Shadows in the Trees: Book 1

Chapter 37

"Another round, mates!" Whoredog called from the bar, his arm around a busty harlot. The Captain raised her mug and cheered along with the men, laughing at Whoredog's slurred attempt at singing a drinking song. She sipped at the dark, bitter ale, allowing herself to feel some of its effects -- but only some. She couldn't afford to lose her wits as the rest of her crew had. The men were stumbling and singing through the liverish tavern, their ale sloshing onto the dark wooden floors. The barkeep had propped open the windows to let out the warm, stagnant air, allowing the salty smell of the sea and the reek of Fachal's slums to mingle with the stench of sweat and ale. The Captain longed to be back on the open sea; but there was yet more business to be done. 

This morning, they had sold their treasures from the mysterious island of the Fae. The gold, ancient artifacts, and rare jewels had fetched a goodly sum, even more than had been expected, thanks to their wily captain. Tomorrow, the Captain would need to decide what to buy to bring back to the island, and perhaps finagle a few long-term deals with traders interested in her unique goods. But tonight, they celebrated. 

She spied Barnabas from her perch at a table in the corner of the tavern, his pale skin flushed with drink. She laughed and shook her head as a harlot tried in vain to catch his attention; Barnabas was too busy singing with the crew to notice. She was glad to see her crew celebrating. Hopefully it would distract them from the mystery of where the loot had come from. 

She covered her mouth with her hand as she yawned, her eyelids heavy. It had been a long, stressful day, and her success and the ale had left her more content than she had been in a long time. She decided it was time to go back to the ship to turn in for the night. She needed to be sharp for tomorrow. 

She placed the leather tricorn hat she had bought this afternoon on her head and stood from her rickety chair. She clapped her men's shoulders as she waded through them to the door. They called for her not to go, teasing her for being a lightweight and a bore. When her trek through the crowd did not slow, they saw her off with their off-key rendition of 'Oh Captain, My Captain'. She waved a final goodbye as she pushed open the door, crooked on its hinges, and stumbled into the warm night air. She made her way through the winding streets of Fachal, looking up at the stars. The lights of the city thinned them out, but she could still identify most of her favorite constellations. 

She was almost to the docks when she first noticed another set of footsteps behind her. She kept her eyes forward and quickened her pace, noticing the scuff of dirt as the person behind her hurried to keep up. She cursed herself for drinking. They could have been following her since she had left the tavern, and she hadn't noticed. She heard two or three more sets of footsteps join her original stalker, and sweat broke out on her forehead. She could see the lights of the dock up ahead; if she could just make it out of the dark streets, the men left behind to guard the ship would see her, and help her fend them off. 

Her stalkers knew this too. They struck before she could make it into the safety of the light. One grabbed her arms and threw her to the ground, while the others began viciously kicking at her ribs. She screamed and kicked at their legs, but it was difficult to land any hits on the ground and her attackers would not give her a chance to get to her feet. One kicked her head, cutting off her screaming as she fought the growing patches of black in her vision. A foul-tasting gag was stuffed into her mouth and she was slung over someone's shoulder. The last thing she saw was the heels of a pair of work boots before the blackness swallowed her vision. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Consciousness returned slowly, along with a ruthless pounding behind her eyes. She groaned, and when she reached to cradle her aching head she found her hands were tied behind her. She opened her eyes cautiously. Her wrists and torso were bound to a chair in the center of a small, windowless room. Judging from the dirt floor and the shelves of jars lining the walls, she guessed she was in someone's cellar. She heard a shuffle of dirt behind her, and someone knocked three times on what she figured was the wooden door to the cellar. There was the sound of creaking wood, and the thud of footsteps down stairs. There was a slam and a click as the cellar door was closed and locked, and three men came into her field of vision.