Spear of The Winds > Chapter 4–The Captain’s Investment

---

Rays of sunlight spilled across the cargo hold, split by the bars overhead. The ship lurched as it changed course, tipping the communal piss bucket and spilling its contents onto the floor. The disgusting mess and the noxious smell assaulted Larah’s senses, causing her to gag repeatedly. Adding to the chaos, some children began crying while others vomited.

Two days. Two days of this floating hell, while they’d collected more human cargo at scattered coastal villages. Larah pressed her back against the hull, watching a woman across the hold try to comfort her weeping daughter. At least they’re together. At least they know their fate will be shared.

“Shaddap down there,” Mallach called down through the grate.

Moans and sniffling answered him.

“Oi,” another sailor shouted. “Cap’n wants Black Hair brought up.”

Larah’s pulse quickened. This was the third time in two days she’d been singled out—first for questioning, then for a brief interrogation about her homeland, and now this. The other prisoners had begun to notice, their hollow eyes following her movements with a mixture of envy and suspicion. Why her? What made her different from the dozens of other women crammed into this stinking hold?

The grate over the cargo hold slid off, and a ladder slid down. Despite her desperate need for breathable air, Larah hesitated. Being chosen felt increasingly like a curse than mercy.

Several others, men and women, lunged for the ladder anyway.

“Get back, fool,” Mallach shouted. ” Black Hair.” Most let go, but one of the men continued to climb. A bucket filled with seawater hit his face, and a pole tip smacked into the side of his head. He went limp and fell with a thud onto the floor.

Larah raced over to check on him, but his chest rose and fell steadily. unconscious. She grabbed the ladder and climbed out, her legs trembling from the sudden movement. But as she started to gulp in the fresh air, Mallach grabbed her arm and began pushing her toward the stern.

“I can walk,” she started.

A vicious yank on her hair pulled her head sideways. The pain made her eyes water.

“Shut up,” Mallach growled.

They reached the same large door below the poop deck where she’d been brought before. Each visit had been brief, businesslike. The Captain would ask her questions about her homeland, her family, her education—questions that seemed oddly specific for someone who supposedly saw her as mere cargo. What was he looking for? Of course, she’d lied about everything, being nothing more than a midwife from Landros with no formal education. Still, such deception was not second nature for her. What had she revealed without realizing it?

Mallach shoved her aside and banged on the door while keeping a grip on her hair.

“Enter,” the Captain’s voice called out.

Mallach opened the door, still dragging Larah in by her hair. Light from oil lamps cut sharp angles in the cabin, and she looked quickly about the room, noting details she’d missed before. Charts covered one wall, but not navigation charts—some showed trade routes, market prices, even what looked like portraits of well-dressed men and women with numbers written beneath.

The Captain sat behind his small but ornate desk. Quill in hand, he hunched over a ledger. At their presence, he glanced up and pursed his lips. “That’s enough,” he said, then waved toward the door. “You can leave.”

“As you wish, sir,” the first mate spat, letting go of Larah, and reaching for the door. He winked at the Captain, “Be forewarned. She’s a ripe one.” Without waiting for a response, Mallach slipped out.

The Captain pushed away the ledger and stood up. Larah caught a glimpse of the page—columns of figures, descriptions that made her stomach clench: “Young female, dark hair, educated bearing, 200 gold…selective purchase.” Her own assessment, reduced to marketable traits.

“Come here,” he said, his voice carrying the same calculating tone he’d used during their previous encounters.

Larah looked about the cabin, noting again that except for the oil lamps swinging overhead and the sunlight coming in the windows at the far end, the door she’d entered appeared to be the only exit. But this time, she also noticed other details—expensive furnishings, quality wine, even silk curtains. The Captain’s quarters, the most luxurious spot on a wretched slave ship.

Her blood ran cold. Selective buyers meant specific purposes.

“You heard me,” the Captain said, his tone more resolute. “Come closer.”

Instead, Larah slipped back against the door and felt for the handle. The fine soap she’d glimpsed on his washstand, the quality of his clothing, even the way he studied her like livestock at auction—it all pointed to preparation for something beyond the common slave markets.

“Fine,” the Captain growled out. “Worm, get over here.”

Before she could process the strange command, a small pair of cold hands grabbed both of hers. She nearly jumped out of her skin. Something small and silent had been crouched in the shadows beside the door. In the dim light, she couldn’t make out the details, but the diminutive creature had a grip of steel. Heart racing, she tried to pull away, but whatever it was latched onto her with disturbing eagerness.

“Worm, bring her closer,” the Captain ordered with casual authority.

The creature pushed her forward with surprising strength, and Larah caught her first clear glimpse of it. Small as a child but clearly not human—large, gleaming eyes dominated a pale face, and sharp teeth flashed in what might have been a grin. Whatever this thing was, it served the Captain with disturbing devotion.

The man smiled wryly but wrinkled his nose. “Mallach was not wrong. You reek.” He pointed to a side room. “Bathe her.”

Oh no. The implications hit her like a physical blow. They weren’t cleaning cargo—they were preparing her for presentation. To whom? For what purpose? Larah yanked hard to break the creature’s grip, but a low guttural hiss erupted from its throat. Something wet and sharp clamped down on her forearm. The little monster bit her, its teeth finding flesh with predatory precision.

“Stop it,” she screamed, but the pain steadily increased as the creature relentlessly pushed and shoved her into the side room.

“You’d better do what he wants,” the Captain observed, settling back into his chair. “Otherwise, Worm can get pretty vicious. He’s devoted to ensuring my property maintains its value.”

Property. The word hit her like a slap. But property for whom? The expensive soap, the private cabin, the careful preparation—none of it suggested the common slave markets of Tamor. Someone had commissioned her specifically, or the Captain had someone particular in mind. Either possibility made her skin crawl.

Little claw-like hands pushed her into the cramped washroom. Cave-like darkness combined with claustrophobia sent shivers down Larah’s spine. Behind her, she heard water being poured into what must be a tub. The creature—Worm—worked with efficient purpose, its movements suggesting familiarity with this routine.

How many others had he prepared this way? The thought made her stomach lurch.

Sharp claws dug into her clothes, tugging with surprising strength. She grabbed the creature’s wiry arms, but they felt like steel cables beneath its pale skin. A sharp pain erupted from her shin as one of Worm’s feet kicked her with vicious intent.

“Ow,” Larah cried. “You’re hurting me.”

A guttural hiss erupted from the creature as it worked its way around her with predatory grace. She tried to keep the thing in sight, but it was too quick, slipping behind her with unnatural agility. Suddenly, her blouse slid over her head, leaving her undergarments and trousers. Her pants dropped to the ground when she reached back to grab her top.

“Stop it,” Larah growled, “You little animal.” But even as she spoke, she realized the futility. This creature served the Captain with absolute loyalty, and she was another assignment to complete.

She whipped around, only to find Worm standing right before her. In the better light, his inhuman nature became clear—protruding oversized eyes with large black pupils, short sharp teeth, and pasty white skin stretched tight over a wiry frame. The almost skeletal form showed through the rags he wore, and his movements carried a feral quality that made her skin crawl.

With a lunge, it seized her remaining undergarments. Larah grabbed the creature’s thin arms, but they were immovable. With a loud rip, her underclothes came off, leaving her naked and vulnerable. “You little beast, give those back.” She cringed back beside the tub, trying to cover herself.

The creature skittered back toward the Captain with her torn garments, its movements unnaturally quick and eager to please.

The Captain waved his hand dismissively. “No, burn those rags. They smell as bad as she does.” His clinical assessment made Larah’s cheeks burn with humiliation. “For now, leave them in the burn bucket.”

Worm spat and hissed, hopping from one foot to the next with what looked like anticipation.

“Now get some hot water and soap. I want her smelling better than the bilge before we reach port.” The Captain’s words carried the weight of specific expectations. Someone was waiting for her in Tamor, and that someone had standards.

The little creature disappeared through a small door barely big enough for a dog, leaving Larah alone with her growing dread.

The Captain stood and wandered toward the washroom, his gaze appraising. “I suggest you cooperate with Worm. Otherwise, he might decide to take matters into his own hands. He’s enthusiastic about his duties.”

Larah tried desperately to cover herself. “What is he? He certainly isn’t human.”

“No, he’s Dunharrow,” the Captain replied, his tone suggesting casual familiarity with exotic creatures. “Even amongst his own kind, he’s considered… intense. Most Dunharrow are small like Worm, but they’re typically more civilized. This one’s different—which is precisely why his former owners were eager to part with him.”

“Why would you want such a creature on your ship?”

The Captain’s smile held cold calculation. “Despite his savage nature, he has two qualities I value above all others: absolute loyalty and complete discretion. He can’t speak, you see, so he can never reveal my business arrangements.” The emphasis on ‘arrangements’ made Larah’s blood run cold. “He’s perfect for handling delicate cargo that requires… special preparation.”

Special preparation. The words echoed in her mind as Worm reappeared with two large buckets of steaming hot water, his movements eager and precise.

“I’d get in that tub if I were you,” the Captain advised with mock concern. “He doesn’t particularly care where or how you get wet, but the water will be considerably more comfortable in the tub than poured over your head.”

Larah slid into the tub and grabbed a pitcher of cold water from a nearby shelf, using it to temper the scalding water as Worm poured. The creature approached cautiously but purposefully, and she realized this routine was well-practiced. How many women had sat in this same tub, being prepared for whatever fate awaited them in Tamor?

As the warm water rose around her, she caught the scent of lavender from the soap brick that appeared in Worm’s grubby hands. Expensive soap—the kind wealthy households used, not the harsh lye soap common to ships. Every detail reinforced her growing certainty that she was being prepared for someone specific, someone with refined tastes and particular requirements.

She ripped the soap from Worm’s grasp before he could apply it himself. “I’ll handle this. You get out,” she said, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

The creature smiled its toothy grin and cackled, but thankfully backed away, though its large eyes remained fixed on her with disturbing intensity.

Through the open door, she caught sight of the Captain watching her bathe, his expression clinically interested rather than lustful. She was being evaluated and assessed for quality like a piece of merchandise.

“Turn away,” she demanded, though her voice lacked conviction.

The Captain crossed his arms, his smile devoid of warmth. “You seem to labor under the delusion that you have rights aboard this vessel. Let me clarify your situation—you are property now, valuable property, and I have a considerable investment in ensuring you fetch the premium price my client is willing to pay.”

His client. So there was a specific buyer, someone who had commissioned her or someone like her. The thought made her hands tremble as she worked the lavender soap into a lather.

“The markets of Tamor cater to diverse tastes,” he continued conversationally, as if discussing the weather. “Some buyers prefer their acquisitions… unrefined. Others have more sophisticated requirements. Fortunately for you, you fall into the latter category.”

Sophisticated requirements. Larah’s mind raced through the possibilities, each worse than the last. Was she destined for some nobleman’s private collection? A wealthy merchant’s household? Or something darker still?

The Captain moved closer to the washroom door, his presence oppressive in the small space. “Clean yourself thoroughly. We dock in Tamor tomorrow, and first impressions are crucial in my line of work. My reputation depends on delivering exactly what was promised.”

With that ominous statement, he pushed the door to the washroom shut, leaving Larah alone in the gloom except for light slanting in from a small porthole. The warm water and lavender scent did nothing to chase away the cold dread settling in her bones.

Tomorrow. Whatever fate awaited her in the slave markets of Tamor, she would face it within a day. As she scrubbed away the filth of the cargo hold, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was washing away more than dirt—she was being stripped of her identity, her humanity, prepared like a gift for someone whose intentions she could only imagine.

And from the Captain’s confident manner, those intentions were specific indeed.