The Endless Night

Chapter One: The First Night

                James’ head remained bowed in respect for his Master as the older man departed, and when the door to the upper deck slammed closed, he turned to Arcadia. “I’m terribly sorry about this.”

                Venom-filled eyes glared at him from the floor. “I don’t want to hear your lies. Do whatever it is you want with me. I refuse to care.” She said, before lowering her eyes to her battered body.

                “I want ye to know that I have no intent to harm ye.” He said. Bending at the waist, he claimed her knife and held it in his hand, the blade pressed to the rotted material of her corset.

                “I would rather die than share a bed with that creature.” Here, James saw tears bristle in her eyes. “Do you worst. I doubt that you’ll cause any damage.”

                With a flick of his wrist, the blade sliced through her corset. It flopped to the floor uselessly. For once, Arcadia was thankful for the blackness of the ship’s brig. Save for the occasional flicker of light that danced off the steel blade of her dagger, it was impossible to see more than a foot or two away from your face. All of the light had come from the door to the upper deck, which was now closed.

                He didn’t need the knife for her breeches. They came off somewhat easier, and he tossed them aside – most likely, they landed in the muck that she had awoken in not an hour before. Now entirely naked, she knelt before him, entirely at his mercy. She could still see the knife in his hand. It came closer to her, closer still, and just when she thought he would have the compassion to end it, it fell at her knees.

                And then, he walked away. He didn’t travel far, though. Returning a few seconds later, he tossed a scrap of cloth (which she could only hope was clean) at her and slid a bucket of frigid water across the creaking floorboards. Arcadia didn’t move, still in shock. That was when James took it upon himself to strike a match, lighting one of the candles outside her little cell. Dull light flooded the room.

                James made a decent effort to not stare at her undressed form. “I know that ye be a woman of strong self-respect, m’lady. I’ll leave ye to wash yerself.”

                It seemed like such a foolish thing to be thankful for, but at the same time, Arcadia’s heart swelled from the man’s kindness. “Thank you.”

                He only nodded. “Ye’ll be needin’ clothes once yer all washed up, too. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a woman on the Sandstorm, so the clothes may be a little out of fashion -,”

                “I’ll take them.” She hurriedly cut him off.

                “I didn’t think that that was a question.” He motioned over to the far end of the brig, where he had retrieved the bucket of water. “The clothes are in a trunk over yonder. Here’s the key.”

                Arcadia took the chain from him. Again, she said, “Thank you.”

                “Ye’ve no need to thank me, m’lady. I’m only doin’ my duty.” James said.

                She looked down at her bloody, battered body once more. James took that as his cue to leave, but Arcadia had to ask him one more question. “James?” He stopped. “What’s today’s date?”

                “Why – today?” He seemed to think on it for a moment, then answered, “It’s October 21st in the year of Queen Mary II.”