Stranded - A Pirate's Tale - part 1

2. Under the red lantern

     The night was as black as a cat's soul. The moon was nowhere to be found and low clouds, heavy and menacing with rain, hid even the starlight. A cold breeze blew steadily through the narrow streets of Puerto Seguro, and Betty—wearing only her finest corset over white lace knickerbockers—was freezing under the red lantern. But that was part of the job, and Betty was the professional type.

     So there she stood, at the top of the little flight of stairs leading to the brothel door, trying, against the odds, to lure one last customer for the night. She had waited for half an hour already, since Little John had left after his weekly visit. She was tired and sore, but determined to score a third time. Her crotch itched like hell, yet she remained perfectly still in her signature position: head resting on her palm, elbow resting on her knee, foot resting on a step, back arched, butt on display. The real model harlot.

     Fifteen minutes more and Betty's determination started to fade. Her fingers were going numb, she was very stiff and desperately needed to stretch. From the crescent-shaped harbor full of silent ships, to the fancy district uphill full of snoring rich bastards, the little town seemed to be completely asleep. No one to see her breach her professionalism.

     She straightened up with a loud crack from her backbone and reached for the sky with both arms, yawning as discreetly as a wide open mouth would allow. Of course, it was at that very moment that she heard voices. She barely had enough time to bring her arms back down, put her hands on her hips, and start swaying them suggestively, when a man walked into the dim red light.

     Betty had many years of experience—at least five—since her sixteenth birthday, when she had chosen to build a career in the demanding—but rewarding—prostitution business. So she easily concealed her true feelings behind a warm, alluring smile when she noticed the black skin of the muscular man passing by.

     He noticed her too, and responded to her grin by flashing a row of perfect white teeth. Betty closed her lips by reflex, hiding the few gaps between her own yellowish ones. She struggled for words, torn between repulsion and the prospect of easy money. But the dark-skinned man chose for her. Without a word, he kept walking with the slow, steady pace of somebody who knew no one would importune him, even at such an ungodly hour.

     The owners of the voices appeared soon enough. A three-cornered hat—large, black, and trimmed with silver—bobbed into the light, closely tailed by a dark red headscarf.

     "... owe me a doubloon," said Silver Brim.

     "Fuck it 'n bite me arse!" Red Scarf stopped in his tracks and threw an accusing finger. "Ye cheated! Ye always do!"

     Silver Brim snickered and turned around to face him. Betty got a quick glimpse of a long, squared, and well trimmed beard. "And yet, you always gamble with me. Whose fault is that, eh?"

     "I'll kill ye! One day, I'll kill ye!"

     Silver Brim nodded and let out a contented sigh. "I know, Stalker, I know."

     Betty realized she was holding her breath and had forgotten to make her hips swing, but remained completely still, all ears. It has been a long time since she had the chance to witness a duel. She was already seeing herself hiding the winner from the authorities, comforting him—for a price—maybe blackmailing him a little. Yet, a third voice made itself heard.

     "Could someone please offer an explanation about the peculiar fact that I was assigned the role of porter?" A large, round man entered the red lantern light bathing the street in front of the brothel. His long black hair was tied back in a low ponytail and he had a massive, bushy beard. He was indeed carrying something. Someone, in fact.