O Captain, My Captor Read online

  “Stop!” I cry out, equally surprised at both the volume of my voice and the length I have already gone without protesting. “What are you doing to her? Don’t hurt her, please!” I stumble forward from my post, reaching toward my suffering Captain, but a guard’s raised arm holds me back. I watch in horror as the men holding my Captain yank her up the pier and away from her ship by the chains on her wrists, her face contorting in a new grimace of pain at the action. “She didn’t do it!” I shout at them. “She was just protecting me! Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the guard captain says to me, no trace of sympathy in either his voice or his face, “but it’s your word against three who say otherwise, and the elf has already shown herself to be violent and dangerous in front of the city guard. We’re putting her under arrest until the matter can be resolved, for her own good as well as that of the city.” He turns from me then, watching his men board Captain Vine’s ship and disappear into the hold, all except for the man who grabs the sack of my scales and tosses them to shore. “Any confiscated cargo will be stored in the warehouses on Cliff East,” he continues. “An appeal can be entered with the Harbormaster for claim or need of return for any sum of the contraband goods.”

  “But Captain Vine?” I ask, pushing away the restraining arm of the guard in front of me. My fear and worry is slowly being infused by indignant anger at the unfairness going on before me, and with it, I feel my stubborn pride as a member of royalty returning from its place of slumber, buried as it had been beneath my Captain’s presence. I remember that, until recently, I am used to getting what I demand of people like this guardsman. “What of her? Where do you take her for this supposed crime?”

  I see the guards all looking sidelong at one another under my questioning, even as they go about their assigned duties. My Captain, too, has calmed her expression enough to gaze curiously at me through eyes half-shut against pain. Her bout of forced weakness lends me strength on her behalf, and I gaze unflinchingly at the guard captain, whose gaze does not hold my own so uniformly. “She’ll not be punished unduly, if that is your concern,” he says to me. “We only take her to the prison cells for now, no more.”

  “Then take me as well,” I demand, stepping forward. “She is my Captain, her vessel my vehicle, her cargo my concern. I’ll not abandon her to impersonal laws, and I’ll not be made bereft of my only companion in a foreign city by them either.” I daresay I surprise even myself with my boldness now; under the sea, ‘twould not be strange at all, but in this new and imposing element, I’d not known I could summon up such authority.

  The guard captain looks confused for a second, then bows his head to me. “Apologies, ma’am,” he says with all the respect he had lacked before, “but the Magistrate does not allow visitation to the jails. You can leave your name with the warden, if you like, to be informed of her sentencing when it happens. Other than that …”

  “Lorelei,” my Captain says, turning all heads to her, “I’ll be fine. I’ve been in worse situations. Worry for your own self, not for me.”

  “Captain Vine …” I say, and feel the certainty of authority slipping again within me, replaced by concern. “It is partly for my own self that I do worry. I cannot commute this place without your help.”

  “Can you find your way home?” she asks, her gaze shifting out over the open water. “Where we met. Do you know the way from here?”

  I feel a strange sensation gathering within me like a swell about to break. Not one of those frighteningly pleasant feelings like my Captain has introduced me to; a cold kind of anxiety, the depth and power of which I cannot yet see. “I can,” I answer weakly, though reluctant to admit as much for some reason.

  My Captain smiles, then winces again as the guardsman holding her tugs at her chains. “C’mon, enough yappin’,” he grumbles as the whole body of guards begins their retreat back down the docks. “This is an arrest, not a social visit.”

  “Goodbye, little pearl,” Captain Vine calls to me over her shoulder as she is lead away, smiling at me despite her predicament. “I’d prefer to be remembered fondly, please.” Before I can reply, she is gone, marched out of sight amongst the still milling crowd. The guard captain gives me one more brisk bow of his head before striding off after them, most of our audience dispersing with his leave now that the bulk of the excitement is over.

  I stare after my vanished Captain until I hear a sloshing behind me that reminds me of the three men who had started the altercation, the last one remaining upright on deck helping to haul the fallen man out of the water while the third of them groans and comes to. Before they can remember that I am here and perhaps seek to torment me further, I gather what energy I can and hurry away into the dispersing crowd as fast as I dare to go, jostling a few people but staying on my feet until I’ve reached the small shop where we had bartered the worth of my scales before. Here I stop to lean against the wall, staring down at my quivering feet as I catch my breath. I am not so winded this time, not now that I am growing more and more used to rushing about on my legs; but I need an excuse to stop, to think, to keep my mind off of pondering this rapidly-closing wave of dread.

  Captain Vine — Jerica Vine to human cities, Vineberry to me alone — is gone. Arrested for menacing a man who had menaced the both of us, thrown in jail for defending what was hers. For defending me. In her mind, I know, those two are the same.

  I shiver despite the warmth of the evening, wrapping my arms around my body and holding myself tight. I had not been able to decide what my feelings for my kidnapper and defender were before she was taken. I still do not know. I had demanded of the guard captain that I go with her to her prison in order to argue her case, but why? Because I care about what happens to her? Or because I am lost without her? Perhaps both?

  I did not lie to her; I can find my way home from this town above the water. I have never been this far from it, but we travelled in a straight line as far as I can tell, and I have studied maps of the territory in and surrounding my father’s kingdom. Once I’m in the water — once I have my tail back — it should be a fairly simple journey. A long one for my standards, mayhap, and a lonely one, but not particularly dangerous, I shouldn’t think. Captain Vine had been hesitant about surrendering me to the waters around Rockquay; but then, she had also been hesitant of my being alone above them, and look where I ended up.

  The sensible thing, then, would be to return home. I was stolen from it; I had wished to be back in it; and now my well-meaning kidnapper has urged me to return to it. I am alone and out of my league in a locale that is neither hospitable nor comfortable to one of my kind, my only reason for being here gone, and the way back to normalcy within reach, the path easy and unimpeded. All the signs point to my diving back into my beloved sea and leaving these strange events behind to become colorful memories.

  And yet …

  They had hurt her. That much was evident even to my confused and ignorant perceptions. They had wounded her pride, her honor, her livelihood, and her body. They could be hurting her further right now. And if it is not my fault that she is in this situation — if she is to blame for putting me in a position that needed defending in the first place — still it is not her fault that her ears look the way that they do and that the humans here hate her for them.

  And whatever crimes she may have committed, Captain Vine has never hurt me. Stolen me, yes. Bound me and held me against my will, certainly. Teased me, molested me, confused me, taught me, and filled my mind with thousands of new questions and strange feelings, absolutely. But hurt me? No. Never.

  It wasn’t right.

  I sigh, straightening. The sensible path is calling like the songs my people sing to passing sailors; yet I know that I will not be able to take it in good conscience. Whether it is guilt I feel or curiosity or some alien sense of duty, I know not, but I do not like the idea of giving up on my Captain. Not without trying, at least.

  The merchant grins widely up at me as I walk through his door,
spreading his hands in a gesture of warm recognition. “Ah, my dear,” he calls to me, “come in, come in. I remember that lovely face.” His smile turns from happy to charming, that mask that Vine always wore so well. “You are alone? The hour is up, and your shrewd lady friend has yet to return with her part of the bargain.”

  “My shrewd lady friend has been arrested for protecting her part of the bargain from thieves,” I inform him, hoping my tone conveys some of the restless urgency I feel. I clasp my hands before me and take another step closer to his counter. “Please, if you’ve any sense of fairness in you, or even a care for the deal made between you two, tell me where they take prisoners here in Rockquay. I must find her and see to her release.”

  His smile drops to a tight-lipped, thoughtful frown. “Arrested, eh? Not good.” He looks down at the countertop between us, drumming his fingers on the wood. “From thieves, you say? And the guards arrest her and not them?” He stops drumming, his eyes darting back up to mine. “Why?”

  I shake my head. “I am not sure, sir. She and the thieves squabbled over the truth of events in front of the guardsmen, and she threatened the man that provoked the attack. Perhaps her temper worked against her.”

  His smile returns. “Fiery that one, eh? A woman after my own heart.” His smile drops again. “But how will you get her unarrested, then, eh? An impassioned plea from a beautiful woman will open many doors, my dear, but few jail cells.”

  Truthfully, I do not know. But one step at a time. “I am hoping my words will carry a measure of weight beyond simply how the face that speaks them looks,” I say. “And it may be that a title of mine holds some degree of power here as it does back home. I cannot know without first finding her.” I bow my head to the merchant in what I hope passes for a deferential gesture. Among my people, I would also curl my tail to my body and place my hands on my fin, but I think that would not carry the same meaning here even if it were possible. “Please, sir. I ask only for information that is readily available to any civilian less lost than I. Will you not help me?”

  He adopts his thoughtful frown once again, leaning on the counter and stroking his chin while he gazes at me. I hold my pose, glancing up at him through the lashes of my eyes, waiting for his reply. At last, he smiles once more and shrugs, straightening. “I have never been able to deliberately make a beautiful woman sad,” he says. “How can I start now? I will help you, my lost dove.”

  I do not know what a “dove” is, but I understand the rest of his words perfectly well. “Will you?” I ask, lifting my head with a grin. “Thank you, sir! You have my unblemished gratitude.”

  “We will see,” he says wryly, stepping out from behind his counter. “I cannot guarantee you will get what you want, but I will show you the way to it. Come.”

  He steps around me and opens his door, gesturing me through. For a moment I am uncomfortable with his proximity; but he means to help me, and I have no reason to distrust him, so I bear it and step outside.

  He is a step behind me, pointing down the road behind his shop. “You see the cliff on the far side of the city?” he asks me. I nod. The crags of the gray stone wall tower over the buildings in the distance. “Cliff East,” he says. “The Magistrate’s manor is carved out of the base of the rock. So are the barracks and dungeons. The only way in is with the Magistrate or Guard Captain’s permission. Or their wrath,” he adds with a smirk, “in the case of your fiery lady friend.”

  “My thanks again,” I say to him. “How does one obtain the Magistrate or Guard Captain’s permission?”

  He shakes his head. “That is a question many would like to know the answer to, my dear. Unfortunately, it is much easier and much more common to obtain the latter.” He looks toward the cliff with a twinkle in his eye and a sudden chuckle on his lips. “But if you mean to get in come hell or high water, a swift foot between his legs will make your admission to the dungeon any guard’s first priority.”

  If the water were high enough, that would certainly help. I don’t see that being likely, though, and am therefore not sure what it has to do with things. But I believe I gleam his meaning. “A swift foot between the legs,” I repeat, nodding. “Understood. If diplomacy fails, I will invoke this pass sign.” I bow my head to him again as he stares at me with furrowed brow. “Thank you yet again for this information and for your willingness to help. Wish us luck.”

  “That wasn’t —” I hear the merchant call as I dash toward the cliff face. The rest of his sentence is lost to distance and the returning murmur of the crowds as I duck into and, where available, around them, running as fast as my legs have ever carried me, wobbling slightly and jostling the occasional passerby but, on the whole, growing remarkably more comfortable with the appendages. The speed is necessary, I feel, as is taking my leave from my helpful merchant without any more pleasant conversation; my Captain is in pain with only myself to save her from it, and now I know where and how to get in. My hopeless task now has a glimmer of success.

  I must stop to pant for breath twice before I reach the far side of the city, where the gray wall of jagged stone juts like a shark’s teeth toward the sky. I must stop a third time once I finally reach it, leaning my back on a slab of dislodged rock and sliding down it to my butt to rest on the shady, barren ground. But when I have my lungs under control again, I look up to see a street apart from the rest of the grid here on the edge, sloping upward into the peaks of rock toward a sizeable portal breaking the jagged monotony of the stone wall. This street I take, slower now with the addition of a hill to climb. The first one in earnest that my legs have had to carry me over, and stretching them up as well as out takes its toll on new areas of muscle that I’ve not yet flexed. Though the path is short and my goal near, I must stop to rest yet again when I finally reach the large steel door set into the cliff.

  There are two of the uniformed guards here, though, standing stiffly before the portal and eyeing me with curiosity as I slump against the stone next to them. “Can we help you, miss?” one asks after a moment.

  I set my discomfort aside enough to push myself erect and address him with something like dignity. “Sirs,” I say in a royal voice that trembles only slightly, “I am Princess Lorelei of … of a land overseas,” I falter, remembering only too late that the name of my kingdom is still known to land dwellers as the name of the sea they sail over. If claiming a body of water as a home country does not alert to them that I am a mermaid, then they do not know what merfolk are. “I come seeking an audience with the prisoner Captain Jerica Vine, with whom I have business of the utmost importance. Will you escort me to her?”

  The glance they share with one another does not look like it favors my cause. “Apologies, miss,” says one. “Er, your highness,” he corrects, in a tone that doesn’t sound convinced that the correction was necessary. “No law-abiding civilian is allowed access without express permission from either Magistrate Conomar or Guard Captain Gildan. If you’ve need to see a prisoner, you’ll have to take it up with one of them.”

  It was taxing enough to find this place; I’ve no desire to dash across the city and back again seeking audiences with minor officials when I’m already so close to my goal. “This is a matter of national importance,” I say gravely, raising my chin. “I’ve no time to go through the machinations of bureaucracy at the moment, I’m afraid. The Captain is in possession of one of my kingdom’s most valued treasures, and I’ve urgent need to speak to her about its welfare.” I reassure myself with the knowledge that I’m not quite lying to these nice men. Not really.

  They share the glance again. The suspicion is stronger in it this time. “You’ve our sympathies, miss,” the other says with a slight nod of his head. “But protocol is protocol, and we’re not authorized to make the decision to breach it under these circumstances. If this is truly as important as you say, the Magistrate needs to hear about it, or else the Harbormaster should know you’ve got a claim on contraband goods. One of us can direct you to his office, if you like.”


  “I do not like,” I say with what I hope is gravity. “And I am sorry for your protocol, but this is bigger than that, involving the welfare of a royal family and a whole kingdom.”

  “Of a land overseas,” the first guard adds. “Right?”

  “Right,” I say, my heart sinking. “Not a very large kingdom, granted, but still —”

  “What was the name of your kingdom again?” the second guard asks. “If you don’t mind me asking. I can’t remember if you said or not.”

  “It’s … unimportant,” I say with a dismissive flip of my hand. “The name is. You’ve probably never heard of it anyway.”

  The guard leans on his spear and smiles at his companion. “Try us.”

  I glare between them, weighing in my mind the effectiveness of the truth versus a lie. Lying was never my strong suit, unfortunately. “Proserpia,” I say after a pause.

  I see the last shred of my credibility crumple under their grins. “As in the Proserpian Tropic?” the first guard asks. “That open patch of empty sea off the coast with no land around for miles? That’s your faraway kingdom?”

  “My kingdom was there first,” I argue, “before the sea got its name. It was probably named after my kingdom in the first place.”

  “Your country existed before the ocean did, did it?” he asks with an unconcealed chuckle.

  That’s it, then. All hope I had of reasoning my way in is dashed, and I cannot even say I blame these two for their doubts. I would not be convinced in their place either, just perhaps a bit more trusting. So, as they share a private and silent joke at my expense, I take my merchant friend’s advice and bring my foot swiftly up between the nearest man’s legs, where it meets a sudden and surprisingly jiggly resistance.

  The guard’s soft chuckle breaks off in a sudden, high-pitched gasp with a strangled yelp. He doubles over himself, clutching at the strange squishiness he has dangling between his thighs as I remove my foot, his face red and his eyes wide. His companion startles back, gripping his spear with both hands, and looks from him to me with nervous surprise.