I

   Third day out at sea and Erik was discovering the Devil was a hard man to deal with.

   He had done all he had been taught to do when welcoming the Devil: Ropes of intestine marked the boundaries. Expended muscle pulsed against the walls. A cauliflowered brain, dripping bad ideas onto the altar it laid upon, was split neatly in half. Eye-balls stared blandly at the ceiling while the rest of the cabin boy’s body was expressioned as Erik saw fit.

   But it still wasn’t enough, a bloody message scribbled itself on the altar’s woodened surface. More was needed. Much more, the message went on.

   "More what is needed?" Erik asked the room.

   In answer, an erect penis squirmed over to him from the other side of the room and Erik understood the Devil’s meaning perfectly.

***

   It was true Erik had a small crew, but by the time he got through rearranging his cabin with depravity, his crew consisted of him and the ghosts of many.

   Two hours went by with Erik in the middle of the room, feeling the wind play havoc with the sails while the ship itself swayed like a mighty pregnant whale trapped in shallow water.

   In the middle of the third hour, doubt assailed him and he thought of forgetting the whole thing. But he couldn’t quit now. Not when he had come so far. Not when he had given so much to gain the world.

   So he waited.

   The fourth hour the sound of a galley rat could be heard gnawing on one of the corpses. Erik picked up a mug and threw it in the direction of the sound. The gnawing stopped.

   The fifth hour, one of the empty heads on the altar popped up. The mouth opened and shit drooled out. From the corner of the cabin, a fractured shadow rolled over and sat up. A mangled hand rose into the air, a mouth forming in the cup of the palm. A tongue licked it’s new inset. Erik crawled over to the body and paid homage to it by licking the stale blood from it’s mouth. The Devil showed his pleasure by slapping Erik four times in succession, each hit more fearsome than the last, and when through, Erik leaned forward and spat his blood into the cupped mouth. The fingers frilled like lilacs in the wind before the hand leapt forward and kissed Erik on the nose, tearing the tip off. When it swallowed the morsel, the Devil spoke in quiet, bone breaking tones. "What do you want of me?"

   Erik answered slowly at first, then eagerly.

   When Erik finished, the hand crawled over to the nearest body and began delighting itself in bloody handshakes and strokes of fingers whispering of affections beyond their comprehension, while Erik, one hand unsuccesively stemming the blood flow from his nipped nose, sat back on his haunches and relished the sound of feeding.

II

   A new crew had been easy to find, Erik losing his old crew easily explained away as a contraction of a disease in which he had been it’s only survivor. When his new prospects began to walk away from him, Erik pulled out of his hat the promise of riches they had never known before. And like all magic tricks, this worked like a charm, luring them back to him, their black teethed smiles shining under the grit they wore in between yearly baths.

   Six months later, with the help of his first two new recruits, Erik had a complete crew standing amidst decks. Scum of the earth all.

   A pirate such as Erik could ask for nothing less than the worst.

***

   After the deal with the Devil, the quarter of a year went fast. And during that time, the Devil kept up his part of the bargain.

   The Devil wove his way into the tapestries of all the governments of the world, seeking a frayed thread who would break if even the slightest pressure was exerted. And to the Devil’s credit, he found someone each place he visited, toyed with them when he was able, pledging promises he had no desire to keep if they would place their country’s treasures on ships and send them out to sea, where unknown to them, Erik would be sitting and waiting while the ducks quacked his way.

   When the weak links were through with what they were supposed to do, the Devil ended his tie with them.

   Severely.

***

   Erik wouldn’t admit it later, but the idea to enlarge his island wasn’t originally his.

   It was a suggestion one of his mates made while he and Erik sat before a raging fire on the far side of the island delighting themselves with a couple of whores who were buried in the sand up to their necks.

   "Enlarge the island?" Erik asked.

   "Sure," his mate answered.

   "For what reason would we do this?"

   His mate pointed to a small mound by the shore line, flashes of the woodened construct showing as the curtain sand was being slowly drawn from it by the day. He pointed to a similar bulge two feet beside it, metal hinges twinkling, and the one beside it, it’s whole top nearly laid bare. "The only part of this island which hasn’t got loot under it is where we sit now. And you know damn well one more take and we’ll have to use this." He patted the beach. Sand dust wafted up between his fingers.

   Erik shrugged and looked down at the whore in front of him and threw a handful of driftwood at her. She screamed and spat as the wood settled around her neck. Erik smiled and grabbed a burning stick from the fire and set the wood on fire. And when she screamed, fireflies scooted from her mouth and blended in with the stars above.

   Erik laughed, passed some wood over to his mate, waited for the wood to be laid out around the other whore, and then the torch was passed. Erik’s mate took it and lit the driftwood necklace for his woman and the two sat there, in front of the singing fire mounds for the remainder of the night.

***

   Erik knew the necessity of stealth and it was with this he went back to the far side of the island with two natives. It was with their willing help brought about by the sharp end of a concealed knife which commenced the calling of the Devil. In a bloom of peeling darkness, the Devil stepped forth and listened to Erik’s ideas which included the expansion of the island and it’s enshroudment.

   "Afraid of pirates?"

   "Everyone’s a pirate. It just takes a right situation to bring it out of them."

   "The philosopher today?"

   "Can you do it?"

   "It can be done." The Devil got up and walked to the shore and looked out to the sea. "Is that all you would require?"

   "Now that you mention it..."

   The Devil strode back to Erik. "I mentioned it."

   "There has been something that has been on my mind lately."

   "Let’s hear it. My time is my own."

   "It’s about the treasure."

   "As it has been from the very beginning."

   "Yes, well, I was just wondering if there might be something you might be able to do with the treasure to insure it stays with me forever."

   "Erik. There is no forever. You’re going to be free of this one day, you know. You’re going to die and when you do, what good will the money be to you then?"

   "But that’s what I’m talking about. I don’t want to die. I want to live forever and be with my money forever. Can you do that?"

   "Make it so you live forever?"

   "Yes."

   "That might take some doing, Erik. A great doing."

   "But it can be done?"

   "Eventually, anything can be accomplished."

   "Anything?"

   The Devil leaned in close to Erik, his flaming lips inches from Erik’s raw ear. "Anything you ever dreamed. All it takes is a little work."

   And then there was just a fading warm area hanging in the air, swiftly cooling. Erik turned and beside him was an empty beach. Even the sacrifices were gone. But the soft spoken promise of Eternity hung with Erik through the night, roaring louder than the surf upon the shore.

 ***

   The Devil made two uncalled for visits after that night.

   After the first visit, the island tripled in size. Hills became mountains, dips became valleys, streams became rivers, and Erik’s hut, which had been straw and loose boards when he went to bed, was a temple of bronze when he awakened the following morning.

   After the second visit, reef barriers were seen around the island where there had been none before.

   "Outside the reefs, not a thing can be seen of the island. It’s as if this island isn’t even here. And don’t worry about your men or your boats. They’re the only things which can get to this island. Except me, of course."

   "And if anyone tries?"

   "If they survive the shipwreck on the reefs, they won’t survive the little surprise waiting in the waters." The Devil clapped his hands together, "So I guess that just about takes care of things."

   "All but one."

   "And that is?"

   "About the treasure."

   "Not to worry. The two of you shall never be separated."

   And then Erik was alone once again.

   England was most adamant about this.

   At first, they sent out warships dressed as treasure barges. In spite of the deception, Erik was still able to best the warships. One lone pig of a ship against three of England’s mightiest at the same time and the lone pig always came out smelling of roses and the only person whom the Queen saw fit to blame was the Captain of the fleet, Jon Smith.

   "How am I to blame, my Queen? I quite obviously wasn’t on those ships when they went down. So how can I be the blame?"

   "You trained those imbeciles, did you not?"

   He had.

   "So you see? Indirect responsibility."

   "But my Queen.... that’s not fair."

   "That’s not fair? That’s not fair?" She stood, pointing her finger in his face. "How can you sit there on your ass and tell me it’s not fair for me to hold you responsible when instead of sitting here, you could be out training your troops, making plans, or... or whatever it is you should be doing to catch this plunderer."

   "What should I do?"

   "You’re the Captain, aren’t you?"

   A quick nod.

   "Then start acting it by doing your job." She leaned in close to him, her voice shading her anger. "And if you’re not able to do your job, dear Captain, I’ll find someone who will be more than glad to do it for you."

***

   Captain Jon Smith tried everything.

   He tried retraining his troops.

   It didn’t work.

   He tried sending out more ships, each backing up the other.

   It didn’t work.

   He even went so far as to ally England with Spain (an alliance grudgingly done) long enough to rid the waters of Erik.

   That didn’t work, either; both sides losing several ships apiece in the struggle.

   Each time he failed, the Queen was right there riding his ass as to why he hadn’t planned better, why hadn’t he foreseen the strategies of this Erik, why such an obviously unskilled mop-hand had no trouble in besting a preservative of the greatest nation in the world.

   Spurred on by both his failures and the Queen’s enduring nasal whines, Captain Smith threw in a couple of suggestions which included the Queen, her nudity, and compromising length of rope.

   A moment went by, the Queen’s face glossing with rage, before she was able to speak. "You find a way to be rid of this mongrel or the next ship lost, your head’ll be payment. I don’t care what has to be done....Just get me Erik. And England’s jewels."

***

   Captain Jon Smith, at the end of his rope, made a midnight visit to the court’s magician.

   Jon explained his problem, the magician nodding in the appropriate places, and when through, the magician had only one suggestion: fight fire with fire.

   "What do you mean by that?

   "There is only one way you could have been bested."

   "And how’s that?"

   "This Erik has had supernatural help."

   "Meaning?"

   "The devil."

   Jon stood there and thought about that. Made sense. Then he remembered what the court magician had initially said. "Fight fire with fire?"

   "The devil must be called."

***

   Jon made that call.

   His request was kept to it’s simplest bars: He desired Erik’s capture no matter what the price.

   Telling him his request could be filled, the Devil simply vanished, leaving Jon to stare awkwardly into a scalding mist of brimstone.

   Somehow Jon had thought when his request for Erik would finish, the Devil would have brought Erik– and England’s money– to him, right there where they had talked, and that would have been the end of it.

   But things didn’t work out that way.

   Before Jon could disentangle himself from the draperies of mist hanging about the room, the Devil reappeared, alone, a blackened smile appearing when Jon asked where Erik was. And more, where was the money?

   Did the Devil tell Jon the reason he had left was because he was safely returning to England’s treasures back to her stores in the palace? Did he say Erik was garrisoned deep within one of the jails of England now and the waters of the world were safe once more? Did he even offer an explanation of where he had gone those few moments and why he had left?

   No. All the Devil did was hover between here and there and make an offer.

   And the offer was?

   Nothing more than a simple map of Erik’s elusive headquarters.

   "For the map, though, there is a price," the Devil said, his smile cradling temptation.

***

   The price called for ten younglings, ranging from the age of one month to one year. They were to be brought to a spot on the southern shores of England, where the glade was black, where the air was foul.

   When Jon got there, he was to spread the mewling clay pots in an area of twenty spaces. And then, with his knife, he was to open each child up, delicately so, from the crotch area up. Once the sternum was reached, the cut would V across the chest.

   "Then slowly," the Devil had said. "Carefully peel back the rib area and a piece of the map shall be found in each."

   The first piece of the map was uncovered.

   Spitting his disgust beside the newborn, Jon ripped out the piece of map from the spot where it’s kidneys were supposed to be. He then went to next, drew out the dry map piece from the spot where one of it’s lungs was supposed to be, and then went to the next, each successive map piece taking the place of a different organ in a different child.

   The ten pieces of the map in hand, he staggered away from his workings, sat down beside a rotted stump, and listened to the wet smacking of hungry lips and the crunch of small bones not even twenty paces away.

 ***

   Later, the Devil sat across from Jon, the pieces of the map laid haphazardly on the stump between them.

   "Place the pieces together."

   He did as instructed. The Devil laid onto the map of the world a tiny, still-beating heart. The heart sunk into the map. The torn pieces of the map melted together.

   "Here is where you’ll find him," the Devil said, pointing to a spot in the middle of the pacific ocean with a still-bloody finger.

   He looked at the Devil pleadingly. "But there’s nothing there. Nothing but water."

   "Look again, " the Devil commanded.

   He did and there arose an island into view.

   Several months, if the map was true.

***

   The map wasn’t false.

   Months rolled by like incessant currents, carrying them forever forward. Storms trooped past the sails on legs of splintered light. The crew grew increasingly difficult to maintain. Every once in a while a fight broke out between the men over spilled ale, brash talk, or who was cheating who at cards.

   One character, as bold as he was drunk, stormed into Jon’s quarters one night and demanded to know when they would come to the island. Without consulting his map, he said they would be there within the week.

***

   Three days later they came to the island, piercing through the veil which shrouded it.

   Wasting no time, Jon ordered all available hands ashore for the capture of the villainous Erik. As quiet as dying prayers, boats were let down into the water, the men aboard glad to finally have a hand at the varlet. One with the waves, the attack rowed towards the island.

   Jon had figured Erik wouldn’t be taken without a fight and he wasn’t disappointed.

   In the ensuing battle, Jon lost a quarter of his crew, each loss a lance in his side. The only up-side to the statistics was that Erik lost more than three quarters of his men. And for that he was at least happy for. All the hours spent in training hadn’t been a waste and all those months of sailing hadn’t deadened their reflexes any.

   Jon regrouped his men for one final rush upon Erik. His men were ready, weaponry in hand, gleams of distaste in their eyes. The word was sent among the ranks and they made their rush only to find twenty unarmed natives huddled around Erik’s thatch-roofed hut, shivering as if under the control of some great arctic wind.

   Erik was found within his chamber, struggling to get up from his pile of jewels, his hands scrabbling on the half dirt floor like two hermit crabs, inarticulate sobs escaping him.

   It took almost half the men under his command to get Erik standing. With the help of the remaining natives, Erik was walked toward the awaiting boats, his mouth going at a great rate, condemning Jon and his men to a Hell greater than they had ever imagined for their impingement of his greatness.

   It was when Jon was leading the erratic Erik to one of the row boats that Erik stopped dead in his tracks to listen to the island cry out in despair. Groans deep within the earth rocked the landing party: Dirt, grasses, and sand crawling under fingertips like hungry ants. Trees disappeared from view, and the mountain which Erik had scaled numerous times shrunk to the hill it had been before.

   And then, all around the fallen landing party, trunks were thrust up into the air from their months of hibernation, popping from the earth like fermented corks with such violence that when they landed, the wooden constructs burst open, the treasures of England twinkling in the sun.

***

   It totaled four times.

   Four times England’s riches were tried to be taken from the island, but each time, less than a league from the island, the treasure would disappear from the ship. And each time the ship would turn around and send three row boats ashore, the treasure found at the very spot it had originally been taken from.

   Three more days were spent trying to release the treasure from it’s bondage and each attempt was met with failure and Erik’s laughter from below decks as the ship was stopped and another attempt was made.

   When Erik was questioned for the answer to this anomaly, the questioners were met with more laughter and nothing more.

   "And you know where this is to be done at," the Queen said to Jon as she left her royal chamber.

***

   Slapping the beef of Erik wasn’t getting them anywhere, Jon admitted to himself after an all night interrogation of Erik. All they were accomplishing was the raising of Erik’s lather to the point he was begging for more, pleading with Captain Jon to give him all the abuse they could. The blows were caresses, the pain driving him towards orgasm he had never been close to before.

   When Jon realized Erik was telling the truth and not picking his teeth, he stopped the torture. Since the torture wasn’t working, the only thing they could do with the side of beef was to throw him into a cell and wait him out.

   "That’s all you can come up with?" the Queen asked when told of the decision.

   "For the moment, yes."

   Upset, she allowed this to be done.

  "But so help me, if we go through another year without my jewels, you’ll be joining him in that cell."

***

   The Queen wasn’t the only one who was upset by this decision; Erik was as well.

   At the doorway of the room, he begged to be placed in a cell by himself. He deserved such a privilege, didn’t he?

   "Just get in there and shut up," one of the guards said, hammering Erik in the back. Erik flailed forward, his face snuffing full of the slime covering the walls.

   As the doors clanged shut, Erik got his first look at his cell mate; a grungy partner who had been in there for an unknown length of time.

   Just what was he in there for?

   Giggling behind his matted beard, it was some minutes before he fully admitted to Erik he had been caught trying to rape a three year old. And the only reason he hadn’t succeeded was because his wife had come up behind him and rapped him squarely over the head with one of her cooking irons.

   Erik’s heart leapt when he heard this.

   And a plan formed in his mind.

   There arose an argument between the Queen and Captain Jon Smith about what to do about Erik.

   The Queen claimed Jon and Erik were in league together, citing the map as the tie between the two. She asked him just how much he now had hidden away. Was it his gambling debts which had gotten him in hock again?

   With mouth barely working, Jon asked the Queen why she thought such things.

   "The map, Captain. How did you get a hold of such knowledge?"

   Jon was taken aback by the brutal honesty of the question. He said nothing as a result, which did nothing but strengthen the Queen’s suspicions.

   "I had a feeling you’d play the fool, Captain. An acknowledged game for you, isn’t it? But watch this, Captain. Watch how I’m prepared to take care of your uncooperativeness." She snapped her fingers and from behind the high curtain latticed behind her throne came two black hooded executioners, swords in hand. They stepped up on each side of Jon, arms crossed at the chest. The Queen leaned back in her chair in triumph, her mouth lifted in smile. "Now, Captain. Once more. The map. How did you get it?"

   He shrugged and took in the slackened, yet alert postures of the men on each side of him.

   "I don’t have all day, Captain. Either out with it or off with it."

   "I didn’t get it by the method in which you presume."

   "Then how was it acquired?"

   "I... I can’t tell you that, my Queen."

   "Your dodging the issue condemns you, Captain. Take him away," the Queen said languidly.

   When both guards grabbed hold of him by each shoulder, swords half raised, their keen edges glinting in the faint light filtering through the east window, he saw he had no choice but to tell her how he had come across the map. It was either give up the information or give up his life.

   Giving the information was easier.

   When through, in tones tightened by her disbelief, she suggested he make another call to the Devil.

***

   Jon once more consulted the court magician and he was once more given the means in which to summon the Devil.

   It was an expensive rite– two toes from his left foot this time – the magician making sure the toes cut wouldn’t hamper his walk. The foot was bandaged, the potion was mixed, then, five hours later, as the night was approaching high tide, Jon went through the ritual.

   When nothing happened within an hour of the end of the ritual, Jon, feeling the Devil had opted against coming for whatever reason, went to bed, deciding the following night might give him better result.

   The next morning he was met with an astute flare of pain in the area of his chest. He arose, looking down at himself, and there, written upside down so he alone could read it’s message, was the answer the Queen wished to know.

   After he and his cell mate, Bard, had gotten acquainted, Erik suggested they make full use of the bed together.

   Erik had been without any form of sex for a time and no doubt Bard had been without sex for awhile as well. After all, there were no three year olds down in the dungeon. Why not make due with what you have at hand, and if you have to, pretend it’s veal instead of toughened, old bull?

   Bard, emitting a high pitched gasp of joy, nodded enthusiastically and laid back on the bed, his pants already discarded. Erik leaned in close, his tongue searching out the man’s lips hidden by his scraggily beard.

   Stifling Bard’s cries with his mouth, Erik ripped Bard’s throat from him and held on until Bard wilted in his arms.

   Once Bard was disemboweled, Erik coiled his intestines into a disenchanted circle over in the far corner of the cell, seasoning it with his piss. When through, he went back to the shell of the body and shat in the mouth.

   The conjuring went as fast and when it ended, he had thought the devil would have shown up right then or hoped to at least have gotten a sign from the bastard. But he got nothing from his efforts but a smelly room and the buzzing of fly’s.

   Confused, he sat down across from the fly trap and waited.

   The devil would come.

   They still had their pact.

***

   The devil never showed.

   But the guards did.

   They opened the door leading to his stinking cell and hefted Erik to his feet. Erik cried out, half thinking it was the Devil, after all these days of waiting, but his mind cleared, and he asked the guards what they wanted with him.

   "It’s your day, boy," the guard on Erik’s right told him.

   "My day for what?"

   "Your trial, you piece of shit.," the guard on Erik’s left said. "Although if it were up to me, I’d kill you outright. No trial involved."

   Erik laughed. This would be his moment of glory. This would be when they would stand in awe of his power as they tried to hang him and the rope would break; then they would try to shoot him and miss him entirely; when they would try to drown him, he would breathe as a fish would; when they would try all they could do to ‘punish’ him and he would remain untouched, alive, a bee forever in their bonnet.

   Why?

   Because he couldn’t die.

   He would never die.

   He would live forever.

   For hadn’t the devil promised him Eternity that day on the beach?

   Of course he had.

   The guards pulled the unusually serene Erik through the doorway.

***

   The trial of Erik went swiftly.

   And the form of punishment?

   The queen, a woman of stout heart, ruled there was only one punishment fitting enough.

 ***

   The morning was rich with shouts of distaste as Erik was lead to the guillotine.

   Erik met the sight of the mouth of the guillotine. He smiled and blew a kiss to the crowd as he was introduced to the mechanics of prayer by the guards.: he was forced to his knees with two swift kicks at the back of his legs and his hands and head were placed into the oakened halo.

   In tune with the drums, the executioner pulled the lever and the blade dropped.

   Erik smiled, a picture forming in his mind of the blade bending around his neck and forming an iron collar. In this vision, he saw the crowd oohing. He saw the executioner running in blind panic. He saw a gull swimming in the sky.

   The blade cleanly sliced Erik’s head from his body, sending a crown forged in gold to the bottom of the trough, his body bleeding gold coins, bejeweled necklaces, and loose ruby’s of every size imaginable.

***

   It took most of the evening to gather up and redeposit the Queen’s jewels. The Queen was thankful. What would The Captain like as a form of a reward?

   Balking her offer of granting him anything he wanted, he told her that all he wanted in form of payment from her was some time alone down in the cell which had held Erik.

   Telling him his request was a strange one, she granted him his wish.

***

   The smell in the cell was putrid.

   The body of Bard had never been removed. It was still in the far corner of the room. From his vantage point at the door, he watched the ballet of small forms dancing upon the rotting flesh and alighting into the air. Breathing shallowly, he made his way over to the intestines and stepped within its coils. He threw the torch from him and looked into the surrounding darkness.

   "Okay. I’m here. I’m doing it. Now what?"

   The devil vomited from the darkness four inches from his nose. "Now is where the payment is made in full."

   "Made in full? But I gave you all I had."

  "Not all. Just enough. This is all." The coiled stomach rose about him and tightened. He attempted movement of his pinned arms.

   The devil laughed. The sound was like an avalanche.

   "But we had a deal."

   "Which isn’t finished."

   "Isn’t finished? What more could there be?"

   "Fun."

   "Fun? What kind of fun?"

   "Deception."

   He fell from darkness into madness as the wall in front of him was replaced with the deck of a ship out at sea. It lurched beneath his feet. He reached out to steady himself and saw his hands. Once they had been slim and toughened. Now they were fat and unwieldily. A bellow from his throat froze his heart. It wasn’t his voice. It was the voice of......

   He ran toward his cabin. Once inside, a looking glass was found and he saw his greatest fear grinning back at him. Just as Erik’s face was recognized, there was a knock at the door. He set the looking glass down and said, "Come in."

   The door opened and the cabin boy came in.

   Such a lovely boy he was, too, Erik thought.

   "You wanted to see me, sir?"

   Erik reached for the knife concealed at his waist and relished in the pleasure he felt consume him when he said, "Close the door, please. It’s so cold in here, don’t you think?"

   The cabin boy smiled a lovely smile and closed the door.

   "Come here, boy. Come and sit in my lap and warm an old man’s heart. Or somewhere there abouts, huh, my laddie?" A wink.

   The cabin boy crossed the room and sat upon the fat man’s lap.

   Fat hands brought the boy’s head close to his nose and he smelled the freshness there. So sweet. So enticing. He kissed the hair and whispered lovingly, "There, there, boy. You know the ritual."

   The boy hopped from Erik’s lap and got down on his knees in front of Erik as Erik liberated himself from his pants.

   "Be good, my pretty boy. Be nice. I’ve got something for you even better than this."

   The boy looked up from the hard penis in front of his lips. "A bit of candy?"

   "Better. But first things first. Open wide."

   Before the boy’s mouth reached the tip of his penis, Erik brought the knife down upon the back of the boy. The boy fell to the floor with a groan. Erik licked the blood from the blade. Once clean, he knelt down and began dismembering the cabin boy. He didn’t know how long the ritual of calling the Devil would take, but he had all day.