O Captain, My Captor Page 10

  “Captain —” I say, and that’s as far as I get before she takes my face in her hands and crushes her lips to mine. Much like the scene we made in our jail cell, there is heat and desperation in her kiss, her impossibly soft lips molding to my own and holding them as if to permanently impress their memory there. I feel my face heat up instantly, and this time I melt into her without resistance.

  Then, quick as it came, it is gone, and I belatedly open my eyes to see my Captain running off down the hall toward the approaching guards. I clamp a tight lid over my anxiety before it can stir and sink down into the corner between the wall and floor, huddling myself in shadow. I cannot help, however, that there are tears in my eyes as I watch my Captain run headlong into danger without me.

  Luckily I am still used to a much darker world than this surface prison, down amongst the deep waters where very little light reaches and even less is produced. The amount of light in these gloomy, flickering hallways would have been enough to burn my eyes had I not already been dazzled by the unfiltered glare of the naked sun on Vine’s ship for the past several days, slowly becoming more inured to excesses of brilliance. I can still see her far away down the corridor — much farther, I think, than either she or the guards could see me — when she finally starts to shout.

  “Help! Guards!” she cries as the uniformed men finally see her racing toward them, hands on the hilts of their swords. She stops before them and bends at the waist, her hands on her knees, feigning at catching her breath. The posture also conveniently obscures the sword hilt protruding from her belt. “Help me please!” I hear her, softer but just as frantic, her voice muffled slightly by distance. “A prisoner! One’s escaped! You gotta help!”

  “Where?” one of the guards asks, his voice barely audible. They both draw their swords and glare into the distance beyond my bent and panting captain, their surprise and concern taking precedence over the strangeness a lone, distraught, mostly-naked woman’s presence should otherwise have evoked.

  Before the moment passes, Vine suddenly lunges toward the man on the right, driving her knee into his gut. He doubles over with a strangled “Oomph!” as my Captain rises, ducking to the right of him and grabbing his uniform about the shoulders. His companion starts and spins on them both as Vine swings the bent guard around by his jacket and uses his own momentum to shove him head-first into the stone wall. He bounces back and crumples as my Captain spins backward, placing herself behind and to the left of the other guard and steering clear of his wavering sword. Her own blade is out and at his throat before he can re-orientate himself, and he suddenly freezes, staring wide-eyed down the hall. “Right here,” I hear her say, then she pulls her sword away and raises it over her head as she shoves the guard back. He spins to face her just in time for her to bring the handle down hard across his head, then he slumps to the ground next to his slowly writhing and groaning partner.

  I’m up and running after her as the last man hits the floor, not wanting to waste a moment of the opportunity she’s just bought. She takes a quick step in my direction, then stops and checks herself as she sees me racing toward her. She smiles at me as she sheathes her sword, then catches my hand and rushes off down the hall without a word, towing me along on clumsy legs that can barely keep up with her long, graceful strides.

  A moment later, we're in sight of our last obstacle: two more guards stationed in front of a door at the end of the hall. My Captain stops us just out of sight, the both of us kneeling in the shadowed alcove of another recessed metal door, her peering around the corner and me behind her to shield her from the metal's touch. To our straining luck, Vine reports that neither seems particularly attentive, slouched as they are against the wall and murmuring conversation to one another. Unfortunately, neither do either of them seem inclined to move soon.

  “What now?” I ask quietly.

  I see her fingers tighten on the rocky corner which she leans against. “Not sure,” she whispers back.

  “Can you incapacitate these two like you've been doing?” I offer.

  “Maybe,” she says, though she doesn't sound happy with the prospect. “These are sentries, though, not patrols. They generally don't budge as easily. Harder to surprise.” She exhales slowly but audibly, one hand clutching at the necklace hanging against the top of her cleavage. “And the talisman won't work through stone, especially laced with iron like these cliffs are,” she adds, half to herself.

  “Talisman?” I ask. It's the first I've heard of one.

  “Shh!” Her finger is over my lips suddenly as she squeezes back into our alcove, pressing me tighter to the cold iron door. “Something's happening.”

  I don't have to listen hard to hear it then, the clunk and rattle of metal being manipulated. There's a long, scraping creak down the hall in the direction of the door guards, and then a third, louder voice joins the conversation of the first two. What they're saying to each other I can't tell, however, as that is the same moment that a pair of heavy running footfalls echoes from down the other side of the corridor in the direction from which we came, with an alarmed and frantic voice shouting overtop of it.

  Vine stiffens. “Door's open. And they found the knocked-out guards.” She grips my wrist hard enough to hurt, then yanks me to my feet before I can protest or react. “This is the new plan!” she grumbles, then sets off at a hard run toward the door with me in tow, barely managing to keep my feet beneath me in the wake of her sudden flight.

  I hear the guard behind us skid to a halt with a bit-off expletive (he's much closer than I thought at first) at the same time I see the guards before us stiffen, two beside the door and one standing in it with his hand on the edge. My Captain doesn't hesitate or waver in the slightest; her free hand is suddenly holding her sword, gleaming orange in the burnished rays of intruding evening sunlight streaming in from the opened door, waving before her in quick, violent arcs as we run, hacking at the guards even before we reach them. The two to the sides panic and dive out of the way as we approach, the one in the doorway backpedaling as he fumbles his own blade free. Vine releases my wrist then on the precipice of the portal, leaving me to stumble along on my own momentum as she rushes ahead on her long, pumping legs (ye gods, is she fast!) and barrels shoulder-first into the man before he can defend himself, ducking under his now-free sword and tackling him to the wooden pier behind him. Her fist, clenched around the handle of her sword, jerks up then down in one quick, fluid movement, knocking the man's head sideways to lay flat against the dock boards.

  I stumble through the doorway and trip, falling to my knees on the wooden wharf just beyond it. The two guards just behind me are scrambling to their feet when my Captain springs backward off of her opponent and pivots to grab one of my arms in her free hand. She draws me half up to her as she herself bends her head down close to me, sheathing her blade as she does so. “Sorry,” is all she says as she grips both of my elbows and, with a grunt and one graceful flex of her entire body, lifts me up off of my knees. Her grunt turns into a yell of exertion and triumph as she twists her whole body back around, swinging me along with her off of my feet, before letting go and flinging me into the water.

  I gasp in midair, then hit the waves wide-eyed and disorientated. I've not been in the water for a full week, maybe a little more. Such a short time it seems when I think of all that has happened, and yet such a long time to be away from the sea, which had previously been my whole world. Not to mention that I'd never used my legs before then, or even knew that I had them in me somewhere. How I am meant to swim with these two awkward things thrashing independent of one another instead of my graceful, beautiful tail, I do not immediately know.

  Luckily, my gills need no reminder; and while the shock of cold seawater in my lungs in place of the air I have grown used to is jarring at first, it soon becomes familiar. However much I may resemble a human now, at least I am not at risk of drowning like one; and, thankfully, the water is shallow here this close to the cliffs. I settle to the rocky floor within
seconds, then push myself to standing beneath the dark blue water as muted, late evening sunlight filters down to help me get my bearings. Standing upright is even more of a challenge down here with the current, slower but stronger than the surface wind. Gravity is back to normal, though, considerably less than the heavy tug above the water. If I cannot swim as easily, I still float, at least. And so I kick off from the shore bottom toward the surface, my legs pressed tight together and undulating in a stiffened parody of my tail, my arms grabbing the water and pushing it down, pulling me up through it. It is not as easy as it should be, but I still manage to break the surface a minute later.

  Air rushing back into my lungs is yet another shock, and I gasp as it hits, spitting the water it displaces in my chest. With a concentrated effort, I can make myself bob in the waves here at the water's edge. I turn as quickly as I can back to the docks, searching for my Captain.

  She is near the platform's edge and getting nearer, her sword flashing in front of her in quick, desperate strokes, fending off the tentatively reaching blades of two of the guardsmen as they advance on her. A third stands behind them, sword at the ready should one of them fail, and a fourth floats in the water like me and clings to one of the poles supporting the pier, reaching for the platform to pull himself back up.

  Each second I watch pushes her closer to the dock's edge.

  “Captain!” I shout above the din of clashing metal. “Jump in!” At this point it is obvious she's soon going to lose if she doesn't make a run for it.

  She bats one of the swords coming at her away and blocks the other, the blades sliding down the length of one another to the hilts as she turns partially to me. The movement lets me see her other hand, clenched tight around the pendant hanging from her neck, her knuckles blanched white, as if holding on to that strange bit of carved jewelry is the only way to save herself. “Can't!” she shouts back, then pushes the guard's sword off of her own just as the other sweeps in low towards her legs. She wrenches her own blade down in time to bat it aside again, but not before it slices through the fabric at the front of her thigh, opening a line of blood with it.

  “Captain!” I shout again in panic. She cries out wordlessly herself and stumbles back another step, wincing as she takes up her defensive dance with the guards again. She bites her lower lip hard enough that I fear she's going to draw blood there as well, then takes another step back toward the lip of the pier. She only has about two more steps to go before she falls in despite her protests.

  The guard in back turns toward me and opens his mouth to shout something, then pauses as his gaze slides past and above me, eyes widening. “Look!” he finally manages, pointing with the tip of his blade. He is shouting to his comrades, I know, but I turn to look for myself and see a small ship fast approaching us, twin sails spread wide to catch the meager breeze but hurtling toward us as fast as if it had the full power of a storm behind it. It pulls alongside me, splashing me with its wake, but through the wave I can make out familiar details: a name on the side that I have never noticed before but still recognize; the long bowsprit nosing ahead, piercing the air before it; the small cabin in the stern where I first awoke to surface life; the single mast sprouting from the deck to which I spent my first few days chained and my last several leaning on as I first learned to walk.

  It is Captain Vine's ship. The Queen's Runner.

  And it is completely unmanned, barreling down on the small pier without a soul on board.

  A sudden cry from the deck turns my attention back to the fight. Both of the men assaulting Vine had also paused to steal glances at the ship sailing itself right into them, and Vine had used the momentary opportunity to return the gash one of them gave her, slicing through the cloth and skin of one of his legs. I turn in time to see her follow through with a kick to the shin that unbalances him and sends him toppling sideways into the water with a heavy splash, her blade whipping up to meet the other man's as he refocuses on her. The blades clash and bounce off of one another again, and my Captain, a moment quicker than the guard, aims a high kick at the man's gut, driving him back with the heel of her boot into the man behind him rushing forward. The man in back goes down twisting to one hand and knee, the one in front flipping backward over him and losing his grip on his sword, which skitters across the deck boards. Vine takes three quick, striding steps toward them both, then pivots on her heel and sprints down the short length of the pier just as her ship passes by, vaulting herself from the edge of the platform and over the railing of The Queen's Runner. She lands on her sword arm and rolls deftly to her feet as the ship clears the dock and then whips back around, turning in a tight arc even for its small size.

  The guards are still clambering to their feet again when the ship passes the pier heading the other direction. They can only stand at the edge and shout and wave their swords as the ship pulls alongside me again, my Captain appearing over the railing to fling a rope down into the water near me. I catch it as it drags across the surface and wrap it around my arms, then the next moment I find myself being hoisted out of the water and swinging through the air an inch away from the ship's keel. Then my Captain's arms are around mine, pulling me over and in, and we both sprawl on the deck, her winded and me soaking wet, as the ship speeds away from the cliff-side dock and out toward open water.

  ***

  “Why did you not jump in the water?”

  My Captain leans against the outside wall of the cabin, naked but for the wrap around her head and the pendant hanging from her neck, her dusky skin a muted silver shadow under the bright light of a full moon. Her ripped pants are lying somewhere on the deck boards along with her boots, her silver sword carefully stowed away in the small storage closet that was my holding cell not so very long ago. But for that and the rigging, we have precious little else left onboard after Rockquay.

  “I didn’t need to,” she answers, so calm it annoys me, and lifts one slender leg high in the air. On the thigh near the top is her new sword wound, which she wraps tightly with bandages while it hovers in front of her, unwavering. I envy her that rock-steady grace for a moment; there is no way I can stand on one foot right now, prop or not, without tumbling over. “Ship got here in time, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, but barely,” I argue, toweling myself off, but slowly. I was not submerged long enough to re-grow my tail, evidently, but this in-between state — this being wet in dry air — confuses my muscles, I think, and makes my legs tingle and itch as if they are about to try something. So I’ve stripped my sundress off to dry hanging from the rigging while I softly pat away excess moisture, telling my body that I intend to keep it above water a while yet. My hat, unfortunately, is lost and floating somewhere near the prison cliffs still. When the sun rises in the morning, its enhanced brightness will be yet one more thing to get used to. “It was risky,” I continue, pouring admonition into my voice. “And you wouldn’t have gotten that wound if you hadn’t stayed on the pier to fight those guards.”

  “It’ll be fine, Lei,” she says with a casual smile, tearing off her bandage and tying the ends off. On her wrists she sports two more bandages, wrapped like cloth shackles around the burn marks that the prison’s iron shackles have left on her flesh. “It’s only skin deep, and a clean cut at that. Won’t even leave a scar when it’s healed.” She finishes her ministrations and pats the new binding proudly, swinging the leg out in front of her to give me a full view of her bandaging, among other things.

  I look away as I feel myself flush. “It was still unnecessary,” I mutter. “There was no reason we couldn’t have swum for it.”

  She chuckles, stepping closer to me. “There was a very good reason, my moonlit pearl.”

  “And what was that?” I demand, looking back at her.

  I had thought to glare to show how serious my concern is, but this close and naked, her body glowing softly with moonlight, my breath catches a moment and the look doesn’t come out right. She glides into me, taking my face in her hands and noticing, all gods cur
se her. “I can’t swim,” she says.

  “You can’t —” Too late. Her lips close over mine and steal my hard-fought breath, our bodies melding together as she languidly wraps her arms around me and pulls me tighter. “… swim?” I breathe when finally given the chance, still snugly trapped in her hold.

  “In the slightest,” she purrs, for some reason. “I sink like a stone.”

  “But …” It is too hard to think like this, and I am not done arguing with her. In a burst of willpower, I wiggle free of her hold and duck beneath her arms, backing away from her across the deck. “But you’re a sailor,” I finish as my head clears.

  She laughs again, low and musical. “Exactly. I have a ship. It swims for me.”

  “But … surely betimes you must find yourself in the water with a lifestyle like yours.”

  “I’m in the water all the time,” she says with a nod. “On my ship.”

  I shake my head. “What if you fall in?” I ask.

  She shrugs and goes to collect her discarded clothing. “I don’t fall.”

  I wait a second, but no more information seems forthcoming. “What?” I ask. “Never?”

  “Hasn’t happened yet.”

  I watch her incredulously as she stoops and bends to collect the rest of her outfit. I cannot watch her for long, however, without getting distracted. “Captain Vine,” I ask, “are you pulling my fin?”

  She chuckles again. “No, but I have it in my bunk still if you want it. City guards didn’t take that when they took the rest of it. Probably thought it was trash.” She stops halfway to the cabin and turns to regard me with a slight smirk. “Lorelei … am I to take this sudden lecturing as a sign that my safety concerns you?”

  I wish to any god listening that I didn’t blush so easily in front of her right now. “Isn’t it obvious?” I answer, staring at my own toes. Truth be told, actually, they still kind of fascinate me. I wiggle them individually and marvel at the sensation until I realize Vine is standing in front of me again.