Chapter Nine: An Angel in Britva

Ryan had been lying in bed for three weeks, and he was ready to lose his mind. He had thrown a ball at the wall for a bit during the first week, but it had bounced out the window, much to his frustration. He had read what little there was to read at least twice now, and counted all of the cracks in the ceiling and walls. Ryan had done so much sleeping in the past three weeks he was sure he would never need to again, nor want to, silently put off by the fact that his injuries had ruined one of his favorite past times. Enough was enough, he could not take it anymore. Ryan swung his legs out of the bed and pushed himself up, using the bed frame for support.

“See, that’s not so bad.” He winced; his ribs still not fully healed. Ryan quickly threw on some simple clothes, a loose white shirt and dirt brown pants. He hobbled out of the room, walking laboriously down the stairs, using the railing to steady his feet as he tried to remember how to walk on steps. When he got to the bottom of the stairs Ryan steadied himself against the wall, observing the packed and bustling bar while he waited for the pain in his ribs to subside. Mary saw him and immediately dropped everything and ran up to him, much to the disgruntled bewilderment of the drunkards she was in the middle of serving.

“Oy, what in bloody hell?” They sputtered, throwing their hands up. “We’re thirsty, wench!” Mary paid them no mind, too busy being a mother.

“Ryan! What on Divisia are you doing?” She put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, gingerly touching his side with her fingers, frowning at the few bruises that still persisted on his skin. “You’re still not well enough to be up and about, you should be in bed.” Ryan shook off her hand, not looking for pity in front of gawking onlookers.

“I’m fine, I’m good enough to be about.” He shrugged, ignoring pangs in his body telling him otherwise. “I needed to get up anyway, I can only lie down for so long before going crazy.” Ryan smiled wryly. “Besides, Jim is probably lost without me, I think I’ll go for a walk and see if I can find him.” Mary looked as though she might protest, but a look of defeat washed over her when she realized it would be in vain, Ryan was a good lad, but he was headstrong.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful.” Ryan felt a sudden wave of guilt, but pushed it back down just as fast, men did not have time to feel. He thought he should say something, something to reassure her, but his mind found nothing. The bar was growing impatient, saving him from the situation.

“Mary, shut yer yap and get these salt dogs their booze.” Ms. Gretchen loomed over the railing of the second floor, glaring down at them, the hefty woman hacking phlegm and pipe smoke in between sentences. “ I don’t pay ya to chat with yer welp.” She took a long draw from her pipe, coughing up smoke. “Ifn you don’t want me to be kickin the lot o ya out, get back to work!” Mary nodded vigorously, turning towards Gretchen.

“Yes ma’am! Right away!” She gave Ryan a final, fleeting glance, her face forlorn, then put on a smile and went back to the tables. Ryan stood there, watching the bustling bar, his mind still thinking about Mary. He shook his head and left, there was nothing more to say.

…

Ryan walked down the busy the streets, the morning sun shining brightly on what would be a perfect day. He smiled, taking in the smell of booze, of blood and salt, the island was his home, and he had missed being a part of it, the Nameless damn his prolonged confinement. The boy winced, reaching up to rub his chest, it did not feel like the ribs had healed right, but it was manageable, and Ryan loved being on the streets again. He walked through the crowd as a man who owned this city, feeling invincible, despite injuries trying to convince him differently.

He made his way past the main streets, past the fish merchants with their latest catches, past the fruit vendors with their papayas and mangos, past the jewelers trying to sell him a new necklace of gold and silver. He came to the bars and the brothels, well, there were bars and brothels everywhere, even the Sozzled Parrot was a house of pleasure, but he came to the part of town that was deeply saturated with them, booze swilling sailors puking in the streets, passed out under street signs and in alleys before noon. Rats scurried, thieving buggers taking their fill of discarded bread or cheese and fleeing the shambling steps of the laughing drunkards.

Ryan came to the side of a particularly run down brothel, more of a shack than anything else, cries of pleasure and release emanating loudly from its thin, ruined walls. At first glance, the alley was empty, with exception to the slinking rats, and the boozer taking a piss at the far end. However, Ryan could see a pair of legs sticking out from under a ratty blanket that was bundled up against the wall, gently rising up and down with each passing breath of the sleeping individual. Ryan shook his head, chuckling. Jim had a habit of sleeping in the alleys, despite numerous offers to let him sleep at the gang’s hideout. Ryan guessed that when you have lived on the streets long enough, they become comfortable, and everything else becomes foreign.

“Come on, Jim, you’ve slept it off by now, day’s almost half gone.” There was no movement, only the rhythmic rising and falling of the blanket. Ryan went to lift the blanket, but as soon as he touched it the boy lurched awake, throwing off his covering, brandishing a sticking knife with suddenly alert eyes. He saw Ryan and relaxed, startled anxiety transforming into joy as his face lifted in a wide grin.

“Oy, ain’t you a sight, Mary letting you walk bout already?” He laughed, getting up on his feet. He stowed the knife in his pocket, and Ryan would not have even known he had one if he had not already seen it. Ryan shrugged, ignoring pains in his shoulders.

“Well, she wasn’t too pleased, but I can’t stay in that room any longer.” Ryan threw his arms out to the side. “Honestly, I’d go mental if I had to rest anymore, this whole venture has ruined sleep for me.” Jim just laughed, slapping Ryan on the back, much to Ryan’s discomfort.

“Then let’s go out and do some work.” The boy grinned ever wider. “A good hustle will get ya right again.” Ryan nodded, trying not to let on just how broken he still was.

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” The two boys walked off, leaving the drunken louts, the thieving rats, and all the painted, howling whores.

…

Angeline sat in the quiet serenity of the gardens of Blackstone Keep, behind gated walls of smooth stone covered in vines and flowers. The place had been a gift to her from her father, the notorious Nathaniel Brimsley, High Captain of the islands of Mirratroy. She loved to sit in the warmth of the sun, listening to the gulls and tropical birds, smelling the flowers that her father had painstakingly had imported from lands far and wide. Despite all this, she never looked upon the beauties of the garden, never witnessed the colors of the rainbowed blossoms, for Angeline was blind.

The sun rose and fell, the tides came and went, the flowers bloomed, died, and bloomed again, but the girl with fair skin and golden hair saw none of it, alone in a world of darkness. It sounded dismal, and many people took pity on the girl without sight, but Angeline had never minded. She had always been a happy child, and even now, as she grew into a young woman, she wore a smile, inside and out, refusing to consider herself lesser. She breathed deep, inhaling the intoxicating perfume produced by the flowers of a dozen nations.

Her father may have been a feared man, known far and wide for his brutality, his lack of moral stigma, but he loved his daughter, doting upon the girl every chance he had. She was his sunrise, his little Macaw, the one thing in this world still holding him down to his humanity, and not even the Nameless could help those who offended her. Angeline loved her father, but she felt confined by him, restricted by his protective nature. She sighed, suddenly feeling quite lonely in the empty garden, wishing that more than birds would visit her.

…

The day was carrying on into the evening, and Ryan and Jim counted their Sirens and packed up their cups. It had been a good haul, all things considering, and Ryan grinned to himself, for he was as sharp as ever, Blade bastards could not knock the skill out of him. Jim tossed his coin purse in the air distractedly, letting Ryan do most of the work.

“Made a good deal o money today.” He caught the purse, smirking. “Maybe you should get knocked round more oftn.” Ryan laughed mockingly, stowing their supplies in an empty barrel.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny.” He threw a blanket in the barrel, concealing the contents. It was not that hard to replace a few cups and a wooden board, but it was definitely cheaper, and less annoying, to just not lose them in the first place. Normally, he would have taken them with him, but he felt like shit, and the barrel was just as good a place as any. “Ok, looks good, let’s get go-”

“Well, well, well, lookee what we found, Clyde.” Ryan’s heart sank, he would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Blades…” his voice barely a whisper. He turned around to see the tall man and the dark skinned man with hair longer than Ryan’s arms. The man grinned, amused.

“Aye, so you remember us, don’t ya pup?” Ryan nodded subconsciously, his mind numb with visions of fists, boots, blood, and pain. “We weren’t too keen on you lot killin Finn, were we Clyde?” The big man shook his head. “No we wasn’t, Dunshaw, I’m thinkin we needs to be evenin that score.” The pair of them laughed, pulling out black daggers. Jim looked up as though he had just noticed the intruding biters, catching his coin purse and stowing it in his pocket as he looked at them with disinterest.

“Oy, Ryan, who’s the guy with the mop on his head?” He smirked, not paying any mind to the knives. “Sorry, fellas, but we’re closed up for the day, come back tomorrow if you wanna place bets.” He spoke calmly, yet stepped around, casually closing the distance between him and Ryan. The long haired man, Dunshaw, did not like being taken lightly.

“Hey, who the fuck is this!?” He pointed at Jim with his dagger. “This little cunt’s even smaller than the other one!” The thugs laughed loudly, keeping their daggers trained on the boys. Jim grinned mischievously, giving Ryan a look that told him the boy was going to do something stupid. He shrugged.

“The way I sees it, there was three of ya last time, and ya couldn’t even kill one boy.” Jim held up his fingers, counting in his head. “Yeah, yer doomed with the two of us, too much for you Blade blunders to handle.” Dunshaw stopped laughing, when Clyde continued, he hit the man in the stomach, silencing him.

“Oy! What you say you little shit!? You’re less of a man than the swimmers in me balls!” He spat on the ground in front of Jim and gestured at Clyde. “You get the tall one, I wanna cut the tongue outa this pup.” The men began walking towards them, Ryan and Jim backing up down the alley, Jim keeping in front, knowing full well that Ryan was in no shape to fight. The boy kept his hands out to the sides, as if trying to calm an animal.

“Well, come on then, you Blades gonna do somethin or are ya just talk?” Dunshaw growled, coming up and grabbing Jim by the collar with surprising speed.

“YOU GOT A DEATH WISH WELP!?” Jim just smiled.

“No, but you do.” The knife appeared in Jim’s hand as if by magic, and he sunk it into the man’s arm just as quick, pulling it free and stabbing again, this time in the stomach. It was not a large blade, but it was big enough to do some damage, blood seeping through Dunshaw’s shirt. The man howled, releasing Jim as he reeled back in pain, his dagger clattering to the ground. Jim stowed the bloody knife back in his pants and sprinted down the alley, dragging Ryan along with him. “Run, less you wanna get cut!” Dunshaw cursed, snatching his weapon off the ground.

“Don’t just stand there you bleedin idiot, after them!!” The two chased after the boys, Dunshaw swearing worse than any sailor. When Ryan and Jim got to the end of the alley, Jim shoved Ryan to the right, taking off left, before even a second had passed Jim was lost in the crowd. But now Ryan was alone. He took off down the street, the sounds of Clyde and Dunshaw following close behind as they shoved their way through vendors, sailors, and drunkards. The pain in his ribs was intense, his body furious at him for putting it through this much strain, Ryan knew he would not be able to keep this up long.

They ran until they came upon the beach, the ruffians not giving the boy a moment’s rest, determined to spill blood. Ryan turned and sprinted down the length of the coastline, nothing but determination keeping him going. He saw a large structure coming up, a high wall encircling it. To make matters even better, there were some barrels sitting against it, giving Ryan an idea that would either save him, or get him killed. He hoped for the first. With strength he did not realize he still had, he jumped on top of the barrels and lunged up, barely getting a hold of the top of the wall. But he could not slow down, the Blades were closing in. Ryan hauled himself up and over, letting himself fall onto the ground, in too much of a hurry to give himself a gentle landing. He laughed, a little hysterical at the close call, but so happy to be alive. A gentle, almost angelic voice brought him back to reality.

“Oh, hello.” Ryan looked up at the girl with golden hair, surrounded by flowers of a thousand shades and colors, appearing as an angel haloed in the light of the setting sun. She smiled tentatively, her eyes not quite meeting him. “It’s nice to meet you, whoever you are, my name is Angeline.”

Ryan did not know what to say, he was not even sure if he could, his chest still heaving from running the length of the island. He had climbed the wall of place he was pretty sure he was not supposed to be, but this girl seemed friendly enough, and she was quite beautiful. Angeline frowned, cocking her head to the side.

“Hello? Are you there?” She turned her head, confused. “I’m sorry, I cannot see you, but I was sure I heard you come in.” She turned her head again, then stopped. “I know you’re there, I can hear you breathing, say something… Or I’ll fetch my father.” Ryan looked at Angeline, then at the looming structure casting a daunting shadow over him, recognizing it for the first time as Blackstone Keep, which meant, this girl, this girl was…

“You’re Brimsley’s daughter.” He instinctively scooted back on the ground, as if more distance would save him. Angeline sighed, put off by the statement.

“My name is Angeline.” She smiled warmly, reaching out a hand. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, I’m not my father.” She attempted a laugh, but it came out awkward. Her cheeks blushed, and she clasped her hands together on her lap. “I don’t know you, but you seem nice, I don’t know what it is, I think it’s your smell.” She shrugged, biting her lip. “ Maybe you could stay? And we could talk?” This was getting a little too weird for Ryan, and it was not lost on him that every second in this place was another second risking getting skinned by the most ruthless pirate on the islands.

“I’m sorry, I can’t stay. I really can’t.” Ryan grabbed hold of the vines, and hastily climbed back up the wall. He peered down, and over the edge, relieved to see that the Blades had left, probably smart enough to know what this place was before climbing the wall. Angeline reached out her hands, her face disappointed.

“Wait, don’t go. At least tell me your name.” Ryan did not know why, but he felt compelled to tell her, that he owed her that much, this girl he had known for 5 minutes.

“My name is Ryan.” He took one last look at the golden haired angel, and pulled himself up and over the wall, dropping down on the other side. Angeline sat back in her chair, rubbing her hands together on her lap, her face sullen. Then she realized that she had had a visitor, however brief. She smiled, giddy, forgetting her disappointment.

“Ryan. Ry-an. Such a funny name, isn’t it? A name meant for a prince.”

…

Ryan walked cautiously back into town, watching the alleys, looking cautiously over his shoulder. Blades could be anywhere, and even though he was on streets owned by the Crimson Terrors, Dunshaw and Clyde had proven themselves daring twice already. The whole of the Black Blades were growing bolder by the day, and Ryan was sure it would lead to

bloodshed, hell, the way things were going, an all out gang war seemed more than likely. And what about Jim? The boy had goaded those Blades to violence then left him to fend for himself. He shook his head, Jim was becoming more of a pirate than himself lately, so different from the lost little kid Ryan had found on the streets, barefoot, half starved, forgotten by his father, thrown out by his mother…

“Hey, I was wonderin when you was gonna show up.” Ryan looked around at the darkening streets, seeing no one, the whole area lifeless, all the sailors, pirates, and cutthroats off at the bars, boozing, gambling, whoring. “Up here.” Ryan looked up and saw Jim sitting on the roof of a squat, single story building with a flat top, the smiling boy swinging his legs off the side whimsically. He dropped down on the ground next to Ryan, dusting off his knees before standing straight. Jim gave him a playful shove, the boy exuding an aura of casual immaturity. Ryan wanted to be mad, but Jim was Jim, and he would not ask him to be anyone else. He punched him on the shoulder firmly.

“That’s for leaving me with the Blades.” Jim recoiled from the punch, exaggerating the movement. He looked at Ryan in mock bewilderment.

“What? Me? I wasn’t runnin. I was lookin for a…” He snapped his fingers, trying to think of the word. “Tactical advantage.” Ryan just looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Tactical advantage? That’s what we’re going with?” He looked up at the building Jim had jumped down from. “Is that why you were hiding up there?” Jim smirked.

“Oy! They didn’t find me, did they? And you don’t look worse fo wear yoself. Able to ditch em, eh?” Ryan suddenly remembered the encounter with the golden haired girl with distant eyes, the angel in a garden of many colors, protected by walls of black stone. Angeline, he very much wanted to meet her again, although he was sure once was dangerous enough, what with her father and all. Jim had a mouth on him though, so it was best if he did not know, or else he would have much bigger problems than Blades. Jim looked at him expectantly, Ryan realized he had been standing there looking like a kid who had been kicked in the head by a mule. He smiled, giving Jim a light shove.

“Me? Come on, you really think those blunders could catch me?” He shrugged. “I had those idiots lost before I even got to the docks.” Jim laughed, and Ryan managed a chuckle, but his mind was still stuck on the girl, meeting her, however briefly, had stirred something inside him, and he could not shake it. Jim threw his arm around him, smiling broadly.

“Come on then, let’s get a drink.” He gestured out into the open air as if trying to show Ryan something. “The night is young, and we need be celebratin our victory over the fearsome Black Blades.” The two started walking down the street towards the bars and pleasure houses, Jim more or less pulling Ryan along with him, not letting go of his neck. Not that Ryan was resisting much.

“Victory you say? We ran away.” Jim held a finger to his lips.

“Shhhh, that’s not what we be tellin the girls.” Ryan rolled his eyes.

“And what story are we telling this time.” Jim grinned toothily.

“That we stood bravely in the face o half o dozen of the biggest Blades you ever saw. Oh, and that I stabbed one.” Ryan scoffed.

“You DID stab one, twice, if I remember right.” Jim slapped Ryan on the chest.

“See, yer already in on the story, tell it just like that when we get to the Mermaid’s Kiss.”

“The Mermaid’s Kiss? That’s our spot tonight?”

“Aye, the Kiss, best girls in the city, rum’s not bad either.” The two laughed heartily, carefree and joyful, neither one prepared for the troubled waters lurking on the horizon.