Templar's Acre

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The creaking of the ship was familiar.

As he began to come to, the sound brought back memories of his first voyage, and for one glorious moment he dreamed he was on his way there again — en route to Acre — a year ago, before the catastrophe.

Still only semi-conscious, he listened with half an ear to the thunderous crash of waves against the hull, the wind singing in the sheets, the flapping of flags, the moaning of the timbers. And then he heard the whimpers and weeping all around him, one man sobbing uncontrollably, and he remembered where he was, and his eyes snapped open at the terrible memories that flooded back. He would never sleep again in case he dreamed of them.

The broken bone in his leg hurt like hell. Each movement of the ship made it shift, and he felt the jagged edges grating. The scar at his cheek pulled, and the burns on his limbs shrieked for butter or grease, but Baldwin paid them no heed.

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