by Perrin Briar
“Yes?” Stoneheart said, on the edge of his seat now. “And how do they make themselves happier? How do they ease their sense of loss?”
“They were each born with a betrothed,” Aaron said. “And they each lost them, sometimes in the battles between the various clans, and sometimes in the raging storms that reach deep down to the depths of the oceans and slam the merpeople against the sharp rocks along the seafloor. They take the lives of ordinary men to satisfy themselves, to make up for the loss they suffered all those years ago, and when they kiss the men-”
“They kiss the men?” Stoneheart said. “Why would they do such a thing? Because they’re hungry for affection?”
“Yes,” Aaron said. “And no. They yearn for love, need it to fill the hole in their souls, but they can never fill it. But they hope, despite the truth, despite knowing they will never fill that part of themselves again, that it will remain forever empty. They try to fill it, at the cost of a man’s life. It refills their heart, and for a short time they are complete again.”
Stoneheart, belying his name and reputation, had tears in his eyes. He leaned back.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. That’s what I thought. Aaron. That’s your name, isn’t it? I would like very much for you to come to me every night and tell me about your world. Can you do that for me?”
Aaron’s expression froze. He’d just dug his own grave. He clearly wasn’t interested in doing anything of the sort, and by excelling at storytelling, he had condemned himself to having to do it every night. If he were to disappoint the captain, if one of his stories failed to give him the thrill of excitement he desired, he knew very well what his, and his family’s, fate would be.
“But it will be some days before we arrive,” Stoneheart said. “And we’ll have to keep ourselves entertained until then.”
Zoe looked down at her wine, and then her eyes flicked up to Stoneheart. His was an unflinching gaze, the kind she was sure every killer possessed. His glass eye rolled in its socket and made her sick to her stomach.
“Eat up,” Stoneheart said.
It was enough for Zoe to lose her appetite, especially since she then noticed the captain hadn’t touched any of the food from the table himself, only that which was on his plate to begin with.
Zoe sat her fork down on the table. The others saw that, their forks already laden with food. They hadn’t yet taken a bite of the food either and, with great disappointment, sat their own forks down.
“Not hungry?” Stoneheart said.
“No,” Zoe said. “I think we ought to go to sleep. It’s been a long day.”
“There will be many more long days ahead,” Stoneheart said. “Sweet dreams.”
Stoneheart grinned around the slice of steak he thrust into his mouth and munched on it with relish, letting the juices run down his chin. The food wasn’t poisoned after all. It was a test. He didn’t want them to eat, and now he took joy in them all knowing they had just passed up the best meal they could hope to have for the next few days, possibly even weeks.
Jim led the family out of the cabin and below deck.
“I didn’t know you were such a good storyteller,” Cassie said to Aaron.
“I’m not,” Aaron said. “But the childhood authors I read were. I just retold their stories, as well as I could remember, anyway.”
“You can recall the stories from your childhood?” Cassie said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I can barely remember what I did last week, nevermind from my childhood.”
Aaron shrugged.
“We all have our talents,” he said.
“Yes,” Cassie said. “But some are more useful than others.”
“It depends on our situation,” Aaron said. “I doubt I could have outrun a T-Rex when it mattered.”
“But you would have probably avoided the whole need to run in the first place,” Cassie said. “I know which situation I would prefer.”
“And if I failed to recognize the threat before it was too late?” Aaron said.
It was Cassie’s turn to shrug.
“Then I guess it would be useful to be able to run,” she said.
They came to a small room half crammed with empty ceramic pots. There was a small space on the floor.
“This is the best I could organize for you at short notice,” Jim said. “It’s just about big enough for you all to sleep in if you arrange yourselves carefully.”
“It’s great,” Bryan said. “Thank you, Jim.”
“I put a chamber pot in the corner,” Jim said. “It’s got a crack in it, so it’s best to make sure it leans over at an angle like it currently is. Otherwise it might spill.”
“There’s no toilet?” Zoe said.
“There is,” Jim said. “But I wouldn’t suggest any of you go wandering about the ship at night.”
“We understand,” Bryan said. “Thank you.”
“Sweet dreams,” Jim said.
He bowed and left them, closing the door behind himself.
“So that’s it then,” Zoe said. “We live like slaves for two days until we can get away from here.”
“Yes,” Bryan said. “But we will get out of here. That’s got to be worth working for, hasn’t it?”
9
SKINNY DRAGGED a large net tangled with sprigs of seaweed and moss over the side of the ship and tossed it onto the deck at Zoe’s feet.
Zoe untangled the mass, stripped the struggling fish, and placed them into wooden buckets. She carried them to a canvas spread across the deck and upended the fish over it.
Bryan floundered to catch the flapping fish. Once caught, he sliced open its belly with a sharp knife, tossing the innards in another bucket. Watching the fish writhe, fighting for its life, made Zoe want to throw up every lunch she had ever had.
Once the bucket was full Bryan dumped the refuse back into the sea. Hungry seagulls and other creatures under the sea were on hand to take advantage.
Aaron swabbed the deck with a dirty mop. He worked from one end of the deck to the other, and when he turned around, found the deck was just as dirty as it was when he’d started, the crew having crossed the deck as they went about their own chores. He turned back to start cleaning again.
Cassie worked high in the rigging, sewing tears in the sails with a bodkin needle. The waves rocked back and forth, making her bob like the arm of a metronome. Zoe had lost count of the times she’d heard the slop of Cassie’s vomit hitting the deck.
Somehow she always managed to miss the crew, or perhaps they were smart enough to avoid moving underneath wherever she was at any given moment. Aaron dutifully mopped up the mess, pushing it over the side.
Swabbing the deck had several advantages. First, it allowed Aaron to move freely, socializing with the crew. Once Aaron got used to the way the crew traversed the ship, he devised a more efficient way of cleaning, ensuring the deck was always kept moderately clean.
The crew liked a clean deck and were impressed with Aaron’s work ethic. They began by ribbing him, making fun of how he mopped, that he was born to the job, that he should have been born a woman. He struck back at them with thorny barbs that made them laugh. He’d unwittingly passed their test. They began to teach him about cannon maintenance and how to shoot them.
They took breaks when Stoneheart wasn’t around, and taught Aaron to play a game called Dead Man’s poker. He was good too. He had won two silver coins and an old man’s lunch in his first few hands. They labeled it beginner’s luck, but if that was true, he was turning out to be a very slow improver indeed, and would remain a beginner forever.
The first day took every painstaking minute with as much discomfort as it could muster. And after dinner, Aaron’s duties still weren’t over. Aaron, escorted by Zoe, entered the captain’s quarters and gave him the bedtime stories he craved.
That’s what they were, Zoe thought. Adult bedtime fairy stories. Stoneheart fell asleep after hearing them, his questions coming fewer and far between, his eyelids drooping and heavy, until hi
s face rested in his plate of food. He no longer offered any to them. The trick had played its purpose and he knew it wouldn’t work a second time.
Zoe could have buried a knife in the captain right then and there, faster than Jim could prevent her. But what would happen to them then? Who would take command? Any other member of the crew, save Jim, would have resulted in a far worse predicament.
The men still leered at her and Cassie, but that was all they did. And the few men Aaron had befriended leered a great deal less than the others. She even thought they might defend them if the odds weren’t too greatly stocked against them.
Stoneheart’s snoring made the cutlery rattle on the table. His glass eye continued to revolve around in its oversized socket, sometimes appearing to glare at them, other times to roll back as if it too was falling asleep.
Aaron had stopped talking, his own chin resting on his chest. Zoe poked him awake, placing her hand over his mouth to prevent his snort of alarm. The last thing she wanted to do was wake the captain. Then Aaron would have to continue with his tales.
Zoe led Aaron out the door, careful to shut it quietly behind him.
“Good job, Aaron,” Zoe said. “Now let’s get back to Cassie and Bryan. I don’t like to be exposed like this.”
The door to the captain’s quarters opened. Jim bit into an apple and let the door slam shut. Zoe glared at him for risking the possibility he might wake the captain.
“Don’t worry, he’s fast asleep,” Jim said. “Nothing can wake him once he starts snoring.”
“We’d hardly be able to leave otherwise,” Zoe said shortly.
“The captain hasn’t slept this well in years,” Jim said.
“I’m not surprised with how he sleeps,” Zoe said. “Why doesn’t he sleep in his bed and not at the dining table?”
“Old habits die hard, I guess,” Jim said. “Here.”
He handed Zoe a small basket of apples.
“Thanks,” Zoe said.
“No, thank you,” Jim said. “It’s a small thank you from the crew. When the captain sleeps well, they can all sleep well.”
And now that Zoe peered around, she saw the deck was practically empty, save for the presence of a sleepy skeleton crew.
“Jim, how much longer before we reach the port?” Zoe said.
“The captain said it would take a couple of days,” Jim said. “So, by the day after tomorrow, I guess.”
“This world must be huge,” Zoe said. “The last world we were in, we could see the opposite end by standing on the bluff of a hill.”
“But not big enough,” Aaron said. “Or else there wouldn’t be a war.”
Jim grinned. It wasn’t unkind, but there was a sardonic edge to it.
“You have a lot to learn about the nature of man,” he said. “Man will fight not because he wants to, but because he must. It is his nature. He will always desire what other men have. This war is an everlasting one. It’ll never end, unlike the one from your own history.
“Eventually the pirates were wiped out in your world. But not here. There should be enough space for two sets of people, but they are both too greedy, always hungry for power.”
“I hope someone comes up with a way to end it soon,” Zoe said. “War helps no one but the arms manufacturers.”
“There is only one way to end the war,” Jim said. “By the two sides coming together, whether that requires one to overpower the other, I don’t know. But that isn’t likely to happen anytime soon.”
He hopped down off the barrel.
“I’d better go put the captain to bed,” he said. “Before he drowns himself in gravy.”
10
A BELL rang with undisguised urgency.
The family started awake at the same moment. The previous day’s heavy workload and the ship’s gentle rocking conspired to send them all into a near comatose-like state, the creaking wood making anything but sleep impossible.
They awoke with wide eyes, peering around at their featureless room. Their faces may have been ringed with the deep wrinkles of groggy sleep, but their eyes were bright and alert.
“What is it?” Aaron said, the first to find his tongue.
“I don’t know,” Bryan said. “We’d better get up and go see.”
It was the last thing any of them wanted to do. Cassie had commandeered some sailcloth the crew were going to cut up into rag cloths, but she had managed to convince them to let her have it, at least until they disembarked for the port.
It was not clean, and bore stains of use from bird excrement, and though the family attempted to clean it of such blemishes, there was no way to remove the smell.
The family untangled themselves from the blanket and opened the door. Bryan was almost run down by a trio of crewmembers before he could take a full step out the door.
Shouts rang out in the air, something Bryan recognized immediately from all the pirate movies he’d seen as a kid.
“Ship ahoy!” the shouts said. “Ship ahoy!”
The voice was almost drowned out by the incessant ringing of the bell. The family joined the rest of the crew on the main deck. The crew was busy lining up the canons and loading them with large heavy black balls.
It was pitch black, in the dead of night. There was a pleasant chill in the air. The waves pressed against the Mary Celeste’s hull as if attempting to slow it down, preventing it from approaching the ship they were currently chasing down.
“Is it British?” a shipmate with a peg leg called, predictably, Peg Leg said.
“Hard to tell,” another shipmate said. “Looks like a fishing vessel to me.”
Bryan looked back at the wheel located at the stern of the ship on a raised platform. Stoneheart was at the wheel, bellowing orders Bryan had a hard time understanding. He was directing the Mary Celeste toward the fishing vessel. It was rapidly growing as they approached.
The wind blew against their clothes, cutting through them like razor wire. As they drew closer, Bryan could see the other ship was nowhere near the size of the Mary Celeste.
It had a pair of large empty nets hanging above its deck. With a ravenous crew of pirates on your tail, you tended not to be in the mood for fishing. They were running for their lives, but had no chance against a vessel such as the Mary Celeste.
“Think they ran aground somewhere?” Smithy said. “Why else would they let themselves enter our waters?”
“Or their navigator ain’t a lot of good,” Earl said. “Whatever the reason, they shouldn’t have come so far into our waters.”
“They’ll get taught a valuable lesson now, don’t you think?” Skinny said.
“One they’ll never forget,” Earl said. “That’s for sure.”
“Ain’t no ship in these waters as can match the Celeste,” Skinny said with more than a hint of pride.
The fishing ship was drawing up fast. Bryan gripped the guardrail, preparing for impact. The aft sails lowered, reducing their speed. Then the mainsail fell, and the Celeste made a sharp turn, pulling alongside the trawler. The crew of the other ship was already assembled on their deck, hands raised above their heads.
“On your knees!” Jim shouted.
Jim and a dozen other men tossed hooks onto the fishing trawler’s deck. They sliced through the soft wood like clawed fingernails as they were pulled in, and then leapt up, and hooked into the guardrail.
The men pulled hard on the ropes, pulling the boats as close together as possible, and then lowered a series of planks that bridged the gap.
Jim and half a dozen men took to the fishing trawler, armed to the teeth with cutlasses, sabres, daggers, pistols and rifles. They hissed at the men on the deck, spitting in their faces and delivering a few warning kicks to their guts.
The fishermen bawled, crying and gibbering like children. The fishing trawler crew dropped immediately, heads lowered in desperate prayer. More than one wet himself.
Stoneheart’s silver-studded boots thudded heavily and with great foreboding on the boards as h
e crossed to the fishing trawler. He cast an eye over the hunched figures, eyes fixed studiously on the deck before them.
“Maggots,” he said. “Maggots sucking the lifeblood of a still living, powerful monster. Don’t you know enough to stay away from dangerous creatures? You are in pirate waters, Stoneheart seas. And you dare to come fish our waters? You mean to starve us out of house and home?”
The men cowered, terrified and unable to speak.
“Do you know how a man gains a reputation as a bloodthirsty tyrant?” Stoneheart said. “With careful maintenance. He is a murdering psychopath, who kills all he comes across. But today I’m feeling merciful. I shall kill just one of you. Which of you would care to make the sacrifice to save his fellow crewmembers? Do we have any volunteers?”
He cast an eye over the men on their knees.
“No?” he said. “Not one of you? How disappointing. Then you shall all die.”
He lowered his pistol at the fishermen. His men followed suit. The fishermen gibbered.
“Me,” one of the fishermen said. He was old, with a thick white beard. “I’ll die.”
Stoneheart flicked the hammer off his pistol and raised it to his shoulder, aiming at the sky.
“We have ourselves a hero,” he said with a grin.
He approached the old man and kneeled in front of him.
“What’s your name, sir?” he said.
“Larson, sir,” the old fisherman said.
“Nice to meet you, Larson,” Stoneheart said. “Why did you volunteer?”
“I’m old,” Larson said. “These other boys are young. It seems a better trade than anything else we might get.”
“Except from your perspective,” Stoneheart said.
Larson shrugged.
“It’s the way of the world,” he said. “Ain’t no fairness to be found, save at the end of a pistol. My life in exchange for theirs. Shoot me. I’m ready.”
“Good man,” Stoneheart said.
