Chapter Text
“Fabian?” Fig called over the deck to her botswain, although there was no danger of their quarry hearing her she instinctively lowered her voice in the pitch black of the early morning.
“Yes, Cap?”
Fig could barely make out his silhouette as he shifted over to her, standing on the prow, peering out at the lone lamp hanging in the dark, growing closer every moment.
“How’re we doing?”
“Right on course, sir! They’re anchored right where we thought they’d be, the wind’s good and we should be on top of them right as dawn… dawns,”
“Good, let Riz know to ready the bow chaser’s.”
“Yes sir,”
“And Fabian?”
“Yeah?”
“Take out the Mizzen and Fore masts only , we can’t afford a firefight, can’t risk the booty,”
“Course sir,”
This attack had been planned for months, practiced over and over. This score would be worth more than a decade’s worth of plundering trade ships and there wasn’t going to be a single slip up.
Still, attacking a ship at the break of dawn without a moon to help was madness.
Attacking a ship while running dangerously low on powder and shot was stupid.
Attacking a royal ship of the Fallinel navy was insanity.
Attacking a royal ship of the Fallinel navy at the break of dawn, without a moon and with limited ammunition was…
Well it was enough to make Fig shiver in her large overcoat. But she pretended to herself that it was caused by the chill off the water.
Apprehensively, Fig gripped the handle of her cutlass. It felt a bit inadequate when comparing it to a musket or pistol, but if they were going to pull this off they needed to be quick, working with surprise to disable the enemy vessel, grab the loot and scram.
If they got into a firefight they were dead, which meant if she had to reload her gun they’d be doomed. That was if they had enough powder which they didn’t.
Hell, The Hellspawn only had enough powder to fire its twenty-six eighteen pounder guns a half dozen times at most.
If it got to a cannon exchange they’d quickly be down to using the two light carronades.
And Imperial Ships could be armoured with anywhere from thirty to a hundred guns, all at least twenty-four pounders, the largest being equipped with the terrifying cannon which could hurl a fourty-two pound sphere of iron flying.
Judging by the observation of the enemy ship, Fig guessed it would be a midrange vessel. Even then with one broadside it would tear the converted tea-cutter to matchwood.
Fig rested her hand on the railing, remembering the first time she’d clambered on board the merchant boat, back when it was called ‘The Heavensent’.
Well, if this went badly at least it would be a fitting end to her legend.
It was a while later that Fig’s first mate, Gorgug, tapped her on the shoulder.
“Fabian says it’s time sir,”
“Right,” Fig shrugged off her long coat and hooked it on the foremast as she passed, rolling up her loose fitting sleeves, revealing muscular, tanned and scarred forearms, she adjusted her waistcoat as best she could; while once it had been a brilliant scarlett it had long since faded and felt lacking for an assault on an Imperial Warship.
Heading for the portside railing where a small group of her crew were clambering aboard the small boat hanging over the edge, Fig tried to ignore the growing terror in her stomach, she had to seem completely in control.
As she and Gorgug stepped onto the swaying rowboat, Gorgug slung the massive volley gun he carried over his shoulder, taking his place at one of the oars.
All the other oars were crewed by two, Gorgug’s massive frame made it clear why he didn’t need help.
The crew still on the ship’s deck all saluted as they lowered ropes which began the slow process of dropping the small boat into the choppy waves below.
Fig sat in the prow, keeping her eyes fixed on the lamp on the ship ahead as they pulled away from their own vessel which itself turned away to take up its own position. She feared looking back, looking into the faces of people she was probably leading to their deaths.
Instead, she hissed out directions to the coxswain who steered their tiny, fragile boat directly towards the stern of the Fallinel ship.
As they drew closer, the faintest orange light began rising behind them. If the watchman happened to look over the back of the poop deck they’d be seen.
Even if they were attacking a ship with a tiny crew that would still mean that they were dead, there was little they’d be able to do if they came under musket fire from above, worse still, if a stern chaser was turned on them they’d all be gone before they heard the explosion.
Thankfully they weren’t spotted and they pulled up at the stern of the ship, driving hooks into the wood as firmly as they dared to secure the boat before the first group began to clamber up.
Fig, of course, was the first one to start climbing, grabbing a bundle of rope and slinging it over her shoulder, her years of experience allowing her to find easy holds in the wood to slip upwards.
For a moment Fig hesitated, she kept moving but her mind was elsewhere; something wasn’t right.
This ship was wider than a Warship, certainly wider than the fourth rate, thirty gun one they’d anticipated, further; there were no Stern chasers.
Ignoring that, Fig pressed on, even if her mind did notice that the ‘T. I. M. S.’ was painted in fresher white than the rest of the name ‘Naiad’.
But even if that meant anything there was no stopping the plan now.
Reaching the top, Fig peered through the railing and caught sight of the watchman, leaning over the rails of the Poop deck overlooking the main deck, smoking a small clay pipe lazily.
Fig gingerly lept over the rail and moved towards the man, drawing her long knife as she did.
The man stiffened in terror as he felt cold steel pressed against his neck, dropping his pipe which Fig casually caught in her left hand and, after wiping it clean on her sleeve, bit it between her teeth.
“Make a sound,” She growled, “and I’ll slit your throat without a thought,” The man raised his hands in surrender.
“Take care of him, Torek, quietly,” she ordered one of the other two people who’d climbed up without rope.
The broad shouldered, bearded girl saluted and grabbed the man, having no issue maneuvering him despite the fact that he was easily twice the size of her. She tied his hands and feet, then shoved a wad of leather in his teeth as a gag.
The other crew member on deck had already blown out the lamp, the signal for Fabian on The Hellspawn that they were aboard.
Once the watch was taken care of, the poor man looking terrified as Torek loomed over him, brandishing a cruel cudgel, Fig took the rope off her shoulder, tying it expertly and letting it unroll down to the boat.
Soon the rest of the squad was up on the deck, taking their positions around the hatches to the lower decks.
Gorgug sidled up beside Fig, his massive volley gun aimed at the door of the cabin which would customarily be the Captain’s quarters but Fig had reason to believe was being occupied by someone else.
“This doesn’t seem right, Cap,”
“I know,”
“Trap?”
“Don’t think so. We’ll see, I guess.”
The dawn was upon them proper now and Fig could make out the familiar, reassuring sight of The Hellspawn against the dark, its prow aimed perpendicular to ‘The Naiad’.
“Ready?” Fig asked Gorgug who nodded.
Fig stood on the railing and raised her sword, catching the sunlight and reflecting it to her own ship, once, twice, thrice.
A moment which extended for what felt like hours followed before the morning was lit up by twin explosions from the prow of The Hellspawn, the crash echoing across the water, accompanied a second later by a sickening crunch as chain shot crashed into the Mizzen and Fore masts of The Naiad, tearing the large trunks of wood to spelks.
Fig breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the Gods for having Riz.
Immediately Fig darted to the bell on the mainmast and began ringing it madly.
“Enemy sighted! Enemy sighted! We’re under attack!” A second later the rest of her crew on the Naiad took up her shouts, before throwing the prepared smoke bombs down into the dark, a cacophony bellowing out as the ringing continued and The Hellspawn’s cannon fired empty.
Soon enough the roused Fallinel Crew began appearing on deck, only to be met with the muzzles of guns and the tips of swords.
Most immediately threw down weapons and were herded to the centre of the deck, a few took swipes at the enemy but were restrained easily, one broad shouldered, redhaired chaplain tackled one of Fig’s crew, then bloodied the nose of another before being restrained, her hands tied together and shoved into the rest of the crew.
Fig wasn’t opposed to killing necessarily: but knew that taking a ship without firing a single shot, leaving the entire crew alive as their cargo was plundered right in front of them would make a good story.
Besides, the ship needed to be able to get back to Fallinel.
It wasn’t long before the entire crew was disarmed and being held at gunpoint, the sun was only just beginning to rise.
But the crew was small, too small; maybe thirty souls all told?
There had to be more, surely, but no one could survive the thick cloud of smoke billowing from below.
Fig didn’t let her doubt register on her face, her crew was letting out cheers at their success and she couldn’t deprive them of their victory.
“Friends!” She yelled from the Poop deck, standing on the wheel column, “The ship is ours!”
She gave the order to cut the Fallinel insignia down from the stern, signaling the Hellspawn to pull alongside.
As it began to move in, Fig signaled Gorgug as she moved to the door of the cabin.
Gorgug nodded and placed his volley gun down, drawing a pistol and cutlass.
With silent communication, the giant foot of Gorgug smashed the wooden door to pieces, both of them keeping away from the doorway as two shots sounded out.
A second later they both charged through the cloud of gunsmoke, Gorgug shooting one of the two armoured guards in the chest, the lead piercing steel of his breastplate with a sickening scraping sound, while Fig whipped her cutlass expertly to slice open the second’s throat.
They both kept the weapons raised as they moved further into the small cabin, looking around unbelievingly; bracing themselves for an onrush of armoured Fallinel soldiers in their purple regalia.
“Where’s the rest of the guards?” Gorgug asked, while Fig looked under the bed.
“Where’s the Princess?” She cursed under her breath before darting to the open window, looking down to her boat she saw nothing, she turned up and caught a flash of blue disappearing over the railing onto the poop deck.
“C’mon!”
She yelled, stepping over the two corpses without concern, passing through the wrecked doorway and whipping around to see the prize they’d pulled off the impossible for.
Princess Adaine, second daughter of the Fallinel Imperial Family, Duchess of somewhere or other, Countess of yada-yada, Betrothed of What’s-his-name Prince of Solace.
Fig smirked up at the slender girl, almost laughing at the sword she had clutched in her fist, knuckles white.
“Your highness,” she mocked, bowing, “My deepest regrets, however the ship is now under control of yours truly, and I must relieve you of that sword, as you are now a prisoner of The Hellspawn under rule of the code of high sea conflict,”
So she’d planned what she’d say, who cares? It’s not every day you capture a genuine princess.
The Princess licked her lips, nervously, eyeing the captured crew surrounded by guards, the enemy on the deck, bristling with weapons, the destroyed masts, and the sleek pirate ship pulling alongside.
“As a royal,” she called down after a moment, “I am technically the highest ranking officer on board,”
“I suppose so,” Fig snorted, “You want to do the whole official surrender ceremony?”
“Under the code of High Sea Conflict the Captain of a captured vessel shall be given the right to retain their weapon.”
Fig cursed internally, she knew she shouldn’t have included the bit about naval warfare conventions, it had just sounded very professional, she raised an eyebrow, looking over to Gorgug in amusement, who shrugged.
“Well, your highness, us pirates are not the biggest followers of rules,”
“So you forego the rights of full surrender?”
“I’m afraid so, now, your sword?”
“Of course,” Adaine bowed her head, then leapt bodily over the railing with a surprising agility, her light blue dress flying out behind her, as she lunged at Fig, her sword viciously unforgiving as she hit the wood of the lower deck.
Fig, acting on impulse, was able to deflect the attack but another one was coming.
Adaine was unbalanced after her leap and her second swing was off target, Fig moved forwards, kicking the Princess’ foot out from under her, ramming the guard of her cutlass against her hand, making her drop her sword in pain.
Fig made to grab hold of Adaine but was caught off guard by a hard blow to the ribs which winded her and forced her to back off. Using the opening well, Adaine dove towards where her sword had dropped.
Gorgug moved forwards but Fig waved him off, she could use some fun.
“You’re a good fighter,” she panted, smirking through the pain as she gripped her ribs, “for a princess,”
“I wish I could return the compliment,” Adaine had retrieved her sword but, despite no clear indications, seemed to be just as winded as Fig, content to circle her opponent, eyes searching for an opening but with some level of fear hiding behind them.
“So you do have a sense of humor then? I do hate having to kill witty people,” Ignoring the pain, Fig lunged forwards and was rewarded by her enemy backing off without much grace before blocking her follow up flurry, then riposting off the back foot to push Fig back.
“Suicide is still on the table then?” Adaine shoved forwards, trying to unbalance the pirate, but with Fig able to regain her footing her superior strength allowed her to block the attack, unable to riposte with how close they were, Fig shoulder barged the lithe girl, sending her flailing.
She could have pulled the knife from her pocket and stabbed her… but it’d be a shame to ruin such a pretty dress.
Fig gave chase but was backed off by a wild swing that she was only just able to deflect.
“Put it this way princess, I’ve got a better chance of taking me out than you do,”
“If you’d fight fairly-”
“Then I’d be dead,” grinned Fig, catching a sloppy thrust with a flying parry, riposting but unable to find an opening.
“Good thing I'm not a fair fighter huh?”
Adaine didn’t bother returning the jab, instead ducking into a picture perfect lunge which Fig evaded, kicking her bent knee and making her slam down hard on the deck.
Instead of trying to stand immediately, Adaine tucked her head down and rolled forwards, ducking under a sword swipe and straightening up, spinning just in time to catch Fig’s next attack.
Although she survived, Adaine was running out of space. And although the superior technical fighter, Fig’s years of manual labour were proving to be the deciding factor in this clash, as the pirate was weakening far slower than the royal.
With short, vicious movements, Fig backed Adaine up, forcing her to exert as much effort as possible just to survive, before locking their blades together and shoving the princess back.
Adaine let out a pained grunt as she collided heavily with the mainmast, the wind knocked from her lungs and sword knocked from her hand.
Fig followed up, intending to bring the tip of her cutlass to the booty’s throat, however, with remarkable swiftness, Adaine had produced a slender knife from somewhere and surged forwards, lashing out without proper aim.
By some stroke of luck, Adaine left a deep gash on Fig’s hand which made her yell out in pain, dropping the sword.
However, before Adaine could capitalize on her hit, Fig’s off hand grabbed her wrist, twisting it angrily as she shoved forwards, pressing Adaine back against the mast, drawing her own, cruder, dagger and pressing it threateningly to the royal’s throat while she used her own body to pin her opponent’s to the mast.
With another jerk of her left arm, Adaine dropped her dagger and Fig could tell she was biting her lip to stop herself screaming in pain.
If it weren’t for the wound on her hand, Fig might’ve been impressed.
“Lucky shot,” She hissed angrily.
“Give me my knife back and I’ll prove it wasn’t,” Adaine’s response was spat through gritted teeth.
“Just ‘cause I need you alive for the ransom doesn’t mean I can’t carve up that pretty face,”
“You think I’m pretty?”
Fig adjusted her right hand, pushing the tip of her knife into Adaine’s jaw, making her tilt her head upwards.
“Might as well do it now… get it out of the way…” panted Adaine, “I’m afraid that if you’re looking for a ransom you’ve got the wrong person,”
“You’re going to tell me that you’re not the princess of Fallinel?”
“No, I am a princess of Fallinel, just not the one my parents would pay to get back.”
“Bullshit,”
“Didn’t you wonder why they didn’t send me on a warship or have proper security?”
“... You had two bodyguards,”
“Guards.”
“Is there a difference?”
“They weren’t here to keep me safe, they were here to keep me from running off,”
“You’re lying!”
“Count the cannon. There’s what? A dozen?”
“...”
“Did you take a single casualty?”
“...”
“I’m afraid, ‘Captain’, that the only thing you’ll get from my parents is a rather condescending letter thanking you for taking care of their problem.”
“They’ll pay.”
“Hmm, maybe a bag of copper for my dress and jewels?”
“Then why shouldn’t I just slit your throat now?”
“You should,”
“You want to die?”
“I’m going to whatever happens, either now or when you get no ransom, might as well get it over with so I don't have to deal with your foetid company any longer,”
After a moment of hesitation, in which Fig was equal parts tempted to end this problem now, impressed at Adaine’s stoicness, and fighting the urge to cry, Fig groaned in frustration before pulling her dagger away from her captives throat.
Adaine seemed shocked, like she had been fully expecting to die right there, and didn’t resist as Fig shoved her over to her first mate.
“Take her to my cabin,” she ordered Gorgug who saluted and began hauling Adaine over the deck to the waiting vessel.
With an angry sigh, Fig sheathed her knife, ignoring the pain in her hand, bending to pick up Adaine’s weapons and passing them to Riz, the quartermaster passing by already carrying a barrel which was way too big for him.
After retrieving her own cutlass, Fig crossed the deck to descend lower into the ship, sparing a glance at the Fallinel crew.
Anger grew inside her as she had to admit that Adaine was right; this wasn’t a crew to guard a valued passenger.
Putting those thoughts aside for now, Fig walked through the dim light of the crew’s quarters before coming to the hold and then the magazine.
There was enough food in the hold to complete a voyage from Fallinel to Solace; she ordered most of it taken, leaving enough for the ship to return home.
The magazine was even more disappointing.
Instead of an armoury bristling with barrels of gunpowder, expensive muskets and cutlasses, there was barely enough powder to recover what they had used in taking the ship.
Picking up an ancient matchlock which looked older than the ship, Fig broke it over her knee in frustration, the rusted hoops splitting from the rotted stock.
Tossing the useless weapon away Fig wanted to lay down and cry, or better yet fight something.
But neither of those were options, ordering the powder loaded onto the ship Fig stalked back up to the deck and deftly stepped up and over the starboard rail, dropping down onto the lower surface of The Hellspawn’s main deck, grabbing her longcoat back up, wrapping a handkerchief around her hand to staunch the bleeding.
“Did we get anything good?” she accosted Riz who was directing the loot down into the bowels of the ship.
“Not really, the powder is higher quality that the stuff we get in Leviathan,”
“But barely any,”
“Yeah, some casks of decent rum which’ll be enough for the crew, and a bottle of Fallinel wine, Fabian says it’s high quality. Oh! And, those two bodyguards had nice sabres and breechloading wheellock rifles!”
Fig raised an eyebrow.
“Fancy guns,”
“Send one to my cabin with the wine when you get a chance.”
“Aye, sir. Cheer up Cap, we got the princess.”
“Yeah…” Fig forced a smile which probably looked less reassuring than she intended.
“Get everything else onboard, then prepare to shove off,”
“Right sir,”
Riz darted off and Fig marched into her cabin, anger bubbling inside her but contained.
The attack had been an easy success, the crew didn’t need to see how pissed she was.
Slamming the door open, she saw Adaine standing in the corner, Gorgug watching her, cutlass in his hand warningly.
Eyeing the manacles on the prisoner’s wrists, Fig raised an eyebrow to her first mate.
“Problems?”
The giant man grunted, not taking his eyes off the prisoner who didn’t bother to look at either of them.
“Stamped on my foot, tried to dive over board,”
Fig sighed.
“Thank you Gorgug, tell Fabian to get the sails ready to move,”
“Sir,” Gorgug responded laconically and departed.
Shutting the door with more force than she intended, Fig rounded on Adaine.
“You realise that we’re about a hundred miles from land, right?”
Silence.
“What? you were just gonna casually swim back home.”
Silence.
Fig rolled her eyes.
“There’s less terrible ways to kill yourself than freezing to death,”
“Good to know,”
“So you can still talk, good.”
Fig pulled her chair out and sat down heavily, glaring up at the Princess who still refused to meet her gaze. Without a word, she kicked a chair towards the prisoner who ignored it, shrugging Fig crossed her legs, resting booted feet on the seat.
“No soldiers. Barely any powder. Fourteen guns total on a converted merchantman, you’re that worthless?”
“Why, starting to believe me?”
“Why wouldn’t you be on a warship?”
Adaine smirked and Fig wanted to slap her.
“I’m a pacifist.”
“Ok, I don’t give a shit about whatever petty disagreements you have with your parents, or who they’re slighting by sending you to your betrothed on a rotting trade ship; we missed the currents to get across the ocean to raid the southern trade routes, that means we lost six months of profit and the opportunity to resupply at Leviathan: all for you.”
“Flattered.”
“So, we’re damn well going to get a ransom out of you,”
“You’re going to be disappointed.”
“You may be their second child but they’ll still pay.”
“They hate me.”
“Oh boo fucking hoo!” Fig snapped, the stress of this plan was choking her now, she’d gambled herself, her ship, her crew, everything on this play, had planned for months, had stalked for days, and it was all falling apart right at the end, she wasn’t exactly thrilled.
“My life as an aristocrat is so, so awful because my Mommy and Daddy, the king and queen of all they survey, are strict on me sometimes and I have to marry someone and live in a different fancy palace where all of my needs are met and have servants at my beck and call every hour of the day, wah wah wah, I have it worse than anyone else in the world.”
Standing up so forcefully that her chair went crashing backwards, Fig glared deep into Adaine’s sea-blue eyes.
“A lot of us have shitty parents, Princess, don’t try and play that card for sympathy.”
Adaine, staring back at her now with the same anger and determination as she had during their fight twisted her face into a scowl.
“You don’t know them.”
“No. And I don’t care. What I care about is money. Money that you are going to get us. Now, take off your dress.”
At Adaine’s scandalised and terrified expression, Fig rolled her eyes.
“Don't flatter yourself, your highness, self important assholes aren’t my type.”
She slid a pile of clothes over to the Princess, a belt, breeches and loose fitting shirt.
“But I do need that dress, for the ransom message.”
Adaine glared for a moment, her cheeks burning red and eyes full of hatred, before raising her hands and shaking the chains on her wrists.
Fig pulled out a key and unlocked them, rolling her eyes again as Adaine didn’t move.
“The door is locked before you try and run off again,” Fig remarked, casually as she turned to study the charts on her desk.
The sound of rustling fabric came a few seconds later and Fig chuckled.
“I don’t see what you’re so embarrassed about, it’s not like you’re the first maiden I’ve seen-”
Fig had turned her head, she wasn’t looking, only wanted to give Adaine a scare if she was watching her.
What she saw took the words from her mouth. Adaine had stepped out of her dress and had pulled on the brown breeches, leaving her bare back exposed, Fig wasn’t enjoying the view, she was horrified.
Adaine wasn’t lithe, she wasn’t slim, she wasn’t slender. She was skinny. Skeletal. Emaciated. She’d seen underfed people before of course, she’d grown up in the poorest streets of Elmville and had spent most of her life on ships where the crew was less important than the cargo. But this was… this was abhorrent.
Fig could make out each rib distinctly even from the back. The skin was pale, so pale she could see veins.
While there was some muscle, in all honesty, Adaine’s arms looked like twigs and Fig imagined her legs would be the same.
Even more disturbing was the vast, overlapping tapestry of harsh, grey scars which covered her painfully thin back, some looked like they had healed years ago, stretched out over more skin than they had originally broken, others were darker, like they had only closed a few months ago.
And still others weren’t healed entirely, only scabbed over, dried blood still running down the pale skin. One had opened again, most likely in their duel. These wounds had probably appeared just before the ship had departed from the port in Fallinel.
Logically of course, Fig knew that this princess was just a young girl, about the same age as herself, but something about her stern exterior, the grim acceptance of her own death had made her seem older.
Standing before her, looking into the corner of the small cabin, Fig saw a small, scared kid.
The Captain could remember the first, and only, time she’d been flogged. She’d cried out for weeks later when she laid on her back or someone touched her, or if she moved it too much.
Without realising what she was doing, Fig had stepped over to the proud Princess, who’s posture had crumbled down, like she was trying to hide. It occurred to Fig that this was likely the same position she’d been in when those strikes had been administered.
A rough, calloused hand reached out and ran over the damaged skin, Adaine stiffened and let out a small gasp, far more than she’d done with a knife about to run her through.
Shaking her head, Fig snatched her hand back.
“Sorry,” Her voice came out small, soft, weak. She cleared her throat.
“My apologies,” she said, her tone harsher, mocking almost as she grabbed up the dress from the floor, feeling slightly sick as she saw the lining was stained red.
“I’ll return soon,”
Fig crossed the deck of The Hellspawn, pausing next to Riz and Fabian who were sitting on the railing.
“Good to go?”
“Aye sir!” Fabian grinned, “Sails and rigging ready to take us the hell outta here!”
Fig hummed.
“Everything is loaded up Cap,” Riz added, Fig nodded and climbed up beside them, hauling herself up and over onto the larger vessel.
Signaling to the crew members surrounding the prisoners, Fig crossed to what passed as the highest ranking officer, a young man probably in his first command, and tossed him the dress and the sealed letter she had prepared, bending down to cut the bindings from the chaplains wrists, the orange haired girl glaring up at her, rubbing her wrists.
Fig ignored the angry gaze and turned back to the commander, speaking loud enough for the whole crew to hear.
“Make sure that their majesties receive that demand, if you fail, the princess will die. Sail safe.”
With that Fig and the remainder of her crew left the ship and cut it free of the grapples, shoving off and catching the wind as they began moving out into the open sea.
They’d taken a royal ship, looted it, captured a princess, all without a single casualty, and all done before the sun was fully risen. That was the kind of success which most could barely dream about.
And yet, Fig had a gnawing sense of dread.
She pushed her way through throngs of cheering crew members, signaling to Fabian to get them working.
“Riz?” The small quartermaster grinned down from his perch on the rigging from where he’d been waving farewell to The Naiad.
“Get a bath prepared in my cabin?”
“Right you are sir! The wine and rifle are waiting for you,”
It couldn’t hurt to make sure the captive was clean could it?
At least that was how Fig rationalised it as she stalked back over to her cabin.