'Yesss. For land rats, it's minutes, hours, days. Wake up in the morning – work, plow the land, or stitch boots, or whatever it is you do to make a living? Work until evening. Then sleep. Then work again – and so your whole life goes.
But at sea, among real men, it's a different order, brother. Every hour – two flasks, every eight flasks – a shift. So right now, it's struck eight, which means the day is over, well, for the land fleas.
But for sailors – one shift here, another one out!' This is what Odnery would think, stepping onto his watch, if the pirate's half-empty head were more often visited by thoughts. But today – they didn't come... So the killer just walked past the sailors and climbed up to the bridge.
The pirates were sprawled out on the deck, covered with salted hides. Snoring echoed across the ship. The captain had extinguished his lantern in the cabin, cracked the door, spat loudly onto the deck, and lay down to sleep. Tom climbed up the mast and settled into the crow's nest, Odnery took his place at the helm, and his friend Hugo stood nearby on the bridge.
"I've got a bad feeling, brother," Hugo said anxiously. "A bad premonition. Trouble's coming."
"What for?" Odnery disagreed. He scratched himself, then reached under his clothes, flicking off fleas. "The raid went fine, Poseidon curse me. What will you do with your share? Like always, waste it on whores?"
"Wait a second," Hugo muttered. "I'm telling you, I've got a bad feeling. You know, I can smell trouble from a hundred miles away."
Odnery sighed.
"Can't understand you. Always grumbling for no reason. The loot's good, everything went smoothly. And the sea's calm."
The helmsman superstitiously spat over his shoulder.
"We'll be in port by morning. We're close. We'll drink, eat like humans, not this damn salted pork. My stomach's already swelling, can't even look at it."
Odnery's stomach growled, as if confirming his words.
"We're not getting ashore, brother," Hugo threw a worried glance at the hold's hatch. "We've got a bad man on board."
"And are we good people?" Odnery laughed. "Did you see how I took out that soldier? He almost split in half."
"I saw," Hugo was silent. "Still, we should've thrown him overboard. Maybe he would have drowned."
"Stop with that," Odnery said irritably. "Okay, he's strong, okay, big. But no courage! He let himself get shackled, didn't say a word in protest. You could tell right away, a cowardly land rat."
"No," Hugo shook his head. "He was too calm. People don't act like that, oh no! And the way he looked! I got chills. His gaze was like a snake's."
Hugo shuddered with disgust and fear.
"You know, there are some bastards who don't hiss, don't warn you," he continued. "They stay quiet, and when you get close – they strike. And that's it – the end. And those feathers. We shouldn't have laughed about it. Maybe he's a monster? Maybe the old days are back when monsters ate humans?"
"Monsters?!" Odnery waved him off. "All monsters are brainless women. They've got one thing on their mind, and you know what they eat – the white stuff."
The helmsman laughed at his own joke, but it sounded unnatural and forced. They fell silent. Odnery didn't want to admit it, but his friend's fear had passed to him. He kept glancing nervously at the hatch.
"Hugo's right," Odnery felt it with animal instinct, available only to the most notorious scoundrels, those raised among other notorious scoundrels. "Hugo always had a knack for spotting things. He always knew who to be rude to, who to stick a knife under the ribs, and who to stay away from. That guy – definitely shouldn't have messed with him. Poseidon take him!"
Suddenly, a red light flickered ahead on the course.
"Tom, did you fall asleep up there?" he called to the ship's lookout.
"I see it, I see it! It's the lighthouse of Al-Gorda! We're close to shore!"
"Well, there you go, and you were thinking of bad things," Odnery said cheerfully, turning to Hugo. He felt a sense of relief as the fear was replaced with pleasant thoughts of wine and whores. "In an hour, we'll be anchored, and by dawn, we'll be spending our loot!"
But the pirate's dreams were not meant to come true.
The man in the hold sniffed the air. Like a wild beast, he loudly inhaled the air leaking through the gap in the ceiling. From afar, the scent of fish, seaweed, and coastal stones reached him.
Land.
The man smirked cruelly and spread his arms. With a pitiful crack, the chain snapped. Grabbing the spike on his left wrist, the man squeezed it between his fingers and easily pulled it out of the socket. He did the same with his right hand. The heavy chains fell to the floor with a clank.
"Oh, you were right, captain," Amon said with malicious cheer, looking at the ceiling. "The sea really will turn red!"