Secrets

By Lindsay R. Honosky

Chapter Two: Who's the Prisoner?

His head was hurting, but not in the way that a good ale or six would cause. It hurt to open his eyes, and his hands and feet felt numb, so either he was having a migrane or he was tied up. Upon finding that he could no longer move his arms separately, he deduced it was the latter. Reaver opened his eyes, thankful that whoever put him here had the decency to leave only the fireplace as light. Then the thought crossed his mind that they fireplace looked familiar, along with the soft mattress beneath him, and he remembered where he was. He laughed slightly to himself, Well, this little exploit could have gone better. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, he noticed a few changes, if very subtle, of his old room. The mattress and bedframe were the same, but instead of his standard red and gold it was now a soft blue color, accented with blue lace around the trim. A water basin rested in the corner next to a vanity, a large mirror hanging gracefully above it with purple lilacs framing its polished surface. A plush looking blue carpet now rested between the bed and fireplace, and plain looking wooden cabinets rested against both walls. Reaver sneared in disapproval; those cabinets were horrible. He'd be sure to burn them once Sparrow was dead and he reclaimed what was his.

However, in his current state he knew not how long that would be. Even after three hundred years of life patients did not come easily. It still baffled him that that woman had bested him in combat; from what he'd seen of her she was nowhere near his stature as a fighter. She was probably better than most, but no one was better than Reaver. This only made his pride hurt more; not only had she taken his home but she had somehow managed to knock him unconscious and tie him up in said home! The ludicracy of it made his blood boil. No matter, she'll pay soon enough. A shame though, to kill such a beautiful girl. And she was beautiful, he had known that from the first day she stepped into his study. Of course, he had no idea of what trouble she would cause him; had he known he would have put a bullet right between those pretty blue eyes of hers. However, their meeting had also given him the chance to travel to that wonderful Samarkand, to sample all of their exotic pleasures. He almost regretted his smuggling companions finding him to report of his house being sold. Perhaps he should have looked further into the actual purchaser, however his dignity had been called into question, and he had boarded his ship post haste.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the wooden hallway, and he wondered if it would be better to feign sleep a moment longer. Then he saw the body stop at the doorway, and his chance escaped. He smiled as arrogantly as his current position would allow, "Good morning, my dear. Coming to check in on your prisoner, yes?"

He could faintly make out Sparrow's form as she crossed her arms, "You won't be my prisoner for long, Reaver."

"Oh? Then you do plan to kill me, well I say shooting a man while bound is a bit unsportsmanlike," he grinned like a wolf, "even for a woman."

"You should be thankful I'm a woman, least you probably wouldn't be alive to make such remarks."

"True," he sighed warmly, "I do have that affect on your gender. Tell me now, do you intend to kill me? Or is my fate to be something more of a darker nature?"

She stepped into the room, her face visible now by the soft firelight and the waking sun, "You mean like those poor souls you sent to the Shadow Court?" For a brief moment she saw a spark of fear in the pirate's eyes, but he quickly caught himself and resumed his trademark smirk. Sparrow returned the look, cocking an eyebrow, "Oh, did I hit a nerve?"

"Are you still sore about that affair, my dear?" He tried to wave a hand her way but remembered his wrists were bound, "We're comrades now, after all! Why, I've put the past behind me and moved on quite beautifully."

"Oh yes, I'd say you've put your past well behind you. I'd even go so far as to say you'd sunk and drowned it."

The room was silent for what seemed an eternity. Then Reaver laughed mirthlessly and said, "So, you found my diary pages, did you?"

"Of course I found them," Sparrow answered, a slight hint of amusement in her voice, "you told me they were here in that lovely letter of yours, remember?" She walked closer, standing at the side of the bed, "Of course, that paper you used probably wouldn't have worked for a normal person, so anyone else who bought this house would have found nothing but blank pages, am I correct?"

"Still the tricky little Sparrow I remember," he looked into her eyes, a malicious smirk playing across his lips, "so tell me, how did you get out of the Shadow Court still looking as spry as a baby chick?" His answer was a slap to the face. His cheek stung, but not as much as his pride. Fighting back the urge to yell, Reaver instead taunted, "So, the infalible Hero has her own demons after all." He looked her up and down, admiring the curves and slender body, "It's nice to know you can at least act human."

"Reaver, you've forgotten what being human means."

"No, I believe when you forsook all those poor souls who died in the Spire for a mere dog, you reminded me." He shot back right as her hand went sailing through the air, "I allow only one smack per day, dear, unless you want to direct your blow a little lower near my backside."

She glared at him with that same look that most women gave him after a wild night of feigned "love" and "adoration"; the hate was almost piercing. Of course, he had never slept with Sparrow, only tried to betray her two or three times, then recently tried to kill her. Perhaps she did have a good reason for such hateful looks. It baffled him that she didn't swoon over him like all the other women in the world. Then he had to remind himself that this was no ordinary woman, it was Sparrow. Thankfully she didn't look like her grotesque friend, Hammer. That woman had given him a headache just by looking at her, and then she'd start talking.

Sparrow smiled ruefully, tossing her hair, "Reaver, I'm afraid if I touched your ass my hand would rot off my wrist."

"How rude, I do wash, you know. Unlike some men I prefer to keep this wonderful temple clean."

"Yes, with plenty of booze to wash out the system and whores to keep it exercised."

"Which reminds me, I haven't had a good workout in months. Care to help me out, my dear?"

She turned, walking slowly to the door, "Sorry, I don't sleep with three-hundred-year-old monsters." The door slammed behind her, causing the windows the shake in their frames.

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She thanked whatever God there was that she had left when she did. Reaver was getting under her skin, and had she stayed any longer she probably would have shot him. Of course, that would mean her becoming a murderer, and that thought always seemed unpleasant to her. She descended the stairs into Reaver's old study, admiring the simple blues and greens she'd furnished it with, replacing the reds and golds. Red reminded her to much of blood, and she saw enough of that on the roads.

Sunlight poured gently into the study windows, bathing the room with a soft and calming light. To think that she had witnessed the death of two men in this very room, and she shuddered to think of all those who died before them. The thought crossed her mind once more to just kill Reaver and rid the world of his presence for good. He was a killer himself, so that should justify anything she chose to do with him! Then she remembered who she was, and tossed the thought to the wind like so many others.

Jack seemed content with guarding Reaver's door, so she decided to go down to the docks and inspect Reaver's ship. How he'd gotten it, she'd rather not know, but she would like to know if any of his men would get the funny idea to attack her house. The clouds above looked angry and dark, a storm blowing in from the west. In moments the sun would be devoured by them, and there would go any hope of Sparrow's good mood. The town was buzzing with life; crate carriers running up and down the hill to the various shops, children running around breathlessly as they chased chickens or each other. Some of the villagers had hit the tavern early, their drunken songs heard muffled along the main streets. A whore near the street post shouted a cat-call to her, but she simply ignored it and continued to the dock.

The boards creaked under her feet as she marched purposefully down the dock, heading for the ship. She could see a few men pacing the decks back and forth, then one saw her and shouted, "Ay, what's this? Did you actually kill Reavar?"

"Maybe I did, what's it to you?"

The man next to the other spoke up, "Nah, she didn't kill him. She ain't got the heart for it, do ya Sparrow?"

"I suppose you're supposed to stay at the docks until Reaver returns, right?"

"Aye, but seein' as he hasn't come back, we might as well go our own way."

"Go your own way," she put her hands on her hips, "aren't you his crew?"

"Nah, just your everyday mercenary. Reaver didn't have much time to assemble an actual crew. Although," the man stroked his beard thoughtfully, "the rewards of being in his service almost made me think about joinin' 'im."

Sparrow had to fight down bile, "So, once you lot leave, the boat will be empty?"

"Sure seems like it, why?" The man smiled, revealing a mouth void of most teeth, "You thinkin' of buyin' his ship out from under 'im too? You're a harsh lass."

"Trust me, I don't need Reaver's boat. It took me months just to wash his smell out of his house, I can't fathom how horrible it would be to rid a boat of it." As she turned to leave she heard the men laughing; hopefully they wouldn't decide that becoming pirates was a much more entertaining profession. She'd hate to have to kill anyone right in the middle of Bloodstone, what with the town finally appearing to calm down a bit. Violent crimes were way down, and rarely did anyone steal from one another anymore. There was always remnants of Reaver's smuggling operation, but they stayed mostly in the dark, not out in the open like she had first found it. She wondered if half the whores in Bloodstone were, in fact, slaves left over from the Spire; those who were caught but to late to sell before Lucien died. Sparrow had tried to help them, but they would either shy away in terror, tell her to stick it, or say she was a sweetie and deserved a "good time".

She hurried back to the house, thankful that most of the men (and some of the women) were to busy with their daily chores to notice her. Sparrow had tried dressing down, now that she didn't have to look so intimidating, but that didn't seem to stop the constant cat-calls, randy comments, or of all things marriage proposals. Those infuriated her the most; how could someone want to marry her based on knowing next to nothing about her? For all they knew she was some crazed, idiotic murderer that would kill them as soon as they fell asleep. She told herself it was because they thought she had money, but in reality she really didn't have that much. Someone must have started a rumor that she had found a mountain of wealth in the Spire, for that would be the only way she could have afforded Bloodstone Mansion. Sparrow laughed sadly as she remembered how real that rumor could have been.

As she reached the crest of the hill a small boy ran up to her, his friends waiting further behind him, watching. Dirt patched his face, making him look like a tiny rag doll, and his clothes were in tatters. However if this bothered him he showed no signs, as his eyes were alight with joy as he stared up at her. Nervously, the boy stammered, "U-um, L-L-Lady Sparrow? It would m-mean the w-w-w-world to me if I could get your a-a-autograph."

Sparrow smiled at him sweetly, "Well, let me see if I have any cards, okay?"

"R-really?"

"Hold on," she reached into her bag, fumbling around to find the tiny pieces of paper. At first it had annoyed her whenever someone had asked for her signature, but she had slowly grown to enjoy it as she watched the childrens' faces light up. She didn't know why it made her feel so happy; perhaps they reminded her of Rose and herself when they were younger. Maybe if they had had a hero to look up to, Rose would have wanted to be a traveller instead of living in a castle. Her heart skipped a beat as her fingers brushed against Rose's letter, tears threatening to fall as she remembered its contents.

"Lady Sparrow? A-are you a-a-a-alright?"

"Oh? Oh!" She laughed shyly, "I'm sorry, I don't seem to have any cards on me. Um..." She scanned the waterfront, hoping to find the General Store was open. The man was more than likely in the pub, for she saw no sign of him. She frowned, "Well, there goes that idea." She saw the child's face grow disappointed, "Wait, I know!" She motioned for the boy's friends to come closer. Once they were all gathered she asked, "Alright, I don't have any cards at the moment, but I've picked up some wonderful treasures in my journies. Just tell me what you like, and maybe I have it."

A big, round boy with fiery red hair shouted, "I'd like a toy gun, so I can be the Pirate King Reaver!"

Sparrow's eyebrow twitched slightly, "Of course you do," she sighed, "and you dear?"

It was a mousy looking girl with big brown eyes and a frightened, almost sickly look. She said quietly, "Um, you don't have to worry about me, ma'am..."

"B-B-Becky l-likes those p-p-porcelain dolls, b-b-b-but I d-don't have enough g-g-gold yet." This came from the boy who'd asked for you autograph.

"What's your name, sweetie?" She asked the boy, kneeling down to his eye-level.

The boy blushed wildly, "N-Noah, ma'am."

"And I bet your Becky's big brother, aren't you?"

"Y-yeah, I p-protect her!" He held up his arm as if to show her how muscular he was. It might have been cute, had the arm not looked so emaciated.

Sparrow ruffled his hair, smiling sweetly, "Don't worry about buying your sister that doll. I have plenty, believe it or not. Now, what do you want, Noah?"

He seemed to blush, not able to look into her eyes, "A toy s-s-sword, if you have one, i-i-if you don't, th-that's fine."

Sparrow stood, brushing off what little dirt had landed on her coat, "Alright, a toy gun, a porcelain doll, and a toy sword. You three wait here; it won't take me three minutes."

The children fidgeted nervously, not sure if she were in fact going to retrieve the toys, or if she were simply trying to get away from them. Sparrow dashed inside the house, going for the tiny cabinet in the hall between the entrance and the study. There she opened the tiny chest she had assigned for children gifts, since she found them so many times scattered around the place. First she found a pretty doll with a white face and brown eyes, in a way it almost looked like little Becky. The red curls were still tight, and her dress was spotless; she set it to the side and returned to her search. She came across a tiny wooden sword, the hilt wrapped in soft leather to keep the user from developing callouses. A smile came to her face as she remembered her own toy sword, how Rose said she looked just like a Hero...

She felt the tear drop before she realized she was crying. She wiped them away stubbornly, placing the sword with the doll and began her search for a toy gun. Of course the last thing would be at the bottom, its bullets scattered about all along the bottom. As she picked it up and remembered what the boy said, she thought better of loading the toy and decided not to pack the ammunition; she wasn't going to be responsible for an instant eye of of the socket accident. Satisfied with her finds, she closed the lid and gathered up the toys, rushing at a brisk walk to where she'd told the children to wait.

Disappointment was replaced with disbelief and soon delight as the children saw her come into view. The bigger boy pushed past the other two, his arms outstretched as if to say, "Give it to me now!" His grubby fingers opened and closed like an infant's, and she assumed that his mother must still treat him like one. She frowned, "Now now, that wasn't very nice. I think you should apologize to those to for pushing them before I give you this."

He looked confused, as if the word "apology" had never made it into his tiny vocabulary. However the threat of not receiving a toy made him a quick learner. He turned quickly, shouting, "I'm sorry if I hurt you Becky! You too Noah!" Then he turned his attention back to Sparrow, "Can I have my present now, ma'am?"

She rolled her eyes, "I guess that'll have to do."

As soon as she had it in her hand the boy snatched it away, turned, and tried to shoot little Noah. He cried in disappointment, "It's not loaded? Why not?"

Sparrow took the toy back, "For that exact reason. I'm not going to give you something just so you can tease your friends. Now," she walked past the sulking boy, leaning down to the other children, "I believe these are for you."

Noah just stared at her in utter awe, but Becky was close to tears as the tiny doll entered her arms. She hugged it so tightly that Sparrow was sure had it been a real person it would've been crushed to death. Tears started to fall down her face, washing away some of the dirt to reveal too pale of skin, "T-thank you. Thank you so much...!"

She smiled sweetly, then handed the toy sword to Noah. He grasped it gingerly, holding it out from his body as if it were magical. Sparrow ruffled his hair, "You use that to protect your sister, you hear me? If I find out that you've used it to hit a chicken or something-"

"D-d-d-don't worry, h-hero! I-I won't l-l-let you d-down!" The two then looked at each other, smiled happily, and ran down the hill.

The bigger boy sulked past her, but turned and said, "My momma will hear about this! You-!" He stifled a hick up, "You'll be sorry!"

Sparrow blew a stray strand of hair from her face. It was true, she probably would hear from mummy dearest sooner or later, and then she'd tell the woman what a horrid brat she was raising and shut the door in her face. The sun was now thoroughly hidden behind the clouds, and the faint rumbles of thunder drifted across the oceans. She could feel a small pressure behind her eyes, and groaned as the feeling of a migraine was setting in. Oh well, maybe she would just sleep it off this time, instead of working herself sick like she normally did. She laughed to herself as she remembered that probably wasn't a good idea, what with an infamous Pirate Lord being tied up in her house.

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Reaver heard the door open once more, only this time it was shut immediately afterwards. It had annoyed him that she would leave the door open so carelessly, what with him tied up and unable to defend himself. What if a bandit or thief had come in? Or worse, one of his ex-lovers? He smiled playfully at the humours scene that would indeed make, and all the horrible assumptions the people would make of their beloved little Sparrow. However, upon further reflection, Reaver decided being mistaken as some mad woman's sex slave as a bit beneath him.

He could hear the dog whining outside his door, followed by heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. Sparrow's words were to muffled to make out, but he assumed it was something along the lines of "And how's our prisoner, boy? Did he give you any trouble?" Reaver swore he'd kill that damn dog in front of her before killing Sparrow herself.

For a moment he thought she was going to come inside, but the footsteps continued on down the hall, then disappeared all together. "The nerve of that woman!" He huffed, an indignant frown replacing his usual relaxed grin. Then he heard the simple piter-pater of raindrops on the roof, followed shortly by a loud clap of thunder. The room grew darker, and the wind caused the shutters outside to slam against the walls. That's just what I needed now, he fumed, a bloody storm that's likely going to be strong enough to destroy my ship. And I'd just stolen it too... Reaver manuevered himself into a sitting position, testing to see if he'd regained his strength again. Only one way to find out, he smirked, stretching his arms around his back and looping his feet through the space between, causing his binds to be at his front. This was a good start, now to untie his legs.

It took him awhile with his numb fingers, but the ropes finally fell from his ankles, his feet feeling the sudden rush of warm blood like a fire. He ignored the pain, just adding it to the long list of reasons to kill Sparrow. As soon as he trusted his legs he hopped up from the bed, trying to find something sharp enough to cut his hands loose. He noted the lack of fine weaponry he'd hung on the walls for display, among other uses, and sighed irritably; that knife he'd picked up on Knothole Island would have been extremely handy in this situation.

Thunder boomed outside, so loud it shook the house. Hopefully the sounds of a shattering vase would be disguised behind the rumble outside. Reaver lifted a decorative clay vase well above his head, determined to shatter it in one go, and dropped it as hard as he could. The crash was annoyingly loud, and for a moment he thought that damn mongrel would hear it. However, after several minutes there was only a few barks, the telltale sounds of footsteps nowhere to be heard. Reaver gave a sigh of relief, picked up a shard, and began to cut away at the ropes. He amazed himself at how quickly he freed himself, though he wasn't to surprised. After all, he was Reaver.

He rubbed his wrists, imagining it was Sparrows neck he was wringing, "Now, lets go and pay back this little fiasco." Reaver kept the shard in his palm, loathing the future hunting he would have to do for his weapons. They better be in a nice place, he thought angrily. He walked towards the door, opening it quietly. The dog was no longer keeping watch, however he could hear it barking and whining upstairs. Interesting, the dog must be afraid of the thunder. Maybe that would help, if the beast were to frightened to fight he could easily get deal with Sparrow, and maybe he would kill her furry companion before he dealt with her.

The house was a little to quiet for his taste, and the lack of maids and servants disturbed him. It annoyed him when people of note refused to use their talents to enrich their lives with hordes of followers, but then again it made killing the woman that much easier, so perhaps he shouldn't complain to much. Besides, he'd be sure to refill the house with plenty of servants, once he'd dealt with this little problem. He reached the second room next to his, finding to door was open. No one was inside, but the strange statue of a knight cast haunting shadows through the doorway, like a fiend reaching out to ensnare him. His heart skipped a beat for a moment, then he reminded himself that those particular shadows were miles away from him, and his last little sacrifice had bought him a few more years. Recovering his nerve, he continued on down the hallway, listening for any signs of movement.

He came to the last room, and found that it too was open, however it looked as though someone had been inside recently. In fact, that same bloody Highwayman's coat was resting on the bed, its owner nowhere in site. That only left one place; he turned quickly to take the stairs to the third floor, making sure that the glass in his hand was secured enough for a quick attack if necessary.

The rain covered the squealing protests of the stairs as he slowly ascended into the attic. Or what was the attic, but now seemed to have been turned into a rather nice reading area with what looked like another room attached near the end. He could faintly make out the sound of water running behind the door, a small amount of light flickering below its frame as the dog scratched and wined pathetically behind it. For a moment Reaver wondered what on earth he was so frightened of, but then decided he didn't really care since both he and his mistress would be dead anyway. He took three deep breaths, readied his foot, then slammed it into the door with as much force as he could muster.

The door flew off its hinges, revealing a white and blue room with wooden walls and tile flooring. In the walls were little cubbies carved for candles to sit and burn while the owner relaxed in the huge silver tub at the center. However, even though the water was running there was no body in it. Instead, he found her lying just oustide the tub, her hand outstretched as if reaching for something. The dog looked up at him for a moment, warily at first, then he began to whine and nudge at his mistress's hand.

Curious, Reaver walked over to see if she had somehow slipped and hit her head, however as he flipped her over he found no marks or bruises. Her eyes darted behind closed eyelids, her lips curled in a painful grimace. She's having a nightmare, poor dear...Those thoughts disturbed him; he actually felt concerned for the woman. Well, perhaps it was a slight feeling of sympathetic pain, seeing as he too suffered from nightmares. He watched as Sparrow spoke in her sleep, "Rose...! No, please...not Rose! I'm the...the one you want..."

The dog whined beside him, looking at him as if to say, "Please help!"

Reaver rolled his eyes, a distasteful sneer on his face, "I came here to kill you to; helping would be counter productive."

He jumped slightly as a cool hand pressed up against his swollen wrist, soothing where the ropes had burned him. He looked down, watching as Sparrow's face seemed forever stuck in a portrait of sorrow. She really was beautiful, her face almost angelic in sleep, despite the nightmare that plagued her. Her soft brown hair had fallen into her face, the Will lines coursing through her body barely visible but somehow hauntingly alluring. Then he realised the woman had no clothes on.

For the first time in what seemed hundreds of years a blush crept into his cheeks. The last woman to make him do that was...was her. Inexplainable emotions surged through him, and when he finally remembered the glass in his hand he couldn't bring himself to slice her throat. It would be absolutely nothing to kill her now, but he could not bring himself to do it. With an exasperated sigh he lifted Sparrow in his arms, finding her surprisingly light, and carried her out of the room. The dog followed behind, wagging its tail happily, "Don't get to used to this, mongrel," he growled, "I'm only delaying the inevitable."