Nature's Servant (57 page)

She rose early after a night’s tossing and turning and passed the morning in a state of nervous anticipation. None of the girls were allowed on deck, as it’d be hard to explain the presence of a dozen beautiful women to the local authorities, so she was stuck in the tiny, filthy cabin waiting for the long hours to pass. Midday came and went and the afternoon progressed as slowly as the morning had, punctuated only by the tread of the crew’s feet on the boards above her head, and the moans of the other women sharing her fate.

By conscious choice, she hadn’t learned anything about the other women. Every single one of them, including her, was headed for a life of misery, and she didn’t want to know about it. Her own pain was enough. And so on her final day, she felt no sense of loss at the thought of leaving them behind. She ignored their soft moans, and the occasional sound of weeping, and waited as the hours passed and afternoon turned to evening.

The door opened as the light began to fade, and she was taken to the Gentleman’s cabin, where she was bathed and dressed in simple clothes that wouldn’t draw attention. Before she knew it there was a rough knock on the door, the gruff cry of a crew member announcing the arrival of her escorts. There were two of them; rough men without a hint of softness about them. The shorter man, who she assumed was Vosul, was clearly in charge, the larger, more heavily armed of the two deferring to him on every count. Both of them leered at her hungrily, their eyes lingering lasciviously on the curves of her body.

With very few words, they led her, the Gentleman and two of his crew away from the ship, taking them only a few streets away to an abandoned warehouse. Within it, two dock workers were playing dice on a closed crate. Both of them looked up as they entered.

“Open it up Jack,” Vosul said, and one of the dock workers picked up a crowbar and pried open the lid of the crate. Vosul looked at the Gentleman. “Take a look,” he said. The Gentleman stepped up to the crate, bending down to scoop out a handful of coins and let them fall through his fingers. He kept hold of one, lifting it to his mouth and biting down on it.

“It’s good,” he said, stepping back.

“Close it up,” Vosul ordered, and the dockworker replaced the lid, hammering extra nails in to seal it. “Take it back to the Maiden and report to me later,” he said.

The two dockworkers picked the crate up by its stout handles and started out of the warehouse, their short, stuttering steps revealing the weight of its contents. The Gentleman started to follow them but stopped, turning back to face her.

“Do what he says, without fail, without hesitation,” he said, and she didn’t need to ask who he was referring to. She said nothing in response, confused by what looked like an attempt to protect her. This was the man who’d ripped her from her home and family, from the man she loved. She wanted to tell him what she would do to him if she ever came across him again, but the proximity of Belash’s men kept her from opening her mouth. The Gentleman turned and left the warehouse, following the dockworkers as they struggled on towards the ship, leaving her alone with the two men. The taller man whipped out a spare cloak from under his own, and threw it at her.

“Put it on,” he said gruffly as she caught it. She slung it round her shoulders and tied up the neck string.

“Pull the hood up,” Vosul said, and she did so. “Now walk between us and don’t cause trouble,” he added, once her features were concealed within its shadowy depths. Its weave was coarse against her skin, and it stank of unwashed flesh and sweat. They set off through the docks, making their way through narrow streets clogged with filth. Adela took short, shallow breaths through her mouth to avoid breathing in the pervading stink of rotten fish and faeces, and after a few minutes they had left the docks behind and she could
breathe more freely.

They entered a district that was little better than the docks, the streets so narrow and overhung by poorly built houses that they would be in permanent shadow even in the daytime. The evening light faded away completely, and the occasional streetlamps hanging from rusty posts illuminated only a few short yards of ground between long stretches of darkness. After several more minutes, Vosul stopped them in front of a run down tavern called The Stag’s Bellow.

“Let’s have a drink,” he said. “Belash is attending to other business tonight and won’t know if we stop for a bit.”

“Sure,” the taller man said with an off-colour grin. “Maybe afterwards we can have a bit of fun,” he added, leering at her hungrily.

Vosul looked at her too, his hard eyes glittering speculatively. “I can’t see why not,” he said. “Belash will never know.”

“I’ll tell him!” she said hotly, panicked by their lustful expressions.

Vosul pulled her hood back and twisted his hand in her hair, pulling her head painfully to one side.

“You’re less than nothing around here,” he spat, spraying her face with spittle, his face inches from her own. She blanched at the foulness of his breath. It smelt of garlic and rotten meat. “We’ll just deny it, and Belash will cut your tongue out.” He leaned back, watching with satisfaction as fear blossomed in her face. “Now be a good girl and keep your mouth shut,” he said, relinquishing his grip on her hair and pulling her hood up roughly.

Filled with despair, she walked with them into the tavern, glancing around feverishly for any means of escape. She could pull her hood back and make an outcry, but she was in the kind of seedy district area that was unlikely to be heavily patrolled by local law enforcement. She was held captive by a crime-lord powerful enough to be able to pay over eight thousand gold for her in the blink of an eye. That kind of money meant serious power, and she didn’t think a single person in this dive of a tavern would be willing to stand up to Belash. Still, she had to try something - she’d rather die than face another rape.               As they entered the tavern, Vosul made a casual sign to the innkeep, who clearly knew him and knew what the sign meant, reaching beneath the bar to fetch two dusty bottles of ale. Despite the crowd of drinkers at the bar, he brought them over immediately, and not one of the men waiting to be served complained, confirming Adela’s worst fears. Everyone knew who Vosul worked for and no-one was going to help her.

Panic gripped her then, filling her body with nervous tension, causing her to twitch uncontrollably. Tears rolled freely down her face.

“Sit still!” Vosul hissed. She tried to control her shaking limbs without success, waiting in dread for the moment the two men decided they’d had enough beer. They drank the first bottle and ordered a second, drinking it slowly as customers came in and out, walking within an arm’s reach of her. But she didn’t reach out. She didn’t cry for help or even make a noise. She just sat there, panic filling her with raw adrenaline; her heart felt like it was trying to beat itself out of her chest. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she tried to stand up, but the taller man’s hand clamped onto her arm like a vice, holding her in place.

“Vosul told you to sit still,” he said menacingly.

“I can’t,” she wailed, tears soaking her face and dripping down over her robe. Fear had taken control of her body, making it spasm uncontrollably. She couldn’t have kept still if her life depended on it. She tried to pull away from him, but his grip on her arm was too strong.

“Time to go,” Vosul said, standing up and forcibly dragging her along with him. The taller man followed behind, a hand gripping her elbow. The moment they exited the tavern, they grabbed her roughly and pushed her down a dark alley. She fell to the slimy ground and was hauled painfully to her feet by her hair. They forced her round the corner of the alley and pushed her against the wall, ripping open her clothes. She would have screamed till her voice gave out if Vosul hadn’t forced a filthy gag into her mouth. She was helpless, and in her heart the last faint glimmer of light she’d kept alive went out. She may as well be dead.

But then the unthinkable happened - a man stepped out from round the corner of the alley, not by accident and not to join in. He’d come to rescue her. It was there in that dank alley, when all hope was lost, that she met Jonn, and he gave it back to her.

…

Adela’s tale moved Jonn profoundly. He wasn’t the kind of person to give his affections too quickly, or to many people, but when he did let someone in, his feelings always ran very deep. Hearing her story did two things for him; the first was to put his own troubles in perspective. Whatever the reason for the darkness that seemed to swamp him sometimes, it was nothing compared to the genuine tragedy that had utterly destroyed Adela’s life. The second thing was that it gave him a deep-seated desire to look after her. He wasn’t thinking with his loins, or trying to make her his own, but he knew that where it was in his power to do so, he was going to make sure that she was protected from harm. If she’d let him, he’d do it for the rest of his life.

             
What he didn’t know was that she needed him as much as he needed her. Her experiences had destroyed her trust in men and much of her belief in the goodness of humankind, but in him she saw that hope reborn. It was just a glimmer, a tiny flickering flame of promise, but it was something to hold onto. If she clung to the man who’d risked his life to save hers, then maybe, just maybe, she could recover some of that belief.

             
Their relationship was a complicated one, their deep, exploratory conversations bringing great joy at times, and awakening fears at others. He never touched her and always treated her with the greatest respect, but despite his care, she sometimes tensed in fear and ordered him to leave, only to apologise the next day when he returned.

             
She didn’t leave the little room once in that entire time, fearful of stepping outside, and when she learned that Jonn had to go away to fight in the Measure, she was stricken with panic. He had calmed her down, assuring her that he would be back in just a few days, and so when he left her room for the last time, she was able to say goodbye and wish him good luck without getting upset, and he was able to leave her without feeling too much guilt. She was still afraid of being without him even for those few days, but she was comforted by the thought that when he returned, they would pick things up where they left off.

Gaspi was far too excited to lie in bed any longer. It was the day they were leaving for the Measure! He sprang out of bed, waking a recumbent Loreill, who chittered in protest and roused himself with a gigantic yawn and long stretches of his paws. Gaspi gave himself the most cursory of washes and threw some clothes on. Unwilling to let his friends sleep in when he was buzzing with so much energy, he bounded out of his room and went to wake Emmy. Loreill followed in his wake. He knocked loudly on her door, greeted by faint mutterings from within. He knocked again, bouncing on the balls of his feet with impatience. When she opened it, she was dressed only in her nightgown, wispy strands of uncombed hair obscuring her face.

             
“Is it time to get up already?” she asked, rubbing her eyes with clumsy palms. Loreill ran around her feet and darted inside the room to greet Lilly.

             
“Yup!” Gaspi said cheerfully, kissing her on the cheek. “Come on, get dressed Emmy!”

             
“Okay hold on,” she murmured, retreating back into her room and closing the door behind her.

             
Minutes later she emerged fully dressed, her face scrubbed and her hair pulled back into a bun. “Come in,” she said, swinging the door open wide. He entered and sat down on her bed as she pulled back the curtains to reveal only the first faint hint of dawn.

             
“Gaspi!” she admonished. “It’s not even daytime yet!”

             
He grinned sheepishly. “I know, but I couldn’t sleep.”

             
“I could!”

             
“Not anymore,” he answered.

             
“Bah!” she said and then broke into a tinkling laugh. “You’re incorrigible!”

             
“Yes I am,” he answered. “Whatever that means.”

             
“It means you’re a pain,” she said, but he knew she wasn’t angry.

             
“Let’s wake Lydia and make her cook us breakfast!” he said.

             
“Not a chance!” she responded. “I have to put up with you - I’m your girlfriend, but I’m not letting you bother Lydia!”

             
“Okay,” he said with a grin. “What should we talk about?”

             
“Dear God!” she muttered and fell back on her bed.

…

At a more reasonable hour they went over to Lydia’s room, where they were joined by Rimulth and Taurnil, and the five of them shared breakfast. All the elementals were there except for the air spirit, which preferred to avoid being indoors unless it absolutely had to. Rimulth said that it would join them in Hephistole’s office when they were ready to transport to Arkright.

             
Gaspi wolfed his food down so fast and in such a state of distraction that he couldn’t even remember what he’d eaten once the plates were clear. They washed up and, at the turning of the watch, made their way down to the Atrium, where they joined Jonn, Everand, Baard, Jaim and Sabu. Gaspi thought that Jonn looked strangely distracted. He barely even acknowledged his greeting, and kept looking back through the Atrium’s entrance, as if he expected to see someone walk in.