The Captain's Brig – Part 1: Taken Aboard

The Sea Wren swung at her moorings, a two-masted brigantine with black sails and a figurehead of a woman holding a lantern, chartered by the week by a woman who had told the owner she was filming a short.

She was not. Rhona, thirty-nine, a marine surveyor, had planned the weekend for a year. Teo, thirty-four, a chef who could not remember the last time he had not been in charge of a kitchen, stood on the quay with his bag and no idea what he was in for, which was exactly the point.

"Before we step aboard," said Rhona, "the terms."

She had written them on waxed paper, in the style of a ship's articles. He read them aloud. No marks. No gagging, no restraint he could not release himself, no real fear. The word was Anchor. "Say it and the game ends. I take off the coat, I make tea, and you will never be asked why."

"And the key to the brig?"

"Hangs inside the door. On your side." She held up a heavy iron key, a prop and a promise. "The cell is a room, Teo, not a trap."

"Aye, Captain."

"Not yet," said Rhona. She buttoned the long black coat, pulled on a tricorn hat, and the walk down the gangplank was a different woman's. Her voice dropped into a low, slow, commanding register. "You are a spy in the service of the Crown, taken in my waters with stolen charts in your coat. What have you to say?"

"Nothing, Captain."

"Then you will say it in the brig."

The brig was a small cabin below the waterline with a plank bunk, a barred door and a lantern swinging from the beam. The door shut. The lantern threw gold bars across the boards. Through the grille her voice came cool and unhurried. "Is the prisoner content?"

"Content, Captain."

"Good. The Captain will interrogate you at dusk."

Continue the story: Part 2 – The Articles.