The Princess and The Pirate

The Silver Ogre’s Revenge had caught a good wind, carrying them to Paradiso. The black line of land and the silhouette of buildings had risen from the very water. Donavan stood by the Somali who was navigating at the wheel.

“We should release a bird, let the mistress know we’re coming. Let her know of the news,” Donavan said while eyeing the port.

“We are running out of birds,” the Somali mused, since the Captain’s falcon never returned.

“What other use are birds for?” In no mood for any type of banter, Donavan snapped, resulting in a snarling facial expression causing the pain of his wounds to be more unpleasant that normal. He hissed at his tender flesh.

“Your face looks bad, my friend,” the Somali jested, watching the docile little ocean waves.

“I’ll make it right; I’ll extract the pound of flesh owed to me,” Donavan sourly replied, gently touching his gored cheek. His left eye, still wounded, was wrapped in cloth. Now he really looked like a pirate.

“You should forget the girl,” his friend warned, but smiled, while turning the wheel a bit. “You were ugly before she arrived, you will be ugly well after she is gone.”

“Whose side are you on?" the first mate retorted, having had enough of the Somali’s company. He turned away, stepping down the stairs of the ship to the main deck.

Within the cabin below, Jacqueline was looking up to the creaking boards. All anyone ever did was stomp on this accursed ship! Once the sound passed she looked over to Kyle, Captain Chatillon, who was sitting up in his bed, looking out the window.

The Princess, on the other hand, was sitting on the cot, which Donavan had bled all over.

“Where are we going?” she asked while picking a gnat out of her hair. No longer familiar with comfort of any sort, she had grown quite accommodated to the filth and grime. Kyle hadn’t said much since the both of them woke up, curled together, on the floor a few days ago.

“To port,” he replied curtly, not looking away from his beloved ocean. Inside, he still felt so ill, the slightest wave, toss, or rock made him unbearably miserable. Who would curse a sailor with constant seasickness? It was just cruel.

Or maybe it was a curse, and his brown eyes bulged to the edge of their sockets, eyeing the “helpless maiden.” She was Pandora - he was getting more and more convinced of it. Also, Kyle was not pleased that a lowly prisoner had come between himself and Donavan. Maybe he could and should just let him have Jacqueline; at least someone would be happy around here. “I need a drink,” and his canteen was empty.

Jacqueline sighed at the chore, unfolding herself from the floor to stand. Great, she had to go all the way to the galley below deck.

“Do not sigh. It’s the only reason you are alive now,” Kyle said, in fact, rather vilely.

The Princess looked at his body language; he was so tense and rigid, maybe he really did hate her more than she hated him. This was all a business transaction to him. She left the cabin, the sunlight blinding her for a moment.

The cold sea air made Jacqueline’s teeth chatter, but the smell and the salty sting were quite refreshing. It was easy to see how anyone could fall in love with sailing. Outside, the enormous ship was a city. It was always moving, people were always rushing, and it very much had a mind of its own. Originally, she had been frightened to go outside, but gratefully, there was little trouble.

Besides, they all thought she was cursed anyways! All misfortune was her doing. They avoided her. Some might have felt safe, but not Jacqueline. These men only solved their problems by throwing them overboard.

She hadn’t seen Donavan, or at least, he hadn’t made his presence known to her. That was completely and utterly fine by her.

Allowing herself a second of luxury, Jacqueline found her way to the ship’s railing. Leaning on it, she let the breeze toss her hair and the sunshine warm her skin. Paradiso, she recognized the port. Its mighty red buildings that defined the horizon were unmistakable. It was a town of artists and craftsmen and was flourishing in a brilliant renaissance. The rich crimson clay that was so available to its residents made their goods exquisite. Paradiso paints, pottery, and masonry were highly coveted. In her mind’s eye, she could see a small, red cat figurine sitting on the dresser in her room. Jacqueline loved it very much.

The ocean air blew up the hem of her nightgown. The cold gust shook the Princess from her memory and with a heavy blush she pushed away from the rail. Avoiding the grin of nearby men, Jacqueline made her way down to the galley in search of water.

In the dimly lit underbelly of the ship, Jacqueline placed her hand on a beam, trying to navigate in the dusty light. The new hole in the deck was a great help at illuminating the space.

“M’lady!” chirped a young voice from the haze. A sprightly form appeared from seemingly nowhere. His hair was matted to the side and he was slightly younger than herself. Jacqueline stopped, cautiously, like a deer spotted mid-hunt.

He stood in front of her, silently and awkwardly. The shipped creaked and water splashed against the wood, dampening the space.

“Were you looking for this?” the cabin boy asked, holding out something wrapped in hide.

Jacqueline took it with some hesitation, becoming increasingly unfamiliar with kindness. Uncoiling the object, she found there was a full water skin in one hand, and in the other a pair of crude shorts. They may have been trousers at one point in time, but that was long, long ago. “Thank you. Your name?” she asked and gave a kind, chapped lipped smile while placing the filled canteen on a crate and fumbling with the clothing.

The boy quickly turned away, giving her some decency, “Axel, Princess.”

Snug was a kind word for the fabric. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it certainly lifted her beaten morale. “Again, thank you, Axel,” Jacqueline said while adjusting the shorts.

With a creak from the stairs behind them, they both were darkened in a long shadow calling their attentions. At the top of the only entrance and exit was a looming Donavan. He held something that draped down to the floor. It looked like a sack. More kidnapping?

The Princess’s smile turned into a frown. The cabin boy shifted his eyes, not caring much for the first mate.

“We’re about to reach port. You’ll wear this,” and he flung whatever he held at her, letting it tumble upon the stairs and land on the dirty floor. Donavan didn’t want to even look upon her, he was so fed up.

Jacqueline slowly knelt down, picking up her “gift.” It was heavy, rough to the touch, and ratty. Stretching out the object, she discovered it was a filthy burlap cloak. The Princess instantly recognized this garment; it was a piece that prisoners wore to the executioner’s block! She dropped the grotesque thing. “I will not.”

Donavan moved one step closer. “Too good for you? Many a finer person than yourself died in that cloak. And you are too good for it?” he ominously called down to her, walking down another stair.

Clasping the water skin, Jacqueline looked up at him. The shorts she now wore made her a little braver. “I will not. It is a cloak of death. If you want to hide me, you will have to try harder.”

Donavan let out a menacing scoff, the step creaking under his foot, coming down to the galley to join them. “Oh no, Princess. If you were mine, I would not hide you.” It sounded more arrogant than threatening.

Only a small step separated the two.

“Oh?” she asked flatly. Hiding anything didn’t seem like the first mate’s style. Paraded in chains sounded more right.

Axel, the forgotten cabin boy, watched their exchange silently, half hidden in darkness.

Donavan reached out for Jacqueline’s face and she smacked his hand away sharply. He then tried again, much more forcefully. Like lightening, he had her face in his grasp. Pinching her hot cheeks together, he compressed her flesh, puckering her lips. Towering over her, the first mate pushed the Princess against the flat face of a crate, having utter control of her body while holding her by the head.

“Princess, I’d make your disfigured corpse the figurehead of this ship. There would be no hiding you because I would have no shame. Now, wear the cloak, or I will put it on you,” Donavan said, sounding very levelheaded. There was no shouting or growling, just a very matter-of-fact statement. The Princess grabbed his wrist. He was hurting her.

Confident, Donavan massaged his callous fingers into her soft spongy cheeks, enjoying the helplessness he saw in her eyes. Yes. He’d take his pound of flesh from this girl.

“Sir!” shouted Axel, coming to the first mate’s side. He kneeled beside his superior, “If you break her further, surely the Captain would bring a great hell upon your head! She’s not worth losing your self-control, which I and others respect!” Lies. All of it. What else could he do? Hit him? So, he appealed to the large man’s even larger ego.

“The captain,” Donavan muttered, seeming taken away from the moment by the cabin boy’s words. He gnashed his teeth thinking about Kyle and being under his thumb. There would be another time, and a much more comfortable opportunity with little risk. He threw Jacqueline’s face out of his hands. She lay on the flat top of the crate, trying not to cry.

“Wear the cloak. I will not ask nicely again.” Then the first mate spit on her, making sure she knew her place. He then picked up the burlap rag and shoved it onto the Princess’s body, forcing her to hold it. Donavan left, climbing the stairs to go topside.

“PORT, HO! ALL HANDS ON DECK!” was the loud shout from the sailor in the crow’s nest. His shrill voice rang throughout the entire ship. All hands meant Axel, too. Giving one last wayward look to the Princess, he jogged up the stairs.

Jacqueline curled closed atop the large box, cramming the filthy cloak against her face and silently crying into the unfeeling, scratchy fabric. What did he mean by her disfigured corpse?! When would her rescuers try again?!

The ship gave a lurch and all the wood holding it together moaned. She and the goods below slid forward slightly as the ship was slowed dramatically.

They had arrived.