Fern was jerked back to reality when the boat hit the side of the metal cage she’d been thinking of. Her head was flung slightly forward, her red hair falling over her face. She couldn’t push her hair out of her eyes because her hands were still tied behind her and so she had to peer through a waterfall of wavy, wandering hair.
Chains were being thrown down to Madden and Gisburn who'd manoeuvred the boat alongside; they were placing the chains onto hooks on either end of the boat. Soon they were being winched up, she could hear the creak of the winch as it slowly turned and a grunt from a boy above them.
Fern watched the receding water with interest as she listened to the last drops fall from the bottom of the boat. She was floating elsewhere, somewhere kinder, safer, a place of trees and a stream. Water was dashing upon the rocks as it flowed downwards through the watercourse, drops of water splashing, like falling stars, brightly glistening. She heard a final clank and saw that the boat had been pulled in toward the ship itself. She braced herself for what evil awaited her.
Madden was out first and roughly pulled her out too. She tried to land lightly outside of the boat but her balance was off and she fell forward onto the boy that had winched them in. Turning her head up quickly to see who'd caught her she looked into cold dark humoured eyes and recoiled. How would she survive all this? How would she be able to be strong when they looked at her as if she was nothing but a toy? Something to be played with, discarded when weary, and then played with again; a repeated process of agony for her.
She tried to quell her fear but it invaded her body like an unwelcome disease. She didn't want to cry. She mustn't let them reduce her to quivering and begging for mercy. She looked at the boy with malice in her eyes and saw him throw his head back and laugh.
“Madden what have you found?” he asked in mock question. “This is not food to fill our stomachs! The haul you brought a few days ago was good but now you bring back something that needs feeding instead. I think you misunderstood your instructions!” He laughed again whilst Madden ignored him. “This girl is not from the city, she's wild looking just like the animals that used to roam the lands. Who will be the one to tame her?” His smirk was wide as he gazed at her and back to Madden.
Fern's back went rigid at the very idea. She’d not thought that by fighting and being angry she only made the game more enjoyable for them. Madden just grunted, making no reply to the boy's questions. He grabbed hold of her elbow and pulled her along as she tilted toward him almost falling into his arms. Madden grinned at the distress she expressed upon her face, realizing her distaste of him.
“It doesn't matter what you think of me Fernie but it does matter what you think of the Captain. You give him what he wants and he won't hurt you or maybe not as much. You be a good girl now and make him happy. He likes his girls more sophisticated but he can still have some fun with you. You might not have the curves but your face is pretty to look at and he does like a pretty face.”
All Fern could think was how she loathed them. How she despised their control over everything. How right now, all she wanted to do was put her sword to this boy's throat and watch the blood come out in spurts as his heart pulsed it through the open slit. Her blood thirsty thoughts made her smile and Madden misconstrued them as an eagerness to see the Captain.
“You'll see him soon enough. He should like you. I think he will find you entertaining; you're different from what he's used to.”
Her eyes opened wide as she looked at him. She was revolted by the amusement her fear gave him. Once more she pushed it down. She wouldn’t give him any pleasure at her expense.
They were walking past other boys all staring at her, so she closed her eyes to them pretending they weren’t there. That she wasn’t there.
She was thrust through a door to travel along a corridor until Madden was beside her; he suddenly pulled her down some steps. She didn't see them and felt her body fall forward onto the hard muscles of Madden. He caught her making her right again whilst giving a low curse under his breath at her stupidity. The noise from Madden's boots echoed around them reverberating from the metal floor and walls, her own soft footfalls were unheard.
“I'm not here, I'm not here,” she introspectively told to herself. She thought of Abacus gliding through the forest and the bright colours he bore, she could see his beautiful red and orange design and deep black lines as he glistened in the sunlight.
Hearing a quick rap of knocks and a door being flung open she returned to the present and found herself temporarily blinded by sunlight as she was dragged into a room. She was placed in the centre where a stream of sunlight came through the windows to make a spotlight for her, a stage for her audience to view her. She kept her head down deciding that servile was the best approach to the situation and perhaps less harm would ensue. She heard the scraping of a chair as someone rose and a gruff voice asked, “What do you want Madden?”
“What do I want Captain Laroche? I’ve brought you something that you may want!” Madden's reply was spoken with a voice that was unctuous and excited.
“A girl?”
“Yes and she’s pretty too. Lift your head up for the Captain Fern so he can see!”
Fern lifted her head as she was told and through her cascading hair saw a dark haired boy with a stern expression upon his face staring back at her. He wasn’t tall, probably an inch shorter than Oak but he was stocky and broad in his shoulders. He'd been sat at his desk and his hands now rested upon it as he stood behind a stack of maps and papers.
“She's a tiny little thing, why do you think I’d want her?”
Fern felt a surge of fear, if he didn't want her, then what? Would she become the play thing of the crew?
“She’s thin I agree but she is a spitfire. I think she will provide you hours of amusement.” Madden responded with disappointment in his voice, upset that his gift hadn’t evoked more gratitude.
“She doesn't look like a spitfire to me, see how she cowers.”
Madden turned back to look at her. “Damn you girl. Now you show fear! I can see you are of no use. I’ll just throw you to the others, after I’ve had fun with you first.”
Fern's head shot up her hair a mass of flames to match the blazing face beneath. “You touch me and you'll regret it. I promise one day you'll feel cold steel between your ribs. You'll never dare to sleep because I'll be waiting for my chance to pierce your cold hearted body and listen to the gurgle of blood fill your lungs.” Staring with absolute hate at Madden she looked like a savage from another world.
“Enough girl!” Came Captain Laroche's voice rising louder and more authoritative. “Madden you may leave. My thanks for the surprise; I believe she may be of amusement to me after all.”
Madden's broad grin was splashed across his face as he left, a knowing nod bobbing his head up and down as he took a last look at her. Fern glared back at him wishing her eyes could shoot spears into his sickening face.
She heard the chair scrape back further and turned to see the Captain coming toward her, his lips a grim line upon his face. He stopped a foot before her and stared. His hazel eyes were surprisingly soft; they gave his face a gentleness that made her determination to hate him more difficult. His gaze was caressing her face now, she almost shivered at the way his eyes moved over her forehead, eyes, nose and mouth and then once again rested upon her own green eyes. Holding them like a fragile bird that mustn't be frightened.
When his hand came up she just looked at it ready to move away but the action was so slow and careful that she didn't. Instead she simply stared at it as he continued to move it toward her. It rested upon her hair moving it back away from her face. She felt an unusual tingle at his touch; he saw her startled expression and his smile became warmer, more honeyed.
“Yes, you are pretty,” he agreed, his voice surprisingly gentle, leaving her confused about her opinion of him; he didn't seem to be like Madden and Gisburn. There was no burning, boorish boldness in his eyes when he looked at her. His eyes held her softly with interest, even sadly, as if he was tempting her comfort to return and dispel her fears to another place. It was as if he were coaxing something wild to trust him.
“Where did he find you?” His eyes hovered over her but she gave no reply. She just stared at him; she didn't want to talk anymore. She’d had enough of talk with these callous boys and she still didn't trust that their Captain was any different, no matter how smoothly he spoke.
“Did he beat you?”
“No he did not!” she retorted and then grabbed her lower lip with her teeth. In a grating’ gravelly, grouchy voice she replied. “He didn’t want to damage his prize for the Captain.” She knew the Captain could not miss her sarcastic remark and almost turned her head waiting for a reprimand to follow.
No reprimand occurred. She looked at the Captain in surprise. “No, I’m not going to be angry even though you repudiate me. If you don't wish to converse now we can at another time. I have lots to do.”
He walked back to his chair to sit down, whilst Fern looked on in shock.
“And what am I to do? Just stand here?” She pouted, shuffling her feet.
“Yes!” was all he answered as he sat back down giving his attention to the map he’d been perusing.
Fern stared at him wondering what she was to do. Stand with her hands behind her back until she fell down from exhaustion?
She stood quietly deciding, she could play the game too and would not concede to him. After viewing the room for the sixth time, noting all the books and boxes, furniture, the two doors close to one another, plus the door from which she had entered, she realized she would rather talk. Everything here she thought were all the comforts of what used to be in their homes before the Devastation.
She noticed a large leather sofa against the wall and looked at it with wanting in her eyes.
“Would you like to sit and talk to me now?” She looked back sharply at him still sat at his desk looking at her as if he were deciphering another map.
“Yes I would,” she replied. After all, what could a conversation do to hurt her? She would tell him very little of her clan. She didn’t want to put them in any danger.
She could see that from the amount of belongings he had that he’d scavenged them from the cities. Some things may have already been on the ship but not all of the luxuries she could see in the room were. The mantel clock was an antique; she'd seen pictures just like it, and the small table that sat beside the sofa, that too was an antique. He was nothing more than a pirate.
He was beside her now guiding her to the leather sofa and helping her to sit.
“Will you untie me?” she asked feeling her arms and hands hit against the leather at the back of the sofa.
“No!” was all he gave as he sat down beside her.
Staring straight ahead Fern ground her teeth together in her agitation.
“If you grind your teeth they will wear down faster. You wouldn't want to be without something so important and look like an old hag before your time would you?” There was amusement in his voice as she turned to him.
“I’m sure my teeth will last longer than yours. At least mine are not yellow!”
The Captain gave a small laugh, “I agree your teeth are quite perfect. Mine unfortunately, have yellowed from smoking, a disgusting habit but one that gives me pleasure.” He looked toward a pipe that lay upon his desk.
It was large and curled up into a large cream coloured bowl, just like in the pictures of Sherlock Holmes from the novels she'd read. Sherlock Holmes was always painted or drawn carrying a pipe and she smiled at the sight of it.
“Why do you smile at my pipe? Did your father smoke?”
“No,” Fern turned back to him no longer uncomfortable with his close proximity to her on the sofa. “I was remembering some books that I read about a man called Sherlock Holmes.”
The Captain's face brightened, “Yes, I too have read some of the books. They are quite entertaining. Did you particularly enjoy The Red-Headed League?”
Fern cocked her head to the side for a moment and on realizing his reference to her own red hair laughed. She saw satisfaction cross his face.
They conversed about Sherlock Holmes and the different stories they’d read. Telling one another their favourites and which ones they had thought they were able to solve but were wrong. They talked about Sherlock's quirks and Doctor Watson's patience, the time period, restrictions and morality issues of the time. Fern became quite excited by the conversation; she'd never had a debate with anyone other than Elm before and found the Captain's replies informative and interesting. In fact the experience was quite thrilling and her face became animated with delight.
The Captain smiled warmly at her as he asked, “Do you read a lot?”
“I read when I can. I’m not sure what a lot would be.”
“You’re right, I should think that compared to how it was before; we read more than anyone else was ever allowed to.”
He was staring out of the windows and Fern did too. The windows ran in a long row, all of them square with the sun still shining through them even though it was now sinking in the sky. Her rays cast a variety of colours upon everything they landed on, beautiful yellows and oranges, the light display gave Fern a sense of tranquillity.
“There are many advantages to this new world that we live in but still there are disadvantages. It seems we cannot have a perfect world.”
The Captain was still staring at the solar phenomenon that was lifting their spirits. Fern was almost about to retort that the world she came from was perfect but caught herself just time. She noticed the Captain was now watching her; he raised an eyebrow as if he knew she’d stopped herself from giving away important information.
Now he knew she was being wary he would be more likely to try to trip her up and find out more. She needed to redirect the questions.
“How old are you?” she asked, giving him a curious look up and down to which he gave an amused smile.
“Not much older than you, I shouldn't think.”
“Really?” Both Fern's eyebrows were raised as she viewed him more critically. He looked older than anyone in her clan, older even than Madden and Gibson.
“And by not much, how many years would that be?” She questioned as she studied him.
He gave a patient smile. “Since no one past the age of twelve survived the Devastation, you would have to realize that I am eighteen.”
She gave a quick nod feeling silly for even asking. Her eyes rested upon him again. She was fascinated by his looks; everything about him was so different to what she knew.
She noticed a scar on his chin even though he had rough bristles growing to cover it. His hair was pulled back into a pony tail like Madden's it was dark straight and sleek with an oily sheen. There were lines around his eyes and between his eyes were deepened marks, he must frown a lot she thought as she continued her blatant examination. He had more bristle growing down his throat leading to a hairy chest at which Fern stared in amazement at the curls of hair that popped out above his open shirt, she’d never seen so much chest hair. She looked at his arms under the rolled up sleeves and again saw more thick black hair growing, perhaps he was closely descended from the gorilla, as he was nothing like any of the boys in her clan. Her inquisitive eyes were raised to his now and she jumped back a little in surprise at how intensely he was staring at her.
He smiled, a cheeky smile, not quite a grin but close and asked, “Is there anything else you would like to see?”
Fern blushed in embarrassment and felt her fear returning by what she’d stirred within him as she stared down at her lap.
“I'm sorry,” she stammered, “you are just so very different.”
“What kind of boys have you been with if I am so very different?”
Looking back at him she quickly replied, “I have been with no boys.”
“You misunderstand me,” he carried on, “I meant what kind of boys have you had around where you live that they are so different in looks from I?”
He was prying and she was having a hard time side stepping his question. Her hair covered her face again as she dropped her head forward. She tried to come up with a diverting answer.
“My family are mostly blond or fair haired.” She didn't look at him because she felt guilty at steering him wrongly but then she appeased herself with the thought that the clan were her family now.
He was studying her and again he brushed her hair gently back behind her ear as he continued. “You are lucky to have a family that survived. How many are there?”
Now she was stuck, what did she say one hundred and nineteen? How did she take the fib from here, it was not in her nature to lie and she found she couldn’t do so now.
“I’ve misled you by calling them family. They are people that I live with and are families rather than family.”
He pondered what she’d just told him and gazed around the room, his eyes fell upon some boxes that rested in one corner and Fern's eyes followed his own to them.
“The contents of some of those boxes once belonged to families from years ago.” He sighed now as he gazed sadly at her. “From families that didn't survive, we are lucky to still be here.”
He looked morosely at her his eyes glowing amber, soothing, she felt swayed by their warmth and compassion. Her heart swelled at his mournful expression, leaving her feeling almost nurturing toward him. The very idea shocked her. This rugged not exactly handsome boy was winning in his ways and gradually pulling down her defences by making her feel much more feminine than she ever had before. This was not a time to be feminine, she was a defender and she wouldn’t be caught up in this melancholic nonsense that he was dispensing.
“Many were lost. It is of little consequence now,” she responded.
She saw his eyes harden and regretted her apathetic words for a moment but cautioned herself that she was being too easily taken in by his charm.
“Of little consequence, it was of great consequence to those that died and the loved ones they left behind!” he retorted but his anger was subdued, it was more of a reprimand at her pragmatic behaviour.
“You’re right,” she corrected looking at him in regret. “We all lost someone we loved. It is not a thing that can be made light of. I’m sorry.”
She looked away from him to the beautifully carved table that sat beside her. He brought her chin back toward him and she was surprised that she didn’t flinch. She remained quite relaxed as she looked into his hazel eyes, the colours looked to be swirling, deep, almost making her drunk. She felt herself failing in her resolve. She wanted a friend and sadly he was the closest thing she’d had to a friend for quite a while. He was not like Oak who was frustrated by her, nor was he like Elm who would needle her for scraps of information in between their discussion. If the Captain wasn’t happy with her replies he tried to change her answers with firmness and kindness.
“You have so much to learn about the world Fern. I will help teach you. You’ll find it remarkable in its tenacity to survive. It is surprising how beauty can unfold from the ugliest of situations. You’ll find Fern that this dire place you now find yourself in can be as warm and inviting as a beach in the sunlight. The cool water tickling at your toes as you walk, the sunlight drenching your skin with its comforting rays, the atmosphere a drink that is intoxicating. Trust me Fern and your life will be filled with lovely things, and I will treat you like a goddess. I will protect you from everyone and you will inspire me to be the great captain I seek to be.”
She was confused by some of what he was saying but the intensity of his eyes was sincere and she smiled back at him knowing she had no choice but to accept his friendship.
She was surprised when he arose abruptly and went over to the boxes they’d been talking about. Pulling off a lid he began to root through the objects, she could see he was shifting things from one side to the other but she couldn't tell what the contents were. She was curious as to why he’d suddenly stopped their conversation. He’d been in control perhaps that was all he sought to achieve for now.
He was quiet and still didn’t look at her as he continued to rummage around in the box. When he pulled out a black dress she gasped in horror. She didn’t want to wear a dress, ever! What was he thinking of? Then she knew exactly what he was thinking of and she chided herself for being so easily deceived. He was no different to the others on board, he was playing with her. Now they had reached the stage of dress up and role playing. Her mouth was dry at the thought as she wondered what exactly her role was going to be. He walked toward her the dress laid across his arms, his face closed and unreadable.
“You’ll wear this,” he placed the dress over the back of the sofa next to her. “I eat with my officers. You will be joining us as my guest; I want you to be appropriately dressed.”
“That is appropriate!” she scoffed staring at the dress as if it were some horrendous slain creature that she was expected to drape about her.
“Yes it is appropriate for dining with the Captain.”
He eyed her sternly and Fern clamped her mouth shut to stop any further words from escaping her lips.
He knelt down at her feet and she pulled both of them up toward her in concern at what he was about to do. Gently he pushed her foot back down and slipped off her shoe, whilst carefully with a soft almost caressing hand he placed her barefoot back onto the floor. Striding over to the box again he was once more searching, he placed her shoe inside the box and compared it to other objects within until finally he pulled out a pair of black leather pumps.
He was smiling as he brought them over and once more he knelt down to place his hand upon her naked foot. Confused she couldn't explain the tingling that his tender, tremulous touch sent through her. How she enjoyed his hand sliding along her instep to her heel and the sensations it brought. Taking off her other shoe with the same careful precision that again caused her turmoil of awareness at the pleasure; he replaced it with the other black pump.
She almost gave a visible sigh of relief when he finally took his hand away and looked from her feet to her face with a gratified smile. She was sure she could feel a tick starting at the corner of her eye as she sickeningly thought how easily he was reading her physical and mental signs. She saw a flicker of self-assuredness and amusement cross his face and vanish as his eyes became awash with solicitude once more.
“Yes I like those on your feet much better. What do you think?” He was raising himself up now and looking down at her from a level of power and strength.
“They're very nice,” was all she could say as she stared up at him and gathered herself for whatever curious behaviour would come next. She was not left waiting long.
“Bend forward please.”
Fern was not sure what to do, what on earth was he planning to do now? Should she refuse? He was taking out a small knife and flicking it open. She started to feel panic rising within her, her chest was tightening and her breathing stopped. Was he going to cut her clothes from her body? Breathe Fern, she thought, she must breathe, and she must stay calm.
Her eyes must have been wide and worried because he gave her an empathetic smile as he assured her, “I only want to cut your ropes and free you.”
She gave a gasp of relief and bent forward without delay. She was already feeling quite numb in her arms and fingers from having them tied together behind her for so long.
He cut the rope and she thankfully brought her hands to the front, rubbing them vigorously to re-circulate the blood that seemed to have removed itself elsewhere. She looked down at the shoes, at least they are flat she thought, she could still probably run in them, although on a ship she had no-where to go.
He’d already moved away and was almost at the door his hand already outstretched to open it.
“Fern I’ll leave you so that you can dress and do something with your hair. There are brushes, clips and other things in the boxes, use them if you like. My apologies for the age of some objects, they were in the basements of houses and long closed buildings. Our generation has little choice in what we have scavenged and no facilities to create new.” He smiled as he casually looked her up and down. “Although, it seems your own people have managed to develop their own unusual wardrobe of clothing.”
He looked toward the box and returned his gaze to her. “Make your hair look nice for me please. It would be in your favour to do so; I will give you a positive reward.”
With this he turned around and left the room leaving Fern dumbfounded as to what exactly she was supposed to do with her hair and what kind of positive reward she would be given for making it look nice? She heard the click of a lock and knew she had no choice but to look in the boxes.
There were many things in the boxes, dresses, shirts, skirts, shoes, hats, many long lost objects. She sighed confused and tired. She noticed a large mirror on the wall behind the sofa and went over to look in it. The mirror was much larger than what she was used to and she was surprised at the detail it showed. She could see almost all of herself, her pale face, her hair as usual unruly, unkempt and splayed at many angles from her head. She pulled herself upright. She had her pride, she could look better. She was not defeated yet, she would still strive to get through this with as much dignity as she could. What was the harm in playing dress up? She could actually have some fun with it and not be embarrassed because there would be none of the clan members here to see her.
She would have to be wary of Captain Laroche; he seemed to wield too much control over her and made her behave differently from how she normally would. He also seemed much older than anyone else she knew, wiser, more knowledgeable, as if he knew everything of the world. He made her feel as if she knew nothing. He scared her and thrilled her all at once. She didn't understand the thrill, she should be more careful, but she found she wanted to believe everything he said.
He fascinated her with the way he moved with his self-confident manner as if he were insusceptible to anyone. The way he talked with words that glided toward her on a wave of caresses. He left her wanting to please him.
She was once more looking through the box and this time she pulled out a brush, grasping it with excitement which she suppressed by telling herself it was curiosity and nothing more. She went to the mirror. She had a comb at home that she rarely used because it was difficult to get it through her mass of red hair. She also rarely bothered to use it since most of the time the comb would break and she’d have to request another.
This brush didn’t break it caught on the tangles of her hair at times but when she grabbed the ends of her hair and continued to put the brush through many times, the hair finally became smoother. It became as straight as hair could be for Fern since it was thick and tended to fluff as the brushing continued. Eventually, all her hair was brushed but the image was not what she had hoped. Instead, she stared at a small pale face with hair shrouding her like the tarinium's huge mushroom head. Pushing her lips out in thought as she wondered what she could do to make it more like Willow's. It was then she remembered the Captains own sleek hair and wondered what he’d put on it to make it that way. She had to find what he'd used.
She spent a while searching the room and gave up before she wasted her time any further. Her attention was caught by the two doors. She opened one door and peered inside to find a bathroom. They had nothing like it at the camp. Their own back door took them to their area of toilet. It consisted of a closet like building inside which was a seat with a strategic hole above a deeply dug depression of earth. This room was fresh and smelt nice unlike her toilet where she would hold her nose in the summer heat from the