The Reluctant Pirate: 17/18
by Linda Garrick and Nancy smith
Chapter 21
Jason sat motionless in the chair. His wrists were secured to the arms of the seat, his ankles bound to the legs, and his mind was filled with despair. His cheeks smarted painfully where the Jilectan had struck him, and still the alien stood oven, him, glaring down at him, and fingering the burn Jason had inflicted on one smooth, pale cheek.
"See what you have done, worm!" Dishvor shouted furiously. "You have scarred me! I shall never be the same again!"
Jason shrank back. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"
"You are sorry, and you shall be more so when I have finished with you!"
"No! Please! Jason closed his eyes. He was done for.
Silence. Jason remained still, waiting for the next blow, but it didn't come. After a long, aching minute he opened his eyes.
Dishvor was still standing there, but the expression on his face had altered. He was surveying Jason with interest, and Jason noticed now that a Lady Jilectan had joined him and was standing behind His Lordship.
"He emits no aura," the Lady said.
"He has his shields up," the male said. "Excellent shielding, my love. It is difficult for me to believe that my brother, stupid as he is, taught him." He spoke to Jason, "My brother taught you to shield, Terran?"
Jason nodded. "Yes sir." His voice shook.
"Lower your shields, Terran child," the Lady instructed gently.
Jason gulped. "Why? What do you want to know?"
She moved suddenly, striking him hard across the face, snapping his head to the side and making his ears ring. "Lower them, fool!"
Dizziness caught at him, and he felt himself sag sideways. Jason gritted his teeth, trying to disregard the pain and numbing fear, and think clearly. Dishvor and his wife were hoping that Jason knew the location of Blashvor's base. Only a few of Blashvor's men knew the whereabouts, and by rights, Jason should not yet know. But Jason did know, had picked up the co-ordinates directly from Puvvir's mind the first time he had read the Arcturian. Dishvor mustn't learn it. Frantically he searched his memory, trying to think of some way to prevent it. Back at the base, Bashvor had started to teach Jason the rudiments of selective shielding. The pirate chieftain had stopped when Jason had proved a little too adept for the Jilectan's comfort. But Jason, intrigued, and with the fundamentals of the art already learned, had practiced on his own. He thought he was pretty good, but had had no real means to test the art.
Until now ...
With a silent prayer, Jason erected his invisible shields, hiding away only his knowledge of the location of the base, and his link with Trevor. Then, with another prayer, he lowered the barrier.
"Yes, M'Lady," he murmured.
The two Jilectans bent over him eagerly, like children over a cookie jar, their mind probes invading his thoughts instantly. Jason remained passive beneath the double onslaught hoping frantically that his shields would hold. If they were detected, or even suspected, he was done for.
For a long, heart-shaking minute the probes continued. Then the lady straightened up, voice disappointed and angry. "He knows nothing!"
"Nothing! Nothing of value!" Dishvor yanked the bonds from Jason's wrists and jerked him to his feet. "You were my brother's favored psychic, slave?" The words were degrading, humiliating. Jason felt the hot blood creep into his cheeks, but somehow managed to keep his reply low and humble.
"Yes sir, I was."
"You are Jason Sweeney?"
"Yes, My Lord."
"My brother has other psychics?"
"Only one, sir: a young man named Fenton Culley."
"Ah, yes, I aw already aware of young Mr. Culley's presence." The Jilectan glanced across the room at Fenton's sister, Patricia. The girl bowed her head, the action concealing the dark bruise on her jawline.
"Blashvor has no other psychics, slave?"
"No, M'Lord."
"You have no knowledge of the whereabouts of Blashvor's main base?"
"No, My Lord. I've only been in his service about a Corallan month."
Silence. Dishvor released him and stepped back. "On your knees before me, slave!"
Jason knelt, keeping his eyes down.
"You are no longer my brother's slave," Dishvor informed him coldly. "You are mine. Any insolence, any attempt to escape, will be punished severely. You have already injured me, and caused me great inconvenience, but that was done while you were in the service of my brother, and therefore the crime is on his head more than yours. I therefore will spare your life for now." A pause. Then, angrily, "You have nothing to say, worm?"
"Y...yes, M'Lord," Jason stammered. "Thank you, sir."
"Very good." Dishvor smiled thinly. "You are a teleport, are you not, slave?"
"Yes sir."
"What mass objects can you teleport?"
"I think up to about 500 grams, sir."
"The detonator, which you took from my ship, was over 600, fool!" Dishvor's voice was angry again. "Do not attempt to deceive me!"
"No, sir -- I...I didn't know that. The biggest objects I could manage while Lord Blashvor was teaching me was 500 grams."
"My brother is not a Lord," snapped Dishvor. "You will not refer to him as such. He is a traitor and a murderer! He murdered my mother and my father, and tried to murder me!"
Jason gaped at the Jilectan with a sense of horror. "No!" The word was out before he could restrain it, and he flinched back, expecting another blow.
"I see he informed you otherwise." Dishvor laughed coldly. "Stand up, slave."
Jason obeyed, feeling his head spin a little from the change of position. Dishvor seized him by the collar and lifted him lightly from the deck. He was brought up to a level with Dishvor's face, and found himself looking directly into a pair of slightly crazed grey eyes.
"Blashvor killed my mother and my father, slave. He also tried to kill me. I was too clever for him, but he stole from me what he could, and with the help of treacherous house slaves, he escaped. He is no longer worthy of the title Lord! He is a fiend, a wretch, lower than the basest of crawling creatures in the galaxy! You will never refer to him again as Lord! Do you understand?"
"Yes sir," Jason mumbled, choking a little from the grasp on his collar.
Dishvor put him down, and again the deck seemed to spin and tilt slightly. He staggered sideways and went to one knee.
Dishvor seated himself on a large, luxurious sofa. They were in an elaborate sitting room, Jason saw, with soft, reddish lighting and thick carpets. The Lady seated herself beside him, one hand resting negligently on his knee.
"And now, slave," Dishvor said, "I wish for you to demonstrate your skills to my Lady and me. If you please me, I shall exact no more punishment for the injury you inflicted upon my person."
Jason gulped. "Okay, sir, I'll do my best."
The Jilectan frowned. "Okay?"
Trish spoke quickly. "It's a euphemism, Master, used by Terran kids ...."
"Be still, slave!"
Trish fell silent, lowering her eyes.
"I'm sorry, sir," Jason said quickly. "I'll try to do what you tell me, sir."
"My psychics are to address me as 'Master'," the Jilectan said coldly. "You will take no liberties with me, slave."
"Yes, master." Jason bowed his head, feeling again the hot blood seeping into his cheeks. The Arcturian, who had appeared earlier, came through the door.
"My Lord Dishvor?"
"Yes, Lemmar?"
"We sshall be landing wizzin zee hour. Do you wissh to wait for your food until after we reach our basse, or do you wissh it sserved now?" The alien's words, Jason noted, were respectful, but unafraid.
"We shall wait." Dishvor smiled benignly at the Arcturian. "We shall have a celebration tonight, Lemmar, to commemorate our new acquisition: my brother's favored psychic! Spread the word when we arrive."
"Yess, My Lord!" The Arcturian grinned horribly and withdrew. Dishvor addressed Jason again. "Teleport that vase from the table over there to this table."
"Yes, Master." Jason concentrated on the object. It was almost too big, and he needed Trevor. His head began to spin a little as he worked, but suddenly the vase vanished, to reappear an instant later on the surface Dishvor had indicated. It wobbled slightly, then steadied at the touch of a telekinetic finger. Sudden dizziness swept over him again, and the deck tilted sharply. Jason swayed and caught himself with one hand on the deck.
Dishvor picked up the object, weighing it in his hand. "This is only about 500 grams. Can you do no better than that, slave? Your control was very poor."
"I'm sorry, Master."
"Place it in the original spot now, slave."
Jason concentrated, trying to obey. The effort made his head spin anew. The vase vanished, then reappeared halfway to the table, and thudded to the carpet, cracking neatly in half. Jason tried to get to his feet, but black spots were expanding before his eyes. He felt himself falling, and faintly heard Trish's voice.
"He's sick!" Her hands touched him, supporting him gently,
"What is it?" Dishvor's voice was suddenly nearer, and Jason blinked up at the big face over him. "Are you unwell, slave?"
"Just dizzy, sir, I mean master." Jason shook his head carefully. The air was clearing.
"What has caused it?" Dishvor looked at Trish. The girl hesitated, her eyes straying from the Jilectan's.
"You did hit him awfully hard, Master, and he is just a child."
"Indeed?" The Jilectan's voice was sharp. "I thought I was rather gentle with him, considering his crime."
The Jilectan Lady spoke from somewhere beyond Jason's range of vision. "Allow him to rest, My Lord. He will recover rapidly. The young of this species always do." Her face appeared behind her Lord, and she began to stroke the Jilectan's cheek seductively. "And while he is resting, let me amuse you, my love,"
The Jilectan slipped an arm around her, grinning. "Very well, my dear. Slave --" To Trish, "-- summon my servant."
"Yes Master." Trish rose with a quick, fluid motion and went to the door. "Sir, my Master wants you."
A Procyon entered, and Jason's head jerked toward him. "Le Frit!"
The Procyon ignored him, bowing slightly to the Jilectan. "Yesh, M'Lord?"
"Take the little slave away and let him rest. The female will stay with him." The Jilectan's eyes fixed those of the girl. "Remain with him at all times, slave. Watch him closely."
"Yes Master."
The Procyon bent to take Jason's arm. It was not, he saw now, Le Frit, but another of his species, also displaying a disgusting case of red mite itch. Round alien eyes met his. "Did you wish to shpeak, slave?"
"No." Jason looked away. "Sorry."
"You will addresh me ash shir, Terran pshychic," the Procyon informed him frostily.
Jason allowed the alien to assist him to his feet. "Why should I?" he demanded, unable to quell his irritation. "You called me 'slave.'"
"Because those are my orders, Terran psychic!" Dishvor snapped. "You, little slave, are the lowest of my subjects! Never forget that! You will address all my men as 'sir'!"
Jason stared at the alien in shock, then lowered his eyes again. "Yes, Master."
The Procyon lifted him lightly and carried him into the adjoining room. Trish followed and seated herself beside him. The Procyon departed, closing the door. The lock clicked into place.
A figure rose from a chair across the room and approached. Jason looked into the small, thin face of another Terran. The young man was bandaged on head and shoulders, and reddened skin below the bandage revealed the injury to be a nasty burn. Jason grimaced at the empathic sensations from the other. "Hi," he said.
The young man nodded and sat down across from him, eyes meeting Trish's across the cot. Neither spoke.
"What's going to happen now?" Jason asked softly.
"Sh." The girl glanced fearfully toward the door. "You're not supposed to talk."
"Huh? Why not?"
"He doesn't like for his psychics to talk to each other. Quiet. If he hears us, we'll be punished."
"He won't hear us. The door's closed."
"He'll be scanning. Please shut up."
"Trish is right." It was the young man. "Shut up, kid."
"But please, I have to know what happened to my friend, Trevor. Was he killed or captured?"
"I dunno. Please shut up!"
The door slid open and a figure appeared, the tall, slender form of the Lady. She held a device in one hand, and her face, beautiful as it was, made Jason's heart lurch. Trish came to her feet with a cry of terror, and the young man also stood up. "Oh, M'Lady, please --"
Dispassionately the lady pressed a control on the device. There was a faint crackle of electrical energy and Trish sank forward with a scream of pain. The lady pressed the device again. Again there was a crackle, and the young man joined the girl on the floor, groaning.
The Lady turned without a word and went out. The door closed.
"I'm sorry!" Jason gasped. He sat up and bent, trying to help the girl. She was trembling as he touched her, but shook off his hand angrily and shoved him back down.
*Lie still!* Her voice was a furious whisper in his mind.
Jason sank back and obeyed. Both psychics had reseated themselves, faces set, eyes fixed on him. The silence stretched out in the room. Neither of his guards stirred or spoke.
*Trev!* Hopelessly Jason formed his friend's name behind his selective shielding. *Tell Blashvor to hurry! This Jil's awful!*
No response, nothing to indicate that Trevor had heard him. Jason closed his eyes and fought back tears.
Chapter 22
Somehow he must have slept, for he came suddenly wide awake at a jolt, announcing their emergence from hyperspace. His head ached, but the dizziness had departed. Trish, and her male friend were still seated beside him, their figures still as statues.
"We're there!" Jason sat up. The room remained stationary, and Trish got to her feet, watching him, but not speaking.
The door opened, and he froze, but it was only the Procyon servant. The alien entered, beak elevated, round, dark eyes regarding them disdainfully. Jason felt a flash of irritation.
The newcomer spoke.
"His Lordship orders you to bring the little psychic to his quarters as soon as he is cleaned up and fed, Nathan."
The young man nodded. "Yes sir."
"There is to be a celebration tonight. See that he is clothed appropriately."
"Yes sir"
The Procyon went out. As the door closed, the young man made a disrespectful gesture after him. Jason giggled a little in spite of himself. "Buggy bird," he whispered.
Trish scratched her head, smiling a little. There was a soft thump, and Jason felt suddenly very light. They must have arrived on Dishvor's pet asteroid, he thought.
Nathan took his arm and spoke in a low voice. "I guess you're feeling better, huh?"
"Yes." Jason glanced fearfully toward the door.
"It's okay. He's gone, and so is she. Listen, kid, you'd better put your shields down. It sort of helps to know where he is, you know."
Jason lowered everything but his selective shielding. "Blashvor doesn't allow us to keep our shielding up when we're around him.
"Neither does Lord Dishvor. He doesn't even allow us to talk much. He's scared we might plot against him, I think -- not that we'd have a chance if we did. He's got too many guys behind him." Nathan took his elbow. "You okay now, kid? A little more steady on your pins?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"No problem. C'mon with me, now. See you later, Trish."
"Bye, Nate."
The two separated, Nathan leading Jason through another room, out the airlock, and down a long tube, rather like the one at Blashvor's base. They entered a large, luxurious lounge, also rather like Blashvor's, and proceeded down a long hallway, lined with filigree decorations and lavish paintings. Beings passed them, none speaking to either of the psychics. Then Nate turned and steered him into a small, sparsely furnished room. The door closed behind them.
Nate relaxed and dropped on the bunk, grinning at Jason. "You poor kid!" he said. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh?"
"What do you mean?"
"You got Jils fighting over you at every turn. Blashvor's worse than Lord Dishvor -- or so I hear."
Jason shook his head adamantly. "Blashvor's nothing at all tike Dishvor!"
"Huh?"
"Blashvor's nice!"
Nathan stared at him. "You kidding, kid?"
"No! Blashvor's really nice! He never acted like ... like that creep, even when I first got caught!"
"Sh!" Nathan glanced fearfully toward the door. "Don't talk disrespectful even in private, Jase. He'll see it in your mind later. Lord Dishvor's fanatical about his psychics."
"I could see that," Jason said. He sat down, feeling a little weak again. "You're Nate?"
"Nathan Packard. You can call me Nate. Do you mean to tell me Blashvor's different from his brother?"
"Different as night and day! Blashvor's nice, I tell you! He doesn't call me slave, and he never once hit me! And all the other pirates have to be nice to us! If they're not, Blashvor gets on their case."
Nathan stared at him, speechless.
"And I have a nice room, and plenty to eat, and my share of the goods. I'm Blashvor's best psychic and he treats me right!"
"You gotta be kidding!"
"I'm not, I tell you! Blashvor's always nice, even when I goof up! He never hurt me, even when I tried to escape!"
Nathan swallowed hard. "What did he do?"
"He told me not to try again, or I'd be punished. Oh, he scared me good, but he didn't hit me. I thought he would, sure. I'd shocked him with a stunbeam."
Nathan’s jaw dropped. "Unbelievable. Listen, kid, don't even try that here. Lord Dishvor won't put up with it. In case you didn't pick it up, he hates Terran psychics with a passion. I did try once." The young man bent and pulled off a boot. Jason gulped, staring at his companion's toes. Two digits on the foot were missing.
"He did that?"
"Yep. I tried to escape right after he caught me. I never tried again."
"I don't believe it! You're trying to scare me!"
Nate put his boot back on. "Yes you do believe," he said flatly. "You'd better believe."
"But ... why does he hate us so much?"
"Same reason most Jils do, I guess. He knows we're better than he is when it comes to psychic talents."
Jason nodded. "Blashvor admits it. I think it annoys him some, but he's never taken it out on Fen or me."
"Sounds like heaven," Nate said, soberly. "How old are you, Jason?"
"Eleven."
"You look younger. Here, you'd better get dressed, and I'll get you something to eat. I don't think you'll get much at the big bash tonight."
"In my honor, huh?"
"Yeah." Nathan dug in a drawer and drew out a rumpled suit, the same grey, drab shade as his own. "Here. This'll do. It'll be sort of big. Pull the belt tight and roll up the sleeves and legs."
Jason shed his jeans and boots, and began to wiggle into the jumpsuit. Nathan picked up the boots, surveying them with appreciation. "Wow! Fancy. Where'd you get these?"
"Blashvor gave 'em to me."
"Yeah? Better not wear 'em around here. You'll attract attention, and Lord Dishvor wouldn't like it." He glanced at the amulet which lay against Jason's naked chest. "Where'd you get that?"
"Blashvor again."
"Man!" Nate reached forward and touched it reverently. "I guess you weren't kidding, were you? He really does treat you okay."
"Blashvor's great," Jason said sadly. "And he thinks we should dress like pirates, just like the rest of the crew."
"We, huh? How many psychics does old Blashvor own?"
Jason sighed. "Just one now."
"Hmph. Too bad he lost you, kid. You’ve got quite an aura, you know. You must be good."
"Blashvor says I am. How many psychics does Dishvor have?"
"Lord Dishvor, Jason -- that, or Master Dishvor. Always be respectful, even when he's not around. There's just Trish and me, and now you. He had another one, but poor old Franne got killed about two months ago."
"Oh. I’m sorry."
"Me, too. Franne was a good guy. Here, better see if you can wear these boots instead of your own. How's the head?"
"Better. I'm sort of hungry."
"I'll fix that." Nate went over to a small microwave oven and pressed buttons. "Better go wash your face, kid. You got blood on you. The bathroom's over there."
Jason went into the room and stared into the mirror. Nathan was right. There was blood on his chin, crusted and dried, and a dark bruise extending over his right cheek and across his eye. Above the eye was a swollen knot with a cut on top of it. More blood had oozed from the cut and dried into his eyebrow.
He took a cloth from the rack, dampened it, and began to sponge his face. Nathan appeared at the door, watching him expressionlessly.
"Do you know what Lord Dishvor says about Blashvor?" he asked suddenly.
"Yes. He told me Blashvor killed his mother and father. I don't believe it."
"You don't, huh? Well, to tell the truth, I have a hard time swallowing all of it, myself. Lord Dishvor hates Blashvor worse than he hates Terran psychics, kid. Don't talk about Blashvor to Lord Dishvor. It won't make him like you any better."
"What was supposed to have happened?" Jason asked, scrubbing at the crusted blood on his chin.
"Well ..." Nathan leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. "I've heard a couple of different versions, but basically I guess, Blashvor was supposed to have murdered Lord Dishvor's mother, Lady Sashvill. You see, Blashvor's the eldest son by two years, but Lord Dishvor's mother, Sashvill, was Blashvor's father's first wife. Does that make sense to you?"
"Yes, I guess so."
"Kind of confusing, huh? Anyway, according to custom, the son by the Lord's first wife is considered the eldest son and heir. So, anyway, Blashvor, knowing Lady Sashvill stood in his way, killed her so that he would become the eldest son. But, according to Lord Dishvor, their father, Trashvor, found out about it, and came after Blashvor. Blashvor shot him, and tried to kill Lord Dishvor at the same time."
Jason shook his head. "I just can't swallow that."
"Well, that's what he says. Why can't you swallow it? Don't you think Blashvor's capable of a little treachery? He's a pirate, you know."
Jason gulped. He didn't want to believe it, but inside himself, he knew that Blashvor was probably quite capable of it. "I don't believe it!" he repeated stoically.
Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Okay, kid. So, anyway, Lord Dishvor apparently outwitted his brother and escaped. They've been bitter enemies ever since."
Jason dabbed at the blood over his eyebrow, Nathan took the cloth from him. "Hold still, I'll get it. We've got to move some. His Lordship'll be waiting." He finished cleaning Jason's face and stepped back. "The food's ready. Better eat fast."
Jason followed him back into the main room and looked dispassionately at the food on the table. Nathan shrugged. "They keep the best stuff for the others, kid. We eat what's given to us."
Jason sat down and began to eat. It tasted better than it looked, and he needed no urging to finish the plate. Nathan watched him expressionlessly.
Jason wiped his mouth, smiling at the other psychic. "Thanks."
"You're welcome, little guy. Let's go."
"Nathan ..."
"Yeah?"
"Isn't there ..." He hesitated, than tried again. "Isn't there any way to escape?"
Nathan's expression didn't change. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that, Jase. But you mention it again, and I'll have to tell Lord Dishvor. Get it out of your mind. There's no way to escape, and if you're caught trying he'll work you over until you'll wish he'd just kill you and get it over with. I tried that one time I told you about and taking my toes off wasn't all he did to me. Trish tried once, too, poor li'l gal ..." His voice trailed off. "Neither of us'll ever try again."
"I'm sorry," Jason said.
"Besides, since we aren't allowed to keep our shielding up while we're around Lord Dishvor or his Ladies, they'd pick it up out of our minds right away if we even considered it."
"Okay," Jason said.
"Let's go." Nathan led the way out.
Nathan led him down a confusing maze of corridors and paused before a door. He knocked diffidently.
"Come in, slaves," Dishvor's voice said from the air.
Jason and Nate entered. Nathan knelt at once, Jason only a moment behind him. The Pirate chieftain was seated on a furry divan, drinking a glass of wine. Lady Dishvill was nowhere to be seen.
"You may leave us, slave." Dishvor gestured curtly to Nathan. The young man rose to his feet and backed toward the door, eyes downcast. He went out, and the panel slid shut behind him.
Jason remained kneeling. He could sense Dishvor's gloating pleasure as he regarded his new possession. Anger welled in him, and he repressed it forcibly. It would do no good to get himself beaten again.
"Very wise of you, little slave," Dishvor chuckled mirthlessly. A door opened to one side and Lady Dishvill entered. She was breathtaking in a sheer gown the color of cherries, her golden hair tied girlishly back with a scarlet ribbon. Jason stared at her in awe, then lowered his eyes again. Dishvor rose to his feet.
"My dear, you are beautiful!"
The Lady smiled with pleasure and came forward to take his arm. Her lips brushed his neck, and he laughed, catching her in a savage embrace and bending her head back. The kiss was long and very passionate. Jason drew in his breath sharply at the empathic sensations.
Then Dishvor was pulling him to his feet. "Ch'Fing!" he called.
The Procyon materialized from a doorway. "My Lord?"
"The leash!"
The alien chuckled softly and approached, a golden rope of some type of meshed metal in his taloned hands. The servant fastened one end to Jason's belt, the other to the Jilectan's ornate jeweled sash, then pulled Jason's wrists behind him and fastened them with a security bar. Dishvor waited until he had finished, then again offered his arm to his wife. "Come, my love."
Together they strode from the room, Jason scampering along behind them like a puppy on a leash.
He had to run to keep up with the aliens, but fortunately it wasn't far. They reached a door and entered a huge room, which might have resembled the great throne rooms once used by the monarchs of ancient Europe. Vast tables spread with food and drink lined the walls, a magnificent chandelier hung from the roof, and on a raised dais, rather like Blashvor's were two ornate, throne-type chairs. The room was full of pirates in full dress, complete with jewels, satins and silks. Around the throne were clustered a dozen Lady Jilectans, also elaborately attired. Jason saw beings of every description as he followed the Jilectan across the room.
The pirates cheered as they mounted the dais, and Dishvor and his chief wife turned to face the assemblage. A tug on the leash brought Jason stumbling forward. Dishvor caught him by the security bar and ankles and Lifted him high off the floor, presenting him to the crowd of pirates.
"My new psychic!" he shouted. "My accursed brother's most powerful psychic is now mine! I have outwitted Blashvor again!"
A roar of applause went up.
"We will now celebrate!" Dishvor continued. "Drink and dance! Whatever you desire, you have only to ask! I am feeling most generous tonight!"
Another rousing cheer. Dishvor seated himself, and a Procyon hurried forward to present the Lord and Lady with glasses of ruby colored wine. Music began, and the room dissolved into laughter and tuneless song. Couples began to dance without much skill or rhythm.
Jason huddled on the dais steps at Dishvor's feet and tried not to cry. A big pirate, clad in flowing red breeches and wearing braids rather like Granger's, danced by, holding a giggling Terran girl around the waist. As he passed, he gave Jason a playful dig in the ribs, Jason yelped with surprise. The woman screamed with laughter.
"Go away," Jason said, knowing the man would not hear him over the music and noise.
The pirate danced past again, once more trying to jab him in the ribs. Jason hunched away, evading him. The pirate laughed uproariously and spun the woman around. She reached over, catching Jason's ear and pulling it. Jason felt the insulted blood rising into his face. "Cut it out!" he shouted, forgetting for a moment where he was.
"That's cut it out, ma'am!" the woman jeered at him, "No disrespect, little slave!"
Dishvor smiled. "Not too rough, my friends, I would not like it if you damaged him."
"No, M'lord." The man danced forward again, reaching for Jason. Jason rose to his knees, feeling fury knife through him.
"Hey! Leave me alone!"
The man roared with laughter. "Yessir, my little Lord! Hot blooded little thing, ain't he?"
Dishvor also laughed. "He will learn his place quickly, I assure you, my friends." He, too, poked Jason from behind.
Jason swiveled to face the Jilectan. Dishvor's eyes met his, seeming to bore through him.
He subsided on the dais again, beaten. The pirate dug him in the ribs again.
It hurt! Suddenly, furiously, Jason reached for the man's looped earring with telekinesis and pulled. The hoop tore free, and the pirate voiced an agonized howl, clutching his ear.
There was a sudden silence. The music died, and the laughter. Jason saw all the pirates staring at him. A tug on the leash from behind brought him spinning about to confront Dishvor. The Jilectan was no longer smiling. The injured pirate cursed softly, wiping blood from his ear.
"You have injured one of my men, slave." Dishvor's voice was soft and unemotional, but their sound sent a chill through the boy.
"But he --"
Dishvor, Interrupted him. "You will never -- never use your psychic powers against my men, my Ladies, or myself, slave." A jerk on the leash brought him stumbling forward almost into Dishvor's lap. The Jilectan turned him around to face the pirate he had injured. His hair was grasped in one powerful hand, and Dishvor jerked his head back, in the same motion pushing him to his knees.
"You may exact your revenge, Lyle," the Jilectan said softly. "But do not injure him so that he is unable to function."
The pirate grinned savagely, drawing a knife from his boot top. He regarded Jason appraisingly, still fingering the torn ear.
"An eye for an eye? How about an ear for an ear, M'Lord?"
Dishvor considered. "Very well. Just don't cut him too deeply. I do not want him to bleed to death."
The pirate approached, fingering the blade. The crowd moved forward to watch.
**********
tbc
