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He had a friend once, at the orphanage. A boy older than him, but smaller. He was a sickly, quiet boy; always looking, watching, taking everything in, revealing little of his thoughts. His friend could sit quietly for hours, watching all, while twisting and running a small piece of silver through his fingers. He and this boy became fast and strong friends. His friend would tell him secrets. Secrets of the other boys. Secrets of the father and nuns charged with their upbringing. He would take these secrets, take them and turn them into stories. He used his endless charm and wit to turn these secrets into the things that would protect him. This is how he and his friend survived the cold nights, the older boys, the abusive adults. Secrets and stories were their protection, at least until the fever came. The fever didn’t care about secrets, didn’t care about stories, didn’t care if you were young or old, big or small. The fever had death to answer to, and death had a ledger to fill. The fever took many souls. Most importantly, the fever took his friend, took John. After that, he never risked friends. After that he counted on himself alone to survive. He still told stories, but now, he relied on his own eyes, his own instinct, he couldn’t risk counting on anyone else. Whenever he counted on anyone else, they always seemed to leave. To leave him behind. He never forgot the boy, though. How could he? How could he forget the boy who gave him his name?
~*~*~*~
John left his old life behind. He was fifteen when the fever hit. The next ten years were spent as a drifter. One odd job after the other, anything to get enough money to move on. All he wanted was freedom. His life had always belonged to someone else, still. No matter how much he tried, John still relied on others for survival. Adults at the orphanage, bosses at the mill, the madam at the brothel. Even homeless on the streets, he was never truly free, forced to rely on theft and whoring to survive. He got good at it. It became easy, second nature. Survival was the only thing that mattered.
Good at finding trouble, John was never able to stick around anywhere for long. Anytime a new opportunity arose, he jumped. Anything new, he tried. Anything to get him somewhere other than here. The latest opportunity; a merchant ship, headed to the West Indies. John wasn’t much for ships, not much for the water. But it was a way out, his ticket to somewhere new. Maybe he could learn to like it. At least until he found the next best thing. This was just a jumping stone to something else. He wouldn’t have to survive it for long, just the trip to somewhere else, he could handle the work for that long.
~*~*~*~
He did not sign up for this. It was supposed to be a quick trip. He in no way signed up for pirates. He didn’t get paid enough to risk his life for this ship. Running into a store room, John vaguely noticed the body of the cook he had pushed aside as he slammed the door shut, barricading it behind him.
“What are you doing?” Looking down at the cook, John apologized. He didn’t realize he had knocked him over. However, in his hurry to ensure his protection, one knocked over man was the least of John’s worries.
Was the cook really asking him why he wasn’t on deck? John wasn’t sailing with the smartest of men, but this seemed like an obvious answer. Why would anyone be up there when they could be down here, not dying? He’d rather be a coward any day if that meant he would survive one more day in this world. The cook bringing up the captain in this whole mess, that was a laugh. John highly doubted the man calling himself a captain would last the attack, not an attack against this particular pirate vessel. He’d heard stories amongst the men. Captain Flint captained this ship. Flint’s reputation wasn’t one that favored high chances of survival for anyone who fought back. He would happily hide below with the coward of a cook, if that meant he would make it out alive.
The cook brought up a good point though…John would need to think of something to cement his survival once the pirates found him, for they would find him. He couldn’t hide forever and pirates weren’t known to look upon cowardice kindly. Before he could think of a plan, debris from a well targeted canon blast rained down on the men, knocking something from the cook’s possession. Now that was interesting. A man on a merchant ship being attacked by pirates had many things to worry about, his life on the top of that list. However, the cook, he was more interested in some bit of rolled parchment. Anything that was that important in the face of a near certain death, that was something that interested John. Yes, that interested him very much.
He didn’t expect the man to put up a fight, however. Leave it to John to underestimate what one would do to protect something of value. He’d be angry with himself if it weren’t for the sword descending down on him. A quick distraction of more falling wreckage and the sound of men storming in above them gave John the advantage. Kicking out hard, John scrambled up as the cook fell back and rolled over with the ship, trying to catch his breath. John may be a small man, but he was quick. John used the cook’s disadvantage to strike. He wasn’t a bad man, but if it were a choice between himself—his life and freedom—and someone else…well, John would always choose himself. Before he could even think of making this look like anything other than what it was, the door was battered in. Facing the incoming swarm of men with guns and swords, John did the only thing he could think to do. He lied.
“Hello. He couldn’t handle the thought of what you might do to him.” Gesturing to the dead cook, John knew the lie was thin. Knew the older man didn’t believe one word of it. He knew that a stab in the back wasn’t something that was plausible. But he did what he did best, turned on his charm and hoped for the best. Maybe if he could get through today, he could slip out of this with his life.
“I, on the other hand, would very much like to join your crew.” The man was still suspicious, and looking more and more likely to fire now and ask questions later. John had one more option. One last lie to save his life.
“My name is John Silver, and I happen to be a very good cook.” How hard could it be? Like the real cook said, this was a position always in high demand. No matter that he didn’t know how to boil water. He just needed to fake it long enough to get to port.