(Josie
Sayz: This is a story of mine that I started writing several years ago, and I
finally got around to editing it. It is based off a MERP_UK game that an old
friend and I started working on together. The game got lost
very early on and will never be revived. I originally wrote the story for the
old friend that I was working on the game with, however, as I know he will
never get to read it, as we are no longer friends, I am quite proud of it. I’m
finally over the emotional attachment and am ready to edit my story and share
it.
Part 1: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-1-blackout.html
Part 2: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-2-awakening.html
Part 3: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-3-serpents-tongue.html)
Moonstone Fortress
Saviour of Ships
Cerulean Eyes
Staggering down the ramp and onto the wooden decking, Peter’s legs trembled. As his legs swayed, Peter threw a hand out, grabbing onto a wooden beam. He hunched against it. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep breath. Puffing out the air, he threw his head back. His insides pulsed. The breeze clung to his throat. Running a hand through his hair, a force punched against his right arm. He snapped his eyes open and spun his head to his right. Brandon’s beaming face met his. “I’m proud a yer, Petey,” Brandon told him.
“Thanks,” breathed Peter, with a laugh. Gripping the back of his neck, the two of them began walking.
“Not without me, yer don’t,” came a chuckled from behind them. As Peter twisted his head around, Sanders jumped towards them. “Come ‘ere, you,” he sang to Peter. Hooking his arm around Peter’s neck, Sanders ruffled the boy’s curls under his fist.
“Hey!” Peter laughed. “Cut it out.” Gripping Sanders’ arm, Peter squirmed out from under his grasp.
Along with the rest of the pirates, the three privateers headed off the Serpent’s Tongue and towards the Wreck-Age Inn. Bouncing up the stairs of the village on his toes, Peter kept throwing his head behind him. Brandon and Sanders were more than a dozen steps below him. The ship was now a fair distance between them. Pirates had scattered all over the island. Reaching the top of the steps, Peter waited for his companions, scanning the village below with his eyes. A bundle of buccaneers blundered their way to the right of the village, towards the small stalls and shacks. ‘To the butchers or fishmongers, no doubt,’ Peter assumed. As if in sync, his stomach began to growl. Slapping a hand to his stomach, he told it to shush. As a pirate barged into him, Peter swallowed a shout out of pain, clasping a hand to his left shoulder. “Excuse you,” Peter muttered under his breath. Returning his sight back to the dock, he watched as men separated. Some marched towards the far left of the island. Leaning to his right, Peter arched his head up and around, to try and see where they were going. A tall, stone structure stood, looming over all of the other buildings in the village. With a light flickering at the top, Peter frowned. ‘What do pirates want with a lighthouse?’ he wondered.
As Brandon and Sanders reached the top of the steps, a crowd of men swarmed towards him. He staggered back. “What’s with you, Speedy?” asked Brandon. “Me legs aren’t what they used ta be.”
“Think he’s eager to see a certain someone,” grinned Sanders, nudging Brandon in the gut, as his brow bounced up and down.
“Ooow yer,” Brandon teased. “Someone can’t wait ta see Miss Lela.”
“Shut up,” Peter mumbled, feeling his cheeks turn red, “I just wanted to take another look at the village,” he insisted.
“Whatever,” Sanders chuckled. With an arm around the shoulder of both of is companions, Sanders hummed, as the three of them strode into the Wreck-Age Inn.
Swinging the batwing doors open, Peter shuffled inside. The jingling piano music swept into his ears. Bustles of men conglomerated around the bar. Seeping the air into his lungs, Peter’s stomach growled again. A rich, thick, juicy meat scent wafted into his nostrils. A soft, clouded potato and tingle of herb lingered in the air. Holding a hand to his stomach, Peter’s mind travelled back to the undercooked flake of meat and bland black beans that were severed with every meal on the Serpent’s Tongue. A shudder crept up his spine.
Receiving a nudge from Sanders, Peter twisted his attention towards him. The sandy-haired man led the three of them through the inn and towards the back, where two men sat at a table by the roaring fire. Gazing at the flames, Peter’s eyes watched the warmth flicker. Reaching the table, Brandon plonked himself down in the nearest chair. Sanders took the seat opposite Brandon and Peter sat between them, at the head of the table. “My!” gasped Lawson. “So, you made it back. Blimey!”
“Didn’t think we’d choke out, did ya?” laughed Brandon.
“Gentlemen,” beamed Captain Halaken. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. Lawson and I were starting to worry.” Sat beside Brandon, the captain leant against the wall, with his body twisted for a perfect view of the inn gatherers. Spread out across the table lay heaps of parchments and books. Several quills and bottles of ink lay scattered amongst the transcripts. “How did you get on?” he asked with wide eyes.
“Yeah, what happened?” gasped Lawson. “We’ve been worrying our brains something terrible, not knowing what happened to you.” Lawson’s eyes quivered, as his sight shifted to each of them in turn.
Patting a hand to Peter’s back, Brandon beamed, “Little Petey’s got some news fer ya.” With a gasp, the captain’s eyes widened.
“Yes, Peterson,” he nodded. “What is it?” Clasping his arms around his waist, Peter’s stomach gurgled again.
“Is there any chance we can get some food too?” Peter asked. “I’m feeling a little weak.”
“Of course, of course,” boomed the captain. Throwing a hand in the air, he called over one of the waitresses. A woman with walnut hair wrapped up in a bun on the top of her head, swayed her hips towards them. Her boysenberry blouse clung to her frame, as her breasts bounced above her torn collar. “See that these three gents get Garrin’s special.” She nodded, collecting Halaken and Lawson’s empty pint glasses.
“Anything else?” she asked, in a slow, low voice.
“And a round of ale too,” added the captain with a nod.
“That all?” she asked, brushing a hand against Sanders’ shoulder. Peter watched, as Sanders’ cheeks reddened. Swallowing, the sandy-haired man nodded his head.
“That’ll be all, Mora,” said the captain with a nod.
“See ya later,” she beamed, winking at Sanders, before shimmying towards the bar.
A succulent slab of steak swept in front of him. Peter’s tongue dampened, at the sight of his plate. Clouds of potato mashed alongside steamed, chopped carrots and a portion of peas. As the grease from the steak soaked into the mashed potatoes, Peter grabbed his fork and began shovelling through his meal. Closing his eyes, Peter’s shoulders relaxed, as the food slid to his stomach. His tongue tingled with warmth. “This is the best food I have ever tasted,” scarfed Peter through another mouthful.
“Glad you’re enjoying it, lad,” the captain beamed, as he watched Brandon and Sanders wolf their meals down too.
“Was it really that rough on Serpent’s Tongue?” Lawson gasped.
“Terrible grub,” managed Brandon through a giant bite.
“Might as well starved us,” added Sanders.
It was not long after the three had finished their meals that Captain Halaken returned to questioning them. Lowering his head to his grease smeared plate, Peter balled his hands to fists and punched them into his lap. Brandon and Sanders began by explaining the cramped conditions of the pirate ship – twenty-four hammocks to a room, cannons lodged at every porthole, barrels upon barrels of gunpowder, the slop severed by Bones, the chef, and the numerous rats they had seen scatter across the ground. All the while, Captain Halaken and Lawson shook their heads. “Appalling,” spat the captain.
“But what did you expect?” Lawson shrugged. “They are filthy vermin, after all.” The captain nodded.
“So, what about the exploration?” asked Halaken. “What was their need to travel to Motorus Relicta?” All eyes turned to Peter. Swallowing, he folded his arms across his chest, clinging to the warmth in his body.
Peter relayed his story of sneaking out onto the deck to watch the sunrise to the group, whilst staring a parchment marked ‘Moonrock Island’. As Captain Halaken and Lawson scolded him for his disobedience in ship law, Peter hunched his shoulders up to his ears. “But the boy’s a genius,” Brandon boasted, over their growling. “He won Blagden over. Lord only knows how,” beamed Brandon. Leaning over the table, wide eyed, the men listened to Peter’s story.
“So, what was in the pouch?” asked Lawson, tilting his head in thought.
“I don’t know,” shrugged Peter. “He wouldn’t let me look at it. He wouldn’t let anyone take a look at it.”
“And the symbol?” added the captain with a frown, “Did you see it?” Scrunching his face up, Peter tilted his head to the left, then right, as he thought.
“Not… exactly…” he croaked. Squinting open his eyes, he glanced at their expressions. Brandon and Sanders were both grinning at his achievements. Captain Halaken’s smile started to drop, as Lawson rolled his eyes at the cabin-boy. “But,” Peter added, bouncing up in his seat. Stretching across the table, Peter reached out for a quill, dipped in an inkpot. Pressing his left wrist against the ‘Moonrock Island’ parchment, he began to draw. “It looked a little something like this,” he said, as he finished his sketch. Placing the quill down on the table, Peter leant back in his chair and watched, as the men gazed down at his scribble. In the centre of the parchment Peter had drawn a large circle. Arched alongside the circle’s left was a crescent curve. Scratched across the whole drawing lay a five-sided star. Gasps escaped Captain Halaken and Lawson’s mouths.
“That symbol,” whispered the captain. “I’m sure I’ve seen it… somewhere…” Scratching a hand to his head, Lawson frowned.
“Is there anything else?” Lawson asked. “Anything at all.”
“Only that, Blagden said to Arad and Bigby that he would put in good words for them with King Valder,” Peter told him with a shrug. “And that this meant big things were happening.” Widening his eyes, Lawson’s caught the captain’s furrowed brow.
“What does this mean?” growled Brandon at the apparent secret between the captain and his second in command. “Tell us!” he raged, slamming his hand down on the table.
“Hush,” hissed Halaken. “This is neither the time nor place,” he warned glancing around the room. The table beside them sat a rowdy bunch of men, clonking glasses and chanting songs of the sea. Nodding, Brandon lowered his head. “We found out a deal or two today as well,” Halaken informed them. “How about the three of you get some rest and you can meet us on the beach at eight o’clock tonight?”
“That late?” gasped Sanders, with a risen brow. “Why after dark?”
“Because,” gleamed the captain. “The streets are quiet after dark… and we have a few things to investigate.”
*
As the conversation died at the dinner table and everyone retreated to their rooms, Peter gathered all of their empty plates and returned them to the bar. “You didn’t have t’ do that,” beamed Garrin, retrieving the plates from Peter. “It’s the waitresses’ job. That’s what they’re paid for.”
“I know,” Peter replied with a shrug. “I just feel bad,” Peter told him. “Some of these guys aren’t that nice… or clean. I didn’t want to give you and the barmaids any extra trouble.”
“That was kind of you,” spoke a soft voice from behind him. As Garrin’s grin grew, Peter arched his head over his right shoulder.
As his cheeks reddened, Peter stuttered, “Oh, er, erm, h-h-h, hi.” Feeling her cheeks blush too, Lela looked at the ground. With a giggle, she lowered her head and turned to get back to work. “Miss Lela, wait!” Peter blurted out, throwing a hand out towards her. She spun around, eyes wide by the surprise in his call. His heart hammered. “Erm,” he muttered, throwing a hand to the back of his neck. “I erm wondered, whether, maybe, we could talk, after you finish your shift, or something.” Looking at the ground, he poked his toe at a dark stain.
“Why?” she asked him with a shrug. His stomach dropped. His insides lathered. Blinking several times, he brushed his right shoulder up against his ear.
“You know,” he shrugged, tapping his right heel. “To get to know each other,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes. As a red flush filled her face, Lela returned her eyes to the floor. Feeling his ears burn, Peter swallowed hard, flickering his sight from her face to her hands.
“You mean… like a date?” she asked, lacing her left hand over her right. As she lifted her head, his eyes shot back to hers.
“Errr, well o-only if you’re interested,” he stammered, feeling his heart lunge out of his chest. “I mean, we can just talk.”
“I’d like that,” she replied, with a big smile and a giggle. He let out a breath, unaware he had been holding it. “I get off my shift at nine,” she told him. “Is that okay?”
“Nine,” he grinned with a nod. “Perfect.” As their eyes met, she flickered her sight to the ground, biting her bottom lip.
“I’ll see you later, then,” she whispered, before giving him a curtsey, and spinning on her toes to return to cleaning a table. His stomach swirled. A grin glued to his face. His heart danced at his chest. “Oh,” she said, spinning back around to face him. His eyes widened. His insides knotted. “I like your shoes.”
*
Gravel crunched beneath his feet. The shushing of the shore soothed the racing in his chest. Kicking at a pebble, he arched his head around the beach. He was alone. Seeping the sea air through his nostrils, the grin on his face increased. He slid his hands into his pockets and began whistling. As the soft notes danced to his ears, he bobbed his head to the left, then right. Gazing up at the stars, he felt his insides spiral into a flutter of wings. Looking out to the horizon, the night sky twinkled across the water’s surface. A blush blossomed at his cheeks.
Voices rumbled through the breeze. As the tide travelled back out, it dragged their voices towards his ears. His whistling stopped. He froze. Arching his head around, he could still not see a person. No one was behind him. To his right lay only the sea. To his left rose the slate-grey cliff edge up to the higher tier of the village. In front lay more sand. The rippled sand lay untouched. As a splash of sea returned, there were no footprints, even his own had washed away. The voices grew louder. Frowning, he forced his ears to detect the sound’s direction. “Hey, Little Petey!” boomed a voice. Shuddering, his head shot up, towards the stone steps. A cluster of five men congregated part way up the steps. Peter nodded his head in response and ran up the stairs towards them.
“I thought we were meeting on the beach,” exclaimed Peter, as he leapt up the stairs two at a time.
“Cap’in decided it was a little dark,” Brandon told him. “We were j’st waitin’ fer ya.” Peter nodded with a grin.
“Someone seems mighty happy,” Sanders chuckled at Peter, nudging Brandon.
“So, what if I am?” Peter shrugged. Smirks swept across the men’s faces. “I’m just happy to be helping,” Peter told them, returning his hands to his pockets.
“Right, glad we’re all here,” announced the captain. “Peterson, I’d like you to meet Hughes.” Patting his left hand on the back of the sixth man in the group, Captain Halaken gestured his hand out towards a slender man with a stubbled head. Hughes gave Peter a big grin, as he held his hand out towards him. Shaking his hand, Peter returned the smile.
“Nice to meet you,” Peter nodded.
“Hughes is another of our survivors,” Captain Halaken declared. “He stumbled into the inn around noon.”
“That I did,” the newest member of the group affirmed.
“Hughes, here, has found out something of interest about this island,” informed the captain. “We’re not yet certain what this means for us, however, it may result in backup being sent a lot quicker.”
“And for us to gain the upper hand around here,” Lawson added.
“Right you are,” Halaken nodded. Waving a hand down the stairs towards the beach, Captain Halaken began descending, gesturing for the other members of the crew to follow him. “Now, Hughes, explain to Brandon, Sanders and Peterson just what it is you witnessed.” Hughes gave a nod, before bringing his fist to his mouth, to clear his throat.
“After the Charleston crashed,” Hughes began. “I swam to shore. There were men, pirates I assumed, scattered around the sandy bay. Keeping a low watch from some trees, I followed a group of them through the forest and to this, here, village. They came down these steps,” he explained, “And down here.” As they reached the pebbled edge of the beach, Hughes shot his arm out, pointing down the left run of the beach. “If we keep walking,” Hughes told them, “Past the stalls and the blacksmith, there’s a narrow path that leads up to that, there, lighthouse.”
Following Hughes’ directions, the group made their way across the beach. Peter peered into the shacks and stalls that lined the shore, however the sky was too dark to see inside. Passing the stone build of the blacksmith’s, they followed a wispy sand trail that curved around the island. “Just a little up this way,” Hughes told them, as their path mounded. Clambering to the top, Peter let out a gasp. A planked rope bridge swung before them. Worn and frayed rope bound cracked and weather-beaten wooden slats. As the wind increased, the bridge swayed to the left. Swallowing, Peter stretched his neck over the land’s edge to see what was below. They were stood on the edge of a cliff. Below, water lashed at the rocks. Stepping back, Peter’s insides whirlpooled.
“‘N’ what does this ‘ave t’ do wiv us?” barked Brandon, with wide eyes. Swallowing, he pulled on the neckline of his shirt.
“Look at the lighthouse,” the captain ordered
Stepping back, Peter tilted his head up, stretching his neck. The white, weather-washed, rounded structure sat on the edge of the land on the opposite side of the rope bridge. Long grasses nestled at its base. Towering over them, the structure narrowed as it stretched towards the sky. The steel barrier surrounding the housed light shone, as the beam flickered. “The light shouldn’t flicker,” barked the captain. “Not like that.”
“A strange occurrence is afoot,” voiced Brandon with a nod. “It ain’t supposed a be doin’ that.” Scratching a hand to his head, Peter tilted his head to the right, as he stared at the blinking beam.
“And there’s more,” Halaken warned them. “Tell them, Hughes.”
“Yes,” Hughes nodded. “Ships dock here during the night. Crates are delivered. They drop them off at that, there, house,” he told them, pointing to a large, wooden building, at the opposite side of the rope bridge. As the flickering blinded Peter’s vision and spots bounced before him, he turned his attention to the wooden home, situated left of the lighthouse. A door sat in the centre of the building. Wide bay windows stretched out either side of the entrance way. On the level above, lined more windows. In the centre, above the door, sat a large, round window. Peter frowned. “There’s a huge cellar door entrance t’ the left,” Hughes told them. “It’s locked by chain around two huge, round handles. When a ship pulls in a dozen or-so pirates come out of the house and load the goods inside through those huge wooden doors.”
“What does this mean?” asked Sanders with a shrug.
“We’re not sure,” replied Captain Halaken, turning towards his men. “We believe it could be the marks of a smuggling operation. Pirates could be raiding ships at sea, hiding them out at Moonstone Fortress and when it’s dark, they smuggle the ships and their goods here.” The captain’s shoulders deflated. “How they sell them on is still a mystery.”
“So, what ‘bout the light?” asked Brandon, jabbing a finger towards the light house. “Ya think the pirates have run a the lighthouse and j’st decide ta flash it an’ ships know to come this way? How’d they know it’s one a theirs an’ not a merchant?”
“Merchants don’t sail these parts at night,” Lawson told him. “The rocks surround the island make it too dangerous, even for an experienced sailor.”
“That doesn’t explain the flashing light,” Sanders added.
“I know,” sighed the captain. “But something strange is going on. Merchant ships have been disappearing in large numbers.”
While the captain and the rest of the crew discussed the possibilities of how the pirates were operating and smuggling tradesmen’s goods in the area, Peter returned his attention to the lighthouse. His lips parted as he gazed up at it. ‘I’ve never been this close to a lighthouse before,’ he breathed. ‘And the light…’ His brow furrowed as the cogs in his brain began turning. The light had been off for a few seconds. It shone back on, flickering three slow beams. Three fast flashes shone, then one slower. A fast flash. Another fast flicker, a slow one and another fast flash. Darkness. Four fast flashes. One flicker. Another fast flash, a slow flicker merged into a fast flash. One single flicker. Darkness. The light went out again.
“I agree,” he heard Brandon grumble, as the light turned on again. The lines on Peter’s forehead thickened. Three long flickers. Three short flickers and one long one. A flash. One fast flicker, a long one, then another fast one. Darkness. Four fast flickers. One flash. A fast flash, one long beam and another short flicker. There was one more flicker of light, before the lighthouse turned to darkness again. The roaring of the sea intensified. Splashes leapt up from the rocks below.
“Captain,” Peter muttered, as the light came on again. There were three long beams of light between the flickers. The roaring grew louder.
“Hold on Peter,” growled the captain, shaking a hand towards Peter to silence his words, whilst he continued his smugglers discussion. Turning his head towards the sea, Peter’s eyes widened. The lighthouse dimmed. Wind scratched against his skin. The light flickered back on, four fast flashes.
“But Captain!” Peter objected. “It’s Morse code. They’re signalling in a ship, now!” The conversation halted. All eyes turned to Peter.
Lawson muttered under his breath, as Captain Halaken’s voice rumbled over them, “What did you say, boy?”
“It’s Morse code!” cried Peter. “Over here, is what they’re saying. It’s a message. There must be someone up there right now,” he hissed, pointing up at the lighthouse. “And there’s a ship on its way.”
The nose of a ship swept into view. Eyes widened, as alert rang through Captain Halaken and his crew. Peter’s chest pounded. “If we get caught now,” Lawson cried. “The mission’s over.” Nodding, the captain agreed. Ordering his men to shelter, the group crouched behind a cluster of rocks. Clawing his fingers into the rock’s surface, Peter squatted to the ground. The lowest of the group, he peered his head around the edge. Biting his tongue, he held his breath, worried that his shaky breaths would be heard and give away their location. The ship screeched to a stop, scraping between the two cliff faces, several feet in front of them. Blinking from the lighthouse halted. The light returned to normal, shining out over the sea. Voices rang out, over the blustering breeze. A dark figure clattered across the deck. Mumbled words were exchanged between bodies on land and on boat.
“What are they sayings?” hissed Sanders.
“I can’t hear them,” Peter whispered back. “The wind’s too strong. Their voices won’t carry.”
“What are they doing?” asked Lawson, who was pressed up against Brandon.
“Sshh,” Peter hissed. “It’s hard to see. Nothing’s happening at the moment… they’re just talking.”
As orders were exchanged between the two parties, more heads bobbed to the surface upon the boat. The door to the wooden house creaked open. Six men came out. Some made their way towards the boat. The cellar doors were opened. Peter relayed the information to the crew, as his heart raced. “The men from the house are carrying crates into the cellar,” Peter gasped, as the heads of two men disappeared into the hole at the side of the building.
“What about the ship?” barked the captain. “What’s happening on the ship?”
“How the heck should I know?” snapped Peter. “I’m not on the boat. We’re too low down to catch a view on deck.”
“Don’t speak to me like that, boy,” barked the captain. Snarling his nose at Peter, Captain Halaken, pressed out his chest. Hughes toppled backwards and stumbled to the ground.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Peter hissed. “Quit asking stupid questions. We need to get to higher ground,” he warned.
Following Peter’s orders, the men scurried back along the sand. One at a time, they leapt out from their hiding ground, behind the rocks and scampered towards the thickening grasses. Scooting around the corner, heading back towards the smithy, the group dived out of sight. “Quick! Up the stairs!” Peter ordered. “If we stop around the back of that house, next door to the bank, we can get an overhead view of the whole village.” Jabbing his heels into the sand, Peter raced towards the stone steps separating the halves of the village. His heart rapped at his chest. Pulse pounded in his ears. Clambering up the stairs behind him, Lawson gasped for breath.
“Are you sure?” he called after Peter.
“Positive!” Peter shouted back. Staggering to the top, Peter threw his right arm out, grabbing onto the wooden ledge that lined the upper cliff edge. Heaving himself up, he shimmied towards the spot that he had stood at the morning before his voyage. Stretching up on his toes, Peter let out a gasp, seeing crates being brought out onto the deck of the ship (that was docked outside the lighthouse) from the hull. As Lawson fumbled to Peter’s side, Peter told him of his findings. Gasping, the two looked on, waiting for the rest of the crew to catch up.
“What-a-ya think they’ll ‘ave fur us this time?” growled a voice from behind them. Peter’s heart leapt. Throwing a head over his shoulder, his eyes bulged forwards, as two men appeared in shadows by the back of the house that sat between the bank and the tailor shop. Ducking, Peter swept underneath the wooden bars, framing the cliff’s edge (protecting the villager’s from slipping and falling down the cliff). Jabbing his feet into the dirt, he dropped his body to the ground. Shuffling back, he lowered himself from the strangers’ view. He signalled for Lawson to join him.
“Dunno,” grumbled the short, stout man. His belly drooped out from his black shirt. A clay coloured jacket hung at his sides, unable to fasten over the mound of his gut. “Suppose it might be rum?”
“Not likely,” grumbled the other man. Thinner and a head taller than his partner, his hazel-wood hued shirt tucked in at his waist. “The king always keeps it fer ‘imself,” he complained with a shrug. “Nah, we’ll get some a them fancy rags ‘n’ more barrels a powder,” he told his friend.
“Reckon they’ll be some grub amongst that lot too?” asked the chubby fellow, licking his lips.
“You know it,” beamed the beanpole-man.
“I ‘ope we don’t get none a that Langti armour,” the man with the overhanging belly groaned, scrunching the skin around his nose. “Was a devil t’ shift last time.”
“I know,” sighed the other. “Can’t get ridda royal marked stuff or people’ll know it’s nicked.” Pressing a hand to his mouth, Peter hid a gasp.
“Still,” chuckled the larger man. His belly bounced, as he chortled a breath. “It makes f’ interestin’ plates.” Bellowed laughter escaped them both.
“S’pose we’d better get down there,” said the thinner man, jerking his head towards the ship docked at the rope bridge.
“Yeah,” grumbled the other. “Don’t wanna keep ‘em waitin’. We won’t get any a tha’ good stuff.”
Watching the men waddle towards the stairway, Peter and Lawson let out a breath. “That was close,” gasped Peter.
“Too close,” Lawson added, as they two of them shuffled out from their hiding place. Pushing himself to his feet, Peter held a hand out for Lawson. “Thanks,” he muttered, as he swayed. “Where are the others?” Turning towards the stairway, Peter caught sight of a group of men, loitering outside the inn.
“Is that them?” Peter asked pointing. Shrugging, Lawson headed towards them. Peter trailed after him.
“We saw those men hanin’ around an’ thought it was best t’ wait here,” Sanders told them, as Peter and Lawson neared the group.
“Aye,” nodded Lawson. “Good plan.” Upon the captain’s instructions, Lawson and Peter we made to explain all that they had found out.
“Blimey!” breathed Brandon. “Sounds like we were right.”
“Well, there’s not much we can do now,” Captain Halaken told them. “We don’t want to run the risk of getting caught. We have come too far to ruin our chances now.” His men nodded. “I shall send another letter to his majesty, first thing in the morning. As for now, we had better get some rest.” With a murmur, the group agreed. “You lads are sailing back out at noon tomorrow, aren’t you?” asked the captain, turning towards Brandon, Sanders and Peter. The three nodded. “Safe sailing,” added Halaken with a nod, as the group retired to the Wreck-Age Inn.
*
Skidding down the stairs, Peter leapt towards the doorway. Bringing his feet to a halt, Peter swayed back, catching a glimpse of his refection in the inner window leading towards the kitchen. He growled, seeing a curl of hair flick outwards. Licking his palm, he ran his hand through his hair. “Flatten,” he growled at it, licking his palm again. The thumping in his chest increased. Spitting into his other hand, Peter ran them both over his protruding curl. “Stay!” he warned it, as he pressed it against his scalp. “Stay!”
Peter’s heart crashed against his ribcage, as he stepped out, into the bar. Running a hand through his hair, Peter arched his head around the room. To his right, the blonde barmaid, who he now knew as Berth, dropped a round of drinks onto a table full of pirates, Peter recognised from the Serpent’s Tongue. As one of the men reached out and gave Berth’s bottom a squeeze, Peter shook his head, averting his eyes to the left of the inn. His heart panged. Perched on the edge of a chair, to the left of the bar sat, a lone, female with a head of golden-auburn locks. Feeling his cheeks redden, Peter approached her. “Miss Lela,” he smiled with a bow, as he neared her.
“Peterson,” she gasped with glowing cheeks. “You came.”
“Of course I did,” he told her, beaming. “And you can call me Peter. May I join you, Miss Lela?” he asked, gesturing a hand to the seat opposite her.
“Yes,” she nodded. “And Lela’s just fine.”
Sliding into his seat, Peter laced his hands together, placing them down on the table in front of him. The smile on his face widened, as he watched Lela hug a mug at her chest. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Would you like me to get you a drink?”
“Don’t worry,” Peter insisted with a laugh. “I can get one myself. Would you like another?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, lowering her head from his. “I have just made myself one.” Peering into her mug, Peter’s brow puckered at the transparent liquid.
“May I ask, what it is you are drinking?” Peter questioned.
“Oh this,” she blushed, looking down at her mug. “It is something special Owen and I made.” Peter’s eyes widened, as his smile returned.
“So, you’re an inventor?” he beamed. “Interesting. Can you tell me what it is?” Pinching her lips in, Lela’s blush brightened.
“Promise you will not leave?” she asked, her stare fixed upon his eyes. “Or laugh, or call me a witch or-”
“I swear,” breathed Peter, with a chuckle. “You have my word.”
“It is a kind of heated, herbal water,” she told him. “I had done some research, following a visit from a travelling inventor, several months ago. He told me that you could separate the dirt from water, using a special funnelling system. He gave Owen and I a demonstration. It was amazing,” her eyes sparkled with excitement. Peter’s heart tingled at her enthusiasm. “We poured in a brown, murky glass of water, from the river, and it came out clear. I could not believe my eyes. It was like… magic,” she breathed. Her eyes brightened, opening wide. Her smile poked up into her cheeks. It made Peter’s stomach flutter. “It tasted so clean and refreshing,” she went on. “I wondered if I could mix some of the herbs, from the kitchen, to the water to add some flavour, and it worked. Over time, Owen and I have come up with a few nice tasting creations. This one is my favourite,” she told him with a giggle, smiling down at her mug. “It is warm, with a touch of mint.”
Peter’s eyes widened. Her excitement made his chest pound. His pulse charged through his body. The sparkle in her cerulean eyes spiralled whirlpools in his stomach. As his smile grew, Lela averted her eyes to her mug. “I am sorry,” she gasped, sniffing. Her eyebrows slid up towards each other, as she glanced across at Peter. “I am babbling. I did not mean to.” Stiffening her shoulders, she shuffled down in her seat.
“That sounds… amazing!” Peter beamed.
“Really?” Lela squeaked. Peter nodded. Sliding herself up, to straighten her back, Lela asked, “Would you like to try some?”
“Sure,” he nodded. Pushing back her chair, Lela rose. Her cheeks grew a rosy hue, as she beamed back at Peter.
“Follow me.”
Leading Peter around the side of the bar, Lela took him into the kitchen. Peter’s head arched over his shoulder, taking in the sights from the other side of the bar. Behind the counter, shelves lay underneath. Empty glasses stacked upside down. Rags piled in the far corner. A small, wooden chest lay beneath the counter, with a stack of parchment beside it. ‘Garrin must keep their coins locked away,’ Peter realised, recognising this as the location where the innkeeper often stood, when receiving currency from his customers. Nine waist-high barrels lined the edge of the bar, each with small spouts connected through the bung hole. The wooden beam above the bar housed more storage for empty glasses, tankards and mugs. A line of hooks stretched across the upper wooden beam, allowing clean tankards to swing, as a display.
As the batwing to the kitchen flapped closed behind him, Peter’s eyes widened to his new surroundings. To his left lay a table covered in several copping boards, meats and vegetables. Against the backwall, crates and barrels hid the stone structure. In the far-right corner, a cooker steamed away. In front of him lay a huge square table, with enough room to trapes about to get to any part of the kitchen with ease. Leading Peter to their immediate right, Lela called out to Garrin, whose head appeared over a stack of steaks. “It is fine, Owen,” she assured him, seeing his eyes widened at the sight of Peter in the kitchen. “I am just showing Petey our purifier.” Hearing her call him, “Petey,” Peter felt his cheeks burn, as the blood flushed to his face.
“Alright,” grinned Garrin. “Bet you’ll like it,” he told Peter.
“Thanks,” Peter nodded.
Clamped to the wall was a large glass bottle. Standing upside down, the bottom of the bottle had been sliced off, leaving a smoothen, straight edge. The neck of the bottle was pointing downwards. Swiping a mug from the shelf, Lela held it underneath the bottle’s opening. “Can you go and fill this glass with water from the trough, by the barrels in the corner, please?” she asked Peter, handing him a glass. Nodding, Peter obeyed. He took the glass, passed by Garrin and dipped it into the basin and returned to her side. “Notice the colour of the water?” she asked him.
“Same as always, isn’t it?” he replied with a shrug. “A sort of murky, greyed earthen colour.”
“Good,” she grinned. “Now pour it in here,” she told him pointing to what used to be the base of the bottle. As the liquid drained in, Lela giggled, “I have a feeling you are going to like this.”
The water passed through a thick mound of rugged rocks, before trickling down through the gaps of air between a layer of smaller, smoothed pebbles. Dribbling between the pebbles, the water crept through a cluster of even smaller stones, before seeping into thick, coarse grains of sand. As the water drained down, it seeped through into fine white sand, before trailing down into a fine layer of crunched charcoal. A piece of cloth was fastened around the opening of the glass bottle. Peter watched with wide eyes, as a droplet of water dripped through, splashing into the bottom of the mug. “Quick,” she told him. “Fill another glass.” Racing across the kitchen, Peter scooped up another glass of water, from the trough, and poured it into the filter. Peter’s eyes widened, as he gasped at the clear liquid collecting in the mug in Lela’s hands. “Just like magic, don’t you think?” she asked him with a giggle. Peter nodded.
“Astounding!” he gasped, as the last of the water trickled into the tankard. Watching Peter, Lela bit her bottom lip, as the apples of her cheeks grew rosy. Scraping the mug against the edge of the cloth, Lela turned towards Peter.
“Would you like some warm mint, like mine?” she asked him.
“Yes please,” he nodded. Lela passed Peter and poured the contents of the mug into a pan, on the stove. Leaning over her shoulder, Garrin sprinkled in some mint leaves for her, as she stirred the mixture.
Within minutes, the two of them were sat back in their seats near the bar. Hugging his mug of warm, mint flavoured water, a smile stretched across Peter’s face. “I can’t believe you invented this, Miss Lela,” he gasped. “This is the most wonderful thing I have ever tasted.”
“You’re welcome,” she giggled. “And I told you, call me Lela. Just Lela.” Peter nodded.
“So, does Lela have a last name?” Peter asked with a chuckle to his voice. “A family name, a formality that people call you?” The colour washed away from Lela’s face. Her smile dropped. Her porcelain skin shone, reflecting against the shimmer in her mug. Dragging her mug towards her chest, she lowered her head.
“It’s just Lela,” she muttered, fixing her eyes on a knot in the table’s wooden surface.
“Okay,” Peter nodded. Poking a corner of his mouth up, he gave a shrug. “So, did you always live here?” he asked her. “Or did you just suddenly decide to settle on Shipwreck Cove one day?” Lowering her chin to her chest, Lela sank deeper into her seat.
“Maybe I should go,” she muttered, as her eyes began to sparkle.
“No!” Peter gasped, feeling his heart pound. “Don’t go,” he cried, throwing a hand out towards her. “I’m sorry,” he confessed. “I should never have asked you questions that you weren’t comfortable with.” Her eyes flickered towards Peter’s side of the table, before returning them to her drink. Taking a sip from his mug, Peter asked, “Would you like me to start? I can tell you a little about me and if you like it, maybe you can make us seconds of this amazing brew.” Lela’s bottom lip trembled. “You don’t have to tell me anything, if you don’t want to,” Peter told her. “You can just sit and listen to me babble on about my boring life.” Pressing a hand to her mouth, Lela let a little giggle escape her. “There we go,” Peter laughed. “No pressure. And if you don’t like me once I’m done, I’ll leave you alone. Deal?” Shifting her eyes to Peter’s, she nodded.
“Where would you like me to start?” asked Peter, tilting his head to one side.
“Well, what is your full name?” she asked him, swirling a finger around the rim of her cup.
“Great,” he muttered. “You’re probably going to kick me off the table straight away.” Gazing at him, her eyes widened. “It’s Peter Peterson,” he confessed. Lela’s brow puckered.
“Just the one name?” she frowned. “But repeated?”
“Yep,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “My mother always said they couldn’t afford to give me a name. Peter Peterson – probably the most boring name ever to be given.” Lela giggled again. Taking another sip from his mug, Peter poked the left corner of his mouth up. “I’m not joking,” he told her. “It really is my name. Apparently, it just means rock, so I’m a rock-rock, which is probably the most boring kind of rock there is. And that’s why everyone calls me Petey – it’s like they’re mocking my name.”
“I am sorry!” she gasped. “I never meant-”
“It’s fine,” he chuckled. “I know you weren’t trying to hurt me.” The red of her cheeks returned. “Besides, it was cute when you said it.” Hiding a smile behind her mug, Lela’s cheeks blushed more.
“Have you always been a part of Halaken’s crew?” she asked, as she removed a cloth from a bowl that sat in the centre of the table between them. “Take one, if you like,” she told him, gesturing towards the bowl. Leaning forwards, Peter removed a small, round sand coloured, grainy textured rock shape. “I call them sand biscuits,” she told him. “I made them myself. They are kind of a soft fluffy biscuit, but they are creamy and crunchy too.” Holding the biscuit nearer, he realised he must have frowned, because Lela added, “Do not worry if you are not keen. All the more for me,” she giggled. Peter relaxed his brow and leant back in his chair.
‘I had better like this,’ he warned himself, as his pulse thumped at his intestines, swirling around in a whirlpool. Gripping the treat tight, he tried to hide his trembling fingers. Lela’s grin grew and she leant forwards, as Peter took a bite. Not wanting Lela to see his reaction, Peter snapped his eyes shut. A soft buttery texture melted onto his tongue. His eyes burst open with surprise. Chewing, he let out a hum. Taking another bite, he pressed his tongue against the crunchy, creamy centre. “These are amazing,” Peter praised through a mouthful, cupping a hand over his mouth as he spoke. “I can’t believe it. You made these?” Lela nodded. “You should open a shop or something, Lela. With your brew and your biscuits – hey, you should start your own business,” he boomed.
Shrugging, she muttered, “I wouldn’t mind running my own little shop, serving my own creations one day.” Her eyes lit up. Her blue pupils twinkled at Peter. “But,” she added, dropping her sight to the table, “I could never leave Owen… and this place is my home.”
“I understand,” Peter nodded. “You never know, maybe people will travel the seas one day desperate to go to Shipwreck Cove to taste your delicious dining.”
Curling her hair behind her ear, Lela tried to hide her reddening cheeks. “Sorry, I never let you answer,” she apologised. “Have you always been a part of Halaken’s crew?” Peter shook his head. Tilting her head to the right, she swayed, as she gazed at him. “You do not seem the type to be at sea.”
“This was my first venture at sea,” he told her. “I had just joined Halaken’s crew a few days prior to our crash.” Cannon fire, waves, rocks, a wolf’s head and black flag flashed before him. He shuddered. “I had no idea that Captain Halaken was a privateer, sent to bring down the pirates in this area,” he confessed. “I was told the Charleston was a merchant ship, sent by the king of Castellus, King Charleston, to transport goods to Barkton Versulin, in the west. It wasn’t until we were shipwrecked that I discovered the truth,” he hold her. Gripping her mug, she nodded. “Before all this,” he shrugged. “I lived in a small village deep in the heart of Castellus. My father worked at part of a smithy’s, fastening wheels onto carts. He didn’t make much money.” Peter’s eyes dropped to the table. The drumming inside of him loudened. ‘Lela’s going to think I’m pathetic,’ he told himself, as his stomach sank. Squeezing the handle of his tankard, Peter closed his eyes and inhaled a breath. “My mother hated me,” he shook his head. “She was always comparing me to everyone else’s son. It was horrible. I was expected to work alongside my father, as a blacksmith – and even if I did, I was still a disappointment to her. My father was too – he always came home drunk. In fact, I don’t even remember the last time I saw him sober.” Staring into his cup, he ran a hand through his hair.
“He and my mother had arranged a marriage for me to the farmer’s daughter,” Peter went on as his shoulders drooped. “My father had done a lot of business with him and our two families were decided upon it. It wasn’t what I wanted,” he grumbled. Prodding his elbow on the table, he dropped his head against his fist. “Things were never what I wanted. I just wanted to be happy.”
“Were you not happy with the farmer’s daughter?” asked Lela.
“No,” he sighed, glancing towards her. “I wasn’t. Nor was I happy fixing wheels to wagons.” Straightening his posture, Peter took a gulp of his drink. “So, I fled,” he confessed. “I took all of my savings, gathered my things into a sack and hopped on the first coach-carriage into town. I spent a couple of nights at the harbour inn, helping at the bar, before I heard word that Halaken was after a crew. I signed up as cabin-boy and here I am.” He gave a shrug, staring at a knot in the wood on the table.
“Wow!” Lela breathed, gazing at him. Her pupils trembled at Peter’s story. “You were brave,” she told him. His eyes flickered towards hers, as his insides knotted.
“Y-y-y, you think so?” he stuttered under her gaze.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Leaving home, not knowing where you were going or when your next meal may be… running away from everything you knew to start a brand-new life… that was brave.” Her twinkling eyes captivated Peter, as his heart leapt.
“Thanks,” he whispered with a smile. “I always thought I was stupid,” he mused. “I take off, not knowing what I’m going to do with my life, weeks away from turning nineteen. I should have my life together by now,” he sighed. “I should have a job, a wife, be looking to start a family.”
“If you were not happy then you did the right thing,” she told him. “It was brave of you to realise the dread that you would have put yourself through, had you married a girl you did not love just for the gain of your family’s business. I think it was brave of you to decide your own path.” Peter’s cheeks reddened, at the sound of her words.
Stretching his arms forwards, Peter’s skin brushed against hers. His stomach fluttered. The grin on his face grew. Staring into her eyes, the stiffening in his shoulders floated away. He relaxed. A happy sigh slipped from his lips. “You have the most beautiful eyes,” he murmured. The hue in Lela’s cheeks intensified, as she giggled at him.
“I do not,” she mumbled shaking her head. Scratching a hand to the back of his neck, Peter’s face turned red.
‘I can’t believe I said that out loud!’ he cried to himself. “It’s true,” he told her with a smile. “You’re a very pretty girl, but I especially like your eyes. They’re mesmerising.” Lowering her head, Lela pressed the backs of her fingers against her cheeks.
“You are the only one to ever say such a thing,” she told him. “My mother used to say I had the eyes of the devil.” Swallowing a lump in her throat, Lela dropped her eyes to the patch of table beside her mug. Sliding her arms towards herself, she hugged her hands to her biceps. “My parents ran a failed farm, deep in Langti. They say it was fine, until I was born. Ankan is my family name. Lela Ankran. It means trouble.” Lowering her hands to her lap, her chest shook. “I was whipped, beaten, locked in a cupboard for days without food. My mother blamed me, when we had no crops for harvest. We were poor. Dead poor. Like you, my parents had arranged for me to marry the son of the local messenger – they said his job brought him a lot of money. It would help out my family. I was to stay at home and be his mistress, while he got to travel the land. Again, I felt trapped. The day before the wedding… I ran away.” Lela’s chest trembled. Her breaths grew shaky. Pinching her eyes tight, she averted her sight to the floor.
“Although I was not smart, like you,” she continued, as her bottom lip shook. “We had no money. We had no food.” Swallowing at the lump clogging her throat, she cupped her hands to her face. Pressing her fingers against her eyelids, her cheeks dampened. “When the hay wagon pulled up the next morning,” she whispered, “I stowed away on it. For days it travelled south-east, towards the coast. The rider had no idea I was there.” Scrunching up her hands, she balled her fists into her eyes. Peter’s lips parted. His heart howled. Stretching an arm out towards her, he lowered it a few inches before her. As her shallow breaths increased, she lowered her hands. “I survived the trip by feeding on the hay until we arrived at a small village,” she continued, staring at the floor. “There I was going to start my new life,” she forced the right corner of her mouth to poke up, as a nervous laugh escaped through a breath. “I tried my hand at being a flower girl, just selling scraps from what the florists threw out. Then I managed to get a job, as a barmaid, at the inn.” The tremble travelled down her arms. Her stomach spiralled; she gripped it tight. “I was only there a few hours, when a band of pirates swept in.” The sparkle left her eyes. The colour swept from her face. Peter’s eyes stung, as he stared at her faltering ghost-like complexion. “They trashed the place and stole all the ale. Before leaving, the captain of the ship turned to me.” She shuddered. “Throwing an arm to my waist…” Closing her eyes, she took a shaky breath. “He groped me,” she murmured. “Claiming me as his prize. I tried to fight back, to push him away,” her eyes watered. “But I could not. He was too strong. He dragged me onto his ship and threw me into his cabin. He demanded things from me,” pinching her eyes, she scrunched her hands up, digging her nails into her palms. “I refused,” she squeaked. “As he made a grab for me, I kicked him in the gut, throwing him against a table. He called for backup. Three more men came in and dragged me into another room and threw a bowl of scraps at my feet. He told me to eat up, but again, I refused,” she shook her head, staring at a spot on the floor. “The captain followed them in and tore a piece off my blouse. He said every time I did not eat, he would tear more of my clothes away, as a punishment, until I gave him what he wanted. I told him I would rather die.”
Lela shuddered. Sniffing, Peter brushed a hand across his nose at her story. With a wrinkled brow, the inner corners of his eyes stung. His heart panged at his chest. As she pressed her hands to her face once more, Peter leapt from his chair and dragged it to her side. He hugged his right arm around her. Squeaking, she flopped her head against his chest. “Three days I was locked away in there,” she sobbed. “Until their ship came under attack. Someone broke into my room and carried me away. But I was too weak from starvation to understand much more.” Inhaling her warmth, Peter rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “I must have passed out on the journey. The next thing I remember, I woke up in another room – on another ship. There was a knock at the door. My heart leapt. I was terrified.” Sniffing, she clasped a hand to her mouth. “There was a man’s voice,” she went on. “He said his name was Captain Blagden and that he had rescued me from the pirates.” Leaning away from Peter, she dabbed her eyes on the cuffs of her mulberry blouse.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, rubbing her back. “Just breathe.” Seeping in a shaky breath, she pressed a hand to her mouth.
“As he opened the door, a hand peered through, holding this,” she murmured. Sliding her hand up her skirt, she revealed leather strappings of a pouch around her thigh. Gripping her hand on the handle, she slid out a small, spear pointed dagger. Gasping, Peter’s eyes widened. “He told me to take it,” Lela told him. “He wanted me to feel safe. So, I took it.” Returning the blade to its pouch, Lela ruffled her skirt back over her weapon. Returning her head to Peter’s shoulder, she continued with her story. “He placed a bowl of bread in front of me. He told me that he had seen what had happened at the inn and he had set out straight away, to track the pirates down to save me. He told me I reminded him of his daughter.” With a deep exhale, she hugged a hand to his chest, as he rested his chin on her head. “He said no woman should ever have to face being treated the way that I had… and he wished to put a stop to it in any way that he could. He told me that he would return me to my family. I said I did not want that. I told him of how I ran away. I wanted a fresh start. I wanted something new…” her voice trailed. Giving her a tight squeeze, Peter shuddered against her. “He told me of an island where trade took place weekly. There would always be fresh faces, new things to learn, new things to see. He told me of a kind-hearted man, named Owen Garrin. He said the man was like a father to him and he promised that Owen would look after me too. He promised me a job at an inn, for as long as I need it and if at any point I wished to return home, all I had to do was say and he would take me.”
As her shoulders relaxed, Lela leant away from Peter’s embrace. “That was nearly five years ago,” she said with a shrug. “And I have lived here, with Owen, ever since. I have a job. I have my own money.” She forced the corner of her mouth to prod up. “It may not be perfect, but I do like it here. Captain Blagden always comes to see me, when his boat is docked up. I know he is a pirate,” she added with a whisper. “But he is special to me. He’s like the father I always wanted. I know who he is, and I know what he is, but I want to protect him, just like he protected me. He knew I was a stupid girl, who ran away from home and probably deserved to get kidnapped by that band of brutes, but he saved me and protects me, even to this day. You understand what I mean, don’t you?” she asked, turning to him with watery eyes. Rubbing a hand to her knee, Peter nodded.
“Of course,” he replied.
Speechless at her tale, Peter’s stomach spiralled. Gazing at her, he tugged at his neckline. “Lela… I’m so sorry you went through all that.”
“It’s fine,” she muttered with a shrug, staring at the table. “And it is not your fault. I was reckless and so desperate to leave home I-”
“I understand,” he whispered, placing a hand on hers. “I would have done the same – and I did. You just faced some bad luck along the way. It’s only made you a stronger person. I appreciate you sharing that with me – it can’t have been easy.” Closing her eyes, she shook her head.
“Only Captain Blagden and Owen know,” she muttered.
“Thank you for telling me,” Peter told her, dipping his head towards hers. “I have even more respect for you now than I did already – and that was quite a bit to begin with.” Swallowing, she held her breath. “And your water purifying drink – now that’s a work of art.”
“I am glad you liked it,” she nodded, as a smile slid in the right corner of her lips. “Everyone here thinks I am mad.”
“Well I think you’re wonderful,” he beamed. “And I would love to do this again sometime.” Her apples of her cheeks flushed, as she flickered her eyes towards him.
“Maybe after you return from your next voyage, we could do this again,” she suggested, stroking an arm against his bicep. His stomach spiralled at her touch. “You set sail tomorrow afternoon, do you not?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “Although I don’t know where to or how long for,” he sighed.
“I shall keep an eye on the tide,” she smiled.
“Would you like me to walk you to your door?” he offered, holding out his hand.
“That would be nice,” she smiled.
Walking down the corridor, Peter and Lela remained silent. With a smile on Lela’s face, Peter’s heart raced. Taking two right turns, Peter found himself in the far wing of the inn. As they came to a stop, a sweat of worry traipsed down Peter’s back. ‘I hope I can find my way back,’ he told himself. ‘I was too busy gazing at her beauty to notice the way we came.’ Arching his head over his left shoulder, Peter glanced down the corridor.
“Here I am,” Lela announced, as they reached the farthest door in the corridor.
“Well, erm, goodnight, Lela,” Peter murmured, scratching a hand against the back of his neck. “And thank you for a really lovely evening.”
“Thank you, Peter,” she smiled, as her eyes twinkled at his. “I wish you a safe journey. I just wish you were not caught up with this pirate business,” she sighed lowering her head. Hearing Peter sigh too, she added, “I know Captain Blagden will look after you – I will order him too.”
“Thanks,” he smiled.
“But seriously Peter, thank you for this evening,” she smiled with a nod. Peter nodded back. She curtsied. In reply, Peter took a bow.
“Goodnight,” she whispered.
“Night,” he replied, watching as Lela unlocked her door and let herself inside. Hovering, he waited until she closed the door, before turning back down the corridor, to walk to his own room. A smile plastered across his face, as his heart leapt. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he whistled all of the way to his room.
- Josie -
