Shattered Glasses Hold Eternity

There is a glass of water on the table and I am thirsty.

On the wall, a clock ticks, its great brass pendulum swinging low and rhythmically. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It is a ceaseless sound, booming and oppressive.

Not enough to distract me from my thirst.

The glass is a delicate crystal with designs far too intricate to truly be seen, filled to the brim with the clearest water one has ever had the blessing to drink.

With a steady hand, I take the glass in hand and hold it before my eyes.

“Drink”, my husband speaks, sitting somewhere behind me, a smile in his strong voice. I don’t turn to look at him. “Drink and be content”.

My throat burns, the thirst aching. Instead of sipping from the glass, curiously, I tilt it over. The water pours out, no longer clear but deep, dark blue. A puddle grows, flowing and spreading in rivers. I pour until it covers the wood, falling over the edge to the floor, spilling out further. I don’t stop, even as the water floods inch by inch. Up to my ankles, then my knees, touching up to my sternum, until sure enough my head is under water.

Everything falls away; leaving me to float in the depths. I find peace.

Then the ticking of the clock makes itself known again. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

In my hand, I still hold the small glass that contained this ocean. And despite all of this water, I am still thirsty. I squeeze the glass tight. It is resilient, stronger than it looks, stubborn. I grip it tighter, pushing it further, and further, and further. It holds firm.

I am so, so thirsty.

When I wake up, I am in my plush bed, covered in the finest materials a commodore can buy for his wife. My hands shake when I sit up to reach for the glass at my bedside. I always seem to wake up parched.

I find the glass easily. Though it is dark, the room is laid out in my mind like a picture. I remember everything. Even the things I may not wish to.

Sure hands wrap around my middle, hugging me close. “Is it the same nightmare again, Charlotte?” Lawrence’s voice is well suited for a navy commodore, deep and rumbling, even more so by the dregs of sleep.

A grimace tugs at my lips. They aren’t nightmares.

“Go back to sleep Lawrence”.

When he pulls me back to bed, I let him, my throat still dry.

A furious uproar down the hall interrupts me in my otherwise boorish afternoon.

Following the deep voices of men in poor moods, I find Lawrence down the hall in one of our entrance rooms. He is already dressed in his Commodore formals, listening earnestly amongst several uniformed soldiers. The navy men are busy pointing fingers and growsing at one another.

Spotting me, Lawrence greets me with a quick smile. “I hope we didn’t bother you Charlotte. There seems to be some confusion with the placement of route maps”, he sighs.

I perk up upon a memory. “You all wouldn’t by chance be discussing the vessel routes I caught sight of last week?” Lawrence assures me it is. “Well I may be able to help! I did get a good long look at them when you worked. I could help draw them up for you again!”

Instead of thanks or relief, the bunch of navy men chuckle. Indignation stiffens my shoulders and I am annoyed to find Lawrence taking my hand gently. “Though your willingness to help warms my heart Dear, these routes are very important”.

The soft words and sweet kiss on my cheek only fans the swell inside of my chest. I step out of Lawrence’s arms trying to hold me.

“Lawrence, you know my memory is excellent!” I argue. “I have experience charting maps!”.

“Yes, and I do adore your drawings, love”.

“It is cartography!”

“This is ridiculous!” A Captain interrupts with a huff. “Can we get back to being productive!”

I gawk with great offense at the captain before turning to my husband.

Debating, Lawrence looks between myself and the Captain. His eyes find my own earnest ones, and he gives in with a sigh.

Lawrence turns to the Captain. “Keep looking. We’ll find those routes”.

The great ships docked in the port are some of the most magnificent vessels one could ever set their sights on. My favorite pastimes is spending my time down on the docks, breathing in the sea air. Though Lawrence prefers I do so with a chaperone.

“Sailors are a rough crowd, Charlotte. I do wish you would find somewhere else to spend your time”, Lawrence gripes, keeping my elbow in his to prevent possible accidents.

“I am sure you keep your sailors in tip top shape. I can join you on your voyage one of these days. Perhaps your trip to Spain coming up?” I suggest.

“Charlotte”. I don’t like it when Lawrence says my name. Not when he says it like he is speaking to someone small and fragile. “Life aboard a ship is dangerous”.

“What even is a life lived without risk?”

“The life I promised to give you when you married me!” Lawrence insists, and that stops me.

Yes, that is the life I chose. Isn’t it?

Our spat is interrupted by a soldier racing up to us, calling my husband. “Commodore!“ He shouts. “We found them, Sir! The maps! Stolen!” The footman heaves. “Stolen by a pirate!”

Captain Ronan Blackswan is a slippery fellow, commanding the largest vessel of fearsome pirates in the sea. Merchants fear him lest they fall prey to his pillage like many others have, and the Navy have him at the top of their wanted list. Blackswan takes what he wants and nobody knows what that will be until he has run off with it. Truly a monster of the ocean.

Ronan was found waving the stolen charts around in a bar, too drunk to stand and laughing upon his arrest.

The wretch is still laughing when I weasel my way into the prison. They have Blackswan locked up down a lengthy hall dedicated to the pirate alone. No windows, no way to escape. Though this does not seem to bother Ronan at all. He sways about the cell in a one-person waltz, his long black ponytail sweeping behind him.

My footsteps must have been just a bit too loud, because the pirate spins about before I can say a word. Ronan lays dark eyes on me and his sun kissed face splits into a gleeful grin.

“Lottie! Pleasure running into you here!”

I scowl. “What are you doing, Ronan?”

“Well”, Ronan flops back on the thin prison mattress with a grand gesture of his arms. “It appears I have been imprisoned”.

“You know well what I mean”.

“Do I?”

I grit my teeth and purse my lips. “You were always like this. Insufferable!”

“And you loved me for it”, Ronan laughs.

Glaring, I step closer to the bars. “We both know you let yourself get caught. Why?”

Ronan bounces back up, leaping from one foot to the other in a continuation of his earlier dance. He locks eyes with me. “Maybe it was to see you! Maybe I missed you?”

I grab the bars. “If you think flattery is going to distract me you’re sorely mistaken”.

Like a bullet from a gun, Ronan is suddenly at the bars, already reaching through and before I can realize what is happening he holds me tight. We are closer than we have been in years. One of his arms hold tight around my waist, the other curling into my hair. His face now much too close, I can see the glint in his eyes. He certainly smells of rum, but I realize now there is none in his breath.

Ronan’s head tilts, his forehead against the bars and his eyes peeking from in between. “You look pale, Lottie. The Commodore not letting you out?”

It is a struggle to breathe this close to Ronan. “You know nothing of the Commodore”.

“I know you don’t call him husband”, He twirls around one of my curls.

“Are you jealous?” I push at Ronan’s chest, trying to put a bit more distance between us. Noone would know if I don’t try very hard.

Ronan barks a laugh. “Why would I be jealous of the man who doesn’t even know his wife?”

How dare-! “Lawrence knows me plenty well!”

“Oh? Does he know how much you love to sail? The company you used to keep?” Ronan brushes a handful of my hair against his cheek. “Does he know you’re here now?” And then he looks down at me from under his brow, smirking like the cat that caught the canary. “Does he know about me?”

Fear beats at my chest. It is fear, it must be. I won’t admit to the way Ronan’s salt stained skin brings back memories of open seas and windy skies. The warmth of hands feels like the beating sun of a clear day. His grin is nostalgia and his eyes are storming, midnight waves.

It has been so long.

My silence is enough for Ronan. He knows. He always knows. “What happened to you Lottie?”

And then I remember why I am here, on land and not the sea. Bitterness like iron taints my tongue and I glare up at Ronan. “I asked you. I begged you to choose me, and you couldn’t”.

Ronan smiles, and I hate it. I hate the way he only ever smiles, with a million different ways to do so. I despise how he soaks his grin with thought, sympathy, memories held tight, and all the lost opportunities. “You asked for my life. My freedom. I would have done so much for you but that…” He presses his lips to my temple, just breathing. “I couldn’t give that”.

I tuck my face away, just to escape those haunting eyes. “I asked you to give up piracy, to give me security”.

“What is a life lived without risk?”

The life I’ve been living. The life I chose.

“Lottie love,” Ronan’s hand tugs my hair and we make eye contact once more. “The next time you see your safe and secure Commodore, ask him about the cargo those routes of his protect”.

The town is in upheaval, all hands on deck to search every crack and crevice. It appears that somehow, the great Pirate Ronan managed to escape from his cell. Lawrence is baffled. There is no damage, nothing was left for Ronan to use.

Staring in the mirror, a finger brushing my temple, I call behind myself, “Lawrence”. He grunts. “The trade routes that your men patrol, what is it that they trade?”

Lawrence waves his arm dismissively. “Merchandise from the indies. The traders have been taking heavy hits recently. It is a good thing we got those patrol routes back. They will surely put a stop to the attacks!”

Hm, I should have known not to let Ronan get into my head.

Speaking of my head, my pin seems to have gone missing. I had it going into the prison, but I can’t say I recall leaving with it.

Once more I float deep in the dark blue, a glass in my hand. I squeeze it, but it doesn’t break, not yet.

A familiar voice calls my name, deep and like silk running across my cheek. I turn, and a figure is reaching out to me. I reach back, only to find steel bars between us. With all my might, I pull at them, but they do not waver.

The figure is pulled away from me. I reach my arm through the bars but it is not far enough. He is disappearing again, and there is nothing I can do about it. It is not him who is imprisoned, but me.

Lawrence stares at me, wide eyed and stopped still in his spot. He knows he misspoke. He had been so hurried after getting word of an emergency calling him back to sea he let loose a slip of the tongue. My throat feels like it’s in my stomach whilst my stomach is slowly rising into my throat.

It is hard to get the words out and when they do I can only whisper, “What did you say about the cargo?”

Lawrence steps forward, desperation in his face. “Charlotte dear-”.

“The cargo! What did you say!”

The navy man bites his lip and looks away like a busted child. “The cargo took over a ship”.

“The cargo…”, I can’t look at Lawrence. Turning away, I pace to the window. I snatch a glass from the windowsill and flip it over my mouth only to find it already empty. I can’t breathe and this corset is too tight and I’m so fucking thirsty I can’t breathe. I spin back around on my husband, the good commodore of the law. “People. They’re people, Lawrence.”

He reaches for my hands. “Lottie-”

I slap Lawrence across the cheek; angry, bitter, and disgusted. The crack leaves a gaping silence. He just stands there pitifully, looking down. Even that disgusts me. “Say it. Call them people”.

Lawrence puts up no fight. He murmurs shamefully, “They’re people.”

I slap him again and he takes it. “You are gutless”, I spit. Curses race through my mind, none of them seem quite enough. Unable to look at the man, I leave.

The water holds me afloat, cool and light. Peace is held aloft only by the small crystal glass in my palm. Closing my fist, I squeeze. The ticking clock gets louder, unbearable. Crushing, choking, ripping until finally, it gives. The glass shatters into a million uncontainable tiny pieces. Floating into the vast sea, joining together with the sea as one. Sweet rapture.

My hand bleeds, inking the great blue with clouds of red.

In the upcoming months, the navy faces what feels like a losing war against Captain Blackswan. No matter where they go, his ship appears. No merchant is spared of Blackswan’s pillage. Rumors spread that Blackswan made a deal with the devil and in return got the knowledge of the sea itself. It is no help that Commodore Lawrence is taking a leave of absence; the poor man’s wife disappeared some time ago.

The Commodore leaves it to his men to bewilder over the pointed pirate rampage. All of that careful planning did them no good. It is like Blackswan has someone right there with him, whispering their patrol routes directly into his ear.