[NSW-Fic] The Hunger (Rated PG-13)

[Tysyacha]

Who my father is will strike you;

What my father says will stretch you;

What my father does will shock you.

 

The Hunger

 

Once upon a time... oh, who am I trying to fool? This is no usual

fairy tale. Not everyone lives happily ever after here, especially my

father. My name is Mestra, and whether I will only time will tell.

 

It all started when we were children. Even though my sisters and I

were not princesses by birth, we all lived the lives of one after our

mother passed away. Our father was a landowner, somewhat

well-off but more indebted to his wealthy friends than rich by

his own efforts. He loved us--I daresay too much. Because he

wanted us to live like the queens he thought we were, Father

made every effort to see we had the loveliest gowns, the finest

tutors, and as many dancing and charm lessons as we could bear.

 

Not that I did very well, but no matter. Thanks to Father, we'd have

the best and brightest of all possible futures. Or so we thought,

until I found out whom he had in mind for us as future husbands...

 

He first appealed to my youngest sister Maria, her hair like flax.

 

"My treasure!" he beamed, his black eyes gleaming merrily. "My

pride and joy! My darling Maria, I need your help, and soon!"

 

"What is it?" she asked. She took Father's big hands in her small ones.

 

"It's finally come time for us to 'pay the Piper', as they say. We're in

the direst straits! A rich friend of mine, whom you've playfully called

your 'Uncle', wishes to be your husband now. What do you say? If

you'll marry him, he'll forgive some of the money that I owe him."

 

Maria, bless her heart, showed no hesitation. "Of course I will, Papa!"

She threw her arms around him, and her sobs made her body shake.

 

My father was elated. "Thank you!" he almost bellowed in his joy.

"You've made me so happy today. And since you're my most

beautiful, sixteen and still a maid, perhaps he'll call off the debt!"

 

I was horrified. Yes, Maria was young and beautiful, but this was

no better than prostitution for her! At least that's what I believed.

 

Father turned next to my second-younger sister, Milaya. With dark

hair and skin and quite lovely, he gave her almost the same offer.

 

"Milaya! Milenka! My lovely one. Another friend of mine is not quite

so rich as the other who'll marry Maria, but he's interested in you.

I also owe him quite a bit of money, and if you'll be his wife, he'll

forgive a lot of it. You are seventeen, my jewel, and have never

been tarnished. A fine prize for such a man, and a peace offering!"

 

Milaya was flattered, and she smiled. "Thank you, Papa. I accept."

 

For some reason, I couldn't keep my mouth from falling open. Was

this man my father or a bordelloman? He was selling off my sisters,

and for what? If he was in such debt, he could sell our possessions--

our jewels, our gowns, our fine linens. But our lives and ourselves?

 

Papa spread his arms wide to me. "Mestra," he cooed, his grin oily.

 

I smiled wryly. "Look at me," I said. "I'm one-and-twenty, as plain

as the geese in our backyard. They have more color in their feathers

than I have in my hair and cheeks. Not only that, but though I am

also a maiden like my sisters, no man has ever expressed an interest

in making me otherwise. I can't dance, and I am plumper than most

marriageable women, anyway. What kind of bride could you make of

me? Better a nun, for at least I would not be expected to sell myself."

 

"Fie on you, Mestra!" Father shook his finger at me, his grin measured.

"You may be plain, it's true, but also shrewd and clever. It just so

happens that there is a man, the least wealthy of my friends, who

wants to marry you. Take this chance while you can, my dear, because

I still owe him money. He'll forgive me a little debt, as my other friends

will through your sisters. Do you want to dry up, an old maid? Eh?"

 

I kept my smile and shook my head. "I won't. If we both work together,

we can trick our creditors into giving us more time. Maybe even cancel

our debt, but we have to be wise about this. Sell a few things."

 

"What is this?" Father's bushy eyebrows raised, making his forehead

look like one of our wrinkled satin bedsheets. "Sell what we own?

We're not fools. If you won't agree, Mestra, and marry this man,

then I have no choice but to force you to do it, or try something else."

 

"Something else?" I laughed. "What is it?"

 

"Darling," he coaxed, grinning once again. "Let's go for a walk."

 

I went with him. I wanted to hear his "plans", however daft they were.

Even if I was really the fool to let him try and talk me into this arranged

marriage, I had to try my best to dissuade him. Otherwise, what was I?

Just as much of an idiot as my father was, to stand there and do nothing...

[Tysyacha]

"Why, my dear Mestra?" Father groaned as we strolled, arm in arm, toward

someplace in our dreary but quaint provincial town. I knew not where. "Why

do you refuse to help me?" He took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket

and mopped his brow. I was surprised; usually long walks invigorated him.

 

"I did offer," I said meekly, "but not in the way you wished me to. If you'll

listen to what I have to say, maybe you'll think twice about marrying us off."

 

"No, no! These friends of mine are not hungry for money, or even for our

fine possessions you told me to sell. They want brides, not more things."

 

"Maybe so, but I still think you're being unfair. I'm hungry, too--for a future

that involves love, and not some wealthy churl who'll give me next to none.

We've met all of your friends--our future husbands, my sisters and I--and

I'm honestly suprised Maria and Milaya agreed. They don't love those men."

 

"I'm not talking about love. Love is cheap, but what I need costs silver and

gold! Don't you understand, Mestra? My dear one, my princess, my heart?

My hunger is the greatest of all! I hunger not to be in debt, and that's the

reason why I want you to get married. Won't you condescend to lend Papa

a hand? If we talk to my friends, we'll get nowhere. It's you girls or nothing."

 

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I hate to tell you, but I won't do it."

 

Father and I turned a corner, our steps heavy. "Here we are, precious. The sea!"

 

I was delighted. I'd always loved the salt, the spray, the fish that nourished

me while my sisters preferred beef and birds by far. We stood at the docks,

and at that moment Father waved to a tall, capped figure walking towards him.

 

"Hullo, Captain!" Father cried. "Beautiful weather, isn't it?"

 

"For April, yes. Can't say I'm disappointed by the lack of late-spring snow."

This lanky seadog did not look so old, only greasy and calculating. Worse

than my father, even. He smiled, and I noticed most of his teeth were gone.

 

Father turned to me. "This is Captain Renard, from whom I get all of our fish."

 

I smiled and nodded, not offering my hand. I didn't exactly like Captain Renard.

 

He noticed my reticence and laughed. "Can't shake the hand of the owner

of a rotten, smelly fishing boat? Ha, ha, ha!" His belly shook. "It's just as

well. With ladies, I'm not looking to shake their hands anyway." He winked.

 

How's your crew?" asked Father. "Full, or rather lacking these days?"

 

Captain Renard rolled his eyes. "Too much work, not enough hands to do it.

The ship stinks, and that goes for all of our clothes as well. And hair."

 

I got a little uneasy when I saw the twinkle in my father's eye. "What would

you give for my Mestra? I know I pay you for fish, but, well--I need to get

money instead of spending it right now. She's--she'd make a good servant."

 

"What?" I was outraged. "You can't be serious, Papa. Have you gone mad?!"

 

"Indeed I haven't." Father shrugged, his expression a mixture of sadness,

resignation, and--was it just a touch of pride, or more than that? "I gave

you a chance, Mestra. A good chance to be some rich man's wife, and you

turned it down. Servants are good money, especially if you've got one to offer."

 

I put my hands on my hips. "Absolutely not. To Hell with that!" I wanted to

run away, but Father grabbed my arm and twisted it a bit before I could.

 

"How much? Make me an offer," Father said as I struggled. "Hurry, please."

 

"A thousand pieces of silver," said Captain Renard. "Or ten gold."

 

As my very last resort, my last chance to keep my freedom, I appealed to

my father's greedy nature. "That's not much. You'll get far more when my

sisters marry. Even though they don't have dowries, their husbands will

treat them like queens. Remember when we were children?" I started to

waltz with him as I did when I was trying to practice my lessons. "La, da,

da-da, two, three, ya-da, da-da, two, three! You called us princesses,

remember? Now you want to sell one as a slave?" I laughed. "That's silly!"

 

"I need money now," Father said, "so it is not so silly. I'll take the deal,"

he announced, turning to Captain Renard, "for one thousand silver pieces."

 

Captain Renard smiled and untwisted a bag full of jangling coins from his belt.

"Here you go," he said, tossing the bag over to my loving Papa. "Count them."

 

Father opened the bag. "No need," he said, smiling, "because there's ten

gold in here. Thank you, Captain, and may my Mestra serve you well. Work

hard!" He waved to us and turned back toward home, grinning all the way.

 

I couldn't wipe the stupid grin off of Renard's face, either. "When he said

'Work hard,'" I said slyly, "he meant you." The Captain had a hold of my arm.

 

"Aye, but I'm not the only one who's to hold to that. You're my servant now."

 

As he led me on board his fishing boat,, I shook my head bitterly.

 

I wasn't a servant now. I was a slave.

[Torthane]

What!? No one else has comented on this yet? Well, I suppose that gives me the honor of comenting on this very intruiging story first. I think that you have gotten off to a very good start Tysyacha, and I am most interested to see what will happen next! As with all your work you show a mastery of understatment and subtle emotions while keeping plot gripping and the characters interesting. I like the narrative tone and I am curious as to why her father needs money so desperatly (it seems that something more than debt is at work). I await eagerly for the next installment!

[Tysyacha]

"Welcome aboard the Mary," said Captain Renard with a proud smile.

"Virgin, not Magdalene. As the crew of this boat catches fish, so I hope to

catch people." Renard doffed his cap and wiped his sweaty pate with it.

 

I cringed. "You've caught me," I said coolly, though in an undertone.

 

Renard gave me a glare. "Let me introduce you to the crew. All hands!"

he cried, his voice hoarse and his face red. Half a dozen men scrambled

onto the deck, looking unshorn and wretched. Their clothes were in tatters.

"This here's my first mate, Simon," said Renard, gesturing to the leftmost man,

"and moving to the right, these are Peter, Andrew, Paul, James, and Ivan."

 

I raised an eyebrow. "They may all be your disciples, but you're not Jesus."

 

Renard guffawed. "Ha, ha, ha! Never expected to be, but I do give half my

money to the poor. You know--people who can't afford to feed themselves,

buy any clothes, and that sort of thing. I'm only their servant, my dear."

 

I smiled wryly. "And yet you own a slave."

 

He scowled. "Don't push your luck, Mestra. I paid good gold for you. You

may not think that's much, but believe me, I hated to part with that sack."

 

"Indeed." Something troubled me about Renard more than his greasy head.

 

"Everyone, this is Mestra," the Captain announced loudly, a little too much

so. "She's the new scullion aboard this ship, but if you have any work for her,

come see me first before you tell her to do it. I'm her master, remember?"

 

The six men nodded, and then turned to resume their fisherman's duties.

 

"Now, then," Renard declared, turning to me. "See Ivan? He's over there

swabbing the bow. He's not a fishmonger, but rather an indentured

servant of mine. Go help him. He owes me this last year of servitude."

 

I took a deep breath and stood still for a moment. When I had recovered

my wits, I told Renard what was what. "Do you know who I am? Who my

father was? He's given me all I've ever wanted or needed, and more. I know

how to dance, though not well, and am fairly good at ciphering. I speak

the languages of England and Spain, and I'm working on a third. From

a land known as Rus', I believe it's called. I know how to roll dice

and have keen instincts. You've sorely underestimated my worth in gold.

 

"Wash the deck? If you think I'll do that sort of work, you are mistaken!"

 

Renard stood sneering for a moment and then yanked out a filleting knife from

one of the pockets on his waistcoat. "Aye? I'm going to count to three. One."

 

I glanced at the knife and laughed. "Rusty and dull! That's for fish scales, not me."

 

All of a sudden, Renard leapt forward in a great lunge, grabbing me by

the waist and holding the knife to my throat. It was indeed rusty, but

it sure as the devil wasn't dull. "Are you sure of that?" He paused. "Two!"

He pressed the edge of the blade to my throat. Hard. I sucked in my breath.

 

"You've won this time," I rasped, shaking all over. "I'll do it, but only this

time. After tonight, however, all bets are off. I'll be gone by morning."

 

"Gone as in 'escaped', or gone as in 'dead'?" scoffed Renard. "Either way,

both you and I will be losers in the deal because we've shoved off." He

gestured toward the bow. "See Ivan and get to work. You're mine now."

 

Thus, I obeyed. Ivan seemed not to mind my presence, and we worked well

together. I considered it a shame he wouldn't be around to see me tomorrow.

[Torthane]

This fic is really starting to get very interesting. The captain is obviously a very bad person and Mestra seems to be in quite a pickle. I thought it was good how you quickly showed that the Captain is a violent man and more than willing to hurt people to get what he wants. The last sentance of this chapter interests me very much as well. Is she contemplating suicide? Or maybe she is going to try to swim back to shore. Once again you do a splendid job of building the story while still keeping the reader in the dark on multiple counts. I very much wish to know what lies in store for poor Mestra.

[Emalin]

I adore this fic! Perfect tone, perfect dilemma, perfect setup for the dilemma, and perfect cliffhanger sentence. I cannot wait for the next post!

[Tysyacha]

Dinnertime! Aboard the marvelous Mary, our fare that night was bread,

fish, and water. And some fresh ale, though I thought it too bitter for my taste.

 

"All right, men," said Captain Renard sternly once we were all seated in the

galley. The scent of oil lamps, oddly, was sharpening my appetite instead of

making me lose it like it usually did. I was starving, and I suppose the crew

were, too. "Let us not forget to thank the Lord for the bounty we'll receive."

 

"'Ey! You're in my place, you swab!" shouted one man to another. "Shove off!"

 

Captain Renard jammed his fork into the table, and I daresay the men were

sole impressed when its tines wouldn't budge from the wood. "Now then.

The man who exalts himself shall be abased, and the man who abases

himself shall be exalted. Can't ye remember that?" He bowed his head.

 

"Bless this food and bless this meat, and make us fit for what we eat.

Amen." He finally pulled his fork out of the table, but then turned to

the rest of his crew. "Don't give Mestra anything," he warned. "She

refused work, as is improper for a slave, and was not at first obedient.

If I see anyone sneaking her bread or fish, he will get the lash. Agreed?"

Silence from the men. "Hunger will break her pride, as it has broken yours."

 

At least I was allowed to have water, for which I was thirsty and grateful.

Still, the familiar pangs for food gnawed at my stomach. Even in our leaner

days at home, we still ate as noblemen would. Pastries, cheese, meat, fish--

 

No. This wouldn't do. I sought to close my eyes and fall asleep so I could

ignore the smells of food wafting toward me, but I couldn't. The galley cook,

Smithey by name, rhyming with 'pry thee', knew all the tricks of his trade.

 

When the men had finished eating and swigging ale, Captain Renard included,

he gestured to me and then over to Smithey, who was standing in the galley

doorway. "Go see him," barked my master impatiently, "and scour the dishes.

Remember, if you work hard and don't refuse him, we might feed you tomorrow."

 

I nodded and went to the galley. Smithey seemed all right for a ship's cook,

grumbling about the need for finer cuisine for Renard than for his crew. Even

though the Captain was a Captain, he was still a fishmonger, and not a humble

one. I noticed the seven used plates were full of fish shreds and breadcrumbs.

 

"Scrape the plates," Smithey said. "Don't sully the water before you have to."

 

He winked, and I realized that this was his way of feeding me on the sly.

Happily, I took one of the knives and washed it, cleaning the plates of their

dinner residue as carefully as I could. Only after that did I scrub them clean.

 

"Thanks be to you all!" I murmured softly, thanking the crew for my tiny meal.

[Torthane]

Captain Renard is evil! Very good chapter. I still feel very sorry for poor Mestra, but it is good to see that some of the crew is trying to help her. It was a short chapter, but its length only wetted my appetite for more. Fantastic writing and plot as always!

[Bee Hoon]

Poor Mestra! Renard is such a hypocrite=p