The bed frame thumped against the cabin wall. The rocking causing it to lift it's right side into the air slightly; swatting down with a thud. Debris rained from the outside, pelting the walls with what sounded like hail. Damp with a light sweat, Katlyn twisted onto her side, jolted from her sleep, it took a moment for her to come to her senses in the hazy darkness. A panic jumped from her heart as she grasped to make sense of her surroundings. The fear subsided as her memory put the puzzle together. She was aboard The Intrepid, a maritime transport bound for England. She had retired to her cabin, hoping to pass into a deep sleep as they navigated the open water. Now all seemed to be utter chaos as screams of command and death swept through the night like a gale. The boards of the ship creaking and bending as men ran to and fro, their heavy footfalls conveying shock and terror.
Tossing aside the bear skin that kept her warm, she swung her legs over the bed and made her way to the windows, her night gown doing little to keep out the cold. The amber glow that now filled her vision was inescapable. As she stepped closer, transfixed by the light and it's searing warmth, her soft lips dipped open as she brushed sandy hair behind her ears. The vessel in front of her was engulfed in flames. It roared as it lit up the night some hundred yards away. At that distance, the nauseating horror was all too clear. She watched transfixed as the black sails fluttered and ignited atop masts that soon crumbled into each other. Pirates. It seemed a relief that the invading ship was set ablaze, but as she looked closer she could see more than one burning mass flinging itself from the deck. Men flailed wildly as they crashed into the water below. It was a ghastly death, but what troubled her most was the smaller life rafts headed toward The Intrepid, loaded with bloodthirsty raiders.
A pounding came from over her shoulder. She spun to look at the door, it rattled on it's hinges as someone threw themselves against it from the other side. She could see the plank holding it closed jostle in it's brace. The banging stopped as quickly as it started. She didn't have much time. Katlyn knew that whomever it was would be back, and they would not be alone. Taking a deep breath, she scanned the cabin for her belongings. Hanging over the chair in it's holster was her muskatoon. Bounding to it, she removed it from it's sheath and loaded it, her steely hands vibrating as she dropped the powder & pellet. She then reached under her pillow to retrieve her skiendu, taking it in her left hand, she braced herself between the bed and the cabin door, bending her knees in anticipation. The moments passed like an eternity. The door soon began to rattle.
This time, as predicted, Katlyn could hear and feel the added strength of multiple bodies against the frame. There were at least two of them hollering with each rhythmic crash. The door began to splinter at the hinges. Katlyn steadied her breathing and slowly raised her gun. Her left arm cocked slightly; the dagger in her hand pointing downward. The door fell from it's hinges with a thunderous crack as the trespassers collapsed through it, a blurry mass of muscle and limb. Katlyn aimed & fired. One of their necks recoiled with a snap as the back of his head exploded out into the smokey moonlight, the other two falling past him as they entered. Katlyn thrust her left hand down, puncturing the neck of the one nearest. The cuts were quick and shallow. He reached up as he howled and she rapped him hard with the muskatoon, sending him face first to the floor. Her left hand slick and soaked with blood, she turned to the last of them. He had managed to get to his feet and stood facing her. He swayed slightly, anticipating her attack. She could read his mind as his eyes took her in: the realization of what she was. His lips curling into a slight smile as his bloody lust began to stir.
As he thrust forward, she parried to her right and punched up with her left hand. The dagger catching him clean across the wrist, forcing him to drop his sword as the tendons peel open and his veins spilled into the cabin. The lust gone from his face now, only shock and confusion remained. Katlyn again comes down with the dagger, but he manages to catch her left forearm with his good hand. Yanking hard with all his weight, he throws her across the room. She tumbles over the bed and onto the floor, dropping her weapons in the fall. " Cunt!", he steams as he stomps toward her. Rolling over just as he arrives, she pulls her leg up, delivering one solid foot to his chest. He staggers back; winded. She rolls to her left, reaching her blade and grasping it in her right hand, feeling the warm blood stain her palm. Clutching his wrist, the wounded swings his right foot and catches her across the face, sending her tumbling onto her back. As stars fall into her eyes, the knife slips from her grasp.
Then he's on top of her, his weight holding her down. He wrestles her arms to her sides, and pins them with his knees. The blood from his wrists splashing her throat and chest. Quickly he sits on top of her and begins to tug at his trousers. A distorted and pained grin spreading across his pale face as blood drips down his pant leg. Furious at the possibility, Katlyn bucks with all her might, wrenches an arm out from underneath and pounds her fist into his groin. The attacker buckles and rolls to his side. She quickly slides herself out from underneath him, groping for the dagger. The pirate is still hunched over himself as she rises and reels, determined to end this fight. But as she takes her first step, a voice breaks out through the room. "Woman!" Panting and frantic she looks to the door.
The smoke dancing in the moonlight makes him look like a devil. The amber back light from the still flaming vessel illuminates his black skin and hulking frame, making his features impossible to see. What is clear is that he holds before him a scimitar. Katlyn knows immediately that he had only to take a single step and he could cut her down, leaving her to die with the others. She pants, her feet planted firmly to the floor. The room silent until the one with the open wrist speaks in a nasally whine, "She slashed me wrist!" Moving his eyes over the carnage, the one at the door lets out a humoured grunt.
"You are lucky, Timmer. Dresin & Conners not so much."
"I'm gonna take it out a yer arse, you wench!" squeals the one called Timmer, stumbling to his feet. The one in the doorway finds even more humour in this statement.
"Are you the Captain, Timmer?!" This stifles the wounded man; his bravado suddenly dampened, he instantly becomes meek and diminished.
"No sir" is all he can say.
"So then, it's not for you to decide what's to become of this one." The hulking mass seems to grow slightly larger, the assertion in his voice making him swell.
"No sir." Timmer is dwarfed now, it is clear who is in charge. Katlyn's heart pumps furiously in her chest, fuelling her next move.
"Are you the Captain?", she ventures, directing her question to the man in the doorway. Shifting his attention toward her, she feels his eyes upon her, though they are still masked by shadows. He steps into the light to reveal something different in his gaze. While Timmer's eyes had flashed over her with a drooling hunger, it is a fierce curiosity that is projected here. These large, dark eyes view her with an admirable suspicion.
"No" he says at long last, "I am not the Captain." The man is closer now, the amber light from the window shadowing his billowing red robes, bald head and large hooped piercings.
"But I am quite sure that he would wish to meet you, Madame." It is clear now that though he speaks English well, it is not his first language. He is almost certainly French, likely having come from an island colony, judging by his garments and the ink under his ebony skin.
"I will take you to him.", says the Frenchman. "But he is rather busy, as you imagine."
He steps closer, Katlyn can smell his sweat, his breath heavy with tobacco as he speaks.
"Can I trust you Madame, to remain patient, while we assess our new ship." He looks deeply into her eyes now, trying to interpret her response.
"What of him?" she says, tilting her chin up toward Timmer. The man who is not the Captain looks toward his crewman, who clutches his spurting wrist. "He will not bother you. He will come with me. You will remain here until the Captain will receive you?" Katlyn returns his gaze unflinching. "Yes" is all she says. Holding her eyes a few moments longer, a large yellow smile spreads across the man's face. "Madame" he offers, "I do not believe you." And before she even sees it, his massive palm smacks against her cheek. The stars that fell into her vision earlier, explode in a blast of white light that soars across her mind like a firework, sending her spiralling into unconsciousness.
*
It seemed a modest quarters for a Captain, but then again Captain Paul, was a rather modest man. His cabin containing what one might expect; a bed and a chest; a table littered with maps and navigational tools and the sparse decorations comprised of treasures and trophies; large candelabras illuminating it all. Neither impressively smart or abhorrently stupid, Paul was at his core, no better than the scoundrels who had overtaken his ship. The biggest difference being that the scoundrels had enough pride to live for themselves, while Paul was subservient to the crown.
To be sent all the way to the new world meant one of two things; you were absolutely necessary or completely disposable, and from what little she had known of the man through their negotiation, it was clear that Captain Paul was the latter. He had treated her satisfactorily; he was plain and fair with their agreement, respecting her demands and assuring her that his men would not attempt to take advantage of the sole female on board. Though the thought bothered her little; as she had just proven, she could handle herself. However, sailors acting under the command of the Royal Navy and sea fairing vagabonds pillaging as they please are entirely different beasts. None of that mattered now however, though she had been waiting some time, and had heard very little from outside his quarters, Captain Paul was almost certainly dead.
Katlyn knew that if she were going to be more fortunate, she would need to play her hand well. Ultimately, as she was almost certainly the only woman aboard, she had a great deal of value. These were men who made their life taking what they wanted, and if it was her that they wanted, there was little to stop them. She was not going to let that happen. She had come too far. She had lost too much: fought too hard to get to this point, only to wind up a rag doll for pirates. No; her sex had power, and if need be, she would use it to survive.
Her posture straightened as the cabin door opened. In walked the man who was not the Captain, his red robes fluttering lightly as he carried with him her bear skin blanket. He again looked into her with those perceptive eyes. Standing aside he made way for another man, a gentle jangle preceding his shadow. He was tall, his stature one of strength and poise. His outfit, a juxtaposition of old and new, clearly collected from past pillages. His boots, a knee high black leather. His trousers, soiled with fluids of the sea and the body. His top, unlaced at the chest. She recognized his coat, having last seen it over Captain Paul's shoulders. Though it had been less bloody. A long scabbard dangling from his hip, a musket firmly tucked into a thick belt, which was dangling rather lopsided around his waist. He removed his hat to reveal knots of twisted hair, hanging in loose bangles around his shoulders. He paused to look at her. Raising an eyebrow to the man in the robes he nodded, their knowing glances speaking volumes in a language Katlyn could not understand. The man in the robes then stepped around her, unfurling her blanket and placing the hide over her shoulders. The Captain paused, allowing this to happen, then removed the gun from his belt. He held the weapon at his side for a moment and slowly stepped across the cabin, finding a table opposite her. Setting down the musket and his hat, he spoke over his shoulder toward the door. "Thank you Mawndu, that will be all." The man who was not the Captain let his glaze shift toward Katlyn. If he intended something, she did not know what it was. He then looked back to the Captain and bowed his head slightly, closing the door on his exit.
