The Dagger Key~ Pirate!England x Reader Part Four

It was quiet. For a moment, you wondered if you were dead, and this darkness the pits of purgatory; however, pain slowly crept its way along your limbs, until the aching grew so strong you jolted out of your slumber. A sharp sting soared from your lower back to your shoulder blades, immediately rendering you motionless. You must have hit the deck (no pun intended) harder than you first thought. What’s more, your left shoulder—the one that had been shot—twisted with a pain so indescribable you could hardly stand it. You clamped your teeth down on you lower lip and clenched your right fist to keep from crying.

Through your flashes of agony, you noticed you were in a bed. The once white sheets were stained crimson with dried blood. Shoddy-looking medical supplies and vials filled with what you could only surmise was medicine lay in messy clutters on several shelves throughout the room. The room was tossing, and you knew it was not simply because you were still swimmy-headed—you were on a ship, but as to whose, you were completely oblivious.

You closed your eyes, concentrating on breathing past your pain. While breathing in, your rising diaphragm seemed much lighter, unrestrained by even a sliver of clothing. Your eyes once again shot open, and your right hand flew to your torso. It was completely exposed, save for the ragged, bloody bandages wrapped around your supple breasts and down your stomach.

Your every nerve stood on edge in a white-hot panic. You searched every corner of your mind for what had happened before you awoke here—sharing a swig of whiskey with Mickey, the attack by Kirkland’s rival Antonio, getting shot by Lovino, your mother’s dagger being stolen… The last thing you could remember was the sound of Mickey’s voice… You began to relax, but not completely. If Mickey was the only one who had seen you, and if you were still on Kirkland’s ship, then you should be fine… But the strange uneasiness roiling in your stomach convinced you otherwise.

A knock rapped at the door, and you quickly pulled the askew sheets over your chest.

“It’s me! Ye awake yet, cabin boy?” Mickey’s voice called.

You sighed, your mind at last put at ease.

“I’m awake!”

Mickey opened the door and stepped into the room, juggling an apple in his hand.

“Good to see ye up and about, missy. Ye gave this old ticker quite the fright, ye did,” he said as he shut the door.

You scoffed.

“I don’t know if ‘up and about’ is the proper phrase to use here… You got any more of that whiskey?”

“I used the last of it to disinfect yer wounds,” Mickey chuckled, handing you the apple. “Here, eat this. Much better for yer health.”

“I’d rather have the whiskey…”

Mickey laughed again and pulled up a chair to your bedside.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence—save for your apple-crunching. The silence was suspiciously heavy. You glanced at your sea-mate. You could tell there was something on his mind, and he was just waiting for you to work up some more strength before he told you. You were never one to beat around the bush, so you quickly finished your apple and tossed the core into his unsuspecting hands.

“What aren’t you telling me, Mickey?” you bluntly prodded, sparing him no room for skirting around the issue.

He blinked in surprise, but his face soon turned somber.

“Ye can’t keep this charade up for much longer, missy. You were damned lucky I was the one who made it in time to rescue you from Antonio.”

You didn’t know how to respond in words. You knew he was right. If anyone other than he had come to your rescue or had you been taken captive by Antonio’s crew, they surely would have divulged your true nature—and you certainly would not have woken up with bandaged wounds and a belly-full of fresh fruit.

“What happened?” you found yourself asking.

Mickey sat back.

“T’was the will of the good Lord Himself we managed to survive that battle. One o’ the cannons managed to take out a good bit of their rudder, so they had to turn ‘round to regroup, and in the confusion we caught a blessed wind what sped us away. I got ye back onto our ship just as it was sailing off. You were a sorry mess o’ blood and tatter, ye were. And heavy.”

You frowned.

“I’m not that big, you brute…”

“Well with only one arm…” Mickey retorted, jutting out the fleshy stump where his left arm used to be.

You shrugged, silently saying, “Fair enough.” You grit your teeth and slowly forced yourself up with your good arm. The wounds on your back, shoulders and left arm seemed to tug at the seams, threatening to rip open, but you fortunately fixed yourself into a sitting position without drawing new blood.

“Our conflict with Antonio isn’t over,” you said, meeting Mickey eye-to-eye. “His little son-of-a-bitch brother stole my dagger, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give him the satisfaction. We must convince Kirkland to pursue him.”

“Lass, I’m afraid yer dagger is a lost cause,” Mickey explained, shaking his head. “Kirkland does love a good fight, to be sure, but he’s not gonna go out o’ his way just to get back a worthless—”

“It is not worthless! It was my mother’s!”

Before you had realized it, your body was trembling with anger and stinging tears had welled in your eyes. You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself, then continued.

“I made a promise upon that dagger, and I intend to keep it… With or without Kirkland’s or your help. I need to find a way back to that Spaniard’s ship.”

Mickey sighed.

“The only way that’s gonna happen, missy, is if Kirkland throws ye overboard and ye swim for it. I’m sorry.”

He stood up to leave, and you didn’t try to stop him. Negotiating with him would have been futile. It was Kirkland who needed the real convincing anyway, not Mickey.

As you moved to lay back down, the sound of Mickey’s surprised gasp caught your full attention.

“Cap! What are ye doin’ here, sir?”

Time seemed to be slashed in half by some invisible blade. You had no chance to cover yourself, and there was Kirkland standing right in the doorframe. His eyes trained onto your chest and stayed there as if he were staring at the source of a plague. Your heart pounded in fear. That being thrown overboard scenario was looking more and more likely the longer Kirkland’s furious eyes bore a hole in between your breasts.

“You… You’re a woman?” he said, raising his eyes to meet yours.

“And what of it? The job description didn’t mention anything about gender discrimination when I signed up,” you responded in as bold a tone as you could muster.

Kirkland clenched his fists.

“Then why did you feel you had to dress as a man to be considered for hire?”

You couldn’t find an answer.

“Sir, with all due respect,” Mickey interjected, “This lass is no ordinary lass. Ye remember how I said I liked this one, do ye? Ye know better than any how hard it is for me to take a shining to someone. I beg ye, go easy on the missy.”

“Mickey…” Kirkland’s fists were clenched so tight, they were shaking. “This is not your concern. Get out.”

The lightning in Kirkland’s eyes left no room for protest. With a heavy slump of his shoulders, Mickey left the room, leaving you at Kirkland’s mercy. You sat up as straight as your injured back would allow, proudly holding your countenance. You learned from an early age to never beg for your life like a filthy coward. You met Kirkland’s gaze with equal tenacity, refusing to let him break you.

“You can throw me overboard if you wish. I have no loyalty to this vessel or to you.”

Kirkland scowled so ferociously, you could see each of his polished, white teeth.

“So you are not only a liar, but a traitor as well.”

He stomped to the bedside and swiftly gripped your wrist.

“Walking the plank is too good for you, wench,” he hissed in your face. “I see now that the wives’ tale about women being bad luck aboard ships is indeed a reality. It was because of you that Antonio attacked us unprovoked! And I will see you burn for this!”

“I saved you! You would put to death someone who saved your pathetic life, despite the fact that she’s a woman?!”

“If she’s anything like you, you are goddamned right I would!”

You and Kirkland were both red with anger and breathing as if you had sprinted the length of London Bridge.  Your skin was the only thing keeping your searing rage from exploding in all directions. You cursed yourself for ever daring to think this man could actually have a heart that bled red instead of black.

Kirkland roughly jerked you to your feet and pulled your wrists behind your back, sending enormous waves of pain shooting throughout your upper half. You almost cried out, but you determinedly clamped your teeth together. You felt him wrap a thin rope around your wrists, tying it so tight that you felt your skin tear.

“What the hell are you doing?” you grunted, struggling against his grasp.

“You’re going to the brig until we make port. After that, to hell with you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You flinched as you adjusted your hips beneath you, trying to get the feeling back in your rear. Kirkland had bound your wrists to a pair of shackles bolted to the wall of a dark, damp cell. You had been trapped here for three days now, and were no longer aware of pain of your injuries. All you felt was cold… and hungry.

As if on cue, the smell of buttered bread and freshly prepared meat filled your nostrils. Your stomach gave an audible grumble. You had been given meals of stale rolls and water, but never a prime cut of meat. What could have entailed this special treat, you wondered?

You raised your eyes at the sound of footsteps, and soon you could see Alfred’s tiny silhouette moving through the dim prison.

“Alfred? What are you doing down here, son?”

Alfred stopped at your cell, looking at you with sad eyes. In his hands, he held a goblet of water and a plate of bread and beef, still steaming. The sight of the subtle smoke made you that much hungrier.

“I snuck this stuff from Mr. Kirkland’s dinner tray when Mickey wasn’t looking.”

He took out a set of keys and unlocked your door, then stepped inside. He didn’t say anything as he held the cup to your lips, letting you gratefully gulp down the cool, refreshing elixir. He then held out the bread to your lips, and you took a large bite.

After swallowing, you shook your head when he offered you another bite.

“I’m so sorry for deceiving you, Alfred. I hope you can forgive me.” You were truly sincere. As annoying as he could be, Alfred was still an innocent child.

Alfred gave you a half-smile.

“I don’t care whether you’re a girl or a boy. I like you. Mr. Kirkland is an idiot for putting you in here… You totally kicked butt in that fight!”

You laughed softly. Alfred was so damn cute.

“If only certain others thought the way you do,” you said, just before taking another bite of bread.

You finished the rest of your special treat listening to Alfred embellish his role in the fight; apparently, he loaded and fired a hundred cannon balls—and you weren’t so sure he was fibbing. The kid’s hands were even more calloused than they were when you first met him, and you could smell gun powder on his clothes. He was quite proud of himself, and you couldn’t help but feel proud for him. The more the two of you conversed, the more baffled you became as to why Alfred would agree to accompany a snake like Kirkland—even if the bastard had reportedly “rescued” him.

You opened your mouth to ask just that, but stopped upon noticing the somber look return to Alfred’s face.

“I wish I had the key to your shackles…” he said, almost to himself.

Your heart broke. If your arms had not been bound, you would have taken him into them and never let him go. Instead, you smiled at him, hoping you looked as comforting as your mother when she smiled at you.

“You are a good boy, Alfred. Don’t you ever let this life at sea turn you away from that fact, you understand me?”

He nodded and rose to his feet.

“When I’m a captain, I’ll let as many women join my crew as the ship will hold!” he declared before jogging away.

You laughed. The little runt had forgotten to close the cell back. It mattered little, though, since you were securely fastened to the wall and unable to escape.

You rested your head back against the wood and sighed. At least your belly was satisfied. Maybe you could even get a decent night’s sleep. The quiet sounds of the moving ocean soon lulled you into a light doze. You were so close to sleep that you thought the footsteps thundering down the stairs into the brig were a dream; yet, when you opened your eyes, you were proven very wrong.

The figure of a man stood at the base of the steps, and began drunkenly swaggering down the corridor leading to your cell. When he stepped into the light, you saw a nearly-empty bottle of rum clutched precariously in his hand…

The smirking face of Kirkland appeared in the dim candlelight. He slowly pushed open the half-closed cell door and took a swig of the rum.

“Evening, love. Fancy a drink?”

This did not bode well…

~ TO BE CONTINUED ~