The rusty lock was difficult to open. It creaked in protest as the ancient key cajoled its corroded mechanisms apart.
The sound reminded him of the ship ...the groaning hull ,the wind whipped ropes and sails,the constant moaning of the crew and the ominous whistle of the cat as it swooped through the air onto their mutinous backs....how he missed the open ocean,the thrill of battle,the late night below decks debates about various steels, blade configurations and handle materials.
It seemed like only a few weeks ago he been on board for the six month journey..
.Executive Manager of Cargo Class Passengers..oh yes..it had all sounded wonderful ..private sleeping cabin...exclusive smorgasbord menu.
A damp heap of festering ballast and all the Bilge rats he could kill and eat in the dingy darkness..mind you some of the new recipes had been deliciously adventurous..Bilge rat casserole, Bilge rat curry,Bilge rat tajine Bilge rat sandwiches (sliced cold cut Bilge rat between two slices of packing crate timber buttered with cannon grease) Yum yum.
When the Bilge rats had run out the Ships cat Sashimi had been a wonderfully refreshing if pungent innovative nouveau cuisine.
When the ship had docked ,the raucously happy crew had swaggered ashore with the rich prizes of the voyage.
That was then.
Now as he entered the Morgue the heavy timber door with its wrought iron (or possibly carbon steel)..(maybe stainless of some sort) hinges scraped shut behind him closing out the the gradually increasing noise of the Porchenbergers.
He knew what they needed and he would get it... for despite being a rebel and a wolfshead...deep in his black heart..Migor was a true Porchenberger
He could see it now...the Admiralty would promote him to the high ranking position as Barnacle Scraper...yes they called it Hull Maintainence Operative...but who cares ...barnacles are are a culinary blank canvas and best of all they don't fight back.
There would be a tickertape parade through the village and a happy hour at the tavern with a 100 gold piece per head drinks package...
His tongue lolled at the thought. He wiped the drool from his chin with his filthy sleeve and scanned the dimly lit shelves of the refridgerated jar room. All manner of organs were kept there in jars for research purposes and for the Tavern Bistro , obviously.
A brain ,A brain ..a brain with a life in it was what he sought.....