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by Katelyn Shear
Not For Sale
Author requests article critique
Not For Sale
Author requests article critique
Pirates, Treasure, and God
by Katelyn Shear
Gwennivere watched out of the window as the last of the green leaves faded from elegant forest green to ugly woodchuck brown. Oh, how she hated Autumn. The lovely England green faded to old, boring brown. The weather would get colder and colder until it finally snowed. And then, more often than not, a blizzard. Why did Spring have to fade away so quickly?
“Gwennivere, please stop dilly-dallying!” Elizabeth Montgomery, commonly known to Gwennivere as Mum, ordered. “There will be hundreds of eligible young suitors eager to dance with you at The Annual Fall Ball. Why can't you give just one a chance?” Mum sniffed after giving her 'the look'. The one she gave someone when she wasn't very happy with them.
“No, their all the same. They all just want to talk about themselves. The newest position at their father's firm. The latest hunting 'expedition' on their families estate. The trip their taking to Europe. Like I really care. Then they ramble on and on about nothing, and when its time to dance? They stumble all around and step on my feet! Its horrible! And their all so dull!” Gwennivere said as tears filled her eyes, and the scent of spicy cinnamon apples tingle in her stuffy nose.
“Oh, come. Their just nervous. They have never been around such a beautiful young lady as you. Their trying to impress you.” Mum said.
“Well, their not doing a very good job! I hate going to these balls, can't I skip just this one? Please?” Gwenn pleaded, between tears.
“Most certainly not! You will come, and you will dazzle everyone with your beauty and charm. Now come along, there's Robby with the coach.” Mum dragged her along. The quiet evening would have been perfect, had she not had to go to a ball. The moon was high in the sky, shedding light on their path. The only sound was the rustling of their soft, silk skirts. The cool, crisp air sank into Gwenn's fashionable wrap. Too bad it did little to warm her. The scent of the warm, crisp fallen leaves weaved into the air. They soon later arrived at the Matthew's Grand Estate, where the ball was being held. Gwennivere's heavy sigh filled the silence. This was going to be a very long night.
Pirate Marc Basile anchored his ship, the French Royalty, in Queen Victoria Harbor. He'd been thinking about God lately, the God he used to believe in. he hadn't believed in God since...no. He wouldn't think of it. It would only bring back sorrowful memories and wouldn't do anything to change the past. Anyway, he had a job to do here. Now he just had to find...
“Captain! Do you know we can find a clean room?”Marc recognized the man as Kilo Pablo, a Spanish kid he rescued from a cruel slave driver and was also his Master, which meant he was in charge of navigation and the actual business of sailing the vessel.
“What? You mean you don't like the roaches and rats?” Marc jested.
“no, sir! Neither does the other crew members. Makes you wonder, what if they crawl all over you at night? What if they bite you? You might die!” Kilo said, disgusted.
“When did you get to be so picky? What's the matter with a few bugs and rodents?” Marc teased.
“Everything! Now, can we get a DECENT room?”
“Hey, that's no way to talk to your boss. You know I can throw you out whenever I want, right?” Marc threatened.
“You know you couldn't get rid of anyone even if you wanted to. Your too kind to do that.” Kilo said evenly.
“Shh! You'll ruin my hard-earned reputation!” Marc warned.
“Anyone who knows you knows better, now, is there anywhere we can sleep without fear of rabies or death?” Kilo asked.
“Yeah, the ship, and its free, too. Even better.” Marc said.
Kilo gave him a odd look. “No, thanks. Couldn't we just get a room for one night? What harm would that do? You can even take it out of my pay. Does that show you how much I want to be on land, even for one night?”
Marc ran his finger through his short, dark, wavy hair. “Fine, but just tonight.”
“I’ll go tell the crew, sir.” Kilo said, once again the perfect employee. Marc could only hope morning would come soon. Very soon.
Gwennivere slipped on her coat, praying for her mother to understand.
“Gwenn, dear. Why must you go to town today? Can't you take just one day to rest?” Mum's disapproving face caused Gwennivere to hesitate before remembering the importance of why she was going.
“Mother, I want to go to town today. It helps me to think. And I do is rest. All the time. I just want to do something other than lying around, and eating strawberry pastry's and drinking ice cold mint tea, and listening about ribbons and bows and what someone saw Mrs. So-and-So doing and where she was last week and silly girls with the vocabulary of six year old's chattering about some stupid expedition for pink silk and green velvet and red chiffon. Its just so...so useless!”
“There's no reason to insult! They are my friends and their yours as well.” Mum said, offended.
“They are not my friends, nor are they yours. You know they probably talk behind your back just like they do to their other friends.” Gwennivere said, angry by this point.
Mum's face was flushed bright red from anger. She had the look that would have withered a weaker woman, but not Gwennivere. She had inherited her emotional strength and willfulness from Mum. “Well, then, go. Go do whatever it is you do.” Mum stomped out of the room.
Whew, thought Gwennivere, I'm finally out of there. Now I can go to the new soup kitchen to help out.
As she stepped out of the big, glass door a great gust wind made her shiver, and she made a mental note to get a bigger and warmer coat. She walked past Bailey's Bakery, a delicious bakery that smelled heavenly and tasted even better. She would have to go by later and get a tasty cinnamon scone with a side of richly smooth icing. Mmm...the thought made her stomach rumble. She then walked past Karl's Butcher, where she held her nose and turned her head away. She would have to find a way to bypass this shop. Then she passed Diane's Dress'. She waved to Diane and kept on. Maybe she would go there soon and see about making a new dress for a little girl at the mission. She was humming “Amazing Grace” and was almost there when a hand closed over her mouth and and yanked her into a dark, damp building before everything went black.
Gwennivere woke up, realizing the sun was low in the sky, probably near the evening meal. Her fingers tingled from the circulation cut off by the tight ropes on her wrist's, and her feet were in equal pain. Her mouth was gagged with what seemed to be a scarf, but she heard voices. Though she couldn't recognized the voices she could hear what they were saying.
The first kidnapper was saying something, “What if she won't tell us where it is? What if she doesn't know where it is?” The person sounded nervous, whoever it was.
The second kidnapper, who sounded like the boss, said, “Oh, she knows where it is, and she'll tell us, too. If we threaten just right she'll tell us. Besides, she's just a stupid, richly spoiled brat.” The person laughed an ugly, evil laugh. Gwennivere shrunk against the wall, then sat straight up. Brat? How dare they call her a...wait. What was that noise?
“Hey! What are you doing in here?” A male voice shouted. Gwennivere heard shout's followed by a scuffle then a loud thump. She heard running then...complete silence. After what seemed like hours, even though it could only have been a few seconds, she heard footsteps. Coming toward the door to the room she was in. Heart pounding in tune with the footsteps, she held her breath as the door squeaked open. She heard the man gasp.
“W-who are you? Where did y-you come from?” The poor man looked shocked and suspicious, but what about her? She was just as shocked and suspicious as he was.
Gwenn took a deep breath, then let it out. “Well, my name is Gwennivere Nicole Montgomery. I live with my parent's Joseph and Elizabeth Montgomery on 10 Queen Victoria Street, London. Does that answer your question? Now, who are you?”
This Gwennivere girl, her name sounded quite familiar, looked suspicious of him. Her amber-green eyes inspected him carefully. But what was she doing here? And who were those two people he just beat up?
“My name is Marc Basile, I'm from Paris, France. Why are you here?” Marc eyed her.
“I don't know. Why don't you ask the fellows who kidnapped me. But I suppose you'll have to find them first, Mr. Whatever-you-said-your-name-was.”
“Basile, Marc Basile.”
“Well, Mr. Basile do you think you could let me go now? I have to get home before my mother panic's and has a heart attack or something.” Did this girl think he was just going to let her go without an explanation? “Sorry, but I can't do that until you tell me the truth about why your here.”
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