Kailor: Welcome back, my loves! Hope you enjoy!
She wakes to yelling voices and raucous laughter above her.
The room she'd been shown to last night is small, but comfortable. There's an empty bookshelf in the corner and the bedframe is fastened to the wall so it won't slide if the boat suddenly pitches. The mattress itself isn't as soft as the one at home, but it's clean and she finds extra blankets under the bed to sleep on. There's a small desk in the corner and, during her quick perusal of the room, she finds fresh parchment, quills, and ink in the drawer.
But now, with enough noise that she knows it must be daylight, she doesn't think of extra blankets or fresh parchment. She thinks of home and all the things she'd had to leave behind. Her painting supplies. Her books of poetry and history. All the little trinkets she'd bought with her tiny allowance from the market. Her mother's paintings.
The only things of value that she'd brought are her mother's necklace and the bent coin from the little girl that used to live next door when Chloe was a child, before the influenza took her. Both objects are tucked deep down in her bag and wrapped tightly in a spare bit of fabric. But that's it. All of home that's left.
She hasn't seen Aunt Catherine since she was barely old enough to walk. What few letters they've exchanged over the years have been brief and vague. All Chloe knows for sure is that Aunt Catherine left to go where she wanted to go and be happy. And that's what Chloe wants. She can only hope that Aunt Catherine can help.
If she survives the trip, she thinks, as the sounds above her grow louder and become shouts. Something crashes and someone laughs maniacally.
She jumps at a sudden rapid tapping on the door and stands as quickly as her corset will let her. It feels somehow tighter today than it had yesterday. She'd tried very hard to get it off the night before, but couldn't break the knot. And asking for help had terrified her. "Yes?"
The door swings open and the woman in the purple vest sticks her head inside. Stacie, she'd called herself last night as she had closed Chloe in this room. "Good morning! Captain sent me to wake you."
"Oh." Chloe glances down at the dress she'd slept in.
"We'll get you something to wear. Come along." Stacie jerks her head and slips back out into the hallway.
It's brighter, sunlight pouring down a staircase they pass and more lanterns are lit. They pass a few different women on the way, including a thin blonde who gives Chloe a dazzlingly bright smile and a quick wave. She's gone so quickly that Chloe barely has time to think how un-pirate-like she looks. None of the women she's seen so far look like they should be pirates, really. Well. Except the Crow.
Obviously, the rumors had been wrong about her being a seven foot tall man, but otherwise, she had looked like every story whispered in the taverns, every cautionary tale told at the hearth before bed. Dark and deadly.
And possibly expecting Chloe to pay for this trip with her body, she suddenly remembers.
It's no secret that pirates tend to be more...free with their sexualities. She's heard the stories of pirate men taking members of their crew as lovers. Is the Crow like them?
Stacie stops in an open doorway and spins on her heel, braid flying. "Right. Ashley can get you fixed up."
Ashley, a dark-haired woman nearly as tall as Stacie, is busily hanging clothes from lines strung across the room. There's a heavy basin in the corner, sudsy water slopping around inside and a washboard balanced against the wall beside it. She smiles, motioning for Chloe to step into the room. "Captain said you'd be coming by. Go on and strip down so we can find you something that fits."
Stacie closes the door behind Chloe, leaving her alone with Ashley and the clotheslines.
Her corset, which is already sitting a little crooked after sleeping in it, suddenly feels even tighter. "Um. Is there a place to change?"
Ashley looks up from the two shirts she's studying and blinks. "Oh. Of course. Sorry. We ain't used to fancy ladies here." She laughs, motioning to the other end of the room. Heavy sheets are hanging from the last line. "You can go behind those. Just shout if you need anything. I'll see what I can find." She gives Chloe a quick glance-over, head to foot, then ushers her on.
Still feeling a little like the walls are pressing in on her, Chloe nods and hurries into the makeshift dressing room. It's dark behind the sheet—dark enough that Chloe feels a little better about slipping off her clothes. She manages fairly well until she gets to her corset. Her maid had done it up very well for the fancy dinner Chloe had attended just before she snuck out. She tries to pry the knot at the bottom open for a minute, hoping for more luck than she'd had last night. But it's no good. It's too tight. She sighs. "Ashley?"
"Mm?"
"I can't get the corset undone. Could you help?"
The sheet moves and Chloe snatches up one of her skirts, holding it to her chest. But Ashley barely bats an eyelash at the movement, turning Chloe to pull at the knot. In barely moments, the laces begin to loosen.
Chloe quickly presses her hand to the front to keep it from slipping off. "You're very fast at this."
Ashley hums lightly, plucking at the laces. "I was a lady's maid 'fore I joined the Belladonna. Did this every day from the time I was ten to about seventeen." She pats Chloe's back once. "All done. Here."
Turning, Chloe finds Ashley pulling a rolled bundle from under her arm. She takes it, holding it to her chest with her skirt. Ashley ducks back out and Chloe breathes easier—not just because her corset has loosened. She drops the skirt and hard-boned corset to the floor, taking a shaky breath. It's too dim to really see the bruises banding her wrists or the barely healing scratches on her thighs, but she doesn't need to see them to know where they are. She can feel them, even when they don't hurt.
She dresses quickly, pulling on the warm breeches and the billowy shirt Ashley had given her. It feels so strange. So light. So freeing. She probably looks ridiculous, though. Not like Ashley or Stacie, whose shirts fit them well and somehow still look feminine despite being men's clothes. Or like the Crow…
Chloe quickly finishes lacing up the front of the shirt, doing it all the way up. Even completely covered, she still feels a little naked without all her skirts. But everything fits fairly well. The breeches are a little large, but it's fine. She only needs to wear these clothes until she gets to Spain. Quickly, she lets her hair loose from its bun and cards her fingers through her bright red curls, hoping they don't look too wild after sleeping on them. They hang nearly to her hips now and braiding them takes a while, but she does it. She pulls a ribbon from her skirts to tie off the end.
She pushes aside the sheet and steps out.
Ashley whistles appreciatively. "Well, look at you! You look just like a pirate." She hands Chloe two vests to try on. "Which is a compliment here, just so you know."
"I had assumed." Chloe tries them both on. The first one is a little too large, slipping off her shoulders when she moves. The second is a bit snug, but it buttons to right under her breasts, pushing them up a bit like her corset usually would. It makes her feel a little more normal, so she hands the larger one back to Ashley.
They fit her with some very comfortable leather boots that come halfway up her calves and a rather nice belt with gold hoops. By the time they're finished, Chloe almost doesn't recognize herself. But she figures that's good. She doesn't want anyone else to recognize her either.
She goes to collect her discarded clothing, but Ashley waves her off. "Oh, leave it. I'll get them cleaned up and returned to you, yeah?"
"Thank you, Ashley."
With a sweeping bow and a grin, Ashley sends her from the room.
Stacie's waiting for her at the end of the hall, idly spinning a wicked-looking knife between her fingers. She stops when she sees Chloe. "By the depths!" She drops the blade into its sheath at her hip. "You might take over the seas just by looking at them." She waves a hand at her face, as if the cool interior of the ship has suddenly heated up.
Chloe can feel herself flushing and covers it up by turning to glance back down the hallway. "Where are we?"
"Below deck."
"I mean in the world."
Stacie grins and Chloe knows she knew exactly what Chloe meant. "A few hours off the coast of St. Augustine. We're at anchor right now." She turns and hops up the stairs two at a time.
Chloe follows quickly—her new, heavy boots thudding loudly on the steps. "St. Augustine? But that's further south. Should we not be traveling east?" The sunlight is so bright that she can't quite see for a few moments once she's cleared the stairs. She blinks rapidly, squinting and raising a hand to shield her eyes. There are women all over the deck, pulling ropes and carrying crates. Standing in huddles and yelling back and forth to each other. To her horror, she spots one woman halfway up the mast, hanging upside down by a rope around her ankles and looking like she might be sleeping. She'd heard that pirates sometimes did this to crew members to punish them. She wonders what this woman might have done.
"Captain said to head south first." Stacie takes her arm, not unkindly, and tugs her along toward the upper deck. "You're going to Spain, right?"
"Yes."
Stacie nods. "I assume we sail for supplies then."
The ship sways underfoot and Chloe stumbles a little. She's been on many ships in her life—part of being a wealthy merchant's daughter—but none this large and rarely this far out to sea. She turns in a slow circle and finds every horizon is just water. No land in sight. So far from home and her fiance, and she can still feel his fingers around her wrists. She clears her throat, falling into step with Stacie.
She leads the way up to the helm, nodding to the dark-skinned woman leaning against the wheel. Her hair is dyed a dark red and cropped shorter than Chloe's used to seeing women's hair.
"This is Cynthia Rose. Our Sailing Master."
Cynthia Rose eyes Chloe up and down, nodding appreciatively. "You the bird we takin' to Spain?" Her accent is tinted with the same one most of her father's workers speak with. Islander.
"Yes, I am."
She nods again. "Well, I'll thank you for it. We needed a good adventure on this ship."
A tall, lanky woman with a long, dark braid bounces by, grinning. "They're coming back up!" She stops, seeing Chloe. "Oh, hi! I'm Emily!"
"Come on." Stacie waves for Chloe to follow, falling into step beside Emily.
Cynthia Rose leaves one of the other women at the wheel and claps Chloe on the back hard enough to sting. "Coming?"
Chloe trails behind them and the other women all rushing for the bow of the ship. She hurries down the stairs with Cynthia Rose, who everyone moves out of the way for. Together, they end up right near the bow, standing at the front of the crowd of women. And it is all women, she realizes, glancing around.
Stacie strides forward, to where a very large blonde woman is tugging on a rope that's pulled taut over the edge, and nudges her. "Got it, Amy?"
Amy snorts, yanking on the rope again. "Please. You act like either of them weigh more than a barrel of air. Outta my way, Leggy." Her accent is strange, unlike any that Chloe's heard before.
Stacie backs up quickly and Amy digs her heels in, pulling. There's a great splashing and something knocks against the side of the boat. Chloe's stomach turns.
Keelhauling. It's one of the tortures she's heard whispered about. The act of tying ropes to a person and dragging them beneath the ship, slicing their bodies with the sharp barnacles that cling to the hulls. They say the lucky ones drown quickly. The unlucky ones come out the other side alive and get dragged under again.
A hand slaps onto the deck and Chloe jumps.
The crew cheers as a dripping woman hefts herself up to straddle the railing, a large wicker basket strapped to her back. She's half dressed, wearing only breeches and a chest wrap. Her skin is tanned, her eyes slanted. From the Orient. Dark tattoos wind their way up both of her forearms and her shaggily-cropped hair is dyed the most vibrant pink Chloe's ever seen, even soaking wet. She grins, taking a deep breath. Chloe's eyes flicker over the rippling muscles in her bare stomach and she feels her face heat. She's never seen anyone show this much skin. There's a long, white scar cut diagonally across the woman's midriff and Chloe frowns, eyeing it.
"Dinner, anyone?" The pink-haired pirate slips off the basket, passing it to one of the crew, who opens it to find it filled to the brim with silver, flopping fish.
The crew cheers again. The woman tugs at the rope tied around her hips and bends, reaching down. Another hand appears, wrapping tight around her tattooed forearm.
Chloe's stomach flutters as she pulls the Crow up.
She's fully dressed, though her black shirt clings to her body tightly. Her long, dark hair is tied back at the nape of her neck and her pale face shimmers with water droplets. She's undeniably gorgeous—the wet clothes accentuating toned muscle and gently curved hips. She's about the same height as the pink-haired one, but the Crow somehow looks smaller beside her.
And more dangerous, Chloe thinks. Even in the bright sun, something about her makes Chloe's blood tremble.
The crew cheers even louder than before, a few of them rushing forward to pull both women fully aboard.
"Ven," the Crow says, turning to the pink-haired woman. "Get it all down to galley and then meet me in my chambers. Stacie, you too."
Ven salutes and the Crow pushes through the crowd, passing right beside Chloe. She stops, tilting her head to catch Chloe's eye. In the light, her eyes are a deep, dark blue that reminds Chloe of the furthest reaches of the sea. The parts no man dares venture to. The parts filled with monsters and unimaginable dangers.
She's soaking wet and breathing a little heavily. A single drop tracks from the hollow of her throat and into the open collar of her shirt. Chloe quickly looks away from the drop and those bottomless eyes.
"Emily," the Crow says and the lanky girl leaps to attention. "Watch the princess here. Give her something to do."
Then she's gone, leaving nothing but a hollow feeling in Chloe's gut and the heavy tang of salt and lavender in the air.
Emily's hand is soft on her arm. "Chloe?" She smiles, the brightest of all the grins Chloe's seen so far. "Let me show you around a little."