CADO [DISCONTINUED]

= Ch 1: A Limp and a Bad Eye =

A captain keeps her promises, and I've promised a man named Darian a few thousand bags of gold. However, between storms, malfunctioning ropes, and a strange event involving a skinned bird and a voodoo doll, the long story that stands between me and paying my dues reads more like a long list of excuses than anything else. Perhaps it's the tidiness of my clothes, my lack of height, or the vigor with which I have the deck scrubbed, but there's a large gap between those who underestimate me and those who think I'm made of money. Thus, I've sailed through thick and thin to try and keep a firm reputation that doesn't leave me broke, but keeps me out of the eyes of the powerful, vicious men that may want me killed, or worse.

    Kelley's my first mate. He's a hunched, old man with a limp and two gold front teeth. He owns only one outfit: a blue shirt full of holes, a leather vest, rough pants, salt-stained boots, and a red sash full of pins and earrings he's stolen. Despite his rough appearance, the ability to start a conversation with anyone is a power he has possessed since nearly the dawn of time, possibly because the softness of his eyes disposes most to trust him with anything and everything. He can take one look at a person with those watery, blue eyes and know who they are, what they do, and why. I can't even tell when someone's telling a joke, so Kelley makes up for what I lack.

As of now, he's sat on an ancient stool tied to the main mast. The stool's been around since I was a little girl, always getting in the way whenever I scrubbed the deck. Before Kelley secured it to the mast, it'd slip and slide to and fro all over the damn place, but against my hopes, it weathered every storm without falling overboard. Now, it's his prized possession and revered throne. He sits upon its scratched seat and watches the crew work, certain to give commands and scold slackers wherever he sees fit. Few grumble at his physical sluggishness. As he declares every so often, "These old joints can't take much more, lass, but my mind's sharp as my 20's."

Above him, the drenched sails drip onto the slick boards as the day crew ducks down through a narrow, crooked stairway to rest in their hammocks. The night crew grumbles about drenched clothes, long shifts, and bad timing, but they work to settle the ropes and crates displaced by the ferocity of the winds. Within minutes, we're back to our usual shift cycles, and the sleepy stars shine above. Salt-crusted men cackle at crude jokes below, their rough, faded clothes drying in the breeze.

I lean on the wheel, lazily steering us along our course until Kelley will eventually take the wheel for the night. My spineless navigator still cowers below deck. No matter; the stars are all I need for now. Still, that familiar anxiety stirs in my stomach. Perhaps it's from my fear of steering us wrong.

    Or perhaps it's more because I'm steering towards my certain doom. Up ahead, on the tiny island of Ithor, Darian waits, undoubtedly with a large force of buff men who couldn't afford the insane asylums. I wonder if they'll beat me up before they hang me, unless they drown me instead.

Once I hand the wheel to Kelley, I'll try to sleep tonight, but I know I'll only toss and turn, thinking of ways they could give me a slow death.