On deck, I walked past the crew, tied to the mainmast, though I noted with some surprise that their bounds were not tight, and they could probably escape within half an hour or so. I nearly lost my footing when I heard my father cry out;
"Catherine! Catherine! You dogs, you blasted scoundrels! Let her go! Let her go!" But the pirate only gave him a toothless leer and, with movements seemingly too agile for his bulky frame, tucked me under his arm, released a grappling hook and swung easily back to his ship before I had time to think or reply.
Immediately I got on board, I noticed the pirate ship was much larger than our vessel and stood a good deal firmer in the water. The crew didn't take much mind of me; they were busy loading cargo into the hold – our cargo. There was bale after bale of cloth, some large trunks of the Eastern luxuries, spices, ivory, finely decorated silks, china tea as well as Western necessities such as sugar, coffee and candles. There were also several smaller trunks that I knew contained gold and sliver, thank God my mother's jewellery was hidden in a secret compartment in her cabin – one of the few relics from the days when vigilance against pirates was much stronger. Strangely, they seemed to have taken little of our food – we were only a small ship with a full crew, and my father likes to dine well, so we were almost fully laden with barrel after barrel of ships biscuits, ham, bacon – every kind of food we might need. Yet hardly any of it seemed to be here, it also looked as if the wine stores had been neglected – yet every barrel of sailors-issue rum had been taken. My captor surveyed the scene with a grin, pawing at my hair with his stumpy hand. I shuddered, and felt a tingle of panic in my stomach – as yet still controllable.
"Jeff, you old sea dog – what's this you've brought us?" It was the same extraordinary drawl I had heard from the cabin – but the strangeness of the voice, I now saw, was nothing to the man himself. He jingled as he walked, he was dressed in clothes that were stylish a decade ago, his hair was practically organic and his beard was plaited and decorated with beads. With a brace of guns across his chest and a cutlass by his side he looked, in short, like a cartoon of a pirate – an amusing caricature, too exaggerated to be real.
"Aye cap'n" My captor saluted as smartly as he could whilst still keeping a tight grip on me. "Nowt but supplies."
"Supplies?" The bizarre man drew out the word at the same time as his cutlass, and before Jeff could wipe the grin off his face. I saw it glint in the last throws of the setting sun as he held it against his throat and realised while his clothes may be a joke, his weapons were not. I pulled myself as far behind my captor's bulk as possible, desperate to be out of harms way "Is she made of gold? Can we trade, sell or barter with her? Are you in the slave trade Cannonball, or are you a pirate? What. Have. I. Told. You?" He thundered, and the whole deck became silent. Jeff, sweat pouring off him faster than ever, just muttered and held his eyes shut. "WHAT?"
"No, no, no…." He stuttered franticly.
"No, what, you fat old fool?" The Captain prompted
"No prisoners, Cap'n."
"No prisoners indeed, Cannonball Jeff, and what would you call this young lady?" He shot a glance across at me, and I took an unexpected breath, taken aback at his sharp stare.
"A, a… a prisoner Cap'n."
"A prisoner indeed, Jeff" He repeated, turning his cutlass idly, seemingly unaware one careless move would cut out this man's life. "Ye see the problem we have here?"
Jeff made to nod, then though better of it, mindful of the blade at his neck and managed to squeak out an agreement.
"I'm so glad you agree, Jeff. It means ye see why I have to put you on double shifts manning the bilge pump for a week."
"Aye Cap'n" The Captain sheathed his sword and Jeff began to shuffle off, leaving me forlorn and alone on the deck, the other sailors went back to work.
"Hello! Wait a minute, Hello!" I cried out, and instantly the deck was silent again.
The Captain, who has been making his way to the quarter deck, turned abruptly and stared at me with a curious, cautious look in his eyes
"Sir," I began graciously, giving a deep curtsy – this Captain, though strange, seemed to be a decent man. "You have been most kind, could I press you, good Sire to a further kindness and ask you to return me to my ship and henceforth to my family?"
He snorted "it's 'Captain', not 'Sir'" was his only reply before he turned smartly again and took his position at the helm. Night had truly fallen now and the crew were lighting the lamps and making their way below deck as those on the night watch emerged from their bunks. The waters were around us were black, the sky was clouded and dark – the moon not risen yet and the deck was eerily quiet, save the creaking of ropes and sails as we cut through the gloom. I shivered in my taffeta and was grateful for the reassuring thud of my slippers along the boards as I ran up to the quarter deck.
"Captain, I beseech you…" I stood in front of the wheel, blocking the Captain's view of the murky horizon, my hands gripped knuckle-white on the spokes.
"Aye, Missy I've no doubt you do, but I can't return you." He moved the wheel sharply, shaking off my hands.
"Why not? My ship can be barely a few miles away, even now."
"Well Missy, my ship," His eyes grew clouded and dark for a beat "My ship moves on… different paths. I am its Captain and it will go where I choose, and I do not choose to go backwards." He pushed me out of the path of his gaze, and kept his eyes straight ahead as I walked down the stairs.
"Sorry love." I thought I heard his ridiculous drawl, but when I turned back he hadn't moved.
Alone on the forecastle, the salt wind stinging my face, I let my own tears mingle with the ocean spray. I was fully alone, with empty, black water flowing out in every direction. The tingle of fear was no longer manageable and I stared, sobbing out into the empty horizon in every direction with a kind of desperation. I was stolen and stranded on a pirate ship, like some preposterous girl from a story-book. I had never liked those romance stories – they always seemed so artificial, and I liked my true version even less.