In fatale die, nauclerus ad cavea non venit. In suo loco, sordidus tortor tenens multas horridas armamentas in umbris exstitit. Ingredit lucem lanternae, dentibus serpentis subrisit, inde illam nautam sedilem adligavit. Unguiculi sui mucrones armamentarum responderunt atque cum attinebat carnem nautae interfoderunt.
Obrigescitus vinctusque nauta fortem orem sequente pro scelere gerere potui. Tortor labia cum lingua bifida hauriente dentibus linxit, inde mixturam salivae sanguinisque in orem nautae consputavit. Inquit cum captivum hamo demulsit, “si causam tuam dicebis, te quiritatione tua cumulata sanguine obruebo.” Nauta cum sole silentio respondit.
“Vero, non dicere sperabam,” inquit, inde cum risu taetro interfodit hamum in ventrem miseri viri.
One fateful day, the captain did not come down to the sailor’s cell. Instead, a sordid torturer appeared in the shadows wielding all sorts of horrible implements. He stepped into the light of the lantern and grinned with serpent teeth before binding the sailor to a bench. His fingertips matched the blades on his tools and they dug into the sailor’s flesh as he held him down.
Petrified and restrained, the sailor could only put on a brave face for the ensuing calamity. The tormentor licked his lips with a tongue split in two, drawing blood as it dragged across his teeth, then he spit into the sailor’s face that mixture of saliva and blood. “If you don’t speak your purpose,” he said as he stroked the captive’s brow with a fishhook, “I will make you drown in your own blood-filled screams.” The sailor responded with stoic silence.
“Truthfully, I was hoping you wouldn’t talk,” the serpent-man said, then, with a hideous laugh, he dug the fishing hook into the wretched man’s gut.
*****
Nauta sum. Lux est meus sanguis.
I am the sailor. The light is my blood.
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