Maybe she was dead, and Kaimana had been sent to guide her to the afterlife. Would make as much sense as anything else.
He was talking steadily, and she was grateful for the cadence of his voice, even if she had no idea what he was actually saying. He was speaking English, she could recognize that, and once in a while, she caught what she believed was a name. Probably speaking of the people he was taking her to. She tried to focus, but after a moment, she gave up and closed her eyes.
The name of the ship was the India Marie, she thought. The captain's name was Absolon Deniaud. The first mate's name was Brodbeck. The name of the ship was the India Marie. The captain's name...
She awoke when the constant rhythm of his voice snapped from something calming into a warning.
"Hold your breath."
Junia sucked in a quick gasp of air and then they were underwater. Unable to resist, she opened her eyes and looked up, trying to discern what the danger was. The salt water stung her eyes and she quickly closed them again, but not before she saw the enormous shadow of a passing ship. He clasped her hands, holding her in place. Just when the ache in her chest grew unbearable and she thought that maybe he had changed his mind, maybe he had grown tired of carrying her and decided to drown her after all, he tugged her upwards and she kicked hard, taking several grateful breaths as soon as she resurfaced. She wiped the salt water from her eyes and peered off after the departing ship.
"Why did you dive?" she asked. "Maybe they could've helped."
"Not that ship. The Blood Moon collects merfolk tails."
Junia grimaced. Some sailors and pirates caught any mermaid they could for their tails, stripping the scales and using them for decoration for their flags or belts or to sell on shore. "I'm sorry," she said. "Clearly more ships than the India Marie need to be turned to ash."
He stared at her for a few seconds, and then he grinned. Aside from his build, Kaimana really looked nothing like Landon: he was dark where her husband was—had been—fair, but that smile, bright and sudden and completely honest, reminded her so much of her Landon that she felt like she'd been punched in the chest.
"I think you and Harry'll get along just fine," he said, and to her surprise and mortification, she burst into tears.
*~*~*
Once they reached The Sappho, they discovered that the landing craft was already over the side, waiting. Junia wondered how many times Kaimana had brought lost souls to this ship. He lifted her into the craft and then pulled himself in, tugging hard on the rope and calling up to the deck. Junia looked up as the landing craft rose above the water, and then she looked across to Kaimana. "I thank you, sir," she said. "I am in your debt."
He shook his head. "Everyone in the pod has their job to do. This is mine."
Moon-drunk
Harry leaned back slightly and rested her weight on her hands, staring up at the moon. She was vaguely aware that she should be in bed by now—it wasn't as if she got much sleep as it was; she couldn't afford to miss out on any—but she was reluctant to leave.
Whether that was because of the pleasant weather and calm seas or because of her current company was a question that she refused to debate.
She and Kai sat in the landing craft, which was tied off so that it rested about three feet above the surface of the water. It was as close to privacy as one could get on a crowded ship, though even now, she could hear some of her crew moving around on deck, and telltale splashes and giggles from the water that signaled some of the mermaids were still awake.
She'd heard the phrase 'moon-drunk' before; wondered if that was what she was feeling now. Her thoughts seemed a trifle fuzzy and she felt very warm and... relaxed?
Definitely a sign she should get some sleep. Relaxation wasn't a luxury she could afford while at sea; especially not with 'cargo' such as hers. The moment she let her guard down, the weather might change or other pirates would approach or...
Kai flipped his tail lazily back and forth, and she found herself distracted by the motion. She started to reach out, and then realized what she was doing and froze. Glancing up at his face, she saw his bemused expression and cleared her throat, drawing her hand back and nearly pressing it to her stomach, as if afraid of what it might do otherwise. "Shouldn't do that," she muttered.
"Why shouldn't you?"
"Well. I don't know how much you might have in common with human males, really, but there are certain... sensitive areas. Particularly below the waist. You can't just put your hands all over someone."
"Sensitive?" he asked. "How so?"
She peered at him, trying to decipher if he was teasing her, but he simply looked curious, the way he did when Jo explained some human custom that he found odd or when Maddie showed the new recruits how to spar.
Wonderful. How was she supposed to explain... "Well," she said again. "Um. There are—you see, there are certain parts of the human body that, when they're touched, it feels—very pleasant."
"Ohh," he said, nodding in understanding. "Like when Agnessa insists on braiding my hair."
"Different kind of pleasant," she said, and then she caught sight of the grin he'd been trying to hold back and realized he had been teasing. She narrowed her eyes and looked away, trying to draw her dignity back around herself. "Since you understand, you can see why that wouldn't be proper."
And all right, that had been a bit too much dignity. She was pretty sure she heard a snort from up on deck. Someone, she decided, clearly wanted to know what it was like to be keelhauled.
"It wouldn't be," he agreed amiably. "So, again—why shouldn't you?"
And his voice was low and warm, a caress in and of itself, but he didn't physically reach out, didn't touch, and she knew that the step was hers to take, as surely as she knew her own name. She just wasn't sure if she was ready to take it. So she kept her eyes on the moon, as though it was going to give her advice.
How to Kill
"I want to learn how to kill a man," Junia announced.
Katherine's braying laugh ended on a sudden and abrupt note. The other conversations died as quickly. Everyone turned to the figure sitting at the very end of the table. It was the first time she had spoken all night; she sat ramrod straight and stiff, the plate of food before her untouched, the hollows beneath her piercing eyes still black with the bruises of her ordeal.
"Probably a good idea," Harry said lightly. "You'll need to know how to fight—things can get mighty hairy out here."
"Not just fight," Junia said. "I need to know how to kill. They murdered my husband. Stabbed him and threw his body overboard like he was trash. I intend to do the same to them."
She regarded the women—and single man—who had given her shelter, food, and new clothes. They had tended her injuries and listened to her story, and even offered her a permanent place on board if she wanted it. What she truly wanted, more than anything else, was revenge. Could they give her that?
Perhaps Lizzie—she had muscular arms that spoke of physical labor. She had to know how to handle herself in a fight. Or Katherine, the logical choice when it came to brawling and bashing a man's brains out through his ears. Harry herself was reputed to be a hellion with a long sword. Or maybe—
"I'll teach you."
Jo regarded her calmly, seemingly unmoved by her passionate pledge. In the few days she had been on board, the first mate had struck Junia as someone methodical, precise, and coiled like a big cat poised to pounce. She moved with economical grace, every step intended; she wasn't one to waste energy with wild gestures or undue emotion. But there was something Junia sensed beneath her unruffled exterior: a potential for explosive violence that could be unnerving.
She wondered if the others had noticed, or if she was just imagining it.
"Jo's our best swordswoman," Harry said. "After she's done with you, if there's anything you don't know about handling a sword, then it ain't worth knowing."
"Perfect," Junia said. "When shall we start?"
*~*~*
"Third mov
e," Jo ordered.
Junia adjusted her stance, shaking her head to dash the sweat from her eyes. Her grip on the hilt of her borrowed blade was becoming uncertain—her palm was too wet and slippery from the heat.
The Sappho had been sitting on water as smooth as glass for two days now. The wind had disappeared, the waves had abandoned them, the sun was doing its level best to roast them all alive—they might as well have been anchored in a harbor. Junia had never experienced such a calm ocean before; she would have been more demoralized by it if not for the rigors of her training.
"Fifth," said Jo.
The sword fell to the deck with a clatter, slipping free of her fingers like a frantic fish.
"There are ways to adjust for that," her teacher said before she could explain; those sharp brown eyes didn't miss much. "You can rub powder over your hands to improve your grip and reduce sweating. Chalk dust works well, though that's in short supply on a ship. Barring that, I recommend wearing a glove on your dominant sword hand. We can ask Kai to make you one of shark and sealskin—that will serve a dual purpose. It'll absorb sweat and repel blood, to improve your grip, and also provide a small layer of protection against your opponent's blades."
"I've seen swords before with fancy basket hilts," Junia said. "It must be easier to hold onto one of those."
"Yes, but that type of sword may not be well-suited to your purposes," Jo said patiently. "Most blades made with that type of hilt are intended for fencing or dueling, fine-tipped, and meant to minimize the amount of damage that can be done. You aim to kill, not wound. If your opponent is skilled at disarming, your fingers can get caught in that fancy hilt and break. If you're determined to be thorough, we'll find you a fencing rapier and I'll teach you the best way to handle it. But for now, let's focus on the saber and the cutlass—then we'll move to the scimitar and the dao."
"I had no idea there were so many different kinds of swords," Junia said, taking advantage of the brief pause to drink from the bucket of water Maddie had left for them. "I used to just think of a sword as a bigger knife."
"Each design has its strengths and its weaknesses. The cutlass and the dao are wider and heavier—better for chopping movements, which is why so many executioners in the East favor them. In Arabia, the punishment for thievery is your right hand, lopped off at the wrist. If you're convicted of treason, they take your head instead." Jo swung the sword in a sure arc, and Junia could almost see the invisible convict before her. "The scimitar and the saber are lighter, longer, better when you want to keep your enemy at a safer distance. These swords slash and stab quicker than the heavier, curved blades. They require less shoulder strength and more dexterity at the wrist and elbow. Now, let's work on parrying and defensive stances."
"Did you pick all of this up on your own, in your travels," Junia asked as their blades clashed and clanged. "Or did you have a teacher?"
"My mother. As soon as I could stand straight and hold a sword up. She told me it was a hard and dangerous world, and that a woman needed to know how to defend herself."
"And how did your mother know all of this?"
"She was an amiral in La Royale," Jo said, tongue slipping smoothly around the French, assuming the accent of one taught the language from birth. "She sailed with the French Navy for fifteen years."
Junia almost dropped her sword again. "But how? I thought women weren't allowed to enlist!" she said, wide-eyed.
"They aren't," Jo confirmed. "She disguised herself as a man. Instead of Francoise Duveau, she was Francois Duveau. Worked her way up, the same as any man. When she achieved the rank of amiral, she decided she was tired of playing pretend and revealed what she really was. They didn't believe her at first—everyone knew Francois 'Le Panthère' Duveau was a brilliant tactician, and leader, and swordsman; he couldn't possibly be a female—so she tore open her uniform to convince them. She said it made one of the old commandants almost swallow his tongue."
"What did they do to her?" Junia asked, dreading the answer.
"They had just promoted her—to strip her of rank and discharge her from the military at that point, to have to admit openly just why they were doing so, would make the entire French Navy look like fools. She had a nearly-spotless record and an impressive list of achievements and medals to her name. They sent her on an extremely far-flung mission to the Solomon Islands, assumed that she'd be eaten by the cannibals there, and washed their hands of her."
"But she came back," Junia said with a smile.
"Yes, with a treaty signed by Chief Waganu promising that his tribe would not attack or eat anyone sailing under a French flag. The Navy took the treaty and begged Mum to retire. By then, she was pretty tired and ready to settle down, so she agreed. Left La Royale with full honors and a pension. Married Dad, had me, and opened the pub."
"Amazing. Is she still..."
"Throwing rowdy drunks out every night and complaining about the price of English beer? Yes."
"I'd like to meet her," Junia said. She looked down at the sword in her hand. "She was incredibly brave to do all of that."
"No braver than you," said Jo.
"I—" She stopped herself. Thought for a long pause. "I wasn't brave," she said finally. "I was stupid. And it cost Landon his life."
"Junia, look at me." Harry might be the captain, but Jo could be plenty commanding herself. It was a tone of voice that couldn't be disobeyed. "What they did was not your fault. They murdered your husband and threw you overboard out of sheer superstitious stupidity and cruelty. Men like that use any excuse to exert power over others. They kill because they enjoy it, and because they believe themselves above the law. Someday, they will pay for what they've done. Even if you never find them and never put them to the sword, God Himself will give them their due and they will suffer for eternity. Of that, I'm certain."
Jo's dark eyes burned, and Junia tore away from them with difficulty. She swallowed thickly, mouth abruptly dry, and blinked away the sting of tears. Her words had rung with truth—she wanted so badly to take them to heart and believe them.
But when she closed her eyes, she could still see Landon's face in that last moment, could still hear the sword as it went through his body and the splash as he sank beneath the waves. It wouldn't have happened if not for her. Her tall, golden, kind-eyed husband would still be sailing and laughing and whistling if not for her.
His death was a debt that must be repaid. If she died in the process, so be it. But there would be a reckoning in the end.
"Show me that disarming technique again," she said finally, her voice steady and her eyes dry. "I think I've almost got it."
Rendezvous
Aveline was sneaking out to meet someone.
Harry grinned and fastened the clasp on her cloak, trying to make as little sound as possible as she crept outside after her. She'd hardly dared to believe it when she'd heard quiet footsteps going past her door, and peeked out to realize it was her sister. Sometimes her mother or father would go sit on the porch late at night, watching the stars and the sea, but neither of them made any attempt to soften their footfalls.
Who was she going to meet? Aveline hadn't mentioned a thing about having a suitor, but when she'd turned around to check that no one was following her, Harry had caught a glimpse of lipstick on her mouth, and her hair had been done up in an elaborate twist.
After they were out of sight of the house, Harry realized where they were going. Her sister's favorite place in the entire world was an ancient willow that grew close to the beach; she must be meeting her companion there. Certain of their destination now, Harry stopped concentrating all her focus on which direction her sister was going and started admiring their surroundings a bit more.
She was familiar with this place during the day, but night was more for sneaking into town than wandering out to areas this deserted. Her parents would have conniptions if they knew either one of them was in such a desolate place at this hour.
But it was beautiful. The stars glittered above her
like diamonds, and all around her, the trees stretched their limbs up toward them as if in supplication.
Then she caught sight of a shadow darting between two trees off to her left, and pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. There was Aveline's suitor now!
She was tempted to move closer, try to get a look at his face, but reminded herself that if she pressed her luck, she might well be discovered. Besides, she would get a chance to see him soon enough. They had almost reached the willow tree.
Aveline approached the beautiful draping branches and trailed a hand over some of the leaves. She leaned against the trunk, a wide smile on her face.
Stopping a good distance away, Harry watched as the man crept up toward the tree, careful to the very last not to be seen. Finally, he moved into her sister's line of sight.
To Harry's surprise and confusion, her sister's smile faded at once and she straightened up, her delicate hands clenching into fists.
Maybe it wasn't a tryst after all? Maybe her sister had come out alone for some type of negotiation? But Harry couldn't imagine her sister getting into trouble of any sort and not explaining things to Mother and Father. And if she was out to solve a problem tonight, why would she focus so on her face and her hair?
Harry chanced a few steps closer, trying to hear what they were saying. Both of their voices were low, angry, and all specific words were effortlessly masked by the sound of the nearby waves.
Then the man drew back his fist, and before Harry could even shout a warning, he punched Aveline hard in the side of the head, catching her before she could fall and lifting her over his shoulder. He turned and began moving toward the ocean, his steps astonishingly quick for someone who was carrying another human being, and only then did Harry manage to break through her shock and chase after them, screaming at him to let Aveline go.
He turned, panic flashing across his face for an instant before he took in the sight of her. Then he laughed.
"Go home, child."
The Search for Aveline Page 9
