Page 62 of Escaping Pirates
For a full minute, Tyrone looked at the young man, calculating, then threw his head back and roared in laughter. “What’s your name, boy?”
The young man stuck out his hand, looking Tyrone dead in the eye. “I’m Peter Pan.”
My stomach churned even more than it had when I’d first set foot on a boat and been violently seasick. The pirateshuddled close to the roped-off fighting ring, all eagerly placing bets on how badly Peter would get beaten and how quickly he would get knocked out. He was barely of age, maybe nineteen years old, and these men thought it was a good idea to beat the poor boy? I knew the rumors that he’d been accused of a multitude of crimes, but looking at his youthful face…I didn’t want to see any boy get hurt.
“Maybe he could be a cabin boy like Gil instead,” I suggested to Tyrone as I watched both Peter and the pirate strip off their shirts and shake out their arms. I couldn’t rid myself of the image of Harlan after he’d been keelhauled. The brutality of men on the high seas was unparalleled. “I don’t want to watch something like this.”
“You may want to close your eyes, then,” Tyrone answered carelessly. “He’s the one who offered.”
“Please, Tyrone?” I gently touched my hand to his arm. “For me?” If I could spare the world of a little cruelty and suffering, I would, no matter who the target was.
Tyrone cast a bemused eye at where my fingers grazed his skin, then he held up his other arm. “Wait!”
My heart leapt. Even if I couldn’t be rescued, I could at least save Peter from a fate like Harlan’s.
“This lady has requested that the fight be cancelled,” Tyrone began, and a chorus of groans met his words. “Out of respect for her, I’m willing to heed her?—”
“I’ll fight,” Peter called out, and the crew cheered and clapped each other on the back.
“Don’t ever interrupt me again, boy,” Tyrone spat. “Because I care about this woman here”—he threw an arm around my shoulders—“I’m willing to let you have room and board in our brig until we reach land if you prefer.”
“I don’t prefer that,” Peter insisted. “I want to fight.”
A scream of frustration threatened to burst out of me. Did the stupid boy not recognize that I was offering him a way out? He would be safe and unharmed.
“Men?” Tyrone called to his crew. “What say you?”
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” they all chanted as one, pounding their fists against barrels or stomping on the deck.
Tyrone shrugged at me. “They want a fight.”
I bit my lip and turned away. There really was nothing else I could do if Peter wasn’t even willing to help himself.
“Proceed,” Tyrone called.
My jaw locked and I stared at the horizon, trying to block out the animalistic roar of the bloodthirsty crowd that thundered in my ears. I heard Gil’s thin voice call out, “Three…two…one…fight!”
It didn’t even matter that I wasn’t watching. The noise of the men echoed in my head as they screamed their support for their crewmate. There were gasps, shouts, then an almightycrashthat shook the deck floor, followed by an absolute silence.
Fearing the worst, I glanced back at the ring, prepared to see Peter’s limp form laid out on the boards or bloodied beyond recognition. Instead, I saw Dex’s massive body sprawled out on the deck, mouth sagging open and eyes closed. Above him stood Peter, looking windswept and sweaty but perfectly fine.
“Who’s up tomorrow?” Peter said, casually pulling his shirt back on.
Tyrone leapt to his feet, and for a moment, I thought he was going to order Peter to walk the plank. His face had darkened to a deep shade of maroon, and his mouth flapped open and closed. At Peter’s feet, the other fighter slowly groaned and put a hand up to his head. Gil began clapping,and several other men slowly followed suit until they were all shouting and slapping Peter’s back, complimenting him on such an efficient and unpredictable fight.
“Didn’t think a boy like you had it in him!”
“Amazing! Where did you learn to fight?”
Tyrone’s face slowly returned to its normal color, and he cleared his throat before descending the stairs to extend his compliments to Peter as well.
“I didn’t think it would go that way,” Tyrone told Peter, shaking his hand.
“Must have been a lucky punch,” Peter returned nonchalantly. “We’ll see how I fare tomorrow.” Harlan’s line about how people make their own luck had never seemed more fitting. This was a boy who made his own luck.
Already, there was a line of pirates all clamoring to be the next to get into the ring with Peter the following day. I sighed and shook my head. In the past, I’d heard men complain that women were confusing, and yet women didn’t beg to face an opponent trying to knock them senseless. At least women maintained their common sense. I failed to see howwewere the confusing gender.
The crowd was slowly dispersing, all talking excitedly about the fight I hadn’t witnessed. Even Peter’s opponent, who had finally sat up and was experimentally shaking his head, was impressed.
