The Bones of Broken Songs: A Historical Mystery Romance (Mortalsong Trilogy Book 2)

by J. M. Stredwick

  “We found these ones hiding below. They had their sights set on a small boat. Looking for escape, I imagine,” one of my men, Reki, explains.

  As he moves I see four people, hands tied and pressed to their knees. Two women. When I draw closer, time seems to slow. I balk, tilting my head as I come closer. I stare down at her, come close so that I can crouch and see her perfectly clear.

  “Well aren’t you a pretty one?” I utter under my breath.

  The girl’s chest rises and falls with deep breaths and I can practically taste her fear, the way it dilates her eyes and brings ripples of adrenaline to her bosom. She’s the same size, the same shape. Her body curves in the same sensual ways, the flat stomach, the slender arc of her hips; I look at her and I can see it all. She will not look me in the eyes. I take her chin gently and she tries to look away. I make her look at me.

  “Stop,” she murmurs.

  It is a plea. Her voice only mildly different with the accent. Still, the tone teases me and cleanses my insides.

  I peer into her face, searching her eyes. They are the same chestnut shade. Her lips are still plump with the same marks and small lines. Her hair is up in a hassled way, as if the way they handled her has caused it to come loose. I release its bindings and watch as it unravels, a wave of darkness down her back and breasts. It is she. Giselle. I think then, today is my lucky day. I correct the shaking of my hand and draw it against her scalp, allowing my fingers to touch and then pull through the silk of it.

  “Don’t touch her!” I hear the shriek, and then a sob.

  I stand and look to see two more friendly faces.

  “Really?” I chuckle to myself, “No, no, no.”

  My men are confused, and they stand at the ready, a bit fidgety in the awkwardness. I look down to see Claire and…my brother. A thousand questions come to mind, and I sling my hands along my belt.

  “Well, this is a curious ensemble,” I sigh. “It really brings me back.”

  I tilt my head to my brother, “Alphonse.”

  “You’re a hard man to find,” he seethes, and bucks against his bindings. “Why don’t you let me free so we might handle this the proper way?”

  I laugh.

  “No, I think you’ll stay right there,” I tell him. “But I will let you speak. I mean, truly, this is a unique situation. I’d love to hear how it came about.”

  I glance at Giselle, rather, the girl. She holds herself the same. She parts her lips, looking up at me through the curtain of her hair with uncertainty. A jolt of excitement courses through me. She brings me this feeling, just as she did eighteen years ago. Now, I suppose there’s a bit of an age difference between us. I guess I am lucky I look all of twenty-four. I can imagine the taste of her lips like honey on mine, the heat of her body. It’s enough to make me want to tackle her here, but of course, she would not understand and that would be wrong. It would be better to make her want me.

  “We owe you nothing,” Alphonse says simply.

  “You owe me everything!” I roar. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you? There were a few times I caught wind of you…whatever business you were doing. But you seem to vanish, don’t you? Of course, that didn’t matter. I vanished too. We both seemed to be busy in our own endeavors…but it is clear to me now what your sole venture was. And you Claire, it is very surprising. You’re comfortable with this?”

  Claire glares at me, eyes rimmed with black and expelling hatred.

  “You have no right. Filthy murderer!” she screams.

  “Claire,” Alphonse admonishes, trying to convince her to silence.

  “No,” I nod and chuckle, wiping my blade on a cloth in my pocket. “I am a murderer. I mean, look at what I did to your men Alphonse. I think it is safe to say we now know who the better brother is after all these years. If I didn’t know before…well…”

  Alphonse resists my antagonization and looks straight ahead. I’m aware that he knows I killed our father. He must loathe me for it, maybe even wish me dead. Father had said that Alphonse knew about everything, he was even assisting them in their work. To fix humanity of their mortality. Now, he has Giselle. I smirk. Had.

  “You should be dead instead of my sister!” Claire rages and attempts to free herself of the bindings. I chuckle. Should I be? I feel dead already.

  “It’s useless to resist,” I tell her. “I thought you might be happy to see me. I’d be your brother by law if it weren’t for my father.”

  “Let me go! I’ll kill you myself you bastard!” she screeches like a dying hawk.

  It is my turn to ignore them. We are at a standstill. My men await my response. I can feel their tenseness, their itch to go below decks and take count of our spoils. They want to be finished with it and I want the same. I feel a drunken buzz in my mind just from seeing her, and then, some warmth pouring over my mind. Relief after tension for so long. I have the upper hand. I would have always been able to save her. Now I have her and I will never let anyone hurt her again.

  “Take them to the ship!” I tell the men, raising an arm to Idalgo, “And you- command this ship with Reki and the others. Bring it home.”

  Idalgo comes to me, wipes his brow and then leans close.

  “Women, sir?”

  “Women, yes,” I respond to bait him.

  Alphonse says nothing. Claire’s tears tumble down her cheeks. The girl, whatever her name is now, she is silent and stuck in a state of shock.

  Back at the comfort of my own helm I look out over the horizon. Eighteen years of waiting. Eighteen years of things that I will never be able to go back and change. I feel old. I ache with the weathering of the sea and a thousand heists. I never want to go back, no, but there are sometimes I dream of her. This time I feel a collision of dreams. She doesn’t need to love me in this life. I am fully aware of that. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

  Gia

  “You know that man?” I ask wildly, the first moment we are left alone.

  It has been a day at the least. Probably more. We are shackled to the walls below deck in one of the cargo holds. Big vats of rum are stacked around us and stink up the air. A bit of water dampens the floors and our clothes, soaking us to the bone. I ache from the odd jostling and weird position my hands are in now. The pirates have kept us alive, giving us fresh ale and food. I do not know how many days its been, but I do know that my previous design has been crushed. Whatever I would have chosen.

  “Yes,” the woman, Claire, says.

  When she speaks her chest sinks as if it is painful for her to say it.

  “Now what?” I ask. “If you know him you must have some idea as to how to get us out of this…situation?”

  I see them exchange eyes, a dark transference. I wonder what they are thinking. The Captain has lost all previous charisma and is silent, brooding in his corner with hands lank against his inner thighs. Claire seems distracted, unable to sleep. I relate to her in that I find it hard to rest at all. When I watch the Captain’s eyes shut, the oil of his body causing a shine along his eyelids and face, I think he looks almost peaceful, as if he is meditating upon the chaos of our situation.

  Before they can respond to me there is a loud clunking and heavy boots drop down the steps to where we are held. They’ve come back to censor us, to listen to what we would say and make sure we don’t somehow get free.

  This time, he is with them. His hair hangs loose about his shoulders, a bit past shoulder length. It is thick and shiny like one of the native’s in Maryland. He looks similar yet different, skin a bit lighter, almost gold. His eyes are dark and shifty as if he knows that the world will bow to him. I’ve met men like him. They all think they are the best; above others. It is always fake. They all crumble eventually. I’ve seen it in every crook and demon man who preys upon weaknesses of those “supposed” to be less than them. When confronted with the right pressures, they all crack.

  He comes to stand before us.

  “We’re here,” he tells us, and I look u
p.

  He is staring down at me as if he would bare me with his eyes. I glare and then stare at the wet floor again.

  “Where are you taking us? I’d love to know,” Alphonse asks carelessly.

  “I am sure you would,” he responds drolly. “Don’t worry, I think you’ll be pleased when you see.”

  The men begin to untangle us from the manacles, unlatching the hinges and then immediately binding our hands with rope. Brother Death himself comes for me and I feel the hard pressing of his hands as he links my wrists together and ties them close. I feel that he is a bit too close, that he has no boundaries because I feel his chest brush against my back when he moves away. His eyes have been brightened and he turns about.

  “Bring them up.”

  He commands his men, and they do just that, pushing us into a line up the steps. We climb awkwardly, stumbling every bit of the way.

  When we reach the hole where we’ll be thrust out into the morning light, I cannot fully open my eyes. It is extremely bright. Everything around me appears in a startling blue haze, and I try to hide my face from the sun.

  I try to crack my eyes and I piece together a slab of land that climbs high with emerald green hills and craggy clifftops. An Island. I notice that there is smoke rising from a small settlement, little, thatched roofs checkering the hills. There is a barge and a lengthy dock with many small boats and sloops in port.

  The sailors yell and jerk me out of my fascination with the Island that we face, and I reel back. Claire is behind me and I bump against her.

  “This cannot be,” she utters as if strained for breath. “No! We cannot be here! Please!”

  I want to ask her what she means, but I am unable. I look back and as my eyes adjust, I notice she looks ragged and has lost some of her glow. I want to tell her to hush, that everything will be fine. We have to think the way they think. We have to be smart about it. That’s what my father always told me, in any case.

  “Relax,” the pirate Captain gives her an impatient growl. “I’m not going to hurt you, or her.”

  He glances at Alphonse, and chuckles a bit, “Maybe him.”

  His men laugh with him darkly, and Alphonse gives an annoyed look. I would almost think that they know each other well. He does not seem afraid of this man they call, “Brother Death.” But, why wouldn’t he be? When I look at him he gives me chills down my spine. It is as if there is something soulless about him that only I can see. Perhaps they’ve dealt with men like him before.

  “Though, it does seem we have much to discuss?” he adds.

  “We have nothing to say to you,” Claire spits.

  “Oh, I think we do. I think we’ll sit down and have a very honest chat. Say, tonight? Let’s make it a bit festive, while we’re at it.”

  “Fuck you, Benjamin!”

  Benjamin. That is his name? His name does not suit him.

  “Claire ignore him,” Alphonse urges her.

  “Where’d you take his first mate?” I ask then for Alphonse.

  Benjamin turns to assess me as if I am someone he never realized was here, I seem to almost startle him, and his brows draw low. He comes to stand right before me and he tilts his head. His eyes are a deep amber brown and there is stubble at his chin. He has a nice face, I’ll admit it. I wish that he wouldn’t stare at me so boldly because his stare demands my own back. I will never avert my eyes.

  “The fat man?” he asks me. “He declared his loyalty to us. Switched sides.”

  I swallow, throat tight.

  “Is that all?” he asks me, eyes wide with curiosity.

  “Where…” I glance at Captain Alphonse and then Claire, “Where are we?”

  The side of his lip curls and he lets out a breath of amusement.

  “You’ll know soon enough, lovely.”

  We are taken in small boats up to the dockside, lifted out with all too friendly hands, and pushed along the boardwalk. My feet hurt but it is nice to be walking rather than crouching in an uncomfortable position. The men follow him and his first mate, who appears to be a Spaniard. If this were Maryland and we were at a local event the girls would swoon over them in secret.

  There is heat in the air, but it is nice to feel the breeze. Ahead of us are luscious swaying palms, their gigantic leaves wild in the wind. I don’t know where we are. I want to ask Claire, but I think that if I say anything they might beat me.

  I glance back to Alphonse and he gives me a steady look. I cannot say what is there, nor what he thinks in this moment, but it presses my soul harder into frustration.

  The men lead us through a ramshackle path in the jungle. This path leads us past the coastal village. There is a vast port and springing up along a shoreline of cerulean ocean are four enormous ships settled in their shipyard. There are men and a few women that I see populating the area. Crudely built storehouses and small farms sprawl out across the land. I even hear the pound of a blacksmith.

  As we make our way through the village, men shout lascivious things at us. The men jostle us up hills, through slim paths and then deeper into the jungle, ignoring the villagers.

  Between the trees, I can see a massive structure of white stone, and when we are closer, giant pillars exert themselves from beneath the canopy. This would be his home, a Mansion hidden in the jungle terrain. It looks out of place as if it would fit on the backdrop of London moors rather than the rolling hills of an exotic Island. I want to laugh. What is going on? I am delirious. I must be.

  “Welcome!”

  Idalgos’ voice hosts a boastful inflection, and his arms raise victoriously. Bold in his arrogance.

  I stop, taking in the sight of the manor. I wonder how long it must have taken to build such a place. It is different from the settlement below.

  We are ushered into the home. It is furnished not only beautifully, but dramatically in ornate fashions from all over the world. There are fountains, great tapestries lining the walls, gilded crown moldings, paintings, and rugs. Our footsteps echo as we shuffle across the glossy marble floors. I feel like I have entered the home of a Duke or someone of that kind. One would think a pirate wouldn’t live like this, that he’d be rotting his days away on a ship. Why would he need something like this?

  “Say goodbye,” Benjamin smirks at Alphonse and then pats him gingerly on the shoulder. “You’ll be staying somewhere…less comfortable.”

  Alphonse is undeterred and gives him nothing.

  “Don’t kill him,” Claire snaps, attempting to break free from the men that hold her. “Just don’t kill him. You need him.”

  Benjamin tilts his head as if he is thinking upon what she said and goes to Alphonse.

  “I don’t plan to,” he shakes his head. “At least not yet.”

  Claire seems to lose all color.

  “I’ll be fine, Claire,” Alphonse says. “Remember.”

  But no one knows what he means for her to remember. Still, it seems to make a change in her and her resolve is solidified.

  “Stay strong,” I call to Alphonse.

  The men drag him away and Claire and I are brought up a curve of stairs and down hallways. I cannot possibly remember how to escape even if I wanted to; it is a winding, twisting labyrinth.

  “We’ll send servants to tend to you,” Idalgo spits at us, and then shoves us both into a large suite and bolts the door once we were within.

  I am waylaid by the suite’s grandeur and the exquisite taste that has been displayed in the wood, rugs of Asian flowers, and ornamental decor throughout. The bed is glorious as well, fussed with sleek drapery, canopied overhead. It seems to be as a Palace might be, and my thoughts are brought back to the time when my mother and I attended the Governor’s ball and I had ended up in his bed.

  Only moments later the door creaks ajar and two serving maids enter, holding cloths and vials of soap, one with a large metal bucket of water. They do not speak to us, only place their things aside and file off to a side room. I hear the tinkling of water into a larger vessel, and I as
sume they are preparing a bath for us. They go back and forth, bringing in water, heating the coals. We do not move.

  The maids take Claire and me into the bath, a whole room that is hidden beyond sighing curtains, away from our sleeping quarters. Potted plants splay their cumbersome leaves across the floors, and lovely ivy veins travel up the walls. Expansive open windows allow a current of warm breeze to keep the air free of must, succulent with its briny scent. It is exotic. Sharply so.

  The tub is filled with steamy water, and bits of rose petals float at the surface. Claire and I exchange glances. When the servant cuts Claire’s ties I see the itch within her to pummel the woman.

  “I wouldn’t try it,” the servant woman says and reveals a long knife hidden at her waist, smiling as kindly as she can.

  We strip away the sandy muck and mire of our soiled gowns and plunge ourselves into the warm water. I slide beneath the surface and wipe my face of the oils and dirt having laid creases there, and pop back up gasping for hard-earned breath.

  Claire laughs weakly at my desperation. Then I laugh as I see the angelic haze brighten around her. Our bodies have been cleansed and my hair shines like dark chocolate, Claire’s the sunny color of white gold. Our skins are pink from vigorous scrubbing and once we are finished the servants wrap us in robes tailored of flowery silk.

  “These will clothe you until the Master has some gowns sent up for you.”

  I am tired. The past few days have scarred me with exhaustion. I am confused by our lodgings, the way that this pirate is treating us. He said he would not hurt us. Perhaps he wants to use us for ransom. It would not explain the lavish comforts he’s putting on us, but I have a premonition we will know tonight.

  “Is there anything we might get for you to make you more comfortable?” one of the servants ask.

  “We are hungry. You may supply us with tea and a platter of whatever foods you find, nothing old or crusted,” Claire lifts herself, long streams of blond hair clouding her face, making her look no less threatening.