章 63: Keelhauled
Serenica was standing in a dimly lit corridor. There were mirrors on the walls. Everywhere she looked there was a grotesque excuse of a reflection.
She turned her eyes towards the floor as quickly as she could.
She knew she was in a dream. Somehow that information didn't help her pounding heart or her sweaty hands.
In the darkness, the forms of the strange reflections moved even as she stood still.
Her throat still felt tight.
She thought someone was walking closer to her, but she barely could lift her eyes from the floor. The carpet was luxurious. It was purple and deep blue in color.
Those were the colors of the Dreamer.
"Spying on me comes with consequences," the prince said.
He had to be standing very close to her.
Serenica did not lift her gaze.
"I thought this matter was settled," she said.
"You thought so. I thought it wasn't," the Dreamer said, finally appearing close enough to her that she could see his feet. He was wearing black leather boots. Those boots became the sole point of focus in Serenica's vision. She didn't move her eyes from them.
"I am sorry," she said. "Can you get off me? You're making this harder than it needs to be. You'll chase me, and that can be all."
"Look at me," the prince commanded.
Serenica looked at his bright eyes. The pupils were dilated, as if in the throes of a sickness, but he seemed perfectly lucid otherwise, the regal curve between his lips a bit open, as if mirroring Serenica's basic expression.
"You have been on my mind," he said. "You terrify me."
"The feeling is mutual," Serenica responded, but at the end of the last word she felt the syllables get stuck in her mouth. There was something in her throat, a mass that was neither solid or liquid, and it prevented her from breathing and voicing her helplessness.
The realization arrived quickly into the eyes of the Dreamer. He grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her.
"Wake up! You're choking!"
Serenica couldn't jerk herself awake, no matter how hard she tried.
The prince raised his hand. It glowed in the corridor, a pale extremity with nimble fingers. He slapped her on her cheek. Hard.
Serenica convulsed in the bed next to Myorka, barely managing to bend over and direct her vomit into the chamberpot.
"That was unexpected," the bookkeeper commented, sounding quite sleepy.
"It was not," Spade said. "You know how she is. Easily nauseous from substances, yet gazes into horrible gaping wounds without outwardly flinching."
Serenica apologized and wiped her mouth.
The atmosphere on the deck was grim. John had been tied up for the duration of the night, and Seppei had bled out without anything to relieve his pain and anxiety. Everyone wanted to get rid of every morsel of mutinous thoughts, but letting go of men they once called brothers was not easy.
"It ain't right, the way their minds moved and turned," Heike said solemnly. "Are you all right, healer?"
"I am," Serenica said as she watched the keelhauling ropes and the way Gadfly tied them around John.
"Is the decision truly and completely unanimous?" the captain asked his crew.
The sun had crawled over the sacred line of the horizon, spewing onto the ship the last rays of light the mutineer would ever see.
"Aye, it is," John said.
Everyone turned their heads.
Serenica's heart sank. This was not good for the mentality of the crew. If they had to kill a regretful man, they would be demotivated and harder to handle.
"It is so that we all agree," John continued, and the spitefulness in his voice began to spark hope in Serenica.
"It is so, not because I want to die, but because you have become servants instead of free men. Look at you! If a man or a woman speaks of witchcraft, you grovel at their feet. You let them commit abominable acts on the ship that oughta be your home. I don't want to live with you people. You're she-dogs, all of you, except maybe for Myorka, who is a woman of reason and will outlive you all."
Serenica felt the equivalent of nasty heartburn inside her chest, painless, though, as it rose in flames of rage against this superstitious oaf of a man.
"Is that it?" she asked. "Is that your final statement? Is your goal to sow distrust? Mutiny, even? How will it help you escape your watery death?"
John apparently thought himself too good to answer.
"Witches have built your cities since the dawn of time," Serenica said and let her gaze touch the face of every person present on the deck. "We have protected your villages. Your wives. Your newborn children. When you needed a quick, discreet spell, we did just that and said nothing. When you were dying, we cleaned your wounds and anointed your foreheads with holy oils. Spade will risk his soul for your gold. If after all that's been given to you by witches you choose to disown us, that's your own bloody problem."
John said nothing. No one said anything until the captain cleared his throat.
"I'm not usually one to speak fondly of myself, but I have done a lot of great things and I'm generally a magnificent person. This can't be said of John here, who is, in fact, a pig. Shall we proceed?"
The Admiral and Gadfly threw John overboard unceremoniously and the violent pulling and jerking on the ropes began.
Serenica didn't know why, but she had expected to hear screams. She felt stupid. Of course there was no screaming under the waves.
Not much time had passed when the strongest of the men pulled John's lifeless corpse back up. The wounds were severe, and it was indeed impossible to say what had killed the man, drowning or bleeding out. His flesh was so full of openings that everything in him was completely red. Water and blood pooled around him.
Serenica felt bad to her very core. Regret and anger copulated within her, throbbing in her head. She said nothing, though.
This was merely the reality for mutineers.
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