ad infinitum [latin]
adv
1. without end; endlessly
Emma tried to force herself to eat. She scraped her spoon across the small, pewter bowl and brought it to her lips but they pursed involuntarily and she dropped the utensil back into the bowl with a clatter.
"Not like the stew?"
She smiled at the sound of Dicken's voice behind her. "I've never been particularly partial, but today it seems there is more hard tack than anything else in it."
"Cook's runnin' low on anythin' fresh," he replied as he sank to sit beside her on the low bench, "Good thing we've almost reached port."
Picking up one of the hard biscuits, Emma tapped it against the uneven wooden table and nodded, "Indeed.
"But it's more than that. You've bin awful quiet past few days."
Dicken was a perceptive man, she thought. "Nothing passes you by, does it?"
He shook his head. The mess room was dark, although it was still daylight outside. The flickering light of the lantern thickened the deep ridges of age in his forehead and the loose skin below his eyes. On another man, it would make them seem tired, but the sparkle in his smile and expression gave him an unexpected appearance of youth.
"What's wrong?"
Cautiously Emma looked around.
"No ones 'ere love, but us."
Sighing, she let her shoulders dip a little and pushed away the uneaten bowl of food. "I'm just tired," she lied.
Dicken didn't reply, instead he poured some weak ale from the jug on the table, into her tankard and pushed it towards her hand. Gratefully, she sipped the warm, yeasty brew, licking the remnants from her lips as she listened to the footsteps of the crew on the deck above.
"It's Porter. He discovered me. He tried to hurt me."
"Ah," Dicken sighed, "A see."
"I'd always worried what would happen, if someone knew. But you and the captain made me rethink that. Then he reminded me why I was so fearful in the first place."
"He was scum, lass. No loss."
"No," she whispered, "I guess the world is a better place without him. But I'll never forget the sound of his blade as it sliced through my shirt."
His hand silently slipped over hers, squeezing it tightly.
"'Ow did ya kill 'im?"
"I didn't. I punched him, then Killi- the captain - heard the noise and came in with this sword. He doesn't want me to be discovered any more than I do."
"T'would not be good for 'is position as captain."
"No, it wouldn't," Emma mused. She turned on the chair so that she was facing the old man. "Why is life so complicated Dicken?"
Scratching his forehead, he gave her a bemused smile, "God lass, ave bin askin' myself that for nigh on my 'ole life and am still nowhere near knowin'."
Emma laughed softly before pulling back the bowl and stirring its contents.
"Then I guess I'll never work it out."
"Maybe not lass."
They were silent as she ate a few small spoonfuls.
"Anythin' else on ya mind?"
His question took her back in time. To that moment in the cabin a few days earlier. The way the captain had looked in her eyes. The feel of his lips on hers and his hand in her hair.
Her heart raced and her fingertips went to her lips.
Crashing along after it was the realisation that he hadn't meant to kiss her. Hadn't meant to look at her like she was the world and make her heart leap. That it had been a mistake and she was a foolish, foolish girl for thinking otherwise, if even for a second.
Shame flooded her veins like a cool liquid dousing a flame.
"No," she lied, "Nothing at all."
The shallow harbour and low tide had rendered it necessary for the Jolly to remain anchored a distance from the port. But Killian was eager and impatient to get ashore.
So, grabbing the leather pouch from his desk, he ordered Smee to lower the ship's small tender and selected two strong deck hands to row him ashore.
Cranook Cove was one of the coarser ports on the eastern coast of the land mass that housed the outer realms. On three sides the small outcrop was surrounded by treacherous mountains that were completely impassible during the winter snow and that only the bravest (or most foolish) men attempted to conquer during the fairer months. As a consequence, the port had become a breeding ground for pirates and criminals who sought out its taverns to conduct their business free from the prying eyes of the law keepers who patrolled more accessible locations.
It was also the home of Jim 'The Finder' Robson. A man who staked his reputation on being able to find anything - or anyone. For a price, of course.
Once ashore, he paid the two men with a few coins and directed them to meet him back at the tender in three hours.
Quickly he wove his way through the cramped, narrow streets that stank with the stench of stale beer and the open sewer than ran down its center. On either side of him, cramped and haphazard buildings lined the litter strewn path. Each one built with seemingly little care, giving the appearance that a strong wind could cause them to come tumbling down like a pack of cards.
The hour was still early. The sun, yet low in the sky, did not penetrate the dark alleyways that crisscrossed the town. Evidence of the night before's activities peppered the landscapes: discarded bottles of beer and rum - broken and whole, evidence of piss and vomit staining the faded paint of the buildings and, occasionally, a drunk or two asleep in a doorway.
But Killian paid no heed to this and hurried towards the far end of town where he hoped Robson still resided.
A sudden flash of gold broke Killian from his task for a moment. He looked up and saw a lass running along the road, long blonde hair tumbling down her back, her grey cloak fluttering as she ran. Hypnotized, he paused and watched her hair sway in the breeze and with the light movement of her feet, until she disappeared into an unseen alleyway.
Emma.
He'd tried to hard not to think of her.
Since that night, since that kiss, Killian had avoided the young woman, ordering Smee to set her about tasks that kept her far from him. He even refused to look in her direction, though he always seemingly knew when she was near, as if her mere presence burned an impression on his skin.
Alone, in his cabin, his lips had tingled at the memory of her. The sweet taste of her mouth lingered on his tongue. The impression of her body lightly pressed against his sent a wave of pleasure rippling down his spine.
It was wrong and he knew it was so, but still days later, the sensations lingered, like some cruel torment.
He continued, his mind full of her.
For so long now, his mind and heart had been closed. No admittance accepted into the barren space in his chest that had been filled with hate and revenge and sheer damnation at the injustice that life had dealt him. Love had no place in a pirates heart, he had conceded.
When the urge had came, a warm body had been easily found to bring to his bed. Pliant and soft and eager to please, they fawned over his reputation. They bared their bodies to him, they kissed him, they lay out before him and let him relieve the tension inside.
They meant nothing to him. They elicited no greater feeling in his gut than that which arose from the satisfying of a thirst.
He'd conceded that he was no longer capable of more. And he had accepted it.
But then she'd been there, so vulnerable and shy, yet so strong and capable. Her green eyes had danced in the lantern light. She'd been so close- smelling of soap and salt and woman…
And when he'd kissed her, it had been all things and nothing at once. His mind had numbed, all pain had been pressed out. His heart had raced and stomach had tightened and that long doused flame of passion that had once resided in his chest sparked into life, jolting him into reality.
An honest man would have admitted it scared him.
But Killian Jones was incapable of that intimate honesty which this required. So instead, he pushed away and hid himself from the feeling. Buried it in his chest in a box marked 'danger'.
Because anything else would lead to inevitable sorrow.
His introspections had shortened the perception of his journey and he was soon stood outside the crumbling walls of Robson's abode. The small house was dark inside, the windows were coated in an untouched layer of muddy dust.
He banged on the door. Most likely Robson was still in a drunken stupor, so he did not stop until he heard the muttering of blistering curses in a strong brogue and the sound of locks being released.
The door opened and the blinking figure of Jim Robson stood bathed in the low morning light. His brownish-grey hair was heavily receding and the balding dome of his head was red and peeling. Robson smiled when he saw the pirate, bearing a mouth of blackened, crumbling stumps and raising a reddened glow on his rounded cheeks.
"Jones!" he cried, stepping forward to embrace the captain in a strong hug, slapping him on the back a few times until he let go. "Where the bleedin' hell have you been?"
"Pirate," he gave by way of a response, raising his hand in an apologetic gesture. The other man merely laughed and gestured him inside. "So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Killian?"
Killian sat at the offered chair in the small parlour at the back of the house. The room was dark and stuffy, smelling strongly of snuff and tobacco. A small, greying table was pushed in one corner, on its surface a plate bearing the remnants of a meal. Opposite it was a tall, wooden cupboard - about the height of a man - and around the outside of the room was an odd assortment of mismatched chairs.
"Been decorating?" Killian quipped as he eyed his surroundings.
"You know my coin only goes on three things Killian - rum, women and more women!" Robson roared with laughter at his own joke and Killian gave a small smile in response.
A bottle of rum was produced and Robson poured two drams before settling on an faded, upholstered chair whose stuffing seemed determined to escape its embroidered prison.
The two men sipped quietly, the comfortable silence a kind consequence of two men who had known each other many years. At length, Killian pulled the pouch from his coat and tipped the swan pendant onto the table.
"What's this?" asked Robson.
"A clue." Killian picked up the necklace and rolled the pendant between his fingers. "This, my friend, was the property of Queen Ava."
"And how did it come to be in the possession of a dirty fella like you?"
"It was clutched to Liam's body when he was murdered. I find the owner, I find his killer. I get my vengeance."
"A worthy cause indeed," muttered the older man, "God bless your brother's soul."
"So, can you tell me what you know of that royal family?"
Robson scratched his chin then took the pendant from Killian, lifting it up and squinting at it in the trickle of light that came in through the room's only window.
"Well, Ava died long ago, as you know. She had one daughter, Princess Snow - and on her father's death she became queen."
"This I know. And I also know that the princess died many years ago, but this does not help me trace ownership of the pendant."
"Who said she was dead?" asked Robson mysteriously.
Killian frowned and leaned back a little in his chair, "She drowned. I remember, it was not long after Liam and I joined the Jolly. The news spread like wildfire."
Robson smiled and leaned closer, a conspiratorial smile on his face, "Maybe not. I heard - from a very reliable source - that the queen was in debt to someone. That perhaps her 'disappearance' was planned."
"You mean she's still alive?"
Killian's ears buzzed with the sound of blood pumping quickly at this news. A clue, a lead - finally.
Robson twisted his face and sank another dram. Killian reached into his pocked and pulled out a heavy, gold coin and tossed it at his friend.
He rubbed the coin between his fingers, before placing it in his mouth and pressing his remaining teeth against its surface. Seemingly satisfied, he placed it in the watch pocked of his stained waistcoat and continued.
"In a word - yes."
"And you know where she is?"
"Maybe," he answered coyly.
Sighing, Killian tossed out another coin and Robson's eyes lie up.
"If you wanted to disappear, where would you go?"
Killian shook his head and looked upwards, "Somewhere where no one knew my name, or my face…"
"Somewhere quiet, few people about, lots of places to lay low…"
A sudden though popped into Killian's mind. "The plains of Terra."
Robson nodded and took another drink.
The barren and lonely plains of Terra reached from the far edges of the enchanted forest to the Rinian Sea. Very little grew or lived in this unforgiving environment - its harsh winters and scorching summers so infamous across all the realms. The natives of this land eked out an existence trapping the small, wild animals that roved in packs and harvesting the roots and shrubs that sprouted from place to place, selling the plants for their medicinal properties to traders who arrived my boat.
"And she still lives?" Killian asked.
"So far as I know," Robson replied. "I've been sat on that information for quite the number of years, mind. Knew it would come in useful."
"It has indeed, thank you."
"Thank you!" Robson laughed, patting the small pocket that held the two gold coins.
And not wanting to wait a moment longer, Killian said his goodbyes and left/
Back aboard the Jolly, Killian set about making preparations for the journey to Terra.
Emma had spent the day under Mr Smee's direction and was mending rope on deck when he returned and began to give out orders to the crew.
She watched his determined face as he stalked about the deck, chastising those who lazed about and threatening a long walk off a short plank to any man who didn't pull his weight. She'd never seen this side of the captain, he seemed so harsh in comparison to the man she had come to know.
Soon, he slipped down the staircase into his cabin. Dropping the rope, she hurried below deck, pausing at his door before knocking three times, as was her custom.
"Enter," he replied.
She did as he ordered. Inside, he was hunched over his desk, a roll of parchment map stretched out in from of him.
"Captain," she said, nodding her head slightly.
"Hmmm?" he hummed, not looking her way.
"I wanted to ask how long til the next safe port? Smee said our next stop was-"
"Plans have changed," he snapped, bundling up the scroll and tossing it aside, "I'm sorry but your release will have to wait a little longer."
"But you promised…" she whispered.
"And I am a man of my word. But more pressing matters need to be attended to and I doubt you would wish to be stranded either here or in the destination to which we are next to sail. Now please leave."
His words were curt and sharp and he refused to look in her direction. They stung a little and for the first time in days she began to worry that perhaps her trust in this man had been misguided, that maybe he was lying to her all along…
"I'm sorry to bother you," she sighed as she slipped away.
His only response was a rough huffing noise as she quietly closed the door.
Thank you once again for all your feedback, follows, favourites and reviews - you fuel my muse!