"Crap!" I yell, jumping on the other foot to rub at my sore toe. I glare at the worn chest with its bronze clasps. The only thing that strikes me as odd is the Yale lock around the loop in the middle.
Dropping my foot, I continue my mission towards the main door. The glint of sunlight on the lock catches my attention and I pause. Perhaps it isn’t such a great idea to just go barging out of the compartment. I need to examine my surroundings first.
Gripping the top of the upper bunk I lift myself up and catch a momentary glimpse of the outside world before I tumble down again, wet hair cascading across my face.
The sea is an unruffled deep bottle green, save for the few soft ripples from the other boats in the old stone harbour. Surrounding us, I caught sight of small fishing boats, luxury yachts, one or two houseboats and an oil tanker. The thing that caused me to lose my grip, however, is the colour of the sky. It is a gothic oil painting of an indigo red haze, splattered with dark clouds.
If I was anyone else, I would think it's all a sham, but I've seen and learned more than my imagination can handle the last couple of weeks, which leaves me wondering if the sky has been tainted by the bombs. But, then again, studying radiation and nuclear warheads hadn't been that vital in high school.
I push my damp hair back and pace back to the door. Now is not the time to be timid. I throw the door open and am met with a cramped but cosy hallway. I am just about to cross the threshold when I hear the clearing of a throat.
“You’re finally awake! My Cabin is mine again!”
The clear voice belongs to a young male who looks to be in his early twenties. He's leaning against the passage wall beside my door with one foot pulled up and resting beneath him. The poise reeks of Hollywood cowboy. All he needs is a tipped hat and a piece of straw lazily drooping from the corner of his mouth. But he isn’t a cowboy. He's dressed in standard pirate garb with an added emerald green sash that wraps around his waist.
“Uh, sorry?”
How many guys are on this boat exactly? There should be more informative pirate cartoons on TV or something. I make a note to write to the head of broadcasting when I get home.
“You’re the girl they found on the other side of the harbour? No worries, my name’s Riley.”
His accent isn’t like the others. It's definitely British. I stare at his hand as he holds it out for me to shake. Cautiously I take it in my own. He clutches on to it, his gaze drifting from my eyes down to the toes of my broken shoes. I feel like an alien.
“Cris,” I murmur. I cough, clearing my dry throat. “I mean I’m Cris Scarlet, hi.”
Seriously? Do I have to do this every time I speak to a guy? I'd been just as weird with Jesse and look at how that relationship had turned out.
His response is a dazzling smile. I know cliché... But I mean it. I literally blink, as if it's the sun.
“Now that’s nothing like Mary. Gus will be disappointed. He was set on naming you. We had to explain to him that women aren’t pets. You can’t give them names or lock them up in a room like a feral cat.”
I'm not sure how I'm meant to take being referred to as a stray cat so I smile awkwardly and shrug in response.
“So... Anyway, I’m standing outside your door, which is actually my door because the Captain asked me to summon you to his side when you woke.”
With a sheepish look, he averts his eyes from my own. “I admit it has been difficult. A man cannot stand outside his own cabin constantly for two days.”
With that information, I do a double take. “Two days,” I groan. And what about Jesse? Has anyone found him? Is he still lost and alone? Curling my arms around my stomach, I squeeze. My eyes dampening.
“Jesse?” I ask.
“You mean the skinny one with the dark hair?”
My face lights up, my stomach dropping with relief, and I swear the stale briny air around us suddenly smells of sunshine and tastes of candy. I leap forward, intending to hug Riley, my grin encapsulating my entire face.
He holds his hands up to stop me. His forehead is crumpled, his mouth taut.
“Not so fast pet, we haven’t found him. The Captain reckons if you two let go of each other in the blast then he could have ended up anywhere. Depending on, of course, when you let go of each other. How did you end up in that situation anyway?”
He looks down at me intently with lime green eyes that seem to glow in the dim light of the hallway.
I shake my head, my heart hammering in my chest as an acidic feeling rises in my belly.
“Could he be dead?” I whisper and then add thoughtlessly, “I don’t know. It was all so painful. Maybe just before I passed out...”
With a heavy frown, I turn my gaze to the tattered red carpet below my feet. “I’d rather not talk about it right now. I’m not even sure what happened myself.”
The warmth of his hand on my shoulder has me looking up. His sun-kissed blonde hair falls just past his ears. His eyes tell me they know my pain. That he knows how lost I am. They make me feel pitied. I want to shrug his hand from my shoulder. But I don’t.
“I won’t pressure you into talking, and I doubt anyone else on the crew will either. Your mate will show up sooner or later.”
I nod. I can’t focus with his arm on mine. All around me the ship creaks, its groaning intermingling with a little voice in my head going, ‘Please move your hand, please.’ I don’t know what’s come over me... My skin gets warmer and warmer the longer his palm stays pressed to me. My face prickles uncomfortably.
Finally, he drops his hand to his side, smirking. I cross my arms tightly around my chest. Isn’t it bad enough that all my clothes are torn? Now my face probably looks like a beetroot too.
He turns, beckoning me to follow him. “You need new clothes. The crew will never understand what you have on. I don’t think I do either. Our girls back home wear dresses and they never-” he pauses, facing me, “Never, wear pants.”
“It’s no wonder James refuses to leave his sleep quarters. Just the thought of a lass dressing like a man drives half this crew mental.” Laughing he twists round to wink at me.
If I have to describe his laugh in three words it would be pleasant, masculine and festive. It makes me smile. At least he's explained why he's been eyeballing me like a monkey at the zoo. It helps me relax a smidgen, and then, my smile falters.
“I don’t have any cash,” I say, automatically patting my pockets and finding them bare. I've lost my cell-phone so all I have left are the clothes on my back.
He pauses. “Cash?”
Internally I groan. Riley seems so different to the Captain and Gus I’d almost forgotten he wouldn’t understand my slang. “Money, gold, galleons...” I trail off.
“Who said anything about money? We have gold and we have plunder,” he replies with a grin. “Gus and the Captain took out some of the smaller stuff for you to take a look at. It is astounding how much of our treasure contains women’s wear.” He glances back at me, rolling his eyes.
Unable to help myself I laugh. “That’s bizarre. I’m assuming you're an all-male crew, right?”
With a conspiratory look over his shoulder, he replies, “Oh yes, these are a chauvinist bunch of pirates, but don’t let that dim your spirit. Some of these men, like Kevin for instance, seem as if they might enjoy dressing up in female attire when no-one else is looking. And that my lady is why we have a huge chest of the stuff instead of having thrown it overboard ages ago.”
With a smile, I crinkle my nose. “Kevin?”
Riley slows his pace turning so that he's facing me as he walks back down the passageway. Raising an eyebrow, he smirks. “You’ll meet him soon. Such a friendly guy.”
I shrug. I can't tell if he's being serious although I am starting to sense a connection between his smirk and his sarcasm. I peer around him. The passageway ends at the bottom of a curling flight of bronze stairs. The walls around us are the same thick slats of dark wood as in the cabin, and the floor I attempt to balance on to the
sway of the ship is covered by a faded and holey red carpet.
“Since you’ve given me such valuable advice, I’m willing to offer some of my own. If you’re heading out to land, be careful. This place is different from yours.”
His wily smile vanishes, his eyebrows remain arched in my direction. “Oh, and why is that?” He drawls.
“Well, for starters someone may attempt to rip you off... Or mug you. I mean I’m sure France is safer than where I’m from but I’ve heard that they don’t really like the English and that goes for anyone who speaks English too.” Scratching at my ear I add, “Unless you have an American accent. I think Americans are well liked here.”
I know as soon as I start to speak that I should have played dumb because I have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm not talking to some ignorant tourist. In fact, I'm the ignorant tourist and I'm blabbering to a pirate!
Riley's brow drops. His jaw is tight as he replies, “That’s right Cris you aren’t from here either. Perhaps you might consider your own advice?”
I step back in astonishment. His tone is dry and humourless. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up on edge. At that moment he reminds me of the kids at school, the ‘popular,’ kids who think that because of their status they can walk all over everyone else. “Well, at least I’m from this time!” I wave my hand in a half moon between us. “From this planet! So sorry that I was trying to be friendly. I won’t make that mistake with you again.”
Heat prickles my forehead just below my hairline. My breathing feels too fast. I watch, aghast as Riley's lips produce a painstakingly slow smile. It's a smile that screams how egotistic and full of himself he is.
“You are so much feistier than I expected pet.” He points at his chest displaying through the V in his shirt. “Would you consider ripping off a pirate? Would you find it wise to mess with someone like me or the Captain?”
I take a deep breath. Squeezing my arms around my waist I drop my gaze to the mouldy carpet beneath me. When he puts it that way, I understand that I too don’t understand him or the time he's from and making enemies with the first part of the crew I meet is a terrible, terrible idea.
I shake my head.
“No. I suppose not.” I return my gaze to his.
He looks at me for a moment longer than feels necessary. “I heard you fell from the sky?” He asks as if the fact I fell from the sky is water cooler gossip and something to be admired, but I don’t want to have this conversation.
“That’s what I’ve been told.” I shrug. Why have we stopped walking? I need to move forward. To make it to those stairs and get somewhere that doesn’t smell so musty.
“Like an angel.”
The gentleness to his tone has me staring at him questioningly but he has averted his eyes towards the stairs I so badly want to venture up. Once again, I wonder if he is being serious.
“Dressed like this? I highly doubt it.” I pull at my bloodstained, faded shirt and roll my eyes.
His gaze moves to the stain surrounding the bullet hole in the side of my shirt and remains there. I can’t tell what he is thinking.
He grins. “You’re right at least an angel would have worn a dress like a normal girl.”
Growing tired of his ego I decide to point out that I need some new threads. “ah ha, so what about getting me normal girl clothes then? I’d like to get out of these.” I point at my shirt again, this time with both hands. I sigh in relief when he nods and moves forward.
“Follow me then,” he coos over his shoulder.
I trail behind him as he climbs the stairs and enters the first room on the landing. It reminds me of a boardroom. The walls are wooden with a collection of mismatched chairs piled against them. In the centre of the room stands a circular cherry wood table covered in a jumbled assortment of colours and clothes.
I step up to the table and lift a heavy blue skirt between my thumb and forefinger. I let it fall and start to pick my way through the pile of girly dresses, corsets and wrinkled boots. Dropping a feathered hat from a leather under-bust I recall digging through old junk shops in Melville with my mom years earlier. I can smell the same old cereal box scent on this pile of clothes as I had on those.
I search the pile for something that will make the assortment smell more like the clothes I have left behind in my closet but I come up short. I guess pirate loot doesn’t include perfume. What a pity I have no money. France is the home of some of my favourites. What I would give for a bottle of Yves Saint Laurent right now.
Scrunching up one eye I pick a couple of items from the pile. So, I’ll smell like a deserted nest for a while, but it's better than wearing what I have on. I look down at the congealed blood crackling off my shirt in disgust.
Riley is leaning against one of the large French colonial inspired windows on the far side of the room staring at me. I return his look with an expectant one of my own. He seems completely oblivious to the fact that I need to actually remove clothes to put new ones on.
I clear my throat. “Uh, could you maybe step out so that I can change?” I hold my creased selection up beside me trying not to wrinkle my nose as I do.
Curling his shoulders back he stretches. “I’ve been around men for so long I forget girls are so different to us.”
He ambles back to the door and leans against the frame, his lime eyes glassy. “I get it though, these other brutes won’t. I had a sister...”
I can’t see his expression but I hear the drop in his voice as he peels himself from the doorframe and shuts the door. What had happened to the arrogant boy’s sister? It's probably a good thing he's already left the room. I have a feeling if I ask, I will only get a snide remark as an answer. Riley doesn’t seem like the type who is eager to share.
I change into a yellowed button up shirt with a well-worn black leather corset placed over it, then I tug up a pair of black woollen stockings, stretching my legs out in front of me to make sure they won’t hang between my thighs before I slip into a flared gypsy looking skirt, ending the outfit with a pair of scratched and crinkled black buccaneer boots.
It is actually rather comfortable. I want to put on a pirate hat for good measure but then I think better of it and opt for a red sash around my waist like Rileys’ emerald one. I just hope it isn’t like a karate thing and certain colours show what level you're at or I will die of embarrassment. You'd think after everything I've been through; I'd be a little more confident, but no, I'm still me, awkward and unusual.
I open the door to the hall. Riley is outside with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. I try not to smile at him but half of it escapes anyway.
“Well look at you, Cris.”
Stepping close to me he undoes my sash with a movement that I presume is deliberately slow. He can try his tricks with me, but he’ll soon learn I'm not like the girls he obviously seduces with his bright eyes and perfect teeth. I don’t like arrogant douchebags. After he's re-tied the slippery fabric he steps back.
“Now you look like one of the crew and they won’t mistake you for a muggle.”
My forehead puckers at the word. “How do you know what a muggle is?”
I watch his expression intently, but it remains the same as he shrugs, “It does mean non-magical person, right? I heard it out there.” He points up, as I'd done before.
Still a little suspicious at the fact he's learnt a word from a fantasy novel just by walking around someplace in France, but more worried about what is going to happen next, I let it drop.
“Alright,” I say slowly. “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen with me?” My voice comes out shallow. I want to go home, I want to find Jesse and tell everyone I'm not dead, but I can’t do that until I find him. Dead or alive.
“The Captain instructed us to be as accommodating to you as possible. You should probably discuss it with him though, not with us. We had a meeting your first night and it did not go well.”
When he says that I try to evaluate his expression, but it'
s still the same, only now he has his bottom lip trapped between his teeth instead of a smile.
“And that was about?” I ask, my mood dropping at the thought that I'm creating discord with people I haven't even met yet.
“You.”
Well, that's obvious. “What about me?”
“What to do with you.”
“What did you decide?”
We've strolled side by side down a passage and up another flight of stairs. Riley stops in front of a gnarled and scratched door with a faded gild frame.
“You can discuss it with the man in there. This is the Captain's’ cabin. I hear you’ve visited before. Good luck roomie.”
I watch as he walks back down the stairs. I want to run after him instead of knocking on the mammoth door in front of me, but it's time I got some bravado. I need to know my fate one way or another and running will not help my situation.
With my heart beating furiously I lift my fist to the door. As soon as it falls, I feel the blood drain from my face.
This is it. I'm about to learn my fate.
CHAPTER SIX
I stand silent, the muscles in my legs quivering as I listen to the wind colliding with the ship. There is no sound from behind the door and it remains closed.
I gulp. Perhaps my knock has been too light? I try again, this time my fist slams loudly against the heavy door.
“Ow...” I mumble, inspecting my red knuckles.
“Lass? That ye?” The Captain asks opening the door. The air around me tugs me forward whipping my hair around my face.
Blowing my dark brown locks away I breathe, “You asked to see me?”
The Captain grins. “None of these hooligans ‘ave ever bothered to knock. I admit I was taken off guard, not a good thing for a pirate Captain ta be is it, lass?”
I feel my eyes crinkle as I shrug, my lips curling inwards in confusion. “Uh, I’m sorry?”
The Captain chortles, waving me inside his, ‘office,’ also known as the bridge. “Don’t be sorry lass. It’s refreshing.”
Time Torn Page 5
