Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, several hundred miles from the coast of Portugal, a pirate vessel swathed its way through the water at a steady pace. It was headed east, towards mainland Europe.
It was a good day for sailing; there was a steady wind and a clear sky. Aboard the small ship, the crew scuttled to and fro, working tirelessly. The hot sun bore down on the men without mercy as they worked. Not even the salty breeze coming off the sea from the west brought any relief.
Among the two dozen male crewmembers working on the deck, there was one pirate that stood out from the rest: me. Mostly because I was a woman; a rare sight aboard a pirate ship. I paused in my work, dropping the heavy wooden brush I had been using to scrub the deck of the ship. I stood up and wiped the beads of sweat from my brow. It was a comfort to be able to stretch and crack my stiff knuckles.
Work on the ship was from dawn until dusk; no bellyaching tolerated. I glanced at my fellow crewmen, all busy with their respective duties. Most of them had stripped their shirts off to tie around their heads like bandanas, shielding their faces from sunburn. Their browned skin glistened with sweat as they laboured in the summer heat.
Johnny, who had been scrubbing away next to me, looked up through his flop of dirty blonde hair to see why I had stopped. At fifteen years old, he was the youngest amongst the crew. Because he was rather short and skinny for his age, he was also pushed around the most. I was also a prime target, being the only woman on board. The two of us were the ship's misfits.
I sighed and leaned my elbows on the nearest railing. As I stared lazily out at the green ocean, I pushed my hair out of my face. Johnny cast a quick glance around before joining me. Together, we watched the waves move gently with the breeze.
"Master Sykes will be angry if he sees that we're not working," he said meekly, his speech slightly accented.
I laughed and punched him on the arm in a friendly way. "Let me worry about Sykes," I told him.
Sykes was the crew's first mate. For a pirate, he was a rather good-natured man, but he wasn't someone to get on the bad side of. He liked things done quickly and done well, and you were lucky if your punishment was a mere sharp word.
Johnny nodded solemnly and turned his gaze once more to the horizon. He'd been orphaned when he was five, and had had to fend for himself until the captain of the ship had taken him in. That had been two months ago when we'd stopped in Stockholm for supplies. Johnny's messy blond hair and soft blue eyes gave no doubt of his origins.
Like me, Johnny had joined the crew to escape the cruel world. He'd been tempted by the lure of the open ocean, like many before him, and had jumped at the chance to sail her. Despite the teasing, he seemed happy on the ship. Certainly, the crew treated him better than the streets had. Here Johnny had a meal, a bed, and a certain amount of 'friends'. Not to mention freedom.
My line of thought was disturbed by the pounding of heavy, booted footsteps coming our way. I started and stood up perfectly straight; a habit that had been beaten into me since childhood. The sensation brought back memories of my childhood governess, and I recalled how I had handled her disappointment with me. Deciding to employ my old methods, I took a breath and turned to face the towering figure of Sykes. Johnny squeaked and tried to hide behind me. Since I was barely taller than he was, I didn't see how it made a difference.
"Slackin' off, aye?" Sykes mused in his deep, rumbling voice. He nudged our forgotten brushes with his boot.
"N-No sir, w-we were-"Johnny started to say.
I elbowed him in the gut to stop his stuttering. "Of course not, sir. We would never disobey your orders," I said, as sweetly as I could.
Ian Sykes straightened to his full height of six foot five. He crossed muscular arms over his broad chest, his gaze swivelling to meet his subordinates each in turn. Everything about Sykes made him a force to be reckoned with, from his big black boots to his steely blue eyes. He had strength like no other man; superbly skilled with a cutlass and a deadly shot with his pistol.
A long moment passed where Sykes squinted down at the pair of us. Johnny tried to make himself invisible, while I maintained my perfect composure, smiling calmly up at the first mate, holding my hand above my eyes to block out the sun. Finally, Sykes's face twitched into a grin and he laughed; a deep and pleasant sound.
"You're fun, new kid," he said to me.
Johnny and I started laughing along with him, Johnny a bit tentatively. As fast as the smile had come to Sykes's face, it slipped off to be replaced by a stern look. All laughter abruptly stopped.
"Svenson!" He turned to Johnny.
"Yes, sir?" Johnny stood as tall as possible, trying to gather the confidence I wasn't sure he had.
"Finish scrubbing this deck. Shorty!" He pointed at me.
I scowled at the name. "Yes, sir?"
"Captain wants to see you."
I groaned audibly, somewhat uncharacteristically of me, as I had been raised not to show any outward signs of displeasure. What have I done wrong now? I wondered. In the few short months I'd been aboard, it seemed I was constantly being summoned to the Captain's quarters, in trouble for things that weren't my fault or beyond my control. Sykes was already marching off, so I waved quickly to Johnny and followed the first mate below deck.
The ship was by no means large. There was enough room below to sleep the crewmen, including myself, the storage, the galley, and so on. Lastly was the captain's cabin. It was to this small section in the stern of the ship that Sykes brought me, by now all too familiar to me. Sykes raised a giant fist and rapped three times on the door of the Captain's quarters.
"Come in," came a muffled reply from inside.
Sykes obeyed, ushering me inside as well. He announced his name and rank before gesturing to his me.
"I brought the girl, sir."
Captain Dark Byrne looked up from his work. His feet were propped up on his desk, his black boots crossed over one another. He had been scrutinizing some papers he held in his right hand, tapping a feather quill against his lips with his left. He leaned casually back in his chair and pulled his legs back under the desk before standing up.
"Sykes." He nodded and set the quill and papers down on the desk.
His midnight blue eyes then locked on me and he gave me a small smile. I bobbed my head once in reply and averted my gaze, if only to avoid looking into those impossibly blue depths. I thought I saw him frown as I looked away.
"Thank you, Sykes, you can go," the Captain said, adopting a more formal tone.
"Aye, Captain," Sykes replied, leaving the way he had come.
The door snapped shut behind him and the pair of us were left in an uncomfortable silence. He cleared his throat and gestured for me to take the seat opposite him. I did so, and he sat back in his chair, resting his boots on the desk once more. He remained silent, studying me. I stared neutrally back at him, careful to keep my face the well-practised mask of female indifference.
The captain was a young man, only a year or so older than I was. His skin, naturally pale, was tanned lightly by the sun, and he wore his long, raven black hair tied back. His eyes were two sapphires, as bright and clear as the ocean at night. He was a tall man, although not quite as tall as Sykes. He was slim and fit, with muscles toned from hours of hard labour. He crossed his hands behind his head; hands with long, aristocratic fingers that didn't befit his poor background.
Finally, he smiled again and spoke in the same accent that marked my own speech. "So, new kid," I scowled again. He laughed and corrected himself. "Zaina."
Zaina wasn't my given name. It was the name I had adopted the day I'd joined Dark's crew. He was one of two people alive who knew my real name, and I his, for of course Dark was an alias too.
"I am well, Captain," I replied, the words still foreign on my tongue. I had only been on the ship a few months longer than Johnny and calling this man "captain" had taken some getting used to.
"Come, come now," he chastised me. "You can call me Dark, we're still friends."
"Dark," I repeated, trying to force a smile.
He was still my captain, a fact I had accepted somewhat reluctantly, but we were friends. At least, we had been when we were children.
"Why did you summon me?" I asked suddenly, deciding to get right to the point.
He didn't seem surprised by my question; his face was as masked as mine was. Over the months he'd invented excuses to haul me into his office. He'd then tried in vain to get me to talk to him. I still refused to have more than these polite, uncomfortable conversations. There was unfinished business between us, and I hadn't quite forgiven him yet.
"Because I think we should talk," he explained simply.
"What did you wish to speak to me about?" I replied evenly.
He chuckled. "You don't have to act so proper. It's just me."
I blushed, realizing. "Sorry...old habits and all that."
I forced myself to relax; I was sitting straight backed on the stool opposite Dark's desk and I was starting to feel the strain of such an unreasonable position. My back welcomed the relief. I let out a sigh, letting myself slouch and rest my elbows on my knees instead of laying my hands gracefully in my lap.
Dark grinned. "Much better. I like you better this way. You're a pirate now, not a lady."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm still a lady, Dark. I'm still me."
Dark nodded. "And I'm still me," he said pointedly, raising an eyebrow at me meaningfully.
I glared at him. "Pardon, these past few months have been a difficult adjustment. This is the most I've seen of you in six years," I bit out, my tone returning to cold and formal.
He blanched. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine," I cut him off, my mask slipping to allow anger and hurt through.
"I did what I had to," he stated defensively after another long silence.
I stared at the floor, blinking rapidly to stop any tears. The memories were still fresh in my mind and I wouldn't allow them to take over now of all times. I flinched as I tried to force them back into the dark corners of my mind.
He knew me well enough to notice. He frowned and moved to take his feet off the desk. In doing so, he knocked over his ink well and an old compass. They fell to the wooden floor with a clatter. The ink spilled and started soaking into the wood.
I immediately jumped from my stool and knelt to help clean it up, glad to have any distraction from the strained conversation. He was at my side in the same moment, using a cloth to soak up the spilled ink. I went for the compass at the same time he did. His hand covered mine, weathered from work, but warm. I allowed myself one small moment of weakness, one where I reveled in the familiar warmth of his hand and the knowledge that our friendship had not been utterly lost. The moment faded, however, and I pulled my hand quickly away.
"Allow me, sir," I said, hiding behind formality as I quickly erased the smile that came to my face.
He caught my eye as I set the compass back on his desk. "Do you miss him?" he asked gently, his blue eyes surveying me with a look of concern.
"Miss who?" I asked, knowing perfectly well who he meant. It was all I could do to suppress my anger at the thought of him, and at Dark for daring to bring him up.
"You know who I mean," he replied, wiping up the last of the ink. A black stain was still left in the wood.
"I don't," I said sharply, indicating that I would speak of him no further.
He sighed and dropped the rag, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You can trust me, Zaina. I'm still your friend...aren't I?"
I looked up at him. I caught a flicker of hurt in his eyes before he carefully concealed it. "I do trust you," I said sincerely. "We're still friends...but..."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I know...but I can still care about your well-being."
"For now, I just need time," I told him, tearing my gaze away from the fake, reassuring smile on his face.
He let his hand drop to his side and shifted his weight. "Time..." he repeated. He glanced out one of the portholes. The sun was getting lower in the sky; it was mid-afternoon. "You still have time to finish cleaning my deck...so get to work," he said gruffly, avoiding my eyes now.
He stood and walked around to my side of the desk. Taking me lightly by the shoulders, he turned me to face the door. I sighed and obeyed, letting him close the door behind me without another word. The whole "friends" thing was not going well.
I hurried back to the deck, knowing Sykes would have my head if I didn't get back to work. As I ran past the other crewmembers, a few of them catcalled or whistled at me. I ignored them, having quickly gotten used to the downsides of being a woman on a ship full of pirates. At least they didn't all do it anymore; only the ones brave enough to disobey Dark's orders to leave me alone bothered anymore for their own amusement.
Johnny was waiting for me on the starboard side. "How did it go?" he asked.
"Nothing to report," I said ambiguously.
Johnny wasn't convinced. "What did the Captain want?"
I sighed, knowing Johnny wouldn't let up. "He just wanted to speak with me, Johnny, about unimportant matters unworthy of concern." Johnny's face creased into a confused frown. His grasp of English wasn't perfect. "Sorry," I continued, trying to be clearer. "It was nothing important, he just wanted an excuse to talk to me."
"Are you angry at him?"
I started. "Why do you think I'm angry at him, Johnny?"
Johnny flushed, embarrassed. "I-I'm sorry! You just always seem...anxious when the Captain is nearby."
At Johnny's words, several emotions churned inside me, rushing from the pit of my belly into my throat. All my conflicting feelings towards Dark threatened to choke me. I settled on anger, or maybe it was denial.
"I am not anxious when he's around!" I shrieked, causing Johnny to shrink under my glare and the other crew members to look up from their work. I paused, turning red with embarrassment for causing a scene.
"I'm not anxious around him," I hissed, lowering my voice. "He just...we used to be friends, when we were children."
Johnny's blue eyes widened in surprise, "You're friends with the Captain?"
"Yes. Well...I'm not certain anymore."
"Why not?"
"Let's just say he made a mistake that I haven't forgiven him for," I muttered, picking up a mop and furiously scrubbing the squeaky clean deck.
Johnny took the hint and picked up a rag, wiping it across the rail. After a moment, he opened his mouth, paused a second, and then said, "Everyone makes them...sometimes."
My head snapped up, looking at Johnny. I didn't need to ask what he meant. Even with his accent and small English vocabulary, it wasn't much of a stretch.
Johnny and I finished up our work, under the careful scrutiny of Sykes, just as the dinner bell rang. The crew rushed below deck, stomachs grumbling in anticipation of a hot—if not scrumptious—meal. We misfit pair took our places on the far end of the rickety table that made do as a place to eat dinner. Mismatched wooden chairs, stools and benches lined it and were soon occupied by chatty crewmen.
Sykes ambled in, taking his place at the head of the table. He sat down, shaking the rest of the crew in their seats as he settled his bulk. He made an effort to slick back his dark brown hair and roll up his sleeves in preparation for dinner. Overall, I would say Sykes had the best table manners. Hell, the best manners in general. Johnny was polite as well, but mostly because it paid for him to keep his head down.
The cook emerged from the galley bearing plates of food, which he set on the worn wooden table. The crew licked their lips, staring at the food like hungry wolves. Sykes cracked his knuckles, scratching his beard thoughtfully as he drew out the process of selecting his food, knowing the crew had to wait their turn. The cook was a man named Kaspar. He was a thin, wiry fellow with a shock of blonde hair and a beard. He was a fairly good cook, but the food we could bring on the ship wasn't exactly the best to work with.
Sykes finally finished dishing out his plate, and the rest of the crew pounced on the food, fighting over the best morsels. Johnny and I waited patiently, knowing it was best to let the men fight it out unless we wanted a hand cut off. Dinnertime was always eventful on the ship.
As soon as the leftover scraps were passed our way, I seized them, shooting anyone who tried to steal a second helping a fiery glare. I passed the leftovers to Johnny, insisting that he, as a growing lad, have his fill first. After a few gentle nudges on my part, Johnny accepted the food. I stifled a laugh at seeing him stuff the food down his throat; he was obviously ravenous after the day's work.
Sadly for me, not even hot food could improve my souring mood. My conversation with Dark had only added to the swirling sea of befuddled emotions inside me. For four months, I had worked on his ship, served under him as a crew member, slept under his roof, even let him teach me how to use a pistol and a sword.
My life had been completely turned on its head. I might not approve of Dark's new vocation as a pirate, but he had offered me a chance to build a new life, and I had taken it. As morally questionable as my new life was, I wouldn't trade it for my old life. Still, it made things horribly complicated.
I sighed, feeling a headache begin to form behind my eyes. I rubbed them tiredly.
Johnny looked up from his half-eaten chicken leg. "What's wrong?"
"I think I'll retire to my bed," I replied, "I'm feeling under the weather."
Johnny nodded sympathetically, and after a moment's hesitation, patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. I smiled warmly back, patting him on the head. He blushed and began gnawing on the stripped chicken bone. I laughed softly and stood up from my place, turning towards the crew's cabin.
At the back wall of the crew's cabin, past the bunks and hammocks and the like, was a small gap in the wall that led to a second room. It used to be used for storage, but now it contained only my bunk, a clothes chest and a small wash basin standing on a stool in the corner. Dark had graciously offered me this little cubby to sleep in so I could have some privacy from the rest of the crew.
I smiled a little and hung my long jacket on a peg. I slipped off my brown leather boots and placed them neatly on the floor underneath the bunk. I then washed my face and hands in the basin before kneeling down to unlock the chest. It was here that I kept my rucksack, my clothes and a few small possessions. The only things I had brought with me from my old life.
I pulled out the extra clothes on top and rummaged around until my hands found a small, cold object. In my hand was a small hand mirror. It had once belonged to my mother.
It was simple; circular, with a wooden frame. I stood and hung the little mirror on a nail I had gouged into the wall. It hung just high enough to frame my face. I examined my reflection as I unbuckled the belt around my waist and pulled off the simple blue shirt and dark trousers I wore. I tossed the clothes into the chest and pulled out a long white nightshirt.
As I locked up the chest and stood, I glanced at my reflection a second time. I had fair skin like Dark, but working in the sun had given me a nice tan. I had cut my long hair, and it now hung just below my shoulders. It was a deep red color. My eyes, as Dark had told me more than once as a child, were like the changing colors of the sea.
My thoughts started to wander once again. In my head, I could still see a much younger Dark, sitting on the docks with his bare feet hanging in the water. His black hair was messy and hung in his eyes. He'd catch sight of me and wave me over. I'd join him, letting my toes skim the surface of the water below us. His sapphire eyes would meet mine and I'd try to say something, but the words would die in my throat.
A loud thud interrupted my thoughts. I started and spun around to see Johnny standing there wearing only his trousers.
"Johnny, what is it?" I asked, concern for my friend seeping into my voice. He was blushing again, embarrassed to see me in just my nightclothes.
"Zaina?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the ground.
"What's the matter?" I said again. "Did they put spiders under your blankets again?"
Johnny was terrified of spiders. He nodded meekly and I smiled a little. The boy wasn't a total pushover, but he still had some growing up to do. I followed him out to his bunk and pulled back the covers. Sure enough, three dead spiders lay there, their black bodies curled grotesquely in on themselves.
I brushed them away, checking for any more, and waited while Johnny crawled back into bed. The older men teased him, calling him names for asking help from a woman.
I rolled my eyes. "Grow up, the lot of you," I called back to them. They laughed. I turned to the blond boy. "Goodnight, Johnny. Try not to let them bother you so much."
"Night, Zaina," Johnny said.
"G'night girly!"
"Have a good sleep now, princess!"
"Sleep tight, shorty!"
Scowling at the men still laughing, I disappeared around the corner. I slipped into my own bunk and closed my eyes. I listened to the hushed sound of the waves rolling against the hull. I wasn't prone to seasickness, and I had almost become accustomed to the gentle rocking motion. Before I faded into unconsciousness, I watched the light of the moon from the single porthole reflect off the small mirror's surface, winking at me in the darkness.