Ahead, a group of men stood in a huddle. What were they doing? Slinking into the shadows, Petran watched. Out in the harbor, theSeabirdfloated, with two of her longboats anchored at the dock.
“String them up!” someone shouted.
String who up? Petran’s heart pounded as the men turned and headed back his way. There, in their midst, Da and Rymon shuffled along, hands bound before them. “Hey!” he took a step from his hiding place. A quelling glance from his father stopped him.
“Don’t worry, lad,” one of the better-dressed men said, “you’ll get a real good look at these filthy pirates when they’re swinging from the gallows.”
The gallows? No! Pain in Petran’s chest choked him, nearly doubling him over. His father couldn’t hang. Several boys nearly his age followed along. He neatly slipped among them.
They cheered. “We gonna see a hangin’,” one crowed.
Anger boiled up inside. How dare these mere children cheer for Da’s possible death? Da didn’t deserve to die like a cutthroat.
Petran glanced around him. None of the others surrounding him had long, matted hair or even hair the color of his. Once more, his father made eye contact and quickly looked away, turning his back on his son.
For Petran’s own good.
They’d discussed what to do in this event. Swiping hot tears with the back of his hand, Petran raced through the streets back to the kindly woman. “Have you anything to cut with?”
She pulled a knife from beneath her pushcart.
“Please.” Pleading with his eyes as much as with the words, he tugged on his matted locks.
Glancing right and left, she said, “Come with me.” She pushed her cart down an alleyway and stopped near the far end, mostly out of sight of passersby. Then, knife in hand, she chopped and sawed through Petran’s hair, dropping the pieces onto the ground.
Tears stung his eyes. On his own. He was on his own.
The woman ran her fingers through the newly shorn strands of Petran’s hair, discarding the last bits. Already he felt lighter, cooler.
“Here,” she said, removing the globe from a cold lamp suspended on a pole above her cart. She dipped her fingers into the soot and ran them through his hair. Stepping back, she admired her handiwork with a slight nod. “You’ll do.”
Something glinted from her cleavage. Following his line of sight, she patted the medallion, so similar to his, that hung from a tie around her neck.
She poured lamp oil on his discarded hair. The mass ignited in a burst of flame that quickly died. The scent of scorched hair brought to mind injured Arkenn. But, wait! How had she set it on fire?
“We can’t be found here.” The woman grabbed Petran by the arm with one hand and pushed her cart with the other.
Together they exited the alley. “You there,” a man shouted, fast approaching. The woman released Petran’s arm, reached beneath her cart, and wrapped a hand around the knife handle. “We’re searching for pirates who might have escaped into the city.”
“Pirates?” The woman gasped and drew back, completely believable in her horror. “Pirates, you say?” Was she being serious? Did she not know why Petran needed her help? Would she turn him in if she did find out?
The man nodded. “Yes, ma’am. The ones we got will hang at sunset in the square. But you keep your eyes open.” He shot a questioning gaze to Petran, who quickly averted his eyes.
Oh, Father, no! The heartbeat pounding in Petran’s ears nearly drowned out all other sounds. He braced to run.
“Don’t go scaring my nephew.” The woman grasped Petran’s shoulder, holding him in place with a surprisingly strong grip. “He’s not quite right, poor dear.” To Petran, she said, “Come along. Best be getting home with the likes of pirates about.”
As soon as the man left their sight, the woman hissed, “I don’t know your story, but run. Keep running. Get as far as you can from the city. And for the Father’s sake, don’t go to the hangings!” She hurried off, lamp swinging with her pace.
What should he do? Try to free his father? Follow the woman’s urging and run? Search for Arkenn, a friendly face?
In the end, Petran followed the crowd making their way to the courtyard in front of town offices. In a small patch of grass to the left sat his father, the quartermaster, and most of their crew.
Petran peered out from around a wagon piled with barrels. Not that anyone could see him in the press of bodies. Had the whole city turned out to watch the spectacle?
Curse them! Curse them all!
One of the newer crew members stood beside a tall man dressed in black. Da and the crew glared at him.
