That was not supposed to happen.

Or, rather...

Was Archibald's mother still alive, God bless her soul, she would most certainly point out that it was exactly the thing that should befall anyone who would abandon one family's land and estate in one's homeland and choose to reside in a filthy, smog-filled London instead, to pursue a career so questionable that it could hardly have a right to be considered as such. But she was not, and Archibald kept his mind occupied by thinking all of those nasty things by himself.

Why on Earth had he thought it was such a tremendous idea to thrust himself into a company of cartographers and board that sorry excuse of a ship and embark on a sea venture - what for? Inspiration? Experience? Bollocks! He knew the true reason although he would never admit it to anyone, dead or alive: he was out of work and out of money, his landlady kicked him out of his room for refusing to pay the rent, and he could not return home, not like that - mortified, beaten, a failure of a brother and a son.

So, a sea venture it was. Brave heart, Archibald O'Carroll!

He should have counted on his luck, though. Of course, every minor trouble and great misfortune were just waiting to happen, considering how unprepared he was, so out of place in a harsh unpredictable environment, so alien to the people around him. They sneered at him during the first few days when he constantly wore different shades of green on his face and threw up more than he had eaten. Then he got better and his relationship with the crew and, more importantly, with the honourable men got worse because it turned out nobody wanted his opinion, and they laughed at him when he was serious and mocked him when he tried to be nice and there was no way to get along with them without losing one's dignity once and for all. In the end, Archibald grew to prefer solitude - quite a thing to try and seek out on a ship of that small a size.

On the other hand - look at them now! All of them who survived - the crew, the cartographers, the cook and, well, Archibald - they were all, metaphorically speaking, in the same boat. Well, literally, too... They were prisoners. On a pirate ship. Brought on board for whatever reason their captain might have. If there were any, Archibald had not got a clue - he had been asleep when everything happened, woke up from the sound of explosions to find himself in a cabin filling up with water, on a rapidly drowning ship. He must have had conjured his way out or something then because the next thing he remembered - he was lying on a piece of wood that used to be a door or a stair, drifting, waves gently rocking him back to sleep.

But sleep he didn't get. He was yanked out of the water, saved - in a manner of speaking. He was yet to learn the price.

The real one, obviously. Because that deal their captain mentioned? Archibald would not buy it, not one bit.

Flee and be free, or stay and be useful. Come now, what does he consider them all to be, complete morons? How naive one ought to be to believe a pirate! Then again, Archibald caught a couple of glances thrown between the survivors and was pressed to admit: hope proved to be stronger than reason, even for well-educated men.

But not for him. For better or worse, he had nothing to hope for, nothing to gain. He was not a cartographer, not a sailor, just an aspiring writer, the author of books unwritten and stories unpublished. As for the flee-option... Well. He could not swim.

So, as he stood there, trembling with fear and shaking in the cold wind, suddenly that voice came through his miserable thoughts and made him jump by calling out - no, not his name, just a disparaging moniker. Nevertheless, he was singled out. Nothing good was coming out of that.

Gingerly, Archibald made a step forward. Everything was not silent but quieter than just a moment ago. He could feel all the gazes on him; he also felt his cold wet shirt clinging to his torso. He felt exposed - and judged, and he could not possibly know the criteria.

"Ar... Archibald O'Carroll... sir," he added "sir" because he wanted to live and hated himself for fawning right away. "I have no rank. I am a... a writer."

That is to say - I have no function, therefore - no reason to keep me alive. It may well be a moment when you die, Archibald O'Carroll.

Quite a sobering thought, that one. All at once, he realised: he did not want to die staring at the deck boards of a pirate ship.

For the first time since he was brought here, Archibald lifted his gaze up and looked straight ahead - at the man who called for him.

"Would you like to hear a tale?"

[icon]http://s5.uploads.ru/xUc87.jpg[/icon][status]brave heart[/status]