A Siren at the Helm

Chapter III: The Captive Unintended

Amina shifted around uncomfortably. Her bed was unusually cold. And hard. However, she was too tired to get up and fetch another blanket.

A flash of memory had her sitting upright. It was mostly dark, the only light came from a small crack in the ceiling. There were wooden walls, iron bars and a door. She realized that she was sitting on a small wooden bench held to the wall by chains.

Amina tried to stand. She almost toppled over, not because of the splitting headache that assaulted her, but because the ground was unsteady. Confused she tried to stand again. This time she succeeded.

A chill ran down her spine as she recognized the mysterious rocking of the floor. She was on a ship. More specifically, she was in a ship's brig. She berated herself for not realizing it earlier. Had she not grown up on one? Had she not spent her days swinging in the rigging and running down narrow corridors in the hull?

Footsteps awakened her from her state of self pity. They were coming straight to her little cell.

A man stopped behind the metal bars. Amina had to admit that he was handsome, not the best looking man she had ever seen, but still. He wore a button down coat, the blue of the sky just after sunset, and breeches with boots. Smouldering brown eyes bore into the cell. His strong jaw and sharp features were framed by hair so dark that it rivaled her own. And then he opened his mouth.

"Buenas noches. I am glad to see that you are finally awake. As Capitan, I would like to welcome you to our lovely buccaneer's ship, The Vengaza." He made a gallant bow. "My name is Esteban Méndez and I shall be serving your every need." His words were laced with a beautiful Spanish accent, making them sound almost musical. Unfortunately they were arrogant and mocking to the point of irritation. It was as if someone had taken a beautiful painting and burnt it in places, leaving ugly, scorched spots behind.

"As our captive you will be recieving food once a day. You will stay here until your family decides to pay up. Considering your fame and fortune, a ransom of four thousand pounds seems very little. Does it not miss Oakes?" He continued.

Miss Oakes? Amina had not missed the last part.

*

Anger. Fear. Denial. These were emotions pirates preyed upon, emotions Esteban had come to expect from his captives over time. Yet the laugh the girl in the cell let out was similar to none of these. She stepped out of the shadows and into the light.

Esteban noticed that her hair was charcoal black instead of red, and had been tied into a bun. A few strands had escaped and were now hanging loosely in her face. He noticed that her eyes were inhumanely blue instead of brown. He noticed that her dress had been dirtied and torn when his men had kidnapped her. And above all, he noticed that she was not Isabella Oakes.

"I believe, captain, that you are very much mistaken," she said with a smile that threatened to turn into a full laugh.
"You're not Isabella."
"So you noticed? Your crew didn't seem to."

Esteban was dumbstruck. His surprise was evident, he had not seen the girl since his men brought her aboard. How the hell had his crew managed this? "So who are you then?" He asked bashfully.
"Amina, but you may call me miss O'Brien," she looked up at him with a smirk. "Oh, and have a word with your men will you? It's very impolite to hit a lady."

Esteban decided that he needed to save face. She was laughing at him and he did not blame her. What sort of pirates kidnapped the wrong person? He straightened himself.

"No matter. Pretty flowers like you come in handy on lonely nights." Seeing that she was standing close to the iron bars separating them, he reached out his hand to touch her face.