"A slap under the ribs?"

"Hic!" Nils croaked.

The two sailors laughed. "The rum not resting easy?" the young sailor to Nils' left inquired.

"Nothing a gentle slap under the ribs wouldn't cure," the large dark man suggested from Nils' right.

Nils' stream of piss dribbled to a halt, and he put himself away.

"Eh what?" Nils said, not understanding him at first.

"Like this," the large man said. His open hand swung around and smacked Nils hard in the center of his shirt. Nils staggered back, bent over with the wind knocked out of him, gasping like a landed fish as he leaned against the back wall.

In half a minute Nils' breath had returned.

"That do you?" the large sailor said.

Nils coughed and steadied himself. No more hiccoughs seemed forthcoming. "Seems so," he said.

"Put 'er there, young man, you can take your medicine," the large man said, sticking out a great scarred hand. "I'm Julius, and this is Mack."

"I'm Nils, off the Maiden's ****."

Mack waved his prick as he finished pissing. "Pleased t'meetcha, sailor," he said.

"O ho," Julius said. "Young Captain Flint's ship. Fine vessel, very ladylike lines, but a fighter in a pinch, no mistake. Let me stand you to a drink, if you don't fear another fit of hiccoughs."

"It was one of those red things," Nils said. "Cap-sick-'ems. Make you sick all right." His mouth still burned a little from the shriveled red thing he'd eaten, disregarding Rusty's joking warning.

Mack laughed. "You'll get used to them," he said. "Put hair on your balls."

Julius and Mack steered him toward the bar, with a promise of a drink in exchange for a few stories of serving under Captain Flint.

When Nils was halfway through the rum-and-fruit-juice thing that Julius had bought for him, he came up with a good story. "Now a few months after I'd signed on, the captain..."