Pametum scanned with a quick glance and counted – Four, five, six. No, there is another… Seven bodies lay dead on the deck of the ship – perhaps more, he could only see a small portion of the deck. Each body was partially covered in small mounds of snow that had not yet begun to thaw; the massive masts and rigging of the ship cast dark, cold shadows that gave plenty of hiding places for snow to linger beneath the gradually warming sun of the ending winter.
The man nearest Pametum lay with his back to the rail, facing towards the bow of the ship. A deep, elongated V-shaped gash ran vertically down the back of the man’s head, and the black tar coating the wooden planks below the man was evidently what remained of his blood and brains, now frozen and glistening in the cold. White flecks lay scattered amongst the ooze – at first Pametum mistook it for more snow, but quickly realized it was pieces of the man’s skull.
An ugly battle took place here. These white men died at each other’s hands. But why?