Chapter Fourteen: Depths of Cruelty

Island of Prid, Mirratroy

Deep within the overgrowth of the jungles of Prid, a small shack sat in the shade of coconut trees, nearly invisible in the vegetation that surrounded it. Inside its thin wooden walls the screams of a man could be heard, between the noises of a whip as his bare skin was flogged in the sickening, sticky, peeling sound of bloody flesh being torn away. Benioff hung from the ceiling, rusted, iron chains digging into his ankles as he dangled upside down, much like butchered meat. The Blade performing the torturing, a sickly, skinny man with sunken shadowy eyes, gave him an apathetic poke with the handle of his nine tails.

“I knows you knows somethin, spills it, before I spills you, I gots lots mo than whips for dat pretty hide o yers.” Benioff gasped, struggling to find breath, doing his best to think through all the pain.

“I told you… I’m nobody… I swears, I don’t know nothin!” The sickly man grabbed Benioff by the face, peering into him with those dead eyes.

“No, I don’t be believin that, yer a liar, all you coward Terrors be liars.” He let go of his face, circling with the whip, like a shark circling for a taste of blood. “But that’s no matter, it’s my job to peel back them layers of falses, and find the… TRUTH!”

The whip struck again, Benioff howling in pain, begging, pleading, screaming, spouting sobbing gibberish in between the vicious strikes that tore his flesh with callous brutality.

Captain Kreek sat rather casually, with his feet up on an old, dusty table, his back turned away from the scene of cruelty behind him. The sounds of torture were all too familiar to him, the screams and sickening sounds music to his ears. He sat there, unconcerned, cutting pieces off of an apple and eating them from the blade of his knife. Tom stood in the nearby corner, watching the scene with blunt disinterest, half asleep as he scratched his massive belly, his hand playing on the hilt of his dagger. Kreek looked at him, offering an apple slice, shrugging when it was refused and promptly eating it himself. The whip struck once more, and Benioff released the shrill, agonizing yowl of a dying animal, then went still, limp as a corpse as he swayed slowly, back, and forth. Kreek paused mid apple slice, looking over his shoulder at the sickly man who circled the sack of hanging meat.

“He’s not dead, is he?” Said Kreek, his voice lacking in care or concern. The thin, gremlin like man gave Benioff a hard poke, causing him to sway back and forth, but did not receive any further reaction. He held a knife up to bloody man’s nose, bringing it back to see the fog on the blade. The sadistic cur chuckled, tickled with the knowledge his plaything was still alive.

“He’s still breathin, that he is, cap’n. Spineless wretch is just passed out is all. Don’t you worry none, he wakes up, I got me knives right he-”. Kreek waved his hand dismissively.

“That will be quite enough, Rictoff, you may go.” Rictoff looked at Kreek with disbelief and silent fury, not wanting to leave his victim. Eyes longingly latched onto the bloody meat that swung ever so gently, back, and forth, his hands itching to get a hold of his knives, to peel back and cut away the flesh. He looked back at Kreek.

“Cap’n, he still hasn’t talked, you need me to keep workin on him.” Kreek put his feet down, turning around to face Rictoff. He sat there, arms folded over the top of the chair, resting his chin on them as he stared down the back talking cockroach.

“You’ve been working on this man for the better part of the day, we keep going like this and he’s liable to die before we get the information we need.” Kreek stood, stretching, and walked over to Rictoff, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We’re doing things my way now. Now, pack up your…” He looked at the cheap, rusted things on the table next to Rictoff, his nose crinkling. “knives, and leave Tom and I to our work.” Kreek slid a couple of brits into the man’s vest pocket, patting it before turning away, the conversation finished. Rictoff was about to open his mouth again, but then he looked at Tom, the scarred man’s hands just itching for an excuse to beat him bloody and leave him gutted in the jungle underbrush. He grumbled under his breath, but gathered his things and left without another spoken word, much to his own personal wellbeing.

…

The world was a mottled, incoherent haze of lights and sounds, everything blurred and mixed as Benioff slowly regained consciousness. Every part of him hurt, as though his entire body had been violently torn apart and put back together wrongly. He thought he heard a voice, but he could not make out what it was saying, he just wanted to rest some more… Water struck him in the face, cold as the bitter depths of the sea, drenching him. Benioff looked around wildly, suddenly alert, and shivering. A big man with a bulbous nose stood holding a bucket, a pale man standing next to him, smiling.

“Ah, thank you Tom, good work.” Said the pale man… Wait… He remembered these men… Who were they… Benioff suddenly tensed up again as he realized who had him hanging by cutting chains in an isolated cabin in the jungle.

“C-cap’n K-kreek!” He choked. Kreek grinned deeply satisfied with the fear his very name could bring. He walked up, peering into Benioff’s bloody and bruised face.

“I must say, I’m rather glad you’ve finally come back to us, Tom is an effective worker, but unfortunately droll for conversation.” Kreek looked at Tom. “But, do not be mistaken, I did not ire him for his… Communicative abilities. Isn’t that right, Tom?” To this, Tom just grunted, setting the bucket down hard on the floor. Benioff looked at those hands, bigger than hams, and tried not to think about what they could do to him. Kreek snapped his fingers in front of his face, regaining his attention, however limited it was with his head buzzing the way it was. And what was that smell? “Our previous attempt to get information out of you was… less effective than I would’ve preferred. Ricktoff’s…” He made a face at the name. “methods were too simple, crass, and I had to send him on his way before the dullard killed you like an idiot.”

The smell was starting to make his head spin, making it even hard to think. Benioff looked around, sniffing sharply as he tried to discern where it was coming from. Kreek smirked, aware of the man’s distress.

“Problem?” He asked coyly, his face smug with hidden knowledge. Benioff could not concentrate on anything else, his eyes continuing to search for the source, his nose irritated by the intense fumes. God, it was like he was dipped in-. His face suddenly went pale. Kreek laughed, clapping his hands together.

“Ah, yes, as you’ve probably already perceived, that wasn’t water my associate doused you with.” He reached back, Tom handing him a candelabra, the flames burning bright as molten wax dripped onto the floor. Kreek brought the fire so close to Benioff that it made even Tom nervous, the big man shifting uncomfortably, but not daring to say anything nor move from his place. Kreek did not care, if anything, he liked the excitement. “It’s whale oil”, he said, a spark of psychotic glee in his eyes as he toyed with Benioff, the hanging man struggling in vain to move away as Kreek brought the hot, burning wax back and forth, laughing.

“Y-yer mad! Y-y-yer daft! You’ll s-set this whole p-place aflame!” Kreek did not look at him, his attention focused on the fire.

“Tell me something, anything useful really, and you have my word I won’t light you like the oil soaked rat that you are.” Benioff sputtered, not speaking in coherent sentences. “what was that? I don’t think I caught that. Did you, Tom?” Kreek stepped back, and Tom promptly reached down and grabbed a second bucket, dousing Benioff again, drenching him to his very soul, thick, fish smelling liquid dripping off him and pooling onto the ground. Kreek walked up so fast with the burning candelabra Tom nearly pulled him back out of instinct, but stayed his hand, knowing better than to question the man. It had been a while since he had seen Kreek this excitable, not since the Smiling Devils, and it thrilled him, but also made him uneasy. “Do not mistake my restraint for a lacking in stomach.” Kreek grabbed Benioff by the hair, lifting his head so that he looked at the ceiling, holding the candle over him so that the hot wax fell onto his face, into his eyes. He smiled a wicked smile…and dropped the candelabra, causing an almost inhuman scream from Benioff.

Tom nearly ran into Kreek, running up and catching the candelabra just before it landed on Benioff, his rough hand practically touching the man’s oil sheened face. Tom looked at Kreek with the look that said things were going too far. The big man stamped the candelabra onto the table, and lumbered back to his position. Kreek merely smirked, having completely anticipated Tom’s intervention. He looked back at Benioff, realizing he was still holding the man’s oil soaked hair. He let him go, letting the gibbering wretch swing back, and wiped his hand on a handkerchief retrieved from his vest.

“Are we ready to talk?” He finished running the smooth cloth over his fingers, before throwing the ruined thing into the corner. Benioff, gasped, collecting himself, coming down from the shock. He racked his mind, thinking, thinking of anything that would be useful, something that would save him. Kreek was getting impatient though. “I suppose he really doesn’t know anything…” He looked at the fire, and then at Tom. “Go ahead and torch him.” He stepped back, and Tom picked up the flaming candles, walking up to Benioff, ready to light him.

“WAIT!! Wait wait! I know somethin! I do! I really do! I have somethin!” Tom went back, putting the candelabra down again. Kreek came up, leaning down so he could look Benioff in the eyes, his face lit up with interest.

“Excellent, I knew you were not completely useless.” He chuckled. “Now, tell me, what. Do. You. Know?” Benioff’s heart was beating out of his chest, and he did his best to catch his breath, having been faced with death more times in the past 24 hours than he ever had before.

“I… uh… I knows bout this job Reis be planning…” When Kreek gave him a bored look, eyes dancing over to the flames, he started panicking again. “I mean! It be a big job! Yeah! Real big! Reis says it’ll put Terrors back on top again, yes he does!” Kreek looked at Tom, then back at Benioff, his face skeptical.

“Details?” Benioff squeezed his eyes shut, breathing heavily, struggling to remember what he had heard, the information that would stay the flames. Kreek snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Tick tock.”

“Ok, ok, Reis said somethin about a big job we was goin to be doin some time next month. There be a big shipment, somethin valuable.” Kreek liked the sound of valuable, treasure was treasure, regardless of form.

“What is it? What’s in the shipment? Gold? Silk? Siege machine parts?” Benioff just shook his head, practically crying.

“I-I Don’t know! Reis kept it very hush hush! He wouldn’t tell nobody what it was! Just that it was treasure worth 10 ships!” Kreek’s excitement soared at the thought of such riches. He grabbed Benioff by the shoulders, bringing his face so close to his they were nearly touching.

“Where?” Kreek spoke the word with barely contained restraint, and Tom was certain that if the man did not tell Kreek what he wanted to hear in the next 5 seconds, that he would forget about burning him, but instead, gut the man like an overgrown snapper fish. Benioff saw this in the man’s eyes, and his voice reflected his terror.

“L-l-lithia! It’s in Lithia!” Kreek shoved him away, letting him swing back and forth, and pulled out his knife, holding it out threateningly.

“WHERE!? What port!? Spit it out, or I’ll gut you and burn what’s left!” Benioff was sobbing by this point, terrified beyond reasoning.

“PARSAI!! PARSAI!! THE PORT IS IN PARSAI!!” Kreek looked at Tom, then back at Benioff.

“You’re certain that the port is Parsai?” Benioff could not speak coherent words, his heart pounding out of his chest, and just shook his head up and down rapidly. Kreek chuckled, stowing his blade. “Perfect, see, that wasn’t so hard.” He turned away from Benioff, having gotten everything he wanted from him. “We need to prepare a ship, Tom, I want you to select 4 dozen of our best men. You know who the best killers are, find them, and make sure they’re prepared for the trip.” Benioff relaxed a little, thinking maybe he would be ok.

“So, does this mean I can go?” He asked tentatively. Kreek did not even acknowledge him, seeming to have completely forgotten the man hanging in the center of the room. Kreek began walking to the door, still plotting in his mind, Tom lumbering behind him.

“Make sure the men are ready for violence, they may need to gut a few Terrors to get the job done.” Tom just laughed; a deep, wicked laugh reserved for violent men.

“Aye, it wouldn’t be no fun if they didn’t get to kill a few o em.” Benioff started panicking again, they could not just leave him here!

“Hey! You said if I gave you information, you’d let me go!” Kreek stopped in his tracks, turning to look at the irksome man demanding his attention.

“I said nothing of the sort, rat. I said that I wouldn’t light you on fire.” He looked at Tom. “But I didn’t say anything about him.” His face lost some of its joviality, becoming harder, more serious. “Do it.” Tom turned and kicked over the table next to Benioff, sending the candelabra flying down to the ground, igniting the puddle of oil that had formed on the floor. The fire spread faster than storm winds, quickly approaching the struggling, screaming man that danced on a rope.

“NO!! NO!! NO NO NO NO NO!! FUCK!! YOU BASTARD!! YOU SOULLESS BASTARD!! YOU’LL BURN IN HELL!!” The fire danced in Kreek’s eyes.

“You first.” He spoke quietly, almost to himself. The fire reached Benioff, setting him off like a torch, completely enveloping him. He screamed, an inhuman, shrieking scream that echoed in the mind like the wailings of the lost and the damned, the man thrashing violently, and then going still. Tom put a hand on Kreek’s shoulder.

“We need to go.” Kreek nodded absently; eyes locked on the burning corpse. They turned, and left into the jungle, the fire swiftly engulfing the shack, setting the whole place ablaze, so bright, as if competing with the setting sun. It burned like a beacon, consuming the dry, rotted wood, erasing the structure, yet not spreading to the underbrush, nor to the trees, that held the moisture of the recent rainfall. In less than an hour, the shack was gone, Benioff and everything in it reduced to ash, and not even a whisper of what had happened here would survive to warn the Terrors of their doom.

…

The Sozzled Parrot, Britva

It was well past the first hour when Mary exited the room, shutting the door quietly behind herself as not to waken the man she had been entertaining. He had been quick, drunken, and sloppy, but the men who came to the brothel usually were. After years in the unsavory business, it did not matter much to her anymore, it was just a job. She stepped into the powder room for a brief moment, more a glorified closet than anything else. Mary looked into the cracked mirror at her reflection, taking a second to fix her hair, straightening her dress. She smiled, going over herself. Still pretty. She looked around the powder room, at the cracked mirror and the rotted floorboards, and her eyes fell, suddenly sad.

“Mary! I ain’t payin you to stand! Get out here and start cleanin the bar!” Ms. Gretchen called from the front, taking a drag from her pipe before hacking up a wad of phlegm. Mary hurried to the task, not wanting to anger the vile woman any further.

“Yes ma’am! Right away!” She quickly gathered a mop and some water from the sink, beginning the long, tedious task that was the nightly clean up. A few drunks sat sleeping at tables, a common annoyance around closing time. Usually Mary would gently shake them awake, with a soft voice telling them to go home. To their misfortune, however, Ms. Gretchen was still awake, and in a mood no less. The stout woman shook her head, puffing profusely on her pipe as she glared at the fuddled sailors sleeping in her bar. She looked over at Mary, who averted her gaze and mopped faster, and then back at the men. The hulking snapper fish put her pipe out on the bar, stuffing it in her dirty dress before tromping over to the louts.

“Get up!” she snapped, clubbing one of the men upside the head, evoking a slew of curses from the sailor. “Shuddap!” She hit the man again. “Don’t you be swearin at me in me own bar!” She grabbed him by the collar, pulling the poor, confused man down to her level, dragging him to the door and tossing him out. She turned to the other sailors who were now more than awake. “We’re closed! Now get!” They left without further protest. The woman sighed, looking tired, then pulled out her pipe, lighting it again before taking a long drag. She held the smoke in, before releasing it in a series of o’s. “Mary, I be headin to bed now, these drunks wear me out more every day.” She took another draw from her pipe. “I want this place spotless before you go to bed.” Mary nodded, dipping her mop back in the water, continuing her task.

“Yes Ms. Gretchen.” The burly man woman grunted, yawned, then left Mary to herself.

…

When Mary had finally finished cleaning the bar it was half past the third hour. She groaned, rubbing her back, sore from another day of work. She put away the mop, stopping to yawn before making the slow, steady climb up the stairs to her little room at the third level of the brothel. Her mind was a flurry of thoughts for the next day, and she did her best to quiet them, for now was time for sleep. She was expected to be up by the eighth hour, and the idea of less than 5 hours of sleep was not appealing. Oh well, grumbling would not help. She yawned again, coming to the top of the stairs.

Mary stopped when she came by Ryan’s door, all her mundane, trivial thoughts leaving her as she placed her hand on the rough, warped wood. She smiled, remembering a little boy who loved to smile and play and get into trouble. A boy who loved to read with his mother, who brought her jungle flowers and begged to keep turtles, snakes, and island cats as pets.

Mary’s smile lessened as she remembered his bruised and broken body on the table, not 2 months ago. What was this boy… what was her son getting into? So much chaos was happening in the city, and she felt as though Ryan was right in the middle of it. A single tear fell down her cheek, and she toyed with the idea of entering the room, but decided against it. She went to bed feeling silently defeated, and fell into a troubled sleep. It was for the best, however, that she had not opened the door, for Ryan was not there.