Sall had reached a subdued calm by the time he was below, and only three pirates remained to drop him on his back in his cell. His hands were shackled together in his lap. Sall groaned and lifted his head out of the bilge. His head spun.
‘My water,’ he said, voice croaking.
A pirate with a weepy red boil on his neck clanked the cage shut, stepped back and pocketed the keys. Damned pirates, Sall thought, as he withheld the flask. One of them had a face riddled with warts, another a scraggly, oily beard, his mouth stocked with mushy teeth let rot gray by the combined forces of scurvy and cheap tobacco. He looked bad. There were halfbreed mutts scavenging the docks alongside the gulls that were healthier than these men.
Sall’s last employer had bred two dogs to guard his storehouses. They were big, slobbering beasts who kept half a pace behind him every time he walked the yard, and watched the property at night.
Sall was hired to watch the storehouses during the day. He knew his place there. Some dogs know they are dogs. Most men Sall had met had yet to learn.
Woah, it’s been three weeks since I posted anything? Soz yo I’ve been busy lol.