Skulls & Crossbones

by Andi Marquette

  Two-masted and square-rigged, the Black Angel strained to be set loose as it glided out of Nassau harbor at dawn. A predator, gathering for the spring. The crew leaned on the railing as the sails unfurled themselves. Those who had needed to hunt had done so.

  The ship sliced through the Caribbean, gathering speed and power. Dark and lethal, like an obsidian blade. The miles washed beneath them, more quickly than Sarah dreamed possible.

  "Ship ahoy!" came the melodious call from Peisino, the Siren.

  "Ah." Nefi was suddenly at Sarah's side. She said softly in her ear, "Do you recognize the vessel, Sarah?"

  Queen's Rest was painted in red on its stern, and something deeper than blood lust stirred at Sarah's core.

  "Your chance." Nefi smiled, an expression that among the living would not offer warmth. But to Sarah, Nefi's smiles scoured frost from stone. "Prepare to engage," Nefi ordered. The Black Angel turned swiftly with no help from the crew. She honed in on her target and of its own accord, Nefi's flag hurtled up the mainmast, unfurling in the breeze. A white cutlass piercing a crimson heart on a field of black.

  Sarah heard shouts from the Queen's Rest as the distance between them closed. She saw crewmen running about like ants, trying to turn the ship from the path of Nefi's juggernaut. The opposing vessel swung laboriously portside, exposing her guns. Nefi's eyes, like chips of onyx, caught the rays of the setting sun and flashed in warning. Sarah gripped the railing, bracing for the impact of either cannonball or broadside. The Queen's Rest crew scurried about, no doubt preparing to fire, but the Black Angel's guns remained silent even as cannons bellowed from the Queen's Rest. Sarah closed her eyes, waiting for the thud of metal on wood.

  Instead, five cannonballs stopped in midair as if they had struck a great wall. They hovered momentarily then splashed heavily into the water. Three more cannons fired and three more cannonballs joined their predecessors in the depths. Nefi's ship was too close now for effective cannonry. Sarah heard the crack of muskets, and chips of wood flew from the railing near her fingers. The gouges sealed themselves within minutes.

  The Angel slid into boarding position next to the Queen's Rest, and Peisino the Siren stood on the Angel's bridge, her song entrapping the enemy crew as if they were bound with chains. The Angel's crew swarmed aboard the other ship, Peisino's lilting voice the only sound they made. Mortal sailors dropped their weapons at her song and fell to their knees, slack-jawed.

  Sarah made the leap to the opposing vessel easily, reveling in the fluidity of her motions and the untapped strength in her muscles. She searched the deck, finding Crenshaw entranced at the foot of the foremast. Two Chinese pirates lifted him and carried him to the Black Angel. Blakesley stood on the bridge, staring dumbly at Sarah as she climbed the steps. Two undead pirates lifted him from his position, hauled him to the main deck, and handed him across the space to waiting hands on the Angel.

  With her prey off -loaded, Sarah swung onto the railing and stepped easily back to Nefi's ship, which pulled away from the Queen's Rest as Peisino's song faded. Blakesley and Crenshaw shook themselves, as if awakened from a deep trance. Nefi had ordered them placed near the mainmast, seated and unbound. Sarah regarded them, arms crossed, boots planted firmly on the deck. "Gentlemen," she said when she saw recognition in their eyes.

  "You said she was dead," Blakesley growled in a whisky-ripped voice. The ends of his mustache drooped below his chin and the scar across the bridge of his nose twitched with his words.

  "She was," Crenshaw stammered, eyes wide. "No one could have survived such a slice as that."

  "Death, Captain, doesn't always put an end to a matter." Sarah leaned over, face very close to his. "Perhaps you should have considered that when you broke the contract with me."

  He remained silent, glaring at her.

  Nefi interrupted. "Captain Blakesley, I am Nefi, captain of the Black Angel. Do you know of this vessel?"

  It was Crenshaw who reacted. His eyes widened, and sweat beaded on his balding skull. "Stories," he managed. "Just stories." But his voice was uncertain, and he trembled.

  "Good. Our reputation precedes us." Nefi stroked her chin. Several crewmembers snickered behind her. "Lady Sarah has already collected her boxes."

  Blakesley turned his attention to Sarah, surprise on his weather-beaten features.

  "I still retain my family seal," she said, holding her hand up so her ring was visible. "And I kept my key. Easy enough to prove my identity." She pulled the leather thong from beneath her shirt from which the key hung. "Careless of Mr. Crenshaw, don't you think?" She placed the key and thong back inside her shirt. "But then again, Mr. Crenshaw didn't expect I would survive."

  "Witch," Crenshaw muttered almost inaudibly, but Sarah heard it.

  "No, not quite. Something else entirely." She glanced over at Nefi, who smiled.

  "So," Nefi said to the prisoners. "Perhaps you'd like to clear your consciences about other matters?"

  "Please." Blakesley reached toward her, entreating. "I'll do anything. Anything you want."

  Nefi smiled even wider. "I have no doubt of that. But you obviously can't hold a contract. And I am very, very particular."

  An odd elation filled Sarah at Nefi's pronouncement. As if on cue, Nefi turned her scrutiny to Sarah. "What would you have me do here?" Sarah crossed her arms. "I seem to recall a certain island, where you and I first met."

  Nefi nodded, expression unreadable, as always. The Angel pitched to starboard and gathered momentum. Wind snapped against the sails. She knifed through the waves, cleaving the Caribbean, a shark. Hunting. Sarah knew she should turn Blakesley and Crenshaw over to port authorities in Nassau. Knew she should feel a responsibility as a representative of a noble British family to conduct herself through the proper channels. Knew all of this. And felt none of it. How quickly we forget life, she thought, delighting in the sight of two men cowering against the mainmast, when we have been granted it forever.

  The longboat's prow dug into sand, sending a jolt through the soles of Sarah's boots. Four members of Nefi's crew hauled Crenshaw and Blakesley out of the craft and dragged them, bound, onto the beach. The crew dropped them unceremoniously onto the sand and returned to the longboat, where they stood, waiting. Sarah and Nefi disembarked. Sarah drew her cutlass, turned to meet Nefi's eyes with her own. Nefi nodded. Sarah turned and strode up the beach to where the two men lay, arms bound behind their backs.

  "Do you know where you are?" Sarah asked as she stood over them.

  Crenshaw licked his lips, and his gaze flicked over her to the longboat, then to Blakesley. He knew. She smelled fear in his sweat, heard it in the shallow breaths that eased between his lips.

  "Please," Blakesley whispered, pleading. "I didn't know. I didn't understand—"

  Sarah shook her head. "You broke a contract." She pursed her lips. "I was fortunate. You are not."

  The smell of urine assailed Sarah's nostrils. Blakesley had pissed himself. She saw the stain grow on his trousers and disgust mingled with anxiety in Crenshaw's eyes.

  "Please." Blakesley tried again. "I'll sail with Nefi. I'll do anything she wants. Anything you want."

  "Too late." Sarah drew her cutlass, examined its blade in the afternoon sun. "It wasn't so long ago that I, too, reclined on this beach." She held the tip of the blade to Blakesley's cheek, nicked it. He yelped and tried to move away. A thin trickle of blood slid down his jawline. Sarah watched it, transfixed by its smell. The hunt thrummed through her veins. Without hesitation, her cutlass found Blakesley's abdomen, sank deep. Sarah rammed it through his gut, through his scream, until the point buried itself in the sand beneath. She pulled it free and ran the tip of her left index finger along the blade, collecting blood. She licked her finger, and the predator within stirred. She turned to Crenshaw, who stared at her, horrified. He tried to get to his knees, out of the way of Blakesley's strangled screams and thrashing.

  "I meant nothing by it," Crenshaw stammered. "It was Cap'n's orders. I was just followin
g orders. He's a coward. I'll do right by you. I'll serve aboard the Black Angel." The words shot from his mouth like cannonballs from the Queen's Rest. They fell, useless, beneath Sarah's gaze.

  "Funny, the things you think about at the moment of death," Sarah mused. "Are you afraid?"

  Crenshaw bobbed his head like a puppet. "I'll do anything you want. Any kind of work. I'll serve you honorably. I swear it."

  "Too late for you as well." Sarah pressed the tip of her cutlass to Crenshaw's abdomen. He fell backward, skittered away awkwardly like a crab. Sarah watched for a moment, amused. She moved too quickly for him to see. The blade slid into his stomach, and his eyes registered utter surprise before a harsh gasp burst from his mouth. Sarah punched the blade through, paused, and pulled it out. Crenshaw watched, agony and disbelief on his features as she again licked a finger full of blood from the cutlass. She needed to hunt, but she would not sully her tastes here. She felt Nefi at her elbow, felt another kind of hunger as she turned to look at her. Nefi offered one of her smiles. "Shall we?"

  "Please." Sarah followed Nefi to the longboat. She did not look back.

  Nefi stood on the bridge. She never had to give orders, as the crew knew exactly what to do, if something warranted doing. The sails unfurled and the warm wind filled them. The ship lurched forward, away from the island and through the crystal waters, wood creaking and sails snapping. Sarah watched the crew members on deck then turned back to Nefi, whose hair was loose today, flowing behind her. She might have been a figurehead come to life, the way she appeared.

  "Ah, a long, long life at sea. Does it entice you?" She smiled enigmatically, eyes boring into Sarah's.

  Sarah smiled back. The thrum of the ship, the thud of waves against wood . . . it stirred longings in her veins reminiscent of a hunt.

  "I've been sailing a fair amount of time," Nefi continued, self-effacing laughter in her voice. "And I never tire of it. When I think, sometimes, that the burdens of history and the uncertainty of the future are too high a price to pay for this life, I raise the flag on the mast and head to sea. I think, Sarah, that you know what I'm talking about." Nefi rested a hand on one of the spokes of the wheel. "It's why you called. And it's why I came."

  Sarah met Nefi's eyes. She didn't need to answer. Nefi knew. Sarah had surprised herself the day she died. Surprised herself when she accepted the final transformation. A soft English noblewoman at birth, destined to marry a soft English lord. Producing soft English off spring to bear the name for more soft nobles. And then her father's gold disappeared. Sarah was the youngest of his brood, and he could spare no sons to find it. She volunteered immediately. She had never had an inkling of ever doing such a thing. Where had the urge come from?

  Accompanied by three servants, she arrived in New Providence, where she followed buccaneers with her eyes and her longing. So unlike her. Brutish and unseemly. Merciless. Indulging pleasures of the flesh, rutting like dogs, and drinking the excesses of mortality. But so like her after all. Sarah audaciously donned men's clothing and went to sea. The first breach. She contracted with privateers. The second. Then she learned to sail, learned the feel of a ship. It was as if she knew nothing else. The third.

  She automatically took the wheel from Nefi, to whom every sea was intimately familiar, lovers all. Nefi, who came with the tides and brought Sarah a choice. A soul cached in blood. A life outside life. "I can help you," she had said, kneeling there in the sand. And she did.

  Fifty Octaves Deep

  Alice Godwin

  "Sisters." She looked at each of us. "It's time. Three days and then we dive."

  We all nodded. We'd been expecting the announcement. I looked around, eldest to youngest, the youngest being me. So alike we could've been septuplets, but a year separated each of us. A year and a day. That first week of March was a celebration. Now, it was the end of March and as the days became longer and the seas calmer it was time. "We going in any direction?" Lydea drawled. Talia smirked. "I have a very specific direction. South." We all gasped. "Why?" Myrrha asked.

  Talia laughed. She glanced over at Melusinia, her second, who nodded. "Something has come to my attention. Something very special. We go to seek, retrieve, bring back." She laughed again. "I'll speak more when we are under way."

  There was a shimmer of anxiety that rippled down from Myrrha through the last four of us. South. That wasn't good, I decided. Not good at all. We dived as dawn came to contemplate the horizon and brush her shiny hair. The Harpina, newly scrubbed and refurbished, slid into the ocean as gently as an embrace. She was originally commissioned by our great-greatgrandmother and should have been showing her age, but decades of loving care and attention kept her almost as shiny as her first voyage.

  As the youngest, I had no real responsibility. I was just a glorified cabin girl who needed to be available to any or all who might need me. That first morning, I stayed with Myrrha, the cook, and helped her unpack the provisions and begin baking. Myrrha liked to be properly organised in case she was needed elsewhere. We hummed together as we rolled the pastry, my contralto to her soprano, the flour dust hanging in the air as we pummelled and kneaded.

  Melusinia steered The Harpina due south as Lydea plotted the course, give or take a few degrees. Some nasty coral shoals protruded from the depths around these parts, but we glided between them easily. Giant mantas followed us like lost puppies, and most days, I would see their bat-like wings darkening the portholes, their black eyes gazing in at us.

  Talia still hadn't enlightened us, and each evening at seven bells, as we sat at the round table, we waited for her announcement, but it didn't come. Anticipation sat beside us like stray cats waiting for some fallen food. Glances passed between us all—except between Talia and Melusinia. Five days passed before Talia announced that we would begin netting. She looked over at Sereia.

  "Just you. Let's spread a wide net and see what we can catch."

  Well, that made sense, I thought, as I ate my chowder. We were heading into some of the main shipping lanes.

  I lay on my bunk bed and looked out the porthole. Three manta rays played tag alongside The Harpina, their long spiky tails whipping up bubbles in their wake. We weren't that deep—maybe twenty feet below the surface. The water was a viridescent green, and schools of fish skimmed by flashing silver and gold. It was relaxing, but I always found myself missing the sky. I felt Sereia beginning, and the sound vibrated through the craft. Glass chimed and the gas lamps flickered wildly. It soared outward and pulsed through the water. The rays went wild and began to zoom around us in crazy figure-eight patterns. They swam so fast, a blur of black, and they skilfully avoided collisions in a choreographed dance that included our ship. I felt the sound move outward as ripples of music. Sereia had the best range of any of us. Subtle, yet strong. I lay back and closed my eyes, her voice taking me to places I could only dream about: castles in the air, wild storms in the wind.

  Three days later, we caught our first ship, a small pleasure craft with five crew and ten guests. We found them easily. Myrrha and I joined Sereia, adding our voices to the trawl, blending so harmoniously that everyone on board that boat was doomed. It's funny how you can feel that moment. It begins with a hesitation, a tinge of indecision, and then it grows, because in the beginning, there is always a moment where escape is possible, an intuitive sense of hidden danger that, if acted upon, will save the vessel. Because once the song captures them, it's all over, as they say, and just a matter of time. We guided their craft to one of our preferred rocky outcrops, and we felt their madness. They were drunk with it—laughing, dancing, and partying their way to death. The yacht was lit up like a beacon on the dark sea, bodies swaying together on the deck, crew and passenger intermingling, all responsibilities forgotten. Men and women dancing, men and men kissing, women and women tumbling together, their deepest desires brought to the surface. It was one hell of a way to go.

  The Harpina glided on the surface just east of the yacht. All seven of us stood together now, holding hand
s, our long hair flowing behind us, our voices joined together in one pure note of melody. Then as one we stopped—except Sereia, she kept on, singing the last bar, the final key that brings destruction. It soared over them as sweet as death. When it ended, silence crashed over their boat at the same moment that the jagged rocks split the hull. Within twenty seconds all that was left on the surface were floating champagne bottles and a red shawl that stained the foam like blood. We gave a prayer of thanks to the Goddess of the Seas and prepared to dive.

  Our catch was small but interesting. Diamonds galore, gold and silver, crates of vintage wine, and a large telescope. I claimed that as my booty. When and where I was going to use it, I didn't know.

  That night, as we sprawled guzzling cognac in the captain's cabin, Aurora and Sereia dried out some of the silk dresses they had purloined and braided each other's hair with glittering bracelets. Then, Talia decided to enlighten us all.

  Her pale face was flushed in the glowing lamplight. She wore the dead skipper's braided cap, another to add to her growing collection, and she donged the brass bell above the door.

  "The Necklace of Harmonia is our coveted prize."

  Sereia let go of the gown that she was trying on, and it slid to the floor with a whoosh. She stood completely naked, such was her surprise. "You're not serious?" Myrrha gasped.

  "Deadly serious," Melusinia said. "We have reason to believe that it is travelling up from the deep south on a cargo boat. We intend to intercept it."

  "But it's been lost for millennia." Aurora stood next to Sereia and covered her with a damp fur coat.

  "And now it's been found," Talia said triumphantly.

  "Are you sure?" Lydea didn't look very happy.

  "We wouldn't be going if we weren't very, very positive." Melusinia glared at us.

  "It's cursed," Sereia muttered. "You know it is. You've heard the stories. Why would we want this?"