Author's Note: 'Myklos' Island is fictional, and exists entirely within my overactive imagination. ^_^

Upon a Painted Ocean

Chapter 11: Deadly Games

He honestly hated confined spaces.

Ken looked resignedly around him, eyes soaking in the familiar wooden planks that comprised the bland walls and bare floor of his personal prison. Sighing, he straightened his posture and tilted his head back until it met with the unyielding resistance of the boards. The rattle of metal chains accompanied his small movement, again reminding him of how little he'd achieved with his doomed escape attempt.

He was back where he'd started: chained, imprisoned, … and enslaved.

Sometimes, he wondered how much more of this endless cycle of fleeting hope and perpetual despair he could take before he went insane. Fate did indeed have a sadistic sense of humour.

"Are you feeling alright, Ken?"

Omi's concerned voice prompted him to lower his gaze to the blonde leaning against the wall on his right. Inquisitive blue eyes and an uncharacteristically serious expression from the younger boy was enough to make him smile reassuringly, done more for Omi's peace of mind than his own.

"I'm fine," he responded in a hushed tone. "But I should be asking you that question. How's your head?"

The boy looked uncomfortable with the change of focus. Rubbing his head gingerly, he threw Ken one of his own beaming smiles, a smile that looked as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I'm fine, thank you. I should be in perfect form for our next escape attempt." The mischievous twinkle in those cerulean eyes as the blonde spoke gave him an irresistible elfin quality.

And looking at the younger boy, Ken wanted to laugh mockingly at the connotation of the lightly humoured suggestion, but instead, he turned his head away to avoid hurting Omi's feelings and stared at the lonely wax candle sitting in the far corner of the hold. The blonde couldn't be faulted for being so naturally optimistic; Ken received the impression that this was who the boy was.

"Why do you try so hard?" The question dejectedly left the brunette's mouth before he could stop it, reflecting the morose direction his thoughts had taken.

"Why do you not try at all?" Omi countered.

Ken knew without looking that his companion was staring at him, probably trying to figure out an answer to the comment since he could not - or would not - respond with true honesty. However, he understood that Omi wouldn't push if he refused to reply. That was another thing about the young blonde he'd discovered recently: Omi was as compliant and unobtrusive a friend as one could have, but when the boy could not extract the verbal information he wanted, Ken had the feeling that he somehow managed to guess it by some other means. It was rather unsettling - harmless as it may be in the blonde's mind.

Still, the brunette would prefer to have Omi with him than not. That indeterminately long period of time between when their captives had dumped them back into the hold and when Omi had regained consciousness had felt like an eternity to Ken. He had been exposed to being around people too long during his recent flirtation with freedom that he had began to fear being alone. That was dangerous, and something he would have to rectify; he had to re-accustom himself to the solitary existence he'd basked in prior to his sojourn on the Redemption.

"Life is what you make it, Ken," the blonde broke the contemplative silence. "I refuse to let Fate dictate mine, so I have to take it into my own hands. Now, if I have to attempt escape a hundred times, and get re-captured a hundred times, I will. And I would still keep trying … because perhaps that one hundred and first try will be the one where I make it."

Omi spoke with such seriousness and conviction that Ken found it difficult not to succumb to his younger friend's beliefs. And it was then that the brunette was reminded of another time in another prison when the merits of life had been passionately debated about between the two occupants. But back then, he had been in Omi's position, heatedly arguing with a pair of stubborn violet eyes over one life's worth.

Ken sighed and leaned his head back against the boards again, gaze remaining averted from Omi's. What a hypocrite he had become. What had come over him to say those things to Ran when now, he could not believe in them himself?

'But that was who you truly are,' a voice inside him said. 'You're not really this pathetic excuse for a human being you are now. Don't delude yourself like this …'

Ken's lips shaped themselves into a semblance of a small, humourless smile. It seemed that the bothersome presence of hope refused to die. He would have to do something about it soon.

"I admire you for your philosophy, Omi," he said without turning to his younger companion. "But I - "

The brunette didn't have a chance to finish as two abrupt interruptions caught his attention just then: the first was the opening of the hatch with the addition of a new captive, and the second was the unbalanced jerking of the entire hold. The latter, Ken could explain away in concluding that the ship had left port, but the former … that had him puzzled - and slightly worried. He silently prayed that neither Tim nor the meek brunette had been re-captured as the new body was so roughly dropped from the opening.

The moment the hatch closed, Omi moved to help their new cellmate just as the newcomer rolled over on all fours and groaned.

"Are you hurt?" the young blonde asked gently as he reached out a hand to assist the recent arrival, only to have it rudely slapped away.

"I'm fine," the man growled as he shifted into a sitting position and pushed himself up against the wall opposite Ken. Omi backed away, returning to his original position for fear of offending the man.

The brunette's anger flared at the ungrateful actions directed at Omi, and Ken was preparing to protest when he was stopped by a familiar pair of glinting green eyes that glared straight at him.

Schuldich.

There was no doubt about it: the long, orange-red hair, although a mess, was undeniable, and the tilt of the man's head, arrogant as always, was irrefutable.

"You …" Ken breathed out as a hushed accusation.

The redhead smirked, and then winced as if the small movement had caused him pain. At the reflexive reaction of discomfort, Ken noticed a slight discoloration on one side of the other man's face and the protective way an arm hugged his ribs. However their captives had managed to subdue Schuldich, he must have put up quite a fight.

"So you really are here," the redhead said after he'd moved into a more comfortable position, gaze once again directed on Ken. "Crawford has been looking for you."

The brunette instinctively tensed at the mention of the dark-haired captain's name. "Why?" he ground out venomously.

The other man chuckled at the response, only to stop suddenly when he registered the painful repercussions of the movement. "If I knew that, I don't think I'd be here." Verdant eyes searched the younger man, hoping to find as answer to the recently asked question.

Ken didn't give anything away.

And reluctantly, Schuldich gave up. Almost teasingly, he added, "But so has that other redheaded captain."

Ken's stiff posture turned lax in surprise. "Ran?"

The taller man shrugged noncommittally.

No, it couldn't be. Not Ran. Why would Ran be looking for him? He was just another slave … an acquisition that definitely did not warrant the pursuit of an entire ship. So why would the cold, rational captain try to save him?

Part of him was grateful that the man was safe, alive and well after his imprisonment, but another part of him was scared, frightened at what the redhead's pursuit would do to him … and at how the prospect of seeing Ran again stirred something indescribable within him.

At a loss for words, Ken looked away from Schuldich and silently mulled over what the redhead had just said. Again, he felt Omi's inquiring gaze bear into him, but he ignored it.

Even so, he heard the young blonde speak quiet words meant only for his ears. "Life is what you make it, Ken …"

And like the stubborn embers of an inextinguishable fire, hope flared defiantly somewhere deep inside him.

(***)

"Swing the yardarm over!"

Crawford's angry shout echoed throughout the entire Valiant deck, eventually reaching the ears of the incompetent sailor who had improperly set the sails. The man quickly moved to comply with his angry superior's order. The dark-haired captain let out a mixed breath of exasperation and frustration over the ineptitude of the men under his command. How had he ever managed to get anything done in the past with such an inferior batch?

Time was of the essence for him now, and even though the Valiant had just cleared the Marseilles port, he had quite a distance to cover before catching up with the ship Schuldich had seen to inform him about. At the thought of the insolent redhead, Crawford briefly wondered where the man was. He had received the former stowaway's message via the ragamuffin boy, but beyond that, he hadn't heard anything else from Schuldich. Not that it mattered to him of course, especially when the prey he'd been stalking for so long was again on the run. The redhead could take care of himself wherever he was; Crawford certainly didn't have the time to wait for the man.

"Captain! Ship off the aft port. We should slow down, Sir, or we might collide."

Crawford's attention turned to the horizon at his crewman's warning. Eyes narrowing, a foreboding smile made its way onto the dark-haired captain's lips when he realized what - or more specifically, who - had dared interrupt his chase.

The Redemption.

The sleek clipper and her annoyingly intrusive captain were bearing down on them, attempting to clear the same small bay as the Valiant, and by all rules of the sea, had the right of way.

'But then, what were rules but confining restrictions to be broken?' Crawford thought.

Out of habit, he turned to his right, preparing to give his orders to Schuldich to carry out, but stopped when he remembered the redhead wasn't at his usual station. Swallowing his agitation over the inconvenience, he directed his order to the sailor who had informed him of the impending collision.

"You," he yelled at the grizzled crewman. "Open the gun ports and ready them for discharge on my mark."

"Captain?"

"Just do as I say, Crewman! I want us ready to fire when that ship comes within range." Crawford's tone brooked no argument, his words imbued with an authority he had perfected in the three years he'd commanded the Valiant.

"Aye, Sir," the reluctant sailor acquiesced, and left to carry out his captain's orders.

Satisfied, Crawford returned his gaze to the approaching ship, the setting sun illuminating the hull of the sleek vessel with varied hues of red, orange, and gold - the very epitome of an artist's rendition portraying man's daring in treading upon Neptune's vast empire. A corner of the dark-haired captain's mouth quirked up higher at the prospect of ruining the serenity of the makeshift canvas before him.

It seemed that his dear rival definitely knew how to make the chase more interesting.

(***)

"Do you even know where you're heading?"

Ran threw a sidelong glance at the annoying blonde who'd asked the question before returning his attention to the helm and to guiding the Redemption out of the small bay within which Marseilles was situated. Ever since they had left port - and even before - Youji had stationed himself next to the young captain, seemingly more anxious than the redhead to raise anchor when Ran had sent word out for his men to return to the ship. Once the last of his crew had boarded though, the captain was more than happy to set sail, easily succumbing to his own anxiousness.

He was so close to finding Ken again … he just knew it.

"You were the one who told me where to go," Ran threw back at this blond companion. "If we don't catch them, you're partially at fault here too."

Youji made a 'tsk'-ing sound and threw back his head arrogantly, golden hair, tied with a leather thong at his nape, swinging indignantly at the movement. "Some captain," he mumbled.

The redhead's eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from letting go of the rudder wheel in his hands and strangling the blonde. "Exactly! I'm the captain, and therefore, my orders and decisions are to be accepted without argument," he replied in a dangerously dulcet tone, fury barely leashed in by his ingrained discipline. "So don't you even dare question if I know what I'm doing or where I'm going."

The taller man didn't respond, instead, opting to ignore the young captain's subdued outburst and concentrate on the breathtaking seascape they were sailing into. The burning orange globe of the setting sun hung low in the sky, its brilliance slowly ceding dominance to the velvet cloak of night. Taking in a deep breath of the clear Mediterranean air, Youji looked like he had just rediscovered something about himself as the glimmering scene reflected off his fathomless green eyes.

Ran smiled inwardly at the reaction and stared out into the horizon as well. No matter how often he witnessed it, no matter how often he was awed by the sheer magnificence of this wonder beyond mortal touch, he never tired of it.

A constant phenomenon in an inconstant world, he thought. It was something that he could always look forward to without fail.

So captivated was Ran in the moment that he failed to notice the ship sailing off his port bow until the artificial thunder of cannon fire ripped through the air. The sound was soon followed by the telltale splash of missed shots in the water just off of the Redemption's hull.

Instantly, his crew was running around in preparation for the sudden call to battle, men shouting and scrambling to get to their stations in hopes retaliation. Ran heard Youji curse vehemently beside him, but he knew he had to remain calm amidst the chaos if he was to lead his men through this crisis.

"Captain!" Kit's ample body came running up the few steps that led to the quarterdeck, breaths wheezing quickly and eyes shining brightly at the excitement of the upcoming battle. "The men are at their posts. Should we return fire?"

Eyes squinting against the dying sun, Ran glanced briefly over at the ship that had fired at them from out of nowhere and for no apparent reason, barely able to make out the other vessel's outline. By the size of the thing, it seemed almost as compact - and therefore, as fast - as the Redemption. But whose ship was it and why was she firing at him? He returned his gaze back to Kit, who looked ready to sprint and start the battle once he gave the word.

"No," Ran said with finality. "Don't return fire, Kit. We're too close to shore."

"Captain?"

"We don't have the time to waste on a fight right now," the redhead stated plainly.

"What are you talking about?" Youji's angry shout broke the understated tenseness between the three men. "Someone just fired at you and you're not going to do anything? What kind of captain - ?"

"Kit, how far away is the other ship?" Ran asked as he looked calculatingly at the distant vessel once more.

The first mate was startled by the odd question. "Not … not very far, Captain. But why do you ask?"

Instead of answering, a small satisfied smile graced the redhead's lips, an expression that had the two other men wide-eyed and uneasy.

Youji's attention shifted from Ran to the other ship, and then back to Ran again. Suddenly, he realized what the violet-eyed captain had in mind. "Oh no, you're not planning to … this is insane! Crazy!"

Kit watched the two younger men with puzzlement, not understanding what apparently was obvious between his captain and the newcomer.

"Kit, tell the men to leave their battle stations," Ran commanded rationally. "And to take up their normal posts. Quickly, before they reload."

The older man's brow wrinkled in confusion but a lifetime of serving under the Fielding family had taught him not to question a superior's orders. "A-aye, Captain," he said and swiftly ambled off to perform his duty.

"You know this is a huge gamble, don't you?" the blonde asked once they were alone again.

The redhead's soft chuckle was not the answer Youji expected. "I never took myself to be much of a gambling man."

The older of the two had to smile at that. "You could have fooled me."

They stood calmly for a little longer as the Redemption's crew found their way back to their posts.

When Ran decided that they were ready, he turned to his blond companion. "Would you like to do the honours?"

"If I must," the older man replied and made his way over to the rail that separated the quarterdeck from the lower decks. Looking over the sailors who had grudgingly returned to their stations, he shouted as loudly as he could. "Hoist all the sails full, men! We're going to need all the speed we can get. Your lunatic of a captain wants to ram the other ship!"

There was some talk that floated between the crew but no public outcry against their captain's order manifested, thereby demonstrating to the blonde the loyalty and blind faith these men had in the young leader.

Ran watched with an impartial eye as Youji walked back to stand beside him. "I never took you to be such an eloquent man," the redhead said with a hint of mockery.

Youji shrugged dismissively. "I hope you know what you're doing."

The young captain's attention returned to his ship, his mind quickly calculating the slight course adjustment he would have to make. But as he did so, he said, "You'll have to learn that one rule aboard this ship, if you want to survive, is to trust her captain."

Youji threw him an amused look but chose not to comment; instead, he braced himself for the inevitable increase in velocity and the probable impact that was to come.

Ran braced himself as well, violet gaze trained on the path he had planned to take, and hands holding steady at his wheel. He felt the light sea breeze begin to pick up, quickly becoming a strong wind as the Redemption cut through the relatively calm waves.

Deep crimson strands of hair tickled his forehead and flew across his eyes as the distance between the two vessels lessened, but the minor distraction was dismissed when the details of the other ship became clearer: the body was compact, her design divided into the three decks with one main mast and two smaller ones. If the Redemption had been modeled after a Spanish galleon rather than a British naval ship, then she would've looked like the vessel he was about to intercept. Both were small and both were built for maneuverability, which meant that the outcome of this little confrontation would be based on the skill of the captains.

Ran could hear his heartbeat accelerating to a degree where all sound could not penetrate the deep thumping in his ears as the enemy neared. He sensed the rhythmic motion of his own ship beneath his feet, telling him that her entire essence was his to command, and a feeling of unreality slipped over him. This was what being captain meant … this was a primal power that surged through him … the knowledge and the certainty that ultimately, he was the one in control of his surroundings, and of his life.

The next few moments passed by in a blur of shapes and light. Ran watched his hull close in on the other ship's bow, his whole crew braced for impact. He even managed to make out the detailing of the Roman centurion figurehead on the other vessel but at the last second, the opposing ship veered off, her hull managing to graze the Redemption's port side. And yet, as the sickening crunch of refined wood scratched against refined wood, Ran ignored the damage being inflicted upon his ship and searched the enemy's decks for the captain. It didn't take long for him to find the man.

Crawford stood tall on his quarterdeck, eyes shining and expression amused as if commending the redhead for such an audacious move. Being as close as the two ships could physically get without compromising their hulls, Ran even saw the dark-haired man nod slightly in acknowledgement of his own momentary defeat, silently letting the redheaded captain know that he may have won this match but the game was far from over.

And as swiftly as the two vessels clashed, they were just as swift to part. The rough grinding sound suddenly ended, and Ran found that he needed all his focus to steady the Redemption after the contact. But now, he was clear to leave the bay, the course free of Crawford for the time being, and he felt somewhat relieved by the fact.

"I don't believe we made it through that intact," Youji said incredulously by his side, slowly taking in deep breaths to reassure himself that he was still alive, and oblivious to the brief exchange that Ran had been a part of. "You are one lucky bastard."

Even as the blonde spoke, Ran's eyes drifted back to the vessel they had just passed and the captain at her helm.

'No, the game was far from over,' he thought, remembering the challenging look on Crawford's face. But this was a game he refused to lose.

(***)

Myklos Island, 150km South of Crete

Two days later …

Ken drank in the fresh air like a starving man would consume a feast, the warm clean oceanside atmosphere filling his lungs like the nectar of the gods. Aside from the brief respite he'd gotten back in Marseilles, he'd been cooped up in the hold of that ship for almost two weeks and every fibre of his being yearned to be saturated with air that wasn't stale, and light that wasn't artificial.

Back when he'd been a slave, two weeks locked in the hold of a ship hadn't seemed like such torture, but apparently, he'd been cruelly spoiled these past few months because the prospect of being confined back in that prison again was enough to make him want to run.

Yet, he was not in there now, and that was what counted, he thought to himself as he led the procession of him, Omi, and Schuldich off the rowboat that had transported them from the ship onto the pristine beaches of an island he'd never seen before. What lay before him looked like a tropical island paradise where the clear blue skies melded with the wildly lush greenery that sat beyond the pure white sand. And as he trudged through the cool water and onto the shore, he felt as if he had stepped across a great divide from the real world into some fictional, but beautiful, Elysium.

"Stop right there!"

The commanding shout from the sailor-turned-guard froze Ken on the spot. He pivoted around to watch the burly man stride up to him and ensure that the three prisoners would not proceed any further, cutlass at the ready should one of them disobey. Omi and Schuldich both watched the man with a seething hatred; the former glaring through lethal cerulean eyes while the redhead openly displayed his distaste of the situation with his entire face. Ken stood, expression impassive, and reminded himself that this was not any different from the countless times he'd been forced onto the slave auction blocks. He'd learned then that detachment from the proceedings would serve him in good stead rather than openly showing his emotions. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way, but it was one he had learned well.

After a few minutes of waiting, a shout originating from the second rowboat reaching the shore caught the filed prisoners' interest. In unison, the three of them turned their heads to watch another group of sailors and a darkly attired figure approach them after hopping off the small boat, the latter's posture straight and movements sure, acting as if everything in his surroundings was under his control and answered only to him.

Nikolai.

Ken's fists clenched unconsciously at seeing the man. He would never have guessed that his benefactor back at Greenwich would turn out to be his captor. He must have been blind and stupid to not see the malicious intentions behind the man's deceivingly helpful gesture and to have accepted the freely given assistance. Everything came at a price, especially something as pivotal and grand as gaining entrance into the Queen of England's favourite residence.

"Well, it seems that you have all made it through the journey rather nicely," the man said when he caught up to them. His immaculate pointed beard framed falsely smiling lips as his dark gaze assessed each of his captives. Moving to stand before Ken, Nikolai leaned forward and closely examined the brunette. He reached out with soft fingers to gently grab the younger man's chin and turned the head back and forth as if looking for imperfections.

It took all of Ken's willpower and discipline to not knock the offending hand away from his face, pride and self-respect protesting at being inspected like an animal. But the glinting swords of the surrounding guards held his impulsiveness in check. He could take this … he had been through this so many times in the past and knew that as long as he remained compliant, he would be fine.

"Beautiful, simply beautiful," Nikolai concluded with a nod, satisfied with the brief examination. "I knew the moment I saw you back at Greenwich that you were exactly what I wanted."

Ken didn't respond, eyes focused straight ahead but unseeing.

Moving on, the dark-haired captor looked at his other acquisitions and sighed. "Now, here we have a pleasant surprise. I had two others in mind but I suppose you two will do just as well." As he did with Ken, Nikolai placed his fingers under Omi's chin and inspected the blonde's face from different angles.

Turning his head and watching his younger friend, Ken saw angry blue fire flare in the boy's eyes.

'Don't react, Omi. Please don't do anything …' Ken said mentally, silently willing the blonde to hear his warning. He knew Omi was furious at not receiving another chance to escape, but he also knew that now was not the time for action.

He wasn't aware that he'd been holding his breath in worry for the boy until Nikolai finished looking and moved on to Schuldich. Only then did he breathe out, secretly commending Omi for maintaining his self-control. He understood that such restraint must have been difficult for a person as carefree and as lively as the blonde.

Schuldich, however, was a whole different scenario altogether. Ken observed with morbid curiosity as Nikolai went to examine the redhead and was slapped away for his actions. Crawford's crewman glared dangerously at their captor, the deadly intent clear for all to see. The guards closest to the defiant man moved to interfere with Schuldich's aggression - or punish him, more likely - but were stopped by Nikolai's upraised hand.

Looking at the redhead with an indulgent smirk, the dark-haired man roughly grabbed Schuldich around the throat and pulled him close enough to whisper something into the captured man's ear. Ken couldn't make out what Nikolai said to the long haired prisoner, but the widening of green eyes and stiffening of the redhead's posture indicated that it wasn't anything good.

Pleased with the sudden submissiveness, Nikolai finally let Schuldich go and stood back to give his captives one last appraising look. Smiling, he said, "I am very happy with you three. I imagine that you will all fit in quite well here." Then, eyes traveling to the redhead, he continued. "Even you. Once those bruises disappear, I think you will be a wonderful addition."

Ken could see Schuldich fight to remain unresponsive, knuckles white and lips pursed at the effort. He did not know what Nikolai had planned for them or what roles they would play on this - or what Ken assumed to be Nikolai's - island, but by the wicked gleam in their captor's dark eyes, it was something far from pleasant.

With a subtle hand gesture from dark-haired man, the armed guards began herding the three prisoners into the dense foliage not too far from the beach, Nikolai following leisurely at the rear. Ken tried to keep track of the twists and turns they took as they walked their way through the lush flora, but soon, every tree and every bush looked the same and all he could do was try to keep up with the leading guard. He fervently hoped that Omi was remembering their route better than he was, in case the boy got it into his head to attempt an escape.

After what felt like an endless trek through the trees, they finally made it out of the forest … and into one of the most impressive sights Ken had ever seen. Nestled within the wilderness they had just walked through was one of the largest manor house the brunette had come across, an insignificant - but beautifully built - intrusion of man in the heart of Mother Nature's glory. The estate was a wonder to behold, its numerous windows and arched entrance contrasting nicely with the bricks and alabaster from which the structure was comprised. The whole building was symmetrical in design, a reflection of the architectural trend popular in Italy, while the Doric columns added a hint of classicism to the picture and guarded the front door like tall forbidding sentinels.

"Take them down to their quarters," Ken heard Nikolai say, and was not surprised to see the sailors quickly move to obey.

Before he could admire the edifice any further, they were led toward the large entrance by four guards, and ushered through the ornate hallways of the place. Ken did not have much of an opportunity to soak in the inside of the building as they were swiftly pushed along toward their destination, but what glimpses of the crafted marble statues and fine oil canvases he caught told him that the interior of the residence was just as impressive as the exterior. After descending a dark stairway, they came up to a plain but sturdy looking oak door, the only one on what appeared to be a level of the building below the surface. Taking a moment to retrieve a set of keys, the lead guard unlocked the entrance and signaled for the three captives to proceed.

Seeing no other option, Ken did as instructed, as did Omi and Schuldich. No sooner had they stepped into the room than the solid door banged closed behind them and the lock click shortly thereafter. Omi and Schuldich made sounds of protest and turned around to test the sturdiness of the door, but Ken knew that it would be a fruitless experiment. Instead, he scanned the room, taking in the grey walls and simple rectangular shape. Seven beds, some occupied and some not, lined opposing sides of the room, and to his relief, two windows approximately a hand span in height were situated on each of those walls close to the ceiling. At least it wouldn't feel too much like a prison this time … not like the hold of that ship.

"It won't do you any good," a serious, but soft, voice said, probably intending to inform the two newcomers trying to open the door of their futile actions.

The three new arrivals searched for the origin. To his right, Ken noticed a diminutive figure sitting on the second bed, his mop of dark brown hair and wide, blue eyes making him look too young to speak with such seriousness.

"And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?" Schuldich asked angrily, the fury he'd been holding in all this time beginning to escape.

The small brunette shrugged and turned his gaze to Ken. "Claim a bed that isn't taken," he instructed simply. "There are only five of us here at the moment so there is quite a bit of room. Make yourselves comfortable until they come for you."

The bland way in which the boy spoke reminded Ken of a child reading from a treatise for a tutor, but still, he could not think of anything else to do save what the boy had recommended.

Before moving to look for a bed that didn't have any clothes thrown on it or a body occupying it, he nodded his gratitude toward the stranger. "Thank you …"

"Nagi," the boy replied. "Just call me Nagi."

(***)

"East."

"No, south. We go south."

Flashing amethyst locked with resolute green as Ran and Youji stared off in a contest of wills, both standing on opposite sides of the redhead's desk as if poised for battle. Kit watched the two grown men from the doorway with an exasperated expression, feeling like a condescending parent forced to settle a dispute between two squabbling children. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that his captain and the blonde were acting like siblings fighting over the last piece of sweetmeat.

"Listen, Youji. There's nothing in the south. If we head east, we can reach the Ottoman in three days."

"My lord captain," the taller man drawled mockingly. "There is indeed something if we head south. We can reach Egypt in two days if we change course now."

Another impasse.

Kit rolled his eyes, and cleared his throat audibly as he walked into Ran's cabin.

"What?" Both arguing men turned their heads and asked in unison.

"Captain, why don't you settle this in a more reasonable manner?" the first mate suggested rationally.

The redhead straightened and raised an eyebrow, years of sailing with the older man having taught him that Kit's advice was always worth considering. "What would that be, Kit?"

The first mate approached the desk, his habitually pleasant, non-assuming smile in place. "Do you have a coin, Captain?"

Youji made a choking sound at the question, but Ran obediently reached into his desk and tossed his old friend a Spanish dollar. Kit caught the coin easily and held up the thing for both men to inspect.

"If the side with King Phillip's likeliness faces up after I throw this, we follow the captain's orders. If it lands with the Pillars of Hercules facing upwards, we do as Youji says. Agreed?"

Reluctantly, the younger men nodded, both deferring to the older - and therefore, wiser - man in the room.

Without further ado, Kit tossed the coin into the air, and all watched eagerly as the gold flipped end over end, hit the end of the desk, bounced onto the floor, and rolled in between two floorboards where it stood upright, perpendicular to the ground.

Youji looked at the coin disbelievingly and then at Kit. Ran stood by quietly, watching Kit with a smile tugging at his lips.

"So what does that mean?" the blonde asked.

Kit smiled the smile that his captain refused to show. "It means, my boy, that I get to choose the next destination." Eyes quickly scanning the map on the desk, the first mate decisively pointed to a spot on the chart. "Greece. I say we head for Greece …"

(***)

They had taken Omi.

Ken stared at the locked door intently from his recently chosen bed, worry for his young friend making it almost impossible for him to sit still. He and Omi had just barely settled into two adjacent unoccupied spaces when two armed guards came in and ordered the blonde out as Ken had looked on helplessly. Even Schuldich observed the event beneath hooded eyes from his bed beside Nagi, in all likelihood, curious as to whether his fate would be similar to the boy's.

Unable to sit still any longer, Ken rose and started pacing the strip of floor between his and Omi's beds.

"Don't worry. He's still too new for anything real. You all have to be trained first, which is probably what they're doing with him right now."

The brunette stopped and stared across the room, eyes briefly taking in Schuldich's sleeping form and coming to rest on Nagi. "Training?"

The pale boy nodded. "Yes. The master likely doesn't have any patrons here."

"Patrons?"

"Patrons. You know, spectators. Rich men who watch, and sometimes, buy."

Ken swallowed hard as the meaning of the younger brunette's words began to make sense. "Buy? You mean us?"

Nagi nodded again, scrutinizing the older man as if he was a simpleton for not knowing such a well-established fact. "There used to be girls here too, but he learned that boys fetch a higher price."

By 'he', Ken knew to whom the boy referred. For all his business-like appearance, Nikolai did not look the part of a decadent flesh dealer. Still, he was furious at himself for not seeing through the mask sooner. Then, a question stuck him. "Nagi, how long have you been here?"

The boy shrugged, shoulders rising and then quickly returning to their sloped, defeated angle. "My whole life," he said simply. "I think my mother was brought here as one of the first."

Compassion filled Ken at the younger boy's admission, and yet, the way that Nagi spoke of his heritage did not boast any self-pity or sadness; he merely referred to it as if it were an accepted fact, something that had always been and always will be. Suddenly, he wondered if the boy was better off life this: Ken had once known freedom and he was constantly haunted by that fact, but Nagi … well, he could not long for something he had never known.

Before he could dwell on the boy's situation any further, the door swung open again and the armed guards that had escorted Omi out earlier marched threateningly toward Ken. Instinct screamed for him to run, to dart around these men and flee as far and as fast as he could, but his rational inner voice kept him immobile. Even if he did evade the men, he would still have to find his way through the forest and then seek transportation off the island. Thus, when one of the guards pressed the flat of his sword against Ken's back, the brunette easily complied and followed them obediently from the room.

Once Ken made it to the top of the stairs, he lost all sense of direction as he was rapidly led through a maze of decorated rooms and posh corridors, eventually coming to a stop in a simply furnished bedchamber. The room appeared ordinary enough at first glance: a large bed, a small table, and an open window, all sparsely spread in a moderately sized space. Yet, even with these mundane features, Ken immediately noticed two things that didn't belong.

The first was what looked like a waterfall of gossamer suspended from the ceiling in the far corner, the sheer fabric partially obscuring several cushioned chairs placed within its depths. Although there was no one seated in the makeshift alcove, Ken was reminded of Nagi's words about patrons who liked to 'watch'. The thought was enough to send a foreboding shiver down his spine.

The second was the darkly dressed man standing casually by the bed, arms crossed and expression bored until he became aware of Ken's presence.

"Nikolai," Ken growled, repressed anger and venom oozing forth in that one name.

"Now, now, my dear boy," the man said, placating. "Just do as I say, and you will be fine."

"I sincerely doubt that."

Nikolai smiled coldly and nodded to Ken's armed escort. At that silent signal, the young brunette found himself being roughly pushed onto the bed, the soft feather mattress absorbing the weight of his body and lessening the impact. From his new position, Ken watched apprehensively as his dark-haired captor walked to retrieve the lone silver wine goblet that had been sitting on the small table. As Nikolai returned to stand by the bed once more, the younger brunette swung his legs up and rolled over the mattress to the other side and got as far from the man as possible. He had no idea what his captor intended to do with him, but he would not give in without a fight.

"I need you to drink," Nikolai said, the politeness of his voice at odds with the slowly growing anger in his eyes.

"Go to hell," Ken threw back, and stood up, beginning to move away from the proffered cup.

The older man sighed and gave another nod to the guards. "Have it your way then, my boy."

The men moved so fast that Ken barely had time to react. He managed to land a hard kick to the stomach of one of the guards before the other wrestled him to the ground, his arms cruelly yanked above his head by the burly man while the recently hurt one scrambled to hold down his legs. He bucked and twisted but found no signs of weakness in his human restraints, eventually releasing a frustrated sound at his helpless predicament.

"Let me go, you bloody bastards!" he shouted and shook his head violently in hopes of loosening the guards' hold.

Nikolai came around the bed and into Ken's field of view, goblet still in hand.

"Not likely, my dear boy," the man said calmly as he knelt down by the younger man's supine body.

Ken glared daggers at his tormentor, brown eyes flashing with pure poison. "You sick son of a bitch," he ground out, resorting to a verbal assault since the avenue of the physical was impossible for him. "I bet your whore of a mother was - "

Nikolai's fingers pinching his nose, and the cold metal of the goblet pressing against his lips cut off the rest of his words. For lack of air, Ken was forced to eventually open his mouth, only to have the contents of the glass poured down his throat. He sputtered and choked, body convulsing, as the sweet tasting wine dribbled down into his mouth as well as his chin and neck, but Nikolai kept the fluid flowing until the goblet was completely emptied.

Ken coughed violently before the guards finally let him go, their duty apparently done. He glared at his smirking captor and wiped his arm across his mouth to clear away some of the sticky liquid that remained around his lips. That done, he rolled over and attempted to stand, only to find his legs giving out the moment he put any weight on them. Flopping ingloriously onto the ground, he turned an accusing gaze toward Nikolai, but the man seemed to be phasing in and out of focus before his eyes.

"What … did … you … do … to … " Even speech had become difficult for him, his words sounding slurred as if he'd drank twenty cups of wine instead of one.

"Nothing, my boy," the older man said. "Relax now."

Ken wanted to protest, to fight some more, but his body refused to obey, as did his mind. He couldn't give up now … not yet, not when he didn't know what would happen to him if he let consciousness slip away. But nothing worked: his limbs weren't his to control any longer and his brain seemed to have stopped functioning.

Distantly, he felt himself being lifted and placed in a sea of softness, which reminded him of the time he had fallen asleep on Ran's feather mattress. Back then, he had felt so warm … and so safe.

Ran …

Even now, the man's presence lingered within his thoughts.

Then, he became vaguely aware of Nikolai hovering above him, assessing his semi-lucidness with a smile of satisfaction. But after that, everything slowly faded to darkness as blessed unconsciousness welcomed him into its comforting embrace.

End Chapter 11