Emma slunk down the side of the tavern and ducked under the heavy beam fencing of the outside courtyard. The alley behind the tavern was dark, and smelt distinctly of vomit and urine. Dodging a particularly questionable area of muddy alleyway, she made her way away from the town center and headed west, towards the harbour. The streets were brightly lit outside the safety of alley, but Emma, who was dressed in faded black leathers and had wrapped a black scarf around her hair and face, moved through the town like a shadow. If anyone was up at that hour they would be hard pressed to spot her.

There was barely any movement at the docks; a sign that boded well for Emma. The moon was almost full and sitting high and bright in the sky, it's silver light reflecting brilliantly off the calm water. Several ships sat in the harbour, sails drawn, bobbing serenely with each passing undercurrent. Still and silent watchmen graced several of the boats, but most seemed empty, their sailors undoubtedly seeking pleasures of some form in the town behind her. Emma crouched in the shadow of a large crate and scanned the flags. Most were pirate ships, which wasn't unusual for this part of the kingdom. This town, and the towns surrounding it, lay cut off from the rest of the Kingdom by a large mountain range, and King George rarely paid much attention to this little spot of the world. It cost the miserly King far too much to actively govern an area of land that reaped him few rewards, so, apart from the bi-annual tax collection, King George left them to their own amusements. And in his absence all manner of illicit and unlawful activities had flourished.

Emma spotted her target. A reasonably innocuous looking ship, docked away from the bulk of ships, it flew no colours and seemed deserted. The ship was shrouded in dark, which meant that she could easily sneak on and off the vessel without anyone noticing. This would be a quick job. In and out. Home in time to get some rest before her shift at the tavern started. She adjusted her scarf, making sure every strand of her blonde hair was hidden and did a quick pat down of her weapons; a small dagger in her left boot, a larger dagger strapped to her right thigh and a hunting knife strapped to her left one, a small blade hidden in her right sleeve and a dagger strapped to her chest. She was loathe to use the weapons, preferring her fists and feet because she could control the amount of damage inflicted. A misplaced slash and she could kill a man. A misplaced kick, and the damage would be far less.

She was about to stand and head for the ship when she heard muted voices coming from somewhere to her left. Emma crouched down lower and did her best to melt into the shadows. It was likely a drunk, coming back from whatever tavern or whore he had recently vacated but it wasn't worth the risk. She would wait. She was good at waiting. The voices died down and just as Emma was about to move they returned, louder and greater in number than before. The party sounded like four or five men, speaking with far more lucidity than she would have liked. And they were getting closer. She considered her options. Run, stay and hide, or take out her hair and flirt her way out of it. The last option was a last resort. There was always a chance that someone would remember her and take an interest in her, but it had worked her before so she wasn't quick to dismiss it. Before she could decide the men came into view, four of them, swords out and pointed at three bound and gagged captives. This wasn't a new sight to Emma. The men were probably slave traders, but slavers were worse than pirates in Emma's book. Their bribes were steeper, they were less interested in booze and sex and if they got tired of you (and they tired quickly) they would simply knock you out and cart you off to be sold. Emma had to tread carefully in this situation. If the slavers spotted her she would be easily outnumbered.

She watched, hardly breathing, as the slavers and captives passed her and headed towards the ship she had been targeting. Emma counted her luck. Had she been aboard that ship when the slavers returned things for her would have been grim.

The men disappeared into shadow and Emma made her move, creeping quickly and silently along the length of the crate, eyes darting back and forth checking her footing and the slaver ship behind her. In her preoccupation she failed to notice the oddly corporeal shadow detach from a nearby crate and move in her direction, until she bumped into something solid and lost her foot. She didn't cry out, years of practice ensured that, but she gasped as the shadow reached out and stayed her fall. The scarf slipped from her face and fluttered innocently to the ground. The shadow reached down to retrieve it and Emma saw a large male hand, adorned with rings before it was quickly returned to the dark.

Emma stared wide-eyed and cautious at the man, all senses alert. He released her hand and returned her scarf. She wrapped it around her neck but didn't bother to cover her face again.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. The man was unnervingly silent and Emma desperately willed her wits back. This was a dangerous situation and she couldn't afford to lose her head.

"What are you doing here?" the man said quietly.

"Going for a walk," she responded automatically. "Not against the law, is it?" Vaguely, she registered that she shouldn't be making smart remarks at a time like this.

The man chuckled softly. "No, it isn't. But technically the slave trade is." The man's tone was conversational but to Emma he couldn't have said anything more threatening. He knew she saw the slavers and most certainly wasn't going to let her go now. She couldn't understand why he hadn't attacked her yet.

She decided to make the first move.

In one simultaneous movement, she unsheathed the dagger at her thigh and swiped at his chest, forcing him to jerk back and raise his arms in an unconscious movement of self defense. She grasped one of his raised hands and twisted the wrist around putting painful pressure on the shoulder socket and elbow. The dagger slipped out of her hand and clattered to the ground. She attempted to push him against the crate and coerce him to stay there at dagger point but he was stronger than she anticipated. Almost instantly he had twisted out of her grasp and had her in the exact position she had envisioned for him.

"Not quick enough, lass," he breathed into her ear. Emma grunted against the pain and attempted to push back, but he was simply too strong and his hold on her was far superior to the self-taught technique that had served her so well in the past with petty criminals and drunks. This man was clearly well trained. "Weapons. Where are they?"

"Go to hell," she retorted, earning a vicious twist to her wrist.

"That's no language for a lady," said the man in a mock shock. She struggled against his grip. "Now, now, no need to make things difficult, love. I've already found that impressive hunting knife you had strapped to that gorgeous thigh of yours. I can imagine a lass like you to have weapons hidden," his voice dropped to a velvet purr "everywhere."

Emma was distracted from the pain for a moment. This creep was flirting with her. She'd been pinned to walls by men before, but they usually leered and drooled and made crass, overtly sexual comments. And they were usually drunkards. This man, apart from the faint tint of rum on his breath, was sober and, for some bewildering reason, trying to flatter her.

"Go to hell," she growled.

The man sighed theatrically. "Very well then, strip search it is!" Removing one hand from her twisted wrist, he began to brush his fingers over the top of her trousers.

"Don't you dare touch me, you bastard," she spat viciously at him. Or at least with as much venom as she could conjure with her face squished against the side of a crate.

"Touchy," he said lightly, fingers hooking onto her trousers and slipping them down slightly.

"Get the fuck off me, you pervert. There's a knife in my left boot and one in my sleeve."

"Now, that wasn't so hard was it?" he reprimanded her lightly. Keeping her pinioned against the wall, he removed the two blades from their hiding places and let them clatter to the ground. Vaguely, she wondered why nobody had come to investigate all the noise they were making but couldn't focus on the problem enough with a large man attempting to slowly wrench her shoulder from its socket. "Are there any more?"

"No" she lied, acutely aware of her one remaining dagger digging painfully into her ribs.

"No?" he asked, fingers resuming their slow removal of her trousers.

"No!" she said adamantly, and evidently he believed her because he hitched her trousers back to their rightful place and let her go.

She whipped around and swung a fist at his head. He reached up easily and caught it.

"Stop that," he said, sounding vaguely annoyed. "I overpowered you once, unarmed, and I can do it again. Don't be stupid."

Glaring, she tugged her hand back.

"What do you want?" she demanded, for the second time that night. Her eyes darted down to where her weapons lay disposed not inches from her feet.

"I'm quicker and stronger than you," said the man, evidently catching her glance. "Don't even try it. Now, let's get to the point. You saw my men take prisoners aboard my ship."

Emma silently debated lying.

"Yes."

"That's a shame."

The man shifted closer.

"Why's that?" said Emma, trying to ignore the growing feeling of dread that threatened her.

"Because I hoped to keep my actions tonight a secret. We planned everything so that we could get the prisoners aboard my ship with no one noticing. What we didn't account for, however, was a beautiful, leather-clad thief spying on us."

"And what does that mean for me?"

"Either I kill you or I kidnap you," said the man pleasantly. "I can't risk you running off and telling everyone what you've seen tonight."

Emma made a split second decision. She threw herself to the side and sprinted away from the man, unaware of which direction she was going in or if her way following her. She didn't make it far however. She tripped over something solid and went sprawling to the ground.

"You was takin' too long, Cap'tn, so I thought I'd wrap things up fer yeh."

Dazed, Emma blinked and rolled over. She had landed heavily on her wrist and from the level of pain she was almost certain it was broken. The dagger at the chest had slipped free of its bindings and cut her. Hot blood soaked her cotton undershirt. A man far broader than the first stood over her. He was wearing an odd assortment of clothes; a stained dark blue shirt, leather riding pants that looked fairly new and boots that had been patched up countless times. His unshaven appearance and weathered complexion told her he was a pirate. Slavers were land based, using sea travel as a means to an end, rather than a way of life. And there was something unsettling about the idea of pirates acting as slavers.

"I was handling it, Jogan!" said the first man angrily. "Return to the ship!"

"Aye, Cap'tn," the second man mumbled morosely, and Emma could hear him lumber off.

Emma stared up at the man, seeing him in the light for the first time that night. He was dressed, like herself, primarily in leather, with a long leather coat, soft leather pants and high leather boots. His vest was the most sumptuous part of his ensemble, and was clearly of expensive made. The shirt he wore underneath was black. Around his neck were several long, gaudy necklaces, rings adorned his fingers and on his right wrist were several silver bracelets. At his hip was an empty sheath. He was a handsome man, with a quirk to his lips even when he wasn't smiling, at least a weeks stubble covered his cheeks and under thick eyebrows sat wickedly mischievous eyes that she could tell, even in the gloom, were blue. Upon seeing his appearance, the flirting made more sense. Here was a man that was clearly used to using his good looks and charm to get his way, and have girls simpering over him with a few honeyed words.

Well, Emma wasn't impressed.

"You're injured," he noted, feigning concern with surprising credibility.

"I'm fine," Emma snapped, trying to sit up and failing when her her wrist exploded with agony.

"Well, at least this will make it easier for me to get you back to the ship without fuss," the man joked. Before she could retort, he swooped down and lifted her into his arms. The sudden movement, blood loss and the pain she was feeling from both her wrist and the cut at her chest overwhelmed her, and she succumbed to blackness.