Chapter 3: Chapter Two
"Cap'n," Acker walked up from behind, the crew had all disbanded to the closest mug of rum. "Cap'n." He didn't turn around, just watched as his father at the helm, calling out orders as he left the port. "Cap'n, 'm goin' to give Hank the list of supplies." He nodded, turning back to the girl. He didn't trust any of the men to stay with the ship with her on board, and he sure as hell wasn't going to leave the ship unattended.
"Oh, bloody hell." He kicked a glass bottle, shattering it. He tore his hands through his hair, "bloody fucking hell." Acker stood just behind him beside the girl, his bald head shined dully over his shaggy overgrown beard.
She wouldn't sit still, again and again, she had twisted and attempted to make a second dive. As much as he didn't want to, she forced him to tie her to the mast. She had forced his hand, but it didn't mean he liked to do it. He walked in a restless circle before noticing a sail that had been thrown and left heaped on the main deck. He grabbed it and tossed it over her, making him feel a little better, but not much.
"Just go on Acker, give 'erm the list, 'll stay on baboon watch." He started to walk back to his quarters, but he froze. "And have him send me the best tailor within the hour," he called. "And find out what a booty wench needs, savvy?"
"Aye, but where will we keep the lass?" Ginger bite his lip.
"My cabin." He nodded slowly as he looked back down at her, there was nowhere else he could keep her without worrying one thing or the other. Her big blue eyes were wide, following his every move, a wild green glint flickering. "And send a blacksmith as well, the next time she tries to jump the ship, so help me sh'll be shark bait."
"I'll send a keg of grog on my way to the House of Sin!"
"Ye better ya old carouser," he said, kicking the dust out of Acker's trousers as he skipped off the ship.
Now it was time to turn his attention to the girl. He didn't much want to stay out there, but neither was he going to leave the girl to her own devices. Reluctantly, he untied the rope, grabbing her firmly by the arm, but still helping her gently up to her feet and led her to his cabin. He set her down on his Kingsized satin bed, locking the door behind them. She reverently rubbed her fingers under the covers along the silken mattress, pressing her them along to the cool, velvet pillows. Everything in the room looked like they had been stolen from the king himself, everything a perfectly matching dark crimson. Unlike most pirates she had encountered, he was well-groomed and kept his cabin near spotless. She wondered at the woodwork, each curve smooth as a wave. She'd never felt hard dry wood before or felt it so smooth, or so red. The bed sat high and wide for storage, long wide vanities wrapped around a desk and a small stool. There was no extra clutter, and all necessities were tucked away in a storm-proof fashion.
"So, what's your name?" She turned to face him but didn't answer. "I don't care if ye make up a name 'r what, but ya don't I'll give a name meself," he warned. She sat quietly a moment, fingering the wrapped sail pensively.
"Cajsa." She bit her lip, feeling conflicted, lost and powerless. She felt as if telling him her name was a betrayal, and yet she had a strange feeling about him giving her a name. She took a deep breath, forcing her burning eyes wide. She refused to cry. She would not cry in front of him or any other filthy pirate. She felt sick to think of how the others fared. He didn't seem so bad, but the others. . . .
"My name is Ben, but Cap't or Ginger will suffice." She licked her dry lips, swallowing hard the last bit of moisture left in her dry swollen throat. "Thirsty?" he asked, jumping up and grabbing a glass bottle from a chest at the end of the bed, pouring a red substance into another smaller glass. She looked down at the liquid sceptically before smelling it, wrinkling her nose. She tilted her head, studying the tiny white bubbles that ran around the glass. She noticed how the light caught in the glass, completely mesmerized.
"What is this?"
"Wine." She studied the glass again. It had a strong smell, a smell she'd never encountered before. It had a sweet yet tangy smell that made her hesitate.
"What is wine?"
"Aged berry juice." She frowned and nodded. "You don't like berries?" She shrugged, looking down at the glass again. "You don't know what a berry is. . . ." He grabbed a second clay pitcher, pouring out water into the glass so it swashed into a clearer lighter red. "Try it now." Reluctantly, she lifted the glass to her lips, slowly tipping the glass. She nearly dropped the glass when it touched her tongue, her hand flying to her mouth.
"It bit me!" she gasped, tipping the glass for a second inspection. He smiled, bitting back laughter as he remembered the first time he had tried it. The major difference here, she had never even tasted a berry before.
"It didn't bite you," he said, "it's the bubbles." She looked at him questioningly.
"I've never felt a bubble like that," she whispered.
"It's all of the little bubbles together." her brows furrowed as she thought that over, trying to understand, but ultimately failing. "Try it again." She scowled at him, narrowing her eyes at the glass. She was thirsty, but she was unsure if she was that thirsty. "Did you taste it?"
"Taste what?"
"The juice."
She bit her lip and shook her head. "All I could taste was the bite," she replied, her lip trembling slightly. He took a deep breath, thinking.
"Plug your nose and try it." She made another face but did as she was told. She felt the prickling roll over her tongue as she slowly lifted the glass. "Better?" She nodded, but still sloshed it nervously. "You don't have to drink the rest if ye donna wan''." She smiled nervously, watching pour water into another glass, of which he traded. "I'm just glad ya tried," he shrugged, tipping the remains of the wine back.
"How come?" He turned to her stiffly and shrugged.
"I dunno." She nodded, taking a small sip of the water, slowly letting it trickle around her mouth. He smiled but straightened as if he heard something she didn't. She set her gaze where he had, watching the door, listening. She had not gotten used to the sound of the water under her, slapping the creaking twisting wood.
"What is it?"
"Our tailor I believe."
"Tailor?"
He nodded. "To make clothing."
"Like what you wear?" she asked. She looked him up and down, seeing how the cloth had been shaped to his body, no holding it up. . . .
"Not quite." Her breath caught in her throat. She heard a sound now, faint footsteps.
"What do you mean?"
"You'll see." She took another sip from the glass, her eyes fixed on the door.
* ━━━ ❈ ━━━━ *
When the door opened, she wasn't sure exactly what it was she was looking at. In came a tall, thin woman that was. . . . not thin? Dark blue satin slopped down from her slender shoulders to her low chest, that had been tightly pressed to make them exceptionally apparent. Her waist was so tiny she would have looked top-heavy, if not for her hips that bulged out, even more so in the back. She turned her head sideways at the strange-looking woman, wondering if her legs that had been hidden underneath the flowing drapes were as odd as the top. The woman gave her a strange look that quickly turned to shock as she realized what she had been wrapped in.
"What is it I can do for you?" she asked. To Cajsa's surprise, the woman seemed to be talking to her.
She nervously turned her gaze to Ginger, who answered simply; "She'll be needing some clothes."
"Aye," she said, nearly rolling her eyes, "aye, that she will, but what kind of dress?" She looked back to Cajsa.
"Well, like his I suppose." She didn't think she could fit her body into a dress like hers, it simply wasn't the right shape. The woman's face turned red.
"Breeches and shirt?" Cajsa bit her lip, trying to figure out just what it was she had missed.
"I. . . ." she fumbled the glass in her hand.
"A couple pairs wouldn't hurt I s'pose," Ginger muttered to himself. The woman nodded and unrolled her tape measurer. "But I will need four dresses and bedwear for her by tonight." She nodded and proceeded to measure Cajsa. "Next season I will be back for a full set of the latest wears." The woman nodded, completely unphased. The woman had finished measuring her arms and shoulders, and began to Cajsa's horror, measure further and further down. She gripped the cloth nervously.
"I should have a fine stock in by then," she nodded thoughtfully and smiled. "Yes, quite."
"Aye."
"Colors?"
"A variety I s'pose." Her smile broadened.
"I see."
"Aye." She took another sip from her glass, watching the woman as she stood.
"She will also need whatever 'tis women need t' live on a ship." She nodded feverishly.
"Excellent. I have some fabrics that on her frame with that flesh tone, it will be nothing short of perfection," the woman beamed. "I'll make the alterations and have them sent with the supplies," she said "along with her. . . . trousers."
He nodded his reply and waved in another man standing just outside she couldn't see through the open door. She woman inclined her head, stepping cautiously around the man now entering. The man was short, far shorter than the woman His shirt was rough and dirty, his pants cut into strips at the knees and tied on the sides. Though his height was stunted, he had a thick stocky build. This had to be the smith she had heard him call for earlier, though she was unsure what he wanted from the strange-looking man.
"Oi! My metal worker!" Ginger called a wide smile crossing their faces.
"Aye, that it is Cap'n." The little man strode up to her and gave a long low bow, to which she smiled weakly.
"Well you old knave, the little lass'll be needing your expert attention." He looked at her baffled. "She'll be needin' 'n anklet to keep 'er from wandering off the ship." The man nodded, but she felt a sickening pang twisting from her through her chest. "It'll need to reach most of the ship, and be locked shorter if need be."
"Well now, shiver me timbers," the man grinned. " 'll be done as soon as I get the measurements and gather me tools. It'll be done by 'morrow's noon."
"Aye," Ginger sang, clapping his hand on his shoulder. "And 'll be needing some work up 'n the bow."
"Blimey, what f'r?"
"For when she misbehaves." He redirected his attention to her. "I want chains to hang her out as our figurehead, some straps or such to arch her back against the ship and those dainty limbs, savvy?" She felt sick, nauseous.
The man gave her a filthy grin and smiled. "Aye, I savvy."
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