Each roll of the ocean rocked the floundering vessel. Tipping the deck to the rhythm of the restless sea, and on their knees at Edith’s feet the captives subtly swayed.
Smoke billowed from stacks at the stern, staining the oceanic air. Perfuming it with the odor of the boilers death. With mast and wings broken, the ship had run its last course.
“You won’t get away with this.” Twisting at the rope binding her hands, the woman spat the words with all the venom of a cobra.
Edith pulled her eyes from her own ship, bobbing serenely off the port side of the broken craft. Fingers resting on the hilt of her sword, she pinned the woman with a stare.
“The Commodore is just behind us.” Raven hair dominated the woman’s head, the sea breeze stirring the unwashed strands. Brushing greasily against alabaster skin that had taken on a grayish pallor.
“His fleet will see you to the ocean floor.” Had her glare been a dagger, it might have cut the pirate to ribbons.
A smile quirked up one corner of Edith’s mouth. “I’m sure he’ll try.” Of that, she had no doubt. She had thwarted enough of his operations to warrant his attention.
But a glance upward deepened her suspicion; where the Baron’s colors should have flown, there was nothing. It was the absence of a flag that had drawn her to them. Even pirates flew a banner.
Thuds and clangs echoed from below deck, where half her crew searched the hull for valuables.
Scanning the line of prisoners, she weighed the appearance of each. Thin and haggard, only a handful had made a stand against her. The fallen had sunk swiftly beneath the hungry waves. And those that had surrendered made for a sorry sight.
“Which of you ranks here?”
The uniforms were near universal, and in similar states of disarray. None hinted at any hierarchy that she recognized.
The question was met with silence, not a one of them stirring. Heaving a sigh, Edith kicked hard at the nearest captive. A whimper rose from him as he was sent sprawling, a pathetic noise that did nothing to ease her mounting ire.
“Captain’s dead.” A woman - no, girl, for she could not have been more than fourteen at most - supplied. Her cheeks flushed when Edith set eyes on her. “Died three days ago,” she continued timidly.
“Than who’s in charge here?” What sort of ragtag crew was manning this ship? It was no wonder Edith’s people had overtaken it with such ease.
“Shall I appointment someone for you?” Taking up a tighter grip on her sword, she drew the blade and let its point rest against the wooden deck. “Or will severing a few digits loosen your tongues?”
Mouth gaping like a fish snatched from the sea, the girl tried for a reply but found none. Several of the crew paled. A few heads turned, each eying their neighbor in dismay.
“Captain.” From the bowels of the ship, Imari emerged. Ebony skinned, handsomely built, Edith might have courted her first mate had she not had a preference for woman.
Trailing behind him were several more of her own, carrying armfuls of fabrics and spices. Of actual food, there seemed to be none.
Three more survivors had been rounded up; shepherded into the sunlight, they blinked at the chaos of the ruined vessel. One of them broke out in a smile when he spotted her, though it did not reach his eyes.
“Edith,” he greeted. And grunted when her first mate set a boot to the back of his leg, dropping him to his knees.
“It’s Captain, to you,” Imari growled.
Grimacing as he landed, the grin returned in short order. “My apologies, Captain.”
Imari made to loose his sword, but Edith waved him off.
“Martin.” Sauntering across the deck she stood before him, rather enjoying their respective positions. A far cry from their roles when last they met. “Strange of you not to fly your father’s colors,” she said, indicating the barren pole with a dip of her head.
The smile faltered. “They were hard on the eyes. Had to take it down before it struck us blind.”
“Oh, I agree.” Touching the tip of her sword to his thigh, she delighted in his discomfort at the gesture. “I never much liked his flag.”
“Edith,“ - behind him, Imari stirred but did not strike him - “I’m no longer with the navy.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Fingers tapping against the cutlass, she cocked her head.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe.” Martin’s attention drifted from her to appraise his shipmates. “I’ve been dishonorably discharged, I think.”
A smile ghosted over his lips as he returned his eyes to hers. “Son of the Baron or not, I imagine being caught freeing people from jail is a cause for employment termination.”
“And them?” she asked, sweeping a hand toward the prisoners.
“Innocent people, who’s only crime,” - he spat the word - “is being related to members of the underground. They were going to be hung.”
“Seems I’ve missed a lot, since last I was in your port.” Edith scratched thoughtfully at her chin, casting the sickly woman a dubious look. Indeed the Commodore might be behind them, though not for support.
Redirecting her attention to Imari, she asked, “Have you taken everything useful?”
“Then let’s be gone.” Sheathing her sword, she studied the passengers of the dying ship. “Bring them.”
Martin surged to his feet. The step he made to take toward her was arrested by Imari, grabbing his arm in a rough grip. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Criminals, bound for the noose? Might be they’ll fetch a good price back home.” She had no intention of returning them to the Baron. But the lie was worth witnessing Martin’s distress. Lord knew he had caused her enough, over the years.
A few words of protest kicked up from the prisoners as the pirates hauled them to their feet, but most went meekly as they were led to her ship.
“And me?” Martin asked, anger coloring his expression.
“Don’t worry,” she said, patting his cheek. “I’m sure we’ll find a use for you.”
