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I shriek and roll away. Even though I realize now that he’s on the other side of my cell, my heart still races.
“No need for that,” the pirate says. “Just needed a lock of your hair is all.”
My hand flies to my head. Indeed several strands have been cut. “What are you doing? I’ll kill you for that.”
“It’s best to leave the lass alone, Enwen,” another man says. It’s Kearan. “Has a thing about people touching her.”
“It needed to be done,” Enwen says. “I tell you, red hair’s good luck. Keeps you from getting diseased an’ all.”
I recognize now that Enwen is the tall man who helped carry my things down yesterday.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard,” Kearan says. “I hope you get sick tomorrow. You need to set your head right.”
“You just wait. Next time a plague hits, I’ll be strokin’ this hair while you all will be coughin’ and dyin' and such.”
“I need a drink.”
“Nah, Kearan. It’s too early for that.”
“If I’m to survive the day, I’ll need to start early.” He pulls out his flask from one of his pockets.
“What is this?” I ask as I stand and stretch out my neck. I can feel a couple of cricks in it. And I smell worse than I did yesterday. Blasted floor.
“We’re your guards, Miss Alosa,” Enwen says. “First mate says it’s wise to have someone watching over you at all times.”
I eye Kearan. “And I take it that neither of you volunteered.”
“That’s the truth of it,” Kearan says.
“Oh, I was happy to do it,” Enwen says. “Ever since I saw you yesterday, I’ve been wantin’ to get my hands on that hair of yours. Very rare, it is.”
“I can assure you, it has no magical properties,” I say, angrily fiddling with the patch of hair that is now shorter than the others.
“Not magical,” Enwen says. “Just good luck.”
“I get sick as often as any other person.”
“What?”
“You said red hair wards off disease. I’ve got a whole head of it, yet I get sick.”
“Oh.” Enwen looks troubled for a moment. He hunches over my lock of hair, staring at it. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t work on you because it’s your own hair. It’s got to be taken from someone else for the luck to work.”
“So if I steal it back from you, will it work for me?” I say sarcastically.
Kearan laughs, choking on the rum in his mouth. A few drops fall to the floor as he coughs. He sighs. “Bloody waste, that.”
I sit on my chair, all too aware of the grime and slime that coat everything in the cell, including me. I need to change, and I need some water to clean myself off. I’m about to ask for the latter, when I hear someone coming over.
It’s Riden, of course. He carries with him a tray of food and a dangerous smile. At the sight, I feel my stomach growl. I’m fairly certain that’s a response to the food and not the smile.
“Enwen, Kearan, you’re relieved while I question the prisoner. But you will return to this post once I’m done.”
“Aye, Master Riden,” Enwen says. Kearan nods, looking bored. The two leave.
“Hungry?” Riden asks.
“Starving.”
