Unhooked(28)

A few of the other prisoners in the line whimper, but the Captain doesn’t spare them a glance. The defiant boy jerks his head away from the two holding him and glares at the Captain with a cold fury. “And it’s like I told you,” he sneers, “sod off.”

The Captain studies him for a moment, his back stiff and straight. “Your choice, lad.” He looks to the two boys holding the prisoner. “Gareth, Will, perhaps you could escort our guest off the ship?”

The two holding the boy nod, almost in unison, and start to drag the prisoner to the bulwark of the lower deck. As they pull the stocky boy along, the Captain glances up at me. I can’t read the emotion in his features. I can’t tell if it’s exhaustion from the battle or regret for what he’s just done that makes him look so drained. He doesn’t bother to watch the progress of the boys or to offer assistance, though. Instead, he climbs the steps back to his perch next to me on the higher deck.

The boy doesn’t go easily. At first he collapses onto the deck, making himself into a dead weight, but it doesn’t work. Little by little, Will and Gareth drag him to the bulwark of the ship. The closer the boy gets, the more he begins to panic—his legs jerking out desperately to find a foothold, his face turning as white as the sails that flap above us.

I understand his panic. I know too well what’s it like to be dragged away against your will. What it’s like to feel fear closing up your throat. And I know just how cold and dark and deadly that water can be.

“Captain!” the boy’s voice cracks. His eyes are wild with fear now. “Captain, please! I’ve reconsidered.”

I let out a breath when I hear his words, relieved that he has finally decided to save himself. But the Captain doesn’t move. Not a muscle in his face shows any signs of softening.

“Please!” The boy is practically squealing now, sobbing, and his screams grow more desperate with each inch he is pulled closer to the railing. Beyond, the sea is quiet. Waiting.

“Go with God, lad,” the Captain murmurs, giving the boy a small salute.

The boy’s legs go out from under him at the words, and a wet stain spreads on the front of his pants, but still Will and Gareth drag him to the rail of the ship.

“No!” I’m moving before I think better of it, jerking away from the two boys who are supposed to be guarding me before they even know what’s happening. “You can’t do this.” I grab the Captain’s arm.

He turns on me, his eyes narrowed, vicious. “Can’t I?”

I realize my mistake instantly. Of course he can. This is his ship, his world, and he’s the commander of it. “But he’s changed his mind,” I say, hearing just how weak the words are.

“Has he?” The Captain’s dark eyes travel down to where I’m holding his arm. He doesn’t shake me free, though. “I wonder. Desperate people do tend to say most anything now, don’t they, lass?”

“Please. You can give him another chance. You can show mercy.”

“Mercy,” he scoffs, his expression strangely calm. “Was mercy what he showed when he came to my ship to kill me and my lads? Was that this mercy you speak of?” he asks, shaking his head as though he’s already denying the words. “I gave him his chance. I gave him three, in fact, and he’d not take them.” He does shake me off then. “Now the others will.”

“And if he can’t swim?”

“What is it that your stories tell you? Something about death being a great adventure?” Stepping away from me, the Captain gives a sharp nod, and the two holding him dump the boy in.

“No!” I lunge toward the railing, but the Captain’s arms are around me before I can leap. The heat of his body surrounds me, and I am trapped against his lean form. He may not be a giant of a man, but he is also no soft boy. Every inch of him is pressed to every inch of me, and every inch of him is unyielding muscle honed by who knows how long at sea.

“What is it you were thinking to do, Gwendolyn?” His voice is soft, rough in my ear. His breath warm against my neck. “Do you think you can save him? He, so much bigger than the wee slip of a girl that you are?”

I should struggle. I should pull away from him and make it clear just how distasteful I find him. But I can’t. His voice curls about my brain, and the warmth of him, the solidness of his body against mine, is suddenly too real. Too immediate for me to even process. He laughs then, softly, as though he knows just how weak I am, and the sound of it rumbles up out of his chest and across every one of my nerve endings.

And I hate myself for how weak I am. Because the truth is, the Captain’s right—I never would’ve been able to pull the boy’s bulky form to safety.

“He changed his mind,” I say again, wishing that were enough to spare his life. Knowing it isn’t.

“He made his choice, lass. Long before he set foot on my ship.”

With a sputtering noise, the boy comes to the surface, and I almost go limp with relief.

“Ah, so it seems he can swim,” the Captain croons in my ear. “Not that it’ll help.” His voice is so empty, so devoid of any feeling, that I whip my head around to look at him. The features of his face are hardened—his jaw with its dusting of dark stubble is tight, his mouth a line as flat and uncompromising as the horizon. And his eyes are still steady on the water.