Love, Death and Robots. Volumes 2 & 3

Torrin listened to them and tried to keep the sneer from his face. How easily they persuaded themselves that they were justified in trading their lives for the lives of hundreds of islanders. Their culpability made him sick and strangely, he no longer wanted a drink. He gazed out across the sea at the setting sun, then up at crew in the rigging.

“Best we reef for the night and get the lamps lit. We don’t want to end up ploughing another sargassum,” he said.

“We need oil for the lamps,” said Deacon.

Torrin stared at him, and the crewmen gathered around him.

“There’s nothing to fear from it now we have an agreement,” he said. “If you are so frightened then I will get oil for the lamps myself. You can clean up this deck.” He turned from them and entered the crew quarters, heading for the hatch. In here he heard movement and ducked through the door to the bunkroom.

“Ah, Cert. You can help me. They are all too frightened,” he said to the cowering cabin boy. The boy was trusting. Terminally so.

* * *

The mainsail cracked in a morning wind as Torrin and Deacon did a round of the deck, putting out the lanterns.

“As I thought,” said Torrin when they had completed their circuit. “Call them all together.”

Deacon looked askance at him but obeyed. But for Saparin, who remained at the helm, all of the crew gathered round.

“We have done some shameful things,” he said to them. “But this, I think, is a step too far. He was only a boy and who of us as boys would not have leapt at the chance to take the helm?”

They all looked confused.

“Cert?” said Deacon uncertainly.

Torrin smiled lopsidedly. “Yes, the captain’s bum-boy is no longer on this ship. One of you has done murder and will have to pay the price. Now, be about your duties. Melis, the deck needs caulking, and Chantre, that rail needs repairing.”

He walked away from them as they quickly set to their tasks. How good it was that they could so busy themselves. He could see it made them feel better. Returning to the captain’s cabin, he bolted the door and searched the place for the nth time, only this time locating the prize: a large iron key. With the key he opened the captain’s sea chest, and inside, wrapped in oily rags, he found the captain’s four-cylinder revolver, paper cartridges, and bullets made out of hard shell. Smiling to himself he loaded the weapon then hung the holster at his belt. Thus girded, he went back out on deck.

Chantre worked busily at the rail, Melis was at his caulking, and Maril was having another go at removing the bloodstains from the deck. Torrin noted that Deacon had positioned himself behind Saparin at the helm as if deck work was now beneath him. Calis was up in the rigging and Paln was sleeping as his had been the last watch of the night.

Torrin strode over to Melis and inspected the caulking. “You know, Melis, it wasn’t very good of you suggesting I negotiate,” he said.

Melis looked up into the barrel of the Captain’s gun.

Torrin continued, “I’d like to feed you to it alive, but that is not to be.”

Calis yelled from the rigging above. Melis flew at Torrin brandishing the caulking tool. The captain’s gun cracked and Melis jerked back in mid air as if he had reached the end of a tether. He hit the deck with half his head missing and one foot vibrating against the woodwork. There came a scream of rage from above, the sound of running feet from behind Torrin, and the sound of someone coming hand-over-hand down the rigging.

With his hands shaking, Torrin clicked over the lever that cleared the chamber he had just used. He turned the cylinder to line up the next cartridge and pulled back the hammer.

“Murderer!” Calis screamed as his bare feet hit the deck and he threw himself at Torrin.

Torrin shot him in the stomach, watched him stagger back then go down on his knees, then he concentrated on getting the next cartridge lined up while crew approached him from every side.

“What have you done?” said Deacon.

“Two brothers, two murderers. I saw them throw Cert over the side last night during Calis’s watch.” As Torrin spoke he kept the captain’s gun well visible.

“Liar,” managed Calis, before bowing over and clutching his guts ever tighter.

“What proof do you have?” asked Deacon.

Torrin pulled a heavy belaying pin from its holder on the rail, and stepped up to Deacon so that their noses were only inches apart. “What proof do I need, Deacon? I saw it, and I am in charge of this ship, or do you want to renegotiate with our friend below?”

Deacon went pale. “I was only asking…”

Torrin thrust the belaying pin against Deacon’s stomach. “Now let’s get this done and get on with our work.”

Deacon reluctantly clasped the belaying pin. Torrin stepped back out of his way and gestured towards Calis. After a hesitation, Deacon stepped over to Calis, who squinted up at him.

“I’m sorry,” said Deacon.

“You’re sorry?” spat Calis.

Deacon nodded once then smashed Calis’s skull.