An outstanding characteristic concerning Richard Marlowe was the fact that, once committed to a task, he preferred to finish before moving on. To this end, he was aware of, yet ignored, his waiting guest of the evening. First, however, before he lost his train of thought and forgot any important details, he insisted on finishing his entry into the ship's log.

Samuels proved speedier in his duties than Marlowe had given him credit for and had returned with the young Japanese before he could finish his own task, which, he felt, would take a shorter amount of time than Samuels's appointed objective could be completed. For this reason, and many others, Samuels always was a good crewman.

Finishing his entry, Marlowe set the quill back in its inkwell and left the book lying as was, to allow the ink to properly dry. The last sentence written stated, "She has arrived."

Marlowe was all smiles as he abruptly spun around to greet his guest. "You'll have to pardon my delay," he said in perfectly, apologetic, Japanese. "You'll also have to forgive my appearance as well."

Marlowe was referring to his unbuttoned doublet, which bore out his ruffled white undershirt. Kagome saw nothing wrong in this. It was a subtle reminder of the more rigid social standards of the era she was visiting, in both Eastern, and now Western, conduct. But, this was unimportant to her, as she placed abduction slightly higher on her list of gaffes.

Marlowe walked over to the table and pulled out the chair closest to her. Still smiling, he offered, "Would you like a seat?"

Kagome regarded this man, with his chair. Weighing fear and disgust in her mind, she resolved that with a combination of these two, untrustworthiness, she should take the chair, since there were no obvious hazards involved with doing so. Quietly, she walked over to the chair and sat down. Her host helped slide the chair back under the table, then walked to the opposite side.

"Allow me to introduce myself," said he, slightly bowing at the waist. "My name is Captain Richard Marlowe in the service of the English East India Company."

A few moments passed as Kagome absorbed the cordiality of her host-captor. It was unsettling for him to be behaving in such a manner. With brutes, you automatically have reason to fear and act accordingly. But, with men such as this, like a Miroku or, even worse, a Sesshomaru, who veiled their intentions behind a polite or equivocal façade, you have reason to be suspicious, since they were typically more cunning, and oftentimes more dangerous.

"Young Lady."

Kagome fastened her eyes to Marlowe's cool gaze. She had been glancing at his pocket, and the radiant shards, considering them along with her host's behavior. Had he noticed that she had been staring?

"I'm sorry, but you seem to have neglected your introduction?"

Kagome was slightly relieved that he hadn't caught her slight glancing. She spoke up.

"My name," she said, clearing her throat, "is Kagome."

"Ka-go-me," the Englishman sounded it out. "Kagome," he said the name with a whimsical air. "What a lovely name."

Kagome remained on the defensive. The less said, the less information she would be handing to this duplicitous host. It was at this moment a tapping noise came to the door. Both Kagome and Marlowe turned to the sound.

"Enter!"

The visitor, who was revealed to be a small boy whose skin was a healthy hue of dark brown, pushed the door open. His clothes were less prestigious, but of the same style as Marlowe's. His doublet and breeches were a matching tan, while his stockings were off-white. His small shoes, almost like an elf's were a dull reddish-brown. The youth was encumbered with a small pot, two bowls, two loaves, a ladle, and spoons.

"Ah, Polaris!"

The small African smiled at the captain's greeting. He quickly scuttled over to the table with his wares. As Marlowe seated himself, the boy, Polaris, set a bowl before him, with a loaf and spoon. Polaris then turned to set out Kagome's placements. When he actually looked Kagome in the face, he was startled and froze in place, as though he were a frightened deer.

Kagome stared back into the small face. The situation was painfully awkward. Kagome didn't know what to make of the Europeans, let alone this other little stranger from an entirely different world. Even in her own time, Kagome, for lack of African visitors to her home, had no such acquaintances. Now, centuries in the past, this Nubian lad who was holding, remarkably, similar thoughts, was gawking at her with equal amazement.

The boy turned to Marlowe with a perplexed, if not apprehensive, bulge in his eyes. The captain smiled. "Go ahead. It's only business," he coaxed.

Casting sidelong glances out the corner of his eye, aimed at the first – female – Asian guest the cabin had accommodated, Polaris resumed his task. Once her bowl, spoon, and loaf were placed before the stranger, Polaris then began to ladle out steaming servings of a stew that filled the air with the mixed smell of spices. Having accomplished the final phase of his duty, the young boy was happily prepared to leave. Before he could get too far along in his departure, however, Marlowe grabbed his shoulder.

"Hold on a moment," the captain said with a commanding tone.

Polaris turned to face him.

"You've done a good job," Marlowe smiled, "you deserve a treat."

Polaris was instantly smiling, as any child would at such an offer.

"Go to the galley," Marlowe instructed, "and have Mr. Crane give you a pudding." Knowing that such a rare treat aboard ship would attract undesired attention, Marlowe added a few other words. "And, if Mr. Crick bothers you, bash him over the head."

Both the man and boy's smiles broadened.

"If that doesn't cool his temper, I'll have him keelhauled."

Polaris was enthused enough to speak in what English he knew, "Tank ye cappy-tan!" Having said this, the youth dashed off in pursuit of his reward, the kettle merrily clanging at this side.

Such events, so common to those who lived aboard ship, were utterly foreign and bizarre to Kagome. She had experienced the social hierarchy in the feudal era, but rarely did she see outright slavery. Even stranger was the polite manner to which Marlowe had treated the young boy. For her, throughout history, slavery was always described using the most negative, most violent, imagery. Never had bondage seemed so lax as had just been demonstrated to her. Yet, was it truly so refined?

Witnessing the small scene, spoken in a different language, Kagome had noticed the condescending way with which Marlowe smiled and calmly caressed the boy's arm. Short of patting him on the head and saying "good boy", the white captain seemed to regard the boy like a favorite dog, not as someone that could, one day, be his intellectual equal.

"I know it's rather late."

Marlowe's voice brought Kagome from her latest round of reveries.

"But, a good conversation could do with a small dish."

Marlowe was already digging into his food, placing his spoon into his bowl and grabbing his loaf. Kagome looked to her food.

The stew was an admixture of beef, various foreign vegetables, which she readily recognized from her own time, and foodstuffs that she recognized as existing in the local area. It smelled heavily of indefinable spices, most likely preservative herbs, since refrigeration was a madman's dream amongst this era. Having already been disturbed from her sleep and realizing that the chance of another meal being served soon was small, she found the stew to be rather tempting.

"Are you a princess, Kagome?"

A sharp crackling sound followed the question. Kagome glared up at him in surprise, while Marlowe calmly lowered a portion of his bread into the stew.

"What? What would make you think I'd be a princess?"

"Four travelers, passing through the forest," the Englishman began calmly. "A swordsman, a monk, two women, and a magnificent creature, the likes of which I've never seen before, domesticated."

As Marlowe tended to his soaking portion of bread with his spoon, Kagome spoke with an incredulous air. Completely lost to his logic, she said, "How can any of that be proof that I'm a princess?"

"That excitable lad in red, the swordsman, was obviously a bodyguard; the other woman, your lady-in-waiting. The holy man, obviously, was a tutor, perhaps a confessor. Lastly, your pet was far too obedient to simply be a good companion, it was a trained killer, an excellent attack animal."

"Now hold on a minute," she flared, "just because we're four friends traveling through the woods doesn't mean we're who you think we are!"

Marlowe had a dull look in his eyes, as if totally uninterested in what the girl had to say. He reached into the soup bowl and took out the piece of bread he had lain in the stew. He quietly placed the soaked loaf in his mouth and began chewing it. He then, calmly stood up from the table and walked over to the bench. He spun on his heel, after having picked up the school uniform, and strode back to the table.

Setting the blouse down, he swallowed, and then spoke, "Then what about this?"

Kagome reassumed the defensive. She was apprehensive of telling this man anything about her true identity since senseless gabbing would surely lead to ruin. Nonchalantly, she asked, "What about it?"

"The material," said the English, rubbing the textile between his thumb and index, "I've never seen any peasant wear it. For that matter, I've never seen a nobleman wear anything like it either."

Though others had accosted her over the style of her clothing, Kagome had rarely been asked about its material. Of course, she had rarely had that many merchants and traders ask her about her clothes. Even more important, she had met very few Englishmen in this time period. Details, details…

"This material," he continued, "is of a superior quality. The colors are too drab for a peasant. It's for that reason, Kagome, that I think you're somebody very special. Somebody that could prove invaluable to me."

Kagome seemed leery of this. Was this it? Was he flirting with her? She blurted out a mild surprise at his words, "Are you trying to woo me?"

The air in the cabin became very still. The only sound that could be heard was the lapping of the water against the hull of the ship, the sound floating up to the open window. Without the least bit of prior notice, Marlowe began roaring. Roaring with laughter.

"Ha! Ha! My god Kagome! That's the damn funniest thing I've heard in the entire time I've been to these god-forsaken islands!"

Kagome somehow felt less remarkable upon hearing this jocular remark. Wasn't her appearance suitable to his standards? Miroku and Koga certainly never doubted her beauty. But, they were Japanese.

Marlowe's mirth subsided somewhat. Clearing his throat with a firm cough, he resumed speaking. "No," a smile flashed across his lips, "no. Kagome, I assure you, my crew may be depraved enough to mate with the women of this island, but that's they're business. Instead, I think you could serve a higher purpose than that."

Kagome dared to know what this "higher purpose" could be, "Which is?"

Again, Marlowe smiled. He then reached into his pocket, his left pocket. The same pocket which held the jewel shards.

"Oh."

Does know what the jewel shards can do? Kagome carefully examined the situation in her mind's eye. Maybe… maybe he just thinks the jewel shards are simple gemstones. But, what if he gets greedy? What if he wants more of them?

"What about those?" she ventured. "What do you want to know about them?"

"How did you come to possess them? After all no peasant carries gems around on their person, at least not without meeting a quick death at the hands of brigands and thieves. Yet…"

"Yet?"

"Yet, you're no princess, either."

"What?" Kagome was flabbergasted with the man's capricious nature. "You said I was!"

"I wasn't being serious," said he in a matter of fact tone. "You don't behave like a princess, or even like a proper Lady. I mean, really. What self-respecting member of the fairer sex would dare traipse around in such savage clothing."

Suddenly, the mini-skirt was held up. Marlowe held the fringe of it, as though it were some diseased rag. The way he talked though, he was waving it around like a bloody shirt: evidence of her lewd and improper behavior.

This character assassination did not go unnoticed however. Kagome's face, especially her fine cheeks, reddened with embarrassment and fury. She jumped to her feet.

"How dare you say such a thing!" Her voice was livid, "You-"

"I don't care!"

Kagome was stunned to silence by the fearsome roar that the captain unleashed. He, too, had jumped to his feet, his frame towering over hers, the table being the only thing interceding between them.

Sitting back down, a cooler look glossing over his eyes, Marlowe took up his spoon. He spoke thusly, "I do not know who you are. Nor do I care what you are. From my observations, I know one thing and one thing only. You are a very perplexing woman, savage in all mannerisms and language, even by the standards of Japanese women. Most important of all, though, you are a rarity, a unique creature. I can use that."

He stunk. He was heavy. Worst of all he snored.

Shippo was miserable, and steadily getting worse. The strain on him, from both supporting the weight of this human and maintaining his illusory form was too much. He was actually surprising himself with the stamina he had maintained to this point. He needed relief, though, and soon. Meanwhile, the situation within the prison was equally tense, although, for vastly differing reasons.

As it happened, Miroku and Inuyasha had come to the conclusion that they needed to be active. If just to fool the guard into thinking they had resolved themselves to their fate. Their preoccupation of choice was to play a game that Kagome had recently taught them: Tic-Tac-Toe. After all, without any proper game pieces, there wasn't anything else to improvise. At least here, they simply required the floor and two pieces of brick that had fallen from the wall.

Miroku chose "Os", while Inuyasha preferred "Xs". Sango? She chose to sit to the sidelines and choose a disgusted visage. So far two "battles" had resulted in a victory for Inuyasha, while two had decided in favor of Miroku. This next one would be the deciding match.

The game was mentally demanding on each player as an "O" would be placed on the "field" and an "X" would counter its move. "O… X… O… X…" the match ground on. Suddenly, Inuyasha spotted the fatal breach in Miroku's defenses. He was positive of victory. "O."

"What?"

He could believe it. Miroku had seen the breach as well. Worse, two more moves and the board would be full.

Inuyasha was ready to choke the smug monk who serenely declared, "I believe that's game, and we're at an even match."

"That's the problem," snarled the temporary human.

"Now, now. I think it's comforting to know that we're equally good players."

"Oh yeah?"

A cough. Both turned to face a peevish Sango.

"If you two boys are done playing, do you think we could focus on something more important? Like an escape?"

"Right, sorry," Miroku offered.

Sango sighed, "Well, while you two were goofing off, I came up with a plan."

Two pairs of eyebrows were raised by this news.

"Don't give me those surprised looks! I had plenty of time to think this through."

Huddling into a group with her fellow inmates, the demon-slayer began elucidating her scheme. In whispers, her plan for a modest escape was mapped out.