Markus wasn't exactly foreign to the feeling of hatred. He knew that consuming, dark heat in his stomach all too well. At the age of eleven, he and his little sister had been stolen from their family during the war. Being sold as a slave, he had been working his ass off on a coffee plantation for four years. One day, a befriended slave persuaded him to join him during an attempt to escape, using the naive boy as a distraction to get away himself. The thirty lashes had almost killed Markus; the wounds had started to infect and his master believed him to be a waste of space, selling him to a captain who was known for using slaves instead of a normal crew so he didn't have to pay any attention to their well-being. 

The raiders that took him away from his family, the slave master of the plantation and the gruesome captain—he had hated them from the depths of his soul. They had been cruel, no matter how obedient Markus had been. 

This time, the darkness that was churning inside his stomach was different. That arrogant little brat had done him no harm as the other men had done—and still, Markus couldn't stand the sight of him. He had believed that giving the boy the lowest job aboard would satisfy him, convincing him they were even after the lack of respect the brat had shown him. Yet, there was still this anger slumbering in his heart, which was flaring up every time the boy's stormy eyes stared right into his. 

Markus had wanted to break his spirit, to give him a little lesson in humility. However, nothing could extinguish the fierceness in the boy's eyes. He carried out all the tasks with a blank face, his lips curling into a provoking grin when nobody else was around. The kid knew what Markus was trying, and every glance or smirk felt like a sign of rebellion. Markus told himself the boy was only keeping up appearances; he hated to wash their clothes like a fucking maid, not to mention scrubbing the shit barrels, and the only satisfaction he derived from it was Markus' response to his silent mocking. 

"The galley is all shiny again, master," the boy huffed, tossing the rags at his feet. He looked up, the grey of his eyes full of contempt. 

Markus gritted his teeth. It had been four days since they had allowed the crew of Imo Gen on their ship, and with every day the boy's contempt for him grew. 

"Go clean out the cages," he said. "'t Has been a week."

The blonde's face tensed, making Markus grin. "It's just pig 'n chicken shit. Has to be a piece of cake after stickin' yer nose in human shit."

The kid eyed him up and down. "Some men don't differ that much from pigs."

Markus' hand itched to slap the boy in the face. However, as much as he hated it, he had no right to do so. As low as the kid's rank was, he was still one of them and his captain wouldn't approve of any violence. Not as a response to some childish comment. 

In silence, Markus watched the boy descend the stairs. Once the kid was out of sight, he kept leaning against the railing a little longer. Drops of water were splashing up, coming from the waves hitting the side of the ship. He still wasn't sure about his role on the ship. Rogier had more or less promoted him as a supervisor and even though Markus made a round now and then to see if everyone was carrying out his tasks, he didn't know what else he should aim his attention at. 

Many of the new guys had more experience at sea than he had. He had only been a simple sailor, he was better at following orders than at giving them, even though he hated it. He wished he possessed the insight to give orders, so he wouldn't be standing in the shadow of his friend the whole time. 

After a round of inspection across the deck, he went down the stairs to the hold to keep an eye on Rory. Shoveling shit was one thing, being watched by someone while doing it was even more humiliating. 

Like always, the hold was dim and Markus' eyes needed some time to adjust. Lanterns were swinging at the waves, giving this part of the ship an ominous atmosphere. Markus didn't come here often. Not only because it smelled like piss and shit and lacked fresh air, also because the hold had been the place where he had been forced to sleep for years, while rats were crawling all over him. 

Markus tried to muffle his footsteps as he walked to the back of the ship, where the cages were in which the animals were held. Rory was standing over a burlap sack. Markus caught a glimpse of the reflection of candlelight on the blade of a dagger before it ripped open the bag so the boy could take out the new straw. Instead of putting the daggers away, the boy tossed them from one hand to the other like he was some juggler, humming to himself. 

Markus had seen him doing it before. Whenever he was bored, his hands seemed to reach for his two daggers instinctively, whereafter the kid started to play with them as if he was juggling apples. Resentment churned in his stomach, his jaw clenching at the thought that he would probably pierce his own foot if he would try it himself. There was something magical about the swift way Rory's fingers were moving and the carelessness with which he was tossing the weapons as if he had been born with daggers in his hands. 

Suddenly, Rory turned around, at the spin throwing his dagger at Markus, which he only realized when the weapon slammed into the wood next to his head. An ornery smirk crossed the blonde's lips. 

"Sorry," he said, clearly not meaning it. "I didn't realize someone was spyin' on me."

It took a few seconds before Markus was able to tear himself away from his bewilderment. Unbelievable — he could hardly believe that that filthy little brat had thrown a dagger at him. Where the hell did he find the brutality to make an attempt on his life?!

He grasped Rory's arm. The boy's muscles tensed underneath Markus' fingers, making the jealousy flare up. Despite his young age and limited length, he seemed to have more muscles than Markus. He dug his fingers in the man's flesh. 

"You've gone too far now, asshole. Tryin' to kill ye superior, we don't take that lightly. You will feel the ropes. Maybe they're even gonna keelhaul you."

"Don't touch me," Rory grumbled. "If I'd wanted to kill ya, you'd been dead. I don't miss."

Markus didn't care. He was sick of this kid, he should keep his fucking mouth shut and beg for mercy. He dragged the boy across the hold, ignoring his grumbling as his knees hit the stairs. Without hesitation, he barged into the captain's quarters, throwing the boy on the floor. 

Disturbed, Rogier looked up from the map that was spread across the writing table. He raised his eyebrows. "What's this?"

His voice bore disapproval, which only worsened Markus' anger. Rogier shouldn't doubt him, he should have blind faith in him like he was having too!

"He threw a dagger at me," Markus grumbled. "He attempted to murder me, I was just in time when I jumped aside. I demand that he will be whipped in public."

Rogier studied his face, then his glance slid to Rory, who had scrambled to his feet. "Is that true?"

"If I'd wanted to kill him, I woulda done it," the boy answered. "I was just foolin' around. How the hell was I supposed to know he was gonna shit his pants?"

Markus almost exploded. "How dare you to speak to me like that!" he snapped. "You cockroach! You're talking to your superior, did no one ever teach you some respect!"

Rory crossed his arms in front of his chest. He hated the boy's confidence, he should be shivering in his fucking shoes by now. 

"Respect has to be earned. And expect for bein' a dick, you seem to lack any skills."

Markus took a threatening step forward, leaning over to him. "What did you say?" he said in a dangerously low voice. "I'm everything you'll never be."

A mocking grin crossed Rory's lips. "You mean I'll never be an egghead and a dick? You're right — I have no desire to become like you."

Wood was cracking — Rogier had shifted in his seat. Shock was mirrored in Rory's eyes; apparently, the boy had forgotten that his captain was still in the same room. And Markus had to admit; because of the anger, he had forgotten about that too. It made the insults ten times worse. 

He cocked his head to his best friend, who lifted the corner of his mouth as if the whole scene amused him. 

"You sound a little dissatisfied, kid," Rogier spoke to the boy. "Am I denyin' you anything?"

Rory pursed his lips, seemingly not knowing whether he should give an honest answer or not. "He gave me the easiest job on the ship and yet mister supervisor over there finds it necessary to lurk over me the whole fuckin' time."

"And you think that's a reason to throw daggers at him?" the captain asked, leaning back in his chair. 

The boy's cheeks started to flush. "It was never my intention to harm him." His voice was slightly shaking. 

"Then what was your intention?"

Rory gritted his teeth. "I was just havin' a lil fun. I meant nothing with it, I just wanted to let him know I knew he was watchin' me from the shadows. How was I supposed to know he'd feel so threatened he would run to his captain immediately?"

This time, it were Markus' cheeks that were flushing. "I was missed by an inch," he spoke to his captain. "One higher wave and he would have pierced my head."

Rogier's lips curled up. "Yeah... That woulda been a shame." His fingers tapped on the tabletop. "I don't like to lose my right hand, kid."

Markus puffed out his chest, immediately he felt much better. 

"Give me yer daggers," Rogier told the boy. 

"W-what?" Rory's shoulders slumped down. 

As hard as Markus had been trying to find the boy's weak spot, his captain had found it effortlessly. The boy's hands slid to his daggers, reluctantly pulling them out of their sheaths. His eyes shot from the dark metal and the bone hilts to his captain. 

Authoritatively, Rogier's fingers drummed on the table. Rory took a few steps forward, his daggers hovering above the table. Yet, he didn't seem to be able to put them down. He looked up to his captain. 

"Is there no other punishment?" His voice sounded soft, for the first time stripped of any mockery. 

Rogier raised his eyebrows. "You rather wanna be whipped?"

The boy looked down, his thumbs stroking the white hilts lovingly. "I guess."

"You won't need your daggers anytime soon," Rogier said. "You do need your back. You're of no use to me if you lie another couple o' days in your hammock."

With his eyes, he commanded the boy to hand over his weapons. He seemed to flinch, then he put down the daggers, his eyes still glued to them. 

Rogier took one of the knives from the table, judging the sharpness and leaned back in his chair again, admiring the weapon. 

Markus looked at the dagger that was still on the table. More than anything he wanted to snatch it away and throw it overboard, now he knew how much the boy valued them. 

"You can leave," Rogier told the boy.

Rory hesitated. As a sign of goodbye, his fingers stroked the dagger that was still on the writing table. He looked up to Rogier. "Please be careful with them."

Rogier held his glance. "Stop creating the impression that you're attacking my men and I might consider giving them back."

He heard the boy inhale — relieved, it seemed. 

"Aye, cap'tain."

Rory turned around. Defeat was painted on his face, although it quickly changed into aversion when his eyes met Markus'. In silence, the boy left the quarter, closing the door behind him. 

Disapprovingly, Markus shook his head and walked closer to the writing table. He stretched forth his hand to the dagger, but before his fingers touched the bone, Rogier pulled the weapon away and put it away in a drawer. 

"Don't get so worked up about that boy, Markus." Rogier's voice sounded reprimanding. "There are better ways to spend your energy."

"He's the most annoying person I've ever met," he grunted. "Arrogant brat. He's going to be nothing but a liability."

Rogier chuckled. "You think? I think you're underestimating him." Smirking, he studied the dagger that was still in his hand. "I like the kid."

Markus huffed. That was just what he needed to hear. "Why?"

Rogier balanced the dagger on his forefinger. "He reminds me of my younger self."

Markus gritted his teeth. That really was the last thing he wanted to hear.