Sparrow gives him a pause, looks at him steadily, unflinchingly. He does not understand, James can see; in his eyes is the look of a man trying to understand a language he cannot speak- an Englishman in Italy or France. For his part, James cannot decide whether he wants Sparrow to understand him or not. He can see nothing else for it, though, and so, after a sigh, he begins to speak, his voice strangely toneless
'When I was a lad aboard the Empire Gull, there was a man- one of her crew. He was a fine sailor and a fine soldier; a better man you couldn't ask to find. Everybody loved him, even the captain. He was the sort of man who was everyone's friend; he... would tell stories belowdecks, the most outrageous tales to make us all laugh, and on cold nights he could manage to get us all another half-ration of grog. He was friendly to me, a boy still freshly come from England- helped me... find my sea-legs, as it were. But great sailor though he was, he was not suited to military life, and one night, he... disappeared. We had been on shore leave, and were still near port, so it was thought that perhaps he had returned for one last go at a wench he favoured or some such, maybe he'd been molested by brigands, perhaps he'd had too much to drink, and had fallen over the rail. We were disheartened by his loss, but there were plenty of explanations for it, so we were fine. Some months after his disappearence... we were attacked by pirates. The Jade Rebellion was the name of the ship. We boarded her, and as we fought, I heard someone call my name. It was him. I barely recognised him, kitted out in pirate rags, but it was him. He smiled at me, as if I should be glad to see him.'
He paused and swallowed, hard, not looking at Sparrow. 'We won the battle. Every man left alive was hanged, their corpses hung up in the quay as a warning. I never forgave him. He'd been my friend, and because he decided to turn pirate, he was dead, feeding the ravens like any common brigand.'
His fingers twisted on the tabletop, fingernails catching on the rough wood, and he looked up, meeting the eyes of the man across from him. 'That, Sparrow, is why I hate pirates.'
He's never spoken that aloud, never, not even to any of the men he crewed the Empire Gull with. It was meant to be a secret pain, the bitter cup you had to drink from. But now... he doesn't feel light, as one is supposed to feel after the telling of a great secret. No, his burden had not been lifted, but he does feel different somehow, though he cannot describe how. He sees for a moment the line of hanged pirates, swinging in the sea-gale outside port and clenches his fist on the table.
no subject
'When I was a lad aboard the Empire Gull, there was a man- one of her crew. He was a fine sailor and a fine soldier; a better man you couldn't ask to find. Everybody loved him, even the captain. He was the sort of man who was everyone's friend; he... would tell stories belowdecks, the most outrageous tales to make us all laugh, and on cold nights he could manage to get us all another half-ration of grog. He was friendly to me, a boy still freshly come from England- helped me... find my sea-legs, as it were. But great sailor though he was, he was not suited to military life, and one night, he... disappeared. We had been on shore leave, and were still near port, so it was thought that perhaps he had returned for one last go at a wench he favoured or some such, maybe he'd been molested by brigands, perhaps he'd had too much to drink, and had fallen over the rail. We were disheartened by his loss, but there were plenty of explanations for it, so we were fine. Some months after his disappearence... we were attacked by pirates. The Jade Rebellion was the name of the ship. We boarded her, and as we fought, I heard someone call my name. It was him. I barely recognised him, kitted out in pirate rags, but it was him. He smiled at me, as if I should be glad to see him.'
He paused and swallowed, hard, not looking at Sparrow. 'We won the battle. Every man left alive was hanged, their corpses hung up in the quay as a warning. I never forgave him. He'd been my friend, and because he decided to turn pirate, he was dead, feeding the ravens like any common brigand.'
His fingers twisted on the tabletop, fingernails catching on the rough wood, and he looked up, meeting the eyes of the man across from him. 'That, Sparrow, is why I hate pirates.'
He's never spoken that aloud, never, not even to any of the men he crewed the Empire Gull with. It was meant to be a secret pain, the bitter cup you had to drink from. But now... he doesn't feel light, as one is supposed to feel after the telling of a great secret. No, his burden had not been lifted, but he does feel different somehow, though he cannot describe how. He sees for a moment the line of hanged pirates, swinging in the sea-gale outside port and clenches his fist on the table.
'You have your answer. May I have mine?'