The Search for Aveline

by Stephanie Rabig

  Harry didn't reply, didn't stop running, she just charged straight into the man. To her surprise, he didn't collapse to the ground when she hit him; he didn't even seem to budge. He shoved her back with his free arm and she fell, hitting her back and palms against the rocks at the edge of the beach. Flinging herself forward, she wrapped herself around his leg as he began to turn away and did the only thing she could think of. She bit him.

  He yowled and tilted slightly, nearly dropping Aveline, who groaned. Harry tried to gain her feet, tried to pull her sister away from the man, but suddenly, there was a cold line running from the top of her left arm almost to her wrist, and she couldn't seem to hold that arm steady at all. Looking down at it, she saw the blood pouring out and sank back to her knees as the man sheathed his knife and stalked down to the waiting landing craft. Aveline was still over his shoulder like so much baggage, and Harry tried to get up, but the stars were swirling above her and the abnormal chill had gone from her arm and she'd never felt such pain.

  They were in the boat now, and he rowed away from the shoreline. Maybe he was one of the pirates who worked with the mermaids—greedy and vicious things, she'd heard, always looking for another to join their ranks—or maybe he was taking her to be a slave on a ship somewhere and she didn't know; she couldn't see into the fog that covered the dark water and she couldn't get up for a closer view, couldn't swim after Aveline and save her; all she could do was scream.

  Then there were hands covering hers, questions rattled off that stopped as soon as the newcomer caught sight of her arm.

  "Jo... Josie?" Harry asked, blinking up at her best friend and trying to bring her into focus. "Josie, help."

  "I will, I'll get you to the doctor, come on—"

  "No, no. Not me. Help Aveline. She's out... he took her out there," she said, waving towards the ocean with her good arm, and the motion would've unbalanced her completely had Josephine not steadied her. Instead of running for the waves, the older girl took off her cloak and wrapped it tightly around her wounded arm.

  "No. Why aren't you—didn't you hear—" Had she spoken? She thought for certain that she'd spoken aloud, but maybe she hadn't, maybe she'd just thought—

  "I heard you," Josephine said, her voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry. I was late. I'm sorry."

  "Late for what?" Harry asked, and then the stars themselves disappeared.

  It was only after she was back home, lying in bed with the doctor at her side, pushing a needle in one side of the cut and out the other, that Harry finally made sense of the words.

  Josephine hadn't just come across her as a stroke of luck. She'd been the one Aveline had gone to meet.

  And she hadn't stopped the man. Jo's mom had taught both of them how to fight, there had been things she could've done. Things she knew how to do. But she'd panicked, she'd been stupid and she'd panicked, and now Aveline was—

  "Shhh," the doctor said, giving her a sympathetic glance as she burst into tears. "Gotta hold that arm still, girl, I can't get the stitches straight otherwise."

  But she couldn't calm down, couldn't hold herself still, couldn't stop.

  "Harry. Harry."

  She looked over at Josephine, who was on the other side of the bed. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her black hair was a stringy mess. Harry drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Ohhh, Jo. I'm—"

  Josephine shook her head. "No. Not a word of it. We'll find her. Whether she's a mermaid now or whether pirates took her, we'll get her back."

  "But we—"

  "No. I want to hear you say it."

  Harry swallowed hard, then nodded once. She still felt lightheaded, and the gentle motion after her crying jag made her feel like she might pass out again. "We'll find her."

  One Wild Night in Bogo

  "Ahhh, Bogo!" Harry said with a grin, taking a deep breath. Like all ports, there was a layered richness to its fragrance—there were the unsavory scents of unwashed bodies, acrid smoke, dead fish, blood and brine, and most of the pubs were positively redolent of cheap rum, cheaper perfumes, and all sorts of best-left-unnamed liquids. Outside the brothel, you'd swear the surrounding air was blue with cursing; it also had the wet, sticky, sour consistency of the watered beer served at the front bar.

  But over all of this was the heady, intoxicating, unexpected fragrance of bougainvilleas. Between every ramshackle building, at every corner, grew huge, thorny, tree-like bushes of the plant, lending a bright splash of color to a mixed assortment of tawdry goings-ons. On official maps, this little niche of vice and villainy was called Bougainvillea precisely because of those flowers spilling onto the uneven cobbled streets.

  Sailors being what they are, and unable to trust words with too many syllables, the place was colloquially called "Bogo" in defiance of those high-minded cartographers.

  "I've never seen a place like this," Franky said, wide-eyed, as they marched down what in other places would be called Main Street, but here, in Bogo, was known fondly as Wenches' Way.

  "Crazy, innit?" Maddie said with a laugh, hopping nimbly over a drunk as he rolled into the street with a loud groan. One of his friends pounced on him as they passed, rifling through his pockets. "Have you heard the story about the flowers yet?"

  "No, what's the story?" Franky shouted as they rushed past a small, personal fight involving six bellowing, shirtless, red-faced men armed with bits of broken chairs.

  "There was a sea witch who lived in a cave at the foot of the volcano, hundreds of years ago, when the first sailors started using this cove. They made a deal with her: she'd let them build the harbor they wanted, but only so long as they didn't make too much noise and disturb her with their revelries."

  "Take it that deal didn't work out too well," Franky said dryly. They were passing The Queen Mary—named not for any royal, but for the legendary Mary Read—and five women wearing only ripped petticoats, exposed nipples pert in the evening air, were leaning from the second floor balcony and blowing kisses down at them.

  "She warned them that if they broke their end of the bargain, she'd turn them all into flowers. And when the next ship sailed into the cove, they found the pub and inn empty and the streets filled with bougainvilleas. So they sailed out again, real sharp, and waited a few decades before coming back, until the old witch had died. Nobody else got turned into a bush, so the curse must've lost its strength, but nobody dares cut into any of the flowers already here, either, in case they start screaming or bleeding," Maddie finished with ghoulish delight.

  "Charming," Franky said, eyeing the beautiful plants in a different light.

  "I defy you to find a more superstitious lot than a port full of sailors," Jo said, glancing over her shoulder at Hope. As always, she stood out from the crowd in her brilliant red wrapped blouse and silk pants, hair black and shiny as jet, fixed back in a pristine bun, thin arms draped with bracelets and charms that jingled as she moved. Her face was always so smooth and remote, even in the midst of such chaos—calm with the surety that her gods would protect her, Jo supposed.

  Though she didn't rely wholly on divine intervention. A man had sidled up through their group and was snaking out a grubby hand towards Hope's backside. Quick as a striking cobra, she plucked a sharp silver needle from her bun and drove it into his wrist. The man shrieked and recoiled, freezing when Hope's emotionless face stopped an inch from his.

  "If you wish to ever use your hand again," she said in her strange voice, off-key, yet somehow still musical, the result of learning English after a childhood of strict Mandarin tones. "You will swear to me to never touch another woman without her express permission. Give me this oath."

  "I give it, I give it," the gap-toothed man sobbed, eyes bulging. He'd never crossed paths with a goddess before, and wasn't it just his luck to anger the first one he met? He couldn't feel his hand from the wrist down; as far as his brain knew, his fingers had all fallen off. "I'm sorry, miss. Very sorry. Truly."

  "Good." Long fingers tipped with sharp, red nails plucked the needle from hi
s flesh and immediately—painfully—he felt his hand start to throb. "Go."

  "It does the heart good," Marcella commented, amused, as Hope fastidiously wiped her hairpin clean on a silk kerchief before returning it to her bun. They had all stopped to watch the moment, sight-seeing being the third-most popular form of entertainment in Bogo, after boozing and bedding. "Seeing a man get put in his place like that."

  "Acupuncture," Hope said, seemingly apropos of nothing, as she began walking again with short, delicate steps. "If you know the right spot, you can hold a man in the palm of your hand."

  "Don't I know it," Katherine snorted, nudging Lizzie with a sharp elbow.

  "So this is your port of choice, huh?" Franky asked the captain as they continued on.

  "How could it not be?" Harry countered, putting out an arm and stopping him just as a window exploded in a shower of glass and a limp body sailed overhead to crash against the far wall, a person of indeterminate age and gender sliding to the alley in a boneless, brown leather heap.

  "Tell it to yer bleedin' mum!" shouted a coarse voice from the smashed window frame, the invective followed by a raucous peal of braying laughter.

  "Tortuga? Smuggler's Bay? Skull Island? Boring," Harry said with a dismissive wave. "Nah, it's Bogo if you want it all. No government, no law, no rules. Free love and free beer if you know where to go—"

  "Don't drink the free beer," Agnessa said in an urgent undertone. "Don't. Trust me."

  "A friend in every pub—"

  "And three enemies," added Jo.

  "Anything you could want to buy—"

  "For an exorbitant price," clarified Marcella.

  "A thousand different voices and just as many languages—"

  "And a third as many working eyes and limbs," Maddie chimed in.

  "Yessir: Bogo's the place to go if you're a pirate. Pirate's Paradise, they should call this. And this right here, Lucky, is the pub of all pubs. Anne's Arms." Harry spread her own arms as if she was a great showman unveiling a stunning treasure to an appreciative audience.

  "Lemme guess: Anne Bonny?" Franky said.

  Jo tapped the side of her nose and gave him a rare, genuine smile that didn't have a shred of sarcasm to it. "Got it in one."

  "Alright, enough jawing and gawping," Zora said, pushing her way through, side-stepping a lurching drunk with a dancer's grace and hurrying through the doorway. It seemed that Anne's Arms didn't have a front door—because someone had recently demolished it upon their exit or because the place was always open, Franky wasn't entirely sure. It didn't seem near as wild or loud as the other pubs they'd passed, the ones closer to the docks and therefore easier to reach and in higher demand. This pub was at the end of Wenches' Way, near the looming bulk of the volcano itself.

  "Zora's girl works here," Maddie explained as they followed their impatient crewmate in.

  They entered just in time to see the ecstatic reunion. A tall, ginger-haired, extremely voluptuous woman turned from the bar with a tray perched near her bare shoulder, saw Zora, shrieked with delight, dropped the tray back onto the bar regardless of the beer stein that tipped over, and ran straight for the black-haired woman with arms outstretched. The two collided with enough force to make Franky's teeth ache.

  "Girl, what have I told you!" shouted the beefy, red-faced woman working the taps. "Back to work, else I dock your pay! Plenty of time for that later!"

  "But Violet!" the redhead pouted prettily, surfacing for air and clutching Zora to her ample bosom, a position Zora clearly didn't mind in the slightest. "It's been weeks and weeks!"

  "Be that as it may be, you work to my clock, Tess. Drinks to the gents in the corner, check on Mr. Bright in room three, and then you can serve your lady and her mates. Now, girl!"

  Huffing, Tessa snatched another kiss from her lover and stomped back to the bar to refill the stein and resume her interrupted course. Franky found it nigh impossible to peel his eyes away from her—Tessa just had that undeniable magic about her. Milk-and-roses complexion, impressive breasts, long legs, and a wild mass of flaming hair heaped up in a frizzing cloud that begged to be touched. She wore a green, beaded skirt and tightly-laced corset that complimented her coloring, displayed her cleavage, and left her shoulders and arms bare.

  "She's a lot, ain't she?" Maddie said with a grin. Franky was gawping like a freshly-landed grouper. "And her and Zora next to each other, it's like some picture out of the Bible or something."

  Of Lilith and Eve, maybe, thought Franky, who was far more familiar with a Bible than Maddie. Or something out of the Song of Solomon. But she had a point: the two were a study in contrasts, with Zora's short black hair, olive skin, and dancer's body, all whipcord muscle and petite breasts. They were both of them earthy, lush, and wild, especially now with their proximity charging the air of the room. You could practically smell the lust, and Franky found it very hard to concentrate on anything.

  *~*~*

  "Hullo, boys."

  The three men looked up from their notched, battered cards and took in a sight that made the one with Nordic blood think abruptly of Valhalla. Slap a horned helmet on that regal head, strap a hammered breastplate to that very nice chest, hand her a golden spear and, well, she'd be a Valkyrie worth riding after, he thought, taken utterly by surprise. "Yes, miss?" he said, catching the hand-rolled cigarette before it fell from his lips.

  "Care to deal me in?" she suggested, hooking the spare chair with her foot and yanking it out, sitting with a wide grin. "You need four to play a really good hand of hearts."

  "That you do," said the one with the black hat tilted over a cauliflowered ear, grabbing up the cards and shuffling quickly. "Name's John, this here's Jimbo, and that's Jilly."

  "Really?" she lifted an eyebrow at him.

  "Short for Jillian," the Norseman by way of Pruitt Street, London, said without hesitation, long-accustomed to such a look. "Family name."

  "And you three just fell in together naturally? The three Jays?"

  "Been togevver since we was cabin boys," said Jim, a compact Cockney with bright, gray eyes and nimble hands. "Thirty years at sea, boy an' man."

  "A pleasure to meet you, Jays. I'm Katherine. What ship do you sail with?"

  "The Corinthian Curse. Just got in this morning. You?"

  "The Sappho. I'll take two more cards, please," she said, sliding over her discards.

  "Cor, really?" said John, sitting back in his chair to appraise her anew. He had the knotted hands, thrice-broken nose, and maimed ears of a habitual boxer, but he also had a rich, deep voice and a crooked smile that was almost boyish. "What's that captain of yours really like?"

  "A hellcat when riled, a pussycat when not," Katherine said. "So I wouldn't advise riling her. I'll raise three bob."

  "Always wanted to meet someone who sailed on The Sappho," said Jilly. He had thick, shaggy hair the color and texture of hay, pale blue eyes, a squashy nose, and had to be the tallest and broadest of the trio. A good thing, too, with such a girlish name—he probably had more than his fair share of fights over it. He made Katherine think of the boys from back home. Sturdy, dependable lads who could be wonderfully methodical. "Our Cap's always wild to hear stories about your lot."

  "That so?"

  "Oh, when Captain Thommo finds out we played cards wif one o' ya," laughed Jim, showing a nice set of teeth. "He'll shoot straight t' the moon wif envy."

  "This Cap of yours, he pretty good?"

  "The best, the best," said John firmly, to resounding nods and grunts of agreement from his fellows. "Very fair with divvying up the goods. Doesn't hesitate to spend gold on medicines, either. Member that time half the boys got the grippe somethin' awful, mates? Lots of other captains would've tipped the sick overboard to save themselves, but not Thommo. Captain Thommo ain't afraid of anything."

  "Well, krakens," amended Jilly. "And sirens. But then who ain't afraid of them?"

  "Sounds like a man worth sailing under," said Katherine, laying down another perfect run.

>   "Here, you ain't lookin' to sign on wif us, are ya?" Jim asked, pushing her winnings over.

  "No, absolutely not," Katherine said firmly. "Only way I'm leaving Captain Harry is when the Old Reaper takes my hand. No, I'm just sounding the waters. See, we had a bit of a dust up with Wrath Drew—"

  "Aye, we heard 'bout that," Jim nodded, producing a pipe and setting to work packing and lighting it. "Damn that mutinous dog."

  "Drew'd give even a kraken a sour stomach," agreed Jilly.

  "Nasty piece of work," contributed John.

  "And the captain's made a vow to string his guts across the bow. The Sappho may not be quite as big as The Charon, and our crew may be smaller, but we're hearty and game as hell." There was a light in the large woman's eyes that would've made anyone but the suicidal and near-fatally-drunk take heed. "And when going up against a double-crosser like Wrath Drew, it always pays to know who one's real friends are. Savvy?"

  "We most certainly do," said John, leaning over the table. "I can have a word with Thommo, see if he might want to have a word with your Harry. How does that sound?"

  "That sounds mighty fine to me. We'll be right here for the next two or three days, at least. Damn, seems I've got another straight, boys."

  "You're a dab hand at cards, Katherine," said Jilly admiringly.

  "Call me Kath. That goes for you two, too."

  "Alright, Kath. Oy, Violet!" Jim called back to the barkeep. "Bring us anuvver round, would ya, love? Make 'em big 'uns. Put it on the tab."

  "Ta, Jays," Katherine said as she drained her tankard in one go. "That sure does hit the spot. All these pubs in Bogo, and I swear Vi's the only one who doesn't put water or sawdust in the kegs."

  "Another game, Kath?" Jilly asked hopefully, shuffling the tattered deck.

  "Tell you what," she said. "I've got another idea. Cards and beer are good and all, but I've been on a boat full of women for a couple weeks now."

  "And?" John said, a scarred eyebrow lifting so high it disappeared behind his bangs.

  "How about we go upstairs and play a different sort of game? You all strike me as adventurous lads."