1Author's Note: Thanks for the follows! If you have any feedback, I would love to hear it (: Enjoy!
The Unconventional Ransom
Part the Third
Into Dust
The ship creaked as it swayed against the soft tide of the sea, making Aurora feel sick. She had only ever been out sailing a handful of times, and each time her stomach had quivered in protest. Being on a pirate ship was different only in that it was worse.
Her back hurt, aching from where she had been crushed against the wall not so long ago. Her arms, too, ached from being held behind her in the captain's cabin, although since she had been brought down to their cells she had been freed from her bonds.
Her wrists were raw, sporting angry, red marks from where the rope cut into her skin. She nursed them quietly, thinking of a way out of her predicament.
The cell was barred with iron, hidden somewhere in the depths of the ship. It was lined with straw that had been trodden into the wood, and had nothing but a single, thin blanket inside.
There was a lantern at the end of a corridor, shining dim light that was barely enough to see by, but that was all. It was difficult for Aurora to make out the murky shadows beyond the bars of her cell.
She had pleaded with the young boy who had brought her down here.
"Please," she'd said desperately, reaching out to him through the bars, "you don't have to do this. You can let me go. My family, they are wealthy, my father would reward you with more riches than you could spend in a lifetime if you returned me to him."
It was a lie, of course, but the boy wasn't to know that. For all the good it did her. He considered it for maybe the most fleeting of moments before shaking his head and locking her up like an animal.
So it was to be a capture, in the truest sense.
Aurora twisted the engagement ring on her finger, the turn of the metal against her skin mildly soothing. She thought of Daniel. Poor, simple Daniel, who would be heartbroken to learn of her whereabouts now.
If it weren't for the fact that she had been set upon by pirates and taken hostage, her situation might have been advantageous. After all, she hadn't fled her father's house into the arms of her betrothed; she'd fled it into the dangers of the city's streets.
They would probably set sail the following day, she realised with some sadness. Any sensible ransomer wouldn't want to hang around too long for fear of being caught.
Aurora was snatched from her thoughts by the clanging of the iron bars before her. A figure stood shadowed in front of the lantern, squat, short, and dark-haired. He held a lantern to his side. It was hard to see more than his silhouette, but she thought she could make out a quicksilver smile in the darkness.
"Sorry to disturb," he said, his words laced with sarcasm. "I trust you have everything you need?"
Aurora gave her cell a cursory glance. "Oh, yes," she shot back. "I couldn't have asked for finer if I had stayed at the Red Rose."
"Brothels wouldn't be your thing, my lady. The food is terrible."
Aurora was about to retort, but her stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly into the emptiness of her cell. She tried to swallow down the sound in vain. Her visitor chuckled.
"Good thing I brought this with me," he said, pulling out a fabric bag from beneath his coat. He thrust it through the bars unceremoniously, where it dangled from his closed fist.
Aurora blinked at it. "And what's this?"
"Food."
She made a grab for it, but it moved from her grasp at the last second. She cursed him, loudly, and a hollow laugh rang out in the darkness.
"Such language on a lady," he tutted.
Aurora's stomach flinched with hunger, but she steeled her expression. If she showed weakness, even just a little, then it would give them an upper hand.
She was about to rebuke him, when the laughter died and he threw the bag at her feet.
"Have it, then," he spat. "Even though it's more than you deserve."
She took the bag and peered inside. A flat, stale looking piece of bread lay at the bottom, along with a browned, dried hunk of meat. The bag smelled strongly of salt.
Distracted by the food she had been offered, she didn't notice the hand that snaked through the iron bars of her cell until it was too late. She let out a gasp, dropping the sack to the floor, as she was pulled flush with the metal.
The pirate's grip was so strong it threatened to rip the fabric of her dress. He lifted his lantern and sneered at her through the bars. His face almost made her physically recoil - it was marred with scars, more than she could count, and his breath stank of rum.
"It's a crime to keep you locked up," he purred, menace in his piggy little eyes. His fist curled tighter, making it hard to breathe.
"Then ask - your captain - to release me," Aurora managed, through ragged breaths.
She was pulled further into the bars, the metal starting to crush against her chest. Aurora pushed out against him, trying in vain to find purchase around the metal and keep herself at bay from the pirate tormenting her, but it was useless. He might have been short, but he was strong, and he shook her as though she was no more than a ragdoll.
"He's not my Captain," he snarled through clenched teeth, flecks of spittle landing on her chin. "Any Captain of mine would have had you on your knees the second you boarded this ship, you little whore, and by now we'd have all had a go at you three times over - "
The crack of her fist against the side of his head echoed around them. An unbelievable pain shot up her arm from the impact - she had never truly hit anyone before - and she recoiled, released now from the pirate's grip.
He stumbled and dropped the lantern, muttering curse words. It clattered to the floor, and the flame went out, plunging them into darkness. There was silence for a moment. Aurora scrabbled in the dark for her sack of food, then launched herself towards the rear of the cell.
In the deadening quiet, her heart sank with the sound of footsteps approaching. Would they never end?
However, to her surprise, the voice that sailed through the darkness held an acidic tone not meant for her.
"Garek! What's the meaning of this?"
"I - Mr Vine, sir. I - I meant no harm, sir. I handed her her food, as you instructed, and she lashed out at me! Caught me clean off guard!"
"He's lying!" Aurora cried, willing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. All she could make out before her were two vague shapes, but that was all. While she didn't care a hoot what the pirates thought of her, she would not be painted in an untrue light.
"That's enough, Garek. Get back to the guns and stay there. You've done enough harm tonight."
A wave of gratitude overcame Aurora, followed immediately by nausea at feeling grateful for anything these brutes had to offer her. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. How often had she been at the mercy of a man's hand tonight? Helpless, her only job to be rescued by another? It was pathetic.
The lantern at the end of the corridor moved. As Aurora watched, it lifted itself briefly into the air, then stalked back up the corridor with a steady stride, a tall man at its side. He was sandy haired, with a kind face, but clever, discerning eyes.
He watched her for a moment, then let out a sigh.
"My apologies, my lady. That was not... what was wanted for you."
Aurora glared up at him, but said nothing, watching instead as he fished in his pockets and brought out a set of keys. To her surprise, her inserted one into the door of her cell, and it swung open.
He stepped inside.
Fear overtook her. At least with the bars between her and her last visitor, there had been some semblance of safety. But now...
"I'm not going to harm you," the pirate said, in a smooth voice. He remained just inside the entrance, and laid a large piece of fabric on the floor. "I was to see to it that you are comfortable. My efforts apparently ended in the opposite." He bowed his head. "I'm sorry. Truly."
Aurora looked him over while he was distracted, noting his frame, his build, trying to see whether he was armed - could she make a dash for the door? But even if she did, then what? She was weak and tired. Her back ached, her feet hurt, her arms needed rest.
Instead she said dully, as he lifted his head, "Not much of a pirate, are you?"
He offered a weak smile. "Marten Vine, at your service, my lady. I see your impression of pirates has not been a good one."
"It's nothing to do with my impression, sir," she mocked. "You are all monsters, in one form or another. Rest assured I have no doubt that you are any different."
There was a pause for a moment, broken only by Marten's light comment. "I see Garek was at least successful in bringing you your food." He nudged the cloth sack with his foot.
Aurora ignored it.
"There's also this," her visitor added, holding out a small hip-flask that sloshed with liquid.
"Let me guess," Aurora said, raising an eyebrow up at him. "Rum? Or better yet, poison?"
"Whiskey actually. And be careful how you go with that - it's from my own personal supply."
Aurora considered the man before her, shrouded half in darkness, and the earnestness of his expression. There was something about him that caused the tension in the pit of her stomach to ease, just a little. He seemed of no threat to her, to say the least.
Getting to her feet, she gingerly reached for the outstretched flask, only mildly surprised that he did not whisk it away or move to grab her. She added it to the bag of food that had brought to her. It hardly looked very appetising, but as her stomach gnawed at her she realised she didn't really have much of a choice. She reached for a piece of bread, then hesitated.
"Why are you doing this? I don't see what difference it makes to you how I'm treated."
"Captain's orders." The smile that met her flashed with a hint of gold, but it was gentle. "For tonight, at least. You must have impressed him."
"Then I suppose I should owe him thanks," Aurora said, picking at her bread. "Such a grand banquet for his guest will not go unrewarded."
To her surprise, she was met with a smirk - one which she almost shared. "Not that it's any concern of yours, but our supplies are limited. Some of our men have fought over less than that," he said meaningfully, watching her. "Speaking of which, you gave a good whack to Garek. Must have been quite the blow to stun him."
An unpleasant shiver tingled up Aurora's back. "How much of that did you see?"
"Most of it."
"And you didn't care to intervene?"
Marten shrugged. "I wanted to see what you would do."
"How noble of you."
"Well, I am a pirate." He grinned, but it faded quickly at Aurora's cold stare in return. He cleared his throat. "I can leave you with the light and the blanket. And your food, of course. We'll be setting sail in the morning."
"Do what you must," she sighed, feigning indifference.
Marten paused, then gave a small nod and retreated to the corridor, locking the door behind him. He placed the lantern on a barrel close to the cell, out of reach but still enough light for her to see by, and watched her for a moment more.
"I'll see you're not disturbed again tonight," he said quietly. "You'll need your rest for tomorrow."
Somehow the way he said it made all hope within Aurora sag. Up until this moment, it had almost been as though she were part of some terrible nightmare - that she might wake up in a cold sweat in her own bed.
But, no. She really was captured. And she really was being taken away.
She thought of the shame she would feel if her sister, Persephone, could see her now.
She'd always been the brash one. Persephone was delicate, Persephone was the one who needed protecting, but Aurora? No, Aurora was the one who could handle herself, who could stand up to their father and put Daniel and his friends in their place, especially over a hand of poker.
But this... tonight... everything about this had gone from bad to worse. Fleeing the house in the middle of a storm with nothing but the dress on her back and ideas in her head; not even a knife from the kitchen tucked into her garters. She had been absolutely foolish.
No more. One way or another, she would find a way off this gods forsaken ship, and it wouldn't be with the help of any man.
They could all go straight to hell.
-x-
It was a fine day for sailing.
The rain from the night before had cleared, leaving a crisp freshness to the air that filled James's lungs with the sense of adventure.
For as long as he could remember, he had always loved the sea. He stood at the helm of his magnificent ship, draped over the bannister that ran the edge, staring out at the horizon. He loved that line, where the sea met the sky - it was full of endless possibilities. It was why he had spent the better part of his life chasing it.
The approach of footsteps behind him encroached on the peace that had settled briefly around him, and Blackburn bristled at the intrusion.
"All present and ready to go, Captain," Vine reported, using his officer's voice. James didn't like it when he used that voice; it meant there was something he wanted to talk about.
"I don't need a full report. I trust we've everything the men need?"
Marten nodded deferentially. "We do. All that's left is to send the message to Miss Lockeless's father."
There it was again, that hesitation at the end of his words, as though there was a sentence there unspoken. Blackburn considered the man before him, his trusted friend and advisor, and met his eye. Just as he'd suspected, there was something unsaid in their cerulean depths - something that Vine was willing him to see.
Blackburn turned and braced his hands against the balustrade, his back to Vine. Sometimes he enjoyed playing this game, but today was not one of those days. Usually the only reason the man withheld an idea from him was because it was better that he could figure it out on his own.
It was an irritating, patronising talent - one that only Vine seemed to possess - but Blackburn couldn't pretend that he would have preferred the alternative. At least this way he could avoid seeming stupid.
Clearing his mind, James took a breath and wondered what could be missing from his preparations. He had instructed them to stock up on meats, cheeses and salt, as well as live poultry for the cook to use as he saw fit. There was liquor, of course, as well as the stuff soured with citrus juice to help keep the food fresh.
A small amount of apples would last a week, perhaps, and would be a refreshing treat from the toughness of dried bread.
Perhaps it was about Lady Lockeless, then. Was there something he had missed in their ransom plan?
No, that couldn't be it. The two of them had gone over it again last night, before Marten had retired to watch over the girl for the rest of the night. She'd seen some trouble from their friend Garek; trusted or not, Blackburn made a not to keep him at close watch from then on. He could not be allowed to sully the goods he held in his hold.
The thought gave him pause. Somewhere in the back of his mind, quiet - and at most times, ignored - his conscience reminded him that she was more than mere goods. If she were to remain on this ship, then she would need more than the dress he had captured her in. At the very least, she would need something to look the part in. Being out at sea and lacking for feminine company would be dire indeed.
"Send for some clothes for the Lockeless girl," Blackburn barked over his shoulder. "She can't be expected to wear the same dress for a month."
"You never fail to impress me, Captain," Vine replied. There was a hint of teasing in his voice, the smallest jibe, but Blackburn let it pass - they both knew what had really happened. "Any particular style?"
Blackburn hesitated. Women's fashion was hardly his forté (he much preferred it when the clothes came off rather than went on), but much as it would have been tempting to parade her around the decks in little more than a whore's outfit, it would have been cruel to the men.
"A range," he settled on at last. "Some nightwear, some daywear, something practical, and... something of her choosing," he finished.
"Is that before or after she rebukes me with her seething insults?"
Blackburn chuckled. "You're a good man, Vine. See that it's done."
"Of course."
-x-
Victor Lockeless had a headache.
It seemed, these days, an ever-present addition to his already stressful life. He sat in his office at his desk, poring over paperwork he should have finished processing last week.
It took him three attempts to read the same sentence before he realised he wasn't really concentrating. His mind was on the night before, and the damnable girl causing him even more trouble.
Part of him wondered whether he should rouse her. It was well into the morning, and Persephone had been awake hours ago. Then again, if the wretched girl wanted to sleep her life away then that was her business - just as long as she didn't bring her sister down in the process.
Victor was interrupted by a loud, jarring knock at the door. It was so insistent that it made the glass on his shelves rattle.
He straightened his glasses, then called abruptly, "Enter."
A slight, shambling nervous man appeared in the gap. It was Charles, their manservant.
Victor raised an expectant eyebrow.
"We've had a letter, your lordship," he fumbled, revealing a shaking piece of parchment in his hands.
"Nonsense," said Victor gruffly, sitting back in his chair. "We've already had the post this morning."
Charles paled, even more so than usual. "Not from the post, sir. From a carrier pigeon. It arrived moments ago."
Victor frowned. It was a rudimentary way to send letters, and certainly no one he moved circles with would have used it. Still, he was curious, in the least, to see what this stranger wanted of him.
He held out his hand. "Very well. But if this is another of Aurora's pranks, I will be very displeased."
He was still pondering a possible punishment for her when his eyes fell on the wax seal of the letter handed to him, and his heart stopped.
He knew that seal. A skull baring its teeth, emblazoned on the patterned gold of the Aztecs; the symbol of a pirate.
Victor knew even before he read it that the note would be from Blackburn - that pathetic excuse for a man. What business did he have, writing to Victor Lockeless? It had been years since they had crossed paths, and by all counts, the next score in their battle would have been the pirate's death.
It seemed there was still more to their game, however.
Victor,
I have your daughter.
We both know what I want. If you are willing to make an exchange, send word to me and I will return her to you.
You have one month.
Don't keep me waiting - my patience has worn thin.
B
Victor felt the blood drain from his face. He lifted his gaze to Charles, who stood before him like a nervous schoolboy.
"Where's Persephone?" he demanded, unable and unwilling to keep the anger from his voice. "Don't just stand there, boy! Where's my daughter?"
Charles squeaked and hurried away, giving time for Victor to read the letter again. Blackburn had signed the rest of his signature in blood. If that bastard had laid a hair on his precious daughter's head, he would -
"What is it, father?"
Victor rose from his desk and crossed the room hurriedly, embracing Persephone and her sea of blonde ringlets as though she were still six years old. She laughed delightedly and returned the gesture.
"Such affection, father, and it is barely ten o'clock," she teased, drawing back. "What have I done to deserve such an honour?"
He brushed some hair from her face, smiling. She was, in every way, the only joy in his life; the single light to the darkness the world had brought him. In many ways, she still was his perfect, little girl.
"Does a father need a reason to dote upon his daughter?" he asked. "I just wanted to see you. Now, run along - your lessons will start shortly."
She bobbed in a small curtsy, and offered a quiet, "Yes, father," before ducking out of the room, leaving him to his thoughts.
Alone, Victor turned on his heel, his face grim. He gripped the letter in his fist, crushing it to his palm. If Blackburn hadn't taken Persephone, then the only other possibility was Aurora - and clearly the pirate had lost his touch if he thought for a second that she would be enough to bargain for the exchange he wanted.
He stalked across the room, approaching the remains of a fire that had burned throughout the night. Its embers were still warm.
He considered the letter in his hand, and the implications it held. He thought of his daughter, the wild one, never tame, full of reckless abandon and without a care in the world but for herself. He remembered the tireless efforts of trying to reign her in, and the constant shame and derision she showed him in return.
No doubt she had found this pirate of her own accord, and got herself into trouble.
Well, he was finished with her. It was time she learned how to clean up after her own messes. If the pirate wanted her - he could have her.
Victor cast the letter into the embers and watched, emptily, as it faded into dust.