Chapter sixteen - This is the fourth pirate that has called me pretty

im stuck on my own at my dad's and im not supposed to go outside rn so all i do all day is sit in bed with all the windows open being sad and watching the shittiest most garbage horror flicks i can find on netflix

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The Hangmen had only been on board a few minutes, and the scene was already bedlam. Swords clashed and daggers rang, men shouted and screamed, and there was a puddle of blood at my feet with what looked like an eyeball floating in it. I could hear my own pulse in my ears, rushing and ringing; every part of my body was burning; my skin felt corroded. The scene was horrific: blood slicing through the air, sweat and screams mixing, so much intense energy in one space. It was horrific, and it was beautiful, in a kind of weird and twisted way.

Sometimes I was disturbed by how being out at sea had changed me so much (–I had hoped that it was for the better, although it most likely wasn't–) but it did let me take interest in more unusual things, and people. There was an unexpected sense of amicable community on this ship.

"Frank, you fucking asshole!" Dewees screamed, not even looking at the opposing pirate but managing to stab him quite precisely in the chest nonetheless.

"What?" I yelled. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just fucking hit someone, for Christ's sake!" he shrieked. Now that I considered it, he did look rather angry at the fact that I'd just been standing at the top of the stairs, taking in the view.

"Yes," I managed. I charged into the thick of the battle, brandishing my candlestick bravely, and lobbed the first person I saw over the head; a man with long, untidy hair and a bent sword.

"Iero!" Beckett wailed. He turned around very swiftly and clipped me over the ear, muttering a curse under his breath before moving along to smash a Hangman's face in with the handle of his sword. Men on the Freighter did not fight clean.

But apparently, neither did the Hangmen, as I discovered when one crawled up behind me and bit the back of my leg with most impressive violence. I pondered for a very short moment why he hadn't just stabbed me, but then I caught sight of Saporta, attempting to drag the offending pirate back by his ankles, two swords in one hand and a fierce look of dominance on his face.

I took that to mean that we were significantly ahead, along with the sounds of unfamiliar men's yowls. Our crewmates weren't yelping out, so I assumed that things were going smoothly.

I assumed incorrectly. A number of our men had been gagged and bound, including Gerard. (I ignored the stirring I felt that was incited by that fact.)

The remaining crew and I fought viciously and persistently, but unfortunately, we were severely outnumbered, and each of us ended up trapped in a circle of Hangmen, imprisoned in some sort of web of swords. I was tempted to pull a daring move and slash the hand of the man reaching towards me, but Gerard's eyes caught mine and he shook his head like he'd read my mind. The grave look on his face was enough to still me. A dirty rag was shoved in my mouth, and rope was wound around my wrists in loops until I was completely incapacitated. The bearded man with the grubby face smirked at Ryan as he pinned him to the mast and tied him there, and Ryan hung his head and scowled furiously.

I didn't think it was possible for us to be at more of a disadvantage than we were right now. But yet again, my assumptions were seriously wrong.

"Give us the scorpion child," the Hangmen's captain demanded, taking a few steps across the echoing wooden floor, the rotting planks dully reverberating the sound of his heavy boots.

He came to a halt when he reached me, and slowly drew his dagger from its holster to point it at my neck. "Give us the kid," he snarled, turning to Gerard, "Or Pretty here gets it."

I didn't know whether to burst out in laughter at the irony of the situation or start crying over the fact that this was possibly the fourth pirate who had called me pretty. In my baffled state, I pondered what on earth the appeal was.

I must have been getting far too accustomed to having near-death experiences if I could let myself daydream about my own prettiness while an extremely angry and unhinged man held a cutlass to my throat.

"We don't have the kid," Captain Bryar said calmly. "So do us all a favour, save us the trouble and mess of another fight and fuck off."

Gerard scoffed. "Come on, no one's gonna believe that." He smirked at the man I assumed was captain of The Screaming Hangman. "We do have the kid. And he's ours. Savvy?"

The enemy crew growled and Stump shot Gerard a look of irritation. I gulped and prayed that none of the Hangmen noticed the mark on my neck. I could only hope that they'd just assumed I was one of the crew. After all, I looked the part, with grimy skin and knotted hair, and the stink of rum in my clothes. (I blamed Gerard for that. And Hayley, but primarily Gerard.)

The captain of the Hangmen smiled wryly and sauntered over to Gerard. "You got a deathwish, son?"

Gerard smirked. "Seems more likely that you've got one, if you're planning on crossing me."

The enemy captain glared at Gerard, and I could see his whole body stiffen with rage as he reached out, his hand in a claw to grab Gerard's throat.

That was when Gerard spat in his face, and that was when I knew that we were all well and truly fucked.

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"They didn't know it was me, you know," I muttered to Gerard, securing the bandage around my arm with a knot. Every part of my body ached and stung with post-battle exhaustion, and now both of my arms were out of action. "They didn't know I was the kid they were looking for."

Gerard glanced up from his rum. "Y'what?" he slurred.

"You didn't need to be so fucking defensive," I said, my voice sharp with irritation. "We could have saved ourselves the trouble of that whole preposterously extravagant escape, and–" I waved my bandaged arm emphatically– "I could have avoided almost having my arteries sliced open by a deluded maniac."

Gerard made an unintelligible sound, and slumped back further against the barrels. We were down in the rum stock, and, as to be expected after a fight, Gerard was spectacularly drunk.

"Did you really have to spit at that man?"

Gerard glared at me. "I didn't want them stealing you."

"Why?" I asked exasperatedly. "Why are you so obsessed with claiming me like I'm some sort of object? I'm not a thing to be passed around to whoever's won the latest fight. And I still don't understand what use I'm going to be to the person who allegedly owns me."

Gerard shook his head, a look of discomfort on his face. He hunched his back. "This wasn't about that."

I loosened my clenched fists, but my frown grew deeper. "What was it about, then?" I asked.

A sigh escaped Gerard's mouth, and he took a swig of his rum. "I don't know anymore."

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Ryan didn't speak for days after the Hangmen ordeal. Each time someone made an attempt at communicating with him, he just blanched white and muttered: "They're coming back. They're going to be back soon, and we're all going to be dead."

I began to think that what was wrong with him was more than just an illness or a fever. Gerard soon began to share my concern, on a more internal but much more elevated level.

We didn't speak, of course. That was too uncomfortable; anything we tried to talk about in any situation just resurfaced memories of Hayley's predictions. Instead, we fought. A lot. You can tell a lot about a person from the way they move and fight, from their reflexes and defences.

It was casual fighting, lacking the intention of ripping each other's guts out. Just with the hope of draining some stress, through a little bloodshed and bruising. But I could see Gerard's frustration in the way he hesitated as he moved, and the way his mind always seemed to be elsewhere– presumably wherever Ryan was. Gerard was permanently distracted. It was either that or my combat skills had arbitrarily skyrocketed and all of a sudden, for absolutely no reason, I'd become better than the alleged best fighter in known history.

I hoped it was the latter, but unfortunately, it was the former, and despite Gerard's hopeless concern for Ryan, he failed to step in and take action before absolute catastrophe hit, and his whole world collapsed.