Chapter 10 - "Keep this to yourself."

The last strains of music drifted off, slipping through the packed tavern and sinking into hearts. As the crowd began to rustle, gathering their tangled emotions back together, Isla broke from the song's trance.

When she turned to her father, she found there were tears in his eyes. It was a sight that startled her, tugging at the strings in her chest. The smile he gave her was one of sorrow. When Isla touched his hand, the memory he was lost in cleared.

"You look so much like her, Little Wander," Zev said, touching Isla's chin.

The tears were given meaning and the song was encased forever in memory.

A skittering pain tore through Isla's sleep. She let out a hiss, rolling off her injured arm. As the shock subsided, she blinked, entering the day. She stared up at the ceiling letting the dream tangled with her recollection drift off like mist under the morning sun. The shush of the ocean pulsing against the side of the ship acted as a reminder that they were moving.

Turning her head, she stared at the cabin. Strands of morning light wound their way through the window, like ribbons pulled from the sun. In the brightness, she could see the image of her father, leftover from her mind's nightly wandering.

Swinging her legs off the bed, she banished the remnants of her sleep. Jakks' shirt pooled around her waist, the smell of him clinging to her skin. She stood, examining the wound on her stomach. Like Jakks had said it wasn't deep and hadn't bled at all during the night. At least it was one less form of weakness. As for her arm, that throbbed, but the stitches had done their work and it wasn't bleeding.

At her door, Isla called for Sparrow and retreated back to her desk, leaning against the sturdy wood. The door swung open and Sparrow bounded in like he was his own source of sunshine.

"Morning, Captain," he said, his smile one of youth and endless energy.

"Sparrow, I need salve, bandages, and whatever cook has made," she said.

A flicker of curiosity brightened Sparrow's brown eyes but he kept his tongue firmly between his teeth, instead offered a nod. When he left, Isla eased her arm out of the sleeve and tossed aside Jakks' shirt. At a basin in the corner, she washed as best she could and retrieved a new shirt from her bureau. By the time Sparrow returned, she was seated behind the desk, the injured arm uncovered. At her wounded bicep, Sparrow's eyebrows shot up.

"Captain," he said.

She waved a hand to the door. "Close it. I don't want Hawk seeing."

As Sparrow shut the door, he kept his eyes on Isla's arm, and she could see the stories spinning around his head. Sparrow set down a plate of food and handed Isla a glass jar that held a strong herbal scent when she opened the top. The throbbing diminished as she applied the salve and Sparrow wrapped the wound up again.

"What happened?" he asked, burning for a good tale.

"A complication." She met his eyes, holding them in a firm grip. "Keep this to yourself. Understand?"

The excitement of Sparrow's imagination fizzled out.

"Aye, Captain."

As Isla tucked her arm back into the sleeve and tied her hair back, the previous night replayed in her mind. The end result was a ticking clock that echoed in her head. She ate half of what was on the plate, impatience destroying her appetite.

On deck men were eating, stretching and settling in for the day. The flawless blue sky raced to meet the ocean at the world's end. Hawk approached Isla as she crossed towards the brig. She beat him to speech.

"I have something I must discuss with you," she said. "Give me time to talk with Raif and then we will meet in my cabin." A hard knot formed in her stomach as her eyes traveled over the scattered crew. "Alone."

"Yes, Captain." Was all Hawk said, but Isla saw the speculations that were twisting his thoughts. Leaving him to mull over her words, she hurried below. In the hallway, she came upon a slim figured man with reddish-gold hair.

"Captain," he said, nodding.

"Bin."

The murmur of voices floated through the corridor as men stirred in their hammocks and ignored work for a bit longer. When Isla unlocked the brig and opened the door, she was hit with a foul stench that made her breath through her mouth. As she stepped away from the doorway, Raif was spot-lighted. He was stretched out on the bench, fast asleep, his chained hands resting on his stomach.

The time aboard the ship had ripped the clean veneer away, leaving behind a ragged, scruffy man in its place. Despite her entrance and the light, Raif remained asleep, the enclosed space filling with the heavy sound of his breathing.

The sands slipping through the hourglass spurred Isla. Getting a bucket of water, she dumped it over him. He shot up with a gasp, spewing obscenities in a myriad of languages.

"Good, you're awake," Isla said, tossing the bucket aside, ignoring the clatter of it. "We can talk."

Raif leaned over his knees, rubbing the water from his face, trying to rid himself of his shock.

"I do not imagine simply waking me by any other less abusive means crossed your mind?" He lifted his gaze. At the unapologetic glint in Isla's eyes, he shook his head, dislodging droplets. "Of course not."

"I need what information you possess for Lord Ellis's holding now."

Raif dragged a hand through his snarled hair, pulling it back from his face.

"I see. The rude awaking was for a reason. Very well..."

Raif stopped, words hovering on his tongue. He narrowed his eyes as he tilted his head to the side. Isla crossed her arms, staring him down, challenging him to withhold his knowledge. Without continuing, Raif leaned back against the wall, a shrewd edge to his gaze, like he was cutting away pieces of her appearance and examining them.

"Something...has changed," he muttered.

Despite Isla's best efforts, the corner of her mouth tightened. A flash of triumph lit up Raif's gray eyes.

"My father is looking for me."

Isla relaxed her shoulders and Raif frowned in response.

"I have always been under the impression that your father was looking for you."

Determined, Raif rested his arms on his knees, the chains clinking with his movement.

"That may be true, but there is something else." His eyes were a scalpel peeling away at her. She stared back at him, armoring herself.

"Regardless of what you believe has changed, it has not changed your position. I want the information about Lord Ellis's holding now."

"Why the urgency? You were more than willing to leave me in here longer simply to give me time to think, but now...knowing my father...his power..."

Isla could see the cogs of his brain whirring, making connections that she hadn't thought he would be able to make. A slow knowing smile overtook his face. It was the look of a man who has hit upon the truth and knew it. Isla wanted to punch the smirk off his face. But to react would only confirm his theory.

"My father isn't the only one looking for me, is he?"

A flash of Jakks and his treasure seeking smile crowded Isla's mind. The spark was one she knew was coursing through dozens, maybe hundreds of other men seeking to get rich by someone's dime. More than ever, time was not on her side. Instead of answering his question, she stepped around it.

"Do you plan on withholding your knowledge?" she asked. "If so, I will withhold your food and water."

Still wearing that victorious smile, Raif shook his head slowly. As if he had all the time in the world, he eased back.

"You didn't answer my question and so I am correct in my speculations, you're running out of time. Since that is the case I will give you the information you want," Isla kept her relief in check, "but I want something in return."

She tightened her hand into a fist, struggling not to beat the man until he told her what she needed to know.

"Let me guess," she said, "you want your freedom."

Raif made a careless wave of his hand, dismissing the suggestion.

"That will come in time, I have no doubt." Isla couldn't help the curiosity that rose inside her. "No, what I want is this: this room cleaned," he gestured around the dim, foul-smelling space. "I want a bath, I reek almost as much as it does in here." He touched the soaking shirt as if it was the source of the smell. "And lastly, I want to go up on deck."

The last request was made in the same casual tone as the rest, but there was a hard glint in his eyes that spoke of his need to see the sun, breath in the fresh air and feel the wind on his face. Despite herself, Isla could understand a bit of his want, being on land more than a week or even indoors for longer than a few hours made her feel like a caged animal ready to tear herself out.

"What makes you believe I would ever give in to your demands?" she asked, listing her head to one side, eyebrows drawn as if he were a mildly irritating child.

"Because time is running out for you and I am more likely to give you everything you ask and more if I am given these small requests."

Isla clenched her jaw, hating that he held any bit of power whatsoever. For a full minute, she fought with herself, the logical side telling her the trade was fair and would be to her benefit. The emotional side of her was envisioning slamming her fist into Raif's face. After she reined in her emotions, she let out a controlled breath.

"Do not expect my men to do any work for you," she said. "You want this place cleaned you will do it yourself on your hands and knees."

She waited for the shock of horror at the notion a nobleman would ever lower himself to a servant's task. Instead, Raif gave her a quick, triumphant smile.

"Give me a bucket and a brush then."

Isla left, trying to remind herself that this was the wisest option. On deck, Sparrow was wrestling with one of the men. His developing muscles were nothing compared to the older man's strength and knowledge, but the boy didn't seem to care. His energy helped tip the scales closer to balance. The crowd around them laughed and called out advice, half of it to Sparrow and half of it to his opponent, Brockton.

"Brockton," Isla called out.

The man glanced up and Sparrow took the opening to get a hit to his side. Brockton hardly noticed the blow, instead clamping a hand on the back of the boy's neck and holding him out of reach, like he was an eager puppy.

"Yes, Captain," Brockton said, managing to seem unconcerned with the wriggling cabin boy in his grasp.

"Sparrow, enough," Isla said. With a resigned sigh, the boy stopped trying to attack Brockton and he was released. "I need you."

Brockton strode forward and Sparrow darted off to pester someone else into a fight. After acquiring a bucket of soapy water and a bristled brush, Isla directed Brockton back to the brig.

"He will clean the floor, but I want you to keep an eye on him," she said, pausing outside the door.

Brockton nodded and they both entered. Raif hadn't moved, but when he spotted what she was carrying, he rose, the chains forcing him to stand at a twisted angle. When Isla let go of the bucket's handle, water sloshed over the rim of the wood and white bubbles tumbled over the floor. She took out a set of keys and unlocked his cuffs. The metal rattled against the bench and Raif rubbed his wrists, the skin red and sore.

"Brockton will make sure you don't try anything," she said.

As she turned to leave, her eyes connected with Brockton's, then flickered back to Raif. "If he tries anything, make him regret it."

With the command hanging in the air, Isla left. Sparrow had found another sailor to spar with and half the crew was caught up in the action. Hawk stood with Orin at the helm. When Isla appeared, he said something to the man and joined her. Neither talked until they were secured in her cabin. Even with a head full of mischief, Sparrow had still remembered to neat her quarters.

"Did you get what you needed from Duke Sayers?" Hawk asked.

Isla took up a spot at the windows, staring at the water that glistened under the sun's admiring gaze.

"I will," she said, giving nothing more. She didn't want him to know that he had gotten something out of her before she had gotten something from him. When Raif was brought up on deck, Hawk would then know, but that discussion could be stalled for now. Sensing the seriousness of Isla's mood, Hawk took a seat, placing an elbow on the armrest.

"What is it?" he asked.

Isla couldn't look at him, because she saw too much of her father's affection and concern in his face. How could she tell him that the chance she took kidnapping Raif could be the thing that placed them in even greater danger with other's searching for him and a father that could rally all kinds of men to join the hunt? How could she say the words that made the years her father put into this crew crumble? How could she admit that where they were was on her, because she had asked for a ship and her father had gone to get her one?

"Isla," Hawk said, her name a gentle prod at her thoughts.

Swallowing, she balled her fists, staring at taut knuckles.

"I believe there is a spy among our crew," she whispered.

Even the decreased volume could not stop the guilt she felt. These men had been with her father for years, some upwards of thirty. Against all logic, Isla couldn't help feel as if it was her failure that had brought this on. The unpaid debt kept them forever bound together, only until it was dealt with could these men be free to move on if they so chose.

"You encountered Jakks, then."

Isla nodded, but still didn't look at him, afraid she would see the disappointment of her father.

"Whether he is in Lord Sutherland's employ and charged with keeping a watch on us or trails us for some gain of his own, I don't know." She raised her head and peered out over the blue plain, almost expecting to see Jakks' ship on the horizon, chasing after her. "He said he was in Helix to gather information on Duke Sayers' whereabouts, but this is the fourth run-in we've had, it can't be chance."

Hawk's silence was heavy with conjecture. When it became too quiet to bear, Isla twisted around, leaning against the ledge.

"Could I be wrong?" she asked. "Could it be mere chance that Jakks had been repeatedly at the same ports as us even when it's been only us who knew where we were going?"

Hawk was silent, considering. "It is possible, but if there is someone in Jakks' or Sutherland's employ on this ship then we would be wise to precede with caution."

"Any idea who it may be?" she asked.

Hawk rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven chin, his look distant.

"It's hard to say, I have known all of these men for over ten years, most even longer. I would trust each of them with my life."

It was a truth that Isla felt echoing in her chest. She had known almost all of these men her entire life. Less than five had joined the crew later on. These rough, weather-beaten sailors were all she knew when it came to family. But with this new knowledge, it felt like that family had been whittled down to the man in front of her who had acted as a second parent and the cabin boy that owed her his life.

"I know," Isla said. "It's the same for me."

Hawk rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers locked together.

"For now there is not much we can do," he said. "I will keep a closer watch over everyone's movements when we arrive at the next port."

"Get Sparrow to help. He doesn't need to know what it's about, but he has a sharp eye."

Hawk nodded in agreement. "Till then we focus on our task. If Jakks is out to find Duke Sayers then more will be as well."

At this Isla pushed herself off the ledge. "Then I will get us what we need."

When Isla stepped back out among the crew it felt as if a wall had been created around her. The ease which had once marked each glance, greeting, and conversation had been taken away. Trying to banish the invisible barrier, she headed for the brig. Before she reached it, she heard the rise and fall of voices. The door had been opened to allow light to get in. As she neared, she heard a voice she hadn't expected.

"What did you do?" Brockton asked, his normally monotone voice undercut with intrigue.

"Only option that was left," Raif said. "I knocked the man unconscious then stole his horse."

A low rumbling laugh from Brockton kept Isla at bay, her mind trying to make sense of what was so clear.

"Is it true you know the new Lorain Princess?" Brockton asked. "Was she really an Eldin vagabond?"

The scratching of the brush against the floor accompanied the inquiry.

"I do and she still is, her new title hasn't changed that."

"I heard she's as beautiful as a night sky," Brockton said.

Raif's chuckle was linked with the splash of water.

"She's just as mysterious as it too," he said. "Prince Thayer would give up the kingdom for her."

When Isla stepped into the doorway's light, both men looked at her. On the bench sat Brockton, his arms resting on his legs, his usually formal posture discarded. Raif was on the floor, his shirt tossed aside.

In a piece of the light from the hall, Isla could see the muscles in his back shift as he twisted to see her. Across one shoulder was the white line of a long ago healed scar. It was a mark that stirred Isla's curiosity. Shoving the curiosity away, she gazed around the room. The smell had lessened and the wood held a bit of a shine.

"Come to see how your servant is doing?" Raif asked, wiping his damp hands on his filthy pants.

She ignored him and looked at Brockton.

"Once he is finished, allow him to wash then bring him to me on deck. Don't take all day about it."

As Isla returned to the deck, she tried to smother her irritation at Raif's ability to quickly acquaint himself with even the most rigid of the sailors. The entertainment of Sparrow fighting had been put aside as men got to their daily chores. The ship was a comfortable bustle of sailors repairing lines, patching sails, and scrubbing the deck.

All of that activity halted when Raif was escorted up the stairs by Brockton. Conversations were forgotten as men stared at the man who had been a piece of their ship for some time now. Somehow Raif had convinced Brockton to lend him a blade because the beard he had been sprouting was sheered off. The dirty remains of his attire had been exchanged for a pair of worn trousers and a shirt that was pushed up to his elbows.

As Raif stepped forward, he lifted his chin to the sky, closed his eyes, and breathed in. It was an action so common every sailor knew the feeling down to their bones. It was the mark of a man born to the water. The men around him were forced to study Raif, rearranging their notions of him and the type of man he was.

Under the sun's warmth, Isla could further see the effects of captivity had had on Raif. His once sun-darkened skin had an unhealthy tinge to it and there were rings around his eyes of disturbed sleep. Isla hardened herself to his discomfort, knowing that it was not her concern. Her concern was with what lay in his head.

When Raif opened his eyes, a wrinkle appeared between his brows. Taking his gaze away from the furled sails, he peered around at the ship, noticing the speed which it held. Finally, his focus alighted on Isla and she saw the questions knocking around his head. Without needing to be told, he moved to where she stood at the railing.

"How is this possible?" he said. "This velocity but no sails and the wind isn't even this strong."

Isla understood his confusion, when someone didn't know about the ocean's hidden currents the way they traveled was an anomaly. Not planning on sharing the truth, she cut her attention away to Brockton.

"Thank you."

With a nod, he left. Hawk took his place, eying Raif's clean chin, clothes, and presence. As he met Isla's gaze, she shook her head, not wanting to admit to another failure on her part.

"Come," Isla said, making for her quarters. "You'll share what you know in my cabin."

"No."

Raif's refusal was strong but not defiant, instead laced with an undertone of anxiety. Surprised, Isla spun back, staring at him. Desperation shot through his eyes.

"Let me tell you here," he said, keeping his posture rigid, though there was no denying the pleading in his tight face.

Though she wanted to refuse his wish, she knew that part of him was weakened by the small hope of freedom he had found out of his prison.

"Very well."

After a few instructions, a barrel, ink well, quill, and parchment were brought for them.

"I need to know everything," Isla said. "I also want a rough map of the estate."

With the sun restoring him, Raif began to talk outlining the inner workings of the Lord's holding. With each piece of information, Isla formed a plan, trying to keep at bay the feeling that her decision was worth the price.

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And you're completely obsessed with treasure.

What a power play these two have going on! I'm glad Raif at least fought back some. Gosh poor guy, I would hate yo be stuck inside all the time.

What did you make of it all? 💭🗯💬

So I know that you have been worried. I haven't been as odd lately and you're nervous that I've become...*shudders* normal.

I'm here to give you definitive proof that I'm still odd as ever.

I walk around writing author's notes in my mind.

Yup, I'll be doing something and think I could probably write this as an author's note.

I wrote this author's note while I was walking my dogs.

Does that make this Author's Note Inception since in my mind I was writing an author's note about writing author's notes in my mind?

I think it is! Ha! Proof that I'm still extremely odd! Phew! I worried myself for a second there! Good to know that everything as it should be. The earth is flat. Ice cream is life. Puppies are cute. The news is fake. Dragons were real. Cats solve life's mysteries but never tell us. Joy is odd.

Mazmoon ka sawaal (Urdu): What are the most random thought you've ever had? Or had this week?

Vote for sunshine, comment on why cats purr, and follow yellow brick road.