Fiona hated boats, no she loathed them. They were always rocking and there was never anywhere to escape to. Calim had suggested that she takea a boat (well the loon had said, "ships sing speedily," but who's getting picky). She had needed to escape the Village Idiots Assc. and a ship seemed like the less likely thing to do. Now she knew why.
The Captain and the crew had agreed that she was not to go near the ropes after multiple instances of her getting caught and somehow stuck hanging from a sail beam. The first three times the sailors had keeled in laughter, saying she was "fooling around" but after about seven or eight times they got the point and she was confined to the lower levels.
All around the merry-go-round
The monkey chased the weazle
The monkey stopped to pick up some rocks
Pop! goes the weazle!
'No!'
Fiona fell headlong into the floor, trying to stop the "pop". This time, the fourth today, she got a blood nose. She scowled. Stupid fool's genes. At least this time nobody was around to see it. There was a knock at the door.
'I heard mus... oh, it's you,' said a sailor, 'you're bleeding.'
His lips twitched.
'Lof an' I'll fob ya.'
He laughed, they always did. She pounced and swung a punch but a whoopie cushion got in the way.
FAAAART!
Laughter.
'Ged out!'
He pulled a hankie from his trews, it was attached to another, this one red. Fiona knew where this was going. It was the reason she didn't have pockets.
Yep, just as expected, there was another hankie then another and another, all in bright colours. Damn things would probably go on forever if the sailor hadn't cut the hankie-chain.
Fiona sank to the floor as the man left. She hated boats. She hated fools. She hated her damned father, the reason she was The Female Son of a Village Idiot. She picked up the chain and held the most normal hankie to her nose. The blood was already on her shirt.
She picked up the book she was reading, it had blood on it. It also had many other stains, most of which she didn't want to mention. EVER. The words started moving around the page. No, she would focus. Words would obey her. She sat and waited until they finally settled down. She began to read.
'CERENIS BROAD ON THE STARBOARD BOW!'
The door swung open. It startled Fiona, who was semi-engrosed in her book. Some fishing gear tied above her fell on her, including a foul semlling liquid that was meant to attract sharks.
One of the sailors, Tall Jack, hurried passed to get something from a crate. Looking at the mess she had made, he grinned.
'Will yer be goin' the nex' leg?'
She always appreciated that he never paid attention to her...foolishness.
She shook her head.
'Me neitha. Me pa lives here. Ye gan sleep the night wi' us if yer wish.'
She lifted an eyebrow.
'Okay.'
Fiona lifted herself up from the floor and started packing away the gear. It didn't want to go up with her around so she tied it with the hankie-chain and shoved it between two boxes.
She went outside, she needed air. The ship lurched as it came to a near stop. She fell over and rolled across the deck, her skirts somewhere around her chest. Why had she not worn trews under her skirt? She banged against the side of the boat. At least there she couldn't move any further.
She pulled herself up and clung to the rail. Almost on dry land, she could see the docks clearly. She sighed, she had been on the damn boat for at least a fortnight. A week longer than she would have wanted.
The captain came up to her.
'We want you off the boat as soon as we make land, forget about helping unload.'
'That's a relief.'
The captain went back to shouting orders, something about closing the sails.
The ship came into dock.
'SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!'
Fiona fell overboard. Bag, book, boots and all.
'What the hell was that?' she yelled at the crew.
'Oil on the boards, don't know how it got there.'
'Well, pull me in!'
Tall Jack threw a rope over and called for her to hold on.
She hooked her legs around the rope then wrapped it around her body twice.
'Ready?'
'Ready.'
She was pulled up and flopped onto the deck.
'What happened to your clothes?'
Her clothes had run. Now rather than being a dull brown they were brilliant red and gold, all in funny patterns. One patch looked suspiciously like... The Fool's Emblem: a joyful and a horrified mask, both wearing tripple-pointed jester hats. She was sure that if she turned her shirt around she would find a bladder on a stick. Any Fool would recognise her now, at least any Fool of the Village Idiot Assc, then she would be in trouble.
When the leading rope was thrown out she was the first to climb onto the dock. She hurriedly crossed the platform, stumbling due to her wetness. Dry land! Warm afternoon sun! How she had missed earth beneath her feet.
There was a scurry everywhere, it must be about five of the evening (5pm) and everybody was trying to get home. She shoved her way passed several crowds, elbowing a couple of men in the rib and a woman dawdling. A quiet spot to sit, that was her only care. Perferrably one without those annoying little window gardens. They were awlays bad news.
Luckily there was a little sidestreet that looked nice so she sat on a doorstep and stretched her legs. She watched as a woman kept falling over. What was wrong with the woman?
Slowly the afternoon sun got to her, Fiona fell asleep.
She was in a nightmare. Fools were dancing around her, fobbing her with their bladders-on-sticks whenever she tried to get away.
All around the merry-go-round
The monkey chased the weasle
The monkey stopped to pick up some rocks
Pop! goes the weasle!
Suddenly she was the weasle and the monkeys were Fools dressed in stupid furry suits. They were throwing stones at her. They hated her, she was a traitor to her blood.
She woke, startled. It had never played in her sleep before, usually she heard the one about dying... Ring-a-Rosie.
She looked around, it was almost dusk. The tipsy lady was still there and there was a naked man standing over her.... A NAKED FOOL!