Kay here. Sorry for the late update, but I've been busy with work and other projects! I'm going to try to keep up with an update a month, so just bear with me, okay? And reviews would be much appreciated; it only takes a minute to give me enough motivation to keep on writing!
It had been a routine visit back home. Back to the port city, to the towering buildings, shuffling people, and runaway animals. To the stone streets, the colorful flags that hung overhead, to the noise and shouts and cheers of the people. It was so different from a life on the ship—from the nearly constant quiet that was only sometimes rewarded by the truly cantankerous nature of his men. The sea life was hard, but it did have its rewards.
It made Sinbad bear the respect of a merchant, and the profits that came behind it. There was wealth to be found out there, the very same sort that had people waiting for months at the docks just to buy his exotic goods. They fought and clawed to get in front when his ship arrived, usually causing so much of a ruckus that he was unable to leave for a few days. But he acted right—humoring them and treating them well, acting as friendly as he could physically manage. After all, he was respected here, more so than if he had ever found a different job.
Then again, they all thought that he was just a simple sailor. One who that the money and skill to go to different lands, make good deals, and bring back the goods as oh-so-reasonable prices. Had they known that their dear Sinbad was a pirate, well, it probably wouldn't end so well for him. Instead of talking their heads off, they'd be screaming about chopping off his. It would end rather quickly, he supposed, with either a hanging or beheading. Piracy just wasn't as accepted as it used to be.
"Nothing much has changed here, since you left." Proteus walked in front, leading Sinbad and Kale through the city, just as he did every time Sinbad returned home.
"Apparently your sense of style hasn't either." Sinbad grinned, pointing out the ridiculously long ponytail that hung off the back of his friend's head. Kale, his first mate, nudged Sinbad in the side, but Sinbad didn't pay much attention.
After all, Proteus laughed, just like Sinbad knew he would. They had been friends since childhood, going out on all sorts of adventures. When Sinbad decided to be a pirate, Proteus stood by him, just like he always had. But he wasn't the type to go out on the seas for months at a time. No, he was the kind to stay here, the one who sold whatever goods remained when Sinbad left, the one who encouraged Sinbad's good name amongst the people. He was the one who had introduced Sinbad to Kale (the ridiculously brawny though insanely loyal man that Sinbad had grown to trust), had put forth the money to get a ship, and had done everything to get the best crew for the job. In short, Proteus was a life-line, one that Sinbad always knew he could rely on.
"It's the same people, same place." Sinbad observed lightly. "I come back because I don't expect it to change." After all, this was the only constant he knew he could rely on, far outside of the realm of action and adventure that so defined his life.
"True enough." Proteus smiled. He paused, stopping in the middle of the street to face his two friends. His eyes lowered, his voice quiet. "She was waiting for you too, you know."
Sinbad had to maintain control of himself, keeping his expression the same as he rolled back on his heels. He made sure no one was particularly nearby as he spoke. "Where is she?"
Proteus' gaze flicked to a nearby alleyway, one that was used often by people wanting to avoid the thick crowds of the main street. "Where else?" A smile formed on his face as he turned around and continued to walk, swerving around people and making his way into the alleyway.
Their pace slowed, allowing them to meander as they slowly made their way through the alley. There were still people here, but it was much less the hustle and bustle of the normal crowd that allowed them to relax. It was only here that they could hear the sound of horns and drums, and the faint sound of a tambourine as the music bounced off the walls. It was only here that they could see the part of society that no one wanted to accept—to see the gypsies perform.
They kept close to the side of the alley, out of the way of most passerby. A few people stood to watch them, while others dropped a coin or two in a small hat as they passed. But Sinbad's gaze quickly moved to the woman in-between the musicians, dancing to the music as it moved her. Her skirts swirled and flared about her, making every movement just seem all the more graceful. There was no delicacy to her—no, she was certainly no wilting flower—but it was beautiful all the same. It was the reason why he still went to sea, so that he might keep this beauty alive.
Esmeralda. The very woman he treasured above all that he had possibly stolen, anything that he could ever carry in the holds of his ship. Everything about her was beautiful, everything she did lifted him high and made him feel more alive. An angel in human form.
But not one that would be accepted by the church. They damned the thick dark hair that swirled and danced about her, that was the color of obsidian and a texture that could never be compared to. They damned the dark color of her skin, the very color and flawlessness that could never be found in ivory or porcelain. They damned the color of her eyes, the jade gems that looked so eagerly and cheerfully at the world around. In short: they damned gypsies.
Because of that, he had to pretend that he didn't know her. The world could not see that she was the love of his life, the very thing that kept him alive and fighting. He had to hide his gaze of admiration, his pride, or else he would lose everything. People here had no respect for gypsies, nor for those that sympathized with them. His "good merchant" reputation would fall apart in seconds, no matter what he had done. They would only see him as a sinner tainted by the evil race that plagued the alleys of their precious city.
Esmeralda's eyes caught his as she moved and swayed to the changing beat. She knew his predicament, and understood it better than anyone else ever could. In public, they had to stay secret, and she stuck to that more than anyone else ever would. Her smile softened slightly, winking at him as a way of saying "welcome home."
A shrill whistle echoed off the walls, cutting off the music and the dancing almost immediately. A small child hung from a nearby roof, his dark face full of worry and urgency. The people around them began to dissipate, all too familiar with the warning. Musicians hid away their instruments, scrambling from their seats and working as quickly as possible to vanish away. Soldiers were coming. If they were caught, it was likely that they would be imprisoned and tortured to no ends, accused of crimes they had never committed. That was the life of a gypsy in a world that hated them so.
Esmeralda reached for the small hat filled with coins. Even without Sinbad around, she didn't need it to survive. But the others weren't so fortunate. She would not let their hard work go to waste, wouldn't let them starve in the streets when there was money that was rightfully theirs. The soldiers didn't understand that. Any possession a gypsy had was automatically labeled as stolen, regardless of what the truth was. They were even less forgiving as the people.
And they had come quicker than usual—two of them—much faster than could be expected. By the time Esmeralda had maneuvered around the scattering crowd to collect the hat, the iron fists of the soldiers were clasped on her shoulders. They attempted to pry the small hat away from her, but she wouldn't have it. She fought and cursed, knowing well that she had little chance of escape. But she would not let the hat leave her hands, no matter what. Even if it might provide the only chance of escape.
"Sinbad. You can't." A solid hand pressed against Sinbad's shoulder, pulling him back. He hadn't realized that his hands were already on his blades, his body shifted forward to attack and defend what was his. His body had acted without him, but he was not going to disagree with it.
He looked back to Proteus, an angry glare dominating his expression. He could understand his friend's concern—everything could be ruined if he was caught. But if they took her, he would never see her again. No matter how strong she was, she wouldn't escape. She wouldn't survive.
Proteus swallowed, knowing all-too-well the problem before them. He stared at his friend, concern high and weak to the desperation in Sinbad's expression. His glance flitted upward, to the still struggling soldiers. A smile played on his face, and he tipped his head lightly.
The soldiers had turned around in their fight against Esmeralda, their backs to any leftover onlookers. But no one was watching—nearly everyone else had fled, leaving only the desperate and unwanted in the streets. For a professional like Sinbad, this was too easy.
He moved quickly, his feet making no sound as he made it to the still-struggling soldiers. One hit, and they were both unconscious upon the floor. He kicked them each once in the head for good measure, just so that they would not awake too soon. Besides, they needed big enough headaches when they awoke just so they couldn't remember any details about this little tussle. Not like they would want to report to the higher-ups about their miserable failure.
A smug smile tugged at Sinbad's expression, and there was no way he might resist it. With the streets as their own, he would be free to greet his love. And how thankful she would be, with her love saving her life so soon after he had returned! She might even give him a bit of a treat! The thought lifted him high.
He looked up from the unconscious bodies of the soldiers, finding only disappointment. Esmeralda wasn't close, wasn't aching to give her greetings. No, she was far down the street, running from the scene and vanishing into the crowd.
"You sure the two were still going out?" Kale asked, teasingly looking over to Proteus.
Proteus' expression nearly had the same level of perplection as Sinbad's. "Well, I thought so."
So did I, Sinbad thought glumly, looking into the empty space. Had he done something wrong?
