As was his usual habit, late in the evenings, on calm, clear nights like this one, Gabriel was taking a long walk along the old stony trail that followed the winding coastline to where the old lighthouse had once stood. Though the ancient structure had long since crumbled and finally fallen into the sea during a particularly violent storm many years before, the cliffside still gave a fine view of the sea and the coastline, though there wouldn’t be much to see at night save the stars. They would be especially bright tonight, with no moon out for them to compete again.

Gabriel paused, standing at the edge of the cliff, walking stick in hand, looking up at the expanse of stars, like a glowing, sandy shore, smelling the salt on the warm sea breeze, listening to the roar of the surf crashing against the rocks of the cliff below. It made him feel young again, like back in the days when he went to sea himself.

Eventually, he had had his fill for the evening and began to think of his small, seaside cottage and his bed, though it would be cold and empty, as it had been since his wife had taken the fever nearly three years gone, now beckoned to him. Before heading home, he let his gaze drop to scan the shoreline, the lights of the village twinkling a few miles up the winding coast and the sea, dark but for where starlight reflected off a cresting wave here and there. That was how he saw the ship.

Boat really. It was a tiny, one masted thing and Gabriel almost missed the boat. It was sailing with lanterns doused, but by chance he’d spotted a bit of flapping sail that had caught the starlight. After that, his eyes had fixed on it, one vague dark shape against a sea of dark, vague, shifting shapes, but Gabriel had always been sharp eyes in his youth and though he often couldn’t see a pin before his eyes these days, he could still spot a sail on the horizon, plain as day.

The boat was closer to Gabriel then to the village and it seemed to be sailing directly for the rocks, sure to crash upon them and be ruined. But as a matter of fact, there was a small cove, unseen and almost inaccessible from land, but big enough a ship could pull up and drop anchor by a little spit of land where the crew could rest without worrying about the tide, save on full moon nights, which this night most certainly wasn’t. Everyone in the village knew about the cove, just as they knew smugglers regularly used it, just as these smugglers now were using it, for smugglers they were. One group would, as previously arranged, sail up and land whatever cargo of illicit goods they were carrying and some hours later, another group would sail by to pick them up.

Seeing this, Gabriel started to walk back down the path, aiming towards the little crossroads where a small trail began to wind its way precariously down the cliffside to the little cove. He took his time, the smugglers might need some time to beach their craft and unload whatever cargo they carried and he wanted to be there after they had departed.

It was known, though never said aloud, that there was something of an understanding between the local villagers and the smugglers who used the nearby cove. The villagers had never breathed a word of the cove, or the people who used it, to the King’s Revenue officers or to the Queen’s Admiralty and in return, if every now and again a lucky villager should come by at the right time, he might help himself to whatever the smugglers had left behind, provided they did not take too much. All the smugglers seemed to regard it simply as the cost of doing business, of paying rent for this fine smuggling cove.

As he walked, Gabriel wondered what this bunch would leave behind. Best would be bottles of fine liquor, unstamped by any excise agent, or a case or two of fine tobacco, to keep his pipe filled with something better than the local weed. If he was unlucky it would be subversive literature, fiery rabble rousing stuff for sure, only no one in the village could read and the only use for it would be rolling cigars or to tear off sheets in the privy. But as Gabriel got close, he realized all of his guesses had been very wrong…

He’d timed it right, arriving just as the smuggler’s boat was pulling out of the cove and back out to sea, but just as he’d started to head towards the beach, he ducked out of sight again. Standing in a group around the beach were nearly a dozen figures...he could make out no other details in the gloom. A dozen men, that must have been half the smuggler’s company, given the small size of the boat, left behind to guard whatever it was they’d deposited on the cove. Gold or jewels, plunder stolen from gods-knew-where.

Gabriel was about to give it up as wasted time and head for home, quietly so as not to catch the attention of the guards, when he noticed something odd about them. They stood close together, huddled would be the most appropriate term, not moving. Wouldn’t it have made more sense for them to spread out, get out of sight, to ambush any unwary interloper?

And their murmuring, a sea breeze had picked up then, carrying some snatches of it towards Gabriel’s ears, didn’t sound like sailors talk, rough when sober as good guards should be, or friendly as when drunk like poor ones often were. In fact, it didn’t sound like men at all, but women and, though their words were oddly garbled and muffled, they sounded like they were in a good deal of distress. From time to time, as one of the figures moved, Gabriel could hear a metal jangling sound, carrying over the still, quiet cove, silent but for the waves at low tide.

From these odd clues, Gabriel was sufficiently curious to overcome his caution. Wanting to find out who these women were, he once more began to approach, quietly as he could, until he was close enough to get a good look at the nearest of the figures, in spite of the darkness when he got there. He stared, gaping in surprise…

She was a young thing, a wench of 18 summers at the most he guessed, and the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, at least until he saw the girl beside her. Both girls, all of the women in fact, appeared to be completely naked. Luckily it was a warm, summer night and the cove was not given over to mosquitos and other biting insects, otherwise they would have suffered terribly.

All of the women had their hands behind their backs. As he got closer, Gabriel could see they were locked there with iron shackles. Similar fetters bound their feet as well. Not that they could have gone anywhere, though, the captives had iron collars locked around their throats, each with a long chain hanging from a ring at the back. The chains ran to several ship’s anchors the smugglers must have deposited on the beach with the captives, four girls to an anchor. The chains rattled as the girls milled about, uncertainly.

For a moment, Gabriel wondered if these poor girls had been left here to drown by their captors, but discounted the idea. They were far enough up the beach that even when the morning tide came in, at this time of the month the worst they’d get would be wet feet and that only if they were not collected by the next group of smugglers he was sure would swing by long before dawn. These girls were cargo, like liquor or tobacco or illicit literature.

Though it had been a generation since the old Queen had outlawed the slave trade throughout her Empire, it was a well know fact it continued to flourish in many of the more distant colonies and even here in the homeland it continued in places, in secret. Despite the best efforts of lawman and naval captain, some smugglers continued to transport female cargo here and there, bound for secret, blackmarket auctions and from there to the underground slave brothels or private harems of the wealthy and decadent.

These girls, Gabriel guessed, with their pale skins and fiery red hair, had been stolen away from one of the northern islands by the slavers crafty and ruthless recruiters. From their soft, smooth bodies, they had been higher class girls, born to a life of privilege and comfort until snatched away from their families, now doomed to much harder lives of bondage and misery.

As he got closer to inspect them, he saw the girl had been gagged with tight bands of cloth, cutting into their mouths. The muzzles held cloth wadding inside, packing the captive’s cheeks, which bulged slightly beneath the gag strap. A second band of cloth covered each girl’s eyes, keeping her in the dark even more then the moonless night did.

Though they were blindfolded, the girls were not unaware of Gabriel’s presence. Though they could not see him, they could hear his footsteps against the sand, passing them by as he went from girl to girl. Quiet murmurs escaped the girls muzzles and they became more agitated, tugging against their chains. A few hunched over, in a futile attempt to preserve their modesty against his gaze. They couldn’t have been slaves long, to still have such innocence, even now, stripped and shackled.

They question now was: what to do with them? Gabriel couldn’t free them, for one thing, the slavers who were expecting to pick them up would be very unhappy to find the cove empty. They might take it out on the village. Even if they didn’t, word would get out about the secret cove, questions would be asked about how long the villagers had turned a blind eye to it and its frequent visitors.

“Guess I should just leave them here…” He thought silently, turning to head back up the winding trail. Back to the village, his seaside hut and bed. His cold...empty bed. “Although…” He paused, turning back. “Would they notice one girl missing?” If the smugglers knew of the cove, surely they’d know of the occasional price for its use. Having someone to warm his bed would be nice, especially on those dark, cold nights in the wintertime. Surely he’d be a better master then wherever this lot were bound for. He wouldn’t ask much, just some cooking, cleaning and some occasional companionship. It took him only a moment's thought to make up his mind to take one of the slaves as his own.

A bit more time was spent, trying to decide which girl to take as his own. He went from anchor to anchor, examining them closely. All of them were beautiful beyond anything he’d seen before, certainly in this small, backwater fishing village; tall, slender limbs, curvy hips and perky breasts, but in the end he decided to pass on the most beautiful of the maids. Those would be the most valuable to the slavers and thus the ones they’d be most likely to notice if they were missing. He settled on one of the girls at the edge of the group. She was shorter, a little bit chubbier than the others and her face, what he could see, was pretty without being gorgeous. Still, she was pretty enough for him and he was sure she’d feel just fine lying in bed beside him tonight.

Reaching to his belt, Gabriel took out his pen-knife and opened it. Taking the long chain connecting his chosen slave to her anchor, he examined it, looking for a weak link. He found one, about four feet down from the collar and managed to pry it open with his knife.

Though blindfolded, the slaves heard his efforts, working on the chains and the excitement rippled through them. They seemed to think he was here to rescue them. A few shuffled towards him, or where they thought he was, evidently eager to be free of their chains. The girl Gabriel had picked was equally mistaken. As he parted the chain linking her to the anchor with the others, she turned, presenting her shackled hands for him to unlock. He ignored her, instead grabbing the remaining chain as a makeshift lead. She gave a confused whimper as he tugged on it, forcing her to shuffle a few steps forward, after him.

The other slaves also murmured, confused, as Gabriel started for the trailhead, taking his new slave with him. Their murmurs turned to whimpers to despair as their hoped for rescued headed away with his lone, chosen girl. He paid them no mind, thinking only of his cottage and his bed, soon to be all the warmer with his new companion.

“Come along, girl.” He said, gently, giving another tug on the leash as they started up the trail. He took things slow, the blindfold the captive maid wore hindered her only slightly more then the darkness of the night did him. “Don’t worry...you’ll like living with me from now on…”