Erin has a minion!

Vincent van Gogh the Mister Paintbrush

ID #610643
Owner: Molly
Profile by Molly

You walk the darkened street, the only sound that of your footsteps on the smooth cobblestones, echoing like drops of water into the base of a deep well. A glimmer of light catches your eye as you round the corner. Nestled between two darkened houses is a warmly lit window, flickers of firelight casting shadows on the wall. The window is cracked open, and sounds of laughter drift lazily toward you on the night air.

"Grandma, read us a story!" A boy, about twelve, sits at his grandmother's feet. In his hands he holds a blunt wooden sword of smooth driftwood. His sister, a girl of seven, is sprawled nearby on the carpet.

The old woman leans towards the fire, the reflections of which play across her half-moon spectacles. She plucks a worn leather book from the shelf beside the fireplace. Pressed into the leather is the image of a ship, sails unfurled. You sit down on the cobblestones outside the window, lean back to allow the stray warmth of the fire to wash over you, and listen.

"Are you sure you want another story tonight, Fyodor? I've already read you two."

The girl pipes up, her blonde pigtails swinging. "Yes, yes! Read us one about romance!"

Her older brother rolls his eyes. "Forget romance! I want a story with action and adventure!" He takes a jab at his younger sister with the sword.

"Alright, alright, but you have to behave. Sit nicely, now." The old woman leans back in her rocking chair and thumbs through the book. "Once upon a time, there was a girl named Erin."

---

Erin was a girl with easy outward confidence, and nearly a brash demeanor - and of this, she was fully aware. It was more pretense than personality. Not one of her many friends knew anything of substance about her - neither her hopes nor dreams, aspirations nor fears. Even as a child, she had learned to rely solely on herself, seldom seeking advice from others and never exhibiting weakness.

She was an only child, robbed of one parent at birth and orphaned at sixteen, after her father's fishing vessel was sunk by pirates off the Barbary Coast. It was collateral damage, the vessel of no importance to either side; as Erin clung to a piece of the shattered hull, keeping low in the cold water, she'd watched her father where he stood on the wreckage, waving for help. She'd watched her father torn apart by bullets, caught in the crossfire between the pirates' ship and the privateers'.

Our story begins here, aboard the pirate ship. Erin was hauled up roughly and thrown, soaked, on the deck, still in shock at witnessing her father's death. As she wrung out her skirts, the pirates appraised her - they estimated her weight, height, age, and most importantly, her worth on the black market, as a slave. A lean young man approached her.

"How old are you, miss?"

"Seventeen. Eighteen in a month." Erin looked him over, took note of the sword in his belt and the state of his clothes - cleaner and less worn than those of the other men.

"Well, that won't do. People buy 'em young, you see. More tractable."

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't talk about me as if I were an animal. Sir."

"Well, then, y'better give me something to call you by." Erin remained silent. "Oh, come now, don't be like that. Let me introduce myself - First Mate Jacques Armiger, I welcome you aboard L'esprit de l'escalier, and I must tell you that we regrettably can't let you go. Your name?" Jacques Armiger, Erin could already tell, was the kind of man who could slit your throat charmingly and make you thank him for it.

"Erin. LePoullouin."

"French. Vous n'avez pas l'air français."

"You don't look French either. Tell me, what do the French look like?" Erin rose from the deck and regarded Jacques cooly, her hands on her hips, even as her heart pounded against her ribs. Jacques stepped up to her and fingered one of her dark ringlets, already regaining their curl as the hot sun dried her hair.

"Not like this. So tell me, what are you?"

"I'm a quarter Chilean. And an eighth Austrian, and an eighth Canadian. And half... French. I never knew my mother, but my father tells me she was from France."

A burly man approached Jacques, his hands covered in grime and his face in soot. "Captain wants to see you, and says to put the child in the hold with the rest of the slaves."

"Well, I'm sure if he knew that we have on board not a child but a young lady, he would suggest more... appropriate accommodations." A hint of a smirk played across Jacques lips as the burly man fidgeted under the First Mate's gaze.

"Where d'ya suggest we put 'er, Sir? Haven't got any more room in the cabins."

"Why, she can stay in my cabin, of course."

At this, Erin inhaled sharply. "Thanks ever so much for your hospitality," she hissed, "but I think I'd prefer to stay in the hold."

Jacques smiled knowingly. "Don't be ridiculous. You think the men'll be better behaved than I? I won't lay a finger on you, cross m'heart. And no doubt you're hungry?"

"Fattening me up for market, are you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of doing anything less."

---

"Grandma, then what happened?" The young girl bounced up and down in excitement until her older brother pushed her over with his leg.

"Oh, Lily, let your grandmother catch her breath a moment, won't you?"

"This doesn't sound like an action story." Fyodor scowled as he held the end of his wooden sword to the fire, blackening the tip.

"Now, now, we'll get there. Let's see, where was I?"

---

That evening, in the cabin, Erin stood in front of the First Mate's desk. Jacques had cleared it of most of the charts and maps she'd seen spread across it when they entered, and had pulled from his trunk a pair of trousers and a white shirt for her to wear. After apologizing for not having anything nicer - she hadn't been able to tell if the apology had been sarcastic - he'd left her to change.

"All clear?" Jacques voice accompanied a rap on the cabin door. He strolled in a moment later, a glass of wine in his hand.

"This doesn't look like a pirate ship," Erin mused as she pulled her hair back. The salt still clung to it.

Jacques raised his eyebrows. "And you've been aboard a lot of those, have you?"

"I read."

"Well, filth and poor grammar do tend to make for a better story, don't they? Who wants to be aboard a pirate ship that looks more like a privateer? Except, you know, the people aboard the ship. Let me tell you a secret though," and with this, Jacques drew closer to her, "we have bigger guns." After a moment, Jacques drew away, and looked her over. "Well, I'll be damned - you'd make a mighty fine pirate."

Erin rolled her eyes. "Maybe even better than you."

"Come now, you don't even know me. I could out-duel you before you could even pick up your sword." Jacques tilted his head in amusement, and his blue eyes caught the light from the oil lamp.

"Well, it wouldn't be much of a duel if you didn't give me a chance to arm myself, now would it?"

Jacques laughed. "Tomorrow, then. We'll see if you're all talk. Go on, get some sleep - there's a blanket in the hammock. I'll sleep in the hold tonight."

---

The next morning, Erin awoke to a knock on the cabin door. She groggily tried to sit up in the hammock, but only succeeded in flipping it fully over and falling painfully to the ground. A muffled chuckle from behind the door woke her fully, and she stood rubbing her elbows as Jacques entered.

"Having a good morning already, I see. Or rather, I heard." Jacques set a plate of eggs on the desk and crossed the cabin to his trunk. Erin watched him warily as he opened it and pulled out fresh clothes.

"Where are we?"

"On the way to Morocco."

"Why?" Erin drew her breath in sharply as Jacques pulled off his shirt. He spun around.

"What? Oh. We may not be the typical pirate ship, but this is still a ship. You're going to have to get used to a little bit of space-sharing." Jacques pulled his clean shirt on. "You might want to turn around."

Erin quickly spun to face the desk, studying the eggs closely until she was sure that the rustling of linen had stopped.

"Alright, alright. Dear lord, I hope not every morning is going to be this unbearably awkward. This is my cabin, after all, which I'm sharing with you of the goodness of my heart."

Erin's embarrassment evaporated. "Oh, how kind of you, to kidnap me and then so graciously allow me into your cabin. You know, I haven't forgotten that challenge you issued last night."

"You're on. Let's go." Jacques grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out the door.

"Wait, right now? Right on the main deck?" Erin shielded her eyes from the bright light as they clattered up the stairs. She tried to remember all she could of her swordsmanship - which as, admittedly, not much - as they emerged on the deck.

---

Erin grew more and more nervous as Jacques advanced on her, his sword hefted expertly in his left hand. She'd never fought anyone who fenced left-handed, since her fencing experience was limited to what her father had taught her in the woods, and never had she used anything more than a makeshift weapon. Granted, Jacques had tied thick sailcloth over the blades of the swords, but it was still intimidating - and now, more so, as what seemed to be the entirety of the deck crew crowded around them, eager to see the pretty slave girl fence the First Mate.

There was no more time for thinking. Jacques lunged, and she parried sharply. As the bout continued, the spectators grew rowdier, placing bets of rum or salt pork, speculating on the outcome of the match. Their voices distracted her; Jacques lunged in to hit her sharply in the ribs. Erin struck clumsily downward, but he backed out in time to parry her attack and caught her around the waist, the wrapped edge of his sword pressed against her throat.

"Arrêt à bon temps," Jacques said with a smile, releasing her and then extending his hand to shake hers.

As Erin took his hand, a voice cut through the raucous laughter of the men. "Well, well, looks like we have a talented girl, here." A middle-aged man walked through the crowd, his fine coat and hat indicative of his status aboard the ship: the Captain. Erin dropped her hand from Jacques' and managed something between a bow and a curtsey.

"Come now, m'dear, while Jacques here may have led you to believe that we're a far classier establishment than most pirate ships, that just ain't the truth. It's just him who keeps his affairs in top condition, don't you, boy?" The Captain cuffed Jacques affectionately.

"Erin, might I introduce you to Captain Vince Armiger - my father."

---

"Wait, wait, wait, what does all of this have to do with the story? I thought it was going to be about an adventure!" Fyodor looked skeptically at his grandmother, who peered over the edge of the book with her spectacles.

"And I thought there was going to be romance. This is boring," grumbled Lily.

"Why, of course there's adventure and romance. Says so right here in the book."

"Let me see!" Fyodor rose halfway before his grandmother seized his wooden sword and rapped him on top of the head.

"Now, Fyodor, you know the book's written in French - you can't read it, anyway. Trust me, there will be action and romance enough for you both."

"Yeah, shut up," grumbled Lily.

"I swear, you two will be old and gray like me before you stop fighting. And, maybe not even then."

---

Erin returned to the cabin to find her dress washed and folded on top of Jacques' trunk. Pinned to it was a note that read, "For dinner tonight, with the Captain." The note was unsigned.

"If you want to wash up, there's soap in the dish over there." Erin jumped at the sound of Jacques' voice. She followed his gaze to the corner of the cabin, in which stood what looked to be a sink. There were, to the best of her knowledge, no sinks nor latrines aboard ships.

"Um, thanks. How does this work?"

"You turn the knob and water comes out."

Erin smiled. "Very funny. You know what I meant."

Jacques crossed the cabin and pointed up to where a pipe ran down the wall. "Above that pipe is a big funnel and a grate at the bottom. Rain water accumulates up there and the pressure pushes it out of the faucet when you turn it on. So, it isn't endless, but it can hold a pretty good amount. My dad invented it."

Listening to Jacques talk about his father, much as any proud little boy would, nearly brought tears to Erin's eyes. Her last words to her own father had been mundane ones, about fish or the weather, before the stray cannon from the privateer's ship had struck their small fishing vessel as it made its way out to sea.

"Hey, are you alright?" Jacques navy eyes met her dark ones.

"Yes, thank you."

"There's a drain in the floor right by the sink, so, if you try not to get water everywhere you could try to clean up a bit. It's not really enough for a shower, but... anyway, there's a towel on the hammock. I'll be on the deck." Jacques' hand lingered on her back for a moment, and then he left the cabin.

Erin felt self-conscious stripping to her underwear in this unfamiliar place, but she knew she'd feel even more uncomfortable showing up to dinner with the Captain - even a Captain of a pirate ship - looking as she did. The soap was rough, and using cupfuls of cold water to wash it off was inconvenient and sloppy, but after ten minutes Erin felt cleaner and more presentable. She managed to work the tangles from her hair and rinse it out, so that by the time she had laced up her dress, it was falling in soft ringlets around her face.

Erin stepped out on the deck and breathed in the fresh ocean air. On the horizon was a sliver of land, dark against the deep, rolling green of the sea. Jacques crossed the deck to where she stood, the wind tousling his dishwater blonde hair.

"Morocco," he said. "You'll be glad once we get to port - or, as close to port as we can get. They won't let us enter the harbor, of course, but we'll send down a rowboat to bring us ashore so the men can have their drinks and we can replenish our stores on board."

"Why are you being so... courteous to me? Dinner with the Captain, really? Seems a little bit excessive for a slave."

"Well, you're only a slave if the Captain decides to sell you once we get there."

"Oh." Erin took a moment to process what Jacques had said. She'd expected some reassurance that she wouldn't be sold, that maybe her fencing had impressed the Captain, that maybe Jacques would stand up for her.

"Just impress him at dinner. Come on, charming, beautiful young lady? You really think he'll sell you off?"

"You obviously haven't realized that I'm not that charming."

---

The Captain's quarters were fancier than Jacques' by far, but also rather unkempt. Maps and rolls of parchment littered the desk, and only half of the dining table was usable, as the other was piled high with what looked like ships logs and chests that glinted, through their cracks, of gold. The Captain - Erin still couldn't bring herself to call him Vince - was seated at the clear head of the table, hair slicked back, graying beard neatly trimmed, brass buttons glittering on his navy coat. Jacques ushered Erin into the room and pulled her chair back for her.

"Welcome, Erin. I am glad you decided to join us for dinner." The Captain's eyes were a pale blue, and kind.

"How far are we from Morocco, father?" Jacques inquired.

"Just shy of a day's travel. We'll be there by evening tomorrow, and we'll stay for a night or two. Will you be seeing Lianna?"

Jacques flushed. "I... no. I won't be. It seems, ah, she was married. Just this past winter."

There was an uncomfortable silence at the table. Erin stared at her lap, unsure of whether to ask about what seemed to be a situation concerning someone with whom Jacques had been... intimate. Finally, the Captain cleared his throat and directed a question at her.

"Where did you learn to fence like that, Erin?"

"From... from my father. He taught me. Just a little, though, I mean, you saw," Erin fumbled for the right words.

"No, no, you were quite good, I daresay. It's nice to see a young lady able to look out for herself." The Captain smiled warmly at her, and for a moment, Erin wondered if he might ask her to stay on the ship. At that moment, though, the cabin door creaked open and a skinny deck hand scampered in, carrying two covered trays which, for all his obvious attempts to be gentle, he set on the table gently with an unceremonious clatter.

"Ah, dinner. Two kinds of fish, I'm afraid. Our resources are limited." The Captain uncovered the trays to reveal two finely baked fillets, more than enough for the three of them.

"I do love fish, Sir. My father was a fisherman."

"Erin, I am... sorry about your father," said Jacques quietly. It was the first anyone had said about her father since she'd been pulled aboard the ship. "Everything happened so quickly... I don't think the men realized what they were doing."

"It's... okay," Erin said, but even as she said it, the words left a bad taste in her mouth. It was hard to come up with an adjective to excuse the death of a parent.

"No, it really is not. We may be pirates, but we pride ourselves on never killing unprovoked. I extend to you my sincerest apologies, Erin," said the Captain.

"Thank you, but what's done is done. There's nothing to be done now." Erin served herself a portion of fish, and the two men did the same.

---

"Dinner was excellent, Captain, thank you." Erin rose from her chair, as did Jacques.

"Please, call me Vince. It was a pleasure to talk to you. You are quite a delight," said the Captain, smiling. He caught his son's arm. "Jacques, stay a moment? Erin, you're welcome to head back to the cabin." Erin could tell it was less of a suggestion and more of an order, so she exited the Captain's quarters, but lingered by the door out of curiosity.

"When we touch ground in Morocco, you know what to do."

"Father..."

"She's a nice girl, Jacques, but I can't afford to feed another mouth on this ship unless I can count on that person's weight being pulled. I'm sorry."

Erin's eyes widened. They were going to sell her. She pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear. Jacques was arguing with his father, but it seemed the Captain was unyielding. Soon, she heard footsteps approaching the door, and she ascended the steps as quickly and quietly as she could. When she reached the deck, she leaned over the rail and vomited into the ocean. She felt a hand on her back.

"Are you alright? Was something wrong with the fish?" Jacques' jaw was set and Erin could tell he was on edge, but he hid it well.

"No, the fish was excellent. I'm just a little seasick, I suppose. Not used to all of the rocking."

"You basically grew up on a fishing boat, I hardly think that's the case. What is it, Erin?"

"No, really, I'm just a bit dizzy. Open sea is different, it's just... more disorienting. I don't know. I just don't feel well," Erin said with a shrug, and then turned back to the rail to vomit again. "Looks like that's everything," she said wryly.

"Come on, let's get you back to the cabin, then." Jacques lifted her up in his arms.

"I can walk just fine," Erin said, surprised.

"For once, would you stop thinking you can do everything yourself? You're dizzy, I don't want you to fall. Okay?" Erin sighed. She did feel dizzy, but it was more mental than physical, a consequence of what she'd just overheard in the Captain's quarters. Nonetheless, Jacques wiry arms supported her weight easily, and as she leaned into his chest she felt his heartbeat against her cheek.

---

Erin lay awake for a long time, and then slept fitfully. When she finally awoke, it was late afternoon. She scrambled out of bed, cursing. She'd thought that in one last ditch effort she might try to help the men with some work on deck, to show the Captain that she could pull her own weight on the ship and convince him not to have her sold, but here she was, sleeping late like a spoiled princess.
BR>When she emerged on deck, Erin was surprised by the activity on the ship. It seemed that every hand was on deck, preparing to go ashore. What had, the day before, been only a sliver on the horizon was now a looming, and, to Erin, foreboding, presence: Morocco.

By the time Jacques helped her into the large rowboat that was going ashore, Erin had already formulated a plan.

"You look... pensive," mused Jacques. On his lap was a lantern, and the fire cast shadows on his face and lit up his dark blue eyes.

"Always am. I'm a girl, after all."

"Sir, look to shore!" One of the men called, and passed Jacques a spyglass. He handed Erin the lantern and rose to one knee as he peered through the glass towards the shore.

"There's another rowboat just touching shore now, looks like sailors from another ship. Not pirates, though, too well dressed; must be privateers." Jacques lowered the spyglass and sat down in the boat. "I wouldn't worry about it, mate," he said to the man who'd handed him the glass, "Privateers don't mess with us when we're ashore."

"Why not?" Erin couldn't help asking.

"Well, we in particular don't look much like "pirates" - so they usually let well enough alone. Plus, we don't have anything of value with us, so picking a fight is usually more advantageous ship to ship rather than in person, on land."

As Jacques finished talking, the men jumped from the boat and hauled it up on the bank. Jacques helped Erin out, and then helped the men stow the boat in a bank of reeds. Jacques' face was illuminated in the last glow of the lantern, and then it went dark.

---

Erin followed Jacques through the streets, towards what she would find out was the center of light and sound in that darkened quarter of the city: the Laissez Faire Tavern. He knew his way around; she tripped over every cobblestone in the street. Finally, Jacques stopped at the tavern door. Several of the men from the ship were already inside, seated around a table with tankards of beer, spending their hard-earned wages. The waitress, a curvy young woman with platinum blonde hair that fell in thick waves down her back, was seated on the knee of the burly man that Erin remembered from her first day aboard the ship.

"That's Alice, Eduardo's girlfriend. You wouldn't peg him for the monogamous type, but he sure is," Jacques explained. The men sighted them and called out loudly, already loose-tongued. When they reached the table, Erin was able to identify four more men from the ship and two whom she did not recognize.

"I'm going to the restroom," Erin said, and Alice pointed her in the right direction. As she slipped off around the bar, she checked that the knife she'd stolen from the ship was still safely sheathed in her boot. Once in the bathroom - a room with a single stall and a leaky sink - she washed her face and used the toilet, and took a moment to stare at her reflection in the dirty mirror. She was thinner, already, than she'd been when they'd taken her on the ship, just a few days before. Upon opening the bathroom door, she nearly collided with a man on his way to the men's restroom.

"Hey, there, beautiful. You workin'?"

"No, I don't, sorry. There's a waitress over at that table, though. Excuse me," Erin said, trying to slip past the man. Her plan had been to sneak out of the tavern while Jacques was busy and hide out until the morning, when she'd decided she'd try to find work somewhere in exchange for a room, and eventually make her way back to her hometown. Her father might be dead, but she did have friends there - or, at least, acquaintances who might take pity on her situation. The pastor, at least, would have accommodated her.

"Hey, no need to apologize, m'dear, I think you misunderstood me. I ain't lookin' for a waitress, but I sure've been lookin' for you..." the man drew closer to her, and Erin backed up against the bathroom door. The man's breath stunk of alcohol, and Erin could tell from the cigarette stains on his fingers that he was at least rich enough to afford those. A privateer, then. "So, what d'ya say, show a man a good time?"

Erin let out a scream as the man pressed himself against her and lowered his mouth to her neck, but her voice was lost in the noise of the bar. She squirmed from his grasp, but only managed a few steps before the man grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back, slamming her roughly against the wall. She felt a sharp pain in her shoulder as something dug into it.

"Feisty, I like it. What say we put some of that fire to use?" The man tugged at the string of her blouse, and as the front fell open the man was pulled back by a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Gill, you've had a bit too much to drink tonight, haven't you? You get back to the table and you sit there, and you say not another word or I'll have your sorry ass sent back to prison." Erin clutched at the front of her blouse and looked up to see a tall, dark haired man in a lieutenant's uniform. "Are you alright? Lieutenant Forthing. Look, I'm sorry about him, the government, they send convicts to do the hard labor aboard the ship, and sometimes they're a bit out of control. I have a room upstairs, let's get you cleaned up."

Before Erin could take in the man's words or answer, Jacques right hand slammed into the wall over her head. He took one glance at her open blouse and pulled her to him with his left arm, casting an unsavory look at the Lieutenant. Erin, stunned from the swift progression of events, tucked her head into the safety of his neck.

"Is there a problem here?"

Lieutenant Forthing tucked his hands into his pockets. "Not at all. A gentleman - well, not really a gentleman at all, actually - was harassing this young woman and I was just making sure she was alright. Lieutenant Forthing. And you are?"

"Much obliged." Jacques looked the man in the eye and then ushered Erin past him. "Excuse me."

Erin cast a glance over her shoulder at the Lieutenant, who seemed amused. Something about him, perhaps his air of confidence or authority, or maybe it was just the hint of smolder in his eyes when he'd addressed her... something made her want to see him again.

---

"Alice, could we use one of the rooms for a couple of minutes?" Jacques had pulled Erin back to the table and was addressing the blonde waitress. Laughter rippled around the table and some of the men winked and elbowed each other. Jacques rolled his eyes, his patience obviously at end. "Oh, shut up, you lot. Some drunkard tried to get a little too friendly with her by the bathrooms and I just want to get her cleaned up. Fair enough?" This seemed to hush up the men well enough, and Alice handed Jacques a key from her pocket.

"That's my own room. There are bandages in the bathroom if you need them, just make sure to lock the room up when you leave."

"Thanks, Alice," said Jacques, and ushered Erin upstairs.

---

"Take your shirt off."

"Are you insane?"

"Look, you have blood coming through it on your shoulder. I need to check it out, even Alice noticed it downstairs. Come on, take it off." Jacques turned his back as Erin pulled her shirt off, and indeed, pain shot down her arm as she lifted it. She held the shirt over her chest, self-conscious, as Jacques inspected her shoulder.

"Must've been a nail head sticking out of the wall or something, it put a pretty big gouge in your shoulder." Erin winced as Jacques touched a rag soaked in vodka to the wound. "Sorry, this was all Alice had in her room."

"It's okay. Thanks. For, you know, looking out for me." Erin wasn't sure if Jacques had caught on to her plan to sneak away, but she hoped he hadn't.

"You're an idiot."

"...Why's that? It's not my fault that creep attacked me!"

"No, but it is your fault that you were planning on sneaking away on your own. Do you know what happens to girls like you who go roaming the streets alone at night? Well, now you do."

"What do you mean, girls like me?"

"Oh, come off it, Erin, you know exactly what I mean. Just look at you." Jacques pulled a roll of white bandage from the bathroom cabinet and began to wind it around Erin's shoulder, looping under her arm to anchor it. "You can put your shirt back on, now." Jacques walked over to the window and looked out into the darkened street.

"...I'm sorry." Erin walked over to him, tears brimming in her eyes. "God, I just... I heard what your father said last night."

"Shit, I'm sorry Erin, I wanted to say something to you, but... I just thought, maybe there would be a way. That he'd change his mind and I wouldn't have to say anything to you, and you wouldn't hate him. He really is a nice man, he's just... stubborn." Jacques ran a hand through his hair.

"I can see where you get it from," whispered Erin, a last-ditch attempt at a joke before the tears brimmed over and she let out a tearful gasp. "I - I'm sorry. I just... don't... want to... be a slave..." She leaned over and touched her forehead to his chest, sobs wracking her body.

Jacques wrapped his arms around her and let her cry, resting his forehead against the cold windowpane. There had to be something he could do, something to convince his father. And then... he remembered Lianna.

"Look, I... I know what to do. I think. It... ah... it involves..." Jacques fumbled for words. As Erin's sobs quieted, he told her of Lianna, a girl he'd met one year in port two years ago, at seventeen. They'd courted intermittently, every time the ship put in at Morocco to sell wares or slaves or replenish the stores, but eventually she'd told him that he had to choose to stay or go, and that she couldn't keep picking up where they left off each time. She was getting older, she'd said, and it was time that she found a husband. And if one thing was clear about Lianna Hohnstreiter, it was that she was not a pirate's wife. She seemed to Erin the kind of woman who sewed and read books in bed, and went to the market with a lace parasol.

"She doesn't seem like... your kind of girl."

"And what is my kind of girl? I was young, and so was she. She was in love with the idea of pirates, battles and treasure on the high seas, and I... I was intrigued by a stable home, a life in a town with a wife - the ability to give my child something that I had never grown up with." Jacques paused and let out a sigh. "But it wasn't enough for me to stay. I told her that I couldn't give up my life for her, and so, I walked away. And, so did she."

"I'm sorry." By now, Erin had stopped crying completely, but her face still lingered near his chest.

Jacques held her at arm's length. "It's okay. It's been a long time. Which is why I hope... that she'll help you. Give you a place to stay or help you find a job here."

"But, won't your father be expecting money?"

"Yes. But I have... enough. I won't tell him, and he won't ask."

"Jacques... why are you doing all of this for me?"

"Because... there's something about you that makes me want to protect you. I feel like you're a sparrow with a broken wing, or something, and I'm supposed to fix it." Jacques blushed as he spoke, embarrassed of his analogy or his feelings.

"We should probably go downstairs and give Alice her key back. Will we visit Lianna in the morning?"

Jacques nodded. "Yes. She and Alice are friends; I'll inquire as to her new address and we'll go down there tomorrow."

"Where will we stay tonight?" Erin asked, but Jacques just frowned at her.

"We'll row back to the ship, of course."

The suggestion of returning to the ship sent chills down her back. She hadn't planned on going back. Would Jacques tell the Captain that she'd tried to escape? No. No, he was trying to help her. Besides, he wouldn't risk his own neck, by admitting to his father that he'd almost cost them the price of a slave. Erin didn't know much about the slave market, but the men on the ship that first day had seemed plenty knowledgable, and she'd heard the prices they'd estimated she'd fetch at market.

---

In a pair of Jacques trousers and a soft white shirt, Erin swung back and forth in the hammock gently, the sway of the ship a strange comfort. He'd been right: she had grown up on a fishing boat, and her sea legs were as sure as anything. As she faded in and out of consciousness, her mind wandered back to her childhood. She remembered clearly the day her father had lifted her onto the fishing boat, her short legs still unsteady. She remembered the nights when they'd look up at the stars from the deck, pinpoints of light on a vast, dark canvas. She remembered when she'd first leapt onto the boat by herself, and how, quickly, it was she helping her aging father onto the boat. So much of her life had been spent at sea, and here it seemed she had reached a crossroads: somehow, to convince the Captain to allow her to stay, or to go with Lianna, a woman she had never met.

When she awoke, it was to Jacques voice, calling orders to the men on the deck. As she walked up the steps to the deck, she could tell that the ship was no longer floating at its mooring off the coast of Morocco, but instead moving with all speed. Jacques called to her as she emerged, motioning her over to the railing where he stood, surveying the horizon with his spyglass.

"Privateer. I thought it was common courtesy not to attack a ship at its mooring in a friendly port, but it seems that even this is lost on those bastards." Jacques jaw was set grimly. Erin glanced around the deck, watching the men as they hauled sails, readied weapons.

"They're giving chase?"

"Sure are. Heavens knows they must be out of their minds to pursue a pirate ship into the open sea. It isn't like we flaunted any riches their way, so I don't know what their problem is." Jacques raised the spyglass again, and Erin followed its point until her eyes met the faint fluttering of sails on the horizon, a French man-of-war. "Côte d'Ivoire," muttered Jacques, no doubt reading the ship's name emblazoned on the hull. "Pretentious."

"Why do you hate privateers so much? Aren't they just like pirates?" Erin asked, and immediately regretted it. Jacques turned on her sharply, his tone defensive.

"We are nothing like privateers. They're pirates, yes, but the worst kind, looked down upon by both pirates and their own navies, for nothing but greed drives those men, and they've got the approval of the Crown to justify it. They give no quarter, take no prisoners, spare no one." Jacques turned back to the ocean. "The sea turns noblemen into savages."

"If not greed, what drives you?"

"Every man on this ship is united in a purpose. We are, you might say, the Robin Hood of pirate ships. We can fight, yes, but we do so out of necessity. We're... unique, in that aspect. But even the most bloodthirsty of pirates harbor a disdain for the privateers, for it is their sense of entitlement that alienates them from every other seafarer."

---

It was several hours later when Jacques gave the order to slow the ship. The privateer was not far off, and, being a sleeker and more powerful vessel, would close the gap quickly. The Captain himself was on deck at this point, standing at the helm and surveying the approaching ship. He called for the men to come to arms.

One of the deck hands tossed Jacques a gun, warning him that it was loaded. Jacques thanked the man and pulled Erin aside. "You'd best be downstairs. I'll come get you if we end up boarding, and you can take a sword and come along if you'd like. But as for the gunfire - well, you've never shot before, have you?"

"No, Sir. I haven't."

"I really would prefer it if you were down below, then." Jacques glanced at the approaching ship. "Now, go. I'll come get you, alright?" A shot rang out over the open sea, too far to do damage, but clearly meant as a warning from the privateer. Erin made haste down to the cabin and peered from the porthole by the desk, able to see just the edge of the approaching ship. As the privateer circled, though, it came into full view of her window, and soon she could see the faces of the men on board: confident, nearly amused, eager for a battle which they felt was assured. She drew in a breath as she saw that the man at the helm was Lieutenant Forthing.

---

Through the window, Erin watched the battle unfold. A handful of the privateers had boarded, and were now locked in combat with the men on the deck. The privateers were outnumbered, but not outmatched - nearly all showed considerable skill with the sword, and the privateers were not averse to underhanded tactics. On two occasions, Jacques whirled around at the last moment to meet another sword with his. Forthing was locked in battle with the Captain, and Erin stood on her toes to increase her field of vision. The cabin door burst open and Eduardo entered, a rapier in his hand.

"Miss Erin, you should come fight. We need every hand." He held out the sword, but Erin hesitated. Jacques had seemed serious when he'd asked her to wait in the cabin. "Please, he would come himself, I am sure." The clang of swords rose over Eduardo's voice, and he glanced once around the cabin before placing the rapier in her hand. "You may choose not to come, but I hope you will help us," he finished, and left the cabin.

--

"So, did she go?" Lily peered up at her grandmother's face from where she sat on the carpet.

"What do you think?"

"I think she went. She's in love with Jacques, so she wanted to help him."

Feodor snorted. "I think she stayed. She's not that good at fencing, and she'd probably just get herself killed up there, or he'd have to save her. How helpful would that have been?"

Lily crossed her arms across her chest. "I say she went."

"Your sister's right, this time, Feodor."

---

Erin crept up the stairs, each moment the din from the deck growing louder and louder with the clangs of swords and the screams of men, in victory or in defeat. She stepped on deck in time to see Forthing thrust his sword clean through the Captain's side. Jacques let out a yell, even as he decapitated his adversary, and ran across the deck to his father's side. It was a split second in which Jacques guard was down, as Vince gasped for breath, as Gill wheeled around to aim his next blow at Jacques's back.

"Jacques!" Erin yelled, and before she even fully realized what was happening, leapt forward to parry with all her might against Gill's descending broadsword. Jacques rolled out of the way as Erin staggered backwards, and Jacques ran Gill through with his sword in one swift motion. The relief that washed over her was short-lived, for she soon found cold steel pressed against her neck, and Forthing's arm pinning her to him by the waist.

"To think, I saved you! Had I known you were with this unsavory lot, I would've left Gill to have his way with you the other night," Forthing spat, and then turned to Jacques. "Looks like you're the captain now, boy. I'll let you call the shots. Your first official order of business, shall we call it? Why don't you come on a little vacation with me?"

Erin's heart pounded. Was Forthing going to kidnap her, give her to his men as a plaything? Jacques drew a step closer to them. All around, pirates and privateers alike were frozen, watching the scene unfold. "You let her go."

"Now, now, let's not be discourteous. I'll let her go, but you're going to come with me. Captain of a pirate ship - if I recall correctly, that's grounds to be hanged." Forthing's intentions became suddenly clear, and they had nothing to do with Erin. Keeping hold of the far more experienced Vince Armiger would have been a task, indeed, but now that Jacques was the ship's captain, Forthing would rake in the same prize - pure gold from the King for capturing a pirate ship and her captain - at far lower a potential cost to the safety of his men. "So, what do you say? Will you have dinner with me?"

---

Lily's eyes brimmed with tears. "What happened, Grandma? What happened to him?"

"Some endings are best left up to the imagination, Lily. What do you think happened?"

Fyodor frowned. "What do you mean, left up to the imagination? A story has to have an end." For once, the children were in agreement. Lily stood on her tiptoes and snatched the leather book from her grandmother's hands. She leafed through, and found nothing but blank pages.

"If you really do want to know what happened, I'll tell you. I saved him."

---

You listen as the woman puts the children to bed; their clattering footsteps, their protests, their final acquiescence and the silence that falls over the living room, a sense of un-being that is left beneath the buzz, in the absence of sound. The rocking chair sighs as she sits down, and takes up a rhythmic creaking as she rocks by the fire. As you try to decide what to do and wonder if your listening at the window for so long is too much an invasion of privacy to excuse your interrupting her further, she begins to sing.

I've sailed the wide oceans four decades or more,
And ofttimes I've wondered what I do it for.
I don't know the answer, it's pleasure and pain;
With life to live over, I'd do it again...

It's a sad sound, a sound more primal than lost love, a song of the sadness of the soul, not of the mind. You muster up the courage to knock on the door, hoping that this woman will speak to you - you're somehow entranced and intrigued by her story.

...May I help you? ...Yes, I suppose for an officer of the law I've got no choice but to make time, haven't I? You know, it's awfully late for you to be coming around here like this, detective or not. You're lucky that the children have just gone to bed, or I'd be inclined to turn you away for their sake. Detectives never have family interests at heart, I can tell you that.

No, I suppose you aren't all alike - but from what I've seen, you cause nothing but trouble everywhere you go. I haven't spoken to a detective in years, and even that was only in passing.

...Why, yes. The last time I spoke to the police was just after Katheryn's murder. I can't tell you how much that incident shook up this little town. I swear, things haven't been the same since her death. I thought that we'd finally started to put it all in the past, and then here you come along, dredging it all up again - but I don't have anything to say to you, not about Katheryn. I never knew her particularly well, but I always felt she was a peculiar sort of girl. My daughter was friends with her for a while, but friends wasn't really the right word.

When the girls were younger, Katheryn would come over here all the time, dying to see Jacquelyn, begging her for stories. You see, my daughter grew up on a ship, and had just as many sea stories as I, if not more - for it is the mind of a child that traps each memory in livid detail, the kind of detail that makes for an excellent story. I don't know what Katheryn's strange fascination with the ocean was, but suffice it to say if she could've taken Jacquelyn's place...

Ah. But you're not from around here; you don't know the story. My daughter, Jacquelyn, never grew accustomed to life in this town. She was always aching for the ocean, for the rock of the deck beneath her feet. Three years before Katheryn's death, she fell in love with a sailor, boarded a ship, and never looked back. I didn't see her again until she showed up at my doorstep, a baby in one arm and a four-year-old's hand in the other - and just as quickly as she walked back into my life, she was gone, again. She left the children here for safety, she said, but I honestly think it was because the novelty of parenthood wore off, and she longed for her freedom again. I've raised the children even since.

But I digress. Katheryn always struck me as strange because of the way that she longed for change and freedom, everything that Jacquelyn also wanted, but she was never the one to go and get it. She would talk of wanting to go on grand adventures, yet here she was, standing on the shore, always the dreamer. In some ways, I think that the sea and Jacquelyn represented everything she wanted, and everything she wanted to be.

Katheryn was a scientist, you see, and she was often struck with clinical fascinations, obsessions over things she couldn't understand. Maybe, in a grander sense, the ocean represented something unattainable, the vastness and incomprehensible complexity of nature. Before Jacquelyn left, she gave Katheryn this beautiful ship in a bottle, a replica of the ship on which I raised my daughter, and with it, the promise that she'd someday return with more grand stories.

After Jacquelyn left, I didn't see Katheryn around very much. She holed herself up in her lab, and focused only on the experiments on which she and Marjory were working. She threw all of her energy into her work, and, in some ways, I think Katheryn stopped being... Katheryn. Getting married, becoming increasingly serious about work, becoming even more tied down that she'd been before... it didn't strike me as something that a woman who wanted to get out of this little town would be doing. This is all speculation, but... I'm nearly inclined to think that death might have been her intention. I can't prove that she took her own life, of course, and I don't know that she did - but suffice it to say that I think the only person in this town with motive was Katheryn herself.

Regardless, I told the detectives back then what I'll tell you now: death is an awful thing, but dwelling on the dead does nothing for the living. It is for the sake of those who stay behind that we put death in the past, and that we shed only what tears are necessary. To dwell is to waste away.