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Pamela stepped quickly through the cobblestone streets. The flickering of the streetlights cast shifting shadows on her path. Her eyes were trained immediately on the ground ahead of her, wary of the puddles and potholes. These were the docks, after all, and the puddles tended to consist of liquids much more vile than water. The hems of her skirts were already heavy with the soil from the streets, and she silently cursed Captain Scott for sending her on this asinine mission in the first place.

“But, Pamela, I need more red paint. Otherwise, we’re just fighting silver-coats. That makes no sense.”  

“Captain, it is nearly midnight, I don’t think…” Pamela began.  

“Uuuugggh! Pleeeeeease!” 

“Fine. I’ll go fetch red paint. For your toy soldiers’ coats. In the middle of the night.”  

“Pamela, they are not toys, they are my tools for strategizing strategies. I must visualize and plan for confrontations with the King’s soldiers. Do want us all to be captured unawares and hanged in the gallows?” argued Captain Scott. 

“No, of course not. But why can’t any of the men go? I’m not entirely sure it’s a sound idea for me to be wandering through the docks at night.” 

“I don’t trust them to get it right. You are a woman and know colors. They are idiots. And besides, they are all either sleeping or out at the taverns.” 

Pamela sighed. She knew she was fighting a losing battle.  

“All right. I will be back with your red paint as soon as I can.” she finally conceded.  

It had taken her almost forty-five minutes to track down red paint. Right as she was about to admit defeat, she happened upon a seedy-looking alchemist’s shop. Her luck was running high when he announced he did in fact have some red paint he could spare her. For a price. It was no matter, as Captain Scott was desperate and had given her five silver pieces for the purchase. She thrust the coins at the foul-looking man and quickly left the shop. She stood outside on the street trying to figure out the best way to take back to the ship. As she set off at a brisk pace in the correct direction, she couldn’t help but wonder why it seemed so quiet-- no horse hooves clomping on the stones of the streets, no muted music from inside the taverns. All very strange indeed.

A movement to her left caught Pamela’s eye. She quickly halted under the streetlamp, her eyes scanning for any additional movement.  

My mind is just playing tricks on me. Just get back to the ship. 

Resuming her journey, she began walking faster. Her eyes darted from side to side, watching carefully. She had walked almost another block when she saw the movement again. This time she plastered herself up against a shadowed wall, pulling her long, dark cloak tightly around her body as camouflage. Her breath came out in short pants, and a cold sweat dampened her brow. She heard a slight shuffling, the scrapping of boots upon the cobblestone. Had it not been so eerily still tonight, she wouldn’t have worried about others being on the street at this late hour. But something wasn’t right tonight. She needed to get back to the ship. Now.

Bracing herself, Pamela ducked her head and began to run towards her destination. The breath tore from her lungs now, but she didn’t care. She was not interested in meeting whatever was lurking in the shadows of the street.  

Just get to the ship. Just get to the ship. Just get to the ship. Just get to the… 

Thump.

A large wooden door swung open, stopping her mid-stride. She tumbled backwards and tiny white dots exploded behind her eyes as her head made contact with the ground. Instinctively, she covered her head to shield herself from an attack. She heard the creak of the door closing.  

“Pamela?” a deep voice asked. 

She didn’t move.

“Pamela?” the voice asked again. 

She inched the cloak away from her eyes and looked up at the figure crouching over her. Recognition was instantaneous, as was the wave of relief that washed over her.  

“James! Oh, thank God!” she whooshed.

She untangled herself from her cloak and attempted to sit up. The movement caused her head to spin and her stomach to take a slow, sickly roll. James put his arm around her shoulders and assisted her to her feet. She sagged a little into his side until her head seemed to right itself. She quickly remembered her propriety and stepped away from him, straightening her cloak and dress. Her corset suddenly seemed a little tighter than usual.  

“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked.

“Oh you know, just out for a little stroll in the moonlight,” she replied. 

He was staring at her with a concerned and bemused expression on his face, his green eyes looking into hers. Her cheeks began to flush, as they always seemed to when he looked directly at her.  

“Truthfully? This isn’t exactly the best place for a woman to be at night,” he persisted.

“Oh, I am definitely aware of that. The Captain sent me out to get red paint for his toy soldiers. Otherwise he can’t ‘strategize strategies’ to save us all from the gallows,” she replied drolly.  

“Well,” James said, looking thoughtfully off into the distance, “I don’t really know what to say to that. Are you okay?” 

“I believe so.”

“Why were you running? I just opened the pub door, and boom. I guess you ran straight into it,” said James. 

“I don’t really know, actually. I came out of the alchemist’s shop, and I could have sworn someone was following me. I kept seeing movement in the shadows. Maybe it was my mind just playing tricks on me, but there’s something odd going on tonight. It’s just so quiet,” Pamela replied.  

“I know. The tavern is nearly empty, too. Save for a few sailors and Mad Meredith, of course,” James smiled, his eyes twinkling a bit. “I stayed longer than the rest of the crew to make sure she was okay, but I must admit she becomes a little, um, forward after a few pints. And to be honest, she frightens me a bit.”

Pamela covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. The thought of James being molested by an intoxicated Mad Meredith was almost too much to bear. “You can’t be serious,” she giggled. 

“Pamela, the woman rubbed my breeches while loudly whispering something about battening hatches,” he added. He shoved his hands awkwardly in the pockets of his coat, looking uncomfortable at the memory. “I’ll thank you to stop laughing at me under your breath now.” 

He looked so chagrined and sweet, she almost completely forgot the fear that had plagued her the entire night. James seemed to have that effect on her. He always put her at such ease, no matter the situation. In the three years she had known him as first mate aboard the Dunder Mifflinia, she had come to hold him in the highest esteem. Not only because they were friends, but because of how he maintained his humor while keeping them on a steady course and out of danger. This was quite the task with Captain Scott leading the way directly into any and all sorts of danger.  

“All right, let’s get you back to the ship,” James said, interrupting Pamela’s thoughts. She smiled up at him and they set off down the street.

By the time they reached the Dunder Mifflinia, Pamela was thoroughly exhausted. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. James followed her to the Captain’s quarters, where she knocked softly on the door.

No response.  

Pamela knocked again, a little louder this time. 

No response.

Exasperated, she boldly opened the door and peeked into the room. Walking a little further in, she came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the chamber when she saw him. She heard James sigh beside her. There before them was Captain Michael Scott, strategizer extraordinaire, fast asleep at his desk, tiny toy soldiers scattered around his head.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Pamela hissed. 

They silently left the room and walked towards the crew’s quarters. The ship was hushed, except for the occasional creak and the sound of the waves gently lapping at the sides. Usually this sound had a calming effect for Pamela, but tonight she was too angry to enjoy it.

“Are you really that surprised, Pamela? We are talking about Captain Scott, you know,” James asked, trying to lighten her mood.  

Pamela sighed. No, it wasn’t that surprising. Just frustrating. It was just another affirmation that her efforts largely went unnoticed by the people on this ship. It always seemed she was hemming someone’s tattered clothes, or taking dictation for a letter, or recording the day’s events in the log book that no one read. Not exactly the most exciting work to be had aboard a pirate ship. But she did her work diligently, and even took a small amount of pride in it. She even had begun to steal little moments to sketch life on the ship. Captain Scott with his leg ridiculously hiked up on the edge of the deck, looking out over the ocean. Mad Meredith lounging in a hammock cradling a bottle of rum. James helming the wheel, a hint of a smile on his lips and the wind tousling his sandy brown hair.

“Pamela, are you going to sleep in the men’s quarters tonight?” James inquired, snapping Pamela from her thoughts.  

“What?” she asked. Looking around, she noticed that she had marched right past the entrance to the women’s quarters and was almost at the men’s. Quickly turning back, she walked back to the proper door. Her cheeks were beet red, and she kept her head down to conceal her embarrassment over being so lost in thought. James was still behind her, and she could hear him softly laughing.

“Thank you for the escort home. I truly appreciate it, James,” Pamela said, glancing up to his eyes. “So sorry to have almost toppled you.” 

“I’m just glad I came across you when I did. I can’t begin to imagine what the Captain was thinking sending you out alone in the middle of the night,” James replied, a trace of anger lacing his voice.

He looked down at her and smiled in spite of it. She was looking at him in the way that made his chest ache. She had no idea the effect her smile had on him. She had no idea how everything about her had an effect on him. She had such a quiet way about her- a gentle grace that he couldn’t help but to be drawn to. When she had boarded the ship three years ago, he had been saddened by how fragile and lost she seemed. She hardly ever spoke, just quickly completed her duties and returned to her quarters. Eventually he had been able to draw her out, little by little. He found her to be more and more amazing the better he got to know her. When he'd finally coaxed a smile out of her, he had been taken aback by how beautiful she was. With this thought his expression grew more intense.  

Pamela felt her breath hitch as his gaze held her own. When his eyes traveled to her lips, she found it difficult to breathe all together.

You’re a married woman, she told herself.  

Married to a man that deserted you for a bar wench, another voice countered.   

She couldn’t seem to move. She knew she should step back because this was highly improper, but everything in her was yearning to step closer to him. To slip her hands under his vest and absorb his warmth. Then his head tilted slightly towards hers, and she immediately snapped out of her trance. Oh Lord. This was too much.

“Well, goodnight, James. Thank you again for seeing me home,” she stammered and quickly slipped into her room.

“Goodnight, Pamela,” James quietly replied to the door.