Many had come and gone; they hadn't been good enough. No. They were abysmal. No one would have taken as much kindness upon them as he had. They should have been honored that he had taken his time to even look at them. All paled in comparison to what sat before him. This one bit back; it fought and pulled at the leash, but he could tame it. She would learn to listen, to obey. She would have to. There wasn't another choice.
He thought of everything that could be as he stroked her hair. She would wake up soon and be overwhelmed by the honor of him caring for her. He could see it in his head, playing out perfectly.
The maids around the room finished cleaning as her eyes began to flutter. A brief feeling of anxiety washed over him as he held her dark hair in his hands. Her head tilted and moved as she tried to open her eyes, tried to adjust. The overly decorated room would have hurt anyone's eyes in pure daylight. Maids rushed, drawing the curtains, as she muttered one phrase.
"Archer…"
Her head graced the pillow for a moment as he sat there in anger, balling her hair in his hands. The urge to pull it rushed at him, but he calmed himself. Gilgamesh left the room, grabbing a maid on the arm as he stepped out.
"Give her everything she needs."
The maid nodded, rubbing her arm of the bruise that stayed once he left.
The boy dodged around dock hands as they unloaded cargo from ships to eager buyers. Goods were being carried to and fro almost pushing the people off the dock due to the volume. He was small and able to squeeze between or agile enough to climb over the various things that got in his way until he made it to the other side of the dock. That's where it was, where it had been all along.
A popular rumor around town was that the sailors and dockworkers had their own tavern set up in the hull of an abandoned vessel. The port was always so busy, you couldn't make out which one it was unless you sat and watched the port every day; even then it was near impossible. Instead, if you talk as if you know enough, people will tell you information if you just listen—the right place, the right time sort of stuff. That's how he got here, looking at the only ship without people leaving. He crossed the bridge and descended to The Belly, finding several tables and flagons filled. All the sailors and dock men jolly and rather pleased with themselves.
Rum sat to the side stacked to the ceiling. The Irish boy with the striking looks (now covered in sweat and soot from tailing leads) looked no more out of place than the others. A cheer erupted from a table of sailors long gone as the others watched him enter and take a table. A rather large, bubbly man came over and sat next to him, giving the Irish boy a flagon of rum.
"Hadn't seen ye here afor. What be yer name?"
"Dyna."
"Blast! Ye be Irish. Been a while since I seens an Irishman on a ship. Tired of the Isles?"
"Nay. Just been itchin' to travel. Not much to be doin' on the lands for me. Me mom says I'm restless."
The man clasped an arm around the young boy and began to talk to him about the day; life on the sea; his ship and crew; and the ladies he met in every port. Diarmuid had no interest, but it was part of the game. He told lies, but they were seeded in truth—stories from other sailors he had heard throughout the port or town. They weren't grand, something people would question. No. He didn't want a recognizable face or name. He just wanted to be a boy in the crowd, looking for a job.
"My captain's cast anchor here, bringing a load of goods, but I want to try somethin' new. I'm looking for a change, I want to go farther out there. Anything ship here that goes far lookin for boys?"
The large man seemed to think for a while, almost too long, before clairvoyance struck him.
"There used ta be a ship that went out that far, The Pearl Princess. She was a grand ship; people fought to work on her. I haven't seen her in. I haven't seen her in a while now that I be thinkin' bout it."
A man across the table, couldn't have been much older than Diarmuid but worn by the sea, pointed to the table behind them where a lone man sat. He had flowing red hair and a large body but read as a hard worker. " 'e used ta be ta first mate on her."
Diarmuid looked back to the group with a hesitant smile, wondering if they were trying to get him done in for; he'd asked a lot of questions for a new boy on the dock. Instead, the large man picked him up and dragged him to the table. The red haired man looked at them, curious before a large smile crept on his face, eliciting a large laugh. His personality was as large as his body.
"What happened to yer ship? This boy be lookin' for far travelin' work, goin' East. Da only ship I know goin dat far be 'er. What say ye? Be needin' a new hand on board?"
Red-haired man stared down Diarmuid as if he was asking a foolish question, pity read on his eyes.
"I wish I could say that I had a job for ya. I don't. I don't have a job either, boy. Name's Alexander, call me Alex. The Pearl Princess sailed for the Orient a few months ago, but no one's seen it since. I stayed, letting someone try to bring up some new recruits and see my family. Narrow miss, I say. Ships don't go out and disappear; they end up on the bottom of the ocean."
This is gonna pay well
