“I’m Kit.”
Inside reveals a tight space that’s overcrowded with wooden furniture that’s seen better days. To my right is a wooden staircase that looks like it's held up with hope and a prayer. The walls are all slightly crooked, and the ceiling dips down dangerously low in places. It’s dim too, with a single slim window at the front of the house the only light source. There’s also a litter of puppies gamboling around the main room while a woman with one leg done up in bandages is busily limping around the kitchen. The door snicks shut, and the woman glances over at us while Gower shifts uncertainly from foot to foot.
The clatter of metal on metal has the puppies careening to a halt as the woman stares at the two of us like she’s seen a ghost.
“Gower?” She takes a step forward before Gower strides across the room toward her.
“Where have you been?” The other woman’s voice is a screech that cuts through the room. “Did you join a cult? Find yourself a new wife? Toss your hat in with a gang of mercenaries?”
Her voice gets somehow higher and louder with every word, and Gower twists around, giving me an awkward look over her shoulder before dragging the other woman over to the opposite side of the room. There, they have a hissed conversation whileI try to meld into the walls, attempting to become one with the furniture.
It’s hard to continue acting nonchalant when I can only hear every third word and each one brings with it a fresh wave of unease.
“Trapped... collar... pirate... hiding... coins.”
I’m tempted to step outside again and head back to that stall. Maybe then I can avoid being the odd third wheel in what’s clearly a very emotional reunion. Plus, those potatoes really did smell delicious.
But before I can step outside, all three puppies burst out of their skins, shifting into the bodies of three small children with a chorus of joyful squeals. They continue crawling all over each other, narrowly avoiding the open grate and chimney. One of them topples over onto the threadbare carpet and lands on their bum, blinking blankly for a moment before their eyes fill with tears.
The wailing that follows fills the room is like an icepick straight into my delicate brain. I’m bending and scooping him up before I know what I’m doing and way before I realise how inappropriate it is. The baby stops wailing immediately, staring at me with big amber eyes that are still glistening. I shoot an apologetic look over at Gower and the other woman who limps over to me to snatch the baby from my arms.
“He’s a chunky little fella,” I comment, handing him and his little kicking legs over.
“And you’re a pirate, wanted by the authorities.”
“Ah, I am.” I rub the back of my neck. “Well, sort of. I’m not so much a pirate as I am pirate-adjacent.”
“You freed Gower,” she continues. “Even though you don’t know us.”
“I spotted the collar and had a funny feeling about it,” I reply before peering over her shoulder to Gower, who is now slowlylowering herself to the floor while the two other small children climb all over her.
“How many others are there like you?” I ask. “I’m assuming that you weren’t doing that job by choice.”
“Initially, I was,” Gower replies, hugging one of the children to her chest and taking a deep breath as though she’s inhaling their scent. “But it’s easier for them to keep us that way. We don’t need so many breaks or proper food. Don’t even need to be allowed home since they treat us just like we’re animals.”
Before I can react to that horrifying admission, the door flies open and a teenage boy appears, one whose face hasn’t quite caught up to the size of his body. He fills the doorway with broad shoulders and long limbs, but there’s something very young about his face, like it hasn’t quite shed its puppy stage yet. He pauses at the threshold to take in the scene and then promptly disappears, stomping up the rickety wooden staircase sitting to the right of the door.
“Don’t mind Amble, he’s a bit shy with new folk,” the other woman tells me. “Will you sit down? You look like you’re fit to drop.”
I do exactly as she suggests, dropping onto the small sofa while she continues to bustle around the room and Gower snuggles each of the children in turn. She then proceeds to try to wrangle them to sit still so that they can each be given a mug of milk and what looks like a bowl of porridge. I consider offering a hand, but there’s something about the hungry, pain-filled look she keeps giving them that has me biting my tongue.
Then the teenage boy clatters down the stairs again, sinking onto the sofa beside me with an ominous creak.
“This you?” he croaks.
A crumpled piece of paper is shoved under my nose, and I rear back as I’m exposed once again to the image of my own face.
“It is you, isn’t it? You’re one of Captain Finch’s men?”
Eyeing the doorway behind him, I’m mentally mapping my exit in case this goes sour.
“Uh, yes. That’s me.”
“Sign it for me?”
“I, uh, sorry?” Maybe my muddled brain has finally given way to hallucinations. But inspecting the boy’s face, I can see it growing pink as he continues to hold the poster out to me before slowly withdrawing his hand. I glance past him to Gower, who is now glowering at me with a pointed expression. Clearly, I’ve made a miscalculation here.
“Have you got a pen?” I ask.
