A Pirate's Life For Me

Chapter 34 - Imagining

PETER

Peter liked Aunty Olive's ship better.

This boat was big and scary with lots of big and scary people on it. No one talked to him except for the man with the red vest and the little mustache. And when he talked to Peter, it was with a hostile, accented voice and a mean face.

The man wasn't with him now, though. No one was. He could hear footsteps high above him on the deck, accompanied by shouts and cries. He vaguely wondered what was happening, but mostly thought about the scary shadows and darkness surrounding him.

The only light came from a lantern hanging on the coat rack across from him. It illuminated one corner in a weak, yellow light but left the rest of the room dark. 

There were noises, too. Little scufflings and the occasional rustle that sounded like paper being slid across a table cloth. He wondered if there were rats in the room. His mommy said rats were evil.

What about mouses? He wondered. Mouses are cute. Maybe it's a mice. A mice would be nice.

He grinned at the little rhyme he had created. He opened his mouth to say it aloud, but then remembered the piece of cloth in his mouth and sank back into the chair with a stifled sigh.

Not that he had much sinking to do. The rope tied around his torso held fast, the chair unmoving beneath him. 

He remembered what Uncle Brett had said before they took him away. Don't fight, he'd told Peter. Olivia's going to come for us, okay? Just do what they say.

Peter understood, so he let the pirates drag him below deck and tie him to this chair. It was very uncomfortable, but he supposed it was more comfortable than being stabbed in the throat, which the pirates had threatened to do.

He grew impatient, though. Why wasn't Aunty Olive here yet? Had she given up? Had she forgotten about him? Was she leaving him?

He frowned at the thought, wriggling a bit in the seat. Surely she would come soon.

The footsteps grew louder, the shouts more plentiful. Pounding noises like people landing on the deck above him filled the air . . .

Aunty Olive! He thought, perking up. She's gonna save us!

He heard an angry roar from above. All the noise and excitement made him jumpy. To occupy himself, he tried to paint a picture of the scene on deck, using the darkness in front of him as his canvas and thoughts as paint.

He imagined his aunt swinging aboard with her sword in hand, ready to chop all the Cuban pirates into little tiny pieces. The captain of The Encantador growled at her, but she stabbed him in the face with a smirk. Peter almost giggled at the thought. But he couldn't, so he didn't.

He knew that wasn't what happened. He knew from the mangled yells traveling down, he knew from the metallic stench wafting through the floorboards, he knew from the terribly familiar scream of agony. But he didn't want to know, so he kept imagining.

She fought two pirate's at once, hitting one in the stomach with the hilt of her sword, sending him to the ground --that scream again -- she stabbed the other in the back with her dagger -- the smell grew stronger -- Hooting in victory, she --

One last scream jolted him out of his thoughts for good.

He listened to the sound, his eyes clouding with tears. She'd come for him. Aunty Olive was here.

Peter burst into tears.