Read Online Fire on Dark Water by Wendy Perriman - Free Book Online Page B

flesh hung in gaping strips like the pith of a peeled banana, and his blood twirled in whirlpools that drained in jagged lines to the deck. I actually saw very little of all this though—on account of the haze and tears—but when I vomited violently down the steps Mack just twisted my hair even tighter in his monstrous grip and made me swallow the after-burn. On the final stroke a roar rang out from the crew and the boatswain passed the slimy crop back to Kimble. And it was obvious even to me—Charlie was dead.
    Two sailors came forth and chopped the limp corpse free, then dragged it across the deck through the chains of women amassed on the port side. When they got to the bulwarks they suspended the body between them by armpits and ankles, and started swinging until they’d achieved enough momentum to throw it over the gunwales and into the sea. Charlie landed with a loud plop and everyone turned to starboard for the second act.
    The captain pointed to the other victim at the mast and announced, “This mangy dog is apparently the ringleader. Ready the ropes for the Spanish torture!” Immediately several crewmen began stretching lines from the mainmast to foremast that ended in two yawning loops. The prisoner—a Geordie called Baker—was then cut free of his upright bondage, only to be laid on his back with his wrists in one loop and his feet through the other. As the crewmen pulled on both ends they tightened and stretched him on their makeshift rack. I thought they intended to pull him asunder, but the captain suddenly ordered, “Bowel him!” and the quartermaster leapt forward with his cutlass at the ready.
    Bloodlust queered Kimble’s furious face. He cried, “By my soul, I’ll carve your gizzards into pound pieces!” He held the blade aloft, then vigorously descended the tip into the soft flesh, slicing from left to right as if through hard-skinned cheese. A morbid fascination gripped the crowd and they pulled on their leashes for a closer taste. The prisoner gave a blunted scream that turned into sharp squeals as he watched his shiny bowels being hoisted into the moonlight on the cusp of the tipsy blade. I think the shock got to him first—because his eyes seemed to flicker in horror before his head lolled round a couple of times, then faded away on a bleat.
    I didn’t have nothing left in my own guts to throw up but my own twisted stomach tried anyway. I heard myself muttering, “No, no . . . prithee . . . no!” Because I knew my turn came next.
    As the body was tossed overboard Captain Mack shouted, “Blame yourself for your own death!” His livid eyes scanned the rest of the prisoners and asked, “Be that lesson plain enough for all?” He turned to the crew and commanded, “Back to your posts!” and watched while the first strand of prisoners was led away. Still holding my hair he twisted me back to the cabin and threw me down on the wooden bunk. “I’ve a fair mind to thrash you and throw you to the sharks!” he roared. I knew that he wasn’t kidding. “But I’ve too much invested to afford that waste. And there’s other wee ways to make use of you.” I could tell he wanted to smash me in splinters but wouldn’t risk damaging the goods. What a dilemma. I knew enough not to utter a word so I just slumped there awaiting his judgment. Then the captain suddenly pointed to the pile of cloth and said, “Put on the veils.” My heart fluttered a pattering hope. He wanted an encore!
    I’d just finished dressing when the boatswain’s pipes trilled over the quarterdeck to signal the funeral of the murdered sailor. It felt strange standing with the crew wrapped only in silken sheets as we all watched the body being sewn in a weighted hammock. I cried when the needle’s last stitch pierced through the corpse’s nose. Then someone said a prayer and the doctor read a psalm from the Bible. The fiddler played a haunting lament as the seaman was gently eased into the waters and I stared until