Anonymous - The Autobiography of a Flea, Book4

“Then we have nothing to -”

“Silence!” roared the captain. “You err, stupid lad! We have plenty to worry about. You and I were placed in the position of authority and responsibility to deliver twelve virgins. We share the blame with that disgusting creature whose greedy finger has ruptured our futures along with a mere hymen!”

“Will it go very badly for us?”

“It may go very badly indeed. Sometimes Senor Bullpole is quite unpredictable. There is no way of knowing what our fate will be. We can only keep the repulsive creature alive who caused this problem – and hope that our punishments will be relatively light and merciful by comparison to what will be done to her for having spoiled the number of girls to be delivered – their virginities intact as by Senor Bullpole's written order.' He waved a scroll written in a scholarly script.

“Will my having possessed the girl after she was deflowered cause me to be punished severely?” Ignacio's face was pale with fear now. “I was so heated by lust that I didn't stop to reason.”

“Only Senor Bullpole can judge that.”

“My God! Is he likely to kill me?” Sweat rose in beads from the younger man's forehead. “You've been in his employ all your life! You must have some influence with him, my captain! Don't let him have me butchered just because I behaved in a humanly manner like any other man!”

“Compose yourself!” demanded the captain, rising to his feet. “Stop acting like a coward! We have something that must be done. Something rather unpleasant but necessary. Come along.”

Together they went on deck where the entire crew of women had gathered. Two of them held the woman who had been guarding the compartment when the lesbian had bribed her. She sagged, slack with fear, in the stout arms of her guards.

Facing the assemblage, the captain's stony face regarded them grimly for a long moment of silence. Then he began speaking, warning them that what was about to be displayed would also be the fate of any of them foolish enough to tamper with the precious shipment of human purity below decks. Then, with a barely perceptible nod of his head, he signaled to the women holding the one to be used as an example of what disobedience would bring.

They roughly hoisted her up, hurling her over the side. A line had been securely tied about her thick ankles and it was paid-out swiftly as she fell screaming in terror – the loud plunging sound of her body entering the sea cutting off her pitiful shriek abruptly.

The sharks that had followed the ship for days converged rapidly upon the woman struggling in the water, yanking her under the surface which roiled violently – turning bright red. The whole thing took less than a moment to happen before the widened eyes of the entire crew.

When the line was hauled in, only a pair of feet shorn off at the shredded flesh and splintered bones above the ankles was left of the unfortunate woman who had been thrown to the sharks.

The eleven virgins remained virgins for the rest of our voyage.

By now, having heard so many fascinating things pertaining to the powerful and ruthless Senor Bullpole, I was exceedingly curious to experience his presence for myself and, perhaps, boldly taste the blood of one so distinctively fearful – as he seemed to be regarded by his employees.

So when we finally sighted the island of Palma de Mojarca several weeks later and had sailed into its spacious harbor, I was agog with excitement that ordinary Fleas would never have felt but which I, as an extraordinarily perceptive creature – despite the humbleness of my station – endured with great impatience as the ship was docked.

Then, too, I was tiring of the thin-blooded old captain upon whom I'd transferred myself, having found Ignacio's chronically sweaty flesh too difficult to easily traverse ever since he had begun perspiring most profusely night and day – probably due more to his fear of the impending punishment rather than the delightfully warm climate into which we had sailed and arrived.

Hardly had the ship been secured to the wharf than phalanxes of black men – garbed in brightly hued loincloths, the silvery and golden metal of their fancy weapons gleaming brilliantly against their ebony flesh – marched aboard, some of the gigantic nubian guardsmen escorting the bevy of cowering and confused virgins ashore, the others taking the captain, the sullen-faced lesbian and Ignacio into custody.

Directly we were led up a winding road to the imposing outer gate of an immense castle of mad architectural beauty – its Moorish lines and complicated decorative tile-work, a symphony of blatant and exotic art – where our guardsmen turned us over to other, more formally attired guardsmen who then marched us to the palace.

Its interiors were unbelievably splendid and luxurious. Fine woven tapestries hung from the stone walls. Stairways and furniture were ornately carved from polished woods. The all-encompassing atmosphere was that of wealthy splendor and breath-taking space filled with rich colors and textures right down to the millions of cushions piled everywhere.

We passed steadily from room to room, occasionally turning down broad hallways and passing huge windows that offered brief glimpses of intricately planted gardens or wide pools of glittering water. Finally we reached an immense room where we were halted, apparently to wait. The floor was thickly carpeted with an oriental pattern that reached from wall to wall. A slightly raised platform at one end of the mammoth room was piled with many of the brightly colored cushions. The ceiling seemed to arch at least fifty feet overhead, sunlight diffused by panes of glass that had been tinted somehow and made the interior glow softly.

Then Senor Bullpole entered the fantastic room from a door nearby. He waddled slowly toward the small mountain of cushions – an immensely tall man whose bulging belly created a girth that diminished his stature most deceptively. Ponderously, he lowered his huge body to the cushions and settled himself without hurry. The guards moved us closer to where Bullpole lounged now, staring expressionlessly at those who had been brought before him.

I was intrigued to find the man's eyes were a pale yellow color and they burned out of a handsome craggy face that showed no emotion. His skull was totally bald, having been shaved clean. His hands were large and graceful, toying with a medallion on a golden chain slung around his massive neck. When he finally opened his thin-lipped mouth and spoke, his voice was muted thunder.

“I've been appraised of the facts concerning the shortage of your cargo, Captain,” he rumbled calmly. “I'm waiting to hear your explanation of this sad delivery. Please feel free to speak your mind.”

The captain described the lesbian's bribing of the since deceased female guard and her subsequent deflowering of the virgin by finger. He spoke with confidence and great feeling, his disgust plain each time his rheumy eyes glanced at the lesbian who stood defiantly erect, glaring at Bullpole. When he came to the mention of Ignacio's sexual assault upon the deflowered virgin, the old man's tone changed to a low, supplicating note as he described the natural appetite of a healthy young man who had been at sea without relief sexually for weeks – and he concluded by throwing himself upon the mercy of Bullpole.

There was a long silence during which Bullpole's eyes went from the captain to the lesbian to Ignacio and returned at last to the old man. He sighed deeply, shifting his great weight from one buttock to the other.

“Well, justice must be done so that others will avoid this kind of mistake,” he said quietly, his bass-voice booming deeply. “Mercy is indeed due to those whose actions warrant it just as punishment must be meted out to those who deserve it. You, Captain, are the most responsible for this unfortunate shortage since you were the highest authority aboard ship.”