That reminded Santiago. He hadn’t heard the captain’s voice in a while, hadn’t felt his feelings. Perhaps he’d gotten a little too far away. He didn’t like that feeling, either, of being separated from the captain. It felt like losing something very necessary, like his tail or his sense of smell. He squeezed beneath the pantry door and went in search of the captain, sniffing around, trying to catch that thread between them.
He heard voices above him. He climbed up to the rafters and peered through one of the holes into Wiley’s library. He sniffed at the musty smell of all the books. Words, words, words. Some humans hoarded words like rats did food. Santiago did not understand it. Words couldn’t feed you. They couldn’t keep you alive. Worse, they sometimes confused and complicated things, which could lead to death. Words were weak. They were for fools and cowards, like Wiley and Brocco. They were both in the library now, spitting worthless words back and forth at each other, as humans like to do.
“I don’t know what to tell you, mate,” Brocco said. “You know the captain is not so forgiving of mistakes.”
“But you could help me!” Wiley said desperately. He was frantic, flailing his arms about. He was holding the map, the one he’d stolen from the Hudsons. It was crumpled and torn. “You could back me up, tell him it was an accident and there was nothing either of us could do about it.”
They were discussing their last mission, Santiago guessed. The chase on the Hudsons had not gone as well as the captain had hoped, and to top it all off, Wiley had lost the map they had relied on to track the Hudsons. He knew it didn’t matter so much. The map wasn’t essential to their plans, but Brocco was right. The captain was not forgiving of mistakes.
“I don’t want to be discarded!” Wiley cried.
“That makes two of us,” Brocco said. “Don’t ask me to get mixed up in this. You’re the one who was holding the map.”
“But for the sake of a friend? Please, Brocco! You have to help me!” He got down on his knees and grabbed Brocco’s hand.
The captain appeared in the library just then, followed closely by Mr. Nobel. Santiago hadn’t sensed the captain’s approach. He must have been distracted. But now that he was here, he sensed that tether between them, and the complex web of feelings that inhabited the captain, as well as that bottomless pit of hunger.
Brocco yanked his hand away from Wiley when he saw the captain. Wiley jumped up and backed away, trembling. The captain gave a wry smile, as though he knew exactly what they had been doing before he entered. Of course, he would have heard anything Santiago heard.
“Your M-majesty,” Wiley said. “I want to apologize. For the loss of the map. It took me by surprise, you see. I couldn’t do nothing about it. The Hudson boy just ripped it out of my hands.”
The captain said nothing. Santiago felt a twitch of annoyance, a flare of anger at the mention of Hudson. It would have been better if Wiley had simply kept quiet, as he usually did, but he blabbered on even more.
“Maybe we could go back and get the map again!” Wiley suggested. “At another time. We could, couldn’t we? I’ll do it. I’ll make the plans and everything. The risk will be all mine. You can take me back to before and I’ll steal the map. Easy peasy. I’ll be slippery as oil. Like a shadow! I’ll—”
Wiley’s speech cut out as the captain shot forth his arm and grabbed Wiley by the jaw. Wiley froze, his face caught in a silent scream.
“You know what, Wiley? I think you were a much better time pirate before you learned how to read.”
Wiley’s eyes widened so the white parts shone all around. He clawed at the captain, but he was powerless. The captain drew out Wiley’s life tapestry from his jaw. He pulled and pulled, looking at the various moments of Wiley’s life. There were so many books. Books in stacks and piles. Wiley turning page after page, eating all those words like they were a fine meal. The captain drew his sword and sliced the piece where Wiley was learning how to read, sounding out each of those nonsensical symbols, turning them into words and stories.
“Mr. Nobel, if you please,” Captain Vincent said, holding out his hand.
Without a word, Mr. Nobel opened his case and pulled out another of his special explosives. Captain Vincent wrapped that scrap of Wiley’s life tapestry around it and lit the wick. The fabric burned, disintegrated, and disappeared. The remaining pieces of Wiley’s life tapestry knit back together and retracted back inside of Wiley. When he came to, he took a huge gasp of air and fell to the ground, clutching at his head.
“What did you do? What did you do?”
“An eye for an eye, Wiley. Isn’t that in one of your precious books?” The captain nodded to the book that was still clutched in Wiley’s arms.
Wiley looked down at the book. He squinted at the cover, blinked a few times. He opened the book and turned the pages, shaking his head as though trying to clear his vision.
“The words,” he said. “What happened to the words?” He turned the pages.
