As the jailor pressed the key into the lock, the prisoner asks “Some water?”

Unlocking the door to admit a cleric for death rights, the jailor responds, “Water?  Why waste water on you?  You best be minding the short drop and the sudden stop that’ll be your worries in soon.” The priest entered the dungeon cell.

“Any confessions you’ve to make to your god son?” the cleric asks the young man sitting on the floor.

“Aye, fath’r.  I do.”  Dorn replied.

“Go on then son, there is not much time.  The sun rises in a few minutes and the hangman’s noose is seeking your company.” 

“Tisn’t right to take a man’s life.  A freeman’s a free man.  And life takin’ ain’t  dignified.”

“But your ship was seized with a dozen townfolk chained in the hold for the slavers in the south.  The king’s penalty for thieving and slavers is death.” The older man replied.  “Now your fate is sealed, do you want to leave this world
confessed of your sins?  Or stained for damnation?”

“No, you came for me confession, an one you’ll get.  But I’ll ask ya straight aways, are all clerics the same?”

Puzzled the holy man replied “No, not all men of faith are the same.  But we all do try to do best as our doctrines proscribe.  Why?  Were you close to a holy man?”

“He raised me like a son.  My youth I twas a wee bit of a rabble rouser.  I was given over to our town’s Shepard or man of the cloth.  He made me work ‘ard for the ’alf a copper he’d paid me, but ‘ed took me with ‘im on a pilgrimage or two. 
I’d never seen the sea ‘til I was seven.  A glorious sight it twas.  The waves breaking on shore, the glinting of the wave, twas love and freedom.  Elder Griegor was the Shepard of our village an old man looked every bit as frail as an egg.  I was nine when Griegor began to teach me to read the ‘oly texts.  ‘ed ‘ave me sittin’ there on ‘is lap showing the squiggles on the page till I could name ‘em all.”

“Let’s move pirate, times come.”  The soldier at the door said. 

The priest moving with the young corsair, “But son, please your soul.”

The prisoner and priest stood and began to follow the guard.  “’e taught me to fish too.  The line, ‘ook, the worm, and the catch.  ‘e taught me to bathe, ‘ot water too.  I’d fetch bucket from the stream, put fire to it, then into the bathe with it.  ‘e’d have me wersh ‘is back.  Then as woodstock would run low, ‘ed share ‘is bath water with me.  Bit crowded if you catch me drift.”

“In his name, did this Griegor disadvantage you in some way?”

“Cleric, my time here’s short, kneel and pray with me.” 

“Guard, a minute, this man wants a quiet moment with his god.”

“A minute, minister, none more.” The guard replied coarsely.

Kneeling, the priest faces the condemned man.  “Speak your peace to the lord, son.  And be at peace.”

“Tis a shiny thing your symbol of faith.” Taking the holy symbol in his manacled hands, convict kisses it softly.  “The silk that holds it, soft like a woman.”  Caressing the fabric between his fingers.  “’ed call me ‘is fish’.  ‘ed run ‘is
fingers through my ‘air.  Give me ‘is worm.  Caught I was.  But…”  Moving quickly the younger man’s hands slipped up the fabric until they gripped it tightly against the holy man’s throat.  The priest began to thrash and gasp for air.  “Sittin’
there in the tub, I crept up behind ‘im.  Me ‘ad a bit of rope in me ‘ands.  ‘e never felt it slip over ‘is ‘ead.  ‘e tried to stand out the tub, but I jumped ‘im and put me feet to ‘is neck.  We both fell in, but I was on top.  I pull with all me might.  Soon, so soon, ‘e stopped ‘is twitching, much like you now.”  Releasing the dead priest, the pirate prayed that his sacrifice would be enough. 

“Curse you Griegor to the ‘ells.”