The Search for Aveline

by Stephanie Rabig

  Security

  "Kath! You all right, sweetheart?"

  Katherine grinned, displaying bloody teeth, and tried not to laugh at the sight the two of them must make— herself, sixteen and gangly with it, knuckles split and left eye swollen shut; and Mari, a hundred years old if she was a day, reaching up on her tiptoes to pat her on the head and try to tilt her chin so she could look at the damage to her face.

  "Not to worry, Mari," she said. "I'm still pretty as ever."

  Mari rolled her eyes, and Katherine looked up as she heard footsteps clattering down the stairs.

  "Ohhhh," Samantha groaned, hurrying to her. "Not another fight?"

  "It needed done!" Katherine protested. "He was harassing one of the girls from Jenny's place!"

  "And where was she?"

  Katherine resisted the urge to look down at the ground and shuffle her feet. Samantha was Mari's daughter, and the madam of this brothel. Though she was now a head and a half taller than her, Sam still had the power to make her feel like a wayward child.

  "At Flanigan's Bar," she muttered.

  "How many times have I told you to stay out of those places?" Samantha asked.

  "More than I can count?"

  "I know you like the bars, and I know you like the fights—don't give me that look; sit down."

  Katherine sat. "But he was—"

  "And don't tell me that whoever you hit had it coming, because I'm most certain that he did—but one of these days, you're going to come across someone who can hit harder. You're stronger than you have any right to be, but these are full-grown men who've been in more fights than you," she said, kneeling down in front of Katherine. "Sooner or later, you're going to lose the element of surprise that's gotten you through so far. And one of them will kill you. You understand?"

  Her first instinct was to make a joke, but the solemnity and worry on Samantha's face stopped her. "Okay. I understand."

  "Kath!" Hannah exclaimed, popping out from the kitchen. "Who'd you get this time?"

  "Don't encourage her," Samantha said, and Hannah stuck her tongue out at her and plopped down in the chair next to Katherine.

  "Some blighter who was getting handsy with one of Jenny's girls," Katherine said.

  "Good," Hannah said. "Wish I could put the fear of God into those who need it. You know I had a client yesterday tried to wriggle out of payment? Said I was asking for the last of his money and judging from all the decorations in my room, I didn't need it anyway."

  "Did he pay?"

  "No more than the half he'd paid up front," Hannah said. "Don't worry, Kath, I told the other girls who he was; he won't be given any more business here. Alerted Jenny and Rachel as well."

  "Still!" Kath complained. "Hannah, you should've told me right away!"

  "Why, so you could hold him upside down and empty his pockets?"

  "I was thinking of threatening him until he saw sense, but your idea is so much better. Sam!" she exclaimed. "That's what I could do! I could be security here!"

  "Katherine..."

  "I could do it," she said stubbornly. "You know as well as I that the girls get an occasional customer who needs his head introduced to the nearest wall."

  "That doesn't mean you need to—" She looked at the expression on Katherine's face and sighed. "On one condition. You stop going to the bars."

  "Agreed," Katherine said, grinning as she stuck out her hand. Samantha shook it, and then made a shooing motion with her hands. "All right, now go get cleaned up."

  "Yes ma'am," Katherine said, giving a salute and barely dodging the swat Samantha aimed at her shoulder.

  The earliest memory she had was of this brothel: walking down the big staircase that led into the main room, holding up the long, gauzy skirt of the lacy nightgown she'd snitched from Laila's closet, her cheeks smeared with rouge and about four layers of lipstick caked onto her mouth. She'd grinned as the girls caught sight of her and let out hoots of laughter, and sashayed down the stairs as best she was able until she'd tripped on the third step from the bottom. Samantha had been there to catch her.

  It was something that Sam had been doing for years, both literally and metaphorically. Katherine knew very little about her birth mother—she was one of the women who'd used to work here, albeit for less than a year. Soon after she'd given birth to her, she'd disappeared in the night. She knew even less about her father. But she'd grown up with a multitude of aunts and sisters, who'd held her when she'd skinned her knee on the rocks outside and told her bawdy stories and taught her how to cook (Colette); how to properly throw a punch so she wouldn't break her thumb again (Kumiko); that loving only women was a thing that happened (Aiman); that loving men and women both was also a thing that happened (Mina); how to write her letters and how to read (Mari); how to play the piano (Hannah)...

  And there were so many other things, both big and small—how to treat most any minor illness or injury; how to hold her own in a verbal argument; how to recognize when following her impulses was a good idea and when it would get her into trouble, and just because she didn't follow that skill often didn't mean she did not possess it; how to tell truth from falsehood; how to best get blood out of her underthings—and those all came from Samantha.

  A good number of people would not have taken her in. Much less when they had a good-sized business such as this brothel to run. Samantha already had plenty on her plate, but she had chosen to adopt Katherine herself rather than send her to an orphanage.

  It was something Katherine was grateful for every day of her life, even if much of the time she felt too awkward to say it.

  *~*~*

  Three weeks later, she came home with her first tattoo. Samantha took one look at it, threw her hands in the air, and exclaimed, "I give up!". Later that night, she examined the design and asked her where she'd gotten it done, congratulating Katherine on choosing one of the more reputable artists. "Big Ace has rarely had a customer's arm or leg rot and fall off from a gangrenous infection," she said earnestly, grinning when Katherine's face blanched.

  *~*~*

  Leaving them was simultaneously the hardest and the easiest thing she had ever done.

  Easy because she knew she would have a home with them again whenever she needed it and that she was welcome to visit whenever she liked; because they were almost as eager for her to get out to sea and start writing them of her adventures as she herself was.

  Hard because they were her family; because she knew everything that was here and nothing of what was out there.

  Well, that wasn't quite true, Katherine thought, as she lightly chided Colette for crying even as she held back tears herself. She'd heard story upon story for years, both from the girls themselves and from the clients who came here, fantastical stories about pirates and sea monsters and buried treasure and the way the light played over the ocean at sunrise and how the sea could become as dear to you as a lover. She'd just never experienced any of those things for herself.

  Finally, she turned to Sam, who beamed at her, the gray in her hair looking like streaks of sunbeams in the early morning light. Sam opened her arms and Katherine hugged her, remembering a time when her head had only come up to Sam's waist.

  "Good luck," Sam said. "And remember, no getting drunk when you're not with at least two or three other people you can trust. Folk get—"

  "—shanghaied that way, I know."

  "I expect a letter from you every month. Try to visit at least once a year, all right?"

  "Especially if the ship you board has any handsome sailors!" Padma laughed.

  "Would I board a ship that didn't?" Katherine said, pulling Padma into a hug.

  "Easy!" Padma squeaked. "I intend to use this body later."

  "Fine, fine," Katherine said, releasing her and looking back to Samantha again. "I'll write and visit as often as I'm able."

  "Good. I expect plenty of stories about mermaids. Saw one when I was a little girl, you know. She waved to me." Samantha raised her handkerchief and blotted at
her eyes, then waved Katherine away. "Go on, then, before I really start blubbering."

  Katherine pulled her in for one last hug, muttering, "Love you," before she turned and walked outside, heading for the docks, not daring to look back for fear that her courage would leave her completely.

  *~*~*

  "You know, I like you. Remind me of Samantha."

  "And who's Samantha?" the tiny blonde asked before taking another drink of beer. They'd been trading stories for close to an hour now, ever since Katherine had sat down at their table and offered to buy them each drinks if they'd let her know where they got their cunning hats. Samantha's latest hire, Hilja, adored hats and collected them to the point that her closet was almost overflowing; one that looked like theirs would make a fine gift.

  "Madam at the brothel I used to work in."

  Captain Harriet choked on her drink, but to her credit, merely looked surprised by the answer, not offended. If she'd been offended, then she and Katherine might've had to have words. Katherine had run into a few folk on her travels thus far who seemed to think that the people who worked in brothels were lesser somehow, and if they didn't stop holding that opinion after she'd had a little 'discussion' with them, they at least knew better than to express such foolishness in front of her.

  "You get many clients?" her first mate, Jo, asked curiously. "My experience, men tend to get panicky around a woman they think can beat them at arm-wrestling."

  Jo grinned. "I worked security. But I've had no problem finding my share of men. Or women."

  "I imagine not," Harriet said. She looked to her first mate, who nodded. "Actually, Katherine, we're in need of a bit of security ourselves. Could well use someone with your skill set on board The Sappho. Would you be interested?"

  "Hell yes," Katherine said. "How's the pay?"

  "Nothing to write home about, but you won't starve."

  "Well, tell you what, then," Katherine said with a grin. "You give me a little advance, and I'll buy you two another drink."

  Weathering the Storm

  "All right," Elias said, wiping rainwater off his face as he entered Anne's Arms. "Which one of you pissed off Poseidon?" The wind nearly tore the door out of his grip, and he cursed as he yanked it closed.

  "What are you doing out in this weather?" Violet asked. "Thought you'd have enough sense to stay at the hotel!"

  "And miss seeing you lot?" Elias asked, his gaze sliding to Tessa. She rolled her eyes, giving him a good-natured grin. Elias always came to her bed at least twice whenever his ship came to the Bogo port. He was pleasant enough in bed and entertaining to talk to, and over the years, he'd graduated from client to friend.

  "I know these are wonderful," she said, cupping her breasts, "but I'm not sure they're worth dying for."

  "Think a fair number in here would disagree with you," Elias said, grinning as several of the customers let out affirmative hoots and hollers.

  "Priorities, lads, priorities," she teased, heading back behind the bar to get Elias his usual order.

  Though she kept her grin firmly in place and her banter appropriately saucy, as the storm grew worse she couldn't help but worry, wondering where Zora was in the midst of this. Was she sailing calm waters, far away from where this current maelstrom raged? Or was she in the midst of something even worse?

  Normally, she could stave off the worry, but nights like this always drove home the plain fact that every time Zora left, it might be the last time Tessa ever saw her.

  She wasn't the only one who fretted during storms; Violet had a nephew out on a merchant ship, and any time a storm came up her jokes grew bawdier and her laughter grew louder, as if she could drown out the thunder itself. If Lucia was off-shift, then she baked, working her fingers to the bone in the Anne's Arms' small kitchen. One could always tell when she worried for her friends out on the ocean, because she would bring forward five or six pies the next day. If she was on-shift during a monsoon, like tonight, then she prayed, one hand carrying trays and the other hand wrapped tightly in her rosary. And Amelia painted like a dervish, staining her fingers and clothing with dabs of her oil paints.

  Once, the worst thing Tessa had needed to fear where Zora was concerned was an overzealous client. Though Port Royal had most certainly endured its share of pitfalls—she'd had very little say in whom she took to her bed, and if they chose not to pay, she hadn't had much recourse—but at least she and Zora had worked together, and after a night of smiling and giggling for men who were only too happy to believe they were honestly enjoying themselves, they could rest at each other's side, talking quietly about their dreams for the future.

  Zora had spoken a time or two about traveling, but Tessa had assumed that meant she would take one or two voyages on a ship to get to a new location, and then stay there for a time. Never that she would make the ocean itself her home. Now she heard stories about krakens and murderous pirates and wicked merfolk and had to stop herself from picturing Zora in the place of those stories' hapless victims.

  Her own future plans had always involved a continuation of her job. She made good coin, yes, but she also had expensive tastes—and she did love buying Zora gifts—and she had absolutely no intention of someday being an old woman who was dependent on the charity of others to keep a roof over her head. She wished to retire in good standing, and preferably with enough coin to help out other girls, should they need it.

  She had thought, often, of opening a brothel of her own. She hadn't told Zora about this yet; though she knew it was foolish, a base part of her held tight to the fear that because Zora had fled from this profession as soon as she was able, that she wanted Tessa to do the same thing. That she would be disappointed in her otherwise.

  Part of her knew that Zora would be the first to scoff at her for such fears, but they still weren't easily dismissed.

  Probably because they came part and parcel with the job. Most of the women she'd worked with back at Port Royal who had been perfectly understanding about her taking a lover from among their ranks had changed their minds the moment Zora had joined The Sappho instead. "Not one of us anymore," Amber had sniffed. "She's a sailor now. You mark my words: within six months, she'll start complaining about your work and trying to bribe you to quit."

  "Zora understands," Tessa had told her, back when she still found a point in arguing such things.

  "Not for long, she won't. Any time a girl successfully gets out of the life, she starts looking down on the rest of us for not doing the same."

  Well, it had been four years now, and the look on Zora's face whenever she came into the Anne's Arms and saw her again was a greater reassurance than words could ever be.

  Thunder crashed outside, rattling the windows and making the floor under their feet tremble, and Tessa took a deep breath. Zora sailed with a fine crew. She had to trust that, in a few weeks or even months, she would walk through that door again.

  Healer

  She dreamed of cold, unfeeling eyes.

  From the moment she had seen Wrath Drew for the first time, Echo had been glad that only one of his eyes remained. The look there was something that she loathed seeing from one eye, let alone two. She'd turned to her sister, intent on asking what in the seven seas she'd been thinking—to form an alliance with a group of sailors was one thing, but to work with those who would betray as easily as they smile?

  But Aria's expression had matched Wrath's, and fear had shot through Echo. She had opened her mouth to Command them, to order them to back away and let her leave, but Aria had recognized her intention—just the day prior, hadn't she laughed about how the two of them might as well reside in one mind, one heart?—and had struck.

  Never in her life would she have dreamed that such pain was possible, let alone that her sister would willingly put her through it.

  Echo sat up, feeling the blood pooling in her mouth again, and flailed uselessly at the arms that held her.

  She heard someone curse, the voice a far cry from her sister's high, sweet sound,
and reality crept its way back in.

  She was on a cot in the humans' ship. The old woman, the one who had barely left her side—Euphemia, she'd said repeatedly, pointing at herself—had her teeth bared in a wince as she clutched tight to her arm.

  She had hurt her.

  Echo sat up, patting at Euphemia's arm worriedly, asking silently to see the injury.

  "It's all right, Silence," Euphemia said. "Gotten worse from the ship's cat."

  Trying to argue, all she got out was a strangled squeak. Euphemia relented, holding out her arm. Echo inspected the slash. Made by one of her fingernails—at least she hadn't tried to bite in the midst of her delirium. She pressed one palm to either side of it.

  "What are—" Euphemia began, and then she paused, gaping down at her arm, as she watched the torn skin knit back together.

  Echo winced as the pain from the scratch transferred to her own arm. She unconsciously rubbed at the spot, and Euphemia watched the gesture with sharp eyes.

  "Did you feel that?" she asked, and Echo nodded.

  "Remarkable," Euphemia said. "Wait until I tell Wil; she's fascinated by all the differences between yourself and the merfolk."

  Wil, Echo thought. And all the others on the ship. That was how she could repay them; most likely why they'd rescued her in the first place.

  She got to her feet, wobbly at first, but her pace growing steadier as she left the room and wandered down the hallway. Euphemia stayed close behind her, starting to ask what she was doing and then trailing off, as if just then realizing that Echo couldn't answer.

  Echo came out on deck into the sunlight, blinking in the sudden brightness and wondering precisely how long she'd been asleep.

  That was something to concern herself with later, she decided. Right now, she had favors to repay.

  Right away, she caught sight of a tall, brown-skinned woman with curly black hair, who had a bandage wrapped around her left arm. Echo hurried up to her, resting a hand on the bandage. A cut, she realized a moment later, when the pain came through to her own skin; probably one sustained in a sparring match. True fights rarely let their opponents go so easily.