Scar Island(3)

The Admiral sat behind a huge desk made of dark, shiny wood. His thin hair was mostly gray and was slicked down across his head with some kind of oily grease. His nose was the size and shape of an eagle’s beak, and above were two shiny eyes, black as olives, that looked too small for the rest of his face. His eyebrows looked like two monstrous, bushy cockroaches crouched on his forehead. A patchy shadow of stubbly whiskers grew on his cheeks and chin. He was wearing a dark blue uniform jacket with fancy brass buttons, like they wore in the navy. It might have fit him when he was younger, but now his neck fat squeezed over the top button of the collar, and his belly bulged out from under the bottom three buttons, which were undone. He sat shuffling through some papers, sipping from a glass of brown liquid, and stuffing chocolates into his mouth. A crinkly pile of shiny gold wrappers grew by his elbow with each chocolate he devoured.

A blond-haired boy, a little older than Jonathan and kind of chubby, stood in the corner with his hands crossed in front of him. He was watching the Admiral with eager eyes, and from time to time shot a smug smirk Jonathan’s way. He looked like a teacher’s pet, but the kind that bites.

The only light came from ten or eleven tall white candles, flickering here and there from brass holders around the room.

“Brandy,” the Admiral said at last. His voice was deep and breathy. Like a dragon’s.

The boy in the corner sprang forward. He pulled a bottle from a shelf and poured another splash of brown liquid into the Admiral’s glass. The Admiral didn’t move except to exhale and raise one of his cockroach eyebrows. The kid frantically reopened the bottle and sloshed more brandy into the glass. The Admiral scowled and smacked his lips but picked up the glass and took a loud, slurping sip. The kid returned the bottle to the shelf and scurried back to his corner.

“Jonathan Grisby,” the Admiral finally said. He said Jonathan’s name the way most people might say the word diarrhea.

Jonathan swallowed.

“Yeah.”

The Admiral’s glass froze halfway to his mouth. His eyes slid to the kid in the corner, then back to Jonathan. The kid practically ran over to Jonathan, then leaned down to hiss into his ear.

“You gotta call him sir or Admiral, dummy!”

“What?”

“Sir! Call him sir!”

The kid retreated back to his corner, and the Admiral set down his glass.

“Jonathan Grisby,” he said again. The whole room seemed to wait.

“Yes,” Jonathan replied. Then, “Sir.”

The Admiral smiled with half his mouth. He tapped the papers with his finger.

“This is a terrible crime you’ve committed, Jonathan Grisby.”

Jonathan didn’t answer.

“I suppose you, like most criminals, insist you are innocent?”

“No,” Jonathan replied quietly, his eyes downcast. “I did it. Sir.”

“Hmmm. I see. Unapologetic. Unashamed. No lesson learned yet, then?” The Admiral’s face twisted into another half smile. “It will be learned, though. It will. We have wonderful ways of teaching you lessons.” He took another wet sip of his brandy and swished the alcohol around in his mouth.

Jonathan swallowed a dry breath. He felt a warm bead of sweat start down his forehead.

With a grunting sigh, the Admiral rose to his feet and slumped around the desk to where Jonathan knelt in misery.

“Take, for example, the ingenious piece of furniture you’re currently enjoying. Are you comfortable?”

“No, sir.”

“Of course you’re not,” the Admiral spat. “And nor do you deserve to be.” He caressed the age-polished wood with chocolate-stained fingers. “This device is known as the Sinner’s Sorrow. She was here even before myself, a lovely leftover from one of Slabhenge’s former lives.” The Sinner’s Sorrow was made all of wood, and rose as high as the Admiral’s bulging belly. At its base was a rail where Jonathan’s knees rested, a long piece of stained wood that was sharpened to a vicious edge that was biting at his flesh like a dull saw blade. At its top was a slanted, flat desktop and an old inkwell. “Who knows how many lunatics and criminals have knelt here, paying the price for their evil.” The Admiral’s eyes, blurry from liquor, lapped hungrily at the wretched wood of the Sinner’s Sorrow. His gray tongue licked at his dry lips. “How does that rail feel on your young knees? It burns, doesn’t it?”

Jonathan looked up, straight into the Admiral’s eyes for the first time. “No,” he answered in a level voice. “It doesn’t burn, sir. It just hurts.”

The Admiral raised an eyebrow and sniffed. “Yes, well, you would know, wouldn’t you, Jonathan Grisby?” Jonathan looked down quickly, stung by the man’s words. The Admiral cleared his throat and took a step back. “You’re just the latest degenerate to feel her bite. And she is just one of the tools we use at Slabhenge to educate and civilize and correct. And you will be corrected. A crime as wicked as yours will require quite severe correction.” The Admiral leaned close so that Jonathan could feel as well as hear his next words in his ear. “You have done terrible things, haven’t you, Jonathan Grisby?”

Jonathan lowered his head and didn’t answer. The Admiral wheezed out a phlegmy sigh and took a step back.

“But all that begins tomorrow. You’ll see. You’ve arrived late. It’s nearly all-dark time. Only one little thing remains to be done.”