The Search for Aveline

by Stephanie Rabig

  Once, she had tried. Tessa had introduced her to a friend of hers, Emerald. She'd been funny and brassy and her hair had been a very particular shade of gold. Jo had picked up drink after drink as the night wore on, trying to convince herself that it had been years since Aveline's disappearance, that no one would fault her for moving on, that she certainly shouldn't fault herself.

  In the end, though she had gone to bed with Emerald, she hadn't been able to stay the night, and in fact had been quite brusque with the poor woman when she'd asked her what was wrong.

  The next afternoon, she had gone back and tried haltingly to explain herself. When she was only partway through, Emerald had taken her hands, looking up at her sympathetically. "S'alright. You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to say. We all got our own pains to live with and things we'd rather not dwell on, me included. Unless you think my mother and father gave me Emerald as a legal name?"

  Jo had smiled, shaking her head, and Emerald had chanced moving closer, pulling her into a hug. "You seem a good woman, Josephine. I hope your pain lessens someday."

  And it had, that was the damnable thing. As the years went on, she could remember the shade of Aveline's hair, but not the precise color of her eyes. Were they blue-green, or more the blue of the sky on a sunny day? Her laugh echoed throughout Jo's memory, but whenever she tried to focus, it slipped through the cracks like smoke. And though she doubted she would ever become involved with anyone again, that was one of the few ways Aveline still affected her daily life. There had been some days when she barely thought of her at all.

  Worse still were the situations that did make Jo think of her. In every battered face, every horrific story, every rescued woman who trembled and cried or shouted and raged once they were sure they were finally safe, she saw an echo of Aveline.

  Aveline had been such a caring soul, and so quick to laugh. She would hate that Jo so often associated her with pain now.

  "Present for you," Harriet said, jolting her out of her thoughts by tickling her nose with the red-and-gold hatband feather.

  "You paid him the twenty drachmas?"

  Harry snorted. "Hell no, I gave him a kiss. Made the blighter's week, if I do say so myself. So," she said, standing on tiptoe to take off Jo's current hat and plunk the new one down on her head, "what are you over here brooding about?" The expression on her face said that she was half-sure she already knew.

  "Ave," Jo admitted softly.

  "We'll find her, Jo," Harry said, her voice no less determined than it had been the first time she'd said those words.

  But it was different for Harry, Jo thought, as the smaller woman pulled her in for a tight, brief hug. Aveline was her sister, her blood. How could she ever tell her that while most days, she would gladly give her own life to have Aveline back safe and whole, there were other days when she wished that she'd never become involved with her in the first place, when—though she hated herself for it—she hoped even for evidence of her death, if only this limbo would come to an end?

  Harry would loathe her, and rightly.

  She'd heard so many words used to describe her over the years, but the one that showed up most often was 'stoic'. The term had always pleased her. It brought to mind strength, steadfastness, the ability to control one's emotions. Clearly, the description wasn't accurate at all, but if she was good enough at acting to be able to fool so many people, then perhaps someday the façade would take hold.

  Aveline was probably gone, yes. But someday, they might well find her. If they did, Josephine prayed that she would've formed herself into someone Aveline deserved.

  Cursed

  Landon braced himself against the starboard rail of the ship and stretched, the muscles in his arms bunching under his shirt. "We don't get a catch soon, the good Captain's going to have conniptions."

  "I know," Junia said. She glanced around, making sure that they were the only two nearby. Nicholas was on deck as well, but he was tending the helm, not anywhere close enough to overhear them. "Still. It's been a good day." She smiled. "Love you."

  "Love you, too," he said, and as Nicholas's back was still turned, he gave her hand a quick clasp.

  They had been sailing on the India Marie for almost a month now. Before they'd left land, she had shorn her hair and acquired a suitable amount of men's clothing. Nothing could help her high cheekbones and aquiline nose, but so far, she'd passed herself off as a younger man with no one the wiser.

  Work on the ship was hard, so much harder than she ever could've anticipated, but there was an odd sort of liberty to it as well. Here, her duty was to scrub the decks and run errands for the captain and help the ship's cook. There was no worrisome nonsense about sharing a man's bed.

  She still could not believe her good fortune at meeting Landon, especially after what her first intended had put her through in the gossip circles. Aldric had been carefully selected by her mother and father, a man who hadn't been wealthy, but who had been comfortable: a higher position than her family held. The marriage would have been beneficial to both of them—she would have married up, and he would have married 'a lovely young lady of good breeding stock', as her mother had said.

  Well into their engagement, she'd had a serious discussion with Aldric. She had agreed that she would bear him children, as was her duty, but had confessed a certain squeamishness when it came to the act of making love. "After our children are born, I would prefer not to engage in such things again," she'd said. "Of course, I understand that mine is an oddity you most likely do not share... I know many men who go outside of the bounds of their marriage to satisfy themselves, and I will not mind in the slightest if you do so. You do understand, don't you?" she asked, trying her best to stand straight and composed, like a proper lady, when all she wanted to do was wring her hands.

  "I do," he'd said, and the next day he had broken off their engagement.

  Women who had never paid her much mind now audibly laughed when they caught sight of her. Men gave her derisive looks. But nothing had been worse than the reception her own parents gave her, once they had heard the rumors of how she'd ranted at poor Aldric about how she found his very touch repulsive.

  They had evicted her from their home. She'd at first gone to a house for young women, but the proprietor had explained to her that the women there were orphans or from other unfortunate backgrounds, and they were there until they were sufficiently educated to be able to find a good husband. "Such a thing is quite beyond you, I'm afraid", she'd sniffed.

  Eventually, she'd gotten a job at the seaside tavern, working in exchange for a room upstairs and a small bit of wages.

  She'd been terrified her first night on the job. Her coworker, Tessa, had helped her to calm down and given her some pointers about who was genuinely friendly and who she needed to avoid.

  And she'd done just fine. Despite her parents' insistence that she'd ruined her own future, she'd been happy. Then one night, amidst a crowd of other sailors, Landon had come in.

  Though he hadn't known about her past when they'd first started talking, he'd found out soon enough. It was impossible not to. But instead of giving her a skeptical look and then retreating, he'd asked her what happened.

  He hadn't left once she'd explained herself.

  They had wed less than a year later. Her parents weren't there, nor were her childhood friends. But the owner of the bar offered her the upstairs room free of rent for a month as a wedding present, and Tessa had grinned infectiously as the two of them had said their vows.

  She had taken the room for a month, saving up her wages in preparation for following him out to sea.

  Landon had been clearly nervous about the idea at first, but he had quickly warmed to it. The thought of having a wife at port, while common, had never quite appealed to him. There were ships that allowed women on board, though they were few and far between—the India Marie wasn't one of them.

  "Then it's simple," she'd said. "I'll disguise myself."

  Landon had brought
her on board the India Marie as his young cousin in need of work, and the Captain had agreed to test her out on this voyage as a cabin boy.

  She loved listening to the sailors' stories at the tavern, and now she was living some of her own. She'd never seen anything quite so beautiful as a sunrise out on the ocean.

  Still, they might have to find a new ship assignment when they got back to shore. They'd barely caught any fish at all, and the mood on the ship was darkening day by day. Depending on his own personal finances, it might be a long time before the Captain of the India Marie was ready to head out again.

  Perhaps on their next ship, she wouldn't have to disguise herself.

  If they struck out on their next voyage together at all. Landon seemed quite content, but how could she be sure, particularly when they were given so few moments of privacy? Thus far, he did not seem to mind her aversion to intimacy, but perhaps he was just trying to make her feel better. Despite his station in life, he was far more of a gentleman than Aldric could ever dream of being; he would never wish to be cruel.

  It could not be the wish of any man, to never be able to truly touch his wife.

  "Tell me," she said quietly. "Do you... do you regret this?"

  "Gonna have to be more specific," Landon said. "I spent most of the day up in the crow's nest and I'm pretty sure my hair is sunburned."

  "All this," she asked, before finally gathering the courage to say what she truly wanted to ask. "Me."

  He stepped forward, bending his head down closer to hers. "There are times I wish I could lie with you, yes, but that's because I'm not much good at words. And I can't help but think if I could show you how I feel instead, then you wouldn't doubt me."

  "It's not you that I doubt, Landon—"

  "I love you because of your spirit. How hard you work here, the fact that you still smiled back home, despite all those simpletons talking about you. There's so much more to you than what's between your legs."

  She blinked at the blunt words, and his ears reddened. "Sorry. Sometimes it's easy to forget you were raised a lady." He paused again, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Not that you don't deserve every courtesy that ladies receive, of course—"

  "I understand what you meant," she said, laughing.

  *~*~*

  Junia awoke with a great jerk, and at first, she thought the ship had struck something. Then she realized that someone had yanked at her shirt.

  "What is it?" she asked, swatting the hand away, thinking that someone had caught hold of her garment and shook in an attempt to wake her. "What's happened—"

  But the hand returned, and then buttons tore. Her exhaustion disappeared in a flash of anger, and she tugged the torn halves of her shirt together, praying that the man hadn't seen the pale bandages that bound her chest.

  A voice above her roared out for the Captain, and she scrambled to her feet, blinking in the dreary light of the crew's cabin. The man facing her was the first mate: a surly, nitpicky sort by the name of Brodbeck. For the first time since she'd met him, he smiled.

  "Knew it," he hissed. "Just knew it."

  "What's all this commotion about?" the Captain asked, storming into the crew's quarters even as Landon rushed to her side.

  "Believe our cabin 'boy' has something to tell us, sir," Brodbeck said.

  "Whatever it is can be said above deck," he said. "Heading into sirens' waters; we all need to keep a weather eye out."

  "What do I do?" she hissed, as she and Landon were jostled along by the rest of the crew on their way to the deck.

  "I—" he began, but then the Brodbeck hauled him away from her, the helmsman helping to hold him back when Landon started to pull away.

  "Something this one didn't tell us about his 'cousin'," the first mate crowed, still grinning. "Tell the lad to open his shirt."

  When she didn't immediately comply, one of the crewmen reached out and snatched at her shirt, pulling the covering fabric out of her hands.

  "Who is she to you?" the Captain asked Landon.

  "I am his cousin!" Junia exclaimed. "We had communicated through letters, we only met in person earlier this year, he didn't know—"

  The Captain's hand cracked across her face. "Quiet, stowaway."

  In that instant, for the first time, she was scared rather than angry or indignant. They might well hurt her for this deception. Might hurt her husband.

  She had talked him into this foolishness. She had to keep their attention on her. Landon would understand what she was doing and would play along, surely.

  "I am no stowaway!" she said, though her split-open lower lip hurt at the words. "I have worked hard for your ship and her crew; you know this!"

  "What I know," the Captain said, "is that the weather has been unseasonably poor, and the fishing worse. Now I also know why." He nodded toward the railing. "Send her over."

  "No!"

  She wanted to shout to Landon, tell him to let them believe her lie. She was a strong swimmer; she could make it to another ship, or perhaps even to land. But she'd barely opened her mouth when he pulled away from the first mate and the helmsman, spinning and hitting Brodbeck in the face when the man tried to regain his hold.

  He made it two steps toward her before one of the crewmen ran him through.

  Junia screamed, trying to get to him, but then the Captain lifted her off her feet and pitched her into the ocean. She took in a lungful of water and choked, gagging as she resurfaced, her hands scrabbling uselessly at the side of the ship.

  This couldn't be happening. Couldn't be. They were supposed to return to port next week. She and Landon would travel just a little further inland, back to her hometown and Tessa's tavern, they would spend several nights in her old room and figure out where they wanted to go afterwards, he was fine, he was fine...

  "Looking for this?" Brodbeck hollered down at her, laughing as several of the crewmen threw her husband over the side. His body was weighted down, just as it would've been at a normal burial, had he died of natural causes, and he was gone almost before she realized he was there. She cried out a protest and dove, wincing as the salt from the ocean seeped into the cut on her lip, but her normal skill evaded her. She couldn't hold her breath through the tears.

  She watched the India Marie sail away, the crew hollering and cheering now that they'd 'turned their luck'. Though she knew it was a waste of breath, she screamed after them, shrieking every damnation and curse she could think of.

  Curse.

  Unable to believe the idea that she didn't want to be with anyone, not in that fashion, most of her town had latched onto Aldric's explanation that she clearly preferred women. And when her parents had evicted her from their home, her mother's voice had trembled, but she'd been steely-eyed as she'd said, "I cannot believe what a selfish witch you've turned out to be. Could you at least have thought of your little sister's prospects? What chance does she have now of finding a good husband, with a degenerate in the family?" She'd sighed then, turned away. "I pray you'll be just as cursed as you've made us."

  Knowing that the siren's lair lay to the west, Junia swam east, but as the sun rose higher in the sky, she began to despair of finding another ship or any type of land. There was only water, stretching brightly on every side of her.

  She floated on her back, closing her eyes against the rays of the sun. Maybe she should stop swimming entirely. It might not be so bad. She could join Landon again, in whatever world lay beyond this one.

  No, she decided. He wouldn't want her to give up. She knew that.

  Besides, she thought. She had a ship to burn.

  *~*~*

  When the voice came, at first she thought it was her husband. Landon hadn't been dead when they'd thrown him over after all; he'd cast off the weights and followed after her and now he was here, was—

  No, she thought, blinking in the sunlight. Landon would never allow his hair to get so unkempt, or for a beard to grow. Such things were 'quite beneath a gentleman, even a seafaring one', he'd joked.

>   Then the man moved closer, and she saw the motion of a tail in the water.

  Her arms felt as heavy as steel, but panic flooded into her, letting her twist away and swim. She'd heard tales of mermaids; how they dragged people to the bottom of the ocean and waited to see if they would turn, then kept them as slaves. Perhaps she would drown out here, and perhaps she would be turned, but she would not be beholden to rats like the men who'd left her here to die.

  "Are you through?"

  She gasped in a breath and glanced to the side, seeing that the merman was swimming along on his back beside her, keeping pace quite easily. And she suddenly realized how silly she was being; if he meant to drown her, he could've caught hold of her ankle and dragged her under before she had an inkling he was there. Though her thoughts felt foggy, she did her best to gather them into some semblance of order. "My name is Junia Drake. My husband was... was lost to me today. I would be very much obliged if you could get me to dry land."

  "I'll do you one better," the stranger said. "I'll get you to Captain Roberts." He held out his hand. "My name is Kaimana."

  "Pleased to meet you," she said, thinking woozily that her mother would be quite happy with her manners. She swam alongside him for a few moments, until she realized that when she told her legs to kick, half the time they weren't listening.

  "Here," he said. "Hold on to my shoulders." She did so, tucking her knees up close to her chest, so that she was largely resting on his back. He was of the same general build as her husband. Many of the men her parents had deemed 'suitable' had been reed-thin and pale. They'd been bookkeepers and the like, politician's sons and fine gentlemen. She wondered what her mother and father would say if they knew their curse had worked. Would they finally take her back, or would they shake their heads and close the door?

  Didn't matter. She wasn't being taken to land. She was going to a ghost ship.

  That was the last story she'd heard about Captain Roberts and The Sappho, anyway. That all the women on board were ghosts, bent on savaging the living.