The force of the cat drove him into the mast.
“Enough, Boatswain.” The master of the vessel had a stern voice long
accustomed to command.
“But Cap’n, I ain’t nearly finished. I was just gettin’ warmed up.” The
boatswain’s voice was thick with frustration.
“Part of our bonus is to deliver this boy alive to his fate. I do not intend to lose
money to satisfy your pleasure, sir.” The captain was a tall, somber man with
sharp eyes. He did not seem like the type of man to brook dissent. He called
out to the crew, “Do any of you wish to donate your share to the boatswain’s
pride?”
A chorus of denials rang out, along with a few variations on “leave the boy be.”
As the men dispersed one of them muttered, “That is one tough kid. Never
seen a man take ten without makin’ a sound.”
“Mister Bailey, unchain the boy and see to his wounds. He needs to be alive
and aware in order for us to meet our commission.” The captain turned back to
his work.
The boatswain stood there seething. His hand twitched. Droplets of blood
jumped from the sodden leather to land on the deck. He leaned close enough
for René to smell his foul breath. “We have time yet, boy. You and I still have
business before the sharks get ya.”
René’s eyes met those of the wielder of the cat. “I have made you a promise,
sir, and I always keep my promises.”
The man was mute in response.