Living on Writer's Block

“Shut up, Wilhelm!” Samuel barked.

They were only a ship’s length from the trees before Samuel moved. He suddenly ordered right rowers to go hard and left to stop stock-still, and he cranked the wheel hard to the left. The ship groaned and  leaned heavily to the side, causing a few of the more poorly-secured items on the deck to slide across. The keel of the ship was nearly out of the water, and sailors were holding on for dear life to whatever was a permanent fixture. Samuel, too found himself slipping; swiftly he drew his cutlass and plunged it into the deck outside his left foot, providing a foothold to brace himself against. Sweat ran down his neck as he fought to hold the wheel in one place. 

“Come on, Osprey, don’t fail me now!” he said between gritted teeth. The ship nearly brushed the sandy bottom before it cleared the point –– but it made the cut. Samuel released the wheel and it spun hard to the right, and the ship righted itself. Sailors all over the ship released white-knuckled grips on various ropes and spars, cursing palely. Samuel’s work was not done; he could not risk letting go even for a second even though his hands were raw and bleeding from gripping the steering wheel’s rough surface so tightly. He kept as close to the side of the point as possible, and felt the sandy bottom grind slightly along the keel. The nose of the ship reached the tip of the point, and Samuel braced himself for another hard struggle against the wheel. The ship eased further along, until it was about a third of the way past the end of the point; then Samuel acted. Gripping the wheel firmly in his bloody hands, grinding his teeth against the pain, he turned hard around the point, praying to Neptune that he wouldn’t ground the ship.The Osprey swung around the point ponderously, listing heavily onto its starboard side. The masts of the ship crashed through the trees overhanging the rocky shores, and broken branches tangled in the rigging. Samuel shouted orders for men to go up and untangle the ropes , and as the ship came all the way around the point, his jaw dropped.

In the middle of the bay, about a mile away, was a huge, pink merchant ship. Four chains ran from the ship into the water, anchoring it in place. It was surrounded by an army of small lifeboats, filled with black-cloaked figures like the ones who had taken Redhawk. Samuel’s face darkened. “There they are,” he growled. The Osprey righted itself, sailing straight towards the huge galleon. Samuel shouted for Wilhelm and sprang away from the wheel. Tugging his sword from the deck beside him, he clattered down the stairs to the main deck and leapt to the side of the ship, holding onto a rope with one hand and standing on the rails, leaning out dangerously over the water, the cutlass in his hand poised and ready.

… .. . .. …

Deep inside the Matron’s ship, Ramona woke up tied to a post with a gag in her mouth. She raised her head groggily, her eyes bleared and half-shut.  Rope creaked around her chest and waist, keeping her tight against the post. Her wrists were tied behind her, stuck immovably between her back and the post; her ankles and knees were also tied. She was thoroughly stuck. She shook her head slowly, trying to clear away the drug’s effects. A voice spoke from the shadows. 

“Hello, Bloodhawk, darling. I heard you tried to escape me.” There was a faint glint of gold from the shadows, and Ramona recognized the Matron’s gold tooth. “Now, what would put such a silly idea like that into your head?” A tall, very fat old woman stepped into the dingy light cast by a single, tiny lantern high above them. She was barely visible at all; the only way Ramona could tell where she was, in her semi-conscious state, was by the loud, strained creaking of the woman’s pointless corset and the poignant scent of her overdone perfume. “Oh that’s right, you have a gag don’t you, my dear?” The Matron giggled. “How silly of me, of course you can’t talk with that thing in your mouth!” She smiled, but in her eyes was a brilliance only maintained by madness. She suddenly stepped forward and roughly pulled the gag out of the girl’s mouth. The former slave felt the rough cloth leave her lips and gave a faint gasp of relief as its foul taste, like old grease, left her tongue. Ramona worked her aching jaw slowly, watching the Matron balefully as she clenched and relaxed her jaw. The Matron smiled smugly and spoke again, her voice sounding like sugar — if that sugar were laced with arsenic. “Now I’m going to ask again — what put an idea like that into your pretty little head?”

Ramona stayed silent, her eyes flickering with a dull blue light. Her streak faded slowly between blood and roses, skyrockets and cherries. The Matron reached out and took her face in one pudgy hand adorned with too many rings. “Come now, Ramona dear, where’s the obedient servant I adored for so long?” She waited a moment, a falsely sweet smile curving her mouth unnaturally; when she received no answer, she suddenly tightened her grip, digging her nails into the girl’s face. “Well?” she screeched.  Ramona still refused to answer, her jaw clenched against the fat woman’s nails, which had been filed to a perfect point and were drawing blood. Raging, the woman drew back her hand and slapped Ramona smartly across the face. The girl grunted softly as the blow fell, snapping her head to the side; after a moment of perfect stillness, her tongue crept out to the corner of her lips, licking away a thin trickle of blood as she slowly turned back to the Matron. The old woman frowned as she saw that Ramona had not been broken, nor was going to reply. “I see I shall have to employ other means of persuasion on you, Bloodhawk,” she said coldly, the sugar gone from her voice, leaving only the arsenic. She turned away and went back into the shadows.

Ramona’s cracked lips opened, and her voice was low and husky as she spoke. “You’re not going to win forever, old woman,” she said. The Matron froze and then turned slowly.

“What did you say, girl?” she said, in a freezing voice.

Ramona stared at her from dead eyes. They flickered with blue flames against a brown background. Her lips remained shut.

“Fine then, you little corpse; you can stay silent forever. Somehow, though, I don’t think you’ll be able to.” The Matron smiled remorselessly and turned back into the shadows, vanishing into the inky black. 

“You’re going to die,” Ramona suddenly said, in the same low voice as before. “We all will. But I’ll make sure to live, just long enough, so I can see the end of your  tyrannical reign!” the girl burst out, flinging the challenge after the horrible hag. She began fighting against the ropes.“You’ll see! I’ll be there, to make sure you can never hurt anyone else ever again!” She fell back, hopeless, knowing deep down she would not survive the tortures the Matron had in store for her. Death was a welcome friend now. From behind the pillar near the door there shuffled a skeletal old man, bald, with red scabs dotting his scalp, and clad in thin grey rags that only  emphasized his deathly appearance. He looked at Ramona out of pale eyes, and an evil grin split his face in half. He unrolled a leather case full of needles. Ramona looked at them, uninterested. She knew she was going to die. What did it matter how much pain there might be? The old man carefully selected a needle and shuffled closer to Ramona. She looked at him quietly, already dead inside. She shut her eyes and let her head fall forward. The old man raised the needle and, very precisely and mechanically, stabbed the tip into her shoulder and pressed the plunger. Ramona, despite her hopelessness, could not hold back the scream.