Chapter Text
I ducked through the streets, keeping my kerchief over my face and neck, my eyes peeled for nightwatchmen as I progressed towards the port, several lofty ships swaying at the docks.
"Good luck finding a ship, Regina, because it won't be mine."
Whitley's smug voice echoed in my head. Who did this guy think we was anyways? Repeating everything I said, looking at me like he knew everything - how did he know I was a prostitute anyways?
He didn't know. He couldn't know. He's just a cocky asshole.
I did everything to conceal myself, my past, my dress all ripped to scraps and repurposed into my clothes, stolen laundry making my baggy attire, and let's not even discuss my severe lack of pampering. Whatever. He thought he had me beat. He thought.
I saw the ledger keeper towards the mouth of the dock. I didn't have my usual look about me, but I stripped off my top layer hastily, pulled my kerchief back down my neck, and tried to muss my hair a bit more femininely, letting my loose undershirt droop to reveal the remaining bodice of my dress I still wore.
The lad at the small shack seemed to be all but dozing off when I sauntered up acting drunkenly - well not really drunk, that fake sultry drunk men seem to like so much. His eyes widened to saucers when he saw me, sitting up straight as I approached.
"M-miss? This is the port, miss, you best be going home." The young man said nervously.
"The port? Why, yes!" I said, leaning on the counter, "I'm here for a ship!" I said with exaggerated giggles. "I wanna get away from here...don't you?"
"Ma'am, we don't have ships here." He said, eyeing me warily.
I furrowed my brow and scoffed, looking over my shoulder dramatically.
"Then what are all those?" I slurred.
"Well...yes there are ships here but...they're not for sale." He defended.
"But I have money!" I said dramatically, I grabbed my small sack from my belt and loosening the top before flinging the sack onto the counter, my coins spilling across the surface and onto the floor in a harmony of clinks. "Well I had money..." I said with a pout.
The boy sighed, and crouched down starting to pick up my coins. I'd never wished for more money this much in my life, as my sparse coinage was a fleeting distraction. But nonetheless you work with what you have. I quickly straightened and slid the ledger across the counter, flipping through the pages, scanning the names.
Whitley, Whitley, Whitley…
My finger trailed down the page until - bingo!
Captain Rowan Whitley, listed as docking his ship three days ago, The Forsaken Soul.
I saw the ledger keeper start to rise so I quickly slid the ledger back into place, letting my shoulders sag and my eyelids droop once more.
"Here, miss." He said, sliding a small handful of coins across the counter which I sloppily placed back in my pouch.
"So no boat?" I said with a pout, not waiting for an answer. I took a coin out of my pouch and tossed it at him, "Thanks anyways!" I said sweetly, and as soon as he bent down to fetch the measly tip I darted down the dock.
I hoped my diversion worked, but just in case, I hustled. Scanning the ships, and their names sloppily scrawled on the side, I finally spotted it.
The Forsaken Soul .
The ship was daunting to say the least. It swayed, catching the moonlight like thick smoke on the water. It seemed that a siren had once perched on the front, now broken and near forgotten. I shook my head to rid myself of distraction. I pulled my overshirt back on, letting the loose fabric cascade over me as I cautiously climbed aboard. The deck seemed dead, the crow's nest was empty, but I knew someone had to be waiting. I cringed at the boards creaking under my feet as I swung my legs over onto the deck.
I crept quietly down through the forecastle and descended into the crews quarters, snoring sounds giving me pause.
Sailors are heavy sleepers, right?
I crept through with baited breath, squinting in the dark, the descending steps barely visible ahead of me. Hammocks swung, I avoided them narrowly, not knowing which one might contain a resting sailor. My arm brushed a hat, and I was quick to lift it to my own head, also snagging a blanket as I walked. I finally stepped down to the next, deck, and the next, the creaking sounds soon blending with the sounds of the lower ship. I went as far back stern-side as I could, crawling over barrels and clearing a space behind them.
I bundled the blanket for a pillow, clinging to it tightly trying not to be unnerved by the imposing darkness. It wasn't long until the darkness consumed me too and I slept.
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Burning. Sizzling. The stench of my own cooking flesh.
I want to cry out, but any movement of my throat only worsens the pain. My eyes are closed, for whenever I open them I'm only met with that sadistic sneer.
"You'll learn my Fiona…" The cruel tendrils of his voice snaked into my mind. "you'll learn to respect me, respect your Admiral ."
I awoke with a gasp, gripping at my neck. My fingers rake over my scar shakily, yanking the kerchief to the side. But it's not hot, it's not blistering, its warm healed skin. I breath and try to ground myself with my surroundings - barrels and crates.
Shit.
I'd near forgotten where I was, hopefully my gasping hadn't been but so loud. Hopefully I hadn't made any other sounds as I slept. But nonetheless, it seemed that the waves now crashing against the ship would shroud any noise I might make. Seemed like we were well on our way, how far from shore I couldn't know as the light of day evaded me from down here. I sat in silence for a while, shaking off the remnants of my dream, letting my mind travel back to my body. Finally I cornered my resolve, I couldn't stay down here for the next five days.
I ripped off a strip of fabric from my blanket and lifted my shirt, tightly wrapping the fabric over the top of my bodice, flattening myself as much as possible. I braided my hair and tightly wound it atop my head, tucking it under my stolen hat. As long as I lay low, I could venture out, at least a little.
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I'd spent most of the day on the upper decks, staying out of sight, sitting behind barrels, or conveniently ducking away whenever anyone seemed to glance my direction. I was surprised at the rather large crew, though I shouldn't have been, it was quite a large ship. It made it much easier for me to blend, being able to maneuver in the constant bustle of the ship. And even luckier for me, the Captain was yet to be seen.
I doubted he would spot me, I blended well enough, but he'd somehow seen through me last time, and I did not need a repeat of that.
I grabbed an apple from the store deck and found my way back up to top deck, sitting under the stairs to the bow. Watching, listening, biding my time.
"Fuckin' pointless it is." A crew member said, probably above me on the bow deck.
"What?" Another asked.
"What point is there in followin' a supposedly brilliant captain, if we're wasting time in Aspsborough for someone else's cipher?"
"Aye, got a point there."
I chewed my apple, wondering. Brilliant cipher-making captain? Who is this guy?
"And you're just now realizing this?" Another voice chimed in. One that I recognized. It had to be the man with the scars, what was his name? Jensen. "What does our young captain truly possess? Knowledge? Or madness?"
I almost scoffed at that, but remembered to hold my tongue.
"There's a curse upon this vessel, I tell you…" Jensen said forebodingly.
"Oi! Lads!" Someone called from across the ship, I heard the scuffle of shoes above me, and then feet clamored down the stairs before me. "I found something!"
I quirked my brow at this, and my curiosity won out. I crept out from under the stairs, following behind the gathering group of sailors to see what the shouting man held up. I recognized him, it was the big man with the red beard, Otis. The color drained from my face when I realized what he was holding. My torn blanket.
"A blanket?" Someone called out in confusion.
"Aye! But a blanket in the store room! Torn, stashed in a shelter behind the barrels, found it doing a sweep of the inventory!"
Doing a sweep? What kind of ship monitors their inventory room? There was a cacophony of murmuring. I slowly started backing up, creeping closer to the descending stairs.
"Now unless one of you's was sleeping where ya shouldn't've been last port, then there's a hideaway on this ship!"
That’s when the sailors truly started to clamor. I took my chance and turned hustling towards the below decks, but my back was turned to Jensen, who quickly snapped his head to me, eyes narrowed.
"There!"
I froze, looking behind me as a series of eyes landed on me, their gazes hardening, causing my stomach to bottom out. I sprinted for the stairs only descending one or two before I was abruptly dragged backwards.