"Spending money that isn't yours is a crime,” said Edmun, clearing his throat. “All we ask for is justice. Either repay the sum or accept the punishment. Surely you are men of justice, so let justice be done. Who knows this boy?” There was a murmuring. People looked at each other, shaking their heads gravely. Then someone did step forward, an old man rubbing the side of his stubble-strewn cheek with a weathered hand with a face that had felt the sting of the sun upon the sea for many long years. He gazed at Edmun with grave wariness. It was Oyster.
“Is it you then?” said Edmun. The question hung in the air for a moment.
Oyster nodded slowly. “Aye, I know this boy.”
“So what are you to him, his grandfather?”
”No, can’t say I am. Don’t rightly know his family, if he has any. He’s got no parents. Washed up on Squall Parlor a year or so ago.”
“Then who raised him?”
“No one,” said Oyster, and with a hollow sadness he glanced at Picaro, then back to Edmun. “The streets raised him.”
“So what is he to you?”
“He works on my boat a bit.”
“Are you willing to pay for his crimes?” said Mister Goffrey, who rose from his chair where he was resting with his hands on the crown of his cane. He stared resentfully at Oyster. There was a long pause as men and women averted their gaze, some whimpering.
“I’ll pay what he owes," said Oyster.
Mister Goffrey laughed. Edmun stepped forward. “This boy has stolen twenty five copper pieces, twelve silver pieces, and one gold piece,” said Edmun.
“And I expect it all up front,” said Mister Goffrey, leaning heavily on his cane, his scowl gnarled like a root upon his face.
“Respectfully, that is not something I can pay immediately,” said Oyster. “But I can work it off as a wage, and any choice fish I catch I can bring to you directly to serve with yer meals.”
Mister Goffrey shook his head and scoffed. Edmun coughed lightly. “That won’t do. Mister Goffrey will be leaving immediately upon repair of his ship, which is likely in a few day’s time. We will need the sum presently or else other consequences must be meted.”
“Don’t expect us to go soft on the boy, either,” said Mister Goffrey. “Give mercy to a thief, and he will only steal again. The lesson must be learned hard. Normally, we would take a finger. But I will give you a different choice. One strike for every coin he took from me,” said Mister Goffrey. He paused, staring down at Picaro before raising a malevolent eye at Oyster. There was a particular coldness about Mister Goffrey in that moment that reminded Picaro of Captain Coldblue. Something far off and cold, like a light being snuffed out. Picaro felt his insides squelch, and a cold fear took him.
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“Listen, now. Life can be hard. It’s hard for all of us. I understand he’s wronged you,” said Oyster. “But surely that would be thirty eight strikes. He’s just a boy. Might there be some other way?”
Edmun looked inquisitive. “As I asked previously, are you willing to pay for his crimes?” Picaro jolted and locked eyes on Oyster. The old fisherman cast him a knowing look, one without malice or shame, or pity. Picaro realized just how much the man cared for him. It all made sense now, and the full weight of his crime grew all the more unbearable.
“He’s greedy. He spent my gold piece. Didn’t you, boy?” Mister Goffrey said, and scoffed. “That toy sword is useless to me. He's a greedy little rat, he has a nose for this that I just don’t like the look of.” This made Picaro smirk, for Mister Goffrey had a wretchedly bulbous nose. Mister Goffrey caught the boy looking at it, and snarled. “So there’s yer choices. One little finger, or thirty eight strikes. Either one will do, but somebody’s going to pay.” Picaro curled his lip and furrowed his brow, glaring back at Mister Goffrey. A furious wave of indignation washed over him. To be called greedy, he thought, a boy who had nothing by a man who had everything. A man who treated people like dirt. It boiled him with rage. A malicious look came into Mister Goffrey’s eye, and a sneer curved the edges of his mouth.
A gasp went through the crowd. Picaro looked back at Oyster, who was looking down at the ground. “Take a finger,” said Oyster at last.
“What was that?” asked Mister Goffrey, sneering.
“I said take a finger if that’s all ye want,” said Oyster, looking up with a tired determination. Picaro’s heart pounded, the veins in his temples throbbed as he tried to reason with what he just heard. He felt tears welling in his eyes. This was now the second time the man had stuck his neck out for him.
“No, you can’t,” said Picaro, half-sobbing.
Mister Goffrey peered at him. “We cant? Why?”
“Don’t do it, it was me. It was me,” said Picaro, choking back his tears.
“It’s okay lad, I’ll be fine,” said Oyster.
“No, no. Take my finger. I did it,” said Picaro.
“He doesn’t know what he’s saying. As I already told you, I’ll pay what he owes,” said Oyster.
“You’re too old, old man. I did it. I did it. Take my finger, it was me.”
“So which is it?” Edmun asked .
“I think the thief has made his choice,” said Mister Goffrey. “He has confessed to the crime, and now accepts the punishment.”
“No, please. I ask yer mercy,” said Oyster, holding up his weathered hands pleadingly.
Picaro glared at Mister Goffrey and Edmun in spite of his mounting fear. But it suddenly became harder to see. Hot tears stung his eyes, and his cheeks grew hot. This isn’t fair, it’s not fair, he thought. But life isn’t fair, he reminded himself.
The last thing Picaro saw before pain washed away his memories was Oyster reaching out to him, the crowd framed behind him. The boy actually forgot which finger they took from him, even after the shock of the branding iron they used to seal the wound. They dipped his hand in ice water after it was done to help it heal. It was all very civilized, Mister Goffrey thought.
Afterward, Picaro stumbled in and out of consciousness. The ring finger on his left hand seared all night long, and he slept somewhere on the street that night. Passersby who recognized him whispered in concerned voices. When he finally woke up, he saw Oyster sitting patiently next to him. He had covered him with a thin blanket and even left a bowl of water next to him. They were in a small mudhut on the edge of town, close to the dock. It was Oyster's home. The sun was already up. Picaro thought to ask why the man wasn’t working, but pain wrapped him and he only sat there rocking back and forth, whimpering. All the while, Oyster dotted his forehead with a damp cloth, looking solemn.
Picaro nursed the wound for several days. Then one morning, he left Oyster’s little hut to gaze out at the sea. He saw four pairs of proud white sails signaling the departure of the biggest ship he had ever seen, Mister Goffrey’s merchantry vessel. He looked down to see the nub on his left hand where his ring finger should be. He stood there some time, watching the man who had done him such a terrible wrong leaving Squall Parlor for good.
How it started:
- Samuel O. Ludescher