The girl woke in darkness. She did not know her name or where she came from, but she knew she was clothed in a damp dress and grey cloak, the floor she woke up on was hard, the room rocked and groaned around her, and that there was a throbbing pain at the back of her head that caused the dark room to spin around her when she sat up. But that was all.

She stretched out her hands in the darkness, feeling the rough wooden floor, and retreated, startled when her fingers encountered something hard and cold. On second inspection she found it to be a tin cup of water, with a hard biscuit beside it. She ate and drank greedily, gnawing on the food and washing it down with the metallic tasting liquid. When she finished, she curled back up on the hard floor, wrapped in her cloak and slept.

She dreamed of rain and howling winds, unfamiliar faces of men who smiled and sneered at her, though she did not know why, and she dreamed of blood. Fat, crimson drops; spilling off her fingers onto the floor; staining the wooden boards beneath her feet. And she dreamed of someone screaming.

She awoke suddenly as the door opened, and the flickering light of a torch shone in. She squinted, suddenly blinded by the unexpected glow and felt hands seize her arms on either side and haul her to her feet. The girl stumbled along, half dragged, half carried out into the open.

She smelled fresh air and salt, opened her tearing eyes to the deck before her. Lanterns hung, casting the ship and its crew in the amber glow. Before her, the bow of the ship dipped up and down, the black waters glistening on either side as the prow cleaved through the waves, foam flashing pearly white by the light of the lanterns.

Around her, crewmembers scurried busily, bailing water, coiling ropes, wiping the deck. They were hard-looking men in ragged clothing, barefoot and unshaven. Some glanced at her as she walked by, other stared coldly and it was something other than the lamplight in their eyes that sent a chill down her spine.

Farther down the deck two figures stood by the wheel, talking quietly. The first; stood in profile, flickering light illuminating a thin, sharp face that seemed almost canine in appearance. His long, pale yellow hair tied back from his face, his clothing in slightly better condition than that of the rest of the crew, and as he turned suddenly, hearing their approach, the girl caught a glimpse of a long cut, covering one cheek. The man glanced at her coldly, and for a second pure hatred burned in his eyes before the light was subdued.

"Captain," one of her escorts announced. "I brung you the girl."

The man turned, slowly, and the girl saw Captain William Cawley for the first time. Coal black hair, thinly layered with silver framed a face worn and weathered by the sun and the sea. His nose was long, and had been elegant, but was now crooked after being broken in multiple places. He towered over her from his six foot five height, thin mouth twitching into a disapproving grimace. But the thing that held her was his eyes. Piercing, cold eyes, so dark they were almost black, stared at her, scrutinizing her for a full minute before he finally spoke.

"Do you have a name, girl?" he finally asked.

"I-don't know," the girl stuttered.

The Captain moved closer, his eyes boring into hers.

"You don't...know?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft.

The girl shook her head.

The Captain's eyes flicked quickly to the man beside her, then back to the girl.

"Memories of family, anyone we can collect a ransom from?"

The girl shook her head again. There was silence then, not a whisper came from the watching men, the only thing that could be heard was the waves crashing against the bow and the wind in the sails.

"So...you are just another useless mouth to feed?"

"Please-" the girl choked back a sob.

The slap came suddenly, and she crumpled, trembling to the deck. Her cheek burned from the sting, but she looked up as Captain Cawley walked toward her, meeting his pitiless dark eyes. She whimpered in fear and in that instant the Captain seized her by the throat.

" Be quiet. " he said coldly. " Do not cry, do not scream, do not even make a sound or I will have you beaten with the cat-o-nine." He released her, and she collapsed, wheezing as sweet oxygen flowed back into her lungs. A sharp kick to her ribs forced the air back out again.

"I said be quiet," he snapped. " I saved your life. Now, it is mine. Every crumb you eat, every drop of water you drink, aye, every breath you breathe...is because I allow it. Bailey!" he barked out the name.

One of the men who had escorted the girl stood at attention.

"Sir." Bailey said.

" You said you would take charge of this useless waif. See to it that you work her fingers to the bone."

"Aye sir," Bailey said and hauled the girl to her feet, started to lead her away from the captain.

Captain Cawley held up his hand.

"One moment. Morris!" He said.

The thin, wiry man came forward, staggering under the weight of the chains he held in his arms.

"Bailey, Yale, hold her still," the Captain commanded.

Smirking, Yale seized her ankles, while Bailey held her arms. The girl barely struggled as Morris attached a leg iron to each ankle and locked it, handing the key to Yale. Yale slipped it into a leather pouch on his belt.

Tears of hurt mingled with tears of humiliation as she was released, but she refused to make a sound. The chains rattled every time she moved, not heavy enough to keep her in one place, but still impeding her progress.

"Let me be clear," The Captain continued. "You are not a member of my crew. You are one of the more worthless spoils of battle. Therefore you are not fit to walk freely on my ship. Give me one reason to regret sparing you and I toss you to the fishes myself. Prove your worth, and I'll see to it you live another day. Bailey!" he barked again.

"Sir." Bailey responded, his hands still on the girl's arms.

"Get this rat out of my sight."

Bailey seized the girl's arm and pulled her away. She stumbled after Bailey, trying not to look at any of the pirates watching her. Behind her Captain Cawley ordered, "the rest of you, quit lollygagging and get back to work!"

There was a scramble as every man attempted to look busy.

Two pirates stopped working long enough point and leer as Bailey walked past. The larger one, a pockmarked man named Walsh, called out.

"Hey Irish! Nice catch!"

Bailey made no indication he had heard. Walsh glanced at his companion, Scragg. As a single unit they moved to block Bailey's way.

"What's yore 'urry?" Scragg asked, leaning in with his unfortunate-looking nose.

"We just want to get antiquated proper-like," agreed Walsh. He smiled rows of crooked yellow teeth. Scragg looked at his co-patriot in puzzlement.

"What the 'eck is that supposed to mean?" Scragg asked.

"You know, antiquated." Walsh explained. "We gets to know her better."

Scragg rolled blood-shot eyes to heaven in exasperation.

"You thick 'ead," he sighed. "That's not at all what it means."

"It is too!"

" 'Ow would you know cabbage 'ead?"

" Who'ya calling cabbage head, lard gut?"

" Oy, I'll give you a black eye for that!"

"Just try it, tubby!"

A scuffle ensued between the two, tugging beards, biting, kicking and scratching, as they rolled on the deck. Finally Walsh sat on Scragg's head, holding the smaller one down as he nursed a split lip.

" All right, yus just sit there and think about what you've done." He declared, touching his sore lip gingerly. "And when you're good and ready to say sorry, I'll let you up again."

Scragg struggled under the weight of the large pirate, wheezing and gasping for air.

"You h'idjit, get h'off me!" he gasped.

Neither man noticed Yale come up behind them, until he began laying on them with a heavy length of tarred rope.

"What are you two idjits lying around for?" he snarled. " Get back to work!"

"Ow! Mercy sir!"

"yeowch! Ye hit me kidneys!"

Scragg and Walsh's cries of protest faded away as Bailey steered the girl around a corner and inside a small cabin, closing the door behind them. The room was small, with only one window; made even smaller by the wall-to-wall shelves. Weapons were stacked on each shelf; swords, cutlasses, knives and daggers on one side, flintlock rifles and pistols filled the other shelves. Kegs of gunpowder and cannon balls lined a bottom shelf. In one corner, there was a desk, with a mattress and blanket folded neatly beside it.

Bailey gestured at the space as he led the way.

"This here's the armory," he explained. "Cap don't particularly care for one, but it's my job to see the spoils of war are cleaned and battle ready. Now, it's yore job too. Start with that barrel over there."

He indicated a barrel of weapons and turned toward a rack of daggers near the back.

"Rags are in that bucket there. Get cleaning."

There was a frenzied clank and rattle behind him and he whirled as the girl made a run for the door. Bailey snagged the end of her chain and she tripped, hitting the ground.

"What do ye think yore doing, lass?" he grunted as she struggled.

"Throwing myself over board! Rather die than be on this ship! You're murdering scum, all of you! " She kicked back with a bare foot, barely missing Bailey's eye.

"Careful there lassie!" Bailey muttered, than grunted again as the heavy chain whacked his jaw. He pulled as hard as he could, dragging her back, then stepped over her, blocking her path.

The girl, in return snagged a blade and brandished it.

"Get out of my way!" Bailey didn't budge. "I mean it pirate. I don't know who I am or why I am here, but I know I'd be better off dead than your pet."

"Well now we seem to have a conflict of interest here lass, because I want meself a living assistant just as much as ye want to toss yerself over board. Only problem is, if you want to walk out that door you'll have to go through me first."

The girl hesitated for a second, eyes narrowing then she lunged, aiming for his chest. Bailey calmly sidestepped, picking a blade from the pile and deflecting her blade with a ringing clash of steel. They moved backwards and forwards, gaining and loosing inches in the confined space.

Bailey held his ground with apparent little effort,

"Keep your guard up! Parry, advance, parry-good!" He deflected a savage lunge that almost took him through the side, and shoved the girl back two paces. She howled and swung wildly, and Bailey ducked, wincing as the blade hummed dangerously close to his balding scalp.

"Focus on your control! Ye want to kill yeself, to die, or are ye just itching to win?"

The girl swung again, her eyes murderous.

"I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do. And then take everyone on this boat with me."

"Aye, so that's yore plan now lass? Sink a ship of men for no reason?"

He ducked as she hacked at the area above his head.

"You're scum. That's reason enough for me. "

Bailey parried and shoved her back against a shelf, pining her arms across her chest with his.

"Talent like yores comes doesn't come around every single day lass. And ye want to end it all? Yore a coward is what ye are."

"Stop-talking-to-me!" she panted. She braced herself against the wall with her foot, pushing herself forward, giving herself enough room for another swipe. Her next lunge dislodged a stack of pistols, scattering them on the floor; Bailey made the quick decision to disarm her before she demolished more of his work area. Before he could act, the girl lunged and Bailey unexpectedly found his back against the door, with no place to move.

Sensing victory, the girl lunged forward again, and tripped on her own chains, sprawling on the floor. Bailey kicked the sword away from her hand before she could recover and held his own blade to her throat.

"Go on, get it over with pirate, " she spat out bitterly. Bailey shelved his sword and hauled her to her feet. She struggled, attempting to throw a punch but he blocked it, twisted her arm behind her back.

"That's enough out of you lass, yore a right hellcat, no mistake but I don't think I'll be killing you just yet." She slumped, stopped struggling, and Bailey released her cautiously. Fast as a snake the girl lashed out with a bare foot, kicking him hard in the knee and making a break for the door. Bailey winced as he hit the floor, then snagged her chains as they trailed by, yanking her off her feet.

He dragged her back, kicking and screaming.

"On second thought, you can stay here and start polishing these pistols." He secured her chains to the desk leg; kicked the pile over to her and tossed her a rag. She glowered at him, looking more feral than human and threw one of the pistols at his head.

Bailey caught it, and backhanded her before she could blink.

"Listen to me lass," he ordered, "I may not be wanting to kill ya, but don't think for a second I'm soft either. There's only so much I can take."

He tossed the pistol in front of her.

"Now get to work."

The girl picked up the pistol, looked at Bailey with pure hatred in her eyes.

"You better hope I don't find a loaded pistol here, pirate. Because if I do I'm putting a shot right between your eyes!"

"Charming lass, aren't ya." Bailey said with a resigned sigh. "When yore done, I've got some cannons that need cleaning."