"Something does seem different about Red," Volente remarked as he watched Trosyn clean up after some sailors. Colto and Baldovo looked up from the stack of papers in front of them.
"Where did that come from? We were discussing the weather patterns at--"
"Yes, yes. I know. But we've been arguing all day over how to interpret what information we did gather. The trouble is I think it is premature to form any theories from what little data we currently have. It creates bias." Volente sat back in his chair, his face peevishly scrunched.
"They will expect us to have something to show when we return," Colto responded.
"We have readings. But we need more. Surely no one wants half truths and lazy theories?" Volente gestured at the pages of graphs and notes in front of them.
"Our investors will. We can make a faulty theory then prove it wrong on our next run. No shame in making mistakes as long as you are the one to correct them before someone else can," Baldovo interjected.
Volente sighed and seemed to slide down in his chair even more. Then he sat back up straight and pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding his spectacles as he did so. "I can't think clearly with the constant chugging of the engines and rocking of the ship. Can we discuss this during the next boiler maintenance?" Volente lowered his hand, peering at Baldovo. There was Trosyn beside him, picking up some dirty dishes and smiling. Baldovo was smiling back, and perhaps his gaze lingered a bit longer than Volente felt was appropriate. "Baldovo!"
"What? Oh, sure, never mind! We can discuss it later," Baldovo said hastily. Colto placed his hands down on the papers, looking between Volente and Baldovo. He then handed Trosyn an empty glass.
"Red. Do you have some time?" Colto asked. She looked up from the tray of dirty dishes, surprised. She was not the only one, as Baldovo and Volente also seemed taken aback.
"I'm sorry, no." Trosyn turned to leave, but then paused and turned back. "Why?"
"I have questions. Maybe later?"
Trosyn hesitated, then nodded. "After I'm done my chores. Meet back here?" Colto leaned back in his chair and inclined his head. The woman smiled, but he did not reciprocate. Instead he got out his pipe. Volente grumbled, turning his chair away from Colto. Not wasting anymore time, Trosyn left.
"Well, Colto, you surprise me," Baldovo remarked with a wolfish grin.
Colto lit his pipe. "Why?"
"Even the sailors are leaving her alone. And here we have our titanic gentleman swooping in." Colto looked up from his pipe, giving it a few quick puffs. He levelled a steely gaze at Baldovo. Volente fanned the smoke away from his face and made a few more plaintive noises. "You really are just going to ask questions, aren't you?"
"Yes. And you will be there, too," Colto intoned.
"What?" Volente protested.
"Both of you." Colto's already narrow eyes squinted. "Likely she'll vanish when we reach port."
"Ah, yes..." Baldovo remarked. "We best take this opportunity."
----------------------------------------
Later in the evening, Trosyn met with the three scientists in the mess. Colto gestured to an empty chair, and Trosyn sat down. She folded her arms and gave each of the men a long stare, ending with a pointed look at Colto. "I'm here. What do you want to know?"
"Everything." Baldovo said before Colto could respond "But as time is limited, I suppose we can start with what you are running from."
Volente and Trosyn both looked surprised by this question. Colto leaned back, intrigued. The red-haired woman looked down at the table, then back at Baldovo. "Why do you think I am running?"
A smug smile spread across Baldovo's features. He laced his fingers together, resting them upon his chest as he leaned back in his chair. "Because you haven't tried to go back." This earned an uneasy stare from the rescuee, who eventually looked down. Volente and Colto both learned forward, faces expectant.
"For once in my life, I am not running," Trosyn said, her voice very low and steady. Baldovo raised his eyebrows as a cue for her to continue. "I have accepted that going back is impossible."
"But you're here. Was that impossible?" Colto asked.
"I was allowed to leave, but I would not be allowed to return," she said quietly, arms tensing.
Volente leaned forward and frowned. "So you were banished?"
Trosyn sighed heavily. "No. I was merely discarded." The three men looked at each other. "The storm that blew my fishing boat so far out to sea was not natural."
Volente waved a hand and sat up straight. "Now see here, miss, how could a storm that large not be natural? There's no man-made device that can do that, and our records of the brief exchange with your people show them as comparatively primitive - what's so funny?" Volente cut himself off as first Trosyn let out a dry laugh.
"Of course man couldn't change the weather. It was the spirits who invoked the storm."
The three scientists exchanged incredulous glances. Volente looked intrigued, but Baldovo and Colto were both grim-faced with doubt. "Spirits? Did your people go back to spirit worship?"
Trosyn leaned forward, unfolding her arms and placing her palms down on the table. She frowned deeply, looking each of the scientists in the eye. "It was your world's technology which ruined us. No. I don't blame you..." she held up a hand as she straightened up. "But that was still the consequence of outsiders meddling. The machines and the rapid growth of infrastructure and cities - it all angered the spirits. It was harming them, and we stopped caring. We thought we could win. But they cursed us all with infertility." Colto's eyebrows shot up, now showing some interest in Trosyn's story. Baldovo snorted skeptically, but he did not interrupt. "They created the curse. And if they all withered, then they could not lift it. We would perish as a people. So they made themselves necessary to our survival. Fertility festivals and rituals were performed in hopes of their benevolence. And some were granted the relief from that curse, but most children were born with the same blight."
"So you pray to spirits to have children," Baldovo snorted. "But if everyone does that, then of course you'd believe only the ones who have children would be blessed by the spirits."
Trosyn shook her head. "There were many who chose not to bow to the spirits. They tried to find a different way to have children instead. None of them succeeded."
"So your entire people are bred like cattle by invisible forces?" Baldovo could not hide the belittling amusement in his tone.
"They are not invisible to everyone." Trosyn crossed her arms.
"Do you see them?"
"No. But I could feel them."
Baldovo sighed and looked at the others. "I see..."
"I don't think you do. Your world and my world are different. If you want to learn about me, you will have to abandon what you already know." The fiery haired woman rose from her chair. "And until then, I do not think there's much I can teach you."
Volente stood abruptly. "Oh, please, stay. That's just Baldovo's way," Volente gestured to Baldovo, who shrugged and shook his head.
"Yes, we are listening," Colto added in his quiet manner.
Trosyn looked around, and after a moment of hesitation, she sat down again. "What do you really want to know?"
"Well, I'd be interested in knowing more about you and your history," Volente said, with a rare smile on his face.
"That's a long story."
"That's fine. How about... we just plunge into the middle, and you can fill in the gaps as they become relevant."
Trosyn raised her eyebrows at the man. "That's... an odd way to start. Even in the middle I wouldn't know where..." she began to say but Volente clapped his hands together, causing her to go quiet.
"Sorry. Yes. I know. Think of a point where your life really changed."
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"There were several of those points but... perhaps I will start with my life as a slave."
The three men looked at each other, eyebrows raised with surprise and interest.
"You were a slave?" Colto asked.
"Yes. For a time. I'd say when I was purchased was when my life had gone on a path I could not escape from. The path which led me here."
"Well, then, let's hear it," Volente said, shifting in his chair to get more comfortable.
"Alright."
Trosyn leaned back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. Her thoughts collected and the memories coalesced. The reminiscing woman nodded softly, glancing to each of the three men. Colto lit his pipe, and she focused on the tendril of smoke that drifted from it as she began her tale.
My homeland of Ayokonia had been through a bloody revolution. The lower classes, which I had been born to, rose up against the aristocracy. However, by then I had been living like a society lady despite my humble origins. How that came about can wait, just know that I was employed by a faction I did not feel I belonged with, the Ayokonian Loyalists. But I did not approve of the violent methods of the revolutionaries either, the Kayonn Revolution Army. My heart did not belong to either side of the conflict. The Loyalists lost, and I escaped with a small unit to an island. There we hid for years until we were discovered. My unit split into two groups, one which hid and the others which staged a meagre resistance, but the plan was to surrender. We were tired, you understand. I was tired.
I had thought we'd be put into prison camps. Instead, we ended up on a slave ship which sailed to newly established colonies. There I was sold. I remember how my heart raced as my mind went over all the possibilities. My life would be entirely at the whims of an enemy. I was trying my best to keep calm, taking deep breaths as a new shackle was placed on my wrist, one which hummed. I could feel power resonating from it. I was told if I disobeyed, I would experience intense pain.
As I walked along a plank my mind was reeling, and I was grappling with the true severity of my situation. But all that paled when my master was revealed to me. I remember it so clearly, looking up when I heard a slaver say "She's all yours now." Standing there, holding what looked like a key in his hand, was a face I had not seen in years.
Benold Ovollar.
I can see from the looks you are giving me, you wonder who that is, and why I say the name with such feeling. Well. Benold was a pivotal part of my life before and during the conflict. He was once my mentor and guardian. But when the revolution broke out, we became enemies.
There were too many mixed up and tangled emotions, seeing Benold holding the key to my misery. Although I used to adore and look up to him, he eventually caused me great sorrow. He had associates who disgusted me. I could never reconcile how this polished and proper gentleman could be involved with such depraved people. I always believed he was better than them. I wanted to. But over time I was forced to abandon that belief. And standing there, in his power, terrified me. But also, there was a strong pulse of hope.
Benold was austere as I remembered him. I could see some frosting at his temples, but he stood with the same self assured poise as he did in my memories. There was a time I could read him, but at that moment I could not. I had spent too much time away; there was no telling how he would have changed.
Our ride to his estate was silent. When we arrived, Benold told his housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, to prepare me a cot and find me some suitable clothes. I was wearing little more than a thin slip, and Benold insisted I needed to wear something appropriate and functional for work. However, I don't think the rags I was wearing were the cause of the staring. There were whispers about what sir Benold would want with a slave. At first I thought it was because they were worried about their own jobs. These were paid servants. But later I overheard enough to tell me that he often turned his nose up at slaves, and found their presence distasteful. What this meant for me, I could not fathom at the time. But it nourished that tiny hope I'd been holding on to.
Mrs. Gray did her best to get me cleaned up and dressed with as little inconvenience to the rest of her staff as possible. I could tell with her frequent sighs and sharp glances that she was not appreciative of this surprise, and I felt under foot. She did not dare leave me unsupervised, and thus she had to spread herself thin in running the household and minding me. I was placed in the kitchen for a time and ate with the scullery maid, who could not stop staring at me.
"Do they beat you?" I remember her asking me.
"Sometimes," I responded.
She looked at me critically and went on to say, "You don't look beaten." So I told her I had time to heal. Not yet satisfied, she asked me if Sir Benold beat me. By this time I wasn't sure whether to be amused or exasperated with her constant question and preoccupation with beating. "He hasn't, yet. Does he beat you?" That flippant response came out before I could think better of it. I was about to apologise, but the maid laughed.
"No, he don't even know me name," she said with a large grin, showing her prominent, crooked teeth. "Sometimes I get my ears boxed by Mrs. Gray or Cook. Not sure what you're doing here. I already work like a slave!"
I don't know why this memory has stuck with me, I can hear her accent, the way she spoke clearly as if it had happened moments ago.
After eating I helped her clean. At first her wary glances told me she did not like my presence. I was a threat to her. But then it dawned on her that I was beneath her, and she seemed to take particular pleasure in ordering me around, as people had always done to her. And I honestly wasn't bothered by the treatment. The airs she put on in trying to command me were almost comical.
You are looking a bit glazed at the eyes. Am I boring you? Of course, you want to know more about what sort of master Benold was? Well, I will get on with it then.
I was summoned to the parlour, where Benold was waiting, sipping a glass of wine. He looked me over critically, keeping his glass close to his face, almost as if he could hide behind it. He wanted to see me, but I got the sense whenever I looked up at him, he did not want to be seen. No, not that he didn't want to be seen, but he didn't want to be seen through. And it was something I had always done in the past. Looked past the mask he put on. But now I had so much fear and hope that I could not see him clearly past my own imagination. He looked simultaneously tender and cruel to my eyes.
"What are you good for?" I remember him asking those precise words. And then he cleared his throat, took a sip, and corrected himself. "Good at." It seemed an odd question, considering he had guided my education. He knew my strengths and weaknesses and I reminded him of such. He just stared down at me and reminded me that it was a long time ago, and things had probably changed.
I don't remember everything I listed. I just remember that he seemed to be looking for something, or waiting for something. Whatever I told him, it wasn't what he wanted. And I felt anxious to find that thing he wanted to know, but at the same time, afraid what it might be. There were certain skills I had acquired during the revolution which I did not want to mention. I wanted to put it all behind me. But secretly, I felt as if he was waiting for me to expose myself. I had been trained in the art of spycraft and seduction.
"Really?" Volente blurted out. Colto raised a thick, sculpted eyebrow at him and Baldovo laughed.
"Is that so hard to believe?" Baldovo asked. "I'm sure she was once pretty. Well. Presentable." Volente just stared at Baldovo, looking vicariously embarrassed and indignant.
Trosyn cracked a smile, not seeming offended at all. "I was always plain. Fortunately for me, there's more to seduction than physical appearance. But it certainly helps." Trosyn took off her cap, wiping her brow with the back of it and then tidied up her knot of messy hair. The men watched her, marvelling that this woman, with her freckles, nubby nose, and coarse red hair, was ever employed in such a way.
"So you were a spy," Colto intoned.
Trosyn nodded her head, putting her cap back on. "I was trained in spy craft. But on the roster I remained in the infantry as a scout. My training was very rarely used, and I was only ever assigned to a few covert operations."
"They let women into the armies?" Volente's astonishment was on free display.
"Unmarried women? Absolutely." Trosyn tilted her head. "Do they not allow women in your armies?"
"Certainly not!" Volente uttered, scandalised at the thought. "We protect our women! We don't throw them into harm's way!"
"If you want to survive, you use what you've got."
Volente stammered, mouth moving like a fish at mealtime as he struggled to justify his culture's chauvinism. Baldovo chuckled at his gobsmacked peer, about to sitr the pot a little further. However Colto cut him off at the pass by asking, "What did Sir Benold do next?"
Ah yes. Sir Benold. I didn't tell him about my hidden skills. He seemed suspicious and disappointed, but eventually told me that I'd be working out in the fields. I didn't realise that I was hoping to be a house slave until I felt the crushing disappointment of being assigned to field work. But I hid it as best I could, and complied with his wishes. He told me that if I worked hard and didn't cause any trouble, that I may be trusted with different duties. Holding on to that hope, I was resolved to do just that. He dismissed me, and Mrs. Gray took me to a small storage room where a cot had been fitted into. I shuddered at the sound of a key in a lock, sealing me in there for the night. Overwhelmed with the situation, I cried myself to sleep.
I awoke early. I had time to reflect on the situation. I admit, it occurred to me that I might be able to provide myself with some benefits and security if I could attract the good opinion of someone in power. Benold was secretly a romantic, a fact he tried to hide from everyone. But it was complicated. He was like a father to me. And I felt I owed him the respect not to attempt to toy with his emotions. I began wondering if there was a steward or a footman that I might win the favour of. But as I became acutely aware of these thoughts, I was disgusted with myself. I swore once the war was over, I'd never use these skills again. So I resolved to improve my situation with hard work.
I hardly saw Benold in the weeks that followed. I went out to the fields, I worked hard, and then I came in, ate with the scullery maids, and then was locked in for the night. It was the middle of the harvest season, and men and women were out there working the fields. I was able to blend in more or less. There were overseers who jeered at me, and gave me a hard time. But everyone was too busy to go out of their way to cause me much grief. I even enjoyed listening to the chatter of the other field workers, but didn't dare join in. They talked about their families, about how the colony was doing, and shared recipes. It was all wonderfully mundane and common. And I cherished it.
When the harvest was over, however, things changed. Soon my presence was more conspicuous, and the men were like wolves, waiting for me to show a sign of weakness so they could tear out my throat. I wasn't sure if it was because I was a woman, or because I had once fought for the Loyalists. But I endeavoured to keep my head down. This continued on for a month without any word from Benold. It occurred to me that I may have been forgotten, but I refused to give in to despair.
Volente let out a long yawn, then quickly excused himself, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "You are quite the storyteller. You've always said so little, I'm a bit surprised."
"It is late," Colto stated.
Trosyn nodded her head. "It is. And work begins early. I'm sorry. I'm sure you were more interested in how I got in the ocean."
"Well, yes, we want to know how to get to your world," Baldovo admitted.
Trosyn smiled somewhat wryly. "I thought so. But it's been a relief to tell someone my story. I've had to keep so much to myself. But it's unlikely you will ever make it to my homeland, so my secrets can't hurt anyone here."
"Red, it's alright. Listening to your story is a relief from the same old yarns the ship crew tell." Volente said, with a gentle yet tired smile.
"But I wouldn't be too sure we won't find a way to your homeland. Still, if it helps you to tell us your story, we're all ears," Baldovo remarked.
Volente reached over and took Trosyn's hand. She looked at him guardedly and tensed, but she stopped herself from pulling her hand away. He saw this and cleared his throat, giving her hand one gentle pat before letting go. Trosyn's gaze dropped, and then she gave a quick, apologetic glance to Volente, who shook his head. Trosyn's hand then went to her stomach and she looked away. Baldovo and Colto observed this interaction, giving each other meaningful glances.
"It is late," Colto repeated with a bit more emphasis as he rose to his feet. The other two scientists concurred.
"Meet me again tomorrow night, and I will tell you more," Trosyn offered. The men all nodded, and the group dispersed to their bunks.