by Arden, Alys
His crew fidgeted with delight, eagerly awaiting instructions.
When the pirate captain finally stopped pacing, a smile spread under his untamed beard.
“Thanks be ta the King o’ France!” he yelled in English, causing a roar from his constituency.
The crowd hushed as his eyes came to rest on me – I was the only lady still in a dress. He turned on his heel and slowly approached me with a walk of grandeur, almost a dance. A dance that I wanted no part of. Nevertheless, he stopped right in front of me and asked, “Mademoiselle, why don’t ya cry like all the otha birds?”
I struggled to get the English words out and had to force myself to look at his face without wincing when I said, “Should you prefer me to cry?”
“I don’t care what ya do, li’l lady, as long as ya do it lookin’ like that.” He gave me a slow wink with his good eye, and that’s when I realized that his other eye wandered because it was not real. It was a stone: milky and iridescent like an opal.
His rank breath attacked me as he continued to yell ungentlemanly things. A burn raged through my shoulders, and I became extremely frightened, Papa. Not at the hideous captain, but at what I might do. My fist balled to hide the sparks trying to escape. I thought that I might explode if there was not some sort of release.
“Then you shan't care that I do this,” I muttered and spat in his false eye.
His monstrous hand collided with the side of my face, spinning me to the floor. He let out a giant roar, like a true madman, and fell on top of me. “Yer a feisty one, aren’t ya? All the better!”
My head throbbed, and a loud buzz rang in my ears. I dug my fingernails into the floorboards beneath me, struggling not to defend myself in ways that would cause alarm. I saw ten different things I could kill him with, but, remembering our audience, I let my head fall to the side in defeat.
When no more words came out of the captain’s blistered lips, I looked back at him – his attention had moved from my face to my medallion, which had slipped out from beneath the fabric of my dress. Your gift, Papa.
He ripped the chain from my neck and became excited by what other riches might be aboard.
“Lock ’em below deck!”
The pirates chained all the passengers of the S.S. Gironde together,packed us into the dining hall, and bolted the door so they could raid the ship without distraction.
Whilst trapped, my thoughts spun. If I revealed my true nature, there was no guaranteeing I wouldn’t be burned at the stake afterwards, even if everyone on the ship was saved as a result. It was the most dreadful night, Papa.
For hours, we wondered which would be crueler: to kill us immediately, or to leave us on the open ocean to starve and bake to death under the unyielding sun? Most of the girls prayed with the nuns, as did some of the crew. My thoughts were with poor Captain Vauberci, who the pirate captain had kept on deck.
Eventually, our crew began to sing songs and sip flasks of spirits. The more time passed, the drunker they became, and the sadder the songs sung. By the time the sun rose again, most had made peace with God and were ready to walk the plank, but I was wide awake andnot content to rest eternally on the floor of the Atlantic.
And then the strangest thing happened, Papa.
Absolutely nothing.
No one came to get us. We heard no more noises. Another hour went by and still nothing happened. The others became restless, as the peace they had made with death faded. Something was clearly not right.
I made eyes with Cosette from across the room to tell her I was going to leave, and then focused on the shackles that bound my wrists until the metal expanded enough to slip my hands out. Everyone was so excited when they saw I was free, they did not even question how it had happened.
Breaking the lock on the door would have been an impossible task without being noticed, but then Cosette began to sing a lullaby. Minette joined a phrase later, and then Lise, until everyone was under the spell of the melody. The diversion made it easy for me to focus on the inner workings of the padlock until it popped open and fell to the ground on the other side of the door. I slipped out as they began the second verse.
With haste, I ran down the deserted hallway and climbed the stairs that led to the deck, but when I tried to push the hatch door open, it barely budged. Something was lying on top of it, trapping us below.
A little focus on the hinges, and they slowly pushed the heavy wood up. Sunlight infiltrated the crack, and a dark liquid dripped onto my face and shoulders. I wiped it away, and my hand came back smeared red. My heart pounded as the hatch opened, and the corpse that had been weighing it down slid to the deck.
My arms bent to shield my eyes from the blinding sun as I climbed out from below. When the scene before me came into full view, nothing could have prepared me for the sight. I ran to the edge of the ship as bile leapt up my throat.
The ocean breeze whipped my hair around, and the splashing waves glittered beautifully, as if the bloodbath behind me had not happened.
Despite knowing the answer, I wandered the deck to see if anyone was still alive. Bodies were strewn about as if it was the aftermath of a great battle, but there had been no battle; there had been a slaughter. Corpses draped from the blood-sprayed sails and hung from the railings like des décorations de fête.Every throat had been ripped out, and every pirate had died with a look of terror on his face. My fingers tingled; I knew exactly what had happened. Who…what had answered our prayers.
Do not mistake me. I had no sympathy for the pirates who had seemed so prepared to leave us locked up. Au contraire, a rush of excitement overwhelmed me, knowing we had not been defeated.
At the front of the ship, the pirate captain had been impaled with a large harpoon; the scent of blood choked me as I grabbed the drenched ring of keys from his belt.
I ran back down below to release the others.
The look of horror on my face must have begged for silence because no one pressed me for news. I led the way back to the deck, hearing the gasps behind me as one by one they took in the carnage. Tears escaped my eyes when I noticed the dead bodies of a few of our men, who had been caught between the two deadly factions.
“Sacrebleu!” whispered Minette.
“I don’t understand,” said Lise. “Are they protecting us?”
“They aren’t protecting us—” I said.
“They are protecting their food source,” Cosette finished.
Right then, the beautiful red bird squawked from the crow’s nest and then swooped down to land on Cosette’s shoulder, singing a few notes as if in agreement.
The rest of the hostages flooded onto the deck, each more stunned than the last. Screams fled the orphans. Some of the crew shed tears when they found the bodies of their brethren. The nuns seemed the most confounded of all. They fell to their knees in prayer, but knew not whether to thank God for our survival at such a cost of life.
As the crew raced around the ship, fearing irreparable damage, we found Captain Vauberci gagged, bound, and stuffed into a closet. He had only a few broken ribs and very little recollection of the previous night, although he twitched when asked about it. After many swigs from his flask, he became his old steadfast self and commanded preparation for the seamen’s funeral.
Though it was apparent to all that something unnatural had occurred, Captain Vauberci announced that the few sailors who had perished on deck had defeated the pirates and died heroes. Of course, this was absolutely preposterous, but no one wanted to think about the alternatives. Songs and prayers were sung with haste, both because of seamen’s superstition and fear of damage to our ship.
Shortly after the funeral, the captain made the announcement we all feared: “The S.S. Gironde is beyond repair. We have no choice but to abandon the ship.
Eager to flee the gory scene, every passenger, even Martine DuFrense, assisted in transporting our cargo onto the pirate ship. One of the crew assigned the rooms, and then once the orphans ensured their precious dowry cassettes were sa
fely aboard the new ship, they began to scrub the cabins. But no amount of cleaning was going to remove the years of grime accumulated by the pirates.
While the captain and his top mates scurried around the ship, investigating the rigging, the triplets and I tackled the giant black rag on the flagpole and tossed it into the ocean. In its place, we hoisted the flag from the S.S. Gironde, and then Captain Vauberci claimed the ship for the King.
The night crew took their posts, and all the passengers retreated to their new cabins, while the Monvoisin sisters and I stole a few more minutes on deck. We watched the dark silhouette of the S.S. Gironde sinking under the full moon.
“Is it possible we will be done with these monsters after tonight?” Cosette asked.
The three of us knew it was not pirates to whom she was referring.
“We can hope,” said Lise, as the distance between the ships became greater.
I nodded slowly, but hope wasn’t enough for me. I grasped their hands and concentrated on our old ship one last time.
We were stronger together.
The girls began to sing, and soon enough a fifth voice joined us – the exotic red bird who was perched once again on Cosette’s shoulder, looking perfectly in place next to the beautiful girl. When I turned back to the ocean, all I saw was a growing flame floating on the black water, bright against the black sky.
Smiles spread across our faces as the flames engulfed the ship, the pirate corpses, and anything else aboard the S.S. Gironde. We sang the last notes of the song and then retired for the night.
Both exhausted and enthralled, I entered the squalor of my new cabin. By what miracle of God could we have simultaneously survived a pirate attack and rid ourselves of our original predators?
I immediately flinched when I plopped down on the rough mattress of a now-dead pirate. I expected to find a rock underneath my back, but instead pulled out a smooth, round stone: it was milky and iridescent like a very large opal.
I sat up quickly, recognizing the stone as the glint from the pirate captain’s eye socket. A trophy. Like a cat leaving a dead mouse as a gift for its owner.
I didn’t know whether to feel grateful or threatened, but my intuition led me to the former. The fiery itch in my palms begged to differ.
My medallion was next to it – the chain was broken but otherwise perfectly intact. I quickly mended the metal and slipped it back around my neck. The familiarity brought an immediate sense of relief. This, of course, didn’t last for long— I didn’t know who had placed the treasures on my bed, but I knew what had. We may have defeated the pirates, but we had not escaped the monsters.
Chapter 25 Willkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome
October 27th
Isaac 7:22 p.m. Hey, wanna hang out tonight? I know it’s kinda difficult with the curfew, but maybe ur dad would let me come over?
I looked at the little brass alarm clock. 7:34 p.m. I’d been staring at the text message for twelve minutes. In that time I’d written at least six different responses and been unable to send one of them.
Determined, I typed in a dumb joke, but then quickly hit the back button until it vanished. My eyes flicked back to his message. Like it’s my dad’s permission I’m worried about. He’s never home anyway. The thought of being here alone with Isaac made my stomach jerk. At the same time, the more I avoided Isaac, the more my stomach seemed to jerk. Although, I’m not sure if it counts as avoiding since he was at my house every afternoon… more like ignoring. I’d been counting the hours ’til the weekend to have some peace. This text message had popped up just when I stopped counting.
For the rest of the week after “the incident,” we both continued to pretend like nothing had happened. Like we never kissed. Like he never demonstrated some kind of magical ability in front of me. But ever since that night it had been hard for me to focus on much else. How am I supposed to think about Kafka when every bird I see reminds me of Isaac… and the memory of my face being ripped open, and… and that kiss? The only time I could remotely distract myself was when I was translating Adeline’s diary.
My fingertip traced the thin line on my cheek where the crow had attacked me.
“It’s not possible, Adele.”
Brooke’s words echoed in the back of my mind: “Oh my God! Can’t you ever just let something good happen to you without sabotaging it?”
Is Isaac a good thing trying to happen to me – and here I am convincing myself that he slashed my face open? What kind of twisted freak am I? Images of sketched feathers flashed in my mind. I clammed up. The thought passed.
“You’re being ridiculous… Isaac is not the crow,” I yelled. My gut told me otherwise.
I grabbed my phone, but before my thumbs could get a word out, it buzzed with a lengthy text message from an unsaved number.
unknown 7:38 p.m. Hi, Adele. Little sis initiation starts this week and we thought it would be nice to include u since u weren’t here freshman year. Slumber party at my house 2night. We’ll pick u up. Wear ur favorite pjs! xo Annabelle
xo Annabelle? My phone buzzed again.
Désirée 7:39 p.m. Did you get an invite from Annabelle? I told her I’d pick you up. Be ready at 8:30.
I love that Désirée just assumed I would participate in these shenanigans.
Before I could overanalyze anything else, my thumbs flew over the screen, typed one little word, and hit send.
Adele 7:40 p.m. Okay.
“Okay?” Am I so determined to avoid Isaac that I would rather hang out with Annabelle’s clique? “Seriously pathetic, Adele. You deserve whatever you get from Annabelle.”
From what I had gathered over the week, Sacred Heart had some kind of tradition to pair freshman (Little Sisters) up with juniors (Big Sisters). The Big Sisters were supposed to guide freshmen over the next two years and then pass on the Big Sister title when they graduated. I had the feeling that inclusion wasn’t really what Annabelle had in mind for me tonight, but whatever stupid scheme she was cooking up seemed like marshmallows after reading about Adeline’s and the triplets’ problems.
Vampire problems.
Did I really just think that? And more importantly, do I have vampire problems?
As I texted my plans to my father, images of pedicures, underage drinking, and rounds of Truth or Dare flipped through my mind – all things I could handle. What’s the worst that could happen at a slumber party?
At least I was already dressed for the occasion. And at least now I wasn’t lying to Isaac when I told him I already had plans. For some reason, guilt still plagued me.
I don’t know if it was Isaac, the anticipation of prep-school hazing, the pirate massacre, or the fact that the overhead light was now flickering on and off, but I was soon in a tizzy. I closed my eyes and sucked air in through my nose until the lightbulb finally behaved.
“Two more bodies have been reported today,” the DJ said as I turned on the radio. I sat at the vanity. A sound bite of the police chief was plugged: “We’re not answering any questions. At the moment, all we can say is that the victims were missing a lot of blood.”
I began aggressively separating my waves into two messy braids.
“As everyone knows, the city is operating with only one functioning hospital, and the morgue is completely overwhelmed, which means there is a queue for autopsies and we’re losing more evidence while we wait.” He sounded flustered. The poor man probably hadn’t slept much since the Storm.
The radio host cut back in. “And we have Jack on the line, a pastry chef from the Warehouse District.”
“Yes, hello, Jack Whitaker here. Rumor has it that the National Guard has set up shop in the old Brown’s Milk Factory. Supposedly, they hooked up generators to the old refrigeration system so they can use it to store corpses yet to be processed.”
“There you have it, folks. This city is so broken we don’t even have the resources to deal with our dead, but this won’t come as a shock to locals, who are still struggling to find food, gasoline, medical su
pplies, and, of course, their relatives. If these bodies weren’t Storm related, then this message is going out to the killer. Just because the N.O.P.D. is backed up, it doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t have our eyes on you. Citizens, be alert. This is the Wolfman, signing off.”
Chills crawled up my arms.
Without moving, I twisted the dial and welcomed the familiar trills of Mr. Jones’s trumpet. The nostalgia lasted for only a few bars before being interrupted by obnoxious honking from the street.
An unfamiliar grey Porsche SUV was parked in front of my house, engine running – not Désirée’s white monstrosity. I strained to see the driver. Ugh, Annabelle. I guess there was a change in plans.
I grabbed my bag, snapped off the lights, and ran down the stairs, but as soon as I opened the front door, Désirée pushed her way inside, backing me into the hallway.
“Hey,” I said as she shut the door behind her. “Are we—”
“Where is your room?”
“Up the stairs, why?”
Without waiting for an invitation, she ran up, dragging me behind her.
“Take off your clothes.”
“What?” I snickered.
She quickly began digging through my drawers, slamming each one shut until she got to my lingerie.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
She spun around and stared me up and down with that look of disapproval I was getting used to. But I was unsure why my ankle-rolled sweatpants and thrifted Mickey Mouse T-shirt were unacceptable for a sleepover. Sheesh. She tossed me a cream-colored, satin camisole from the drawer and then started pulling my shirt off. I swatted her hands away.
