re-edited: 7/12 | total word count: 2175

RACHEL SCHMIDT

Bold, silver waves rolled over the white wooden bridge, the water splashing against my whale leather boots. I stopped before the window on the back of the Going Sally; the door locked and unusable next to it. My eyes scanned over the rough, white wood that had once kept the ship afloat.

The window slid open with ease, causing a smile to slip onto my face.

George should really lock it.

I looked back the way I had come. I could only see the rich dark colors underneath the wood. No one was coming down the bridge or returning to Carlisle, that bright hot winter day.

I'm like a mermaid in the middle of the night.

The thought had a grin forming, as sneaking in the middle of a place at night would likely get me in trouble with the officials of Carlisle. It was an old wives' tale my parents once told me, and that moment as I grabbed the ledge, reminded me of it. I slipped through, the end of the fish-skinned poncho getting caught on something.

Empty boxes and a barrel caught my fall.

The floor creaked as I turned to my back and placed a hand over my head. The door was blocked with other things or I would have juggled the handle until it unlocked itself to get in. I grabbed the poncho with my left hand, the scales smooth on one side and the leather rough on the other.

It was a blessing to have against the scorching sun. The scales reflected the blue and red of the fish it came from, up in the far North, but it was more than the color. The scales were thicker and made it cooler under the poncho, unlike the ones found down here.

Three long and rough tugs, it was finally free. I moved my arm, and looked at the piece of clothing, searching for any tears that might need to be fixed. Finding none, I pulled myself from the wooden floor with the help of a chair. 

Light came from the ceiling's hatch lit the small room up. After he had gotten the ship, he changed the inside, taking out the ladder that once led to the dock above, but leaving the hatch how it otherwise was. It made a mess of things when it rained.

I brushed my fingers along the edges, before taking the poncho off. I wouldn't need it when I reached the bar area. With how I can hear the noise, I knew it would be packed. Tossing it onto the desk, I headed for the front, passing through the empty kitchen. 

Barrels, boxes, and metal crates were spread about, holding jars and other items that was used in the soups. Old brown kale laid forgotten on the stove. My lips twitched into a guilty smile, as I remembered I was the one who was supposed to take care of it.

I pulled the kitchen door open and stepped into the stuffy bar front. The smoke hanging in the air stung my eyes, while I was greeted by a full bar of saylors' ruckus. From their off-note singing, laughter, and tankards being clunked together, I knew they were having fun.

Despite their rowdiness, even as a slight smile appeared on my face, I let the kitchen's white door shut behind me. Saylors meant business and business meant more money for me.

Being outside the walls of Carlisle, one would think the Going Sally wouldn't get much business. The ship was creaky and old, yet it still had a certain charm that gave us regulars, as well as the occasional newcomers disembarking at the port. Even if the Going Sally could never sail again, or it risked sinking to the depths of Davy Jones', it was George Wall's pride and joy.

The main reason the ship thrived was because of the pirates that visited when they didn't want to stay in Carlisle's silver walls or in their ships. Of course, George would never admit it was the pirates' business that paid the bills. He would put that onto the saylors.

George looked over his shoulder as the door shut with a slight thump. Besides his towering height and knack of running one hell of a bar, he was as average as the rest of us in Carlisle. 

"Rachel," he greeted as he turned back to a wooden barrel to fill a tankard with water. "I didn't think you were coming today."

"If I hadn't, would I still get paid?" I grabbed a spare apron from the wall next to the door.

"No."

George had never said yes before, and this time was no different. Still, I could hope that the answer would be yes.

Finished tying the apron, I turned to look at him. "Where's everyone else?" With only him being out here and no one in the back, I was beginning to think they didn't show up again.

George grabbed another wooden tankard, placed it under a different barrel to fill it with the stale ale we offered. "No idea. They disappeared before the devil dogs showed up." As he spoke, he grabbed a wooden plate and placed the tankards on it. "Take this to that corner, Rach."

I looked to see where he pointed.

There were two saylors that stood out the most in the crowded corner, both standing on one of the less-than-safe tables. It appeared they were trying to mimic the latest dance going around Carlisle. The woman was whipping her hair back and forth, while the man kicked his feet into the air and had his arms crossed over his chest.

Three others sat at the table before them, clapping and hooting.

"The corner table?" I asked, looking to see just how many tankards he placed down. The tables were packed and I couldn't see how many sat in the corner. "Or one of the others?"

He placed a third one down before he picked the plate up and handed it to me. "Corner table."

"Aye, aye, Boss!"

I heard the chuckle that escaped the slightly older man, even with all the noise that wrapped around us. I worked my way around the counter and among the saylors who I tried to avoid knocking into. Each table I passed had five customers, though a few tried to sit squeeze in a sixth.

I got a better view of the table as I approached it, seeing three men dressed in formal black uniforms, which differed from the sea of gray I was walking through. They weren't making enough noise to add to the ruckus, nor did it look like they were enjoying themselves.

Shifting the plate so it was easier to grab the tankards, I sat one down to the one sitting closest to me. His body was half turned, but it was clear he was less intimidating than the other two. The chilly looks they were giving me, had me thinking they knew what my other day job was.

I quickly placed the stale ales down and retreated to the counter. Their donned uniforms reminded me of the type of people I wanted to avoid at all costs. High Officials and anyone ranked an Admiral.

Pushing through the gray, it didn't take long for me to reach George. With little time for chit-chat, he gave me new drinks and pointed at another table. Giving him a mocking salute — which got a shake of his head — I went to deliver the four ales.

This table was different from the first one. Laughter greeted me, with heads being thrown back. One of the women handed me a few coins as I placed the drinks down, but her attention remained on the conversation that was taking place.

"Post-Captain Kyd—"

"Shh, we're not supposed to say their names."

My grin grew as I lingered a bit in hopes of catching fresh gossip from the docks. I threw the boy, who shushed the other, a wink.

"Thirteen silver for each ale. I'll take what you gave me as a tip. If you need anything else, be sure to yell."

Time was quick to pass as I took empty tankards and replaced them with full ones. The off-pitch singing and tankards hitting each other or the tables in an off-beat rhythm grew louder. The saylors got drunker and I continued to get richer whenever their eyes left the money bags.

Poor things wouldn't even know what happened to their money when they sobered up. They should know that the Going Sally was famous for more than just the tainted ale and odd location. It was also noted for the customers to lose their wages under the illusion of this being an expensive place when the sun fell and darkness surrounded the outside.

What they didn't know was that it was just me stealing the drunkard's money. It was always varied between soaked bills and silver coins. Once I spotted it, well, I just couldn't help myself.

George knew that, and while he didn't approve, he didn't try to stop me. He also knew that customers shouldn't leave their money out if they didn't want it stolen. Or brag about it like some of those pirates liked to.

It had gotten cooler since the sun started to go down, giving the bar a slight chill. I stood before the table I had first visited, sitting the last refill down when the front doors were slammed open. A silence fell over the room at what caused the noise.

I turned, catching sight of a boy.

He looked to be no more than thirteen and stood with blood trailing down his forehead. His brown hair was caked and it wasn't until I looked past his face that I noticed the extra set of arms.

It wasn't just one boy, but two.

The boy he carried looked just as bad as he did. Seeing kids look like they were abused or ganged up on had always bothered me. It was easy to see the marks on the surface, but not the marks that appeared underneath.

My hands trembled, but I couldn't bring myself to move forward. I didn't know these boys, and if I did, it was a mere glimpse in passing, but I knew there could only be here for a few reasons.

"Rachel!" My name was a plea, and it brought my limbs to move on their own.

Very few came to the bar in search of me with such urgency. There was once a man trying to escape from his abusive wife that came. Another time was a family seeking passage away from the water city. They had one thing in common with these boys.

One of them was always beaten up.

"I'm right here, boy." I watched as his eyes swirled with exhaustion. "What happened?"

"Help us."

I hesitated, unsure of what I would bring to George's bar. With a nod, I knew that I couldn't turn my back on them, no matter the hesitation. I wanted to know who hurt them so badly to give up on living in Carlisle and I needed to know how they learned to come in search of me.

Was it through the whispers I knew held my name?

I gestured for him to put the boy onto my back as I turned and lowered myself. The blood on them didn't bother me, and I could at least wash it off. Something that I couldn't say they would be able to.

My eyes met George's as he watched from behind the counter, saying nothing. The saylors were just as unmoving, some too drunk to really know what was happening. For those who weren't completely drunk, I couldn't tell what was passing through their minds. Still, the air didn't change around them.

It's not like they could tell me not to help the boys. And George wouldn't dare even try that. Not when I had already put my neck out so many time before.

"Let's get you fixed up."

The added weight told me the one I took was at least healthy. I still clenched the plate in my left hand, my fingers pressing hard in the wood to not let it fall. It was awkward to get up, but as I straightened the problem faded away.

Saylors stepped out of my way, a few raising hands raising when I stumbled, but before they could help I caught myself. I just needed to get use to the weight, and as I did, I was able to walk through the saylors with ease.

I knew this wasn't what we needed that late winter night. Especially when the others had disappeared, leaving it to just George until I arrived. But now, with these boys, my attention would be drawn to them.

Stepping around the counter, George took the plate from me. "Don't worry about out here. I'll handle it."

I smiled slightly, thankful he was the type of man he was. It was hard to find a good friend like him, especially one who would let me work for them and be okay with this happening. He pulled the door open, worry coating his eyes as a strained smile of his own appeared.

"Thank you."

[to be cont.]