I mince toward him on the high heels. When I reach the door, he takes my arm and leads me out on deck.
After the first rush of blinding morning light, I blink, shielding my eyes, and I see that the pirates are already assembled. Several of them stand naked with their bound hands stretched above their heads, the ropes fastened to the crossbeam of the mainmast. Captain Neelan himself is nude, tied to the mainmast like I was tied to the foremast last night. Gorm and Tir lie naked on deck as well. It’s odd and sickening to see them helpless like this, with their parts hanging soft and exposed. I suppose it’s justice, but so far I’m not enjoying it.
“Gents, I’m here to announce my claim on this woman.” Locke’s voice booms with command and power. “She’s to be my bedmate, well-paid and under my protection. Not a prisoner, and therefore exempt from the law about female captives, savvy? No one is to touch her but me.”
“Aye, Captain,” the men shout. There’s an appreciative whistle from someone, and several murmurs that I thankfully can’t decipher.
“And now,” says Locke. “As the Pirate King, you all know that I allow my captains freedom to do as they like. They have access to the freshest information, the most luscious cargo, the best accommodations at every port that’s friendly to such as we, and even some that aren’t. Every man jack of you knows you’ll always have a home and work in Ravensbeck, for as long as the sea is salt. We are a merry fellowship, a hearty nation of buccaneers, a glorious brotherhood. Aye?”
“Aye!” roar the men.
“Lads, in return for these graces and protections I have a few laws—only a few, such as are intended to keep us true of heart, though pirates we be. When we take a ship, we leave the women adrift on the bosom of Mother Ocean. To the men who surrender, we offer a place in our company. We do not molest unwilling bodies, whether they be man, woman, or other. We never betray the location of Ravensbeck, or the names of our brothers under the Crowned Skull.”
A shout of assent rises from the gathered crewmen, but it wavers a little. The men are nervous. Most of them participated in the killing of the merchant sailors and soldiers who surrendered yesterday.
“I’ve a mind to pardon those who aided in the killing of the crew of theLady Marcella,” says Locke, and a whispered rush of relief slithers through the crowd. “And I’m also minded to excuse the sailors of theWending Willow, who kept quiet about the secret our cabin boy Nick has been keeping. But I cannot pardon the captain who led you to murder men who had surrendered. Nor can I excuse those of you who were all too eager to take your pleasure on a woman without her word of assent.”
The naked men bound to the crossbeam look truly terrified. I’m not sure what they’ve heard of the Pirate King’s judgments, but it can’t have been anything good.
“Since I cannot trust your good hearts to guide you,” says Locke, “each of you will bear a new tattoo, one that ensures you cannot take a body without consent. You will speak the vow while I mark you. For their instigation of last night’s events, Gorm and Tir will each receive five lashes, as well as the tattoo. And as for Captain Neelan—I will not take his ship or his command, but he will answer to me for the rest of the voyage and pay twice the usual percentage of his haul into the coffers of the Pirate King’s fleet. What say you, gents? Is the judgment sound?”
“The judgment is sound,” echo the men.
Locke glances aside at Dez, who is huddled near Cook. “Boy, bring a chair for my whore.”
Dez races to obey, and I’m soon ensconced in the chair, much too close to the naked men for my comfort. As Dez is about to scurry away, I grip his wrist.
“I’m the same Nick,” I whisper urgently. He stares at me, alarmed at first—but when I grin at him, a small answering smile emerges and he nods.
“How old are you really?” he whispers.
“Twenty,” I whisper back. “Six years older than you.”
He nods again. “You’re pretty.” And he scuttles back to Cook.
Hiding a smile, I turn back to watch the punishments. And I’m horrified to discover that Locke is prepping the first man for the tattoo—by stretching the pirate’s flaccid penis across the top of a small wooden table. A second pirate holds the flesh in place while Locke prepares his needles and ink.
He’s going to tattoo the cock of every man who showed eagerness at the idea of molesting me.
42
The first pirate in the line whines and cringes as Locke poises the needle over his skin. “Repeat the vow after me,” says Locke, in a calm voice edged with irrefutable command. “I will take no one who is not willing. I will never force myself on a living soul.”
The pirate repeats the words, his voice trembling at first, then shrilling to a scream as Locke begins the tattoo.
“Hold still,” says Locke coolly. “Or this will look even worse than it feels.”
The needle he’s using sparks as it pierces, and a wisp of colored smoke rises, curling around his fingers. Magic is at work here, not just artistry.
When Locke is done, the pirate has a beautifully delineated swordfish on his dick. The man gasps, heaving, sweat shining on his body.
The next pirate in line whimpers and begs for mercy, but Locke doesn’t grant it. “Repeat the vow,” he says, and he marks that pirate with the ribboning shape of an eel. He needs no stencil, no guiding marks—he inks each pirate free-hand, leaving them with beautiful images printed in swollen red flesh—unbreakable vows bonded to their bodies.
It’s a punishment equal in pain to a whipping, I’d guess—though I can’t be sure, since I have never received a tattoo anywhere, much less in such a sensitive place. I’m disgusted and horrified, but I can’t help admiring the terrible justice of it all.
Locke takes the longest time tattooing Gorm, Tir, and Captain Neelan. Their tattoos spiral around their shafts, serpents with jaws open and tongues traveling onto the very head of their dicks. Judging by the screams, the sensitive head is the worst place to receive a tattoo.
“Believe it or not, men have paid me enormous sums to decorate their cocks with my art,” Locke says casually over Captain Neelan’s keening shriek. “You should be grateful.”
