CHAPTER 17 “What madness is this?”
Renato writhed in a world of pain and darkness, interrupted only by brief periods of even more intense agony. His mind roiled with barely glimpsed faces that leered at him before whirling back into the void. His ears howled with the unrelenting wails of others in anguish. His nostrils flinched at the stench of charred flesh and the pungent odor of blood. More than anything, he felt like a pig being roasted on a spit.
There was only one possible conclusion. He was in Hell.
During one of his more lucid moments, he heard an anxious voice. “Mr. Renato! Mr. Renato!” He knew that voice. Quayle. So his squalid little bosun was here too.
Renato seethed. This was the height of injustice—a great captain of buccaneers landing on the same level of the Underworld
