by Bex Hogan
‘Listen, I should thank—’ I begin but he cuts across me.
‘The Captain sent for you.’
Of course he did. Why else would Bronn come looking for me?
My father is the last person I want to see today, not with the evidence of my disobedience all over my swollen face. And yet I can only think of one reason why I’m being summoned.
‘He heard about last night?’ Even as I ask I know the answer.
Bronn nods. ‘We shouldn’t keep him waiting.’
Like I don’t already know that. I climb out from my cosy hiding hole and together we make our way up. The ship is bustling with activity as the crew go about their duties, and I walk slightly ahead of Bronn, taking care not to get in anyone’s path, half hoping to lose Bronn in the crowd, hating being escorted by him as if I’m a prisoner.
Errant water seeped down to the gun deck last night during the storm, making the steps here slippery, and when several men rush past me, shoving me out of the way, I slide and lose my footing. I expect to fall, but before I can, hands slip round my waist, steadying me. On reflex I try to break free from Bronn, but the stairway is narrow and I only succeed in turning, forcing our bodies together, his chest pressed against mine so that I can feel his heart beating in time with my own, his breath warm on my forehead. He’s staring down at me with unnerving intensity and I lower my eyes, furious with my blushing cheeks and racing pulse.
Of all the ways Bronn could have saved me last night it had to be from drowning, didn’t it? The very reason I hate him so much.
Because ignoring me after his Initiation wasn’t enough for Bronn. It was as if the boy I knew disappeared the day he left to undertake the challenge, and in his place returned a cruel man who seemed to delight in causing me pain.
A man who one wet day shattered years of trust like a mallet on bone.
I had gone searching for him, tired of his silence, determined not to give up on him. On us. I’d found him on the quarterdeck, taking some shelter beneath the sails, gambling with a group of the crew, drinking rum as if it were water. I’d asked him if we could talk, and when he ignored me I’d tried to order him, unwisely attempting some sort of authority as the Captain’s daughter. The others had started to laugh, called Bronn my pet, said he’d better go when whistled for. I remember the look he had in his eyes; it was pure rage.
I would have gone then, left them to it, and found somewhere private to cry, but Bronn wasn’t about to let me embarrass him like that.
‘I’m surprised you’re even out here,’ he’d said to me, his voice sharper than his blade. ‘Given it’s raining.’
My blood had run cold. The edge to his words told everyone that they meant something, and the deck seemed to fall silent with anticipation.
I’d feigned innocence. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
But Bronn was on his feet, his companions following suit. Frightened, I’d tried to sidestep, but they moved to surround me until the railing was behind me and they were a wall of flesh preventing my escape.
‘I mean, given your fear of water.’
He’d held my gaze unflinchingly, driving the words like a weapon hard into my chest, my secret laid bare and bleeding all over the deck.
The others had started to laugh again, but this time with the unspoken promise of menace. They almost couldn’t believe their luck.
‘You?’ one of the men had said. ‘The Captain’s daughter, afraid of water?’
The hilarity of such a notion had them all in stitches again, until their laughter faded into gleeful anticipation.
‘Think it’s time she learned to swim, don’t you, Bronn?’
The challenge was unmistakable, and I’d stared at Bronn through tear-filled eyes, still not truly believing he’d exposed my secret, but knowing that he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, go any further.
And then he’d shoved me hard overboard.
My mouth was open from shock as I hit the waves, and water had rushed in and down my throat, so that I coughed and flailed in panic. It was like reliving the time I’d nearly drowned as a child, like being in my own nightmares. I couldn’t call out, couldn’t scream – there was no air for it – and for those terrifying minutes there was only gasping, then choking, light then dark, as I emerged then submerged, my arms and legs casting desperately around for something solid, something safe, while the crew above mocked and taunted me for sport.
It was Grace who saved me, her strong arms holding me above the water as she swam us back to the rope ladder she’d thrown over before jumping in to help me. As soon as I collapsed back on to the deck, she’d wrapped a blanket round me before turning her wrath on those who had watched and laughed as I’d nearly died.
‘You should be ashamed,’ she’d said to them as I’d coughed up my lungs at her feet.
They’d muttered under their breath and dispersed, but she’d grabbed Bronn by the arm.
‘What the hell were you thinking?’ she’d said.
He’d pulled himself free of her grip and shrugged. As if I meant absolutely nothing to him.
And that’s when I finally realised I didn’t. Not any more. The friend I’d once had would never, ever have done that to me. Clearly that friend was gone. He’d had a choice – me or the Snakes. And he hadn’t chosen me.
I lost what little hope I had of gaining the crew’s respect that day, learned a whole new meaning to the word ‘humiliation’, and I’ve never truly recovered from Bronn’s betrayal.
But now, with our bodies touching, I am reminded of the boy who meant everything to me, and even now it’s simply too painful for me to revisit those memories.
‘I think I can find my own way from here,’ I say and though I hope to sound indifferent, to my dismay my voice is unnaturally high, catching slightly in my throat. Trying to cover it by giving him a curt nod of thanks, I pull away and carry on, walking a little faster and certainly more flustered than before. Frankly I’m relieved when I reach my father’s room, though I should be nothing but afraid.
He’s sitting by the ornate fireplace, which is purely decorative – I’ve never once seen it lit – reading a book. Talon sits on his shoulder and squawks at my arrival. Displeasure is written all over Father’s face as he takes in my bruised nose, making me feel an unexpected, and highly misguided, sense of triumph. My behaviour has caught him off guard; though it was far from intentional, my disregard for his rules was an unlikely development. But I must be careful. I’m on dangerous ground. So I wait, braced for the castigation that surely is coming.
Instead he gestures to the table where bread and fruit are already laid out. ‘Come, sit with me.’
I do as I’m told, still trying to gauge what mood my father’s in before I speak.
‘I always wanted a son,’ he says, and it’s like a punch to my gut. ‘Did you know that?’
‘No.’ I fight to keep my voice steady. I’m lying. I’ve always known deep down. Of course I have. But to hear him say it? It hurts more than I expected.
‘Instead I have you.’ He looks at me with disappointment. I wonder if he’s expecting an apology that I was born the wrong sex. He’s not going to get one. ‘I would have known what to do with a boy. But you?’
He reaches forward and takes an apple, rubbing it on his sleeve.
‘Perhaps I was wrong to raise you the way I would have a son. But I only know one way to make the Viper. The way my father raised me. The way his father raised him. Maybe you think I’ve been too heavy-handed, but the thing is, Marianne, this is how I was made. Everything I’ve done to you was done to me.’
I’ve never heard him speak of his father. Ever. Rumours of his brutality are all I have of my grandfather.
‘Why then,’ he says, holding the apple up, inspecting its shine, ‘do I not see myself in you?’
We don’t look the same my father and I, my mother’s genes proving stronger. He is tall, I am short. He is white, I am brown. But I know that’s not what he means.
And still I
don’t speak, not trusting myself to say the right thing.
‘You’re angry with me,’ he says.
His reflective mood, his change in direction, his sudden insight – everything about this conversation is disconcerting.
‘You’re angry because I arranged the marriage to Torin. Yet I was under the impression you had no desire to succeed me as captain of this ship. Was I mistaken?’ He slices into the apple with his pocketknife and offers me a piece. When I refuse he gives it to Talon who swallows it whole.
I’m going to have to break my silence, persuade him that he has succeeded in raising a daughter who’s as strong as a son.
‘You’re right that I have no wish to marry a stranger,’ I say, choosing my words carefully. ‘But you’re wrong to think I don’t wish to succeed you.’ The role of the Viper has always passed from generation to generation, and can only be broken by one who defeats the captain in battle. Our generational line hasn’t been conquered for over two hundred years, and while I can’t ever imagine commanding my own reign of terror, I don’t want to be the weak link, don’t want to be the one to let the Isles down.
‘Having you in the palace could prove most advantageous. You’ll be privy to all manner of conversations.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘You want me to be your spy?’
‘Marianne, I want you to be useful. This would be your first assignment as an official member of the crew, and I thought it would please you – you have, after all, always made it clear how much you wish to spend time on land. Your constant pestering to accompany us on shore has not gone unnoticed. This way we all get what we want.’
‘I thought we followed the King’s orders, not spied on him,’ I say, more than a little hesitantly.
It’s the wrong thing to say. He grabs the plate and flings it against the wall, smashing it to pieces. He’s furious. ‘You are my daughter. You do as I say.’
I think of the dead man I saw last night, the one I’m now certain was from the King’s Fleet, and wish beyond anything my father would just be honest with me. ‘Is there something you want to tell me about the King? You can trust me, you know.’
He regards me with such obvious contempt I feel my heart break a little, even as it pounds in my chest. ‘And yet you fail every test I give you. You claim you wish to succeed me but you live in a dream, girl. You think the Viper can have hands clean from blood? I see only weakness in you, an inability to do what is necessary.’
He pauses from his brutal honesty to take another mouthful of apple. The juice drips from his lip on to his chin, hanging for a moment before he wipes it roughly away on his sleeve. I remain silent, though the voice in my head shouts a thousand defences to the charges he fires at me.
‘Marry the Prince. Report to me. Prove you have some worth and then we’ll talk about trust.’ He leans forward and points his knife at me. ‘And as for that . . .’ He flicks the blade in the direction of my nose. ‘You are to remain in your cabin for a week. Understand? And if you ever dare disobey my rules again and jeopardise one of my missions with your presence, I will not be so forgiving.’
With that he stands up and I’ve been dismissed. I leave, my ears burning with fury, the depth of my father’s disappointment in me never more apparent. Perhaps he was trying to shock me into submission, or frighten my loyalty to the surface, but it’s had the opposite effect. For so long I’ve sought his approval, been so desperate for him to treat me like his second, that despite every bone in my body screaming against what he is, I’ve still felt I should strive to become the woman he wanted me to be. But not any more. I’m done. I’m not the only one who’s a disappointment.
My father may think I’m useless, but I know something’s going on. If he’s not going to tell me what he’s up to, then I’ll find out myself.
There was a time, long ago, when I moved unseen from corridor to corridor, hiding in narrow hidden passageways. I don’t know who made them, these tight spaces between walls, but whether it was my father or a captain long before him, they were clearly meant for spying.
My favourite thing to do was creep out at night, and slide into the gap that led to a peephole that overlooked the mess hall. Th ough I had no interest in the crew’s boastful conversations about fighting and treasure, sometimes, on particularly wonderful nights, they would share stories – of myths and fables, of where they came from and how they came to be here – and it was this that lured me back time and again.
As I grew older, and the space became increasingly cramped, I stopped going, but now I think it’s time to revisit my secret hiding place. No one is openly going to tell me the things I want to know, but I suspect eavesdropping when their tongues are loosened by rum may prove to be illuminating.
Though it’s a risk to leave my cabin before my father has lifted his punishment, I don’t plan to get caught. There’s no one around as I slip out from my room and tiptoe towards the place where, if you know the right spot to push, the panel springs out, and I slide into the darkness as I replace the wood.
It really is squashed in here, far more than I remember, and it’s quite an effort to slither along, but I manage to reach the peephole with only a few scrapes of my knuckles, and the occasional snag of my dress. And then I watch.
The mess hall is full, the crew making the most of the time after dinner to unwind, their food long since finished and the rum flowing freely. At first glance they are indistinguishable, a sea of black cloth, but if you look beyond the uniform, differences abound. There are men and women from every one of the six Eastern Isles, though with our history and heritages so entwined, it’s hard to be sure where anyone’s from simply by the colour of their skin. Each one of them is from anywhere, everywhere, nowhere. This motley crew have nothing in common – except the ability to kill.
They’re loud and unruly, and it’s hard to pinpoint any one conversation. After about half an hour I’m considering abandoning this pursuit when a voice shouts over the rest.
‘Hey, Nestor!’ It’s a crewman named Briggs, and he has a young woman in a headlock. ‘Lynx here’s never heard of a keelhauling.’
Lynx’s humiliation is obvious even from where I’m concealed, her skin flushed with colour that creeps right up to the top of her smooth, naturally hairless head as she tries and fails to free herself from Briggs’s grip. The room falls quiet, bristling with anticipation. They sense a fight is imminent.
But Nestor is one of the older members of the crew and he hasn’t quite the appetite for drama. He wants a more peaceful night and gestures for Briggs to let her go. Reluctantly Briggs complies, though he holds her by the arm.
Nestor regards Lynx. ‘Call yourself a Snake, and yet you don’t know about keelhauling?’
Lynx shifts uncomfortably. ‘So what?’
A few of the crew laugh. Nestor does not.
‘So what? It’s the worst punishment a captain can bestow on a treacherous soul, and if you don’t fear it, you should.’
‘Imagine a rope passed under the ship from port to starboard,’ Briggs says, tugging Lynx’s arms behind her back. ‘Then imagine being tied to one end of said rope.’
‘Your feet are weighted,’ Nestor continues, and another crewmember leaps up to sit on Lynx’s own feet. ‘And then you’re thrown overboard.’
Briggs yanks Lynx backwards so she falls heavily to the floor.
‘All the crew, your friends, your team, then pull on the other end of the rope, dragging you under and along, scraping your flimsy body against the keel of the ship, your flesh torn to ribbons by barnacles and any skull crabs lurking there.’
‘You have no air.’ Briggs demonstrates by smothering Lynx. ‘The water fills your lungs as you try to scream, and you wonder if you’ll live to see the other side.’
Nestor gets to his feet now and strolls to stand over Lynx’s body, her eyes wide and pleading as she struggles in vain to breathe through Briggs’s clenched fingers. ‘Some are hoisted up so shredded they wish they’d drowned in the depths. But here’
s the thing. The captain don’t really want you dead. The crew pull you through fast. Because it’s a torture, not an execution. A punishment, not an end. And if you’ve been really, truly naughty?’ He pauses for dramatic effect. ‘Then round you go again for a second trip.’
Finally Briggs releases Lynx and she gasps for air, scrambling to get away from them while several of the crew roar with laughter.
I want to smash through the wall and punch that smug expression off their faces, Lynx’s public humiliation stirring up painful memories of the one I’d endured. Instead I glance around for Grace, certain she’ll step in, only to see her and Bronn lurking at a table in a dark corner. They are entirely uninterested in what’s just occurred and while I expect nothing more from Bronn, I’m angry with Grace. How could she just let that happen? Why didn’t she come to Lynx’s aid the way she did to mine?
I’ve seen enough. I’m not going to learn anything useful here tonight. I’ve not heard the merest whisper about the King’s Fleet, or a single nugget of information to arm myself with, and so I start my slow shuffle back towards my exit.
Once I’m successfully free of the secret passageway I pause. I should return immediately to my room, but I just can’t face it. I’m also starving as I’ve been on basic rations during my isolation. There’s virtually no one about, and I make my decision, heading to deck – after detouring through the galley to sneakily grab a sea biscuit. It’s far calmer than the night of the fighting, with only a skeleton crew working, so no one bothers me as I find a quiet alcove to huddle in, nestled between the stairs to the quarterdeck and the hull. It’s much more uncomfortable sitting here than in my room, but I find the fresh air the closest place to an escape from the evil that oozes from every corner of this ship.
Resting my head back against the side of the Maiden, I gaze up at the night sky and watch as a flock of moonbirds flitter past. Small and silver, they look like stardust falling to earth, and despite everything I smile. There is beauty in this world, even if I can’t reach it.
