframe and threw himself on top of the pile, driving the breath out of the opponents and flattening the captain’s hat, which had managed to fall off his head during the confusion.

Now, peering out from under her hiding place, Morgan could see the causers of the commotion; it was Argo and the dim-witted crew member who had first captured him. Hovering cautiously by the door was the gangling man who had kicked at Argo while he was out cold.

Argo was splayed out flat on the grubby floorboards, gasping for breath and clutching at his ribcage. He was almost visibly squashed. Eyeing his face sympathetically, Morgan wondered if he would ever be able to stand up again. However, he reacted sooner than she would have expected, and soon he had peeled himself pancake-like from the floor and was wheezing out a defiant speech.

“You’ve caught me,” he gasped, “I admit it. But … you’ll never get anything out of me. Never. My lips are sealed. Zip. You’ll never get Morgan and I won’t go down without a fight, either.” He leant on his knees briefly, and then straightened up. “You can do whatever you want with me. Hang me, stab me, make me walk the plank. You can even send me to the bottom of the sea in a sack with a rock tied to my neck. I don’t care. You won’t get anything out of me.”

The captain looked ready to explode – for a moment. And then he did what Argo had obviously not expected. He laughed.

“Yeh think,” he gasped, “tha' we actually care abou' who yeh are? Yeh think we’ll torture you, aye, and hang ye too, fer information? What kind of information could ye give us, sonny? The directions to Treasure Island? Or the fact that we got a couple more barnacles stuck to our `ull?”

He threw back his head in merriment at his own lame joke, his coarse voice grating through Morgan’s ears. Tears of mirth squeezed from the corners of his jaundiced eyes.

Argo instantly went pink about the face. He looked around, bewildered, at the mirth of the crewmen, not knowing what he’d said that was so amusing. Quickly his humiliation changed to anger.

“What? You don’t think I’ll keep my word? Why don’t you just try me – go on!” He instantly regretted it. At a lazy wave from the captain, two burly men who had entered very silently seized his arms from behind, pulling them backwards viciously. Argo cried out involuntarily, doubling over to prevent his arms from being tugged out of their sockets.

The captain bent casually to sweep his rather crumpled hat from the floor, and donned it with a flourish. Giving an agonised Argo the benefit of a malicious smile, he drawled out an order to his cronies.

“Lock `im in my cabin,” he commanded, “an' don’t let `im slip past you.” He did not need to add ‘or else’ or ‘for your sakes’, because the tone in which he said it was enough warning. The gangling man dissolved into the shadows, allowing the two men to drag a kicking and protesting Argo out of the door. They were followed by the unnaturally broad man and Argo’s first captor, who slammed it behind them.

Trunky suddenly turned his attention to Peg, who had been eyeing the proceedings from the safety of the tabletop.

“Come down from there, sonny. That table’s fer food, not feet, ye know.” He chuckled humourlessly and then stopped abruptly. “Let’s be honest with each other, son. Who was that lad?” His keen eyes registered the alarm and discomfort on his young associate’s pale face.

Peg stammered his answer rather more quickly than would have been wise.

“What do you mean? That kid? I’ve never seen him before.” He obviously knew that the captain would not believe him, because he avoided his eyes.

Trunky sniggered quietly to himself. This was going much better than he had planned. Out loud, he said, “Come out with it, boy. Yeh can trust me – who was it?”

“No idea.” Peg was pale but resolute. He would not let this man know that he had been followed.

The captain maintained his affable grin while he studied his adversary’s terrified face. The boy was lying – there was no doubt about that. He had dealt in these matters before, and he knew what to look for. He also knew not to push it too far.

Trunky sighed in supposed resignation.

“Ah, yer a determined one. I guess there ain’t nothing I can do.” He flashed a brilliant grin at Peg, who seemed relieved that he was not being interrogated any longer. Trunky was back to business. “Right then, sonny,” he said, “I believe we agreed on a price. Yeh just hand over that sack an’ I’ll hand over the money.”

Peg was not in the mood to continue haggling with this obviously dangerous man. Reluctantly, he hefted the large sack onto the table. Before he knew it, something cold and jagged was pressing hard against his throat. Closing his eyes tight, he let out a squeak.

“I’m giving you the sack! Here it is – go on, take it. Just let me be!”

The captain’s amiable smile had vanished without a trace. Now he snarled mercilessly across the table.

“Aye, mate, you’ve given me the sack. An’ I’m grateful to ye. But now I want ter know something: who was that boy?”

Peg let out a strangled cry as the knife pressed further still into his throat.

“Don’t know – ’’ He screamed as the cold steel drew blood. “All right! All right! His name was Argo – don't know his last name – he lives in Charicadd Town … baker’s boy … PLEASE!”

The knife point drew back from his neck a little, and the captain gave a satisfied grunt.

“Good – very good. An’ why’s this Argo followin’ ye, may I ask?”

“I don’t know … honest, I don’t. He always follows me around, but I’ve always shaken him off – honest, I don’t know why he follows me!”

“Has he ever seen what we deal? Does he know what you bring here?”

“No – Argh! I mean, yes, he does – he saw me packing it up once – please don’t hurt me!”

Trunky released the unfortunate with a disdainful shove, sending Peg stumbling backwards into the wall, clutching at his bloodstained throat. Without another word, the captain swept out of the room, leaving a stunned Peg behind him.

Morgan did not know what to do. Argo had been dragged off to be a prisoner in the captain’s cabin and was about to be visited by the man himself – and it wasn’t likely that it would be a welcome visit. Meanwhile, she was stuck in a stinking ale room with a bleeding boy in shock, with absolutely no idea what had just happened. She glared under the rim of the table in annoyance, eyeing Peg’s blank face with distaste. After a moment she decided she would have to risk being seen – the boy definitely did not look in the mood to scream out warnings that there was a girl running loose about the ship. Gritting her teeth, Morgan scrambled out from her hiding place and through the door, not looking back to see Peg’s expression of alarm and surprise.

She stole quietly down the narrow wooden passage, coming to a halt at the foot of the steep set of stairs that led to the trapdoor. She could hear the rumble of many voices on deck – obviously the banished crew members had decided to emerge to watch the sport of a prisoner being interrogated.

The problem was, this particular captive was proving a difficult one to interrogate.

Argo was sitting stubbornly inside the captain’s small cabin, staring obstinately at the wall. Trunky had lavished both compliments and dire threats upon the boy, with little success. The most Argo had let slip was that the captain’s hat was inside out. This comment had gained raucous laughter from the crew members, and a very sore retribution from Trunky.

More than once, the captain had threatened to slit his throat, but his dire warnings had fallen on deaf ears. Argo would simply not be goaded into speaking.

Morgan happened to emerge from the trapdoor during a particularly vicious series of questions, in which Argo was kicked, hit and threatened with alarming frequency. She almost cried out as he turned his battered and bruised face towards her; she could hardly recognise it.

It was when Trunky produced a knife that Morgan snapped. Pushing her way through a crowd of utterly bewildered crew members (who kept looking around at waist-height, as if expecting to see a dog there), she shouted directly at him.

“Oi, you!”

The captain whirled around, startled, to see Morgan standing firmly just inside the doorframe of the cabin. He was off his guard only for a moment, but that was enough for Argo. His long legs planted themselves viciously in his torturer’s exposed chest, sending him slamming into a table on the opposite side of the room. In a moment, the whole crew came pouring inside the cabin to help their captain, only to find that they were trampling him in their mad rush. Morgan hefted her friend upright by the arm and half dragged him through the confusion and out of the door.

Once onto the relative calm of the main deck, Morgan could properly support Argo, although he insisted he could walk.

“No time to wait now,” panted Morgan. “No time. We’ve got to get out of here now!” The two of them limped across the deck as fast as they could go, half carrying each other.

They had hardly advanced three steps when three things happened at once. The trapdoor was flung open with an enormous clang, and Pegasus, still clutching at his throat, stumbled tipsily out of it.

“Intruders,” he was prattling wildly. “Thieves and intruders – stowaways and imposters!”

At the same moment Trunky, hat askew, tumbled out of the cabin.

Simultaneously, Argo stumbled violently, breaking away from Morgan, and, for no apparent reason, made a desperate break for the railing.

The next event seemed to ensue in slow motion. Morgan watched as the captain’s eyes roved from her to Argo and back again and then finally to Peg. She watched, as though in a dream, as he raised the knife above his head – it glinted momentarily in the setting sun – and threw.

A scream tore its way through Morgan’s throat as Peg collapsed limply onto the wooden deck, the handle of the captain’s weapon embedded in his back.

Her legs seemed to be made of lead as she ran back to the felled boy. A sob caught in her throat as she caught sight of Peg’s face – it was pale and still. He was dead.

Through the roaring in her ears, Morgan thought she could discern raised voices. She tore her eyes from the cold face of Peg, peering blurrily through the shocked haze that blanketed her eyes. The imposing figure of the captain loomed up before her, and suddenly the haze was tinged red. Visions flickered through her mind – Peg’s shrill voice pleading for mercy as a knife was pressed against his throat; Argo, his eyes swollen and cheeks bruised from the beating he had endured, and finally, the captain’s triumphant smile as his knife thudded into Peg’s back.

Morgan leapt to her feet as the man approached. When she did not run away, he seemed taken aback. Even more so when she clenched her fists and locked his cold eyes in her gaze. When she spoke, her voice was not that of a little girl. To the captain, she seemed taller, stronger, older – even threatening.

“I won’t forget. I promise you that. Even if the arms of Death claim me or the fires of Hell consume me – I won’t forget. And you will be sorry, before the end. Remember that. You will be sorry.”

With that, Morgan spun around and ran for the railing. Maybe it was from pure shock, maybe not, but the captain did not move to chase her. He watched silently as she vaulted over the side of the deck, disappearing into the soft evening shadows. As he let his eyes wander upward, he could not help noticing the soft hue of the evening sun’s rays on the clouds. They were tinged red.

Red as blood.