The bright tropical sun shone down through the windows of Pennington's cabin. The heat of a Caribbean summer was tempered by the cool morning air trapped between the decks. Mercy sat on the smooth wooden planks, resting her head in her hand, bored. Weeks now she'd been kept captive, only rarely released from the shackles and chains that now bound her wrists. Her only solace, little though it was, could be found in her nudity. The sailors and marines sweat in their heavy wool, stinking under the oppressive weather, while she sat comfortably in his cabin. It brought her the memory of her own ship, now sold in some faraway colony to some fat merchant, she was sure. Her solace was gone.
Pennington was gone before she'd woken up, his neglected tea still steaming on his desk. She guessed his was one of the many heavy footsteps that resounded above her, strolling idle by the unused helm. They were at anchor, it must have been dropped during the night. Glancing through Pennington's windows, she saw that they sat a mile or two off of one of the thousands of islands in the West Indes. Taverns and chandleries and blacksmiths lined the crowded dock, where ships swayed in the breeze that rustled the palm fronds nestled between them. On the top of the hill stood a state house, partially veiled in the abundant vegetation of the island, but otherwise as unremarkable as the rest.
There was something different though. As she narrowed her eyes, straining for a better view, she saw bright silk fabric flutter with the fronds, crawling up from the state house. Orange, blue, and white rolled in the wind like waves to a shore. It was Dutch.
She smiled with a sudden enthusiasm. Six bells sang from above her, as if to aid in her plot. At eight bells, she knew, the crew would change their watches, and the ensuing movement of every member of the ship's company, jostling this way and that, would be enough confusion for her to swim. With a foreign nation commanding a busy port, Pennington wouldn't dare send an armed group ashore after her, and even if he could, she could disappear in the taverns and bawdy houses and crowded ships.
Mercy's enthusiasm disappeared as she glanced to the chains around her slender wrists. Oh, she thought, giving a dejected sigh as the imagination of her daring escape fled before reality, How could I slip away when I am still so bound?
Providence smiled in an unexpected way. The cabin door swung open, shutting behind Captain Pennington almost immediately. He strode to his desk, flipping through a few papers and sipping absentmindedly from his tea, apparently ignoring the nude prisoner against his wall.
Pennington flopped down, despondent in his chair, his hand still holding the paper he'd read a million times. The scratches of ink across the stained letter were scathing, as though the quill that wrote them was cutting into his skin. Shirtless, he still wore his coat despite the Caribbean heat, and the afternoon sun still shone uncomfortably on his back, but he could not bring himself to move.
This was the second time the captain sat so dejected in his chair. He'd gotten dressed in his pristine uniform and strolled the decks to clear his mind, but he couldn't rid himself of the shame that would follow the failure of his mission. Pennington hardly even noticed the curious look on Mercy's face when he'd left her chained in the cabin, and still gave it no thought, consumed in his worry.
Mercy leaned forward, trying to glimpse what was in his hand. It was a letter of some kind, but she was unable to make out any of the writing. Pennington had been out of sorts ever since it arrived, so it must be bad news of some kind. If she could only find out what that news was, perhaps she could find a way to use it to her advantage.
He stood, letting the paper fall carelessly to the floor, he walked thoughtfully to the window, staring out at the endless ocean, lost in his thoughts. He was dressed carelessly, without even shoes or stockings under his breeches, only the blue and white coat showing his rank or his usual care to clothing.
A gentle breeze pushed the paper across the floor to Mercy's feet. She looked down to find a letter from the Royal Navy. The words betrayed Pennington's worries, the implications and tongue in cheek references to past failures by other captains in similar situations, the suggestion that their fate might be his. It was all very official, very formal, and it was very clear...his entire career and standing as a gentleman was in danger.
Poor Roderick, Mercy thought. She shook her head. What?! she chastised herself, Great. Now you're sympathizing with the bastard? She leaned back against the wall behind her and closed her eyes. She had to think. Pennington was facing dismissal for failing to recapture the queen's treasure. How did that relate to her? Perhaps I can feign cooperation, she thought, I could lure him into a trap. But what trap? All of her crew had been captured. She had no one on the outside.
Pennington turned around, still distracted by his thoughts, but suddenly snapped back to reality. "What are you doing?" he demanded as he caught her reading the letter.
Mercy's mind raced as she tried to figure out her next strategy. "Reading all about your failure as a captain," she bit out, "I knew you didn't have it in you to command a ship."
He struggled to keep his anger in check, but instantly felt the flame of rage rising in his chest. "I find it rather telling that you criticize my ability to command, when you've lost your own ship, and been reduced to nothing but a whore in chains."
