Inside the cabin, once the captain and his secretary were alone, both were absorbed in their respective mobile devices. Then Paine broke the silence.
"It's not my place to comment, Captain, but… what do you intend to do about the pilot?"
Skippy glanced at his watch.
"We'll sail with what we have. Returning to Nassau or Tortuga is not an option," he said, walking toward a cabinet from which he pulled a bottle of elven liquor. He uncorked it and poured two glasses—one for Mr. Paine and another for himself. "Once we make the transaction at the inlet, we'll see about replacing the pilot. You know that position's not easy to fill."
He took a sip. "Since the Treaty of Utrecht cracked down on piracy, most merchant pilots have lost all motivation to serve aboard a pirate ship—not even for double pay."
The captain grimaced and raised the screen of his computer, connected to a dodecahedral crystal that shimmered with a greenish glow. As he calculated figures, his eyes strayed toward the horizon, where clouds thickened over the edge of the sea.
"I'll retire to my quarters," said the secretary, gathering his things and slipping his laptop into his backpack. He rose awkwardly, unsteady from the ship's motion. "Shall I keep the contract amendment active?"
The captain drained another sip. "No. In the end, it was my fault—for offering the pilot too much protection."
"He's clearly abused it," Paine said, pausing by the door. He hesitated, then turned back toward the elf, who was staring at his device. "Will you be applying any punishment?"
"I'm a fair man, Mr. Paine. He'll receive his due… When you can, check if there's a signal."
The secretary nodded and left the cabin.
"I'm too old for this," the elf muttered, heading toward his quarters, shielding himself from the wind heavy with salt and moisture.
The group emerged onto the main deck, which rocked beneath the drizzle now beginning to fall. The planks gleamed with wetness, the waves crashing rhythmically against the hull. The roar of the sea mingled with the distant rumble of thunder, and flashes of lightning flickered far over the dark horizon.
Cody breathed the briny air, trying to summon courage, though his heart hammered in his chest at the thought of what was coming.
"Thanks a lot… Sammy," he muttered.
"I still can't believe it," Sammy whispered. "They've given me responsibility for piloting the ship!"
"You should start worrying if they ask you to take your blouse off," Kayin murmured beside her.
The crew, seeing them escorted across the deck, sensed that—even in the midst of an oncoming storm—there was to be a moment's entertainment. Some clung to the rigging to watch; others gathered, whispering questions among themselves.
"Better them than me," someone said.
"After what they did, if they're not hanged, they'll count themselves lucky," another pirate remarked.
When they reached the mainmast, Trumper ordered Mr. Knox to tie the three young offenders—one by one—to the base of the mast. The crew ceased their labors and turned to watch. The ship swayed harder, the wind rising, but the punishment had to proceed.
Kayin went first. The boatswain unbuckled his belt; Mr. Knox gripped the boy's wrists and stretched his arms taut. Kayin pressed his cheek to the mast, closed his eyes, and waited.
Trumper raised his arm and let the leather strap fall. The strike landed with a sharp crack against the fabric of the boy's shirt.
"How many?" Trumper barked.
"One, Mr. Trumper," Kayin managed through clenched teeth.
The ritual repeated.
The pilot, Mr. Wells, staggered onto the deck, swaying drunkenly. Seeing the gathered men, he slurred, "What in blazes is going on? What's got everyone so entertained?"
A sailor replied without looking up. "They're punishing the three bilge rats… Mr. Trumper's giving them a proper thrashing."
The pilot licked his lips and smirked. "Good. Discipline's best learned young," he muttered before wobbling away again.
Meanwhile, Cody breathed unevenly, and Sammy watched in silence.
"Happy now?" Cody muttered. "You got what you wanted—but at the cost of all of us getting whipped."
"In life, everything has a price," Sammy replied quietly. "Becoming a pilot has always been one of my dreams—and I know it'll serve our purpose."
"There's no purpose, Sammy. No plan. We just exist here… bound to this hell."
"It could've been worse."
"You don't get it—I'm a farmer, not a sailor."
"As false as saying your aunt wasn't the town whore."
"There are things I never knew about her," Cody said, his voice breaking. His legs trembled; he feared he might wet himself.
The flogging went on.
"How many?" Trumper asked again.
"Three, Mr. Trumper," Kayin whispered faintly.
Cody looked up toward the gray heavens. "Dear God," he murmured, "I don't ask You to lift me up—just let me be last, so I catch him tired. And if it's not too much to ask… make him hit Sammy harder for dragging us into this. Amen."
Sammy heard him. "Karma's flawless, Cody," she murmured.
Trumper finished with Kayin. Knox released him, and the boy staggered aside, tears mixing with the rain. A few pirates clapped him on the back and offered a jar of ointment.
"Next!" Trumper shouted. "Mr. Harris!"
Cody's blue eyes widened. He looked up, resigned, and sighed.
"Told you," Sammy whispered as he walked to his punishment.
Sammy waited patiently, guilt churning as Cody took his lashes. He tried not to cry out, but a whimper escaped him. She turned toward the sea, seeking strength in its endless expanse. She didn't hear him count the final stroke. Trumper grabbed him by the collar and shoved him aside like a beaten pup.
Then came her turn.
Sammy stepped forward, head held high, and pressed herself against the mast. Knox seized her wrists and stretched her arms tight. She laid her cheek against the wet wood and braced herself.
The first strike landed.
"How many?" Trumper barked.
"One, Mr. Trumper," she said, while whispers rippled among the crew.
Two more followed. Her back burned, but she clenched her jaw and kept her eyes shut. Amid the roar of the sea and the crash of thunder, she answered automatically, "Three, Mr. Trumper."
As Trumper lifted his arm again, the rain intensified. Sammy pressed her face against the mast and gritted her teeth.
Then a hiss brushed her ear—first a whisper of wind, then a voice, faint but distinct:
"Can you see me?... Can you see me?"
Her eyes snapped open. Among the crew she spotted a figure that did not sway with the motion of the ship. It hovered above the deck, motionless, as the sailors moved through it unaware. Its clothing hung in tatters, its eyes two hollow sockets, its mouth a skeletal grin.
The apparition raised a withered hand and showed three fingers.
Sammy's breath caught. The air around her turned cold, and the rain seemed to fall in slow motion. A shiver cleaved her spine in two. She didn't feel the fourth lash until the boatswain roared in her ear, "How many?! HOW MANY?!"
She looked around—the specter had vanished. Everyone was staring at her—some laughing, others indifferent, and a few visibly unsettled. She met Trumper's furious gaze.
"Four, Mr. Trumper," she said.
Laughter rippled through the crew—except for Kayin and Cody, who stood drenched and silent.
The storm grew savage. The ship lurched violently, the mast groaning. Trumper shouted orders while Knox let go of her wrists to grab the rigging. Sammy lost her footing, rolling across the slick deck until Kayin and Cody caught her.
At that moment, Captain Skippy burst from the cabin, shouting over the wind.
"Change course! Counter the wind before she heels over!"
"To your stations!" Trumper bellowed as the bell rang out. He turned to the three soaked youths. "You three, below deck! Get some salve on your backs, then climb up and secure the lines!"
"Where's the pilot?" the captain demanded.
"Snoring in his cabin, sir!" Trumper shouted back through the downpour.
"Then wake him up and put him to work—even if you have to purge him with every last drop of purgative oil aboard!" Skippy roared. "Mr. Worthy!" he called out as Sammy headed down the stairs. "I need you in the navigation room—now!"
Sammy glanced at the boys.
"I'll bring you some ointment later," Cody said.
She climbed the steps, water streaming beneath her boots, and ran toward the quarterdeck. She felt as though she were being baptized by the storm itself—and told herself that whatever she had seen on deck was nothing but strain… and the sea's madness.