he blinding light of the midday sun made Garson squint and look away from the sail he was ordered to help unfurl. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and gripped the rope once again. 

     "Heave the boom, lad," called out a crewman clinging to the mast above him. "We need to wrap that rope tight!" 

     Radnor watched from the bow as he worked to tighten the screws on the bowspirit of the navigational sail. For the two months they'd been aboard, Darragh had them eating the galley's heartiest meals and doing most of the heavy lifting to nourish their bodies and build their strength. 

     Ever since he and Garson had grown stronger, they had begun to take on more than their own duties. He could see Garson was exhausted and overheated, but the men around him didn't care. 

     Garson took hold of the rope and pulled with all his strength until he could wrap it around the boom several times. Such a task was usually meant for at least three men, but the crew enjoyed pushing him to find his limit. 

     The crew standing around watching and those working on the sail stared in awe at yet another amazing feat by their young recruit. 

     Radnor finished his work and hurried to see to Garson. He picked up a pail of fresh water to give him but was stopped a few feet away. 

     "Water's fer after workin'," snarled the pirate. 

     Radnor looked around and saw others quenching their thirst with barrels of fresh rainwater. 

     "I've never heard that rule," he replied cautiously. "My brother needs it. He's red as fire and sweat's pouring down his face. He's done more than enough work to deserve a drink." 

     Garson breathed heavily and swallowed the dryness as he watched Radnor attempt to bring him water. With one hand resting on his hip, he used the other to wipe away more sweat dripping into his eyes. 

     "Has he now?" asked the pirate. 

     They'd come to know him as a close ally of Cian. He'd been relentless in his harassment ever since Garson beat the quartermaster nearly to death. 

     "Look a' wha' we got here! Looks t' me Darragh ain't the cap'n no more," snickered the pirate. "Behold! Cap'n Radnor Wade 'n his demon brother!" 

     The crew grew silent as they watched for Garson's reaction. Someone had told Darragh and he emerged from the officers' deck just as the pirate made the cutting remark. 

     "Damnable fool," Darragh mumbled with a shake of his head. 

     The first lesson he and the crew learned was never to get in between those two brothers. Second lesson was never to disrespect Radnor or the boys' mother because Garson wouldn't stand for it. Garson didn't care much about the name-calling, though Darragh could see the boy's tolerance in that regard was fading. 

     "You should shut your mouth," Garson said as his breathing slowed. 

     It was an odd kind of thing he had started to experience when people antagonized him. The rage that their words invoked had an unusual serenity, and he began to wonder if killing his father awoke the mental illness that inflicted Charles.

     Radnor shook his head for Garson to stay calm, then looked over to see Darragh approaching from across the deck. 

     "Wha' did you jus' say, demon?" the pirate continued, intentionally putting emphasis on the cruel nickname. "I ain't takin' orders from no brat, 'specially one with tha' devil eye. 

     I heard 'is father tried t' beat it out of him,” he called out, “but tha' thing got its claws in 'im too deep. Musta been Lucifer 'imself spawned 'im with his whore mother." 

     Before anyone could stop him, Garson had the pirate down on the deck, his knees on either side of his waist. One hand held him by the throat while the other was in a fist beating him. Everyone was too afraid to intervene, and Darragh shook his head when a few looked at him to give a command. 

     He watched along with the rest of the crew as one of Garson's fists and then the other slammed into the man's face with such force, they went through his skull. 

     Garson didn't stop until he heard Radnor's voice somewhere in the distance calling him back. When his blind rage began to fade and he could see shapes again, he found himself looking at a pile of bone, blood, and tissue. His hands were swollen and cut up, but he couldn't feel the pain. 

     "Get him to the doctor," Darragh ordered Radnor. "The rest a ye, clean up that mess. 

     I don't wanna hear a word about it," he barked as they looked from the dead shipmate to Garson's retreating form. "He had it comin'. Those words ain't somethin' I'll tolerate on my ship. Ye call a man's mother a whore, ye get what ye deserve." 

     "Aye, Cap'n," the stunned crew replied and followed their orders.