CHAPTER FOUR:
THE ROYAL MERCHANT
[EPISODE THREE: THE FORBIDDEN ZONE]
❖ ❖ ❖
Rita sits at the back of the white boat, watching land recede from them as they move swiftly out to sea, JJ driving from inside the cabin and the other three gathered at the bow. Loud in the wind, a US flag flaps beside her. She's been on boats before, and never been seasick -- but something about this trip makes her feel uneasy, despite the jovial yelling coming from up the boat.
Her phone has an unread message from Rafe -- 'your dad's visiting, shame you aren't with him :)' -- that she purses her lips at. Being with the Pogues feels like betrayal, despite how little she knows Rafe or any of the kids who inhabit the Figure 8. Her stomach is heavy with guilt at how annoyed she knows he's going to be if he finds out about her whereabouts -- but her chest flutters with not just guilt, but fear. Maybe, deep down, his resentment of the Pogues is more than a funny cliche. Maybe, when he turned red from anger in her hallway two days ago, it had scared her.
Maybe.
But she doesn't like to think about it. Rafe is the closest thing she has to a friend on this island, aside from maybe Sarah, but she's only nice to Rita out of curtesy.
Besides, she can blame the feeling of guilt on the fact her dad wouldn't be pleased if he knew she was out here. Not just for the stolen drone that sits in her lap, but for the fact that these kids are bad kids, and everyone beyond the Cut knows it. They radiate it -- the way they dress, the way they talk, the fact there's a gun on this boat as they drive out to the middle of nowhere. Oh, yeah, Rita hasn't forgotten about that gun; the thought of it makes her feel sick with anxiety. Hell, they could be taking her out to sea to murder her.
Christ.
The more she thinks about it, the more certain she is that her dad would lose his shit with her if he knew about this -- would start comparing her to her mum, start worrying about their reputation, his friends, everything -- and she wouldn't blame him one bit. This was a stupid decision.
"Hey, you good?" a voice asks, and she looks up to see Pope, dropping next to her on the bench by the stern, a blue cap on backwards that's the same colour as his open flannel shirt, flapping in the wind.
Well, let's see. She's constantly monitoring JJ, waiting for the appearance of that gun, and she's worried about her dad finding out, and she doesn't care about the money anymore because she's on a boat in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strange, delinquent kids, and she'd be happy to just go home.
"Yeah, I'm okay," she says. She occupies herself cleaning off some of the sea spray from her glasses. "Just a bit confused, that's all."
Absentmindedly Pope rubs his lips together, glancing toward his friends uneasily.
This is the first time any of them have properly spoken to her, including their car journey down to the docks. Their van was cute, homely, and Rita had admired it for the first few minutes as they pulled out of the Figure 8, enjoying the little knick knacks hanging from places and the blankets covering the seats -- then the bickering had started, most of it of course centring around her. She'd tried to protest at first, before deciding it was probably best to let them get it out of their systems, instead busying herself rising up her half-wet hair in a high pony to keep it out of her eyes.
The panic had set in when they'd got to the boat, and it had finally clicked that she was sailing out to sea with strangers. But curiosity had sent her climbing aboard, but not without her brain reminding her, Curiosity killed the cat.
"I know you can't explain it all to me. Not without big John B Routledge's prestigious permission," she remarks, putting her glasses back on.
Pope turns, leaning on the side of the boat and looking out behind them. Both of them, for a moment, watch the bubble of white water filtering out behind them from the engine, starting wide and fizzling into a pointed trail. The flag flaps wildly between them. "It's his business," says Pope eventually. "This entire thing. It's about his dad. He disappeared months and months ago -- and, well, it's not really my story to tell."
"Don't tell me we're out here searching for his dad, are we?" Rita groans, and only when Pope looks at her sideways with just his eyes, face falling, does she catch herself and realise how nasty her tone had been. She swallows, looking out at the port of the OBX, just a line on the horizon now, and says nothing else.
"Do you like it here?" Pope asks, sensing her longing stare.
She glances at him. "I don't wanna be insulting," she says, "but no, not at all." When he half-smiles at her, her chest loosens with a moment of relief that he's not offended, and she continues, "It's like a cult on this goddamn island. You know how, like, in the Simpsons movie, there's a dome over Springfield. That's how it feels living here."
The words feel surprisingly brilliant to say, and after a moment she realises why: he's the first person who's asked who she's not had to lie to. As wonderful as her dad is, he'd be devastated and probably angry if she admitted her hatred for their new home and how dull it is. With its beautiful weather, its beaches, its food, its people -- he sees no problem.
But that is Rita's problem. Everything is perfect, handed to them on silver platters, and when everything is perfect, it feels way off, like a filtered version of reality. Like, Rafe making her a coffee the other day, for no good reason -- that would have been charming to her dad, but to her, it reeked of ulterior motives and simply made her confused. More confusing was the fact she actually liked the coffee, and most confusing was the fact he seemed to like her.
Pope grins, tucking a knee against his chest when he props a foot up on the bench. "Nah, that's just how it feels living on the Figure 8. It's not like that everywhere else."
"That's just Pogue propaganda," Rita remarks, even though she isn't so sure.
He just shrugs, as if to say, believe what you want.
The dismissiveness of it bothers her, but she supposes part of her gets it. He has his opinion of her, just like she has her opinion of him and his friends; they might worry her, but she annoys them simply by existing.
"I'm not a Kook," says after another moment, turning her body to look at Pope seriously. She'd wanted it to sound determined, undeniable, but she simply sounds defensive and irritated -- which, admittedly, she is both of those things, but she doesn't need them to know about it.
"I never said you were," he says, without looking at her.
"Maybank did," says Rita, nodding back at the figure of JJ in the cabin, not facing them.
"You're still pissed about that?" A grin curves the corner of his mouth.
"I wasn't born into money like the Camerons," she defends. "I mean, for God's sake, my own mom--" But she catches herself, and swallows back her words. There's proving a point, and then there's oversharing. "Look. I hate Topper just as much as the next guy. I just thing the gun thing wasn't a bright idea."
"Well, duh," says Pope, looking at her with raised eyebrows. "You seriously think we knew JJ would do that?"
She hesitates.
Pope looks out at the water. "It was a dick move, but they deserved it."
"They talk about you the same way," Rita remarks. "You do realise that? Neither sides are very logical. Neither are innocent. And, well, not gonna lie to you, you guys are just as unappealing as the Kook life."
He sighs, still not looking at her.
Rita watches him carefully, examining his side profile with squinted eyes against the morning sun. Clean shaven, good skin, definitely moisturises. He's smiley, and where JJ's eyes are piercing and intimidating, and completely unafraid of staring and eye contact, Pope's are the opposite. Something about him seems... Soft, especially compared to JJ's ruggedness, his jagged edges.
"Kooks are asses," a voice speaks up, and Rita and Pope turn to see JJ coming out to stand with them. He props his foot up on the bench beside Pope, looking through his sunglasses at Rita. "That's the difference."
"You had the gun."
"Princess, have you forgotten the fact John B was drowning? I was finishing a fight Topper started."
Rita scrunches her nose and protests, "That's the most ridiculous--"
"They hit us, we hit them!"
"That's the law of the jungle. You're acting like animals!"
"JJ!" John B's voice hollers from the front of the boat, and all three of them turn to look. "Here!"
"Roger that! X marks the spot!"
JJ hurries into the cabin to anchor them as Pope and Rita look at each other, then join Kiara and John B at the bow. Glancing through the windows at JJ, busy at work bringing them to a stop, Rita decides she certainly likes him the least (even if their run-in in the bathroom had made her heart pump with thrills and attraction). Much like Rafe, something about him scares her.
The wind is picking up, making John B's curls wave madly around his head as he takes the drone -- now attached to a yellow rope so they can guide it down into the depths. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen," he says. "To going full Kook."
Rita frowns, looking at Pope, but none of them even glimpse back in her direction, eyes transfixed on John B lowering the rope into the water with a splash.
Taking the responsibility for herself, she takes the yellow rope, lined with protective rubber, and feeds it through her hands, watching the glimmer of yellow plastic on the drone disappear into darkness.
Kiara starts forward. "Shouldn't I--"
"Let her," Pope cuts in, from where he's monitoring the drone's camera and direction by his laptop, and Rita and Kiara look at him sharply. Not meeting Rita's eyes, he nods. "It's her property. We can tell her what to do."
"Alright, JJ, we're right over it. Ten seconds north-west!" John B shouts, a tablet in hand with a radio image of the boat's location.
"Got it!"
Rita keeps feeding, until a little red tag on the yellow makes her heart jump. "One hundred feet!"
"Keep going," John B says, giving her a nod of reassurance, and in that simple move she can tell why he's their unintentional leader. The size of him -- he's the tallest -- as well as the look in his eyes that is so purely adult and determined, puts her oddly at ease.
The wind is starting to pick up by the time she's crying out, "Four hundred feet!" The waves rock the boat, and she has to plant her feet wider apart and hold herself steady with her elbows on the side of the boat. Her eyes are on the sea, watching the yellow rope disappear and the waves come and go, spraying up white froth.
"The tides turning," Kiara says, speaking loudly over the wind.
John B shouts orders to JJ, and the boat turns, parallel with the waves so that they rock from side to side, rather than bow lifting then falling as the stern rises.
"Keep the tether out of all the froth!" Kiara orders.
"I'm trying!" Rita replies harshly, not as mad at Kiara as she is at the weather. It's turning quickly; the grey clouds on the horizon are advancing fast, rolling over each other, threading thunder with the way they rumble apprehensively. "Seven hundred feet! How much further?"
"Not far! Keep going, I promise!"
The boat keeps turning, waves hitting them straight at the front now, despite JJ's best attempts to steer them into the tide. Rita almost falls, staying upright only by catching herself on the side of the boat and quickly shoving her glasses back into place before they can fall of, but behind her JJ makes a clatter in the cabin when he topples.
"Okay, nine hundred!"
"JJ, we're headed right into the storm, man!" John B says.
"Nine-twenty!" Her voice is panicked, but she's too focused to bother about what's going on behind her and the worries of the others. The yellow tether is tugging in her hands, swinging back and forth as the waves pull at it, but she has a good enough grip.
"Fletcher, get ready to reel it in, alright!"
She doesn't know if she'll be able to. Her hands are stinging from gripping the slippery rubber, palms so clammy they're almost letting the rope slide through. "I don't like this," she murmurs to herself. "I really don't like this."
"John B, no!" Kiara protests, but her voice is overwhelmed by John B shouting orders to JJ.
"Kiara, Kiara, help me," says Rita, trying to shout over the wind and the distant rumble of thunder. The yellow rope is tugging madly now, and as much as she's trying to keep her pace of feeding it through her hands, most of her energy is on trying not to let the waves yank at it. Kiara's hands grab onto the rope beneath hers, her upper half leaning over the boat. "Christ, be careful."
Hair completely hiding her face, waving madly in the wind, Rita only half-hears her shout, "I'll control it! Keep feeding it through!"
"South-south-west, JJ! Hard!" John B orders.
They turn; the girls fall and press into each other, and on instinct one of Rita's hands flies out and grabs Kiara's shirt, scared she'll topple right into the water. But the rope surges forward, Kiara yells in anger, and, paling, Rita slaps her hand back on the rope and pulls. Takes control again. Lesson learnt: don't help Kiara, she can handle her own shit.
"A little gentler next time, Maybank, please!" Rita yells over her shoulder.
"Nine-sixty!" Kiara announces.
"Set it right here, JJ! Pope, you got anything?"
"Absolutely nothing! Kiara?"
"Nine-seventy!"
Rita looks at the anchor for the rope, where the last few loops of yellow are dwindling fast, squeaking as they unravel at rapid speed. Whatever they're trying to find, they're not gonna get it. So much for her money.
"Nine-eighty!"
A split second, and then-
"I'm at the bottom, I'm at the bottom!" Pope calls out quickly, voice growing in excitement, and in a split second Kiara's gone from Rita's side, leaping over the rope to stand by Pope and John B, all gathered at Popes computer.
She turns, hearing the rope squeak as it goes completely taut, and watches the three of them as they scan the computer.
"Good God," Pope whispers, and like a cue, all three of their faces dawn with such ethereal delight, and it's so simultaneous and identical, like it's like watching a planned performance. But no one can act that well.
"You see anything?" JJ yells.
Wiping water from her glasses, Rita leaps over the rope and joins them, head poking between John B's and Popes. The screen is small and dim, but when she squints she can make it out. A boat, just its pointed bow visible, upreared it's rotten, wooden head from the sand like a mountain. Rita swallows, throat like sandpaper.
"Wait, is that..."
"The Royal Merchant," John B whispers, and as she looks at him disbelief, the laughter starts deep, deep within.
Rita isn't quite sure what to think. There's the disbelief, first of all, that these ragtag bunch of kids could have debunked the myth that her dad had rambled about ever since he'd found the place on google maps and had made it his dream retirement location. Her dad used to say it was like something out of the Goonies; well, dad, it's time to start calling me Sean fucking Astin.
Then, of course, is the confusion: how the hell did they do it? How could life on the OBX go from incredibly dull to a 1980s adventure movie in the space of a morning? Is she dreaming?
It feels like she's dreaming. She can't stop smiling -- but it doesn't feel real at all. The kids around her are monitoring the drone, faces set with determination, but she can't move as she feels far too much like she's floating, like she's looking down on herself from above. Any logical thought, or hope at being helpful, has left her. She simply stands and watches the world move around her.
She wonders if it's pure shock, so strong it's paralysing. Or maybe she's just frozen in delight, watching her life morph into something else within minutes, right before her eyes.
Then the universe shatters:
"It's not there."
"W-what do you mean, it's not there?"
"The gold. It's not on the boat," John B snaps, looking harshly at Rita as if her questioning has offended him. He pushes past her, looking away from his friends. "Just pull the drone up. Shit."
"We can do another pass," Pope says, speaking to John B's back as he runs his hand through his windswept hair. "Charge the battery up, and go back down."
Rita shakes her head. So much for the adventure -- but the disbelief has saved her the disappointment. She's never had time to get her hopes up. "I have to be back before five--"
"Shut up," Kiara says, glaring at her (which works in making Rita realise the insensitivity of what she'd said, and she swallows uneasily, feeling a little guilty for not realising how much hope her new acquaintances had put on this trip) but Kiara's anger is overwhelmed by JJ bellowing, "We've been through it three times!"
"Shut up!" she yells again.
"What? It's true!"
"The gold could be buried--we don't know!" she argues desperately.
"If it was there, it would have been found on the metal detector, okay?" John B says, whirling around to silence their petty arguing. "Somebody beat us to it."
❖ ❖ ❖
The drive home is silent in comparison to their journey to the port, and Rita's house is the first stop. They pull up just before five o'clock, the afternoon sun lowering behind the trees of her front lawn, making the light a warm orange as they pull up on the curb.
"Thanks for everything," John B says, turning back to glance at her. The other grumble along too. "We can try to scrape something together to pay you."
She smiles. "Nah, it's okay. The day out was fun enough," she says, and John B smiles as she leans across and pulls the door open with a scrape. "I s'pose you Pogues aren't so bad--"
"Hey," JJ says, grasping her arm before she can jump out, "is that Rafe's bike?"
The question distracting her enough from tugging her arm away, she turns and pokes her head next to JJ's to look through the back window of the van, Pope and Kiara joining her as John B looks in his mirror. He's right: the bulk of his motorbike is parked up on the sidewalk at the end of her driveway, and the sight of it makes her heart flutter -- not in excitement to see him, but in worry that he'll see where she's been.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Kiara says bitterly.
"I don't know," Rita murmurs. But she wants to find out, and wants to find out quickly, before Rafe can see the Pogues on her doorstep. She straightens and backs up, bumping her head on the ceiling on her way.
"Hey, you okay?" mutters Pope, glancing up at her.
"Yeah," she murmurs as she rubs her head with a grimace; knocking the crown of her head is less than pleasant, making her dizzy and her skull ache dully -- but the lance through her head is manageable. "You guys better go. I can handle him."
"We can wait," says Kiara, with surprising kindness in her voice -- the first kind thing she's said all day. Rita wonders if the slight fear she has of Rafe has crept into her voice. "Stay just around the corner until he leaves."
As much as she's touched by the offer, and the fact the three boys are nodding earnestly, she knows it's too risky. He'd probably end up seeing. Besides, she's safe; Rafe seems to like her, she knows that much -- but she knows their friendship, mutual crush, whatever, is still in its blooming stages, and could easily be ruined by any suspicions he might have about her loyalties to the Figure 8.
"No, it's okay," Rita says, hopping out of the van. She turns, giving them all a grin. "He'd have my head on a stick if he ever found out I was hanging out with Pogues."
"Don't let him give you any shit, Fletcher," says John B, starting the car with a jerk of his wrist.
JJ leans up, ready to pull the door across and closed, but not before he gives Rita a half-smile with the corner of his mouth. "Remember the law of the jungle, Princess," he murmurs. "Remember who hit first."
He shuts the door.
She knows what his words mean -- and after she's smacked the side of the car and it's taken off down the road, puffing smoke from the engine, and as she starts up the drive-way -- she can't stop thinking about what JJ said. Pick a side, that's what he'd meant. Not only that, but he'd meant, Pick the right side.
His words ring on an endless loop, even when she smiles at the sight of Rafe sat on her doorstep. He stands up when he spots her, raising a hand to shade his eyes squinting against the sun at her -- despite the fact he's wearing a cap, secured backwards on his head. "Hey, I texted you," he says as she reaches him, hopping up the steps.
She turns. On the top step with him below, she's taller, so she can easily reach up and swivel his cap around, before flicking it gently. He watches her do it, smiling slightly, visibly somewhat confused. "Sorry, I've been adventuring. Exploring the island," she says, the lie coming to her automatically. Even if her heart does a little jump, she manages to speak it relatively naturally. "It's a bit overdue, I guess."
"You didn't go to the Cut, did you? It's a waste of time," he asks, batting her hands away gently, like a fly.
"Just the docks," she says, before flashing the drone she holds in her hands. "Wanted to try out some of my dad's stuff. Don't tell him. Anyways, what can I do you for, Mr Cameron?"
"I'm here just to see you, Miss Fletcher," he says, speaking in a mocking old-Hollywood, proper-English accent as he bows at the hip over-dramatically.
Remember who hit first, she thinks, but something about Rafe makes her grin. He makes her laugh. Of course, there's the issue of his snooping, but other than that she's starting to warm to him; plus, his flirting and his obvious pursuit of her is flattering, to say the least. It's validating. Thrilling. And, she supposes, Rafe isn't as bad as Topper, who had literally been the one to hit first, and who she knows for a fact treats Sarah like shit.
"Oh, well, in that case, come in, sir," she replies, turning and unlocking the door with her one free hand.
"Do you want me to carry that for you?" Rafe asks, just as she gets the door open and kicks it wide.
Grinning, she spins and enters the house backwards. "Independent woman, Rafe," she says, and he rolls his eyes. "Let me just put this back, I'll be back down in a sec."
With an odd feeling of deja-vu, she hurries upstairs to her father's office, where he keeps all his extensive camera equipment. This morning, she'd done the exact same thing, though it had been JJ waiting in the entrance hall; when she'd come back down, he'd been entranced by the chandelier, playing with one of its crystals like a child before he'd realised she was watching and then had tried to play it suave. Now, she replaces the drone in its box where it had been that morning, hopefully in the exact same position, and darts quickly back downstairs. Simple. It's like it had never been gone from his office in the first place.
When she returns, Rafe's in the doorway looking out, but he turns when he hears her footsteps on the spiralling stairs and smiles as she comes down -- like that scene out of an early 2000s cliche romcom. "Anyway," she says. "Back to business, Mr Cameron?"
"There's a drive-in movie on tomorrow night. I want you to come with me," he says, voice smooth with confidence.
The simplicity of his question -- although, was it really a question? -- and the bluntness of his voice makes her blink. You don't get that in the UK, she thinks. Or maybe it's just Rafe.
Not only the brutal honesty, but the fact it's come so soon greatly confuses her and makes her hesitate. Sure, she's known him for a few months now, practically ever since she moved, but only since the beach party have they properly spoken -- and now he's interested enough to ask for a date? Maybe there's a culture lag here, or something.
Or maybe there's an ulterior motive.
The thought comes to her as if from outside of her own brain, but the rest of her knows it's logical. He might be charming, and clear about his intentions, and as hilarious as he is -- two days ago, you were sure he was up to something. In two days, that won't have changed. That thought stings slightly; a familiar sharp prick of pain from her hopes crashing to the floor.
"I -- what's the movie?"
"Casablanca," he says. "You in?"
"I've already seen Casablanca."
"You haven't seen it with me."
Silent, Rita just stares at him, eyes flickering as she takes in his face, looking at her earnestly, eyes open and keen. She thinks of JJ.
Remember who hit first.
Topper. Topper had hit first.
And her suspicions about Rafe are just that: suspicions. She could be way off, for all she knows. All she's actually certain of is that Rafe has been nothing but nice to her, and the only people who speak down about him are the Pogues -- and they'd probably speak down about her, too. Hadn't she thought, just that morning, that 'their opinions of her were as certain as her opinions of them', even though their idea of her was actually way off? Maybe that was the same with Rafe -- with all of the Kooks.
Rita starts to smile. "Sure," she says. "I don't see why not."
authors note:
rita really do be a bit of a clown though
i'm kIDDING. in case you can't tell, rita's actually pretty fucking intelligent. like it's hard to write her as a genius because i myself am not, but she thinks EVERYTHING through and is a tEXTBOOK overthinker (with slight validation issues and crippling insecurity, hence why she's so flattered by rafe). but she DOES make mistakes
but also: what do you guys think? does rafe have ulterior motives with getting to know rita, or does he genuinely like her?
rafe isn't some one dimensional bad guy, either. one bad thing about the show was that, sure, he has his sob story, but he has nO redeemable qualities, which is just unrealistic. so i hoped to show that here with his blossoming relationship with rita -- although, ofc, his constant insults of the pogues are his nasty side poking through even when he's being a nicer guy
let me know what you think!! :) stay safe guys