A Promise

Unease

Her horror disappeared as all emotions were locked away and the soft-spoken, obedient servant came out. She went around the room, picking up the stay articles of clothing, cleaning up silently. Setting everything in their place, she headed back outside, blocking all thoughts. She climbed up to the crow's nest, knowing only one person was ever up there, Tom. Right now, she didn't want to see Butcher. Tom was the next best thing.

Once her feet touched the wooden floor of the nest, Tom smiled at her. “Nice ta see ya. Wha' brin' ya up he'e ta Tom da Cat?” Grace gave him a look, one telling him not to ask her anything of the sort. Just be there. He just closed his mouth, not saying another word as he looked out at the water. Grace wished she could be there, swimming without a care in the world. Then she wouldn't have to deal with this. Her lady, her mistress was bedding a pirate, a captain no less. And her, the servant, was still cleaning up after her.

She didn't know why, but her heart stuttered at the thought of those two together. Every time it did, Grace reminded herself that she was below them. She wasn't worth anything. You are something more rare and valuable. Tamara's words echoed in her mind as she felt the wind once more. An excuse to have watery eyes.

Wiping away several of her tears, she sighed and leaned back against the mast, wondering what to do next. Thoughts of leaving came to mind, but she didn't know where she would go. What she would do on her own.

Tom glanced at Grace every once in a while, watching her frown become more pronounced with each passing second. He found even with that frown, she was beautiful. His heart leapt and pounded just seeing her. He knew she and Alice had only been on the ship for about a week now, but still. He had feelings for her. It might be because they were deprived of women on a ship.

Looking sidelong at her companion at the moment, she found his gaze uncomfortable. It was not something she was use to that was for sure. Moving over to the side, she looked down, ignoring the blatant staring from Tom. She watched the members of the crew meandered around the ship, not having anything to do while the captain was busy, and there was nothing in sight for miles. They played cards, drank, and lounged around. Her eyes drifted over to Butcher, knowing she had failed him, not just as a servant, but also as a friend. If he even considered her a friend. She might be nothing more than a servant to him as well.

Heaving a sigh, she leaned against the railing, wishing someone could be her friend, could be her shoulder when she needed to cry. Not here. Here she needed to be tough and show next to no emotion. Swallowing her feminine wants, she hardened her outer shell and climbed down the shrouds. Tom watched her, sad she was leaving, but distracted himself by turning to the open ocean.

Summoning her courage, Grace walked up to Butcher, still manning the helm. He glanced at her, seemingly reading her expression, but said nothing. “I must apologize.” Not say a word, he waited for her to continue, knowing she would. “I have not spoken with the captain. He was otherwise occupied.” Butcher turned to her, searching for something within her eyes.

Turning her gaze away, she waited. She waited for Butcher to say something, anything. Grace stood next to him, just keeping silent. “He be with the bonny lass?” Nodding, she dared not to use her voice, fearing it might betray her feelings. He muttered something in a language she had no chance of understanding. The tones changed with each letter as well as a few clicks of the tongue. Tilting her head, she wondered if that was his native tongue. If English was his second language.

“Is that your native language?” she asked softly, trying to be as polite as possible, but also slating her curiosity. Butcher stared sidelong at her, staying silent. Grace felt as if she had offended him. Opening her mouth to apologize once more, Butcher beat her to it.

“Yes. I don't get a chance ta use it much. With us speakin' English all ta time.” Grace nodded, looking down at the deck, knowing what lies just beneath them. “Wish ta be home again. Just once. Ta see me family and wo'ship at ta altars.” His eyes glaze over as if remembering all the things he left behind.

“Altars? How many gods do you believe in?” She had heard of polytheistic people, but never met any or none that would say they were. She was curious about them and their religions.

“A fair few. All impo'tant. None be left out or fear their wrath.” Butcher seemed almost excited to talk about his religion, something that connected him with his home. Grace found herself wishing she had something like that, but she didn't. All she had was Alice and the maid's dress. Both reminding her that she was nothing more than a servant that belonged below others.

“All of them?”

“Aye. Each one rules ove' diffe'ent things. Like ea'th, sun, and love.” Grace nodded, understanding that much of it, but having more than one god baffled her. She had only known the monotheistic religions, believing in one god.

“Fascinating. All I've ever known is the religions that believe in one god.”

“Well, let's not talk any more about it. Brin' bad luck aboa'd.” Butcher glanced around, eying a few of the crew members, knowing they had heard some of the conversation. They backed away, scared. “Want ta man ta helm?” he asked, gesturing to the large wheel with spokes to grasp while turning. She shook her head, not wanting to cause them to go off course. No, she wanted to possibly cook something. It would take her mind off of things and get her out of sight of the crew and the captain, not that he had come out of his cabin yet.

“No. I think I'll head down to the kitchen.”

“Kitchen? Wha' for?” She smiled, not saying a word as she headed down, knowing where it was. Butcher shook his head, bellowing a good hard laugh as she disappeared down into the belly of the ship.

The kitchen wasn't much, just a large room with a metal stove bolted to the floor. A fire heated it, burning within its belly. The cook, fat and red cheeked, sat in a chair, muttering curses to the members above, shouting once in a while about how they ate too much. He slammed his hand down, swearing he wouldn't cook any more if they eat like the night before. Grace timidly peered around the door, wondering if the man would allow her to cook something, just something simple like soup. “Wha' ye be doin' he'e, lass?” The cook, beard trimmed and piercing grey eyes, stared at her, giving her a look up and down before scoffing. “Ya be the lass that e'eryone's a talkin' 'bout.”

“Everyone?” she asked, incredulous. She didn't find herself that interesting nor complex. She was but a servant.

“Aye. Alice is ol' news. You, you be a mystery. A puzzle to be solved.” The cook waved a spoon at her, letting a few drops of liquid splatter down onto the floor. Grace stared at the man, wondering how this man became a cook. He was buff. His arms were about the size of her! “Ya ne'er answered ta question, lass.”

Grace tilted her head slightly, trying to remember what the questions was. After a moment, she remembered, gasping. “Oh!” Quickly, she bowed her head, muttering apologies. “I just wanted to know if you would allow me to cook.”

“Ya cook? Waste mo'e of me food?!” he shouted, getting redder as time goes on. “Wha' would me be servin' tonight? If ya cook?” he asked, starting to turn even more red. “I be the cook. Rattail the Cook. I make ta decisions 'bout ta food and kitchen!” The spoon slammed against the wooden table several times as he talked, annoyed and about ready to snap it at Grace. “You! Out! Out! No one cooks in me kitchen!” Grace scrambled out, scared he might throw something at her.

Breathing heavily, she stopped only once at the stern, standing there in the corner. She didn't think it would be that hard to be allowed to cook something, but then again, she was on a pirate ship. Sitting down against the wood, Grace sighed softly, not knowing what to do. She reflected on what was happening on this ship. The unease within her grew. Now all she had to keep her mind off of the two below, was the water. “We're heading to shore, lads!” Lorenzo's voice scared her. She didn't expect to hear it, not when he was busy moments ago.

She watched his form, walking up the steps towards Butcher, who still manned the helm. Each boot against the wood rang in her ears. Grace didn't want to face him, but she was staying in his cabin with Alice. Hoping he wouldn't see her, Grace huddled against the sides, wanting nothing more than to remain hidden.

But that was never in fate's plans. Lorenzo locked eyes with her, pausing in taking his next step. The world just stopped and he knew that look. It was a look he had seen many times before. It was a look of contempt. Anger started to boil within him, but he didn't know why. Why does she have that look?

His face contorted, scrunching unattractively, in anger. Grace, not wanting to confront him, let her calm facade replace whatever emotion she had shown him. Lorenzo took a strong step forward, avoiding her and going to Butcher, hissing out a conversation with him. Butcher kept his tone flat and low as to have no one else listen in. The servant stood up, wanting to be away from Lorenzo and possibly Alice. “Tom!” Lorenzo shouted, startling her once again as she walked down to the captain's cabin. “Keep a weathered eye on the horizon!” Ignoring the captain, she strolled into the cabin, ignoring Alice. She laid on the bed, clothed only in a robe and the blankets.

“Grace,” the name was but a whisper. It seemed to just echo softly in the room, nearly freezing the woman, older than Alice by only a few years. Slowly, the servant turned to her mistress. Alice lifted her head, leaning against her elbows, watching her servant. “Where did you go?” The brunette raised a brow, waiting for Grace to explain. “I thought I heard you come in awhile back, but when I opened my eyes,” she cocked her head, looking Grace up and down, “you were gone.” She didn't know what to say. Everything that she could, would implicate herself, so she decided to stay silent. Alice sighed heavily, flopping back against the pillows.

It stayed this way for hours, even into the evening, until the ship docked do they actually say something to each other again. “We can't keep doing this.” Alice waved her long, soft hands in the air, not use to work at all. She marched out in a clean pair of pants, a shirt with a vest and a jacket. She stomped her feet when she got the leather boots on. Glaring to her servant as she passed, Alice headed out, knowing she wanted a few things in the town.

Grace trailed behind, keeping her head down. “Grace,” again her name was called, but this time from a voice she knew was male. Lifting her head, she turned, looking at the chest of Butcher. He was taller than her, much taller. “Come,” he didn't say anything more, but led her off the ship, away from Alice. She simply followed, keeping her mouth shut. She had no reason to doubt his intentions as they continued on. He glanced over her toward the rest of the crew, most running to the nearest tavern and divulging in the desires of all men. His eyes locked with the back of Alice, not even realizing her servant was gone. Smiling wickedly, Butcher took Grace on, heading to the edge of the town.

Many drunks swayed up to her, placing slimy hands on her, laughing loudly. Some even tried to get her to come with them until Butcher stepped in, glaring. They backed off, knowing he could crush them in one blow. “Where are we going?” Grace asked, not wanting to be in this town much longer with so many drunk men. Even while wearing men clothes, she still looked like a woman. Her breasts show as medium size mounds through the white shirt, and the vest did little to hide their shape. And the pants hugged her natural curves.

“A place whe'e questions are answe'ed.” It's such an ominous answer, one that she didn't really want to think on. Butcher weaved through the alleys, heading to wherever this place was. Grace followed, not asking any more questions as they slowed down along the dirt road to a small house, just out of the way. It sat a few paces from the road, silent and creepy. A lantern burned outside, showing at least they were open for business. Light streamed from the windows, showing someone was awake as well. Butcher walked to this house, small and brown with moss covering the roof and vines climbing up the walls.

“Inside,” he gestured, walking to the door. “Go inside.” She furrowed her brow, not understanding why she was suppose to go inside, but she did it, slipping beyond the wooden door. Knots greet her vision. Many twisting, turning knots hung from the ceiling. It was almost like they were wards against spirits and curses. Not that Grace believed in such things, but she feared it might be true. There might be spirits that wander this world. Especially since meeting mermaids and seeing a leviathan.

Uneasy about this whole situation, Grace looked pass the knots, seeing a woman, shrouded in shadows and a dark raggedy cloak. All she could see was her hands, pale and bony. Her nails were long and dirty, clicking against the table.

Without warning, the woman raised her head, staring at Grace. “Come in, come in.” Shivers rolled down Grace's spine. The woman's voice was almost hollow sounding and monotone. “Sit.” As if by command, Grace sat down in the chair, seemingly rooted to it. “Grace Rivera,” the woman, old and haggard, hunched over the table with many different things, said softly. Grace tried to say something, to ask how she knew her name, but nothing moved, nothing came out. “A servant to Alice Noble and the Noble house. Secrets are in your bones.”

She waved her hands over the table where a circle was, carved into the surface. There was a crescent moon and star within the large circle. “Secrets follow you all.” Fearing what the woman might say next, Grace tried to move. She tried to move just a hand, to show the woman to stop. “The spirits,” a noise came from behind her. Her muscles tremble, goosebumps rose on her arms as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Something is here.

The woman raised up, putting her hands in the air as smoke started to rise from the circle. “rise from their slumber.” Shadows danced on the far wall. Shapes shifted and twisted as the flames of the lanterns and candles started to flicker, nearly going out. “Come to me!” Something within Grace screamed, writhing around as if in pain. It didn't seem to bother her, but what was surprising was that she didn't physically feel the pain. It was almost an emotional, spiritual pain, as if her soul, her essence, was being sucked away. Being ripped from her physical self.

It happened suddenly. A swirling of smoke bloomed from the circle and into the air, nearly a flower in shape. Grace moved. Her hand was released from its motionless spot by her side. Water splashed against the circle, dowsing the wood, and steam rose instead of smoke. “No!” the woman screeched, going back to her seat, trying to salvage whatever she could. Steam billowed out, rising against her face. She howled in pain, backing away, holding her face in her hands. “This can't be! No human can stop the spirits!” Her voice cracking like the wood in a fire.

“Spirits aren't meant to be controlled.”

Grace spun on her heel, gazing at the door, but she didn't see who said that. The woman screeched as she fell to the floor, shadows gathering around her. Grace looked towards them, but glanced away, not wanting to see what will happen to the woman.“Grace, a name befitting the daughter of that woman, of Kamarina.” The name, insignificant to most, meant the world to Grace. Her mother. Kamarina Rivera. Commonly known as Eve.