Singing.
These weren't the shanties I'd grown up hearing. A hard shiver curled my spine, and I rubbed my teeth against my bottom lip, careful not to prick the skin as I listened. The mournful melody crept over me until it felt like my gills might burst with the emotion. When a male voice called, a female would answer. The words were in a language I was unfamiliar with, but I understood it nonetheless, and I was thankful for that. They sang to their ancestors for their dead. The song described a young queen whose pride carried her from this world to the next. They begged the dead to bring to her peace among them.
I jerked away from the hull, drifting aimlessly for a moment. It almost felt like I was intruding somehow. Something rippled my hip fins, and I swung around, my teeth bared and a hiss in my throat. The shark was already swimming past me, still following the ship. I sighed, rubbing my hands up and down my arms, chasing away the goosebumps that wouldn't disappear. That music had been lovely.
I swam to the surface once again, rising near the ship this time, careful to stay within the shadows it cast along the water. Voices drifted down from the deck.
"Can ya not shut ‘em up?"
"No. I tried, Winston tried, they're mourning that girl. Their princess or something." The disembodied voice let out a frustrated huff.
I scratched my nose with the tip of my finger. It itched, something it had never done at home. All this air is drying my skin out. I swiped a wet hand over my face, trying to restore the moisture. Lorelai had dragged me along with her on some of her adventures to the surface, and if there was anything I knew, it was that the air humans breathed was terrible for my skin.
I should sing to these sailors and end this now, but . . .
Images of the drowned woman flashed through my mind. I wanted to know what had happened to her. I also wanted to know about the music coming from below deck. It was haunting and beautiful and called to the song living inside me.
I slid underwater and surveyed the area, trying to decide.
The ship was moving fast, but not faster than me. Skirting the rudder, I circled to the starboard side. It was dark, but the sea kept few secrets from Poseidon's daughters . . . I looked closer until I finally spotted what I was looking for. On the starboard side of the ship, a reef began. It rose higher and higher until it dropped off, giving way to a tiny atoll. My eyes drifted from the reef—high enough for my purposes—and back to the cargo ship. I could sing to them, tell them to meet me at the atoll . . . Or, I could find a way aboard the vessel and find answers to the questions that were bugging me.
I snickered and rolled my eyes. Of course, there was only one real choice—I wanted answers. I'd always been too curious for my own good. Father had to punish me constantly as a child for trying to sneak out of the city. I cast one last look at the atoll before I swam up along the ship, searching for my way aboard.
I stared at the mess of ropes dangling just above the surface of the water. I'd circled the ship a million times—okay, that was a slight exaggeration, but I had always been called the dramatic sister for a reason—looking for a way to climb aboard. The ropes were about two feet too high to reach, but I was patient. I knew a wave would raise me, or the ship would dip, and I'd be able to reach it soon.
My hands gripped the rope, holding on for dear life. The water had risen, just as I knew it would, but now I faced my second dilemma. I needed legs for this. Tails were fantastic for swimming through the sea, but legs made climbing a whole lot easier. I knew how to call the transformation, but it was something I’d only ever done with my sisters. I stifled a cry when my shoulder slammed into the side of the ship. The wind had picked up, and the ship cut through the water faster as a result. These winds wouldn’t last long, I could tell. My resolve for this plan wavered momentarily, but there was that stubborn streak my father spoke of so often . . .
My eyes fluttered shut as I pictured long, pale legs. I imagined my face but in the creamy color that was so common among the humans who were stupid enough to sail into the waters above our sunken city. They were doomed the moment their vessels crossed our border.
My shoulder slammed into the ship again, almost causing me to lose my grip on the rope. Focus, Gia! I closed my eyes once more, trying to find the source of my magic, my song. I touched it with my mind, picturing myself as a human woman. I could almost feel the dress hanging against my legs, the way the water would weigh the fabric down. I gasped when my tail began to tingle, and my vision blurred with the purple light from my magic. My skin tingled as the magic coursed through me. Fabric, smooth fabric pressed against my nipples, a sensation I wasn't used to. I flicked my tail—erm, feet—I kicked my feet in the water, giggling as the water slipped between my toes. They wriggled in the water until they found purchase against the hard surface in front of me. I let loose a curse, frowning at the barnacles trying to cut my newfound feet. It hurt, but they weren’t bleeding at least. Apparently, my human skin was as tough as my true skin, even if it was a strange color.
I looked up as I began pulling myself up the rope. It turned out I was right—feet were helpful when trying to scale the side of a ship in the dark. My toes cramped as they slipped against the wood, but it was easier than pulling myself up by my arms alone.
My fingers slipped and I cursed as I fell. I braced myself for the impact of the water; it stung. I groaned beneath the water, noting the changes in light. Was it almost dawn? I kicked my feet toward the surface, with an idea springing to life. I could always get someone else to do the work for me . . .
I kicked my feet, treading water as my head crested the waves. It took some concentration, but I managed to call my true form back fairly quickly. I ducked beneath the water, swimming ahead of the ship. For this to work, I needed to be far enough away that their lookouts could spot me.
In the back of my mind, I swore I could hear my father cursing my curiosity. I shrugged and began waving my arms above my head, far enough away from the ship that I could see above the deck now. Focusing on the feeling of human legs, my tail transformed into long, creamy legs once again. Treading water, I made a show of kicking around. Beneath me, a shark slid against my leg. I assumed it was the same one I’d petted on my way to the ship and slipped my foot adoringly along its back before he finally moved away.
"Help!" I screamed, my voice frantic. "Help me!" What was probably only moments, but felt like an eternity, passed before anyone seemed to notice me bobbing in the water. The ship seemed to be moving treacherously slow. Just as I was starting to question the sanity of my plan, wondering if I should just sing the ship into the rocks and be done with it, I heard them. Shouting. They were still a little far away to ‘help’ me, but at least they knew I was there.
"Man overboard!" The ship had finally made its way close enough for them to be of assistance. It was one of the voices from before, I was almost certain.
A splash sounded near me, and I waved my arms around, I wanted them to think I was desperate to be rescued, after all. I recited the story I’d dreamed up to myself—they'd ask me as soon as they brought me aboard. Luckily for me, I'd had plenty of practice lying as a child. No one ever wants to admit anything to Poseidon—he can be unmanageable when he's angry.
I scanned the water, searching for the man who was on his way to rescue me. His head peeked above the water, and a rope was wrapped around his chest as he swam toward me. I kicked my legs out, swimming toward him, but I was a clumsy swimmer in this form. These new legs weren't as good at moving through the water as my tail was. Oh well, at least I'm not actually at risk of drowning. My head dipped under the water as I moved toward him, my arm outstretched in his direction.
A calloused hand grabbed my own, firmly, pulling me through the water until I smacked into his chest. I peered up at the human as he held me to him. He was an attractive male, sort of. An x-shaped scar marred his face above his eyebrow. His hair was too wet to tell what color it was, but I was willing to bet it would be a sandy blonde when dry.
"Hang on to
me," he ordered.
He yanked on the rope with his free hand. "Up!" he shouted, bringing his arm back down around me. The rope pulled us through the water toward the ship. I didn't know what to say to my would-be-rescuer, but luckily, he was distracted, focusing on our progress to the ship. As we got closer, his grip on me tightened. I dug my fingers into his shirt, hanging on as we were hauled out of the water, little by little, suspended in the air.
"Oh, seas!"
"Yes, it’s the sea, hang on!" His voice was harsh.
I resisted the urge to bare my teeth. They were as dull as a human’s right now, anyway. Several sets of hands dug into my flesh as they pulled us over the edge of the ship and onto the deck. I landed on my side, near the man who'd come to get me. Scanning his body, I noticed the marks from the rope. Rope burn. He’d hurt himself to bring me aboard, how sweet. A crowd of legs circled us, and my gaze dragged up, searching the men's faces as I tried to read them. Some were young, some were older, but they all looked weathered. They all looked rough.
"Get back! Give'em room, you fools!" a voice thundered through the crowd hovering above me.
Loud footsteps reached my ears, and the crowd of men split, making way for the one I could only assume was the captain. The man on the deck beside me scrambled to his feet, confirming my suspicion. I rose and clasped my hands at my waist. Several of the crew gaped openly at my figure. I side-eyed the men, but refused to acknowledge them otherwise. If they were stupid enough to lay a hand on me, I'd end this little charade early. I wanted to slake my curiosity, however, so I hoped they’d behave themselves.
"Cap'n," the man beside me murmured respectfully.
“Quiet, Johns,” the older man barked.
His hair was silver at the temples, but black on top. The waistcoat clinging to his muscular frame was dark, but shimmered in the moonlight in places. I studied the shining areas closer and smirked to myself. This captain had expensive tastes—that was gold thread twinkling so brightly. I swiped my hand over my mouth to hide the smirk growing there. The captain's eyes fell to me next.
"And who is this? You've brought a woman aboard my ship without permission?"
"Aye," the sailor answered, waving a hand in my direction. "She was out there screamin' for help. I helped." He straightened his spine and raised his chin.
"So you did," the captain murmured, clapping a hand on the man's shoulder as his eyes roamed over my body.
I tilted my chin up, meeting his light blue eyes when they returned to mine. The sky was lightening around us as the sun peeked over the horizon.
"And who are you then, miss? How exactly did you come to be here, aboard my ship full of miscreants and Africans?"
"Our ship caught fire, not far from here," I started, pushing my wet hair back from my face. "I was treading water for hours, praying, hoping someone would find me—" I covered my face with my hands, sobbing into them.
A murmur washed through the crowd of men. Some sent up prayers to their God. I flinched when the captain’s hand came down on my shoulder, then relaxed when I realized he was trying to comfort me. I threw myself against his chest, mumbling nonsense as he awkwardly patted my back.
"Calm down, girl, it's alright. It's alright now. Where are the rest of you? Where were you going?"
"Father was a merchant. I—I was the only one, after . . ." I shook my head against his chest, sobbing harder. I sent a silent thank you to the sea. Lying was a good skill to have; apparently, it was useful in more situations than just placating my father.
"Shh, now." The older man pushed me away from him by my shoulders, looking me over with a wicked grin. "I'm Captain Donovan. The sailor who dove in after you is Johns. Welcome aboard The Lady Rose, miss...?" He was waiting for a name.
I bowed my head, respectfully. "Ligeia, but Gia's fine."
"Gia," he grinned, revealing a rotten smile.
I smiled up at him, even as he stepped away. I didn't ignore the way his eyes kept drifting back to me. All of their eyes kept returning to me, this was going to be an interesting little adventure.
"What did you mean, before? Miscreants and Africans?" I called out after him, wrapping my arms around myself.
The captain paused at the edge of the crowd of men who'd been watching our exchange. Someone handed him a tricorner hat, and he placed it on his head, adjusting the placement until he was satisfied.
"This ship is on her way to America, Miss Gia. There are roughly two hundred Africans in the cargo hold, and these,” he waved to the men gathered around him with a silent chuckle, "are my miscreants. Fifty-seven of the world's worst, at your service. They work in exchange for their eventual freedom. Johns there only has one more voyage before he can go home to his family, isn't that right Johns?"
The sailor beside me grunted in response. The captain turned on his heel and walked away. His footsteps were a loud echo as he crossed the ship.
“I look forward to learning more about you, Miss Gia,” he called over his shoulder, before addressing his crew. "What are you lot staring at? Go get the first group for their exercises!" he shouted.
I glanced around as the men scattered, all but two. Johns and another stayed where they were.
"Winston, help me find the woman something dry to wear while we hang out her dress."
I glanced down at myself again, aware of the way the wet cloth clung to my curves. My breasts were all but visible beneath the fabric now that morning light surrounded us. Humans tended to cover themselves. They were a boring species. I smoothed the wet fabric down my thighs and began wringing my hair out. I swear it was longer in this form. It felt odd to move my arms and not feel the slide of my fins extending where they connected from my arm to my back. My fingers combed through my dark hair with care for the knots from my little adventure.
"Miss?" a voice called out.
"Hmm?" I hummed in response as I detangled my locks.
When I didn't receive an immediate answer, I turned toward the voice and examined the man Johns had called Winston. He was younger than the captain, but older than Johns. His plain white shirt hung loosely from his too thin frame. I instinctively wrinkled my nose at the sight of him.
"If you'll follow me, there should be a spare pair of breeches and maybe a shirt or two in the officers’ quarters."
I nodded and followed the man as he took us down a set of steps near the door the captain had disappeared into. I shuddered as we moved into a room with several bunks crowded together. There wasn't much room in here at all. My thoughts drifted to the captain's words about his crew. They were prisoners trying to earn their freedom. Prisoners shipping Africans to America, some kind of slave trade, I was sure.
Humans are disgusting.
"Here you go," Winston offered, pressing a shirt and a pair of scratchy breeches into my arms.
I raised my eyebrows and glanced at the clothes. The white blouse would probably fit me, but I didn't know about these weird pants. I glanced down at my legs and scoffed. I wasn't even used to having these and I was supposed to clothe them? That hardly seemed fair.
"You'll have to make do, princess," Winston sneered as he stepped from the room.
He pulled the door closed behind him, and I quickly stripped from my dress. I snatched a blanket from one of the beds and used it to pat myself dry before I pulled the blouse over my head. It was a little loose, but it would do. I stepped into the breeches carefully, ignoring the sound of the door creaking behind me. I bent forward and pulled the material up and over my bottom before I turned around, coming face-to-face with Johns. He smirked at me, and I rolled my eyes as I tried to tie the weird human garment.
"Would you like some help?"
"From a deviant such as you? No, thank you." I finally knotted the cord that kept the breeches closed and met his eyes again. His grin spread across his face.
"This deviant saved your life, miss. Maybe you ought to show a little appreciation."
I stepped around him and pulled the door open, my face tilted up to st
are into his.
"I appreciate your very brave and noble gesture, Mr. Johns. Please, accept my gratitude," I purred.
His mouth hovered entirely too close to my own, and I moved quickly into the corridor to find a snickering Winston. I narrowed my eyes on him, and he blushed and looked away. The truth was, something about Johns set little alarm bells off inside me. Not that he could hurt me, not really, but he pricked my senses somehow. The man was evil.
It didn't shock me, considering this was a prison crew. The captain was particularly nauseating as well. Perhaps I was wrong for wanting to come aboard and get answers. Maybe I should have stayed in the water and sang this ship into the reef near the atoll. I’d already be on my way home. I sighed, walking toward the stairs that would lead me back to the deck.
Something was bothering me, tugging at the edge of my senses. Johns and the captain made my skin crawl, but I wasn't afraid of them. I didn't have any reason to be. So, what was bugging me?
I stepped onto the deck and shielded my eyes; the morning sun was blinding already. I much preferred my usual view of the light—filtered beneath the waves. I scanned the deck and my heart sank. A dozen or so despondent-looking men were lined up, and a crew member was leading them in a strange dance. When the crew member raised his arms, the men followed.
The grating sound of metal on metal drew my gaze to their feet. The men were shackled. All of them were darker skinned than the crew. These must be the Africans the captain mentioned. I stepped around a few crew members and drew closer to the assortment of men. Around every single brown man's neck was a metal collar. I narrowed my eyes as I scanned them. They were shirtless and appeared dirty. Several of the men had long gashes on their backs. I stared at the assortment of wounds. They ranged from new cuts that still wept blood, to mostly healed scrapes, to fresh bruises and welts that marred their skin. My hands balled into fists at my side, and I drew the gaze of the man leading the dance.
Shipwreck Souls Page 10
