Chapter 2 Little One

CHAPTER 2: LITTLE ONE

Not even sturdy boards and a newly washed deck could bring comfort, her mind overflowing with uncontrolled emotions. Desperately seeking a semblance of control Morgan ordered Marlo to organise the ships new charges and sought the seclusion of her cabin. Located at the stern beneath the quarter deck, the captains quarters were accessed from the main deck. The cabin itself divided into two distinct rooms, the day room was filled with chairs and tables, its walls decorated with all manner of weapons, there was space for an alcohol cabinet and almost as an afterthought a desk occupied the corner. Hidden behind the desk was a wooden panel that slid open giving one access to the night room. Morgan’s night room was a place of sanctuary, its shiny glass windows painting distorted patterns upon the bed, an effect that she could no longer do without. She locked the door as soon as the threshold was behind. Her hands shaking as she poured amber-coloured liquid, a whisky for just such an occasion. A headache edged as she brought the glass to her lips. The tears began at a thought, her dead friend foremost. Legs caved and she fell to the floor. Through fresh tears, and a now throbbing head, anguish and loss transported her back to a time she had felt a similar mix of powerlessness and grief.

                                  __________________________

 

Jagged mountains had torn strips out of the lifting fog, the fresh sun, shining down upon an active and energetic youth. Morgan had just finished her chores and was enjoying a post-lunch break. During her down time, she could be found in the back alley, practicing cutlass skills on an ill-treated wooden dummy. On this particular day she had chipped off quite a few chunks and was standing back to admire the outcome of her exertions, that was when Rena’s concern laced voice sent her hurtling towards alarm, “Look at you, do you have to be such a grub-let,” Morgan met her minders gaze, glancing upward through wind tussled hair.

“So, it’s time then?” She asked, although she already knew the answer to the pointed question.

“Yes, I’m afraid so child,” Rena confirmed, “I’m sorry, I need you to start paying your way from the noon shift.”

Rena was the closest thing to a mother that Morgan had, so although she had known that this day would come, the words stung more than foresight had ever allowed. It really was not Rena’s fault, after all, her first example of a mother thought quality time involved aiming kicks at her head or demanding that she clean up vomit from the previous night’s revelry. Her mother had subsequently sold her to the brothel at the age of thirteen for the price of a few nights out on the drink. Understanding brought numbness and Morgan embraced its familiarity. Rena grasped her hands gently, holding them as if she could be broken like a porcelain doll, then she moved to cradle her chin, her words unimportant, “I’m sorry Morgan, but I have no choice. I need to make a living. I know you are young, but you are tough. This may not be the life you choose, but it’s all that you have. Now go and get made up. I’m sure that Bella will help.”

Nodding dumbly, Morgan sauntered away, her hands swinging freely amidst the pondering of a miserable internal question, “This can’t be my life, Can it?” She had lived at the brothel for three years; it was her job to ensure that the girls had everything that they needed. Morgan had always dreamt of a life of adventure, a life that took her far away from her current existence. As such all her spare time was spent on working with any available weapon, although her motivation despite an innate ability was sheer enjoyment. Bria was the only brothel girl that mistreated her, although the abuse contained insults with little or no teeth, other than that, the dysfunctional occupants of the Brothel were the only family that she had even known.

Morgan’s trudge took her past Meena who was practising in the courtyard, her friends identical single-edged blades were flicking and slashing at the air, every step a fluid motion. Meena always looked like she was dancing rather than fighting, when the ribbons were released from their hilts the dance became a deadly performance. Meena was a rather troublesome stowaway that a captain had forced upon Rena for services rendered. No one, not even Morgan, knew why she had stowed away, and it did not help that her friend shut down any mention of the topic. Because Rena had been afraid of a slight, ill-tempered, sword wielding child, she had put Meena to work as the Brothels protector. Thereafter the clinically effortless way in which Meena despatched any she deemed dangerous to the brothel, ensured a safe workplace for all.

“Hi Meena, how goes your practice?” Morgan asked, channeling her efforts into listening to a response. Meena glanced in her direction, blond hair framing a genuine smile saved for her alone.

“Hey, good. Come and practise with me. Let’s work on that technique that you wanted to—” Meena faltered mid-sentence.

 Morgan filled the sudden silence, “Trust me, I would much rather be sparing with you, but today’s the day that I pay my way.”

Meena’s usually passive face flashed from annoyed to resolute, “Don’t worry,” she affirmed.

It didn’t matter if Morgan was unsettled by her friend’s sudden change in demeanor, she had no time for investigations. Mixing a shrug with a frown she ambled away.

Noisy thoughts dominated Morgan’s trudge, so much so, that she didn’t hear the choking sounds until she reached the entrance to the tavern. Part of her wanted to run, another part drew her onwards. As she stepped over the threshold the sounds got louder and a grisly scene awaited her, fear disabled all movement.

“WHERE IS THE YOUNG VIRGIN.” The owner of the deep loud and entirely terrifying voice, none other than Rorg, the most infamous pirate captain that Crewtown had ever spawned. Rorg was part giant, a fact that made itself known in the way that he easily suspended Rena in mid-air by one of his powerful arms. Tattooed on Rorg’s body were an unseemly number of snakes that writhed their way from arms to torso. If the stories were correct, Rorg enjoyed killing innocents and he had a bloodthirsty nature, even towards his crew. Although, his first mate and crewmembers were joining in on the terrorizing, staring on, enjoyment plain upon their distorted faces.

“Please, I have no young virgins, they are so hard to come by, please bel—” Rena was silenced by a hand tightening around her throat.

The fear of Rena’s imminent death gave Morgan the ability to act, “I’m here, sir. Please don’t hurt her any longer,” she pled, hoping that the meek words reached Rorg’s ears.

Morgan had been at the brothel long enough to know a little about the subtle art of manipulation, bowing her head in submission, she waited. A few seconds felt like an eternity, then Rorg opened his hand sending Rena groundward, where she promptly burst into uncontrolled bawling. Head still bowed, Morgan felt Rorg’s lecherous gaze as he barked out a command, “Come whelp,” then the half giant strode past without a backwards glance.

Not daring to linger Morgan forced one foot before the other, reaching for feeling she came back empty. Soon the hallway delivered her to the steps, and soon after, she was heading upward. It was as the first flight levelled into a landing, that she noticed Nia standing at a doorway, her hands working silently to send a message, “Take heart little one. Amare is with you.” Panic surfaced on the second floor, forcing it down she steadied herself using the wall to help with the last flight of stairs.

Rorg was waiting in Rena’s apartment, a large but sparsely appointed room, all the furniture worn and old. There was a large bed in one corner, a fireplace and chest of drawers in the other, still channeling meekness, Morgan continued her downward stare.

“Let me see what we have here,” Rorg’s words brought panic once again, but they also triggered something within. Morgan clenched her fists so tightly that her nails drew blood. Anger now at a slow simmer. Suddenly Rorg was standing over her, continuing from a visual inspection to a physical one, he used his powerful hands to turn her around on the spot, then as if apprising a slave, a practised hand moved over her body, her anger now at a full boil.

“Yes, you are quite stunning, my man wasn’t kidding,” Rorg purred.

The half giant’s lecherous tone was enough to catapult anger well past panic; she planted her feet and met her tormentor’s eye.

Rorg seemed amused by her slight action, his response, to place a meaty fist around her throat. Lifting her off the ground by the neck, he brought her close. lips to her ear, he spoke in a sickly aroused tone, “I think I will keep you, break you, then when I am bored of you, give you to my men.” Still dangling and fighting for breath, Morgan pawed blindly at her tormentor’s hands, desperate to loosen the grip. Again, he brought her close. licking her face like a sweet treat, “I love the salty tang of fear,” Rorg affirmed, happy at his work.

Panic threatened once again, her tormentor’s breath owning the ability to breathe. Madness however, won out in the battle for control, and she rasped inflammatory words, “Oh, I have heard the stories and I’m quite sure your deeds are simply to make up for the size of your package.” At the perfect level, Morgan finished her words by kicking out as hard as she could, desperately hoping to connect with what little there was.

Rorg was incensed, releasing a deafening howl he threw her like a discarded doll. She flew across the room, her head slamming into a bedpost, the force producing an instant ringing in her ears. Morgan’s ordeal continued; her senses assaulted by a deafening ring that mixed with thoughts of how her tormentor would continue to rape her, even unconscious, darkness welcomed her, and she happily accepted its escape.

 

Morgan wanted to drift away, yet her diminishing state of consciousness was rudely interrupted by an animalistic scream. The scream resonated once again, sharp upon her senses, its incessant desperation phasing her into awakening. Pain flared at the opening of her eyes, everything hurt. Nevertheless, another more frantic scream caused her to push and as she made it onto wobbly feet, the source of the sound became evident. Meena was cornered cut and desperate, Rorg towering over her slight form, slamming his cutlass downwards with all his considerable strength. Meena had lost a sword, and the blows were keeping her on one shaky knee, her friend barely managing to hold, the remaining sword blocking considerable force. Meena was weakening with every downward strike, blood running freely from a deep cut on her arm. Anger propelled Morgan into action, placing one foot in front of the other, she put all effort into gaining momentum, dropping to her knees she slid across the bloody soaked floor. Reaching out a hand, she grasped Meena’s discarded weapon, still sliding, she brought the sword upright, her momentum sending her under Rorg’s towering form. Vengeance directed her aim, metal met skin and important vessels in the groin. Blood sprayed on and around her as Rorg fell to his knees. Ever the opportunist, Meena used the opening to slice an undefended neck, the outcome of which was Rorg collapsing dead before torso and detached head hit the floor.

She sat amidst the warm stickiness until Meena’s outstretched hand came in to focus. Accepting the offering, she groaned and stood, the clock in her brain ticking once again. She handed the instrument of death back to Meena before claiming Rorg’s cutlass. Her friend inspected her injuries as she flicked excess blood from her blades. She inclined her head, and wordless they left the scene. Using the walls to prop herself up, she clutched her prize as she descended into chaos.

 

Morgan assessed the scene before her, strewn around the Tavern were four bodies, all Rorg’s men. Rena was in hysterics, mumbling and weeping, Bria at her side alternating between patting and awkwardly hugging. Nia was tending to everyone’s wounds and Meena had stationed herself next to Pete, both discussing what would happen if any unlucky assailants came through the front door. All eyes turned in her direction, a sense of calm descended, “What are you all staring at, I’m fine,” she affirmed, “Nia patch Meena up first. Pete, can you go and get Bella, make sure she has plenty of arrows.” All moved to execute her commands. Aware of a closing window of opportunity she fired out harsh words in an attempt to stun Rena out of unconstructive babble, “Will you cut it out and tell me everything you know about The Dragon’s Tooth.”

Bria placed herself between Rena and Morgan, hands on hips, “How dare you speak to her like that, can’t you see she is distraught!” She hissed.

She stood firm, “Bria, I will not have you placing everyone’s lives in danger, NOW MOVE.” The clock in her brain was ticking in a deliberate manner, finetuned to undeniable action, there was no time for emotion, no time for thought, not when survival was waning with every breath. It did not dawn on Morgan until later, that she was a child no longer.