Of White, Of Black, of Blood- Chapter 3

Chapter 3 is very short, and it may be unclear. Just let me know! Reviews are awesome!!!

Chapter 3

Stowaway

The Lady Freiheit was a large trade ship, sturdily built and rather handsome. It was built in the Cockatainia style, with a tall bow and stern. It was powered by a large parachute at the back, to collect the steam of the boilers and manuvered by a tiller and spade contraption. The sailors aboard were dressed in white costumes and their captains in navy. She had the appearance of a new ship. However, she was only a very ancient adventure vessel painted over in the colours of the Royal Exploration.

It was the dead of night and Ayïve had sneaked out of the Outers through the secret passage in Finnie’s. Port Janine was a new port, with wooden beams and stalls and posts to tie your ropes ‘round. The moon was half full, a glossy milk white shape in the purple velvet sky. The water of the Orion Sea was black as a wild steed and lapped quietly against the port in glassy waves of midnight. Ayïve was camouflaged in to the granite walls, her dirty face the colour of the water and her tunic the same of the sky. She had darkened her skin with ashes to hide herself from curious looks and had packed her few belongings in a canvas bag.

She had another tunic, a mint one she had stolen from unsuspecting Inners laundry, and a sharp knife. She also had a loaf of bread she had honestly paid for and some cheese and fruit she had not. In the pocket of her black cloak she held six Queens and some pennies. It was all she owned in the world.

Slinging the rough strap of her bag around her shoulder, Ayïve crept closer to the ship. It was large and imposing, but did not awe Ayïve. The Lady bobbed gently up and down on the sleeping waters.

Closer and closer Ayïve came. The gangplank was not down- for that Ayïve was thankful. That would have meant guards. Instead she tied her bag to her cloak and her money to her tunic, then pulled a stray thread from her cloak and used it to tie her hair back. She rubbed her hands together to create friction and to anticipate the challenge. This was nothing but a fun game to Ayïve.

She grasped the peg that kept the boat to port. She lifted herself up and stood perfectly balanced on top of it. She raised her hand to a knot in the wood of the stern. Then the other hand to a peg. Next her foot to the knot and her hand moved up. Then her other foot traded positions with her other hand. Rhythm. Pattern. Steady pulsing of blood in her through, and she climbed. Higher and higher up the side of the ship. The top loomed before her as she scaled the sides like a lizard. The night air was crisp as the dawn itself and Ayïve saw a salmon ray begin to peep over the horizon. She must hurry.

Hand over hand, foot over foot. Rhythm. Pattern. Salt in her mouth, and she climbed. Suddenly, her hand met something polished and smooth: she was at the top.

She peeped over the edge and checked if the coast was clear. It was. She raised herself overt he top. Alone.

The deck was empty and slightly curvy. Ayïve slipped behind a pile of rope to hide for a second. She scoured the deck for movement, shadow. She saw what she needed: the Captain’s Scullery. But she had also seen what she did not need: a soldier whistling softly and pacing the deck with a spear and a dagger that had just come up from the cabin.

A slight problem. If she killed him, the captain would notice. If she knocked him out, it would still be suspicious, and if she put a bottle of beer in his hand, it would be a classic. Ayïve didn’t like classics. It ruined the fun.

She lay down on her back, her palms on the ground and slowly moved out of the shadows. The young soldier was strolling along and had not seen Ayïve. Again, Ayïve inched along like a crab laid flat. Her back hurt from scraping the smooth surface of the deck with the vertebrae but she had had worse.

This time the soldier looked round. The knife in Ayïve’s bag caught on the rope and sliced through the cloth. There was a faint ripping sound as the knife tore the burlap. Ayïve’s heart caught along with the knife. She lay silent and still. The soldier was still youthful and gullible though. He was a good five years older than her, but, as we say, she’s a lot cleverer than most.

As he rounded the corner and approached the form of Ayïve flattened on the floor, she silently hid her hand behind her back and loosened the knife from the pile of ropes. Her hand clutched it as though her life depended on it. It did. It was against the law to break the eleven o’clock curfew and to board a boat or aether-ship without paid passage or permission.

For the law was to be followed by Outers and punished by Inners.

The soldier looked at the bare ground behind the ropes and turned. He had not seen Ayïve slinking on the ground. She hooked her foot around his and in one motion he was on the floor, her cloak was pulled over her face, and her knife was to his through.

“Hellooo” she hissed in his ear.

“The Dread Pirate Fergus!” squeaked the soldier in fright.

Ayïve had no idea who the Dread Pirate Fergus was as she had never been out to sea, but she played along gladly.

“Yes, sssir” she hissed again. “Now put your hands up quickly, like”

He obeyed her immediately. In one blow he was knocked out cold. He slammed against the floor, as she knew he would, and heard pounding footsteps and another older soldier coming up to the deck. Ayïve scrambled to the floor again, hidden in shadow.

The second soldier peered around, confused.

“Who’s up ‘ere?” he asked to the night.

With a slash Ayïve slit his throat and he fell to the ground. She took the blood from her blade and wiped it on the young soldier’s tunic, smearing it artfully. She took the swords from their belts and slashed them together, making a dreadful racket. With a final flourish she kicked the boat. A dull thud came from the hard wood.

Then with the haste of a mouse being chased by a tom, she scattered to the Captain’s Scullery. The Cockatain’s style is lavish. Because the Lady Freiheit was built in such a style, the boat was lavish too. Do you follow me? Part of the mode is the eight cabins: the Main Head, Department of Sell, and such. One is the Captain’s Scullery, a small shed on the deck that serves as a warehouse for basic goods to be sold to peasants or passing vessels. The Lady’s Scullery was smaller than most, as they would not be selling rice or wool to the savages on Krea, but it would manage. She opened the door and scrambled inside. She ran her hands desperately over the walls, her heart pounded. She could hear more soldiers coming up now: ten or fifteen, she could guess. Her hands touched the wood of the cabin, feeling for a knot, a bump.

There was more noise now. The crew must have seen the two soldiers struck down. The first soldier murmured “Pirate Fergus…” and the sailors were muttering darkly. She must find it, and quickly, or she would be a dead woman. Dead. The word sent shudders down her spine, as though hands of ice had grasped her neck and shivered down…But she was being silly, every ship had one…this was an old vessel…it must have one…and then her hands struck metal. It was nought but a pinhead of cool steel, but she knew it was her salvation. She pressed it hard and a small panel slid out of the wall. Ayïve scurried inside of the small hidden room the size of a closet and closed the panel behind her. Her heart slowed down.

She rested her pounding, throbbing head against the cool metal of the tiny safe. She had made it. She closed her eyes and saw white and pink in her eyelids, flashing dangerously. There were more sounds and noises from outside, shouts and clinks of metal, possibly her downfall. But she was here. She had made it. She had made it aboard the Lady Freiheit and was safe. She had avoided complete suspicion and could not be detected. She rolled her shoulders back and sighed, tucked her money pouch deeper into her curled stomach and let herself be lulled away by the swirling, splashing, sounds of the ocean, singing its sighing song to the sweet sliver sea. Her eyelids turned purple and she was asleep. Outside the moon shone, whisper, whisper, whisper. Her head dropped and a faint breath escaped her. A blue mist rose from her lips and slid through the hard metal. Far away, the anchor of the Lady Freiheit dropped, and unknown to Ayïve, the ship began to part its way through the black waters to her destiny, to her life.