She turns to me then and, to my surprise, catches me in a tight embrace, squeezing me to her vigorously enough to knock my hat from my head. “Captain,” I protest, worried for the garment — it is really very useful in this brightness, and I would hate to lose it to the ebb and flow of the streets — but my voice is muffled by the soft expanse of her breasts pressed tight to my face, and the strength of her arms keeps me from breaking away without seeming to struggle.
“Forgive me, Lorelei,” she says over my head. This sudden sad affection is starting to worry me. “I was lonely and stupid and I didn’t think. I’m no better than the Queen if I keep you here just for my own sake. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.”
I want to ask who this Queen is, but I have no choice; the moment she releases me from her hold, she snatches up my dropped hat and plants it firmly on top of my head, then turns and tugs me by the wrist hurriedly back toward the docks. It is all I can manage to falter along in her wake, using her grip on my arm and her momentum to keep me at a sustained stumble without falling to the ground. “Vineber—” I begin, then catch myself. “Captain Vine, what are — where are we going in such a rush?”
“My ship,” she says over her shoulder at me. “It’s still seaworthy, and I’ll deal with my money issues later. First I’m gonna fix this mistake and take you home.”
I say nothing in reply. Though I had just voiced my opinion aloud on the subject, I am not sure how I feel about this change of events. Certainly I have wished to return to the sea ever since I was removed from it, but … well, now that I know my Captain is not averse to the idea, I admit I am somewhat recalcitrant to be parting from her so soon. I have only barely gotten to know her as other than my captor, and already I see hints of depths in her I would not have guessed at first. Truth be told, she does not seem like an unpleasant person despite her earlier actions; it seems unfair to discover this and then go no further.
These concerns are superseded by new ones, however, when we reach her ship and find it occupied — three burly men, all tanned dark and shirtless, wander from the door of her ship’s cabin to the pier, two of them carrying large wooden boxes, the last one with a rough cloth sack over his shoulder. They pay no one else any mind, and neither does anyone seem to mind them. None but my Captain.
“What is —” she mutters as we approach, then releases my arm to dash on ahead down the crowded dock, weaving nimbly between toiling workers and leaving me to catch up at my own slow, clumsy pace. I hurry as best I can, but I could not match her speed even were my legs not already growing sore from our earlier walking.
I reach our pier several long seconds after my Captain, then must lean against a nearby post behind her and catch my breath. I am in time, however, to hear most of the conversation that ensues. “It’s unlicensed,” one of the men is saying to her. He stands on the deck with Captain Vine, a sack over his shoulder, while the other two stand on the pier nearby, holding their boxes and watching. “It flies no colors nor bears the seal of any kingdom or Freelander settlement. What do you want us to think, huh?”
“She’s not affiliated with any one kingdom,” my Captain answers, and there is an edge to her voice I have not yet heard, one that threatens violence. “We do our business freelance and wander as we see fit between it. There is no crime in that.”
“Can’t be too careful,” the man with the sack says, shaking his head. He has a thick mustache and a thin, pointed beard, two golden hoops in his ears and a single knot of brown-gold hair looping up from his otherwise bald head. “These waters is lousy with pirates of late, think they can use Rockquay as a fence for their plunder. Can’t have our good name sullied.”
Captain Vine turns her glare on this man, her fingers twitching at her sides. “You’re bad at this,” she says quietly. “If you heard me talking about my harvest, then you also heard me say I would be coming right back to get it. You don’t rush ahead of that and think to not get caught unless you truly lack any kind of sense.”
The three of them smile at one another, the two holding boxes setting them down on the pier. It is then that I notice they all have swords at their waists like my Captain, and my breath catches for a moment. This must be what she was talking about, I realize. But surely these men will not attack her openly in such a crowd…
“Your complaint is understandable,” the man with the sack says, shifting it on his shoulder. Its contents clink familiarly within. “Rest assured, though, you can make a claim with the Harbormaster and get back any confiscated goods from the warehouse that isn’t contraband. We’re only following protocol here.” He turns toward the pier then, takes one step toward the ship’s railing, and looks away from Captain Vine.
I see the naked sword in her hand before I ever hear it leave its sheath, the metal gleaming in the cloudless sunlight, the tip leveled at the sack holder. “Perhaps I didn’t speak plainly enough,” she growls, taking a slow step toward the man and forcing him a slow step back. “You can leave my ship with the scales, or you can leave it in one piece. You only get to choose one.”
The other two men draw their swords as well, aiming them at my Captain, who pays them little heed. “This ain’t how civilized folk treat one another,” one of them says, his voice deep and rough to the ears.
“No,” says my Captain. “It isn’t.” And she lunges at the man on her ship.
This catches all of them off guard, and myself as well — I can barely follow her sudden movement before she’s finished with it. The man with the sack of my scales stumbles backward in surprise on her sudden advancement, raising his sword in time for Captain Vine to bat it aside with her own. Then the handle of her blade, the part of it that wraps around the outside of her fingers, crashes against the man’s head with a muted thunk and he goes down sprawling, his sword clattering a few feet away out of his outstretched hand before the tip of my Captain’s boot sends it swiftly soaring over the far railing and into the sea with barely a splash.
The man attempts to clamber to his feet, but stops when my Captain brings the point of her blade to within an inch of his throat, and the two of them freeze in these positions, stock-still like statues while the other two men and I watch and wait, they with their weapons raised, I clinging to my pole in nervousness. I have never seen an actual fight before, never anything more violent than a heated argument. But my Captain could easily kill any of these men — or, I shudder to think, vice-versa, if chance only swings slightly against her. The possibility frightens me.
The sprawled man slowly raises his hands palm-up in surrender, the sack he was carrying dropped at his side, the knot on top keeping my scales from slipping out and attracting even more unwanted attention. He smiles at Captain Vine, an ingratiating expression of fearful hope. “Just protocol, m’lady,” he says quietly. “Meant nothing by it. No need to take this any further.”
“Get off,” growls my Captain. “My ship. Now.” She steps back, taking her sword with her, though she doesn’t lower it. The man takes the opportunity to scramble backwards to his feet, then quickly sidles around her and climbs over the railing to the dock to join his companions with their blades still up. Captain Vine turns to follow the man’s movements. That’s when she sees me for the first time since she ran off and left me on the pier, and her eyes widen slightly as they catch mine.
And then all three men turn around to look at me also, clinging to the pier behind them and still trying to catch the breath I’d been holding since the fight began. The man in the middle, the one my Captain had just disarmed, smiles as he sees me, then turns slightly back around. “This yours too, m’lady?” he asks Captain Vine, his gaze not leaving me.
My Captain is on the rail then, legs planted wide for balance as she towers over the men on the pier. She swings her sword once before her to command their attention, the high-pitched keen of the metal slicing the air drawing their heads back around toward her again. “Leave,” she commands, her voice louder than before. “Leave me, leave my ship, leave my cargo, and lea
ve my crew.”
“This beauty’s crew o’ yours?” another of the men says, turning back to me and bringing his sword with him. I cringe away into the wood as the blade points at me. Why is he … surely he is not going to attack me now, is he? What have I done?
“You’ll not touch her!” Captain Vine shouts, swinging her whistling sword again. “Any man so much as lays a finger on her loses his whole arm!”
“Now, now,” says the sword-less man, stepping between my Captain and his friends. “No need for more of that. We’ll gladly let your friend here aboard unharassed — provided you hand over that sack of contraband there.”
The three of them take up all of the pier space between my Captain and me — she cannot step off of her ship without stepping into their ranks, and neither can I walk out from behind my post without coming face-to-face with the one man’s sword. He watches me as I watch my Captain, who watches the other two men watching her, and nothing happens for a long, tense moment. I briefly consider turning and running away, but in my current state I know I’ll not get far before one of them catches me, and I am not sure if the one that does will attempt to use his sword on me once he has me. I can see my Captain visibly weighing her own options as well, her eyes darting quickly between me and the three men. Then, in the absence of other action, the man staring at me takes a heavy, deliberate step in my direction.
“Mab’s tits!” I hear my Captain swear, and then suddenly the whole pier lurches as her small ship swells back and then rocks into the wooden floor. The men and I all go sprawling under the impact, but the Captain suffers no such imbalance. I look up just in time to see her land on the back of one of the men, his breath leaving him in a choked “oomph” as the force of her landing knocks the wind from him. His sword too she kicks into the water, then spins delicately and swings her foot into the side of the head of the man who’d been threatening me as he tries to rise. He tumbles back down over his own shoulders and almost off the pier entirely. My Captain dances past him and takes hold of my wrist, yanking me up to my feet. “On the ship,” she orders me, and turns to drag me back toward her still-rocking vessel.
The last man is on his feet now, though, between the ship and us, and he swings a fist at my Captain as she turns around, before she can get her sword up. I hear the thud of flesh on flesh as his knuckle clips her temple, and she staggers back against me, squishing me between herself and the pole with which I’d been balancing. The man reaches for her again, grabbing a mixed handful of her hair and the cloth wrapped around her head just as she brings her foot up between them and shoves it into his gut, driving him back. He falls with a crash to his back on the pier again, taking her head wrap with him.
A surprised murmur erupts all around us then, and I glance around to notice that most of the visible traffic on the docks has stopped to watch the commotion the five of us have been making. Humans cluster the wooden planks just off of our little pier, and more of them lean over the sides of the ships above us. I had not noticed them before, but I notice them now, and the majority are staring at my Captain. Even the two of our attackers that now struggle back to their feet (the two whom my Captain did not kick in the head, for that one is still moaning to himself as he hangs motionless over the side of the pier) have ceased their assault and are staring in shock at Captain Vine.
Her head whips quickly back and forth to take in the full scope of our audience, her sword half-raised in front of her, her back still pressed protectively against my front. Then her free hand lifts up to rub the small bruise on the side of her forehead where the man’s blow had landed, and she gasps and freezes, her fingers slowly running over the length of her exposed ears.
“Shit,” I hear her whisper to herself, and her rigid body starts to tremble slightly against mine. “Shit, shit, son of a — “
“Stop!” a new voice bellows, silencing the murmuring crowd as all heads turn to watch these new figures shove their way through the slowly parting sea of people. More humans (my Captain was right — it is always more humans here), these all dressed in matching uniforms of gold-trimmed black coats and black tri-cornered hats like the dockworker with his book from earlier today. Each has a matching sword dangling at his hip, and their leader draws his as he reaches our pier, pointing it in the general direction of all five of us. “What is this commotion?” he demands, looking sternly between all of us. “By order of the Magistrate, whoever instigated this brawl is under arrest. Out with it.”
Guards, I realize. We have this much in common, then, this land place and my home. I do not know what a Magistrate is, though.
“It was her,” one of our assailants, the one who’d been holding my scales, speaks up, pointing accusingly at Captain Vine. “The elf. She jumped us from her ship because we’d heard her talking about stolen cargo.”
My Captain whirls on the man with her sword hand raised as if she would smack him with it. He and the guards all flinch away, but she doesn’t complete the gesture, instead lowering her weapon to her waist. “Lies,” she spits at the man who’d spoken against her.
“Elf?” says the guard captain, and in two quick steps he is at my Captain’s side, his hand reaching for her head. She raises a hand to intercept his, but he merely grabs her wrist and yanks it away, his other hand taking a firm hold of her hair and brushing it forcefully back over her ears.
I see, now, what I did not before. My Captain’s ears are pointed on the ends, and stick up higher than those of any of the humans surrounding us. I had noticed this on her ship, of course, but I had not realized until now that this was a feature of hers that I had yet to see echoed in any of the other people we had passed by or dealt with yet in this city. She had covered them before we came ashore, and the murmuring of our audience had not started until they were uncovered once more. Somehow their shape has something to do with everyone else’s surprise.
“It’s true, then,” the guard captain says in a sober tone. “A fae in Rockquay? What business do you have here?”
“Didn’t you hear anything else but ‘elf?’” my Captain demands, wrenching her wrist away from the man and glaring up at him. “He’s lying,” she repeats, jabbing a finger at the man in question. “I caught him stealing from my ship. When I confronted him, he threatened my … my friend here,” she adds with a nod back to where I stand behind her. The arrival of the guards has widened the gap between us, and now I hold once more to the pier with one hand, my other hovering near my mouth in anxiety about this new turn of events.
The guard captain glares quickly, pointedly at me of a sudden, making me start back, before instantly turning his gaze back on Captain Vine. “And what was he stealing from an elf, then, hm? Pixie dust? Bird shit?” The guards behind him laugh at this, as does a large portion of the watching crowd.
I can see Captain Vine’s cheeks redden as her nostrils flare. “What does it matter?” she growls as the mirth dies away around her. “What does it matter if it was gold or shit or, or whatever else you uncivilized bastards think it is an elf owns, huh? He stole from me.” Her voice picks up volume as she goes, and by now the dwindling smiles of the guards have been replaced with angry frowns. “That means something in your laws, doesn’t it? Taking stuff from a human is a cardinal sin in any town or city I’ve ever been in! Why are you suddenly not concerned with that? Huh? Because of ears?”
“Calm down, elf,” the guard captain says, sword rising just an inch. “You’ve started one riot already today, I’ll not suffer you to start another.”
“Fine,” my Captain growls, half-turning away from the men and toward her ship. “Whatever. I’ll take my crew and my cargo, get back on my ship, and leave. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She looks up at the crowd hanging over the side of one of the galleons above us. “That’s what you bastards always want, right?”
“You’re gonna let her get away with it?” the man who’d accused her before asks the guards. “You’re gonna let a godless fairy just sail in with stolen cargo, assault civilians, and
sail right back out again?”
“One more word!” my Captain yells, spinning back around and shoving the tip of her blade to within less than an inch of the man’s face. “Say one more fucking thing, little man, and your friends can tell everyone all about how they watched a godless fairy ram three feet of silver down your godsdamned throat!”
I am … stunned, to say the least. In all my time with her so far, I have never seen this side of my Captain. Her accuser, however, is appropriately more shocked than I, for he wobbles on his heels throughout the whole of her speech before finally tipping backwards and over the pier with a resounding splash.
“That’s it, I’ve seen enough,” the guard captain barks, turning to the rest of his men. “Arrest this elf,” he commands. “Search her ship and commandeer any suspect cargo you find. I’ll not suffer more chaos in my port from some uppity fae.”
The guards mobilize on his command, three of them bearing down on my Captain, who turns to face them uncertainly. One draws his sword and menaces her with it while the other two grab for her arms, wrenching them behind her back with only a brief struggle. Her own sword is pried from her grip and tossed to another waiting guard, who steps in to take its sheath from her belt as one of the men holding her arms takes a pair of shackles from off his own belt.
“What is that?” my Captain asks quietly. Even so, I can hear panic in her voice as she cranes her neck behind her. “No! Wait, don’t, I’ll —” The clunk of metal on metal cuts her off as the shackles clamp snugly to her wrists, chaining them behind her. A sudden scream of pain from her makes the nearest guards, and myself, jump in surprise. “Get it off!” she chokes out at the end of her scream, face contorted in pain. “For the love of the Mother, get it off, it burns!”
O Captain, My Captor Page 6