“Sure you will,” he said. “Even so, you should see where you’ll be sleeping, darling, just in case another one of your plans doesn’t pan out.”
Three
“I probably should apologize for Captain Grey,” Giselle said once the two were out of earshot. “He does have a way for getting under the skin, and not in a good way.” She offered Remy a warm smile that Remy attempted to return but could only muster a grimace.
She was stuck here. For an indefinite amount of time.
Giselle seemed sweet though. She had straight wheat colored hair that she tied back with a piece of black ribbon so strands ceased to litter her face. Her stormy grey eyes seemed to hold a strange feeling of friendliness in them, despite the dreary color. Her skin was porcelain, much like Remy’s own, despite being on a ship that sailed to and from a destination on an ocean underneath the hot sun. There was a slight indentation on Giselle’s chin, rounding out the soft angles of her heart shaped face. She was slender, much more slender than the females Remy had interacted with on a constant basis, but it did not deter from her obvious beauty. The young woman was short, two or three inches shorter than Remy herself. She was clothed in brown pantaloons and a blue tunic. It surprised Remy to see that her attire, like the men’s, were filled with dirt and holes and looked old, as though wearing this particular outfit was consistent rather than every now and then. Surely as a woman, this had to bother Giselle. She could not possibly be proud of the way she looked.
“Forgive me for asking,” Remy said as she followed the shorter woman, “but should you not wash your clothes? They look rather… dirty.” Remy was not sure if she had chosen the correct word that aptly described what she saw, but it was most certainly the least offensive.
She watched as a light pink blush took over Giselle’s delicate features. “I must apologize for my appearance,” she said. Giselle stopped at the top of the stairs so she could look at Remy without craning her neck. “We weren’t expecting any visitors and these were the only clean clothes I could find, believe it or not.”
Remy did not actually believe it. Did they not have someone to wash their clothes for them? Or, if Giselle was not lying and all of her clothes were dirty, could the crew not stop at a nearby shop and buy some new ones?
“Is appearance not important on a ship?” Remy knew the question was rude, but she could not think of a better way to ask it.
Instead of snapping or criticizing her – as Remy had no doubt Captain Nick would had he been the recipient of her questions – Giselle smiled. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not here. It’s actually quite liberating, you see. Nobody cares if your clothes have wrinkles or stains on them, nobody cares if your hair isn’t combed, and nobody really cares if you smell. The only thing that matters is that you do what you’re required to do, and you do it well and in a timely fashion. Looks aren’t important here.”
“Because you have all died?” The question was out of Remy’s mouth before she could stop herself, and even she felt as though she had crossed the line.
However, Giselle still looked passive. She obviously possessed more patience than Remy could ever hope to have.
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Giselle said in a decidedly softer voice, “though I like to think it’s because there’s so much more to life – and death – than what you wear or what you look like. A dirty tunic is not that grand in the scope of the life I am currently living, whether I am technically alive or not.”
Remy was quiet, allowing her mind to process everything Giselle had said. Though she still did not fully understand what Giselle meant about the unimportance of appearance in comparison to other things, she was open to the possibility that looks were not a priority for other people.
“And there’s really no other alternative,” Giselle added with a grin. “Our attire is going to get dirty whether we like it or not. And since we’re on a ship, we can’t wash them whenever we wish. We do have to ration our water after all.” She paused, looking at Remy with what Remy believed was a curious look. However, Giselle did not speak of whatever it was that she seemed to be interested in. “Shall we commence the tour, then?”
Remy nodded, feeling her lips tug down into a frown. This tour reminded her of the academic lessons she had to sit through despite wanting to be anywhere else. As she had in those lessons, Remy probably would not give Giselle her sole attention. It was not Giselle’s fault, really, but Remy had no interest in learning about a ship.
Giselle stopped abruptly, causing Remy to nearly run into the blonde woman’s back. “Right here,” Giselle said, opening the first door on the left, “is where the men sleep. Save for Nick, of course.”
Remy pressed her lips together. Perhaps this would not be completely uninteresting. Even prim and proper Remy Cutler had wondered what a man’s sleeping quarters looked like, so she did not stop herself from popping her head into the somewhat dark room.
“Oh.” The word escaped from her lips with disappointment.
Her search turned out to be quite anticlimactic. The room where the two men supposedly slept was half the size of her wardrobe back home. Two hammocks hung on either side of the room, the wooden floor occupied with a variety of clothing that seemed to belong to the man who slept on the right side of the room. Each occupant had two trunks that Remy believed held clothes, but the man on the right seemed to prefer scattering his articles on his side of the room while the man on the left had both of his trunks shut firmly, with not even a portion of the clothes sticking out. The only interesting thing about the room was the circle-shaped window, resting in the center of the far wall. It had a closer view of the ocean but was not quite submerged into it.
“Not very interesting,” Giselle said once Remy had turned back around. “Edward is not very organized and it drives Calum absolutely mental. It’s quite funny, actually. Are you ready to see the rest of the ship?”
Remy did not answer but followed Giselle out of the room. Instead of going to the adjacent room, she led Remy across the hall.
“There’s only one room, really, on the right side of the hall,” she said, pushing it open. Remy immediately recognized it, though the one in her house was about five times the size. “It’s the galleys, where we get our meals. The storage room is tucked in that cabinet over there. Because there are only five of us – six, counting you – we don’t need much.”
Remy’s eyes adjusted to another dimly lit room. There was fireplace that took up a fourth of the left side of the wall with a large black pot hanging over it. She noticed burned coals resting underneath the pot; apparently, pirates used coals until they absolutely had to replace them. She walked over to where a cabinet filled with some supplies was located and noticed nails forced into the legs of it. Adjacent to the cabinet was a long table used for chopping up whatever food was going to be cooked, with knives and other types of cutlery hanging on the wall. The table, too, had nails in its legs.
“That’s to keep it in place,” Giselle explained after noticing Remy’s confused look. “In case a storm comes or the sea gets particularly rough, we nail the majority of our large furniture into the ship in order to keep it upright.”
“But the dining table is not nailed in,” Remy pointed out.
The dining table was located in the middle of the room, a long, squat bench on either side. One candle sat at the head of the table while its partner was placed at the bottom in order to provide light during a meal. The table itself was wooden. Different markings and writing was on it, and there was even some resin stained on the surface, probably as a result of one of the candles. She had never in her wildest imagination believed people would actually eat off of such a dingy thing.
“And the benches are not either,” she added.
Where were the chairs? How were backs supposed to be supported, good posture supposed to be reinforced? They did not actually sit on the benches, did they? Surely the chairs were in storage as well, since no one was eating right now.
“No,” Giselle agreed. “On beautiful days, the men carry the table and benches up to the deck so we can eat and enjoy the weather. We normally eat on deck once the souls have been deposited to the Crossroads.”
“The Crossroads?” Remy asked, scrunching her brow.
“Yes.” Giselle took a step forward, in the direction of the door. “The Crossroads is the place where the souls are taken to. They either go to The Paradise or The Other World.” She smiled but did not press on. Before Remy could ask her to, she disappeared out the door and said, “Now over here is where we store our weapons.”
“Weapons?” Remy asked, hurrying her steps before peeking in to the second door on the left.
The room was much smaller than the men’s sleeping room, which surprised Remy in that she was certain there was no possibility a room could get even be designed with such little space. Although, this was simply for weapons and judging by the cutlasses and daggers, axes and hooks, pistols and rifles, space was not needed. The only weapon that had more than five of its kind was the cutlass.
“We each know how to handle one,” Giselle explained. “You’d be surprised at how rusted they become with life at sea, so we always keep extras.”
“Why do you need weapons?” Remy asked. “You’re all dead, or relatively so.”
“You’d be surprised of the dangers that await you when you’re dead,” Giselle said but did not say more.
“Now over here,” she continued, shutting the door and leading Remy past the third door – Remy knew that was the exit back to the living world, back to her home – and to the fourth one, “is where you will be sleeping, with me and Adele.”
This sleeping room was similar to the men’s, but it was slightly bigger. Both women seemed much neater than their male counterparts, and Remy was glad to see a collection of blankets that, while looking quite prickly, would provide her with warmth at night. She tended to get cold easily, and since there was obviously no fireplace in this room, Remy would have to take as many blankets as she could. As with the men, each woman had two trunks for their clothing and a window in the center of the room.
“I’ll have Calum come down and set up your hammock and fetch you two trunks for any attire you might acquire during your stay with us,” Giselle said. “Next to the window, will that do?”
“I suppose it does not matter, does it?” Remy asked in a reluctant voice. How could she possibly sleep here with two other women? It would feel cramped and any form of privacy Remy hoped to have was merely an idea, a dream now. “Are you absolutely certain that there is not a spare room I can sleep in instead? I would not like to intrude on the setup you have already established with Adele.”
“Trust me, darling, you are not intruding,” Giselle said with a careless wave of her hand. “We’d love to have your company.”
Remy felt another gnawing of guilt in her stomach at the warmth in Giselle’s voice.
“And besides, the only person with his own room is the captain,” she concluded.
“And where is Captain Grey’s quarters?”
Giselle beckoned Remy out of her new room and then pointed to the double doors that took up the majority of the wall that ended the hallway. Unlike the rest of the ship, the doors were elegant, richly designed. Gold door handles and smooth oak – completely unlike the wood that made up the ship – seduced the audience, like a perfectly wrapped present on Christmas Day. Without even realizing what she was doing, Remy reached out and wrapped her fingers around the cool, smooth gold handle. Before she could turn it, Giselle gently pulled her away.
“You can’t go in without the captain’s permission,” she said.
“Oh.” Remy was surprised she was disappointed at that. She assumed that Captain Grey lived the way his crew did. There certainly was evidence of this theory in the fact that he, too, wore dirty clothing and most likely ate with his crew in the galley; and yet, the doors to his room were tasteful and revealed wealth. Perhaps Captain Nick rather would live in a nice room rather than wear clothing. Perhaps appearances only mattered in terms of dwelling comforts rather than what he looked like. Remy could certainly understand that; she knew many people who preferred nice mansions or fashionable carriages to beautiful clothing.
“It’s his rule,” Giselle said. “Now just over here is a small staircase that leads downward.”
“There is another level?” Remy asked.
Giselle nodded. “Of course,” she said, and then waved her hand. “I’ll show you.”
This particular staircase looked as though it had not been fixed up in quite a while. The steps did not feel as stable as the first set, and only one person could walk up or down due to how narrow it was.
“It is rather dark down here, so please be careful,” Giselle cautioned over her shoulder.
Because there was no railing, Remy placed her right hand on the side of the wall, hoping it might help her balance. Her heart leapt in her throat when she stepped on a stair that was not there anymore before she corrected her footing and continued downward.
“Oh, I must apologize for not warning you,” Giselle said, gesturing at the stair. “I am just so used to it. Please be careful. There is a rather large hole in it that Edward keeps saying he will fix but never gets around to it.” She rolled her eyes. “Men.”
Remy was surprised to find that the third level was lit with multiple candelabras that actually did not match. To her, it looked as though the crew collected what candelabras they had and placed them all down here without taking the decorum of the room into account. Though Remy doubted she would ever come down here unless it was absolutely mandatory.
“This is where we store our canons,” Giselle said, motioning to the space lined with canons on either side. They were all positioned outwards as though waiting for an attack on the ship. Matches and gun powder boxes were just off to the side, neatly organized so nobody accidentally tripped over them and caused a potentially fatal mess. Besides the weapons and the open space, there were two cages at the back of the level, with black, rusted bars.
“And that is the brig,” Giselle said.
A chill swam down the curve of Remy’s spine. At that moment, she realized that this was not a dream or a trick played upon her. This was her new reality. Not only was she in a world she did not know of, she was unable to return home, and on top of that, she was the guest of a crew of pirates that had a brig on the third level of their ship.
Would they place her there if she asked a question? Would they flog her with a cat-o’nine tails? Would the men pillage her and the women steal the only article of clothing she had?
They seemed friendly right now, but would the façade last? Would she really be treated with such hospitality as the days went by? Would she be here for a long period of time?
“Why do you need a brig?” Remy managed to ask in a meek voice.
“The Underworld is not all that different from Earth,” Giselle said. “There are times when people need to be imprisoned, whether it is in form of punishment or protection.”
“Protection?”
“For the crew,” Giselle explained. “If a person poses a threat to the crew, they automatically end up here.”
“I see.”
Remy did not like this place. Not at all. She wanted nothing more than to run up the tight staircase, away from Giselle and the cannons and the gunpowder and the brig. She wanted sunlight on her skin, reminding her that yes, in fact, she was alive. Placing her hand over her heart, Remy tried to slow her breathing in hopes to regain control over her bearings.
“May we…?” Remy could not finish her sentence, but she tilted her head to the left, to the staircase, in hopes that Giselle would understand the gist of it.
“Of course,” she said with a nod. “To be honest, this level concludes the tour. I’m sure our humble living quarters is nothing compared to what you are used to, Miss Cutler, and I apologize that it may not be to your liking. But I do hope that perhaps, in the future, you might be able to call t
his ship home. I have been here the past twenty years and had never sailed while I was alive. I was offered the chance to, but with my parents gone and me being the eldest sibling, I had to stay back and take care of things.” Her voice sounded regretful and Remy noticed her eyes darken, like a black cloud blotted out an over cast sky. After a moment, she forced a smile and looked back up at Remy. “But now I feel as though the Black Star is the only home I know.”
“Black Star?” Remy asked, furrowing her brow.
“Oh, how silly of me.” She gestured to their surroundings. “The Black Star is the name of the ship. Nick named her himself.”
“I see.”
“Shall we head up then?” Giselle asked. At Remy’s eager nod, Giselle turned and led the younger girl back up to the deck.
One thing Remy was certain of: she would never call the Black Star home.
Four
“Captain,” Edward said through gritted teeth. Nick watched as his quartermaster narrowed his midnight blue eyes at him, and completely beyond his control, the captain felt his back straighten just a tad. “Now that she is otherwise occupied, would you care to tell us just what it is that woman is doing here again?”
“I already told you that it was her fault,” Nick said shortly.
“And how could it possibly be her fault when you are the only person on this ship that can transport to Earth and back here?” Adele asked, raising her right brow.
Nick absolutely loathed Adele’s right eyebrow. It always questioned him and his motives and made him feel inadequate, doubtful, and even stupid. He knew that her judgmental way wasn’t exactly her fault – Adele had an upbringing similar to their new guest’s, actually – but it still managed to rile him up every now and then.
“Hold on, hold on,” another voice, this one naturally rough, interrupted. “This girl’s been here prior? How?”
“Calum, we have more important things to discuss,” Edward snapped, glancing over his shoulder at the physician. As the eldest of two brothers, he was used to speaking first. “Like why she’s here in the first place.”
The Neverland Trilogy Box Set Page 4