What follows appears to be a rough translation of surviving scraps from the slaver Da Black Hook, dictated by the Kruleboyz slavemaster Razgut Man-Katcha and written by a captive Gloomspite Git called Scribbla. No formal dating survives. The entries seem instead to have been arranged by incident, as if the writer measured time by pain, punishment, reefs and dead crew rather than by any civilised calendar.

The voice is Razgut’s until, little by little, it ceases to be.

After da first white wall

Write dis down proper.

Fog come up wrong. Not sea-fog. Thick like wet wool an’ mean with it. Lost sight o’ da rear boats first, then da front, then everyfin what weren’t nailed close. Crew got jumpy. I told ‘em if I heard one more word about ghost bells I’d use a hook where a tongue used to be.

Still got cargo. Dat’s what matters.

Humies below. Point-ears below. Stunties below. Gitz below. All worth feed if sold right. Took one wave bad over da larboard rail. Lost two grots, one spear-rack, an’ a chain bundle. Better da grots than da chain.

Two sleeps after da hidden reef

Ship hit stone where no stone oughta be. Broke a brace an’ stove a bit o’ hull, not enough to sink us if da crew work like dey fear me. Dey do.

Sent six to sound ahead in da little boat. Five came back. One got dragged under by summink with too many legs. Water boiled red a bit, then not at all. No point lookin’ after what’s already et.

Write dat bigger: no point wastin’ bolts on sea-things less dey come aboard.

[smaller hand at the edge] It had claws bigger than a shovel. Snagga said shell don’t move that fast. Snagga gone now.

After da black beach

Found land. Rotten place. Black stone. No proper jetty. No proper huts. No proper nuffink. Good enough to careen a boat if you don’t mind losin’ lads to things in da pools.

Point-ear prisoner says we should move quiet-like. I told him quiet don’t matter when everyfin on dis cursed shore already wants eatin’ or stabbin’. Had him chained separate for givin’ orders with no keys in ’is pocket.

One stunty tried countin’ our powder stores while I was ashore. Clever sort. Broke two of his fingers for it. Keep clever ones alive longer. Better price, better labour, better fear in da others.

Night after da big fungus island

Crew don’t like da tall mushrums. Crew are right not to like ’em.

Shore team came back coughin’ spores an’ arguin’ over shadows. One swore he saw little lights between da stalks, all in a ring like eyes. One swore he heard singin’. I say both are idiots. I also say nobody goes back dere after dark.

Lost another grot to somethin’ in da shallows. Good. Less mouths.

[smaller hand] Razgut lies. He don’t like da singin’ neither. He looked twice over his shoulder when da fog touched da camp.

After da stunties tried it

Had to beat three prisoners dead on account o’ discipline. Humans an’ stunties started gettin’ brave together. Dat’s what chains are for. Da little Git what writes dis was watchin’ too close, so I boxed his ear and told ‘im he don’t got thoughts unless I says he does.

Write dat down too.

Scribbla writes what Razgut says.

Scribbla don’t squeak when hit.

Night of da pale fings

Saw shapes off da starboard side where da water weren’t deep enough for a boat. Told Skab to fetch bows. Skab fetched bows. By da time bows were there, shapes were gone.

Later saw ‘em again standin’ up in da wash, all still-like. Not crew. Not fishers. Too thin for Orruks. Too quiet for anyfin honest. I shouted. Dey didn’t shout back. I laughed so da lads would laugh too. Some did.

Didn’t hear no splash when dey left.

No fires on deck tonight but hooded lamps. No prisoner gets loose. Anyone sleeps at post loses fingers first, life after.

[smaller hand] They did not breathe in da cold. I watched for fog from mouths. Nuffink.

After da skull island

Bad water. Worse rocks. Lost a mast-top spar and near lost da tiller crew when current swung us toward a beach shaped like a dead giant’s grin. Fought off raiders or scavengers or maybe just starving wreck-men. Hard to tell in rain. Took two prisoners off dem and chained ’em with da rest. One humie woman spat at me. Kept her teeth as a lesson to da others.

Cargo still valuable if not too dead.

Big green brute down below broke iron ring from bulkhead by accident in da night. Didn’t run. Just stared at it in ’is hand till da Git hissed at ’im to put it back before we saw. I saw. Said nuffink.

Some beasts are easier sold when dey think dey’re secret.

Three sleeps after da drivin’ current

Write dis how I says it.

Sea’s pushin’. Not just blowin’, not just turnin’, pushin. Every route I pick closes ugly. Every place I don’t choose gets kinder weather than it deserves. Somethin’ keeps harryin’ us from aft or from shore or from under. Crab one day. Reef next day. Dead-water after dat. Like a clever hunter with too many hands.

Don’t like clever things I can’t stab.

Crew mutter. Prisoners mutter softer. Scribbla writes faster than before. Hit ’im again for it.

After da long cave in da black mountain

Warm wind blowin’ out of a hole in da cliff big enough to swallow boats. Could hear rumblin’ inland. Sent a party up for salvage from a wreck pinned in da rocks. Four went. Three came back. Third one came back wrong, babblin’ about steps where no feet were seen and a voice what never spoke proper words. I threw him overboard after he bit a handler.

No profit in madness.

[smaller hand] He weren’t mad till after he looked in da cave.

When da keys moved

Someone’s been testin’ locks.

Not broken. Tested.

That’s smarter than rebellion. Rebellion’s loud. Testin’ is patient. I had every prisoner dragged out, counted, watered, questioned. Humies lied. Point-ears lied prettier. Stunties told da truth like it was an insult. Gitz all looked stupid. Dat means at least one ain’t.

I moved da key-ring under my bunk.

Scribbla watched me do it.

Last whole scrap in Razgut’s hand

Fight on lower deck. Two guards cut. One missing. Big brute loose. Point-ear with chain on one wrist got a spear somehow. Humie woman took a hook through da face an’ kept comin’. Ship’s gone to squabblin’ in every corridor. If I live through dis I’ll skin da lot and start again with fresh cargo.

Scribbla, write dat I never lost control.

Final fragment, entirely in the smaller hand

Razgut sez a ship needs a kaptin.

Razgut ain’t sayin’ much now.

Da big green one smashed da cage door for us all. Point-ear cut chain. Stunties got powder. Humies got knives. I got keys. Fair shares.

We ain’t stayin’ aboard Da Black Hook. Too many dead, too many leaks, too many bad nights stuck in da boards. We take what floats, what eats, what cuts, what booms, an’ den we open her belly to da sea before any more pale watchers come standin’ round for us.

Razgut said no one gets free in da mists.

Shows what he knows.