My anger at the Captain shifts to the scene in front of me. Lyra continues to view this entire excursion as a grand adventure. For someone raised by a Madame in a brothel, she is wildly innocent and acts as if my evening meals with the Captain are part of a romantic tryst instead of comprehending the reality of our situation. My hands fist in the folds of my skirt to prevent me from shaking the girl in my frustration at her carelessness, while I bite my tongue to keep myself from lashing out at the two of them.
“Missus, good evening, I…um…” Charlie twists his knit cap in his hands, bracing as if he expects me to strike him with lightning. He doesn’t meet my eyes while he struggles for words, brown hair falling across his forehead as he stares at his hands.
“Good evening. Leave. Now.”
“Good night, Missus, Miss Lyra,” Charlie ducks his messy head and disappears quickly down the hall, and I slam the door behind him.
“Lyra. This isn’t a game,” I warn, struggling to keep my words civil. “Didn’t you hear Lennox? If anyone does anything to you the Captain doesn’t like, he will likely be removed from the ship, if not worse.”
“Oh, Andromeda – Charlie is different.” Lyra’s pretty eyes sparkle and her tawny cheeks flush with happiness. “There’s nothing to worry about!”
Oh, Goddess, she’s in love with that boy.
Closing my eyes on a long inhale, then another, I mentally wash my hands of the situation. I promised her mother I would keep her safe. Charlie hasn’t shown any sign he would harm her, and the girl is free to make her own decisions. But I am not responsible for protecting him from Lennox, too.
“How was your dinner with the Captain? He seems to really admire you. I see him watching you whenever you walk on the decks.” Lyra’s brow raises as excitement shines on her face, hoping for a story of a grand romance with a handsome Captain. But, there is no redemption tale tonight to appease the girl.
“I’m sure he’s just keeping watch over his property.” My answer is curt, and her hopeful look falters. “Dinner was fine. Goodnight, Lyra.”
Turning my back, I change into a simple shift to sleep in before rubbing my face with a damp cloth and rinsing my mouth out, effectively ending the conversation. Following my lead, she quickly changes as well and settles on her bed. My breath is heavy as I blow out the candle, the smoke rising into the room from the wick as I pull my coverlet over me.
Despite the darkness of the room, sleep does not come easily. The sound of Lyra’s steady breath and the gentle rock of the ship on the calm sea should relax me, but I am wound tight with the memory of Lennox’s kiss mingling with yesterday’s dream of my participation in the rites years ago. Finally, I give in and cup myself with my hand, holding my breath and hoping Lyra doesn’t hear me.
Memories of the young man with green eyes and a masked face who made love to me gently so many years ago fill my mind as I rock against my hand, rubbing against the bundle of nerves between my thighs. It only takes a few moments of caressing between my legs before I feel my climax approach. I bite my lip to hold in my whimpers as the ripples of pleasure run over my body. After, I curl up on my side, catching my breath for a few more moments before the waves and Lyra’s breathing finally lull me to sleep.
* * *
Over the next few days, several crewmen stop by my little surgery. The cook has a burn that I can soothe, and another young man, barely past boyhood, has complaints of upset bowels. I give him a mixture of herbs to brew into a tea and instruct him to drink fresh water as much as possible to help him stay hydrated. Hopefully, it isn’t something contagious; the thought of an illness like that impacting the entire crew makes me grimace.
As I tidy up after a particularly slow morning, I jot down a list of items to purchase at the next port, our only stop before crossing the ocean, and tuck it into one of the pockets of my grey dress. I’ve worn it often since leaving the shore; it’s my favorite of the ones the Captain provided me — simple, comfortable, and unassuming. My hair is tightly bound when I work in this space, intentionally maintaining the air of a priestess, not a whore, lest any of the men have a misunderstanding as to why I am secluded down here. Patting my pocket, I check to make sure my dagger is stowed away as usual and smooth down my skirts, appreciating that all of the simple gowns have useful pockets built in. The weight of the steel blade satisfies me, and I close the door, walking toward my cabin.
Bright sunlight streams through the lattice above where I walk amongst the stores. It’s always dim below deck between my surgery area and the cabin I share with Lyra, but the cheery sunbeams light my path, in contrast to the dark spaces along the sides of the hull. Footsteps sound from behind me as I approach our cabin, and I pause, looking around. Familiar, hateful eyes meet mine as Jon Crewes steps from the shadows. Two other men lurk in the darkness at his sides as he runs his eyes over me.
Although he isn’t much taller than I am, and has a paunch from age and too much ale, Crewes is stout with thick muscles and broad shoulders. The thick fingers that grip a leather coin pouch are most likely calloused from years of handling rigging, like the rough men I refused to entertain at the House, and I know he can easily overpower me. His companions are equally intimidating as they watch me.
“May I help you?” I ask, standing as straight as my spine allows. He and his companions continue to leer, silent.
“The surgery is closed for now, but you may come by tomorrow if you have an ailment,” I advise and turn to walk away, a chill spreading over me.
The sound of coins clinking together gives me pause and I turn once more, the hairs on my neck rising at the implication.
“I have money to pay you, whore,” Crewes sneers and clinks the pouch of coins he holds toward me again. The other men’s eyes glitter with malice as I meet their gazes.
“Clever,” I reply, not hiding my disdain. “Let me make this clear. Even if I weren’t the Captain’s — and if you had three times that paltry amount in solid gold — I wouldn’t allow you within arm’s reach of me or in my bed.”
Foolishly, I spin on my heel to retreat to my cabin, hoping the solid door between me and the men will make a difference. But my hand never makes it to the knob, and I know I am mistaken. Fingers latch onto the neck of my gown, dragging me back.
The door of our cabin is so close that I scream for Lyra. The girl can do nothing to stop them, but no one else is below deck. The crew’s berth is at the other end of the storage space, and doubt fills me wondering if they would stop the attack, even on the off chance some of the men were there during this hour of the day. Nevertheless, I thrash and scream, but whoever holds my dress drags me backward. Our cabin door swings open with a slam, and Lyra and Charlie burst into the hallway.
“Get Lennox! Lyra, run!” I shriek and fight the men.
This will not happen.
Not here.
Not again.
At the sight of my struggle, Charlie dashes forward to my aid, but the smaller man is knocked into the barrels lining the hallway by a blow from one of Crewes’ companions. Lyra’s shrill screams reverberate in the hold as she stumbles up the stairs to the deck above.