The Search for Aveline

by Stephanie Rabig

  The idea of self-defense never would’ve crossed Florence’s mind. In the first place, he proved the reality of something they'd never seen before, so Florence's inborn caution—of which she didn't have much—would've been easily overwhelmed by curiosity. And in the second place, she'd been blissfully free with her affections, with someone waiting for her in every port—usually tall men with black hair. If she were here, Isabelle would've teased her about having a type, and Florence would've rolled her eyes at her, grinning before she swam straight up to him, an excited chirp in her voice as she asked a thousand questions.

  Florence had always been the one to take risks, to trust quickly, and it broke her heart that such a spirit could be gone in one awful moment.

  "Were you on the ship that burned two nights ago?"

  "Y... yes," she stammered, coming back to herself. "The Chastity."

  "I sail with The Sappho," he replied. "I saw the fire and came to look for survivors."

  The fact that he wasn't saying, "I found dozens; they're taking shelter on that island" unsettled her, and she quickly latched onto his first sentence. "The Sappho? That's a ghost ship."

  He smiled. "They're as real as you and I, and a more goodhearted crew you won't find."

  She thought of The Chastity's crew, and her throat grew tight. "Have you found anyone other than me?"

  "Yes," he said, his own expression growing somber. "Her name was Minerva."

  "Miss Harper?" His phrasing sank into her mind. Her name was. "She... is she..."

  "I'm afraid so."

  "She's wonderful," Isabelle said. "She was... she was going to see her son. Oh, God. He won't know. It was a surprise. He didn't know she was coming."

  "Do you know his name?"

  "Yes. Samuel."

  "We can ask Harry to make a detour to where you would have docked. Her boy deserves to hear such news in person."

  "We?" she asked quietly.

  "Well, yes," he said, as if this was obvious. "Surely, you do not wish to stay here by yourself?"

  And she didn't. At home, she'd always had her parents and siblings. She'd loved the noisy markets back home, and their Society had been a constant blend of conversation and laughter and questions. Privacy was almost unheard of on the ships she'd traveled on, including The Chastity. Every day of her life, there'd been the bustle of people, the joy of company. She loathed solitude.

  "I..." She scrambled for some way to delay the answer that she knew she'd have to give. "Why are you glowing? Am I?"

  "Yes," he said. "They're called auras. A life-light, that gives merfolk information about who we're speaking with."

  "I can't see mine."

  "We can't see our own."

  "How do you tell what they say?"

  "It takes years of practice," he said. "Colors are the major component, but there's also the way the light plays through them, the brightness, the—"

  "Okay, okay," she said, scrutinizing him closely. His aura was ocean-blue, bright as the sunlight through water in some places, and in others, melding with the deep blue-black of the inlet where she rested. It was a calming, gentle color, but the ocean could be terrifying, too: how well did she know that now?

  "All right," she finally said. "Unfortunately, I'll need some help," she told him, looking ruefully down at her tail.

  "I've never seen such a thing," he said as he moved to her side.

  "My legs—I think my legs were broken in the wreck."

  "We'll figure something out," he promised, but she didn't take his hand.

  "I'm honestly not sure I should go to a ship," she admitted. "What good can I do like this? I would simply be a mouth to feed, a drain on—"

  "You would not," he said firmly. "In fact, once you've recovered, perhaps you can come out with me the next time a ship finds danger."

  "Me? Why?"

  "I fear I am too intimidating to do as much good as I'd like. I do not wish to frighten anyone, but..."

  She shook her head, trying to put a reassuring smile on her face as she belatedly remembered to let go of her rock. Now that she was fairly certain he meant no harm, her initial panic seemed silly.

  He smiled back. "A few minutes ago, you nearly tried to bury yourself in the sand. And poor Junia would have led me on a merry chase, had she not already been exhausted. Perhaps I wouldn't cause such a fright with you by my side."

  "I'd be glad to help," she said. "But first, I have to relearn how to swim..."

  Non-Sequitur

  "Your people are very funny."

  Harry cracked open one eye and glanced over at him. She was starting to get used to his odd non-sequiturs, but her curiosity demanded that she ask for clarification every time. "How so?

  "Clothing," Kai said, vaguely gesturing at her. "It is very hot, and you are sweating, yet you still insist on wearing constrictive fabric. It gets caught on things and you spend an awful amount of time in washing and repairing it, swearing all the while, and it costs you gold when you need fresh garments. It is very strange to me."

  "Humans have a lot of social rules," Harry said.

  "As do merkind."

  "Okay, well, it's like how each of your necklaces means something? The shells and teeth represent things, so that other merfolk know that you're strong or have completed certain rituals, right?"

  "Yes."

  "So humans wear certain uniforms and hats to show their status to others. Anyone sees a hat like mine, they know I'm a captain."

  "Miss Euphemia has many strange hats, though."

  "Miss Euphemia is an odd duck and bucks all trends and conventions."

  "She is a duck? How is she—"

  "It's a metaphor, Kai, don't over-think it."

  "Alright, I understand what you are saying. But by your logic, the only thing you truly must wear to show other humans what you are is your hat. You don't have to wear trousers and shirts all the time. But you still choose to. Why?"

  Harry looked at him properly, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He always sounded so earnest and sincere, naive as a newborn, but she had a more than sneaking suspicion that Kai was much sharper than he seemed. He couldn't be that innocent. He had to know what he was implying. "If you want to see me naked, Kai, you could just come out and say it."

  "And if I did?" he countered guilelessly.

  "I'd call you a cheeky blighter and threaten you with fifteen lashes," she said smoothly.

  "Only fifteen? I must try harder."

  It took all of her self-control, but she repressed the smile and maintained a stony glower even as he grinned shamelessly at her. Damn him for having a smile that white, and dimples, on top of all that muscle and wild hair. It was downright appalling, really.

  The Kidnapping

  of Lady Cavendish

  Deborah, Lady Cavendish, was in the middle of a letter to her grandmother when all hell broke loose on deck.

  "What on earth...?" she exclaimed, setting aside her pen, stoppering her bottle of purple ink, and pushing back her chair. She went to the door and stared out at the dozens of men running pell-mell in a frantic state of extreme alarm. Guns were being passed out from the powder room, the steersman was gripping the tiller with a grimace of resignation, and Captain Fulsome was shouting himself hoarse.

  His coat hung crookedly, Deborah noted, because he had buttoned it in a hurry and missed one. And his white wig was on sideways.

  Taking up her sky-blue parasol, she opened her door and stepped out into the sunlight. An ensign rushing past with a rifle almost as big as himself saw her, did a double-take, and rushed over.

  "Oh, no, m'lady, you should stay in your cabin," he said breathlessly, large Adam's apple bobbing madly. The boy looked like someone had hung a uniform on a lamppost: he was mostly ears. "Lock and barricade your door."

  "What is going on?" she demanded, opening her parasol. "I'm not moving an inch until you explain this chaos."

  "Pirates, miss," he said miserably, skinny shoulders slumping under his despair. "They'll likely kill us a
ll and sink the ship!"

  "Nonsense," she said firmly, reaching out a lace glove-covered hand to pat him. "Chin up, boy, and have faith. Most pirates are nothing but ruffians who prey upon the weak—so long as we show them proper English courage, they'll realize we're not worth the effort and leave."

  The ensign stared at her open-mouthed. He was young, and green behind the ears, and extremely hesitant to argue with an aristocrat—but he couldn't help thinking that Lady Cavendish was madder than a march hare. "But, miss, they've got more cannons than us," he pointed out.

  "What do pirates want? Gold and jewels and cargo. They won't sink us before trying to board us and taking stock of our inventory," Deborah continued blithely. "And when they try to board us, we'll show them what we're made of."

  "Same bits every man is made of, miss," the ensign said. "Blood and guts. And I'd prefer all of my bits stay inside, where they belong."

  Sensing that she was getting nowhere with this young man, Deborah huffed, squared her shoulders, and set off across the deck towards Captain Fulsome. Several men carrying weapons and spyglasses had to quickly adjust their course or else collide with the determined Lady.

  "Yes, what is— Oh, good God! Lady Cavendish!" The Captain's Romanesque features were almost comical with surprise. He looked like an especially lop-sided Punch puppet after a good thrashing. "You need to take cover immediately!"

  "I hear we are being harassed by pirates, Mr. Fulsome," Deborah said, spinning her parasol.

  "So we are, which is precisely why—"

  "I've dealt with pirates before, Captain," she continued on smoothly. "Twice, in fact. Both times, the scoundrels intended to kidnap and ransom me for the family fortune."

  "And what happened?" Fulsome asked, curious despite the manifold and pressing distractions.

  "The first lot were rousted by a few shots from the crew and the second rethought their plan after I'd put a pistol to their captain's head," Deborah said sweetly. She flashed a perfectly proper society smile. "Now, how do you intend to handle this bunch?"

  "We've only just sighted them, miss," Fulsome said. "Once we know just who it is we're facing, we'll plan according—"

  "I see the prow, Captain!" one of the lieutenants at the railing shouted, a spyglass pressed to his face. "It's... It's The Sappho, sir!"

  The wave of relief was palpable. The rush of activity froze immediately. Men sighed and rubbed their faces, setting aside their guns and leaning against masts. Some even started to laugh.

  "I don't understand," Deborah said, bewildered. "It is a pirate ship, is it not?"

  "Oh, yes, my lady, most definitely," said Captain Fulsome, pulling out a white kerchief to mop the beads of sweat from his tanned brow. He dislodged his wig in the process, and had to stoop quickly to catch it. "Apologies, miss, I'm usually not in such a disarray."

  "Then why are your men lowering their weapons? Shouldn't we be readying ourselves for battle?"

  "We've no undue quarrel with The Sappho," the captain said, looking a little uncomfortable. He was unaccustomed to well-bred young women in voluminous petticoats being so, well, bloodthirsty. "They'll only levy a minor tax and let us go peacefully on our way."

  "Levy a tax?" Deborah said, voice rising in both volume and pitch. "This is the HMS Williamson, and they are pirates! Since when has the British government made a habit of giving in to the demands of thieves and murderers?"

  "Miss, please. The world out here does not always abide by the same rules as the one we left in London. Sometimes certain... allowances must be made. For the good of everybody. Far better that we part with a few pounds and a barrel or two of preserves than with our lives! Surely, you can see that?"

  "I can see, Mr. Fulsome, that cowardice is easier than chivalry," Deborah said, head held high. The pirate's vessel was very close now, close enough for them to see individual faces grinning along the railing. Tightening her jaw, she turned to face the silent, staring men of her ship. "Gentlemen, are you men or mice? Give no quarter to these vultures! They can't bloody kill us all!"

  "What did she say?" Marcella asked Lizzie.

  "Somethin' 'bout us bein' vultures, I think," the blacksmith replied, grinning.

  "Girl's got sauce," Zora said, admiring the figure striding across the deck in a froth of blue muslin, satin, and lace. "And she must be cooked alive in that get-up, just look at it all."

  "She's beautiful," Katherine said dreamily, sliding the gangplank across. "A real lady, you can tell."

  "She's certainly ordering them about like a toff," Harry said, amused by the entire scene. "Franky, ladies, let's go see just what we're dealing with here."

  "...cower in the presence of their military might? No! Did David back down before Goliath? Of course he didn't!" the lady in blue was shouting, swinging her furled parasol just as a general would use a baton. "So gird your loins, gentlemen, pick up those guns, and defend this ship from the forces of unlawful tyranny!"

  "We've never been called tyrants before, Cap!" Franky said with a grin, making the woman startle sharply and spin to face them, her dark curls swinging in her wake. Her face was flushed from delivering her rousing call to arms, and her shoulders heaved with the force of her breathing—it must be exceedingly difficult to breathe deeply in such a tight corset. Katherine found her eyes glued to the heaving breasts covered in lace and felt a little light-headed herself.

  Full lips, a firm nose, and brown eyes that flashed with anger. This lady in blue definitely had the face and bearing of an aristocrat—and was obviously of the type that led men into battle rather than remained home at the manor to quietly embroider seat cushions.

  "No, usually we get called smug, interfering bitches," Harry agreed. "Hullo! I'm Captain Roberts. These are my miscreants. We'd like to take a look in your hold, if you'd be so kind."

  "We'll let you do nothing of the sort!" shouted Deborah Cavendish, swinging her parasol like a club and catching Franky a real ding against the left temple. He yelped and ducked, raising his arms against the onslaught. "Scoundrels! Ruffians! Thieves!"

  Katherine reached over and caught the makeshift weapon in mid-swing. Deborah tugged once, twice, and then glared up—and up—until she finally met her enemy's eyes.

  In the heat of her indignity, Deborah hadn't looked properly at the scruffy boarding party. She had noticed, somewhat dimly, that Captain Roberts was actually a woman, but hadn't given much thought to the others. Now, she stared up at a towering figure she had automatically assumed was a man and found the exact opposite.

  Eyes the blue of cornflowers looked down at her with obvious amusement. Hair the gold of corn silk was braided into a crown atop her head. Pink lips were smiling at her, and the plain white shirt at her eye-level was only half-buttoned, revealing a defiantly much-tattooed, female chest.

  "...Oh," Deborah said, blinking rapidly. She released the parasol. "Um."

  "I'm Katherine," the figure spoke, low voice pleasantly rounded by a Scandinavian accent. "And you are?"

  "Lady Deborah Cavendish," she replied promptly. She smoothed the front of her ample skirts self-consciously.

  "Honored," Katherine said, inclining her head. "Sorry—I'd curtsy, but Agnessa hasn't gotten around to teaching me yet."

  "Quite alright," Deborah said. "We aren't in court, and this isn't a ball."

  "No, it isn't."

  "Well, uh, what exactly is it that you intend to do today?" she said finally, straightening her back.

  "We just wanted a quick look in the hold," Harry said, holding back laughter. The lady had been thoroughly and immediately cowed, all of her righteous fire banked. All thanks to a single, sizzling look at Katherine. "Might help ourselves to a little of your gunpowder, any spices you might have. We're running a tad low on those and haven't had an opportunity to visit a shop lately. You understand how it is."

  "Yes, well, that doesn't sound unreasonable to me," Deborah said, glancing at the boggled, silent men behind her. Her inner fire flared up momentarily. "In fact, help you
rselves, Captain Roberts. Obviously, these men don't deserve the luxury of well-flavored meals. Cowards should be grateful for bread and water."

  "Indeed," Harry snorted, waving for Marcella, Zora, and Lizzie to follow her, leaving Franky to rub his aching head and Katherine to continue her appraisal of the opinionated Lady Cavendish.

  "You have a low opinion of pirates," Katherine commented.

  "Those I've met haven't impressed me much," Deborah said. "Also, I assumed you were here to kidnap me."

  "Kidnap you?" Katherine raised an eyebrow in surprise. "We've never been ones to kidnap people."

  "Be that as it may be, the last two sets of pirates I encountered attempted to. I'm quite the ransom prize, apparently. Old family," she explained in a private undertone. "Pots of money, sweeping ancestral estates, you know."

  "Ah. I see. So if it's so dangerous for you to sail, what are you doing on this boat?"

  "Just because some rotten-toothed men assume they can use me to milk money from my family, doesn't mean I intend to hide myself away," Deborah said stubbornly. "I am going to see the world and enjoy my youth—there will be plenty of time for boring safety when I'm old and grey."

  "That sounds perfectly reasonable to me."

  "Besides, staying at home doesn't guarantee safety. Someone tried to grab me on my way to the opera last winter, and I had to convince him he had made a poor choice."

  "How did you do that?"

  "I stomped on his foot hard enough to break several bones and thrust the end of my umbrella into his manhood," Deborah said proudly. "Left him sobbing on the street and continued on. I'd been looking forward to La Boheme for a month."

  "Do you always travel alone?"

  "Oh, yes. No one can keep up with me."

  "That sounds like a challenge," Katherine said.

  "Did it?"

  "I've seen a lot of the world, sailing with The Sappho," Katherine said, almost nonchalantly. "We've traveled just about everywhere. Uncharted islands. Distant cities."