The Tavern Girl
Disasters usually appear after midnight or sometimes just before dinner. Some say that it is dressed in silk while others whisper the horror of its clenching and unforgiving looks.
For Cecillia Dunmere, it always appeared in the way of silvers and too many drunken sailors.
Her hands worked through the cold water, washing the mugs and wiping them down with a very old cloth which was certainly used for multiple other reasons before this one.
Her midnight blue corset wrapped her ribs while her trousers were still stuffed inside her worn-out boots she found when she was sixteen. She considers herself fortunate to find a pair of footwear to work in the winters. Although it has been twenty-nine years of her life, she is somehow still attached to the land. Or so she pretends.
The tavern was run by old man who was apparently far too busy to renovate the place. Last week, a young sailor tasted ceiling water instead of his rum. And before that, a man was viciously knocked out by a brick that fell from the sky.
Each night, a new story arrives in a subtle way of curses and arm wrestles. For example, two men were cursing at each other across the room. Cecillia remembered that the lovely conversation began when the bulky man had threatened the shorter man to steal his boat and fishes.
Not so surprisingly, the fight did not end there. The first cry from the crowd and somewhere in between a bottle being smashed on another's head, Cecillia threw a knife across the room being it got stuck behind the men, inside the wooden wall.
"Take your opponent out." She spoke.
A few heads turned but her focus remained on the stain on the counter.
Silence was just other way of letting others know that they won.
Without another word, the bulky man grabbed the other by the collar and shoved him out the door of the pub. After a short while, the chatter returned and the annoying drunken sailors began to irritate again.
A typical evening in the land of Black Reef.
"You really shut them out." Said a gruffy voice.
"I dislike getting violent."
"Funny how it comes from the mouth of the woman who just threatened the entire room just with a throw of a dagger."
She finally let herself look up at the tavern owner. He was old and grey with a sense of humor. He had always admired Cecillia since the very day he took her in.
According to him, she was hiding in the dark alleys like a stray. Said that she was cold and starving but would not let him get close to her. It took her two whole weeks to actually trust him. Each night he would bring her food at the back of his pub.
And when she finally let her walls come down, he gave her a job. He said she will have to survive on her own hard work and terms.
"They would not stop if someone did not intervene."
"So, you chose a knife." The old man smiled.
"Yes, I did choose knife." She replied. "I would always choose a knife."
Their eyes met for a short while before he spoke again.
"Go home."
"But my shift isn't over yet."
"Run along, your close ones will be waiting."
She hesitated before taking the opportunity. She swiftly let go of her apron and walked away from the smells of cigars and rum. She walked down the gravel path, hoping her boots would not betray her tonight as she reaches the coast.
The moon reflected on the ocean and the sand felt warm. Lanterns were lit and the decorations were done extremely meticulously. It was the winter market. They put up decorations and sell the items which would cost a man his organs.
However, Cecillia had other plans. Her black hair cascaded down her waist as she unwrapped a scroll from her dangling pouch at her waist. Under the glow of the fire, the woman scribbled on the old forgotten map.
It was her hobby.
She would collect old and forgotten maps from the land and would correct them with precision while admiring the beauty of the sea. Most of these maps were drawn wrong. If the coast would start one meter before the land the entire ocean would disrupt.
Suddenly, a soft substance nudged her thigh. She looked down to find an orange tom.
"Kusho." She whispered as she held the cat in her embrace.
He believed he liked no one but would still climb into her lap as he decided it was the world's safest place. Cecillia petted him as she softened her eyes a bit.
"Cece?" A shrilling voice called for her.
"Marianne."
A woman, probably in her thirties, carrying a baby in her arms and several other grocery bags. She was dressed in a faded, red skirt and an old, brown corset. Her bandana seemed rather loose and hair like her nest. This was Marianne Linwood. Cecillia's only cousin who did not treat her like dirt.
"What are you doing here?!" She sounded excited. "I thought I would not see you until midnight."
"Anthony let me go early." She said, smugly.
Just then, the woman gave a twirl and nearly lost all the bags before the girl sitting in the sand saved them.
"I suppose you need some help."
"Oh, yes please." Marianne sighed. "I was hoping you'd say that. Here, hold little Mary."
"With pleasure I will." Cecillia stuffed her stuff back into the bag and kept the tom down. "It is great joy to serve a little pirate queen."
The little child giggled at her voice modulation and took hold on one of her braids.
"And there goes my hair."
"She really likes it."
Cecillia took a brief glance at little Mary before eyeing Marianne again.
"Thank the sea, she did not go on her mother's taste." She laughed.
Marianne rolled her eyes while they walked side by side through the land. The starry night gets hidden subtly behind the grey clouds as one begins to wonder the deep and oblivious thoughts of the ocean.
And somewhere far away from the land a man stands on the deck of a huge ship, returning to his kingdom. Returning to the place he called home. Returning to the place where his story began.
