It’s what it was, really. A cage for Scarlett’s Dove. Locked in the room, dragged out to dance, thrown back in afterwards. They fed her, scraps tossed in the room as an after thought, and as Wesley liked to remind her — better than what she deserved.
It had been a day—two days?—since she’d seen Tristaan, and the witch worried for him. Had they sent people after him when she’d returned? The burly bald wick promised her they had, but the brunette wasn’t sure she believed him. At this stage, he’d say anything to hurt her. He’d told her yesterday the man was gone, left on a boat to Mugroba so he’d last heard. Stolen his pound of flesh and left for good.
But he was a liar. She knew it wouldn’t be true. It couldn’t be true.
The sound of the lock turning caught Sarinah’s attention, and she lifted her head from her knees, wincing at the light that poured in from a handheld lantern. A figure slipped into the room, and for a moment the witch didn’t recognise them, blinking as she made out a face.
“Bridgette?” She asked softly, reaching out for the older tumble as she quickly moved to the girl’s side and hugged her.
“Yes my darling girl, yes it’s me. Quickly now, we don’t have much time. Scarlett’s visiting with the King and Wesley’s....he’s busy. But he won’t be for long, unless our Mistress Peregrin has gotten really clocking good in the past few hours.” The blue eyed woman helped the witch to her feet, throwing an oversized black cloak over her and tucking her hair under the cloak. Sarinah frowned as the woman dragged her out of the room by the arm, looking left and right before scooting through the hallway.
“Bridgette I don’t...ye can’t do this. I can’t let ye.” Reaching the stairs to the tavern, the older woman paused and looked at her with a smile.
“I can do this. Because y’aint one of us love. Never have been. Never will be.” Lifting a hand, she pressed her palm against the girl’s cheek and sighed.
“I never had a child of m’own Sarinah, but if I did, I would never want her to be trapped here. I’d never want this life for her.” Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and guided her up the stairs, even as the brunette felt tears welling to blur her vision.
“Now, when we get upstairs keep your head down and eyes on the floor. We’re going straight through and up. Robin’s already gone ahead to find that pretty wick fellow of yours. I hope he’s worth the trouble he’s caused y’love” Sarinah looked at her feet as they moved, Bridgette collecting a small basket from one of the girl’s as they passed by.
“It ent his fault Bridgette. I left when I shouldn’t have. It’s all on me, ye chen. This ent his mess t’fix.” They’d made it to the stairs that led out to the deck, moving at pace. As they climbed the older tumble snorted.
“If he cares about you, then it’s his mess love.” They stepped outside into the morning light, and the wick shielded her eyes from the sun with a shake of her head, the cool wood of the deck nice on her feet. She kept her eyes on the gangplank and eventually the dirt street as they walked.
“It ent like that rosh. It ent. He’s just a balach that’s got himself caught up in tumblehut affairs that ent anything he need’s to worry about. Bridgette stop!” She dug her heels in, forcing the older woman to stop and look at her.
“I can’t do this t’ye. Or to Robin. Or t’him. We have to go back. If they find out y’did this...” The words faded with a tearful pleading sound. Bridgette sighed, lifting her hand to hold the girl’s face, looking into her gaze as though memorising her to mind.
“They’re putting you out back, tonight love. We heard from Wesley. Scarlett put a price down, and someone took the offer. You can’t go back. Me? Robin? What’s the Queen gonna do to us they ain’t already done? Hawke wouldn’t let them kill us, it’s more expensive to find new girls than just keep us on. No love. You have to do this. If he ain’t sweet on you like that, then we’ll stick y’on a boat to Mugroba. There’s enough rations in that basket to last you a few days travel, and a bit of tumbleweed to get you by, ain’t no girl wanting a little baby on the road. Don’t stop taking it, understand? Like I showed you.” Sarinah blushed deeply, her guilty face answering the older tumble’s unspoken question well enough. Bridgette curled her arm around the girl again and pushed her to move.
“Now, move. We’re to the pier if Robin got her rumours right.”
“Mister Greymoore? Mister Greymoore!” A meek voice called out in a hoarse half whisper, rapping on Room 7’s door with small freckled knuckles. Robin glanced up the hallway with a nervous frown, before knocking again. Her bright red haired was tucked around her shoulders, blue green eyes wide with fear. It was a fools errand, this plan of Bridgette’s, but Robin had agreed without hesitation. The dancing wick had always been kind to her, always found a way to keep the passive behind the bar instead of out the back. It was only right, only fair to help her.
Hopefully Mister Greymoore felt the same way.
“Mister Greymoore please. It’s Abi—it’s Mistress Robin. I have to speak with you urgently.”