She was pulled up to her feet with a burly soldier on either side, one being far taller than the other. Their grip was tight on her arms as the blue-eyed soldier stood in front of her hovel, voice loud and crisp as he yelled at her.
"You are hereby arrested in the name of King James for the crime of theft. You will be remanded into the custody of the castle jailer until such time as you will be brought to trial. Let all who hear know that any and all crimes shall be punished with the full force of the law."
She expected nothing less considering the corruption exhibited by the city's soldiers on a daily basis. After all it was only her word against a merchant and it was easy enough for money to exchange hands amongst the shadows. And who would ever take the word of a beggar over a tax-paying citizen?
Blue-eyes signaled the soldiers who had hold of her to carry on. With his pronouncement delivered there was no need to linger. After all, there was no love lost between the populace and the soldiers as evidenced by the worn and irritated crowd who had gathered to listen. One man with a crooked nose dressed in butcher's leathers expressed his disgust by leaning over only to spit in the dust at Blue-eyes' feet, wiping his mouth on a tattered sleeve, challenging the man to make a fuss about the intended insult.
Emma meanwhile was being dragged up the road towards the castle, her feet protesting the whole way. Her captors had no care for her person though, their gauntlets pinching at her skin as they hauled her along like so much unwanted cargo. As they passed the local tavern a few of the regulars yelled out a string of drunken slurs in her direction. She even heard a man yelling obscenities behind her but when she turned, she saw Blue-eyes trying to disperse the crowd, gesturing wildly at a man with an ox cart who was blocking the road. He even gave a slap to the animal's rear but the creature merely stood and stared, chewing its cud. Emma smiled to herself. Guess he can't make everyone listen to him.
As people cleared a path in front of them, Emma held her head up. There might be a certain sort of shame in being arrested but she refused to give in to the feeling even with some in the crowd jeering at her. The great unwashed, bunched together, smelling of sweat and looking on with pity or smugness at one of their own brought low. Normally she wouldn't have cared but there were faces she recognized among those who were yelling. Fara who sold fresh meat pies every morning was shaking her fist though Emma supposed she could easily enough be yelling at the guards. And there was Carson who always spared her a wink and a story, looking through her as if she didn't exist.
It mattered more when someone picked up a rock and threw it, catching her in the temple. Emma cried out as the assailant slipped back into the crowd. It was a glancing blow but it bled nonetheless, dripping down the side of her face, a growing stain of red bloomed on her shirt. One of her guards loosened his grip, looking into the crowd, his narrowed eyes searching their faces. Emma took it as an opportunity, bringing her heel down hard on the other soldier's knee. His leg buckled, cursing obscenities as he brought her down with him. They tumbled to the ground but all it earned her was a gauntleted smack to the back of the head. For a moment she felt nauseous, her vision blurring as she was yanked up again. The soldier she'd kicked leaned into her ear.
"I'll make sure you regret that!" His hot breath trailed down her neck as he withdrew.
She couldn't help but shudder at his implication, trying to calm herself. She knew well enough what soldiers got up to when no one was looking. Worse though, she knew what happened to people who were arrested, having heard stories from when she was a child. There were either locked away in the deepest dungeons to rot until everything including their name disappeared or they were publicly executed and their head were set on pikes with their bodies left for the crows to pick at. Neither option appealed to her as a possible future experience. At least with the streets you could leave and take to the forest or the road. But with the castle there was no escape; at least not alive.
The closer they got to the center of town, the more ominous the building became. An imposing hulk of masonry built of rough-cut heavy stone and guarded by men with stern faces and bright armour. With every step bringing her closer to possible death she refused to cooperate. Instead she dug her heels into the hard-packed earth at every opportunity, shouting curses at the soldiers. Her weak efforts, tempered by a head wound only earned her a punch to the ribs as she was dragged under the portcullis, gasping for breath.
They pulled her into a doorway and down a long set of stairs before she even have time to glance around at the inner workings of the building. The soldiers were silent as their armour clanked out a metallic rhythm with every step, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. But instead of focusing on the dark descent before her, Emma was thinking of her relatively short life, regretting not taking one last look at the sky, knowing it was unlikely she would ever see it again.
They passed several servants, plainly dressed, their heads bowed as they carried out their daily chores. None would look her way, clearly denoting her status as a pariah. In fact she almost slipped on the stairs, pleading with them to help her, trying to grasp at their clothing with her limited mobility. It was all for naught though as they navigated around her, avoiding her reach.
When they finally arrived at what appeared to be their destination she found herself confronted by an old man bent almost double over a large table. While Blue-eyes spoke to him in hushed tones the man occasionally glanced her way before nodding and handing off a set of keys. He was handed her pouch of money and she was forced to provide her name as the man scratched out the information of her arrest with quill and ink in the largest book Emma had ever seen. With a jerk of his head they continued past him, until they arrived at a long corridor lined with heavy wooden doors and lit by torches. The soldiers dropped her, the brunt of the fall taken by her knees. The ground was cold, the air was stale.
From behind her, Blue-eyes spoke out, his voice echoing against the stones. "Remove your clothes."
Emma froze, her eyes widening as she pushed herself towards the nearest wall and turned. "What!"
Blue-eyes stepped forward and looked down his nose at her. "Take. off. your. clothes."
"Or we'll remove them for you." The soldier she'd kicked crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, leering at her, licking his teeth with his tongue. "Personally I'd prefer you refuse. Makes it more fun for me." He smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes.
Emma frowned, shrinking away from them, knowing she had no choice in the matter. Slowly she stood and turned away from them as she started to pull her shirt off. It was only a moment before she felt an armoured hand clamp down on her shoulder and slam her against the nearest stone wall. Before she could yell that she was doing exactly as they ordered Blue-eyes dug his fingers into her skin.
"Where we can see you." He let go, stepping back to give her room as she turned and glared, hating him.
The leering soldier clapped and whistled as she pulled the shirt over her head, keeping her eyes to the ground. She had no interest in seeing them watch her undress. Instead she held the thin garment in front of her, as if to hide, managing to palm the ring in the process. She shivered in the damp, bare but for her bindings. As she hesitated Blue-eyes grabbed her shirt and threw it to the floor.
"Hurry it up," the leering soldier yelled, gesturing at her pants, "we don't have time for a tease."
She slipped off her shoes and tried to keep from shaking as she untied the drawstring on her pants. She had an idea of what came next and only prayed that she'd be strong enough to bear it. Finally she was left in just her underthings. Blue-eyes barely glanced at her, instead picking up her clothes and shoes, inspecting them, frowning at the smell. Small victories. A small smirk ghosted over her face. Finding nothing of import he handed her clothes back. She dressed in haste, eager to put a layer of decency between their eyes and her skin.
He then walked to the nearest door and produced a set of keys from his belt. With a loud click and a heavy creak he pulled on the handle gesturing for her to walk inside. Emma peered into the darkness, with only a patch of floor illuminated. The smell of damp and human filth wafted from the room as Emma wrinkled her nose. Against the wall though, she could make out silhouettes, dark and unmoving. Before she could enter though, the leerer grabbed her wrist, yanking her hand up to his face.
"What's this then! Holdin' back on us?" He snarled and moved to pry her fingers apart as Emma was forced to stand on tiptoe as he wrenched the ring from her grip and held it aloft, inspecting the green stone as it caught the light.
"That's mine!" Emma tried pull free, reaching towards the ring with her other hand. "Give it back!" She punched at his torso but his gambeson turned every blow into a light tap. His grip never lessened as he handed the ring over to Blue-eyes who frowned at her before tucking the ring away.
"Your fate will be decided when you are brought before the king. Until such time all goods are confiscated, especially those believed to have been obtained illegally," he emphasized the last word. "Secure the prisoner."
"With pleasure sir." The leerer gave a mock bow before turning back to Emma. "Come along now pet. Time to make yerself at home."
He dragged her into the cell next to a heavy rusted manacle. It was connected to the wall by a length of chain that looked as if it had seen better days. Pushing her to the ground he grabbed hold of her leg, securing it between his knees. Emma was too scared to yell and instead only tried to shake him off, to break loose as he clasped the metal around her ankle and pushed the pin through the slot, effectively locking it. Her eyes grew wide as he drew a long dagger from his belt, the metal shining in the half light. Her breath ceased, her struggling stopped as painful images of what he was going to do swam through her head. Confused he looked to her face, seeing only fear and panic reflected back at him. He glanced down to his dagger and laughed flipping it over before using the butt to hammer the manacle pin home.
"If I was to do anythin' to ya. It'd be worse than a few cuts with a blade."
He reached down and slid his hand underneath her pants and up her calf, bringing the knife to lie alongside her knee as she shuddered at his touch. He slowly started to stroke his fingers against her flesh and despite the threat of the knife she kicking out with her heel. Fortunately for her she managed to make contact and he dropped the blade. Unfortunately for him she managed to make contact with his groin. He doubled over, growling in pain and wheezing as she scrambled for the knife, trying to locate it in almost total darkness. Her fingers scrambled on the hard-packed earth before her fingers brushed against the hilt. As she made to grab it, a heavy boot came down on her hand. She yelped in pain as he ground his foot down before kicking her in the stomach.
"Stupid bitch!" He moved to kick her again before a strong voice from the doorway stilled his boot.
"Benthic! That's enough!"
The man stood still for a moment before stooping to retrieve his knife. He grabbed a fistful of Emma's hair and painfully pulled her head up to face him. "Next time I'll be sure to remove your foot first." He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him, the lock clicking into place as the room was left in darkness once again.
Emma curled in on herself, unable to breathe, her arms cradled over her stomach, tears in her eyes. As she adjusted to the dark she noticed the thin line of torch light where the door met the ground.
Then there was a cough and the rattle of chains. Sitting up she scrambled back to the wall, trying to see who had made the noise. Her eyes failed her though, leaving everything to the imagination until a raspy voice spoke out of the darkness.
"So…what did you do to end up here?"
"I didn't do anything." Emma called out.
The voice snorted. "Sure you didn't."
ooooooo0000000000ooooooo
Killian stifled a wide yawn behind the back of his hand. He'd been up since Middle Watch and was only now starting to feel warm as the sun had finally decided to grace the world with its presence. Shivering against the offshore breeze that had wormed its way through the layers of his uniform, he stared up at the king's colours waving in the wind, wondering how long ago he'd last slept. He'd supervised the shift changeovers between the Starboard and Port divisions for the past few watches and had caught a few minutes in the Wardroom after dinner. But collapsing onto his bed for something restorative? It felt like an age.
He leaned back against the foremast as he stretched, watching the tide roll in inch by inch. He would have preferred to run gun drills with targets but it was generally frowned upon to practice with live ammunition during diplomatic talks, no matter how much he was quietly going mad inside. Every day for the past two weeks had been the same. Drills with the crews, exercises with the marines, training with the midshipman and covering every bloody watch known to man. In fact he was convinced he'd developed a permanent headache from the amount of pacing he'd subjected himself to. Not that Liam would notice. The man was either locked in his cabin or escorting the Ambassador over every hill and dale the kingdom had to offer. It was a miracle he still slept on the ship considering how much time he spent on shore.
The only real relief came at night. The sounds of the day were gone, replaced with the rush of waves and the constant creak of the ship. Only the distant lights in town and the lanterns aboard ship obscured the night. Soft moonlight fell on the dark water of the bay with the stars set against a blanket of ink. He remembered first looking up at them as a boy, tugging on Liam's sleeve as his brother showed him the constellations and told him the stories behind each one.
The night was when he truly felt he could breathe despite being leashed to the Jewel like a dog. But circumstances being what they were, it wouldn't last. It couldn't. Liam was a hard man as a captain but he was fair. When he felt Killian had served his time he would release him from the interminable hell of unending watches.
He looked past the docks to see the town slowly wake up as local farmers carted their goods off to market, from pigs to cabbages to wool. One could find almost anything they were looking for at market.
The beat of heavy boots had him looking over to see Lieutenant Hern coming to relieve him. Finally! Killian nodded as he passed the tall man and descended below for some much needed sustenance. As he entered the Wardroom he noticed Lieutenant Graff finishing the last of his breakfast. Things were still awkward between them with the younger man avoiding him whenever possible. Of course with meals there wasn't much choice to avoid mingling. But even then he seemed to eat early or not at all.
Killian settled down to fill a plate, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He stifled another yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he quickly and methodically consumed his portion of pork and biscuits. He was still stuffing his face when Crawley opened the door and directed his gaze towards Killian.
"When you have finished Lieutenant the Captain would like to speak with you."
Killian quickly downed the rest of his meal before presenting himself before the captain's cabin. He knocked, heard his brother's weary voice and entered. Liam was looking more ragged than usual. According to the snippets he'd extracted from Crawley the trade negotiations weren't going as well as expected. King James' advisor Lord Gold kept revising the agreement so that it favoured their side of the treaty. He was always eloquent and persuasive but never made outright demands which is what made it so difficult to counter his arguments and it was apparently driving their Ambassador up the wall who in turn was taking it out on Liam. While his brother had no experience involved in such parleys he was a willing ear if not a glutton for serving as the Ambassador's verbal whipping boy.
Liam looked up, pulling his mouth into a tired smile. "You look terrible."
"I would look to a mirror before making such accusations," Killian grinned before stifling another yawn. "Crawley said you wished to see me."
"Yes. I need you to accompany me this morning up to the castle." He smirked at Killian's stunned reaction. "I need an extra set of eyes on some documents that are going to be used as part of the negotiations. That is unless your duties have put too much of a strain on your eyesight. I could easily ask Lieutenant-"
"No!" Killian yelled and then quickly bit his tongue and stared at the ground. "That is to say, I would happily volunteer to go with you."
"Very well then, we will be departing in ten minutes," he gave his brother the once over and raised an eyebrow. "I trust though that you will change into something more appropriate for meeting the ambassador and the king."
The king? Killian gulped, nodded and took his leave, quickly hurrying to his cabin to try and find something suitable. Fortunately Crawley, who always knew everyone's business aboard ship, had already laid out a fresh pressed shirt and stockings. The man might have been Liam's steward but he had a soft spot for Killian who he'd once said reminded him of his son.
With the wardrobe taken care of Killian set his second best hat on his head. It was slightly crumpled from overuse but at the moment it was the only one he had. And an old hat was better than none at all. He did receive an admonishing look from Liam however when they strode off the docks together.
"Just be sure to tuck it under your arm once we're inside. Perhaps no one will notice."
Killian could hardly contain himself. Finally! He was back on dry land. It felt good to feel solid earth under his feet instead of the constant creak of wooden boards. And they were heading to the castle! To meet the king! Perhaps all was forgiven and Liam was no longer angry or at least considering ending his punishment. As they walked side by side up towards the castle Killian found himself straining his neck to look every which way at the sights around him. He might never get another chance so he was going to soak it all in while he could.
When they arrived at the gates Liam produced his letter of introduction from the ambassador. One of the guards read the document while the other was apparently doing his best not to laugh at Killian's hat. He kept smirking and glancing over at the battered felt mess. Killian pointedly ignored him, instead staring past the guards at the activity going on inside the courtyard. Carts and horses and people crossed paths kicking up a good deal of dust with more than one man yelling directions. Food and fuel in equal quantity were being unloaded by trains of large men dressed in plain clothes and pairs of guards dotted the area, their armour catching the light every so often like the scales of a fish in water.
"Everything appears to be order here sir," the guard handed back the letter. "I believe you'll find your ambassador waiting on the king in the throne room. His majesty usually judges trials at this time of day. Just present the letter to the guards at the doors. They'll be sure to direct you."
Killian was so busy staring at the parapets and high towers that Liam had to grab him and shove him past the portcullis. As soon as they were indoors the hat came off, quickly tucked under the arm, an embarrassment that would hopefully stay hidden until they had to leave. As the pair continued further into the stone monstrosity that was the castle, Liam had to produce his letter several more times before finally ending at the throne room. The heavy wooden doors were closed, flanked by two of the largest men Killian had ever seen. They towered over the two of them, dour faces, expecting an explanation for their presence. They were quickly admitted but told to stand off to the side in silence.
As they slipped into the room Killian noticed this was not an average day at court. Instead of the room being filled with petitioners it was instead almost empty exposing the intricate mosaic pattern that covered the floor. In fact the throne room appeared to have more guards than anyone else with a small contingent of people gathered at the other end of the hall. As they approached Killian felt a certain apprehension. He'd never been introduced to a king before. Yes he'd been to court back at home but it had been a mere formality. He'd seen the king but had never met the man. Instead he'd passed the time speaking with a steward from the Admiralty. He hoped to one day captain his own ship and since commissions were scarcer than dragon's teeth he wanted to make sure he was recognized if the opportunity ever came up.
Following Liam's lead the two bowed deeply to King James before moving off to the side to stand next to Ambassador Keprin. The two gave a slight bow of recognition to the man who beckoned them over, holding his signature fan over his face.
"We'll head into talks as soon as his majesty has finished here."
Liam glanced over at the crowd. "And what exactly is this?"
While his brother immediately fell in to whispering with the ambassador Killian was looking at the king. The man was dressed in bright reds, an imposing figure who looked surprisingly young, possibly only a few years older than Liam. He wore a stern look on his face, leaning forward on the throne. Beside him a man with a bored expression was dressed in equal finery, his chair sitting only one step belong the king's.
Killian looked to the crowd. An old man was reading from a large book while a smattering of people including guards stood behind him. The disparity between the two groups was surprising though. The guards were polished, clean and confident. The others…looked like they'd been thrown in a cess pit and then perhaps run over. Possibly by a herd of pigs. He frowned in surprise at the shackles on their wrists. The guard at the gate had mentioned 'trials'. Were these people prisoners?
Sparing a glance at Liam who was thoroughly distracted by now, Killian slipped behind him and moved towards the king to listen in on the proceedings. He received a wary look from the guard he sidled up next to but upon dipping his head in respect the man seemed to visibly relax, his hand moving away from his sword. Why he would assume Killian had designs on attacking the king wasn't clear.
Currently a bedraggled prisoner and a well-dressed man were standing before the throne while the old man droned on, his monotonous tone enough to put anyone to sleep if they listened long enough.
"…being found upon her person. After the arrest was made a ring was also discovered-"
"That's mine!" The well-dressed man shouted out, perhaps a little too loudly and a little too quickly. He had a jagged-looked scar running through his lips, that perhaps gave him an unfairly sinister look.
The prisoner looked over at the man with the scar, her face full of anger as she made a move to step towards him before being restrained by a set of guards. "That's not true!" She looked to the king. "He's lying. The ring is mine!"
The voice was that of a woman but if Killian had been asked to identify her merely by appearance he would have failed miserably. Apart from long greasy hair, he could see nothing that would inform him of her sex. She was dressed in rags covered in dirt that did nothing to expose the figure beneath and she was hiding half her face which appeared to have what looked like a large bruise on her forehead.
The old man with the book glared at the interruption and broke from his monotony. "Your majesty there is no record of a ring being stolen." He rounded on the man with the scar to see how he was going to explain why he lied to the king.
The man shrugged. "I forgot! It was my wife's you see, a present for her." He looked up at the king for a moment and smiled before averting his eyes when he remembered the kind of relationship the king had with the queen.
King James stared down at the man who was responsible for the outburst. "Who are you?"
"James Bocan your highness sir. My ma named me after you." The man gave a bow with a flourish not unlike that reserved for the stage. Far too fanciful and mocking to be taken seriously.
If he was pleased or not by the news, it never showed in the king's face. He was as impassive as before. "Mr. Bocan in these proceedings you do not speak unless asked. Is that clear?"
"Yes. Your highness." He looked slightly deflated by the reaction, his shoulders slumping forward, his head bent in submission.
The king looked down at the prisoner for a moment. "I trust I don't need to repeat myself?" She didn't respond. Instead she met his gaze without blinking, her anger still evident in her clenched fists.
"And who made the arrest?"
"I did your majesty." A man stepped forward from the other side of the hall, his uniform far more elaborate than the other guards in court, his helmet carried under one arm.
"Very well Captain Arden; was there a ring reported stolen at the time of the arrest?"
"No your majesty." Captain Arden turned to Bocan, his eyes narrowed. "He only mentioned a money pouch."
Bocan seemed desperate to defend himself, his face going red as he bit his tongue. But with the king's reprimand he could do nothing but remain silent and now it seemed he would burst.
"And you," the king turned his attention to the thief. "If such a ring belonged to you, what need did you have to steal? Could you not have sold it for what you needed?"
Again she stared at him, frowning. "I didn't steal from him," she jabbed her chin in Bocan's direction. "And I would never sell my ring. It was my mothers," her eyes flicked to the floor.
The king grimaced and turned to Captain Arden. "Perhaps you had better start from the beginning."
As the Captain recounted the events Killian watched the antagonism between Bocan and the thief. He sneered while she glared, with a guard in between for the sake of safety. He confessed surprise as seeing a woman reduced to thievery. Surely there were pursuits to be had other than stealing? Truthfully though his experience with the fairer sex was somewhat limited. A life at sea gave little time for a man to even look upon a woman let alone converse with one. But the more he stared at the thief the more confused he became. Apart from murder and treason, thievery was considered one of the lowlier evils. But her plight held a certain sort of sympathy for him. He only had to glance at Liam to know the man was feeling much the same. Before the Navy they had been forced to resort to the same sorts of crimes, living on the streets, getting away with what they could to survive.
The king had switched to hearing Bocan's version of events though his posture showed a clear lack of interest.
"She attacked me!"
The king looked him over and raised a brow. "Did she?"
"She nearly broke my nose."
The king pursed his lips, his eyes straying to the scar. "You appear to be uninjured. Exactly how is it that this girl managed to attack you?"
"She came up behind me your highness. And that's when she took my money and my ring."
The king leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled. "What exactly is so special about this ring?"
The king held out his hand as the piece in question was placed into his palm. For a quiet moment he simply stared at it. Then he frowned and picked it up, holding it aloft to look at the jewel. His face paled and his brow furrowed as he turned to the thief.
"Where did you get this?" His entire demeanor had shifted into something more ominous. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw clenched. Even his posture had stiffened.
"It was my mother's. She left it to me."
"Left…?" His eyes drifted to the floor as his hand dropped. His head snapped up with recognition. "Who is your mother!"
The thief looked up in shock at the demand. "I don't know. I never met her. But it's the only thing of hers that I own."
The king sat back and bowed his head, clenching the ring in his fist. To himself he muttered, "She would never…"
The court seemed to pause as he sat in silence. Bocan looked the most uncomfortable as he glanced at the ring every few seconds.
When the king finally raised his head his eyes were cold, his mouth set. "Do you admit that neither of you have proof for ownership of this ring?"
Bocan stammered out the same line about his wife while the thief protested the fact that apparently her word wasn't good enough for him.
"Stealing isn't something I take lightly." He turned to the thief, "for the crime of theft you are hereby sentenced to death by execution.
She dropped to the floor in shock, her shackles clanking on the floor. For his part Killian dropped his hat, the hardened brim making a muffled clop sound. For such a small offense they would take her life? Her head snapped up at the sound and met his gaze. Her eyes widened as she scrambled off the floor towards him. A guard blocked her path but she simply dodged around him as she stopped in front of Killian who had drawn his sword but stood still without using it as her hands gripped tightly to his collar. It all happened before he could even take a breath and he was quite sure he couldn't strike a woman down in cold blood.
"It's you!" There was a wild look in her eyes that spoke of desperation.
All around her guards had their swords out, aiming to protect his majesty. For his part King James had stood, his own hand resting on his sword pommel.
"I beg your pardon?" Frowning he looked down at her bedraggled appearance. Bright green eyes stared back at him, full of panic and tears.
"Don't you remember? We met when you saved me from those men."
"We're acquainted?" He had no memory of meeting her before. He hadn't even noticed she was a woman at first. He tried to pry her off with one hand but she had a surprisingly strong grip.
"Please!" She begged, pulling at his collar. "Tell me you remember. You told me about your ship, Jewel of the Realm. You walked me home. You know I didn't steal that money!"
He shook his head. He glanced over at Liam who was looking nervously at the woman hanging off of his younger brother while the Ambassador had the most appalled expression on his face.
"Tell them. I know you remember! I know you do!" She shrieked as she was grabbed from behind by a pair of guards as they held her arms to her sides.
Killian didn't know what to do. He didn't even know who this woman was. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, the distress on his face evident.
She kicked and screamed as she was dragged from the throne room, her voice echoing about the almost empty chamber. The guards sheathed their swords and the king sat down to move on to the next criminal as if nothing had happened. Killian though kept staring at the doors she'd been pulled through and felt heartsick.