There is nothing worse for a pirate than dying on dry land. Except, maybe, swinging two feet above it.
When their captain is imprisoned, facing the gallows, the men and women of the Lady Lesya's crew will try everything to break him out--even if it...
With the new candle still waiting to be lit for the night to come, the red-tinted glass of the lantern was unnoticeable. The brothel was just another house in another street. No one could tell that behind the anonymous washed-out green door, a dozen women—and two men—were selling their charms.* An anonymity ruined by five of them, very lightly dressed, smoking or chewing tobacco, sitting on the stairs in front of the said door.
Betty enjoyed these simple moments. Despite the annoying presence of Rosa—that stupid bitch and her stupid laugh—it was a perfect time to blow off some steam with co-workers. The rule was not to talk about the job, even if Gretchen's anecdotes about former customers were always hilarious and often pretty damn strange. Today anyhow, none of them wanted to talk about any pitiful "prowess" or curious habits. Today, the topic was much more interesting.
"I heard that the blood flooded an entire block" said Angèle, her eyes wide with excitement.
Gretchen spat a dark brown mouthful of smelly juice and carried on, keeping the same indifferent, almost bored expression she always had.
"I heard that too. People were ankle deep in a red tide."
"Lucky for us, you hit menopause, then" cut Constance with her kind, soft voice. "A few years back and we would have been the ones drowning in blood every month."
Betty and Angèle burst into wild laughter, Rosa squealed and snorted like a sow, Constance showed a satisfied smile, and Gretchen spat more tobacco.
"Smart ass," she grunted.
"Smart but bloody firm, yes, ma'am" Constance concluded, slapping her own bum and getting a new round of laughter for the trouble.
Wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, Betty turned her head toward the street just in time to see the Chief Constable's proud chest appear round a corner. She raised her hand up high to waive, trying to catch his attention, her camisole riding up the full length of her thighs—revealing the absence of more undergarments. A piercing, dark look from a respectable old woman, shielding the eyes of the kid walking by her side, was all that Betty got. The Watch highest officer strode past her, hand gripping the pommel of his sword, head down, mumbling. He looked concerned—and a bit off.
"You lost it, Betty," jested Constance. "Or maybe, he's not into short, hairy legs and smelly armpits."
"Shut up, horse face," Betty replied without even looking back. "Hoy, soldier! Wait up!"
She hurtled down the steps and ran after Don Juan, leaving high pitched laughs, dying pig sounds, and plug spitting behind. She had to trot by the soldier's side to follow his brisk pace.
"May I have a word, officer?" she asked.
"I have no business with you, madam," the old soldier replied, eyes fixed ahead, but at least focused again. "And I must remind you, that you can't drum up customers out of the street before ten at night. Walk away or I'll fine you."
"Easy, Constable. I'm just an honorable citizen wanting to share some information with the authorities, here," Betty purred.
"Honorable citizens don't go wandering the street half naked, madam. Respect yourself if not others," he spat.
"If that's so, guess I'll keep my information for myself. Good luck with your case. I just hope you'll be able to prevent another massacre," she said, playing the nonchalant card. "And a good day to y..."
Before she had the chance to finish her sentence, Betty found herself pinned against a wall. The Constable's hands were gripping both of her arms, digging into her flesh, making her wince. His nose pressed against hers and she felt his whiskers brush her cheek.
"Talk!" he barked.
"You're hurting me, officer. I usually charge for that..." she replied, trying not to show too much pain in her smile.
He backed away, nearly knocking over a curious bystander. Betty saw him swallow his rage, straighten, and find his cold contempt again.
"Apologies, madam. Any information about the events of last night may be crucial."
"Yeah? How crucial? Like paying off crucial?"
The Chief Constable frowned in a threatening way while his hand moved back on the hilt of his sword.
Betty raised both hands in a protective gesture and gave a smile she hoped disarming. "Just kidding, soldier."
"Speak!" he pressed.
Betty crossed her arms under her knockers, but Don Juan kept his eyes desperately riveted to hers. She sighed and complied.
"I was having a bite on the stairs after the House closed, when she passed by. I don't think she saw me though. She was barely standing on her feet."
"Who are you talking about?" burst the Constable. "If you say anything about a girl fighting invisible winged octopuses, I'll drag you by the hair all the way to headquarters."
Betty opened her mouth, but couldn't find any answer to such a statement.
"No..." she finally said. "It was a tall woman, dressed like a man and covered with blood."
"You didn't stop her? Help her?" he asked, almost accusatory.
"Nah... I didn't want any trouble. Not with a woman carrying a nasty whip on her hip. And not after I barely escaped a pirate's raid on my person..."
On that, the old soldier froze for a while, eyes wide. Without another word, he turned heel and hurried down the street in the direction of the harbor.
"You're welcome, asshole!" Betty shouted.
She fulminated. The son of bitch would soon get what he deserved. Next time he came to the House, trying to be incognito, she would make him beg for her. She would punish him hard and he would beg for more. A smile returned to Betty's face. She couldn't wait to show him the new horsewhip she had bought.
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*For a reasonable price, 24/7, all year long. Get two for the price of one every first Friday of the month. Reductions for soldiers, loyal customers, groups and families. No credit. No refund.
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