Trade Secret [on hold]

On the Edge of a Knife

When Connie's eyes finally cracked open to let in the piercing light, her first thought was that she was dead. That's what The Marlinspike always did to her victims - killed them in horrifically nasty ways, but not after doing all kinds of unspeakable acts to their person. She and her night-colored ship, which was powered by only the most advanced engines that Science could offer, were the terror of every person who ever set sail.

Then she heard the lilting tones of an overly condescending voice. "Wakey, wakey, little fishy."

Connie said something along the lines of "Ugh." Her head pounded dreadfully and her mouth didn't want to work properly.

The voice adopted an audible pout. "Oh, is the little fishy tired? Suck it up." It changed suddenly for the last three words, and Connie felt something hit her in the stomach, hard.

She sat up, feeling an intense surge of deja vu as she saw the walls surrounding her on all sides and the figure standing over her. Shaking her head to clear it, Connie surreptitiously glanced over the vicinity. It was a small room, nothing especially fancy - a few barrels of who-knows-what in the corner, and the scratching of hidden rats in the walls. It looked almost exactly the same as the brig in the Salamander had. Just... emptier.

Connie turned to look at the person who had spoken to her, saying as she did so, "Where am I? And who are you?"

As soon as the words were out she wanted to grab them and stick them back in her throat, or in the sea where they would never be found again. The woman she had addressed was Jezebel herself.  The Marlinspike. Every person to ever to set sail had horror stories to tell about the incredible things that had occured when she was near - especially what she did to those who crossed her, but mostly the danger of her beauty. She was tall, and exceptionally curvy, with long dark hair that cascaded over her body in waves. She was a beautiful woman, sure, but her face terrified Connie to the core. It was a face of stone, caressed by a thick scar that reached under her chin and tickled the right side of her mouth, giving her a perpetually smug expression.

"You know me, child," Jezebel practically purred, taking slow, precise steps around Connie in boots that hugged her thighs ridiculously. "What I'm wondering is, who are you? Floating on the sea, a pretty penny like you, with one of those fancy breathing devices? Curious. Don't get many girls out on the water, at least not girls like me." She sounded... proud?

Connie stayed silent, staring impassively at the opposite wall. She maintained the facade of emotoinlessness, while her insides roiled with simultaneous revulsion and fear. How do I get out of here? she begged fruitlessly.

Jezebel's footsteps came to a decisive stop directly behind Connie. She heard and exhalation, and shivers crawled up her spine from the sound. "See, when Toby pulled you from those wretched waves, we thought you'd been wrecked by kraken! Silly of us, I know, but he couldn't help but notice the lovely seal you had there on your watertight."

Oh, bad. Oh bad bad bad bad bad. Nails dug into Connie's shoulder, and Jezebel spoke again, her hot breath scorching the skin on Connie's neck. "Where is Alistair Carstone?"