Untitled by Unknown Author

sourly.

       "Gentlemen," said Madrigal, ignoring the comment. "Lucky Pete." The figure in the door frame didn't move. Eventually, they saw in the dim light that Lucky Pete was facing the wrong way. Madrigal tapped him on the shoulder. Lucky Pete turned, said "Mernarwn," and limped into the room.

       As he moved to the light, the crew leaned back in consternation. Lucky Pete's face was a patchwork of scars from his neck to his brow. Both his eyes were missing—stretched skin, both marked with X-shaped scars, covered the empty sockets. His ears had gone, too, and most of his nose and half of his lips. As he limped across the room, the rat-tap-tap announced the presence of a wooden stump to replace the missing leg, while one hand was likewise a wooden replacement. His other hand was still attached, but was missing two fingers.

       The figure continued to walk until it crashed into the table seconds before Madrigal could stop him. Despite being blind, Lucky Pete looked around him before saying "Wharnf?" His audience saw in increasing horror that his tongue had also gone.

       "What in the name of God happened to him?" demanded Hartwell.

       "Lucky Pete was on a ship which foundered off the coast of Bajea, the infamous Cannibal Island," said Madrigal. "The crew were brained and eaten. Lucky Pete was kept alive for the sadistic pleasure of the cannibals, who gouged out his eyes, lopped off his ears, took off his nose and mouth, deprived him of his fingers one by one, and then his whole hand and two fingers from the other hand, sliced off his nipples, broke his ribs and then broke and chopped off his leg."

       "Why in the name of sanity is he called Lucky Pete?" asked Hartwell incredulously.

       "He was rescued before the cannibals could make a start at mutilating his… tender areas," said Madrigal.

       Lucky Pete nodded vigorously.

       "And what was your role as a sailor?" asked Hartwell.

       "Euonrol noonies," replied Lucky Pete.

       "Pardon?"

       "He said „general duties'," translated Mechatronic.

       "You can understand the poor devil?" asked Fitch.

       "Of course. Can't you?" asked Mechatronic.

       "Not a word."

       "He still has the root of his tongue, the rest is interpretation and extrapolation," said Mechatronic.

       "I think we are done here," said Hartwell. "Madrigal, did I or did I not ask you to find a crew?"
       "You did, Captain Hartwell."

       "Yet, at best, you seem to have found only parts of a crew."

       "They are all willing."

       "By which I presume you mean they are willing to escape this hellhole, by any means possible?"

       "I'd say desperate to escape this hellhole," corrected Madrigal, a look of slight embarrassment on his face.

       "I see. And you think these men and one girl are just right for the job?"

       "Beggars can't be choosers, Captain. In life, you never know what is going to come through the door." As Madrigal spoke, the door burst open and a man appeared, holding Ruby roughly in one hand and pressing a knife to her throat with the other.

       "Captain Hartwell!" spat the man. "I knew you'd come here, so I lay in readiness, waiting to spring the trap. You are under arrest and your next appointment is with the gallows." The figure moved into the room and they saw in the flickering candlelight the weasel features of Fleetwood.

hapterourteen

    he candlelight glinted off the evil blade pressed to Ruby's throat, as well as the glint of evil in Fleetwood's eyes. It also illuminated the captain's uniform he was wearing, as well as the hefty men clustered behind him at the door. Most were recognisable as being the crew from the Pr ide of Plymouth who had allied themselves with the authority of Johnson rather than the cause of Hartwell.

       "I see you have been promoted, Mister Fleetwood," said Hartwell evenly. "Congratulations. I never knew rats could rise so high."

       "Admiral Johnson