Senna was no more. He had watched her die. Had been forced to. And as the ax descended, and as the crowd roared, and as the blood gushed forth from the bloody stump that had been her neck only seconds before, he had vowed to Santo Paolo di Colombino - patron saint of pirates - that no force on earth would prevent him from dealing ferocious vengeance unto those who had taken her from him.
But that was twenty years ago. Twenty painful, lonely, rum-riddled years that had seen the demise of free-booting and the rise of a new breed of piracy that had effectively rendered him obsolete. He no longer sailed the high seas nor felt the tug of the tides. He no longer charted course with nothing but a compass and the stars. He was a landed fish on an alien island, and he had nothing but haunted memories to keep him company. Memories and the treasure from the last, lost Virillian Armada.
The boy cleared his throat. "Maestro?"
He did not look up from the sketch clutched in his hand. Indeed, his head bowed even lower so that the boy was unsure whether he was even awake.
"Maestro?" The boy tried again.
"She was bellissima, no? And so young."
"Only thirty-two. I know, maestro."
"She loved ginger. Ginger and oranges. Did I tell you?"
"Yes, maestro." The boy caught the long-suffering sigh before it escaped his lips. "Many times."
Tears coursed down his weathered cheeks, unbidden yet unchecked. He looked up then, and it was the boy's turn to lower his eyes, too overcome by the naked grief on his master's face.
"We shall kill them, Arturo."
"Yes, maestro."
"Kill them all."
If this is your word blurb, I want to read your real work. To wish to know more about this pirate and who he is going to go kill.^_^
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