Dymira was still cleaning when a guard came by for inspection. By this time, the sun had already set, and the chill air was creeping into her already aching muscles. She said nothing; she knew it would do no good to say anything about Egaire. If the guards didn’t see an action, it didn’t happen according to them. They only put a stop to any fighting or harassment among the prisoners if they personally witnessed it. This wasn’t any sort of benevolence on their part; they just wanted to do all the harassing themselves. It was about control and the rights of the law. And perhaps that was the thing that hurt the most: it wasn’t the captivity, it was how she was treated during the captivity.

“Answer me, lazy wench!” The guard’s voice was loud and sudden. Dazed, Dymira shook herself out of her thoughts. She could only assume from his words that the guard had asked her a question, but she couldn’t sort out what it was. Before she could formulate the words to tell him this, the guard slapped his hand across the side of her face. She choked back the cries that threatened to come out. Stubbornness settled into her mind. She clamped her mouth shut and refused to speak, even though it would be in her best interest to.

“Since you won’t answer me, you can stay out here for the rest of the evening! This place had better be spotless though, or you’ll stay under the waves for the rest of your life,” threatened the guard. Dymira suspected his threats weren’t empty; if he wished to toss her overboard it was unlikely anyone would stop him. She had already seen how ruthlessly they dealt with the few men who had tried to escape during the boarding process. The guard turned away and stomped off; Dymira winced at every print his boots left behind. Feeling defeated, she returned to work, already regretting her silence; she should have known better.

It seemed to take her forever to finish a second time, and the sun had set by the time Dymira could consider her task finished. Although it was less work, the lack of a proper meal or rest was wearing on her. Exhausted, it was a struggle to pull herself to a standing position and tossed the soapy remnants of the water out of the bucket and into the ocean, letting the waves dilute it into nothingness. She didn’t have enough energy to do more than lean limply against the rail and look down at the night-blackened waters. Now that she wasn’t working anymore, the chill was hitting her hard, and she huddled, shivering, in place. A ghostly reflection of the moon shimmered alongside the boat as it moved through the ocean. It almost looked more welcoming than the deck she was on. The thought occurred to her that she could save the guard the trouble of tossing her overboard by jumping now. But she dismissed the thought almost as soon as it breached her mind. If they were going to get rid of her, they’d have to work for it. Dymira closed her eyes and sighed.

“Do you happen to let everyone treat you this way?” asked a soft, cultured voice from behind Dymira. No other voice on board so far had sounded anything like this one. But more than the tone of the voice, the words didn’t match the attitude of anyone she had interacted with. Not the sailors, not the guards, and certainly not the prisoners. The calmness and hint of concern were… refreshing. Intrigued, she turned around, wanting to match a face with the speaker.

Physically the man was not impressive, possessing neither height nor girth in noticeable quantities. Yet he wasn’t particularly short or slender either. Rather he fit in a comfortable middle-ground that would have left him unnoticeable within a crowd. At least from behind. His dark hair was combed back neatly in no particular style. The moonlight let her see that his skin was fair. In the darkness it was hard to tell, but she suspected his eyes were blue. As for his age, all she could tell was that he wasn’t overly young or old, but most likely older than herself. The expression on his face was hard to read, but the way he held his hands behind his back, leaned forward slightly, and tilted his head to the side gave the impression that he was awaiting her answer. Unlike the guard from earlier, she felt inclined to respond.

“Who are you?” she asked, the question coming out rather than a response. Her curiosity outweighed her interest in actually answering the question.

“My name is Morkyn,” he responded, eyebrows going up a trifle.

“Are you one of the guards?” It seemed an unlikely answer, but Dymira wanted to be absolutely certain.

“No.”

“Are you a prisoner then?”

“In a sense,” the man answered after a barely perceptible pause. “But you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“I don’t have much choice in the matter; I can’t fight them,” Dymira said, turning away to stare at the water again.

“There are more of them than there are of you. Fighting them would be unwise,” he agreed. “And you don’t seem to belong here; what did you do to get sent away like this?” Dymira flinched at the question, even though she had been wondering the exact same thing about him. She had never been able to suppress that reaction whenever the subject of her crime came up. She felt no real guilt for what she had done, but the memory was still a painful one.

Dymira had always been close with her older brother, despite the years between them. Or, perhaps, because of them. She had been so young when their parents died, that most of her memories were tied to him, not them. He practically raised her, carefully shielding her from the fact that he had turned to crime to support her. She never suspected a thing. Eventually she grew old enough to work as well, but by then, he was in too deep. The team of thieves he had fallen in with refused to let him back out. And so it had only been a matter of time before her brother was caught in the act. Fearing the consequences of disobeying the law, he naturally ran, returning home.

When the officers tracked down where he lived, it was Dymira who answered the knock on the door. Seeing the officers wasn’t immediately alarming for her; she had no reason then to fear the law. But they were too quick to announce their reason for being there: the intent to bring her brother to justice. It hadn’t been her intention to stall them, but she couldn’t believe their reason for being there, so she questioned them. This only served to anger them, so the order was given to break and and take him out. Sensing the latent threat in the words, Dymira called out for her brother to run. Then, fearing the results, she followed the officers as they marched around to the back of the house to stop a potential escape. Her brother was already running, so one of the men lifted a gun to fire. Without thinking about any other consequences, Dymira tackled him. She wasn’t strong enough to take him down, but it was enough to force his shot to go astray.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

It was all in vain though. The officer she had ‘assaulted’ cuffed her head and pushed her to the ground before binding her. While he was dealing with her, he was shouting at the others to stop her brother, dead or alive. Dymira never saw exactly what happened, but the shots fired, the screams, and the report of the fugitive being declared dead told the story well enough. No, she felt no guilt for trying to stop the officer; her only guilt came from failing to keep her brother alive. But, just as it was now, so it was then: there were too many of them for her to fight.

“I interfered with an officer on duty,” she admitted quietly, although she had told this to no other prisoner. “He was trying to shoot down my brother.” Her words caught in her throat, but she was able to push them through.

“Ah, I see,” Morkyn said, the softness of his voice soothing the rawness that had caused her to flinch moments before. Taking a few breaths to steady herself, Dymira turned back to face the man.

“Why haven’t I seen you before?” Dymira asked him. “I’m sure I would have noticed you among the rest of the people on this floating piece of misery.”

“I prefer the quiet of the night.” Morkyn stepped up to stand beside Dymira, placing both his hands on the rail as he looked out over the ocean. “But I believe you have seen me before, though I don’t blame you for not recognizing me. Our eyes met briefly as you were boarding.” Ah! So he was the person inside the litter. That was one mystery solved for Dymira. But she felt a surge of resentment. If he was a prisoner, as he implied, why did he get special treatment while she was stuck doing hard labor? Tensing, she shifted her gaze towards the horizon. “Don’t be shy; speak your mind,” prompted Morkyn. “What’s wrong?”

“Why should you be treated better than the rest of us?” demanded Dymira. It occurred to her that the question might be a trap, but her resentment had been building for some time now, and it was too hard to rein it in once an opportunity to release it was presented. She only hoped that she wouldn’t regret it.

“Because I am here for a different reason. I boarded this ship by choice, although there was a lot of pressure for me to do so. There are those who feel threatened by me, and are very pleased at being able to send me away to someplace they are certain I will never return from. But since they had no ability to force me to board, it had to be on my terms.” The explanation was giving with great patience, though Morkyn owed her nothing. It wasn’t enough to wash away her anger, but it redirected it away from him specifically.

“I suppose that makes sense,” she admitted slowly. She might have felt bad for him if she didn’t already feel worse for herself. But at least he wasn’t someone who was determined to antagonize her. Both of them fell silent, watching the moon’s reflection on the water together. Dymira became so lost in thought she didn’t realize when Morkyn left her. Carefully she curled up into a ball in a corner that sheltered her somewhat from the wind. She wasn’t comfortable enough to fall into a true sleep, but she managed to doze in and out, conserving what strength she could.

“Get up!”

Dymira gasped for air as she felt a booted foot kick her in the ribs. Her eyes opened quickly and she struggled to make her eyes focus on the blurry shape that slowly coalesced into the form of a guard. Once she managed to see him clearly, she stood up immediately, not wanting to encourage him to kick her a second time; once was enough.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, bowing her head in the appearance of contrition. It wasn’t the guard from last night, but she guessed he must have been told she’d be here. If this one wasn’t already set against her, maybe she could make it back inside for breakfast.

“At least the deck is cleaned; I was told to give you a severe thrashing if it wasn’t,” the guard said, his tone flat, not giving away whether he was looking forward to delivering such a punishment or not. The previous guard had threatened to toss her overboard, but she supposed that passing the instruction along to another guard might have been frowned upon. “Since the job was done, you can join the others,” he said, pushing Dymira’s back as she started to walk. While it wasn’t exactly gentle, it also wasn’t forceful enough to carry the intent of knocking her down. Dymira said nothing as he pushed her along the deck and into the room where the prisoners were kept.

Dymira sighed as she heard the door shut behind her. She finally got a good look at the room; she had been too preoccupied before to really take in the details. It wasn’t much to look at, being filled with a lot of the supplies for their destination. Piles of wood planks were used as makeshift benches, while folded piles of linen were claimed as beds. There were many numbered, sealed crates that people used as chairs or tables. While there was some relief to be out of the wind from the deck, she wasn’t looking forward to dealing with the other prisoners again, especially those who seemed to ally themselves with Egaire. But, at least she might have a chance to warm up a little.

To her surprise there was no harassment, no snide remarks. At first, this felt like a much needed reprieve. She was sore, tired, and not really in the mood to deal with altercations. She found a nice little corner to curl up in and worked on regaining some of the rest she had lost over her evening out on the deck. While she never quite managed to fall into a full sleep, she felt somewhat rejuvenated by the time the call for breakfast happened.

The fare wasn’t much, but the sailors ate quite heartily. One of the guards complained, being used to having his own meals back home. The sailors looked between each other, and then laughed.

“Just wait till it’s down to hardtack and fish stew,” one of the sailors told him. “Fresh food don’t last too long out at sea. So we enjoy what we get, when we get it. By the time we get to the next port on the way, you’ll know it too.”

“Besides, we ain’t your wife, or your mom. If you wanted to keep getting fat off home cooked meals, you should have stayed on the shore. Going to sea, it builds character, yeah!”

The guard grumbled to himself, and a few prisoners joined in the sailors for laughing. But he caught their eye, the malevolence in them clear: he couldn’t do a damned thing about the sailors for laughing, but he wasn’t going to let the convicts get away with it. The sounds from the prisoners quickly died away, but the sailors only laughed harder. They didn’t care about the prisoners any more than the rest of the cargo they were carrying. They were all just part of the job.

Dymira appreciated the neutrality. It would have been better to have allies, but she had no expectations that anyone would stick their neck out for her, or any of the other prisoners. They didn’t know her story, and it would only be asking for trouble to confide in them. As long as they got the ship safely to its destination, that was all she could ask for. And if the food wasn’t great, it didn’t matter much either. So far it wasn’t any worse than it was in prison. Perhaps the best part was that she was left blissfully alone while she ate her meager meal.