Rutabella Isles

Four

As we docked, stepping off of the boat with the supplies Alfie brought, one of the sailors on shore approached us. He was old, bow legged, and had a slow but otherwise untroubled gait.

"Who are you?" he asked, peering at us with small eyes.

I looked at Alfie. Was it safe to state our true identities? This was a small community, but that would allow the word as to the two newcomers to its shores to spread more quickly. Moreover, Captain Eros likely had spies everywhere, on all islands and countries. We'd be fools to not use false names.

He gave a slight shake of his head before saying, "Name's Sam Hunter."

"Marion Childs," I chimed in confidently. "We're travelers from Sparrow Ridge."

"Travelers, eh? This one looks like he just stepped off a pirate ship." The man eyed Alfie, clad in his pirate hat, vest, and trousers, suspiciously. "What with the upcoming war, you could be a spy for all I know. Getting some last-moment information for your good Captain Eros? He'll be needing some; he can't fight to save his own skin."

"War?" I interjected, but Alfie shook his head again. I felt foolish for not knowing about the imminent battle between, I presumed, pirates and land folks. Perhaps, though, it wasn't as imminent as the man made it out to be.

Then Alfie's words came back to me. Captain Eros and his crew'll be after ye. And your lord. Was that simply a prediction based on the trade, or was it one stop on Captain Eros's path of war-based destruction?

How long had this war been brewing? And why would Alfie support my decision to flee knowing of the threat of war?

Why would he keep this information from me?

I was cut out of my reverie when Alfie inhaled sharply and sighed. "This be a mere getup. I act on the side, see, and didn't have time to change. The lads and I were doing a scene just before Marion and I set sail. A going-away shindig, if you will."

I let out a breath, my heart hammering as if it were pounding against a stubborn nail. He lied right through his teeth.

The old gentleman nodded, satisfied with his explanation, and stood to his side to grant us passage. "Alright. Safe travels to you."

We made our way across the warm sand, heated by the slowly increasing daylight, and headed upwards along a short dirt path to the square. It was cluttered with people in worn clothing and genuine smiles and enveloped by buildings, all as shabby as the attire. Still, there was a certain intimacy about the place, as if the citizens shared a common goal but had different ways of going about it.

"Our first stop here is to get ye and me some new clothes. There can't be any more close calls like that," Alfie said. He took out the pouch of pounds and counted eight. "That should cover some decent garb."

Anger rushed towards me in fierce waves. "We're not going to get 'some decent garb' until you tell me about this war." Narrowing my eyes at him, I pulled him into an empty alley and impatiently awaited his words.

I softened and regretting my tone, though, at the sight of Alfie. He was uneasy, fidgety, sweat pouring down his face like melted oil. He avoided my gaze and instead pretended to be interested in the state of his shoes.

His countenance wouldn't have affected me had I not known what it felt like to face intense questioning. I had gone through many a round of such confrontations with Lord Lunzby after balls teeming with blunders for which the servants were responsible. With every word that flew out of his mouth regarding our uniforms or the tart we had prepared that evening, I shrunk closer and closer to the ground until I was one of the many crumbs on the floor.