Fic: J2 with pirates!

[daniomalley22]

This fic was written for the following prompt:
Jensen is a fierce pirate captain. When he raids a very wealthy ship, the captain escapes, but Jensen takes the captain's son Jared captive to be his 'cabin boy' but Jared is cripplingly shy and terrified around Jensen, and Jared seems unnervingly familiar with what's 'expected' of Cabin boys, considering he's a captain's son. Then Jensen, discovers scars on Jared's body - whip marks, burns etc. The crew release Jared isn't the son of the captain but his slave/whore and find he was shared round the ship. To Jared's amazement the crew treat him kindly and look after him, becoming friend with him. Jared and Jensen fall in love but then Jared's old 'master' reappears, wanting his 'property' back, but Jensen is determined to keep his love safe
Throw in any kinks you like!
Title: The Extroadinary Tale of Jensen's Heroic Exploits, and other stories.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warnings: Slavery, non-con and abuse (past), dub-con. Schmoop.
Word Count: 19125
Disclaimer: I don't know any of the people who are named here and the events described never happened.
Author's note: So, writing this taught me that I'm not terribly comfortable writing morally ambiguous characters and certain consent issues. Therefore, Jensen is like the Robin Hood of pirates, and there's not much in the way of kink to be found here. Actually, there's not much pr0n here at all. I just couldn't work it in believably with Jared's issues, it didn't feel right. Sorry, hope you enjoy anyway :)

Part 2

Part 3


I am the pirate captain Jensen Ackles, and this is the account of my deeds and my defeat of the vicious privateer, Captain Alistair Peters. It is not, despite what anyone may say, the story of how Captain Ackles turned from a ferocious pirate into a flower smelling lover of puppies or whatever such nonsense. Anyone who says otherwise should be disregarded, and possibly keel-hauled. Chris, are you paying attention?

Some four and twenty years ago, the nations of Turoq and Persage were waging a bitter war. Persage had founded a colony on the other side of the Worrin Ocean, and was shipping back any number of exotic and valuable items. It was a grand time to be a pirate. Now, the dispute originated from the claim that the Persagian colony was on land which rightfully belonged to Turoq. Turoq hired privateers to chase down the Persagian trade ships and take the goods which, they argued, were Turoqian property to begin with.

One such privateer was Captain Alistair Peters. His name was infamous at that time, and still to this day in the right circles. He has become a synonym for ruthless, gleeful cruelty. Now, a pirate, as any wise man should know, does best to act with discretion, and to take life only when he must. A pirate with a reputation for bloodlust will have a fight on his hands with every raid, and had best be prepared to replace his crew often. There was no sense behind Peters acting in such a manner, save that he took pleasure in cruelty. He would cold-bloodedly murder every sailor on every ship he boarded, even those who surrendered. Sometimes he would cast survivors adrift in their lifeboats, lighting fire to the captured ship so the sailors would have no hope of reaching land. Merchant sailors would abandon their cargo if he gave chase to them, in the hopes that he would lose interest, but he never did, and the popular theory, then as now, was that he took more pleasure from blood than from gold.

Worse than that, however, Peters would not confine his attacks to seagoing vessels, but would attack the smallest and most vulnerable coastal settlements. He would sail in under cover of darkness, and he and his men would murder the villagers who resisted, rape the women and steal the children away to sell as slaves.

Peters gained considerable enmity among many folk, not surprisingly. Nothing much was done about him, however. The Turoqian government did nothing to check him as long as he confined his violence to Persagian targets. The Persagian government took little interest because Peters concentrated on the poorest and weakest targets, not the wealthy traders who could afford protection.

Now, I am a pirate, and I hail from neither Turoq nor Persage. A pirate has allegiance only to himself, his crew and his ship. Nevertheless, it sat ill with me to know there was a man freely committing such wickedness. So when, one mild spring day, I spied a ship in the distance and perceived it to be Peters’ ship, the Cat’s Eye, I counted myself fortunate for a chance to rid the seas of such a blight.

We gave chase and presently drew alongside. I spoke with my crew and gave them my orders. We were not intending to take prisoners; this sat poorly with some of my crew. It’s not our way, as I explained, but they understood the need. Every man aboard that ship, we were sure, had committed countless unspeakable crimes, and deserved the gallows at the very least.

It was a fierce battle, for Peters and his men knew they were fighting for their lives, and they fought back hard. I will record here the names of the good, brave men who fell that day: George Redbeard, who slew six men and was felled by a lucky shot from a coward’s pistol. Simon Houndsquall, who was the first to set foot on the Cat’s Eye and was overwhelmed by three men. And James Hawkins. It was his first raid, and his last, and that is how it goes for many a pirate who never lives to split the booty.

These losses caused us grief, indeed, but the battle was won more easily than we expected. Finding ourselves without opposition, we spread out to inspect the vessel. We soon enough found that two lifeboats had been taken, and were being rowed from the ship in two opposing directions. My crew looked to me to decide which one to chase, knowing that we had but one chance in two of catching Peters and the other boat would escape. I directed my men to follow the boat which favoured our pursuit due to the wind, and not so long after we caught up to it.

Peters was not aboard it, of course. The three men who were drew their guns and made ready to fire upon us, but we were faster. We left the bodies for the sharks, and to anyone who is of a mind to criticise this decision, let me say that Peters never showed half so much mercy to anyone over whom he had power.

We made our way back to the Cat’s Eye and set about exploring it in earnest. We took the cargo aboard the Black Gazelle and stripped the ship of any part which might come in useful or improve my own vessel.

It was I who chose to enter Peters’ cabin and see if he had left any notes or correspondence by which I might gain information about him. I took the room at first to be empty; the light was dim and the cabin was in disarray, as though its occupants had left in haste. I rummaged through the papers and documents on the desk, finding little of interest. With time, my eyes grew accustomed to the low light and I spied a huddled form on the floor. Reacting with suspicion, I raised my pistol and commanded the figure to stand.

It is difficult, but I shall try to describe Jared as he appeared to me then. He was young. He looked around sixteen, which I later learned to be his correct age. He was tall; about as tall as myself, and I am of a respectable height. He was dressed in the same sorts of clothes that many sailors wear. His hair was too long to be tidy. He was too thin; even then I noticed it, though I didn’t think anything of it. Many men his age can appear gaunt as they grow too quickly to fill out the new clothes they constantly need. I did, and I didn’t have to live on sailor’s rations back then.

Beyond that, he was clearly terrified. Head down, he held his hands open to show they were empty and I could see them trembling. Again, I could have noticed that, wondered at it, but I didn’t. Pirates can be fearsome enough at the best of times, and we had already killed most of the rest of the crew. I thought to myself, ‘That’s right! Now do you wish you had shown an ounce of mercy once in your worthless life, that we might show the same favour to you?’

For all that I missed several clues, I was noticing other things, and added them up to a laughably false conclusion. The boy was in the captain’s cabin, hiding. The average deckhand wouldn’t dare contemplate such a thing, and this man was too young to be anything else. He had dark hair and dark eyes to match the broad descriptions I’d heard of Peters himself, and I knew the man had a son. I couldn’t remember his name. I thought it was John or Jacob or some other such thing. I had thought he was older than the boy in front of me, but simply supposed I had been mistaken. I came to the victorious and preposterous conclusion that the young man in front of me was Mr Peters Junior.

Brimming with excitement, I motioned the boy out of the door with my pistol, commanding him at the same time with a brusque, “Out.” I herded him out onto the deck at gunpoint, and towards the first man I saw, which happened to be Mike.

“Take this,” I said, giving the kid a shove in Mike’s direction, “and put him in the brig.”

“The brig?” repeated Mike, a hesitation in his voice revealing that there would be some problem with this arrangement. I looked back at him and raised my eyebrows impatiently. “If we put him in the brig, where will we put the rum?”

This question likely tells you all you need to know about Michael Rosenbaum.

“The rum? Well, how much is there?”

“Well,” began Mike, “We had two barrels, but a week ago we docked at Port Neptune, and so Chad and I, we thought we’d better get another. Just in case. And then Tom traded those wool bales for another two barrels, because he thinks we’ll be able to trade them in Doubloon for a better price, and also, Sophia’s been keeping a few skins of wine down there. She says it’s more secure in there, but I think...”

“Mike!” I barked, when it became clear that he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “I don’t give a damn what you do. Find somewhere else, or I’ll have it tipped overboard. Didn’t you think that we might need the brig for, you know, locking up prisoners?”

“Well, not really,” said Mike. “We never do. Never really have any prisoners to lock up.” Having said this, he fixed the kid with an intense stare, as though he were a specimen of some previously unknown breed. “Come on,” he said, taking the kid by the shoulder. “It’s to lockup with you.”

With that taken care of, we had concluded all necessary business aboard the Cat’s Eye, and so we set the ship alight and returned to the Gazelle. I was on the bridge, attending to important captainly duties, when I was approached by my first mate, Chris.

“There’s a young man locked up in the brig,” he said to me quietly.

“Ah, yes!” I answered. “The captain’s son. I thought he might be useful.”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “He’s the captain’s son? What’s his name... James? Joseph?”

“I thought it was Jacob? And I’m pretty sure. I found him in the captain’s cabin. The kid looks enough like him.”

Chris looked thoughtful. “If that kid is really Peters’ son...”

“Yeah. We can put a stop to his raiding, we can muzzle the bastard. All we need do is get a message to him to explain the situation.”

“Right,” agreed Chris. “So then, it had nothing to do with the kid’s pretty face?”

At this point I fixed Chris with a steely glare, from which he quailed.

“What do you mean to do with him, then?” asked Chris. “Leave him in the brig? Only, Mike’s put the rum in the crew’s hold, and that’s going to work great up until he and Chad drink the lot in one go.”

I heaved a sigh of exasperation. “I’ll go check on the kid,” I said. “Hey, Tom! Come take the helm.”

Below decks, I found Jared sitting on the floor of the tiny cell, one leg curled under him as he hugged the other to his chest. I barked at him; “You! On your feet!” and he lurched backwards, scrambling to his feet and banging his elbows in the process. I took this to mean that he apprehended my plans and was rightly frightened by them; perhaps I took some pleasure in the opportunity to avenge the many wrongs committed by him and his father. I marched the boy up on deck, and in the light I couldn’t help but notice his pleasing appearance, it is true. But I certainly did not allow this to affect my decisions in any way. Coincidentally, at this point it displeased me that I still did not know the kid’s name, and I sought to correct this.

“What’s your name, boy?” I asked.

The kid mumbled an answer, but it was lost in the breeze and the sound of the waves breaking against the ship. “Speak up!” I ordered sharply.

“It’s J-Jared,” the kid stammered. He spoke just loudly enough to be heard, and his voice shook. I’ll confess I was shamefully pleased, still, that one who had caused such terror in others, as I thought, was now experiencing it himself.

“This way,” I said. I led Jared towards my own cabin, and securely manacled him to one of the supports of the bunk. I ensured that all possible weapons and any other items were safely out of reach, and, when the kid stood there motionless, I said to him “Sit.”

Jared looked around him and at the bunk, and then sat on the floor by its foot. This was when I noticed other details, other clues as I came to think of them. He was barefoot, as most sailors would be. I do most often go barefoot myself when at sea, but I would not expect as much of a wealthy man like Peters, nor would I expect it of his son. This made me think the captain was a man not inclined to nepotism; one who would have his offspring earn their status the same as the rest of the crew. This was supported by the clothing Jared wore, which was plain, even worn, but not ragged. It was no worse than what any sailor in my crew may have worn. I was intrigued that, although the captain seemed to have no penchant for favouritism, Jared had chosen his cabin as a place to hide when the ship was attacked. I put it down to a moment of cowardice on the kid’s part, and thought no more of it.

The boy raised his head after a moment, although he still did not look me in the eye. “What do you want with me?” he asked.

“Thought you’d make me a fine cabin boy,” I said cruelly. Jared ducked his head down again, but didn’t react beyond that, and I wondered if he really understood what I was implying. He didn’t seem to, and I thought him a most singularly inexperienced young man. “You stay here,” I said pointlessly, before marching out of the cabin and away from the kid’s fearful demeanour.

I had a further two hours to stand watch, and as I was going about my duties, Chris found me once more, wanting to know the details of my plans for Jared.

“We’ll need to get a message to Peters somehow,” I said. “You know, explain the situation to him. The next ship or colony he attacks, we’ll take one of his son’s eyes. Then a hand. You get the idea. We can send him the pieces in a box.”

Chris gave my ingenious plan due consideration and then proceeded to point out flaws, as he is wont to do. “The men didn’t like killing Peters’ crew, but they understood it. But this...”

“I know!” I wasn’t thrilled with the plan myself, but it was a desperate time.

“And who’s going to do the chopping?”

“Uh...” I’ll admit to not having thought that far ahead myself. “Well, Misha’s the surgeon...”

“Misha is a borderline lunatic who stole a medical kit on a raid once. I respect him, for sure, but a surgeon he’s not.”

“Well, anyway... it might not even come to that. Peters probably won’t want to risk us hurting his son.”

“Maybe.” Chris looked doubtful. “But I think we should be prepared for him to try to call our bluff. If we want him to take us seriously, we should send one of Jared’s eyes with the first message, just to show we mean it.”

“Uh...” Chris’s suggestion made the whole proposition a lot more immediate and unpleasant. “Well, who says it has to be Jared’s eye anyway? Will he know the difference? We could just...”

“What? Send him one of the spares we have lying around?”

“Uhhh...” I glared at Chris. “I am the captain, you know.”

“Sorry, sir.” Chris grinned, completely unrepentant.

We came to no satisfactory conclusion at that time, and I pondered it as I worked the rest of the watch. I returned to my cabin out of sorts, and found Jared sitting where I had left him; head leaned over to rest on the foot of the bunk, breathing evenly. I watched the kid sleep for a minute or two, before shutting the cabin door with enough force that he stirred. When Jared saw me, he startled a bit and straightened up.

I pondered what to do with him. I deemed it a bad idea to keep him around the cabin while I was there; if I did continue on the course I had planned it was best not to become too familiar with him. I unfastened Jared’s manacles and lead the way out of the cabin, with a brusque order to “Come!” The kid hurried after me. I found Chris up on deck, and walked up to him.

“Chris,” I said, “Find something for Jared to do, will you?”

Chris gave me a look. I responded with a look of my own to indicate that he had best do as ordered; and at least try to show some respect for the post of captain, and, what, did he want to run the ship? So, with that task managed, I returned to my cabin to rest in peace. The time passed quietly, I ate in the mess with the rest of the starboard watch and then we went up on deck to take last dog watch while the others ate. Chris explained that Jared was occupied and I gave it no more thought, ended my watch at eight o’clock and returned to my cabin to sleep.

I woke when I heard persistent knocking at the door. I sat up, disoriented and blinking, and opened the door to see Chris on the other side. “What?” I asked grumpily.

“Jensen,” said Chris. “Thought you should know... Jared...”

“What?” I asked. “What did he do? Where is he?”

“Nothing. And he’s with Misha.”

“Misha!” I exclaimed. “What happened?”

“Well,” said Chris, taking a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure what to do with the kid. I was gonna have him work at mending the ropes, but he was useless at that. No idea. And then I stuck him in the galley, but that only lasted for half an hour before Jim sent him back. Said the kid had burned water and broken three bowls.”

I laughed despite myself. “So?” I asked, wanting Chris to get to the point.

“So, I sent him down to pump the bilges. Figured even he couldn’t screw that up. But I sent Tom to check on him just now, and he found the kid’s hands all bloody and blistered. Misha’s just checking him over, but he’s not going to be much use for anything else for awhile, and I wasn’t sure what you’d want me to do, if I should send him back to your cabin or what.”

I sighed. I didn’t really want the kid back in my cabin again, but there was nowhere else to put him and I didn’t fancy leaving him unsupervised. “Yes, send him back here.”

“Okay.” Chris hesitated at the door. “Jensen, don’t you think there’s something a bit off about him?” he asked eventually.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s dressed like a deckhand, but his hands are soft. They look like he’s never done a hard day’s work in his life, until today. His feet, too.”

“Well,” I speculated. “Maybe he’s just a shirker. He probably got away with it, being the captain’s son.”

“Maybe,” said Chris dubiously. “I don’t think so. He’s been working the pumps all day, and he didn’t complain, even when Tom went to check on him. If Tom hadn’t noticed the blood, he’d still be down there.”

I grimaced, but wasn’t convinced. “He’s probably just trying to stay on our good side. Probably knew better than to try any excuses with me.”

Chris laughed out loud at that. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it. Oh, thanks for the laugh, Jensen.”

“I am your captain, you know.”

“Be careful here, Captain,” said Chris seriously. “There’s something not right about this.”

It was close to midnight and I was tired and cantankerous when another knock sounded at my door. It was Chris, who opened the door without waiting for a reply or any regard for privacy, and nudged Jared inside. He left with a significance laden look directed my way. I didn’t know what to make of Chris’s cryptic and vaguely threatening glances, so I focused my attention on Jared. The kid was looking at the ground, standing with his shoulders hunched and his hands dangling at his sides.

“Let me see,” I said. “Your hands,” I clarified when the kid didn’t move.

Jared held his hands out toward me, palms up. I could see that the right one had broken skin in several places; and several more intact blisters. The left hand had a few small blisters, but was less severely injured than the right. Misha had apparently cleaned Jared’s hands but not thought it necessary to bandage them; but I could see why he had sent Jared in to rest. The damage the kid had managed to do in a few hours was impressive.

“You really did a number on them,” I remarked. The kid flinched and pulled his hands away.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. I sat back in the chair, struggling with the conundrum of what to do with Jared now, and idly wondering when he had started calling me sir. He looked at me face for what I thought was the first time, looking up through his shaggy hair, head still tilted down. He licked his lips, in a way that almost seemed coquettish. I wondered for a moment if the kid were trying to seduce me, right up until he knelt in front of me.

“I still have a mouth,” Jared breathed, glancing up at me once more. He ran his fingertips over the buttons of my pants...

This is one of those things I debated writing about when I started making a record of these events. I had told Jared that I wanted him for my cabin boy, but I wasn’t being serious. I’d never been one to force my attentions where they were unwelcome. At least, that’s the idea I had of myself, the standard I held myself to.

Yet I knew Jared wasn’t making advances because of attraction. He was doing it to curry favour, to save his own skin maybe. If he had the slightest inkling what our plans for him were, he must have been desperate to avoid that fate. I was well aware of that. But I justified it to myself.

Oh, I thought, a few hours of hard work and he thinks he’ll have an easier time of it on his knees. Just what I’d expect from the son of a cretin like Peters. He thinks he can manipulate me, I thought, well, let him try. Once he realises I’m not going to treat him any differently, he likely won’t attempt this again anyway.

Jared insists that he has forgiven me, that there was nothing to forgive in the first place, that I am being too harsh with myself. I take this as evidence that we still have much work to do. One day, perhaps, Jared will see me for the wretch that I am, and take his leave. I dread that day, but I almost want it, also. It will be proof that I have succeeded, and that Jared has succeeded in slaying the last of his demons.

So, to return to this sordid part of the tale, I was resolved not to let Jared’s actions influence my treatment of him or my plans for him, no matter how surprisingly skilful he turned out to be. For, although I had, at first, due to Jared’s nervousness, taken him to be inexperienced and innocent in such matters, he soon demonstrated that that was far from being the case. It tickled me to think of Jared getting into such mischief behind his affluent father’s back, and I will claim the not entirely unreasonable excuse that, after such a remarkable experience, my wits were not completely about me. Thus, you see, my first words in the aftermath were “Does your father know what you can do with that mouth?”

Jared’s reaction was immediate. He flinched, spots of bright colour bloomed on his cheeks, he curled in on himself. I felt badly. A minute’s thought had made me realise just what a crass question I had asked. Still, when I thought of the ills Jared and his father had committed, I could not feel any more than token sympathy at the sight of Jared’s discomfort. In hindsight, now, I can guess what Jared was thinking and feeling in that moment, and guilt is my bitter companion.

At the time, I supposed that it was causing Jared some pain that his father had essentially abandoned him, and I did feel badly for my insensitive words. Searching for something to say, I asked Jared, “Are you tired?” Jared didn’t reply, but I figured he must be tired, after working a full eight hours. “Here,” I said, leading him towards the bunk. I chained him with the manacles to the bunk, and encouraged him to sit down. “You can lie down. Get some rest. Oh, have you had anything to eat? Chris said you were in the galley.”

Jared looked at me with huge eyes. “No- I- no,” he stammered. “I... I’m sorry. About the bowl.”

Now, it did cross my mind to make out that the loss of a bowl was a source of great displeasure to me, but Jared appeared so distraught that I simply couldn’t find the will to do so. “It’s not important,” I said. “Sit. I’ll bring you some food.”

I went to the galley, which was empty of course. Jim would have long been in bed by then, and would be up at five to prepare breakfast. I poked around and loaded a plate with biscuit, salted fish, and an orange. I filled a mug with water and carried the meal back to my cabin.

Inside, Jared sat on my bunk. I closed the door and tried to hand him the plate. Jared, for his part, looked at the plate like he’d never seen one before, and made no move to take it. “It’s for eating off,” I said helpfully. “Don’t worry, it’s tin so you can’t break it.” At this, Jared’s hands actually began to shake, so I gave up and set it on the bunk beside him. I felt quite misjudged, for I hadn’t been attempting to intimidate Jared at all, yet he seemed to take my comment to be most threatening. His eyes darted from the plate to his hands, resting on his knees, and back again. After a minute of this, irritation started to churn inside me. “It may not be what you were used to eating on the Cat’s Eye,” I said, “But it’s not poison, for heaven’s sake!”

Jared jumped and reached for the plate, sitting it on his knee. It took him a moment to arrange the plate so he could eat with one hand chained up and the other injured, but he managed it in the end. As he reached over with his left hand, the manacle slid up his wrist, dragging the sleeve of Jared’s shirt up. I noticed a mark on the back of his wrist, dark red and curved at one end. It looked like a burn scar, and I asked Jared, “How did you do that?”

Jared didn’t seem to realise what I was talking about at first, but followed my gaze. “Oh,” he said, biting his lower lip and seeming almost embarrassed. “I was... careless.”

With all the evidence available to me, I was concluding that Jared was clumsy. “You can’t go about being ham-handed forever, Jared,” I said jovially. “Jim said you broke three bowls today.”

Jared’s head flew up, a shocked expression on his face. “It was only one!” he protested loudly. As soon as he’d finished speaking, Jared blanched and began to shake. “I’m sorry,” he said in a near whisper. “Sorry, sorry.”

I was startled by the reaction my joking had produced. “It’s okay, Jared,” I said. “I was only joking around, really.”

Jared didn’t seem to hear me, though. “So sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry.” His breathing had grown shallow and I was worried.

“Jared,” I said, easing closer to sit directly in front of him. “Look at me.”

Eventually, Jared did look up, and after a little bit longer, his eyes focused on me. I grinned crookedly. “It’s fine,” I said soothingly. “Really, I’m not mad or anything. It’s just a stupid bowl. Jim loves to exaggerate. It’s really... you don’t have to...”

Jared seemed a fraction calmer but his voice still shook a bit as he replied. “Shouldn’t have argued.”

“Hell,” I snorted, “A bit longer on this ship and you’ll see people argue with me all the time. Why should you be any different?”

Jared didn’t say anything in reply to that and I congratulated himself on averting the immediate crisis. “I really do have to go on watch,” I said. “You get some rest. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.” Jared looked so disconsolate that I couldn’t help but try to reassure him. I encouraged Jared to lie on the bed, and left the rest of the meal nearby in case he felt like eating more later on.

The ship’s bell rang to signify the start of the watch, and I left the cabin. The weather was mild and the watch passed peacefully, which was nice, but also gave me far too much time to think. What I was thinking was that I had misjudged the Jared situation badly. Chris had warned me, but I hadn’t listened. I was also coming to the conclusion that I wasn’t going to be taking a knife to Jared, or allowing anyone else to do so, anytime soon. Although I had been determined not to, I had developed feelings of affection and protectiveness towards him.

After four hours spent with little to fill them, I returned to my cabin and stepped inside. A sour odour assaulted my nostrils. I lit the lantern and inspected the room. I could see a sticky puddle on the floor by the bed. Jared sat on the edge of the bunk with his head hanging and his hands clutching, white knuckled, at the mattress.

“What happened?” I asked mildly.

Jared actually shuddered when I spoke, and kept shivering as he answered. “I’m sorry. Really, I....” He went on, in a repeat of four hours earlier, apologies tumbling over his lips as he seemed to become more and more distraught.

“You got sick?” I asked. “Did you get seasick? I don’t... I’d have thought you’d have your sea legs by now.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Jared. “I made a mess on your floor. And I wasted your food. Sorry. I was going to clean it up, but I didn’t have anything... I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said, putting aside my confusion in the face of Jared’s obvious distress. “Easy enough to clean up, I’ll just get...” I moved around the cabin looking for a cloth, only half aware that Jared was doing something over by the bunk. I found a suitable rag and turned back towards the bunk. Jared was pulling at the hem of his shirt with his free hand, and had it up to his shoulders. I opened my mouth to say something, like “No need to use your shirt, I’ve got a rag right here,” but instead I just stood there like a fool, because Jared had turned, and I could see the mess of scars and welts that covered his back from his shoulders to the waist of his pants.

I think this account will make me appear to be a fool. There was a minute where I stood, astonished that Captain Peters would subject his own son to such harsh treatment, and wondering what on earth Jared could have done to warrant it. This passed quickly, as I pieced the things I knew together. I couldn’t imagine Jared doing anything to provoke anger or disapproval. I didn’t know him well, of course, but I had formed that impression strongly, nevertheless. And, once the shock of seeing the scars had passed, I realised I could see Jared’s ribs sticking out above his concave stomach. He wasn’t merely thin, he was downright skeletal. I could see the empty plate, which Jared had evidently cleared and then set aside. No wonder he’d been sick.

Jared stood motionless by the bed, waiting. He turned his head slightly and asked me, “Are you going to punish me now?”

“What?” I said. “No!” I put a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “Sit,” I said firmly, and Jared obeyed instantly. “Be still.” I thought for a moment to figure out what I should ask, and how. “Why were you on the Cat’s Eye?” I asked.

Jared didn’t look up, but I could see his forehead crease slightly. “I was Captain Peters’ cabin boy,” he replied, and I could feel things start to make much more sense.

“I thought he was your father,” I admitted.

“Oh,” said Jared. He didn’t show much reaction to this piece of information. “He’s not?” His voice rose at the end, as though he were asking my permission.

“Yeah,” I said. “I get that.” Now, an internal voice added snidely. “Listen, Jared, maybe this won’t mean much to you, but no-one on this ship is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.” I guiltily contemplated the fact that I had already made Jared do something he didn’t want to do, and wondered how I could expect him to believe me.

Jared just looked confused. “I thought you wanted me to be your cabin boy,” he said.

“Yeah, um. Not, not really, I, uh. I was just trying to scare you.” I hoped for the conversation to soon be over.

“Oh,” said Jared, in a small voice. He didn’t add the words, ‘It worked,’ but I heard them anyway. Jared frowned suddenly. “But then,” he said, “why did you take me?”

Now, I had been hoping to get away without mentioning this part, but it was natural for Jared to ask. “We were going to, um, blackmail your father. Er, that is, Captain Peters. By threatening you.”

“Oh.” Jared looked troubled. “I don’t think that would work.” I had already figured that much out from the scars on the kid’s body. “But,” he suggested, “You could ransom me. Captain Peters might pay some money to get me back. Probably not a lot...”

“I’m not giving you back to him.” I knew that much without even needing to contemplate it. The protective feelings I had begun to develop were now in full bloom, and I was fairly determined that no one should ever cause harm to Jared again.

Jared looked like he was working up the nerve to ask me another question. I imagined he wanted to know what would happen to him now, but at that point I had not the slightest idea what to do next. Jared merely swallowed several times and remained silent, so I decided to let the matter rest. I picked up the empty plate and a thought occurred to me.

“When did you last eat?” I asked.

“Uh...” said Jared. “The day before yesterday? I had some dried meat. And some cheese.”

“Okay.” I decided then that what Jared needed was something to eat. Not a plate of heavy food like I’d given him before. It was not yet two bells into the morning watch, and Jim was probably still asleep. I knew he would be as grumpy as a bear if I roused him early, but I didn’t want to wait for him to get up, so I headed to the crew’s sleeping quarters and found Jim fast asleep.

I was correct, he was in a terrible mood once woken, but I explained what I wanted and he got to work preparing it, albeit with plenty of sour remarks. Shortly afterwards, I left the galley with a small bowl of watery porridge.

In the cabin, I removed the manacles so Jared could eat more easily. Nevertheless, it took some coaxing to persuade him to do so. He looked almost scared at the sight of more food. When, two thirds of the way through, Jared started to eat more slowly, I asked if he’d had enough, and he nodded. I took the bowl away.

“You got sick before from eating too much in one go,” I explained. “You need to eat just a little bit, but more often. I’ll get some more in an hour or so. Now, move over.”

Jared looked alarmed, but I gestured and he shuffled to the other side of the bunk. I laid down on the edge and pulled the blankets over both of us. I was tired and wanted to get what sleep I could before going back on watch. I lay on my side, waiting, and wasn’t surprised when Jared’s fingers gently touched my hip. I clasped his hand gently in my own and pushed it back towards him. “Just sleep, Jared,” I said.