in which maggie is wounded
Nov. 19th, 2013 01:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smackenzieNow that they had gold to spend, many of the pirates on the Black Lightning wished to return to Port Doras so they could spend it. Maggie could not think of an immediate reason why that was a bad idea - she had captured and sunk a military ship, she had dispatched soldiers and armed sailors with sword and pistol, she had robbed two merchant ships of their goods and their gold. She could call this a successful voyage.
She wanted another navy vessel, and she wanted another merchant ship, but for now, this would suffice. So she had Severein turn towards home.
A few days after their great haul, they crossed paths with another ship - it was about the size of the Black Lightning, but it was flying no flag. It did not seem to be in any great hurry, and the wind was good and eventually Maggie's ship drew close enough that she could hail it, announce herself, and demand its surrender.
(She was assuming it was a merchant ship, or even a large passenger vessel. She could not understand why it was not flying a flag, but if it were a pirate ship, someone would have run up a pirate flag as soon as the Black Lightning made itself known.)
A man on the flagless ship called back that they would not surrender and that Maggie should prepare to be boarded. She laughed. There were guns on the other ship, of course, on the main decks and behind gun ports, but they had not yet fired on the Black Lightning, and Maggie was too used to boarding other ships to be able to imagine another crew doing it to her.
And yet that is exactly what happened - as soon as the Black Lightning drew close enough, the other ship ran a black flag up the main mast and the crew swarmed about Maggie's ship.
There were more pirates on the Black Lightning than there were on the mystery ship, but the mystery crew was full of fierce fighters. Maggie could practically hear Yora yelling at her girls to fire on the other ship, and pirates boiled up out of the hatches to the lower decks to engage the crew of the mystery ship.
The fighting was close and hard and bloody, and Maggie could not remember the last time she had fought another pirate crew on her own ship. Of course there were fights on land, but there was an uneasy, fragile peace among the various pirate captains, and part of that peace dictated that they not attack each other at sea without provocation. Perhaps being hailed was considered provocation. Maggie supposed that demanding the other ship surrender might conceivably be considered provoking.
Viga was not around to shove her out of the way of any pistol shots this time, but it turned out that she had a sword blade to fear instead. A quick, skinny pirate from the other ship engaged her with his sword, slashing out at her and causing her to spend more time defending herself than trying to hit back. The other pirate got inside her swing and lashed out at her. She turned slightly in an attempt to parry his blow and his sword sliced across her ribs, cutting through her coat and shirt, opening her skin and drawing blood. She turned back towards him, gasping with surprise and pain, and he swung again, making her jump back to avoid being cut in half. But either she could not jump back far enough fast enough, or his reach was very long, and the point of his sword pushed the torn edge of her coat out of the way so the blade could cut across her stomach.
Maggie stabbed out at the pirate, pushing him back, and saw one of her own crew catch him in the shoulder. He whirled to face this new opponent and Maggie staggered backwards, her arm wrapping around her side and her hand pressed to her stomach, suddenly shockingly aware of the blood staining her clothes and trickling through her fingers. The pain across her ribs was hot and white. She stumbled into someone. She felt her mouth open, felt her throat try to push out a scream, only heard herself making shocked gasping noises.
Someone grabbed her and hauled her backwards out of the fray. She couldn't breathe. She didn't know who had grabbed her, if it was someone from her own crew or from the other ship. She thought she told them she was fine, they should be defending themselves and the ship. She thought she told them that she was hurt and needed the surgeon. She thought she told them to let her go. She had been wounded before, but never in the stomach, never so hard across the ribs. She dropped her sword, pressed both hands to her flesh as if she could stop the blood from running down her shirt, but as her chest heaved with the effort of breathing she thought she could feel the blood flowing even faster, as if every breath was pumping it out of her.
She could not possibly be bleeding that much, could she? She was imagining things. She had to be.
"We are running them off," a voice said near her ear. It sounded like Yuna. "Stay here."
Maggie's vision wavered but it did indeed look as if her pirates were able to keep their ship. Why had the mystery ship attacked her? Had they been lying in wait for Red Maggie and the Black Lightning? Did they plan to claim the bounty on her head? Were they expecting to loot her ship and put her crew to the sword? Had she just been unlucky enough to cross paths with pirates mercenary enough to chase their own?
It was not unheard of for pirates to plunder each others' ships. But that had never happened to her either.
She thought she might be able to stand now, so she pushed herself up against the wall using her sword as extra leverage - she had been deposited by the wheelhouse, just under the poop deck - and realized that she could not quite stand.
But the battle seemed to be over now, to judge by the few skirmishes that remained and the number of bodies lying on the deck. She would keep her ship. She would bandage her wounds and lie down, and she would be fine.
She was not fine. She remembered calling for someone to help her to her cabin, she remembered trying to push herself away from the wall, she dimly remembered collapsing, and then she was no longer sure what she remembered.
She would later be told that she was only half-conscious as she was carried to her cabin, and even though she remained awake long enough for Ellim to try and clean her wounds and then to bandage them, her answers when someone asked her a question made no sense. She was vaguely aware of people going in and out of her cabin - but there was always someone walking in and out, for a pirate captain's cabin was no guarantee of privacy - but she thought she might be hallucinating as well, so who could say if the women passing through her space were real or not.
She dreamed the king-in-exile came to scold her, and the Usurper came to laugh, and Bernade came with her brothel girl to call Maggie an idiot. Maggie dreamed about the priest, and girls she had known at the Naval Academy, and the first captain she had sailed under, and her parents, and her mother's mother who had left a pile of exquisite jewelry behind when she died, and her uncle who had first taken her on a ship when she was young. She dreamed of men and women she had fought and killed, first in the service of the Royal Navy, then in the service of the king-in-exile, and finally during her years as a pirate, in service to no one but herself.
She dreamed she was dying, that her body was on fire with white and blue and orange flames, so hot that no one could come near her and so beautiful that she did not want it to end.
She dreamed she was dying, and when she was lucid enough for understanding, she was afraid.
And then one day, miraculously, it was over. She opened her eyes to see a dark face hanging over her - an angular, high-cheekboned face - one of the freed slaves, a woman named Marise. Maggie drew a breath, felt a twinge of pain across her stomach and around her side just sharp enough to wake her more fully.
"Welcome back," Marise said, smiling. "We were afraid."
I was dying, Maggie thought. You were right to be.
"I was, I was ill, was I not? What happened?" Her voice was hoarse and faint. Her throat hurt. She was sweaty and chilled at the same time. She must have had a fever.
"The sword that hurt you, it had poison on the blade, on the edge. That is what we think. You were the only one so affected."
"Who was - who is - where is Abna?"
"She is captain now. She will relinquish it when you are well."
That was good, and one thing Maggie did not have to worry about.
"Your priest was concerned," Marise went on. "He would not leave."
"He is not my priest," Maggie croaked, out of reflex.
"I will bring something to drink. Are you well enough to eat? And then you must rest again."
"Are you the ship physician now?" Normally Ellim acted as such, if there was a medical need.
Marise smiled and ducked her head. The gesture was almost embarrassed, but her voice was proud. "I knew what to do to help you. Ellim did not. She let me tend you."
"Thank you."
"He will let no one in." Marise stepped to the side and pointed to the priest, who was asleep in Maggie's one chair. Maggie felt herself smile. He was not so useless after all.
"Will you wake him? And then bring me some rum, and I promise I will sleep some more."
"As you will." Marise went over to the chair, gently shook the priest's shoulder, whispered something to him, and went out of the cabin. She shut the door behind her.
The priest came over and sat on the edge of Maggie's bed. He brushed her hair back from her face. His hand was warm and dry on her sweaty skin. He said nothing, just looked at her with such relief on his face it was almost painful to see. He was pale and there were dark circles around his eyes, as if he had not slept.
"I dreamed I was dying," Maggie said quietly. "My whole body was aflame and I was so afraid."
"You are alive now."
"Marise said you would not leave me."
"She was right. What if you woke and I was not here? What if you did not wake at all?"
"I was poisoned, she said."
"That was what she and Ellim decided." His hand rested on her cheek. "The pirate who wounded you is dead."
"Of course he is."
"How are you feeling?"
"Tired. Sweaty. Chilled. Grateful, I think. In pain. Thirsty. I do not know." She took his hand. "Will you - if you are careful - will you lie down next to me? I was so frightened, priest. I did not know what was happening to me, and I did not want to die. I am not ready."
In answer, he pulled off his boots and very carefully lay down next to her, on top of the blankets. He combed his hand through her hair, twining the strands around his fingers and arranging them across her shoulders. She wanted to laugh at him, but he was so serious, and her stomach hurt at the very thought. But she smiled.
"There was a woman," he said after a minute.
"What?"
"When I was still an ordained priest. There was a woman. She loved me and I was quite fond of her, and I would meet her sometimes at night, when I should have been in my own bed asleep. Sometimes we would walk together during the day, because who could doubt the intentions of a religious man and a woman of good family?"
"I thought priests were supposed to be celibate." She had known carnal priests in her day, but she had never thought that they were following any honest tenet of their religion.
"We are. But I do not believe that God always intended us to be so. I believe He made men and women to join together, to marry and have families. There are two schools of thought in the church, you know - those who believe that a priest's celibacy allows him to devote all his time and energy to God and so grow closer to Him and serve Him better, and those who believe men and women were made to be together, and that a married priest can serve God just as well."
"Were you and this woman going to marry?" Maggie tried to imagine the priest as a married man, and could not.
"My order would not allow it. But we wished to be together in some fashion. When we were discovered, I was asked to leave." His voice had grown quiet again. "And now you know what happened."
"I am sorry, priest."
"It was my fault. I believed I was right, but I could not swear to serve God with one breath and then break that vow with another."
words: 2298
total words: 33,015
She wanted another navy vessel, and she wanted another merchant ship, but for now, this would suffice. So she had Severein turn towards home.
A few days after their great haul, they crossed paths with another ship - it was about the size of the Black Lightning, but it was flying no flag. It did not seem to be in any great hurry, and the wind was good and eventually Maggie's ship drew close enough that she could hail it, announce herself, and demand its surrender.
(She was assuming it was a merchant ship, or even a large passenger vessel. She could not understand why it was not flying a flag, but if it were a pirate ship, someone would have run up a pirate flag as soon as the Black Lightning made itself known.)
A man on the flagless ship called back that they would not surrender and that Maggie should prepare to be boarded. She laughed. There were guns on the other ship, of course, on the main decks and behind gun ports, but they had not yet fired on the Black Lightning, and Maggie was too used to boarding other ships to be able to imagine another crew doing it to her.
And yet that is exactly what happened - as soon as the Black Lightning drew close enough, the other ship ran a black flag up the main mast and the crew swarmed about Maggie's ship.
There were more pirates on the Black Lightning than there were on the mystery ship, but the mystery crew was full of fierce fighters. Maggie could practically hear Yora yelling at her girls to fire on the other ship, and pirates boiled up out of the hatches to the lower decks to engage the crew of the mystery ship.
The fighting was close and hard and bloody, and Maggie could not remember the last time she had fought another pirate crew on her own ship. Of course there were fights on land, but there was an uneasy, fragile peace among the various pirate captains, and part of that peace dictated that they not attack each other at sea without provocation. Perhaps being hailed was considered provocation. Maggie supposed that demanding the other ship surrender might conceivably be considered provoking.
Viga was not around to shove her out of the way of any pistol shots this time, but it turned out that she had a sword blade to fear instead. A quick, skinny pirate from the other ship engaged her with his sword, slashing out at her and causing her to spend more time defending herself than trying to hit back. The other pirate got inside her swing and lashed out at her. She turned slightly in an attempt to parry his blow and his sword sliced across her ribs, cutting through her coat and shirt, opening her skin and drawing blood. She turned back towards him, gasping with surprise and pain, and he swung again, making her jump back to avoid being cut in half. But either she could not jump back far enough fast enough, or his reach was very long, and the point of his sword pushed the torn edge of her coat out of the way so the blade could cut across her stomach.
Maggie stabbed out at the pirate, pushing him back, and saw one of her own crew catch him in the shoulder. He whirled to face this new opponent and Maggie staggered backwards, her arm wrapping around her side and her hand pressed to her stomach, suddenly shockingly aware of the blood staining her clothes and trickling through her fingers. The pain across her ribs was hot and white. She stumbled into someone. She felt her mouth open, felt her throat try to push out a scream, only heard herself making shocked gasping noises.
Someone grabbed her and hauled her backwards out of the fray. She couldn't breathe. She didn't know who had grabbed her, if it was someone from her own crew or from the other ship. She thought she told them she was fine, they should be defending themselves and the ship. She thought she told them that she was hurt and needed the surgeon. She thought she told them to let her go. She had been wounded before, but never in the stomach, never so hard across the ribs. She dropped her sword, pressed both hands to her flesh as if she could stop the blood from running down her shirt, but as her chest heaved with the effort of breathing she thought she could feel the blood flowing even faster, as if every breath was pumping it out of her.
She could not possibly be bleeding that much, could she? She was imagining things. She had to be.
"We are running them off," a voice said near her ear. It sounded like Yuna. "Stay here."
Maggie's vision wavered but it did indeed look as if her pirates were able to keep their ship. Why had the mystery ship attacked her? Had they been lying in wait for Red Maggie and the Black Lightning? Did they plan to claim the bounty on her head? Were they expecting to loot her ship and put her crew to the sword? Had she just been unlucky enough to cross paths with pirates mercenary enough to chase their own?
It was not unheard of for pirates to plunder each others' ships. But that had never happened to her either.
She thought she might be able to stand now, so she pushed herself up against the wall using her sword as extra leverage - she had been deposited by the wheelhouse, just under the poop deck - and realized that she could not quite stand.
But the battle seemed to be over now, to judge by the few skirmishes that remained and the number of bodies lying on the deck. She would keep her ship. She would bandage her wounds and lie down, and she would be fine.
She was not fine. She remembered calling for someone to help her to her cabin, she remembered trying to push herself away from the wall, she dimly remembered collapsing, and then she was no longer sure what she remembered.
She would later be told that she was only half-conscious as she was carried to her cabin, and even though she remained awake long enough for Ellim to try and clean her wounds and then to bandage them, her answers when someone asked her a question made no sense. She was vaguely aware of people going in and out of her cabin - but there was always someone walking in and out, for a pirate captain's cabin was no guarantee of privacy - but she thought she might be hallucinating as well, so who could say if the women passing through her space were real or not.
She dreamed the king-in-exile came to scold her, and the Usurper came to laugh, and Bernade came with her brothel girl to call Maggie an idiot. Maggie dreamed about the priest, and girls she had known at the Naval Academy, and the first captain she had sailed under, and her parents, and her mother's mother who had left a pile of exquisite jewelry behind when she died, and her uncle who had first taken her on a ship when she was young. She dreamed of men and women she had fought and killed, first in the service of the Royal Navy, then in the service of the king-in-exile, and finally during her years as a pirate, in service to no one but herself.
She dreamed she was dying, that her body was on fire with white and blue and orange flames, so hot that no one could come near her and so beautiful that she did not want it to end.
She dreamed she was dying, and when she was lucid enough for understanding, she was afraid.
And then one day, miraculously, it was over. She opened her eyes to see a dark face hanging over her - an angular, high-cheekboned face - one of the freed slaves, a woman named Marise. Maggie drew a breath, felt a twinge of pain across her stomach and around her side just sharp enough to wake her more fully.
"Welcome back," Marise said, smiling. "We were afraid."
I was dying, Maggie thought. You were right to be.
"I was, I was ill, was I not? What happened?" Her voice was hoarse and faint. Her throat hurt. She was sweaty and chilled at the same time. She must have had a fever.
"The sword that hurt you, it had poison on the blade, on the edge. That is what we think. You were the only one so affected."
"Who was - who is - where is Abna?"
"She is captain now. She will relinquish it when you are well."
That was good, and one thing Maggie did not have to worry about.
"Your priest was concerned," Marise went on. "He would not leave."
"He is not my priest," Maggie croaked, out of reflex.
"I will bring something to drink. Are you well enough to eat? And then you must rest again."
"Are you the ship physician now?" Normally Ellim acted as such, if there was a medical need.
Marise smiled and ducked her head. The gesture was almost embarrassed, but her voice was proud. "I knew what to do to help you. Ellim did not. She let me tend you."
"Thank you."
"He will let no one in." Marise stepped to the side and pointed to the priest, who was asleep in Maggie's one chair. Maggie felt herself smile. He was not so useless after all.
"Will you wake him? And then bring me some rum, and I promise I will sleep some more."
"As you will." Marise went over to the chair, gently shook the priest's shoulder, whispered something to him, and went out of the cabin. She shut the door behind her.
The priest came over and sat on the edge of Maggie's bed. He brushed her hair back from her face. His hand was warm and dry on her sweaty skin. He said nothing, just looked at her with such relief on his face it was almost painful to see. He was pale and there were dark circles around his eyes, as if he had not slept.
"I dreamed I was dying," Maggie said quietly. "My whole body was aflame and I was so afraid."
"You are alive now."
"Marise said you would not leave me."
"She was right. What if you woke and I was not here? What if you did not wake at all?"
"I was poisoned, she said."
"That was what she and Ellim decided." His hand rested on her cheek. "The pirate who wounded you is dead."
"Of course he is."
"How are you feeling?"
"Tired. Sweaty. Chilled. Grateful, I think. In pain. Thirsty. I do not know." She took his hand. "Will you - if you are careful - will you lie down next to me? I was so frightened, priest. I did not know what was happening to me, and I did not want to die. I am not ready."
In answer, he pulled off his boots and very carefully lay down next to her, on top of the blankets. He combed his hand through her hair, twining the strands around his fingers and arranging them across her shoulders. She wanted to laugh at him, but he was so serious, and her stomach hurt at the very thought. But she smiled.
"There was a woman," he said after a minute.
"What?"
"When I was still an ordained priest. There was a woman. She loved me and I was quite fond of her, and I would meet her sometimes at night, when I should have been in my own bed asleep. Sometimes we would walk together during the day, because who could doubt the intentions of a religious man and a woman of good family?"
"I thought priests were supposed to be celibate." She had known carnal priests in her day, but she had never thought that they were following any honest tenet of their religion.
"We are. But I do not believe that God always intended us to be so. I believe He made men and women to join together, to marry and have families. There are two schools of thought in the church, you know - those who believe that a priest's celibacy allows him to devote all his time and energy to God and so grow closer to Him and serve Him better, and those who believe men and women were made to be together, and that a married priest can serve God just as well."
"Were you and this woman going to marry?" Maggie tried to imagine the priest as a married man, and could not.
"My order would not allow it. But we wished to be together in some fashion. When we were discovered, I was asked to leave." His voice had grown quiet again. "And now you know what happened."
"I am sorry, priest."
"It was my fault. I believed I was right, but I could not swear to serve God with one breath and then break that vow with another."
words: 2298
total words: 33,015
