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He felt rather than saw day crawl over the ship as it rolled on the waves, for in the blackness of this pit there was no light to see by. As the sun climbed the sky it warmed the wood of the mighty vessel and the hull creaked about Chakka as though it were an old woman coming awake. As much as he might hate the Corsairs, their skill in shipbuilding had always been a wonder to him. Even here, in the lowermost decks with naught but the bilge beneath him, the deck was dry and solid. He waited, and planned.
Chakka knew that the captain would come for him soon, as the final moments of the poison’s effects – were the poison still in him – fast approached. Chakka lay back upon the deck and tightened his entire frame into a rigid pole. He held that tightness until he could feel his muscles beginning to cramp and the false agony slowly became real. Still he held on, forcing his body deeper and deeper into pain. He knew that the captain could not be fooled by dumbshow. When he came, he expected to see a slave in the throws of genuine agony and Chakka was determined that this is what he should see. On cue, Chakka’s body became a tightened knot and he felt control of his muscles slip from him. His limbs were on fire now, but still he held on, his teeth clenched with such ferocity that he felt them grinding together, and from the palms of his hands there came trickles of blood as his nails pushed their way into his flesh. Ever more tightly did he clench his mighty frame, wrapping it about the white heat of his desire for freedom, and soon the pain had carried him away to the place where his spirit walked when dreaming.
Divorced now from the physical reality of his self-inflicted torture, he considered his options. The captain would not be so foolish as to trust him again with any measure of freedom, but what he meant to do was as yet a mystery to Chakka. The oars were his most likely destination and escape from there would be well nigh impossible – well nigh he reminded himself. It was unlikely that Chakka would be put to death for he was a valuable commodity. The captain may suspect him in the loss of the guard he had killed, but as there was no way to produce a body there was no way to prove that the man had not simply fallen over the rail in a drunken stupor. At any rate, Chakka doubted that the captain would rate the loss of a common seaman over Chakka.
His mind turned once more to thoughts of escape. He had learned much of the people aboard this ship in his time before the captain’s door, so he was aware of the tension between the mighty lords and Raka. He could tell that there was distrust there, and possibly enmity – perhaps, if the situation arose, there would be a way to exploit that? If he could get close enough to the lords to speak with them, perhaps he could offer then ways of getting at Raka that they did not suppose existed. On the other hand, both of the lords made ample use of the slaves – perhaps he could insinuate himself into their service to help Raka…at least until he could manipulate circumstances and enable his escape.
A new spasm through his ribs brought him back to reality. His muscles, he realised, were beginning to tear under the immense pressure he had brought to bear upon his body. Still, he willed his body to continue in its stance. He had to convince the captain that the poison was still upon him; he had to convince the captain that he did not possess the secret of escaping his control…
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