Living on Writer's Block

She gasped in shock. 

There sat a man, in his forties, with faint gray stubble and salt-and-pepper hair, an aristocratic face, and an eyepatch over his left eye. Ramona stood up cautiously, still swaying. As she stepped back Samuel offered his arm genteelly and she accepted it gratefully. 

“It’s Sebastian. Her steward. He’s the one she sends on all her most important, most absolutely vital missions, the one who always whipped us, the one who marked us.” She kept her eyes, colored like a blood-spattered gold coin, fixed on the body, loathing dripping from their depths.  “Well, she’s lost her pet.” Her voice was filled with a morbid satisfaction. “And she’s lost me, too; not that it matters –– she’ll find my replacement in two ticks. But I’m getting out of here, now, danger or no.” She looked at Samuel, who had leaned down and retrieved his dagger. Gingerly taking a corner of Sebastian’s cloak between two fingers, he wiped the blade clean, then stood up and sheathed it. 

“Shall we go, then?” he asked, looking down at the body. 

“Mind if I get my own?” 

A faint furrow appeared between his eyes. “Your own — oh, no, of course not. Be my guest.” 

Ramona stepped cautiously away from Samuel and walked over to where her dagger still stood in the wall, carefully watching her feet as she went so as not to fall over again. She tugged it free and sheathed it, then she remembered the dagger Sebastian had thrown. She looked around and saw it laying on the floor, some distance behind her seat. She picked it up and stuck it though her second belt. She turned towards Samuel as he stood at the door, waiting for her, warily glancing out into the street every so often. She took a deep breath and sighed, then stepped towards him and followed him out of the dark, musty old tavern into the brilliant winter sunlight.

Ramona walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Samuel, heading toward the docks, her jaw still throbbing. She couldn’t shake off a feeling that she’d shed an enormous weight from her shoulders and was now able to move freely. She no longer served the Matron, would no longer be a slave to the foul old woman, and it made her forget her jaw. A faint smile played across her lips. 

“How’s your jaw?” Samuel interrupted her reverie.

“I can hardly feel it –– I can’t believe it.”

“What, that you can’t feel your jaw?” He gave her a slightly mocking smile.

“No, captain!” Ramona laughed. It surprised her –– she hadn’t been able to laugh genuinely about anything for so long. She laughed again. “No –– I just can’t believe I’m free.”

“Easy, Redhawk. We’re not out of this just yet,” he cautioned warily, glancing around.

“What do you mean?”

“You see how I’ve kept to the center of the street? I’ve noticed some shadows moving quite strangely since the fight. My guess is,” he finished keenly, “our scuffle with the steward didn’t go unnoticed.”

“Well,” she sighed, “I’m just glad I’m no longer her slave. I have no obligation to her. I can die, knowing I’m free. I can’t go back into her service, whatever happens. I’ll kill myself before then, knowing now what freedom feels like.” Her eyes were hard, steely grey, and with a reddish flicker of defiance around her pupils.

It only just struck Samuel then what exactly he’d done. He hadn’t just gotten her out of a tight spot. He realized she could get out of that on her own. He’d saved her life. He’d freed her from who-knows-how-much misery and slavery and pain. She knew nothing about the pleasures of life –– the sea before you, the harbor far astern; unknown adventures ahead, the salty wind filling your sails from behind; a good bottle of wine or rum with old friends… she knew none of it. He looked down at her now with a new respect, one eyebrow raised. For all the time he’d known her she’d been calm and quiet, not confiding her troubles in anyone, staying silent, cool and –– he now realized –– still very dangerous in the face of agonies. She had not let the Matron dull her edge, as had so many of the old woman’s workers. 

“You’re really quite admirable, Redhawk,” he said, keeping his eyes moving, glancing alertly about, as they passed through a narrower part of the street. He watched rooftops especially.

She looked up at him, one eyebrow cocked. “Oh?” she said, simply.

He smiled drily and told her what he’d been thinking. Her expression remained the same, but her hair and eyes swooped from color to color like a sparrow chasing flies. One minute she was scarlet and bright blue with indignation at his presumption, the next she was cherry-colored and jungle green, laced with gold around her pupils, with happiness –– and a trace of pride –– at his praise. For a little while after he’d finished her eyes were a golden amber and she remained deep in thought.

Again, he interrupted her thoughts as they neared the quay. “Here we are –– and there’s the Osprey waiting for us.” He nodded toward the small ship, and she shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Yes, I know what your ship looks like, Samuel.”

“You didn’t know where it was. I was simply showing you,” he said, looking down at her for a brief moment.

Suddenly there dropped onto Ramona a weighted net, and she let out a shriek as she fell beneath it. Samuel’s eyes widened angrily and he quickly drew his sword and looked up, cursing inwardly at his lapse in attention, at the rooftop nearest them. But before he could do anything, a blow-dart struck him in the arm and he paused, looking down at it uncomprehendingly as it stuck in his arm. Then he stumbled slightly, suddenly very dizzy, and tripped over the edge of the net as he blacked out and fell with a crash to the cobblestoned street. 

From the rooftop came three hooded figures like Sebastian had been, and they dropped to the ground beside the struggling, netted figure of Ramona and the comatose body of Samuel. They stooped over Ramona and jabbed a dart into her shoulder; with a despairing cry she stiffened and then went limp. One of the figures then stood up and drew a dagger, raised it over the body of Samuel.