Truths that are Daring

*Posted by : ryjones on May 2, 2018, 2:08am*

Lady’s Grace, August 21st, morning
Abigail had the worst night sleep ever. Well, second worst. Not much compares to losing a parent and that first night was the worst. Her father had cried through the night and she’d stayed awake to listen. It was that night, as just a child, she vowed to take care of him no matter what.

She came downstairs and the morning cast no better glow on the debauchery of the place. The main area still smelled of booze and perfume, cigarettes and quid. She came across Kerry, chipper as ever. “Well look at you!” she said beaming. “Miss Emma said to feed you proper, you have a long day ahead of you and by the sounds of it a choice to make. And take it from me sweetie, this life is much better than any other. You might even get lucky and have some buck ask you to marry him. I’ve turned down eight such proposals this week alone but seeing as how they were all married already I gave ‘em a smack and sent’em running. I get paid for what I do and I’ll be no man’s mistress.”

Abigail didn’t know how to respond. She tried faking a smile, even a small laugh, but knew it came out false. Kerry didn’t seem to mind. “So… what’s it gonna be?” And she held out a violin case.

“So soon? How?” Abigail asked astounded.

“I gave the music-maker a quickie last night with special treat,” Kerry said making a certain gesture with her hands, “and he gave me the pick of the stock… after I threatened to tell his wife what we’d just done!” she said with a roaring laugh.

“You made love to a man for me? For a violin?” Abigail asked, horrified.

Kerry’s smile faded. She got a real serious look on her face. “There’s only one thing I know for certain in this whole mess of a world. Love is a myth. If it wasn’t, there’d be no need for a place, any place, like this. And feller had more a kazoo than a trombone, if you get my meaning, so I barely felt a thing. Miss Emma gave me money to go buy the thing, which is more than I make in a week, so I figured I could pocket it if I could arrange payment somehow else.

Before Abby could reply, Kerry had an outfit in her hands and was holding it up for Abigail to see. In comparison to what most girls here wore, it was modest. In comparison to what she’d worn a week ago, well, lets just say she never saw anyone wear anything like that ever before. But this had been a week like none other so she figured she could handle a bit more.

Without a word, she took the dress and violin and ran back to her room. She changed quickly, before her nerve broke and ran back downstairs before even looking in the mirror. “How do I look?” she asked Kerry, blushing.

\*\*\*

Connor fought a thousand demons in his dreams but they all had the same face. One filthy, bastards face. He woke up slowly, thinking he was still in a dream, even more so when he saw Emma sitting across from him. She still slept, and he had no plans to wake her. He had to fight back several groans as reality sunk back in and he finished undressing. He needed a wash and quick, before she woke up. That’s when he saw it, a brand-new suit. It was even nicer than his last. He slipped on the jacket quick and was pleased to see Emma had had whomever made it tailor it to his size already AND with hidden pockets. She knew him too well.

He slipped it off and his under clothes to wash proper and not dirty it more.

“I can leave if you want me to, so you can have some privacy,” came a seductive voice behind him. Forgetting himself, he turned to face her. He caught the site of the angel staring at him and her beauty shone like the Grand Theatre on debut night. Her smile turned to shock and at first, he grinned thinking it was at what she saw. It was… but not what he’d hoped. Then he remembered – the brand.

“You…were…a…slave?” Emma asked, slowly saying each word.

It was too late. Connor skewed decency and walked over to her. “And worse,” he said. “You see the brand, here,” he said pointing to his right pectoral, “the hammer and the chain. But if you look closer, my chains are not circles, but ‘M’s-meaning ‘slave for a thousand years’. I bore the privilege of a slave debt upon my birth. Then, given this, after I tried to escape,” he said pointing to the dead bird tattoo. “I was eight years old when I tried running the first time. I was thirteen the last time.” Seeing this, Emma lost count of how many dead bird tattoos he had.

“But why just keep tattooing you? Why wouldn’t they kill you and be done with it?” she asked, her curiosity overtaking the shock.

“One for each generation of my line is the law… after the thousand years given my father and then to me when he passed. Then I got this,” he said, “for winning in the Pits,” pointing to a pyramid of black skulls.

Emma’s eyes widened. “That’s a real thing?”

“And worse than you’ve heard, trust me,” Connor said with a sigh.

“But you said you were thirteen when you got away?” she asked confused.

“And twelve when I won in the Pits,” he replied coldly. “At twelve you are sent to the Pits since real men are too valuable to waste in the fight. If you lose, you either end up working like the rest anyway or become the ‘release’ for those who prefer boys over girls. If you win, you get one wish. Most wish for their freedom. Others, food. I knew I bore the brand of a lifetime and they’d deny a request for freedom. I asked for a knife. The Pit Master laughed, wondering what I thought I could do with a single knife…escape? I showed him. I threw it back at him, right into his eye and killed him. Everyone was so happy he was dead, they just left me alone, even the other guards who started stealing his stuff. That’s when I made a break for it.”

“Well I don’t know why anyone would make up such a story, seeing as it’d make them the most valuable criminal ever to get a reward on, but tell me this,” Emma asked, a strange, puzzled look on her face. “With all the girls here you bedded, how is it none of them ever saw the marks? And don’t say its cause you kept your clothes on cause Mr. Lewis, girls talk and tales I’ve been told about you… well, let’s just say I never believed any of them especially the one about your…,” she said gesturing to his loins, at which point he froze realizing he stood only a foot or two from a seated woman and naked as a newborn.

“I’ve never actually been with any of your girls, paid them extra to say we had and to make it sound amazing. Never actually been with anyone. Too afraid they’d turn me in,” Connor said plainly. He took a step back, letting her soak it all in. Then he began to dress. Emma shook her gaze a bit, almost too stunned to reply. Once he was dressed he turned around to give her a different sort of thing to look at. Her smile spoke more than words could. “Tell you what, Miss Gerritt,” he said sweetly. “If you ask the right people, I’m worth more than this place bring in over a whole year. And you can have it. I’ll even walk to the jailhouse with you so you can collect. I just want one thing in return. You. One night. I want the last, and only woman, I’ll ever be with to be the only woman I’ve ever wanted.”

He went back to the dresser and took the hat to finish his outfit. Emma was frozen solid. He crouched down beside her. “You think it over. I need to go see Eli Hanton. I made a promise I’d stop by his place today and I hate to break a promise. But I’ll be back here tonight or the next – you know how Eli can be, right here,” he said smoothly, taking her hand and guiding her to her feet, “to get your answer. Until then Miss Gerritt.” And he kissed her hand and walked out the door.

~ ~ ~ ~

Later that day… as the song on the Seraphim died down…

“I don’t care what others say!” Connor shouted, jumping to the deck right behind Eli and Lina. “There must be some sort of god out there as it heard my prayer that you all would STOP SINGING!” He was drunk, very drunk, and had been since he snuck onboard hours earlier. The pain had come back and he figured today was going to be his last so he’d emptied his private reserve of very nice whiskey and downed it before take off. Oh, he’d meant to say hello to Eli first, but thinking about Emma had hurt worse than the bullet wound did, so he’d drowned that out with whiskey. All the spirits in the world couldn’t soften the blow Lina gave him in response to startling her. It spun him around like a top and he toppled over, landing hard and grimacing at the pain in his shoulder.

“I deserved that,” he groaned. “Now help me up, will ya?”