"Get up, you filthy slave!"

  Frank awakens, his eyes focusing on a large man towering in the aisle of what appears to be the cramped hold of a ship. The surly man is dressed in garb similar to that of an old world gladiator, his broad chest covered by a thick leather strap stretching diagonally from right shoulder to waist. A headdress, with small dark red feathers sprouting from the top, adorns the taskmaster's head of cropped brown hair. Thankfully, the towering giant is not speaking to him.

  The taskmaster stands over a trembling man on the other side of the aisle. The man trembles violently and reaches for his oar. However, exertion causes the trembling man to collapse against the man seated beside him. The taskmaster draws back his arm, revealing a large whip. Frank's eyes bulge in their sockets as the taskmaster uses the whip to strike the shivering man. The man's agonized scream chills Frank's blood to the bone. He considers leaping forward and saving his rowing companion.

  A strong hand on Frank's right forearm stops him from performing such a foolish act. For now. Frank glances to his right. A frail old man nods toward the oar meant for Frank, he shakes his head vigorously and speaks in a hoarse whisper.

  "Don't. The master is coming. Look. The beating will stop so long as she is here. In the meantime, it would be best if you row. The slaver is already angry. Do not let his anger become your problem. Row."

  Frank sighs and takes up the oar. That is when he truly notices what he is wearing. Not much. A thick loincloth covers his waist, down to his upper thigh. No shirt to speak of. Where in the hell did they put his clothes?

  Realization sets in and Frank groans. The crystal ball containing a miniature April. The whirlpool. The tent. That gorgeous woman in purple. The woman even now descending into the hold of the ship. No special effects, he'd said. Right. Who needs special effects?

  The taskmaster pulls back his whip again, but freezes when he catches sight of the ringmaster. He coils the whip up and clips it back on his waist belt. He crosses to the steps, where the ringmaster is descending, and extends to her his hand.

  "Master! Your presence is most unexpected. Welcome."

  The ringmaster allows the large man to kiss the back of her hand, a sly grin turning up her purple lips. Frank takes this time to study her very closely.

  The ringmaster is no longer dressed in the elegant suit she was wearing when he and April first met her. The silk dress she now wears is of an old style. Similar to the garments worn by women in ancient Rome or Greece. However, the color of her dress is the same. That same unique shade of purple. In this new outfit, the woman's form seems much more exquisite. There is certainly a lot more on display. She is obviously affecting some sort of persona. It seems to be working.

  When the taskmaster has finished kissing the ringmaster's hand, and examining her wares, he releases her hand and takes a step back. The ringmaster's grin widens as she steps past the taskmaster, trailing a hand down his muscular arm. Her eyes lock on Frank's and he inhales sharply. If only this woman in purple would allow him to write a book about her? The stories he could tell.

  The ringmaster crosses to where Frank is seated on the fourth row. She peers down at him as he pulls back on his assigned oar. Leaning down, she runs a hand through Frank's sweaty hair.

  "I do apologize for the...Abrupt parting. However, had I tried to explain the situation you might not have understood. Seeing is believing."

  "So, I'm told," Frank quips. "What exactly am I expected to do? You said there would be quests. What quests?"

  "You have already started the first one," the ringmaster says in a breathy whisper. "You must take on the taskmaster and free your shipmates. Kill him...And it's on to your next quest. Fail...And the test is over. If you are only injured, you will remain here upon this ship. If you are killed...There will be no going back to anything. Do you understand?"

  "What about, April? What happens to her?" Frank questions, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Let's not think in terms of defeat," the ringmaster says. "There is still plenty of time to contemplate the future."

  She presses her cheek against Frank's and whispers into his ear. Frank squeezes his eyes shut. A story about mermaids and brooding cowboys might be sexy. But a full-length novel about a sultry mistress in purple silk, riding the high seas, sounds a lot better. Already storylines are forming inside Frank's head. Even the ginormous taskmaster features in the plot, eventually feeling the sting of his own cruel whip.

  The ringmaster withdraws from Frank, smiling even wider than before. As she suspected, this man is quite unusual. This close to peril and all he can think about is selling copies of a book which will likely never be written. While his artsy wife screams and throws fits of rage in her tiny crystal ball prison. Perhaps, she will allow the young woman to paint her. A painting will look exquisite inside her bedchamber.

  Heading back up the aisle, the ringmaster is aware of every eye upon her. The taskmaster also takes notice, but allows the rowers their very brief respite. To accost them now would be to interrupt his own view. She will ascend and be gone soon enough. As she passes the taskmaster, the ringmaster offers him another charming smile. The towering man nods again, struggling to control his raging hormones. If only he were not stuck in the hold of this rickety quadrireme. The uneven rowing of this burdensome ship is nothing compared to motion he could put into play.

  With a final backward glance, the ringmaster disappears upstairs. The taskmaster sighs and twists his mouth in grief. After a moment of reflection, the large man turns to chastise the slacking rowers.

  Before the taskmaster can completely turn around, an oar strikes him forcefully across the face. The taskmaster's eyes bulge with surprise. He slowly returns his head to a forward position, in order to see who has dared assault him. Frank stands almost directly in front of the taskmaster, a wooden oar gripped tightly in his hands. The taskmaster places a beefy hand on his hip and laughs heartily.

  "You? You dare challenge me, tiny brother? Are you willing and happy to die?"

  Frank considers the answer to that question very carefully. No. But what choice does he have?

  "It is you who is going to die, cruel...Whipping guy! Only a barbarian makes another human a slave! Why don't you row this ship your damn self...If it's so easy?"

  Around Frank, whispers and soft cheers erupt. The taskmaster's eyes widen further and he drops his large hand to the whip on his belt. Frank watches the taskmaster's hand wearily. He tightens his grip on the oar.

  "I admire your bravery, tiny brother. But bravery will not be enough to save you from my whip....Or my blade!"

  Without much warning, the taskmaster draws his half-sword from a scabbard on his waist. Frank parries with the oar, using the widest end to deflect the taskmaster's blow. The taskmaster roars and swings wildly again.

  The rowers behind the dueling men send up a loud chant. They slam their oars in a timely rhythm. The taskmaster whirls on first one column of rowers and then the other, his eyes full of anger and hate.

  "Shut up and row!"

  The rowers ignore the taskmaster, chanting and banging their oars even louder. Frank's pride swells and he dances in a semi-circle, attempting to stay out of range of the enraged taskmaster--as he blocks and parries each strike of the larger man's sword.

  The taskmaster uses his opposite hand to grip his whip. Frank sees what the taskmaster aims to do and decides the time is now or never. Before the taskmaster can retrieve his whip, Frank ducks and lashes out with the oar. He catches the bigger man behind the knees.

  The taskmaster roars with pain and abandons his whip. He strikes out haphazardly with his sword. The large man uses his non-dominate hand to make the swing. Therefore, his aim is slightly off. This gives Frank the advantage he needs. Dropping even lower, and spinning like a breakdancer, Frank rams the back of the hulking man's knees with an extended leg.

  The taskmaster stumbles and tries to right himself. Frank sweeps upward, grabbing the whip from the man's belt. He slams the oar into the side of the taskmaster's face while using it to distance himself from the brute's half-sword.

  Drawing back the whip, Frank brings it down hard upon the taskmaster's exposed back. The man roars even louder than before. Frank goes crazy with the whip, bringing it up and down over and over. Before long, blood runs freely down the taskmaster's face, upper body, and the exposed flesh of his sinewy legs. Frank continues to lash out with the whip as he dances out of range.

  Around Frank, the other rowers are going wild, cheering and raising their oars in triumph. Frank decides to call it a day. Time to end this.

  Lifting the oar high in the air, Frank uses it like a golf club. He swings it underhanded, slamming the thin edge under the taskmaster's chin. The giant man's mouth falls open, and then his eyes roll up in his head. He falls backward onto the wooden floor.

  Frank stands staring at the hulking brute's unmoving form for easily two or three minutes. Did he really just kill the guy? Is the quest over?

  Frank's answer comes when a loud bell sounds from the upper decks. The rowers begin to mutter in loud panicked voices. Their fear is driven by the cries coming from above.

  "A giant whale? What?" Frank mutters aloud.

  To be continued...............