Episode 8:
"She's a Witch!"

N EEKIN STEPPED BACK NIMBLY ON HER BARE FEET as the two men crashed through her door. She was dressed only in a ratty pair of men's trousers she had rolled up at the legs, and belted tight at her waist. Her bare breasts, wet with ocean water, gleamed in the candlelight.

The men brandished knives while Neekin was unarmed. Behind them, in the hall, crowded more sinister faces.

"I've done you no harm," Neekin said levelly. "In fact, I saved this ship -- and your worthless hides -- not too many nights ago."

"Aye," sneered one of the men crowding out in the hall, "saved us from your demon pet, sea witch."

"I'm no witch," Neekin said, trying to gauge the room, where her best hope lay. "If you weren't all cowards you'd see that. You're scared of this ocean, of what it hides. So am I. But a man masters his fear, he doesn't become its unthinking slave." A pink tongue darted out to lick her full lips nervously, her ill-matched eyes darting back and forth.

"Save your lies." One of them leaped forward, not waiting for his companion. That was his mistake. Neekin, smaller than the burly sailor, dropped to a crouch and, as his bulk arced over her, she drove up the heel of her hand into his exposed throat. Choking futilely for air, his windpipe crushed, he collapsed upon the bunk as Neekin literally snatched his dropped knife from mid-air. Before his companion could do more than widen his eyes in shock, Neekin had buried the appropriated blade in the second man's chest. Rather than waste time wrenching it free from bone and tissue, she merely grabbed his knife as he fell, crimson flooding his shirt.

Then, taking boldness as her strategy -- her only strategy -- Neekin kept going, leaping into the confined space of the corridor where the hot, sweaty stink of frightened men clung to the figures lurking there. In such a tight space, she was at a disadvantage. She was not as strong as a man -- her fighting technique lay in speed and manueverability.

But, she reasoned, if they were momentarily shocked into inaction by her swiftness, she might make it to an open deck, and enlist the support of Alombo and Captain El-Antiague before this progressed further.

She raced for the door, but one man kept his wits about him.

And one was all it took.

He grabbed her knife hand, and in the moments it took for her to swing and jab her other hand savagely into his ribs, the illusion of her unstoppableness was shattered like dropped glass. Someone grabbed her shock of sandy hair. Another man tackled her below the knees. Within seconds, she was pinned beneath a seething, sweaty mass of angry, frightened men.

She screamed, as much in primal frenzy as in fear. She squirmed beneath them, but could not dislodge the sheer weight of them.

And for the second time in as many hours, she was dragged, kicking and screaming, by a horde of men. Ironically, she was being dragged in the direction she had been headed -- on deck. The door was thrown open before them and she was dragged, squirming and cursing, into the wash of moonlight. She was thrown savagely down, and more weight pinned her to the deck.

"What's the meaning of this?" she heard Alombo demand.

"The meaning will be clear, sir," panted one, the formal addressing vaguely ironic. "But don't interfere. It's naught to do with you."

"Almobo!" Neekin shrieked. "Help me!"

A booted foot kicked her in the side.

"Enough!" shouted Alombo. "Say your piece and make your case, but do not mistreat her."

Neekin tried to crane her head around to spy him, but could not. It seemed a feeble defense for her lover to offer on her behalf.

She tried to bite at the men who held her, particularly when ropes were knotted around her wrists. Then she was yanked to her feet and the rope thrown over the rail on the deck above. She winced as she was stretched, her arms reaching above her, her feet touching the deck only by her toes.

At last she saw Alombo, standing a bit apart from the men around her. He was clearly stunned, unsure what to do. There were other sailors, standing dumbly at their posts, clearly not part of this savage group. Perhaps enough even to quell the rowdy ones. But it would be a close fight. Hence, she supposed, why Alombo was dithering.

"What's this about?" he asked at last.

"It's this sea-harlot, sir," said one man sincerely. "She climbed out of the sea and we thought no more about it. But everything's gone wrong since she came aboard. Gannah's death. The serpent attack. Look at her." The man looked, and his eyes lingered on her naked breasts and Neekin briefly wondered how much of their rage was simple fear, and how much was fuelled by frustrated passions. Perhaps she had been wrong to invite Alombo into her bed, she thought. It had made the others jealous. "Look at her..." he repeated dully as his eyes were entranced by those two quivering globes.

Another stepped forward to resume the tirade. "Aye, look at her, at those weird eyes -- who heard of a wench with green and blue eyes? She's a witch. A wanton slut. A succubus -- aye, that's it! She seduced you Alombo, don't deny it. She got you to send Gannah to his death instead of her. Perhaps she even works for Charwan Kan himself."

At the speaking of those words, invoking the man of the sorcerer they hunted, Neekin sensed some of the neutral sailors starting to shift uncomfortably. Which was the way of witch hunts, she knew. Questions had a habit of twisting into assumptions, and those into certainties. Neekin had seen the trend before. Soon she would be expected to prove she was not an agent of Charwan Kan...even though there was no proof that she was.

"You crazy bastard!" Neekin yelled. "You coward," she said, sticking to her hope that she could shame them into giving up their madness. "I've given as much to this voyage as any of you -- and more than some. If you have not the stomach to sail these waters, you should have stayed home and suckled your wife's babies while she did-"

The man punched her in the stomach, almost tearing her arms from their sockets as they were still bound above her head. She gagged, lights exploding in back of her eyes. This time, Alombo said nothing. Instead, he turned and looked up. "Captain, please, this has gone far enough."

Sucking in air, eyes momentarily tearing with pain, Neekin looked up to see the incongruously well-dressed captain standing impassively above them all, watching what went below as if staring at children at play who were not his own. The mission was everything to him, Neekin knew -- his mad, endless quest for the ship that stole his wife years before. He could not permit a mutiny. Yet he was also notoriously loathe to become involved in the actual running of the ship.

"What are your intentions?" he asked at last, as if play-acting interest.

"She is a bad omen -- a danger to the mission," said one.

"Aye," chimed others.

"Rape her," said one.

"Cut off her breasts and toss them to her serpent," opinioned another.

"Flay her alive!"

"Hang her!"

And on it went, though Neekin was gratified that many of the sailors seemed to remain neutral, some looking drawn and pale faced as the list of possibilities grew.

"Silence!" roared El-Antiague at last. And silent they were, as if a tide had suddenly rolled back, leaving a still and deserted beach. After a moment, he said, "The girl is no more a witch than any of you." He looked from man to man with his sunken, distant eyes. Then he shrugged. "But I will not interfere. Only the black ship matters to me -- the rest is your concern." And he turned away.

"Captain!" exclaimed Alombo.

A dirty man turned toward Neekin, dressed meagerly in a ratty loin cloth. "You can't curse us any longer," he hissed, grinning a gap-toothed grin. "You're powerless now, you heathen bitch."

Neekin stared at him. Coldly, she said, "I'm powerless...and you're an idiot. All things considered, I'd still rather be me."

He scowled and made as if to offer a retort but, after a struggle, seemed unable to think of one. Instead, he looked her over and suddenly grabbed her belt and with a savage yank, tore Neekin's pants from her. Dancing about, as though a mighty warrior flush with victory, he pulled on the pants over his dirty loin cloth -- pants that were almost as too big for him as they were for her.

And Neekin was left to dangle, naked, as a shamed sun peeked up over the horizon...

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For twenty minutes, nothing further transpired. The fury of the moment seemed spent and, though all had suggestions on what to do with her, none seemed quite prepared to actually do it.

At last, Almobo approached her. His step was cautious, halting. But when no one moved to challenge him, he approached her more boldly. He offered her a cup of water, which he held to her lips, and Neekin drank gratefully. He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, a pained look in his eyes. "I don't know what they're planning -- they won't tell me."

"You have more men with you than are against me," she said. "Tell them to stop. Order them."

He looked away. "I'm not sure they'd listen."

"It's a mutiny-"

"It's only mutiny once they're ordered to stop and they don't."

Neekin stared, mouth agape. She could almost literally feel the blood drain from her features. "You won't try to control them...for fear you can't?" she said, incredulous. "They'll kill me...or worse. How can you sit by? After our nights together, our love making..."

He looked at her, intently. "I'm sure I can still reason with them," he said, more as though to convince himself than her. "You were right when you said they're just afraid..."

"Cut me down," she interrupted. "Cut me down and give me a blade and then you can wash your hands of the matter, damn you. But give me a figting chance."

"Get away from her, Alombo."

Alombo turned and Neekin looked past him as a burly, pock-marked sailor approached, others at his back. The mob had clearly found a leader. "We've come to our decision..."