Chapter Text
Tommy sees his chance immediately. It’s either that barrel and this ship or the mines, and he’s going to sail out of this god forsaken city if it’s the last thing he does. He doesn’t really care if it is the last thing he ever does as long as he gets to see everything. He’s smelled the sea as long as he can remember, but he’s never been on a ship, and this one... it’s a catch.
He wants on board.
The crew is loading, and they’re not expecting little rabbits. The hustle and bustle of the docks gives Tommy enough cover, and soon he’s able to sneak into one of the barrels. He’s small, and he’s light. Hopefully they won’t notice.
The barrel smells weird, making him want to sneeze, his nose itching, and there's something powdery under him. He had to take off a sack full of something to fit in, and he hopes it wasn't anything expensive. He's heard stories. He knows how ruthless these men can be, but it's better to die at sea than to rot in the mines.
Someone lifts the barrel, and Tommy nearly knocks his head against it, losing his balance, but he manages to take hold of the sides and steady himself.
He is afraid. He can't even swim. If they throw him overboard he'll drown, but he wants to believe it'll be worth it. Nothing can be worse than what he escaped.
The trip to the ship is bouncy, and it makes him a little dizzy. Then he's put down and left in the ship’s hold with the rest of the cargo. He can hear the sea around him, the not-so-solid feel of it making him excited.
He's on a ship.
Tommy tried to offer his services. He wanted to be a cabin boy or a powder monkey, anything that would take him far away, but nobody was hiring. They already had full crews, and one more mouth to feed wasn't what they were looking for.
He's been starving on the streets of Port Royal for two weeks, and this is his ticket out of hell. His golden opportunity, like Isaac would call it, the moment his luck will finally turn.
Tommy's not stupid. He knows he'll probably end up dead. Pirates don't treat stowaways with gentle hands. But he hopes they won't find him before they are at open sea. He's heard that drowning isn't such a bad way to go if you don't fight it too much, if you just lie back and let go, relax.
It takes forever for anything to happen, and when it's been quiet long enough, Tommy peeks from under the lid. It's dark, and he can't see much, but the coast seems to be clear. He moves the lid out of the way and scrambles out of the barrel. His legs and back are stiff, and he almost falls over. For a few dreadful seconds, he thinks they're going to rush in and kill him because he's made too much noise. He stands absolutely still, waiting, but nothing happens.
The ship smells of tar and hay and dust and the sea. He breathes in deep, keeping his eyes closed for a second. He hopes he can enjoy this a little while longer.
He realizes the barrel was half full of flour, and now he's covered in it, his sweaty skin sucking it all in. Tommy tries to wipe it away, but it just becomes sticky and clumpy, like he's peeling off parts of his skin. He wants to clean himself with a cloth, but that won't be happening anytime in the near future. He's stuck with this stuff.
He's been standing there out in the open for too long. He needs to find a hiding place, preferably somewhere where he can actually see something. Since this is going to be his last trip he's making the most of it.
Tommy hides behind a few of the larger crates and barrels until the ship starts moving, then he gets up and finds his way out.
The sun was already setting when he sneaked into the barrel, and now it's nearly dark. It's weird how everything is so much darker at sea where there are no lanterns to light the way. He moves quickly and quietly - a trick he learned at a young age because surviving depended on it - staying in shadows, listening carefully. He can hear laughter and music, and it's weird even though he's heard about ships that have their own entertainment.
Tommy knows there's someone always watching so he stays low, stays hidden, and then he just stares at the darkness, feels the movement of the sea and the ship, their shallow dance, and lets himself dream.
He's startled wide awake by someone who grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him to his feet. Tommy can't even stand properly, and he's flailing with his arms, letting out a squeaky scared sound.
"What are you?" the man asks, his face so close to Tommy's he can't even tell what the man looks like. He can smell his breath, though, and it's not a nice smell.
"A Tommy?" he says, wincing because his feet aren't touching the ground anymore.
It's early morning, mist still everywhere, and he can't believe anything so peaceful can be disturbed by a person like this.
"A what?" the man asks, and there's a hint of amusement in his voice. "The captain won't like a smart ass."
Who is this guy? The quartermaster? He hopes he hasn't ruined his chances completely. He can do all kinds of things, and maybe if he'd gotten a chance to show them how skillful he is they would've let him stay. Now, he's just a useless rat.
The man carries Tommy over the main deck, then knocks on the door of the captain’s cabin with his free hand. It takes awhile for anything to happen, but then the door opens, and Tommy tilts his head back to see who's the captain of the ship, who's going to decide his destiny.
The captain is tall, dark, and ruthless-looking. There's nothing forgiving about him, and Tommy swallows down his fear. He's going to die a very painful death.
"We have a rat," the man holding Tommy says.
There's a flicker of interest on the captain's face when he looks at Tommy from head to toe (his feet are still not touching the ground), but it's brief and almost like a lie, gone so fast Tommy doubts his eyes. Then the captain turns to look at the man and says, "Call the men on deck. They can have their entertainment."
There are probably sharks in the sea, and monsters, and flesh-eating piranhas. Tommy groans unwillingly.
He is that entertainment, and when the men gather around their captain and the quartermaster (Tommy is pretty sure the enormous black man who hasn't let go of him is in fact the second in command) it's made clear that they want this to hurt.
"What's your name, boy?" the captain asks while someone ties a rope around his ankles.
"Tommy Joe, Sir." He's surprised he can still speak.
"And what's your business here?"
The rope feels harsh against his skin, so harsh he's almost bleeding already because he's trying to wiggle his feet. He'll attract all those sharks.
He looks at the captain, then at his feet, and then the captain again. "I'm an orphan. I have nowhere else to go."
"Why us?"
"Because your ship is beautiful." He's staring at the wide open sea. The ship is moving forward slowly, and he knows what they are going to do to him. The rope is going under the ship, and there’s only one use for it now.
He’s heard stories about keelhauling, of the barnacles attached to the hull, of how people have lost limbs while being dragged under the ship.
Now he regrets his decision to come on board. He could’ve handled a quick death, even a little torture, maybe drowning, too, but this makes him shiver.
Tommy looks at the captain. “I’ve smelled the sea all my life. I just wanted to feel it, too.”
There’s a pause when nothing happens. The wind blows. A distant bird screams. Tommy holds his breath.
“What can you do?” the captain finally asks.
“Read. Write. Cook. Clean. Sew. I can fight, too.” He swallows hard.
“Can you now?” The captain grabs his chin, tilts his head from side to side. “And are you any good in the sack?”
Tommy stares at him, his heart jumping with fear. “I can try,” he says quietly, sounding as scared as he feels. “I’m a quick learner,” he adds, hopeful.
The captain turns to look at his crew. “What’s the price he has to pay to stay?”
He hears words like birching and caning, but cat o’ nine tails gets most of the votes, and he looks around, trying to figure out what that means. The big guy has been holding him up by his waist, but now he puts Tommy down. Someone removes the rope from around his ankles, and then he’s pushed towards one of the three masts. The quartermaster ties his wrists and lifts them up to a hook, his back to the onlookers.
Then they show him what the cat is: a multi-tailed whip. He’s not going to enjoy this, but it’s still better than keelhauling.
There’s even a drum roll, but Tommy can barely hear it because of the blood rushing in his ears. His lips are dry, his shoulders aching already because his feet aren’t touching the ground properly.
He feels someone behind him, and when he looks back it’s the captain. “Do you want the cat?” There’s a hand sliding down his back. “Or the pussy?” The hand squeezes his ass, and he bites his lips to hold in the squeak.
When he doesn’t say anything the captain leans closer, whispering in his ear, “You don’t know what it means?”
He shakes his head. He’s familiar with many types of corporal punishment, but he’s never been introduced to the cat.
“You can be a man, or you can be a boy. Risk the pain and tearing of skin with the nine-tailed whip, or the humiliation of your bare bottom and the lighter slashes of the five-tail.” The captain grabs his hair and tilts his head back. “Which one is it going to be?”
Tommy knows about infections. If he gets one here he’ll most likely die. Besides, he is a boy. “The pussy,” he says.
The captain laughs along with his crew, then pulls Tommy’s pants down. “Then pussy you’ll get.”
It’s the quartermaster who does the whipping, and the five-tail is not gentle either. It’s not tearing off his skin, but it makes him whine after a while even though he tries to stay strong. He’s holding onto the rope, straining his back, trying to prepare himself for each slash, but he can’t. It’s too raw.
The drum roll quiets down, and he hopes it’s over, but the captain just wipes his hair off his sweaty face and gives him a drink of water. He’s wailing now because they’re going to make it last, and he won’t be able to take it.
He bites his arm when the whip hits him again, and then he loses all sense of time because it just won’t stop, and he’s about to pass out. He’s happy he chose to be a boy, though, because he doesn’t even want to know how the cat would feel.
When it’s over he’s left there for a while, and he hovers close to unconsciousness the whole time he’s hanging there. They don’t even pull up his pants.
Then finally an older man with a wooden leg releases him and helps him under the deck to the sleeping quarters of the crew. There’s a hammock for him, and he lies on his stomach, whining low in his throat, trying to be quiet because he doesn’t want to pull anyone’s attention to himself.
“You’ll start working tomorrow,” the old man says, leaving him to his own devices.
Tommy lies still, trying not to think about his backside and how in flames it is. He won’t be sitting for a while. He also feels a little triumphant. He's on a ship, and the crew knows about it, and they didn't throw him overboard. He calls that a success, and Isaac would be so proud of him.
He listens to the sea, listens to the noises the men make above him, and he can't stop the smile. He'll be a pirate. He'll sail all the seas in the world. He's heard about Europe, and he knows about the Spanish. He wants to see everything.
He moves, and his backside reminds him of its existence again. It hurts like hell, and he wonders if he'll get an infection anyway. This is a big ship with a big crew. They should have a surgeon. But it's possible the captain or the quartermaster would let him die anyway. Tommy tilts his head back, then pushes his pants down to see how bad his skin looks. It's red with stripes, but it looks like there's no blood, and he sighs in relief.
His abused skin brings to his mind the captain's words about whether he's any good in the sack, and he quickly pulls his pants back up, blushing furiously. Tommy hopes it was just talk because the little experience he has hasn't been so nice, and he'd prefer getting his first proper experiences with a woman with a big bosom. Maybe someone a little older, someone who knows how to make him feel good.
The idea of the surly captain is not that appealing. Sex with him might be painful and humiliating too.
Tommy tries to sleep, but he can't find a good position in the hammock. He feels small there and a little afraid too because he's left everything he knows behind. He doesn't know any of these people. He doesn't even know their names. He misses Isaac and Mia. He misses the kitchen of the orphanage. He even misses solid ground after a while because he's starting to get seasick.
His skin is sticky with flour and sweat, and his stomach is growling.
It's possible he's never been this miserable in his life.
He gets up because he needs to see where he is, needs the proof. He hasn't been dreaming, and if he can see the sky and the vast emptiness, maybe he won't feel like this anymore.
Tommy sneaks up on the deck, and is surprised by how dark it already is. He must have passed out for a while at some point because time has flown by. Someone grunts at him, and he realizes that it was a word: the galley. Everyone is there, eating.
Tommy looks at the man with questioning eyes, and there's a sparse amount of words to guide him there. He follows the instructions and then the laughter and music guides him the rest of the way.
He's hungry like a wolf, but he's afraid to ask for anything. He hasn't yet done anything to deserve food.
“Come ‘ere, boy,” a man without his front teeth says, patting a place next to him. “We want to see you sit.”
Everyone in the mess laughs, and he’s surprised to see the captain there too, eating and laughing with them. Someone is playing the violin, and there are two people on a makeshift stage, having a heated argument that seems to be faked. Tommy hasn’t seen theater before, but he’s guessing this is it. It’s not very entertaining if anyone asks him.
He hesitates too long, and the man starts to look impatient. “If you want to eat you sit.”
Tommy hurries to the seat, then tries to sit carefully, but the man pulls him down, and Tommy bites his tongue to hold in the cry. That hurt.
The food is some kind of a meat pie, and it’s actually good. Anything would be heavenly right now because the last warm meal he had was maybe three weeks ago. He’s lost count.
“So, tell us something about yourself,” the toothless man says, pouring him a drink.
That surprises him. He wasn’t expecting interest, and he has no idea what he should say. I’m sixteen, I’ve always wanted to be a sailor, and I just escaped the slow death in the mines. That isn’t interesting at all.
“Have you seen a woman’s bosom, boy?” the quartermaster asks, and everyone laughs again, hitting their tin cups against the table.
“No,” he says. “But I’ve been spanked by a pretty lass.”
That earns him a few snorts.
“I’m Tommy Joe, and I’ve never wanted to be anything but a sailor.”
“How old are you?” the quartermaster asks, licking meat juices off his fingers.
“Sixteen, Sir.”
"I'm no Sir, kid. You can call me Monk. I'm the quartermaster, and if you have any problems on board you come to me." Monk stares him down, and he nods, chewing with his mouth closed. "That ratface next to you is Blane, he's the master gunner. The cook who took you below deck is Tylesby, but everyone calls him Ty, and our captain here is Adam. The rest can introduce themselves when you work with them. Welcome aboard."
Tommy swallows, coughing, then quickly says, "Thanks."
The captain sets his drink down, staring at Tommy. "There's eighty-seven of us, and if you stay after the next port we'll be an even number. Prove yourself useful there, and we'll take you with us."
"I will," he says, determined and not caring one bit how cocky he sounds. He's been useful all his life.
"You'll be my cabin boy for now," the captain says. "That doesn't mean I'm the only one who can give you orders. You listen to them, and you do what they say, and we'll be getting along just fine."
Tommy nods. He'd do anything to keep this position now.
"Have you fired a cannon?" Monk asks, and Tommy shakes his head. "Been in a battle? Tied knots? Killed someone? What have you done?"
Desperation burns his lungs. "I've been in bar fights. I'm handy. I'm not new to carpentry either."
A head rises at the next table. "You know how to use tools?" the man with a black beard asks.
"We had to fix things all the time at the orphanage. I can carve things too." He sounds so hopeful it's embarrassing.
"We'll see tomorrow how much you've been lying," Monk says with a finality to his words that indicates the conversation is over.
He's not good at any of those things, but he knows a little bit of everything because he's curious. He can't help it.
The rest of the meal is quiet to Tommy because nobody engages him in conversation, but he doesn't mind. He wants to learn the rules of this ship before he starts initiating any contact. He wants to be aware of the hierarchy, of the relations between the sailors, who's who and who decides about what. Sometimes things aren't what they seem. Like in the orphanage it wasn't the headmaster who ruled the place, but the nun who beat knowledge into their little heads with the fear of hell fire and dreadful revenge. She made sure they learned everything about the good lord. Every single thing. And if they didn't they were sorry.
Tommy had made the mistake of trusting what was common knowledge, who was in charge, and he paid the price for it. Here, he won't make the same mistake. If the captain and the quartermaster share the power then he has to be on both their sides, and if there is someone else with hidden power he has to find a way to get on their good side too.
When the meal is over, the music stops and the actors leave the stage, and everyone starts to move out of the mess hall. Tommy gets up to leave with everyone else, but Adam grabs his elbow. "You're coming with me."
Tommy's heart does frantic little leaps, but he follows Adam without a word. Some of the crew members comment on it, make him feel like a dog on a leash, a slave, and he tries to block his ears from their rude remarks. He knows what's going to happen without them making it obvious.
TBC...