Skulls & Crossbones

by Andi Marquette

  I stumbled to my feet and stood looking out at the sea. Perseus grabbed my ankles but I kicked him away. He cursed just before he swallowed a mouthful of seawater. I ran toward The Harpina. Orpheus had hauled himself up, and he and Talia were fighting on the deck. It looked more like a beautiful dance than a dangerous sword fight.

  Again, I felt a boom. It was rising. I yelled for Aurora as I splashed through the waters. The incoming waves rose higher, like they knew he was coming, and his presence was registering on the sandy floor. And then he appeared, rising from the depths. He surged into the air, the monster Architeuthis, summoned from the deepest depth, his tentacles beating the air as his hungry eyes blinked in the bright sunlight. Water from his rising surged outward, and a wave rolled to the beach that rocked the hull of The Harpina so violently that both Orpheus and Talia fell to their knees. We all stopped fighting and instead stared at the monster. "What the Hades is that?" Perseus gasped behind me.

  We watched as the giant squid's tentacles lashed the air, and Orpheus ducked as one of the giant arms swung toward him. Talia ran to the hatch, and she had almost reached it when a tentacle snaked through the air and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her above the deck. Orpheus ran toward her, but she was already in the air and kicking her legs frantically. We all saw the monster's grip tighten, and she yanked the necklace off and tossed it at Orpheus. It sailed through the air. He half-stopped, looked at it shining and spinning toward him, and he made a crucial decision.

  The necklace sailed over him and fell into the sea. He could've reached up and caught it, but instead, he ran and jumped in the air, to grab Talia's hand and pull her toward him. With his other hand, he brought his broadsword down onto the thick tentacle. Black blood spurted out as he and Talia tumbled onto the deck. The monster screamed and flailed as Sereia appeared from the hatch. Her voice soared into the air, so high her range that crystal goblets nestled in their crates on the beach blew apart. The creature screamed again and then disappeared below the surface, the sea boiling and churning in its wake.

  Talia lay pale and lifeless on the hull, the severed tentacle still wrapped around her waist. Orpheus threw his sword down and picked her up, struggling with the extra weight of the monster's attached appendage. Still carrying her, he jumped into the water and staggered through the churning surf until he reached the beach. Myrrha waited as he lowered Talia's body onto the sand, and the two began hacking at the thick dactylus. Finally, as we all stood watching, they loosened the tentacle's tight grip so Talia's breath moved from a shallow wheeze to a strong gasp, and colour returned to her face as her chest heaved.

  Orpheus began pulling off the tentacle, sucker by sucker, and dark red marks covered Talia's waist. Blood spiked her skin as Orpheus and Myrrha pulled the sharp serrated rings of chitin off her body. She moaned in pain but at least that meant she was alive. "Start diving," Melusinia snapped at Aurora and me.

  We ran down to the shoreline and threw ourselves into the waves, headed toward the area where the necklace had fallen. Sereia stood on the deck humming quietly, scanning the horizon, but everything was quiet and peaceful. I don't know how long we dived. My breathing was ragged when we stopped and we had found nothing. We staggered to the beach where Talia was half-sitting, propped up by Lydea as Myrrha held a cup for her. Orpheus was at her side. The afternoon had turned into evening, and violet shadows tinged the high clouds. We all waited for Talia to speak, which she finally did. "Thank you for saving my life," she said to Orpheus. "Any time."

  Then she did something so uncharacteristic that it left us stunned. She reached for his hand and asked if he would carry her to her cabin. His smile widened.

  "As you desire, my lady." He reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet, then picked her up in his arms. She winced as his hand touched her waist and then she snuggled into him. He waded to The Harpina, and lifted her to the deck before he hauled himself up. Hand-in-hand, they walked where they had been sword-fighting a few hours earlier. Husband and wife again, for that moment at least, though I wondered if it had been uncharacteristic of her to invite him in. Maybe it had all been such a calculated risk. Maybe this was just part of her strategy. Or maybe it was simply that she wanted to be in his arms again.

  I joined Myrrha and Sereia, who were organising food on the beach, Lydea brought out her cards and began a game of pinochle, which most of the men joined. They would all be well and truly fleeced by morning. Around us, the sky darkened into night.

  Perseus and I sat on the deck and he showed me the various constellations, including our namesakes in the heavens. He seemed to know a lot about this subject, and I think it was why I came to my decision. Either that, or it was because I leaned over and thought I saw a flash of something sparkling in the dark sea.

  The next two days were a holiday of sorts. Aurora and Sereia seemed to have sparked with two of Orpheus's crewmen, judging by the amount of times they paired off and disappeared somewhere amongst the sheltered coves. Talia and Orpheus barely resurfaced, spending the majority of the time below in her cabin. Lydea met her gambling match with the navigator of The Apollo, who stripped her to her boots before she rallied and won it all back. She had never looked so happy. Even Melusinia seemed to relax as she exchanged sword-sharpening techniques with one of the fellows she had knocked to the ground days earlier. And I spent my time with Perseus, talking about interstellar matters and stargazing when the sun went down.

  But all good things come to an end, and the next sunrise saw the loading begin in earnest. It seemed that the loot was to be divided into equal halves. Very generous of Talia. but realistically, we couldn't have loaded any more onto The Harpina.

  "We could've buried it," Melusinia grumbled as she supervised the split, but for naught.

  By evening, we were all loaded up. I stared up at the airship moored above the beach, and I wondered. That night seemed a strange replay of Talia's wedding feast. Music played and couples danced. There was toasting and laughter, drinking, and storytelling. And underlying the festive feel was the bittersweet knowledge that on the morrow it would all be over, and we would go our separate ways. It was that thought that sent me to the water's edge where I lay in the foamy wash of the sea and buried my hands in the sand. Shells and crabs, dried mermaid purses, broken coral, old coins, and other flotsam gathered around my fingers.

  Mid-morning we gathered to say farewell to our rivals. Orpheus and Perseus stood on the shore, but the rest of his crew had already gone up the ladder and were preparing their ship for departure. The wind was up, and the airship was straining at its ropes. Talia gazed into the sea, maybe thinking about what she had so casually thrown away. A gamble she had taken and won. Was it a win? She had guessed correctly that Orpheus would choose her above a bauble, no matter its legend. No doubt she assumed we would retrieve it again, too. But the sea is a fickle woman and has many moods. Orpheus kissed Talia goodbye, a long kiss that made us all stare into the sand rather than at them. Then up the swinging ladder he climbed and as he reached the top, Perseus began his ascent. I moved away from my sisters, clambered over a rock, and retrieved my two packs. Over each shoulder I hefted my belongings as I looked up at Apollo riding his sun-gold chariot. I grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder and began climbing. The telescope banged against my waist as I concentrated on each hand grasping the next rung. Below me, I heard my sisters calling, and I felt the ladder tug hard before I heard Talia yell. "No, let her go."

  The ladder swung freely, and I almost lost my balance. I looked up and saw Orpheus, amused, looking down at me.

  "A new crew member, I presume." He laughed. "I need a cabin boy." He reached down for my hand. "Welcome aboard."

  I grabbed his palm and stood beside him, swaying. I looked down at my sisters and The Harpina, which looked like a beached, bronze whale as it lolled in the shallows. My sisters. My life. The breeze blew my hair back, and I heard him gasp. I'd almost forgotten.

  I pulled the necklace off and flung it down toward my sister
s. It tumbled down like a bird with a broken wing, and Talia caught it in her hand. "Andromeda! How? When?"

  "Last night," I called. "The sea washed it ashore, into my hands. A gift." She laughed, and it struck me that her laugh and his were really not that dissimilar. She placed the Necklace of Harmonia around her neck. Even from this height, I could see its beauty. Did I have any regrets? Perhaps if I had been older, I might have wished for the power it offered, but I was young, and I had my telescope and the glittering jewels of the heavens. And that was all I really wanted—the stars.

  I stood at the doorway and looked at the beautiful green sea below and knew I was home. I heard his sigh in my ear. "Easy come, easy go? I must say, it suits her pretty neck well."

  Then he retreated and called out some orders. The ladder was pulled up and the ropes that tethered us unbound. The wind picked up our wonderful airship, and as Orpheus steered a course west, we turned and sailed away. I watched my sisters grow smaller and smaller, the island receding until it was gone.

  I love my new life, and the endless blue of the day sky and the ebony and diamond of the night. Of course, there are storms and thunderclouds and lightning that play cat-and-mouse around our windows, and there are days that I miss my sisters so much the pain is almost unbearable. Still, being a cabin girl up here wasn't really so different than what it had been below. Orpheus was a good captain, and Perseus an easy companion. Life could have been worse.

  Sometimes, I think I hear my sisters singing. Echoes of music drift around me, into me, coursing through my blood, seeping like smoke under my skin, the elusive intoxicating call of the sirens. Sometimes I can almost hear it. Some nights I dream of the deep and all the creatures I may never see again and I wake with salty tears on my skin. Lately, Orpheus has been experimenting with my voice to see if there is any use for it up here in the skies, but apart from summoning a large flock of unruly seagulls, it doesn't seem to be particularly beneficial. He has ambitions to combine the sky and the sea, and create a vast empire, with my sister at his side, a king of the winds with his seductive Nereids queen ruling two domains, above and below. Who knows? Stranger things have come to pass.

  HMS Nefarious

  Rod M. Santos

  Wilomena Hardwicke, captain of HMS Persistence, wanted nothing more than to scratch the skin chafing under her blasted eyepatch. She didn't dare— not on deck before her men, themselves disguised as pirates. If this charade had any prayer of success, her example had to be irreproachable.

  The only concession she'd made was getting rid of the parrot. Though quite content to sit on her shoulder, the bird had the abdominal fortitude of a dysentery victim. Whatever food it ate was transmuted—as if touched by some pestilent philosopher's stone—into diarrhea. Worse, the bird squawked "Dropping anchor!" every time it had a movement. Hardwicke did not care to know where it learned that particular habit.

  This masquerade, of course, was not her first. Everyone currently believed her to be Willoughby Hardwicke, a reclusive noble who recently purchased a captaincy by commission. The latter part was true enough. Long had the Navy's exclusion of women irked her. Was she not any man's equal in swordplay and seamanship?

  Fluttering in the sea breeze, the Union Jack slowly descended from its post. It was soon swapped by a more ominous fellow—the Jolly Roger, its bony smile bared above crossed cutlasses. Jack for Roger, she mused. Several cheers of "Huzzah!" went up but were silenced under Captain Hardwicke's gaze. "You are pirates now, gentlemen. Ye'd best be acting the part."

  The cheers were replaced with muted "yarrs," and the captain favored them a curt nod.

  To the west, the horizon burned red with the failing sun. The ocean mirrored the sunset, the waves bloodied by the light. If she were more superstitious, she would have taken it for an ill omen. But men made their own fortunes, she knew, and bold men—and women—forged legacies. If everything went right, she would be remembered forever as the one who'd caught Redbeard, the fiercest pirate ever to terrorize the High Seas. In time, her name would become legend.

  She squinted at the ominous red sun. Legends, she assured herself, had no use for superstition.

  The seeds for this ambitious ploy were planted a week ago, and it was Hardwicke's first lieutenant who was the sower.

  A dire report had reached them: a merchant schooner, along with its light frigate escort, had been scheduled for the port of Larkston. Neither ship ever arrived.

  The closest Royal Navy vessel—the Persistence—was sent to investigate. The sky had been fair, so weather could not be blamed for the disappearances. Piracy was a sensible assumption.

  Then, there were the recent sightings to take into account—Redbeard had been spotted. Cruel, fearless, the pirate's reputation alone cut deeper than any blade. Reports placed the pirate's ship, the Black Spot, within leagues of the vicinity.

  That night, Hardwicke was approached by her first lieutenant, Nigel Stratford, the sort of chap who devoured books as part of his dietary regimen. His quarters were a veritable library.

  "There are reported cases," the young lieutenant said as he cleaned his spectacles, "of pirates flying the flags of friendly nations, to draw ships in close enough to be boarded."

  "What are you proposing, Mr. Stratford?"

  "That we reverse the tactic. Let the sheep wear the wolf 's clothing. Have you never wanted to play pirate, Captain?"

  "I can assure you I haven't." But even as she said the words, she felt a quaint thrill ripple through her body.

  Lieutenant Stratford pressed on. "Redbeard sails a three-masted frigate, twenty-four guns, manned by a complement of near two-hundred cutthroats. The only way our sloop could approach without being blown apart is guile."

  "That might get our ship close. Pray tell, what follows after?"

  "We have fewer cannons, but some well-placed volleys could cripple them from the start. And we disguise ourselves. Get aboard, sow confusion." The captain recalled the excited stirrings she'd felt as she listened to Stratford's idea. In truth, she had many misgivings. Too much could go wrong. At their present speed and course, however, they had days to reach the waters where the merchant ship had last been seen. Surely enough time to iron out the details.

  As the days passed, more cracks in the façade appeared. Despite her admonishments, the men's posture, gait, and bearing were too polished, too civilized. They would forget not to salute her. Their "Arrr's" sounded like "Arrgh's."

  The captain cursed herself for forgetting a simple fact. The men were sailors, not thespians. Indeed, the one man among them with any theatrical skills was her second lieutenant, Doyle Bodgers, who proved himself a magnificent ham. Mr. Bodgers had tackled the role with enthusiasm—too much for the captain's liking—and had sewn himself a matching ensemble of garters, bandeau, boots, neckerchief, and cape. Where he found the materials—a striking violet hue—the captain was afraid to ask.

  "Does it not shout 'stage costume'?" Hardwicke asked him in the privacy of the captain's quarters.

  "Full pirate regalia. Impressive, yes?"

  "Perhaps so, Mr. Bodgers. I simply question that pirates would ever choose a design so . . . delicate, if I dare use the word."

  "I prefer 'effete,' " Mr. Bodgers said. He tacked a melodious "Arrr" to the end of his reply, as a gesture of compromise.

  "Mr. Bodgers—"

  "Begging your pardon, sir, I must insist you call me by me pirate name."

  "That would be?"

  "Chumbucket Doylee."

  A wave of vertigo weakened the captain's normally sturdy sea legs. "Sir, are you all right?"

  "I . . . require a moment alone. Dismissed." She winced as Mr. Bodgers practically bounced out of the room.

  Risks and rewards, the captain reminded herself, are always served on the same platter. If only the tray were more balanced. Pausing, she found she made quite the same wish about her second lieutenant.

  The captain knew they neared the site of the attack by the amount of flotsam in the waters. Hopes of
finding survivors faded as their search continued through the day. The mood on the Persistence darkened considerably.

  Hardwicke could only guess that the two ships had resisted. Redbeard had not achieved infamy by being merciful. That evening, a loud knock rattled Hardwicke's door.

  "Enter," she called out, after restoring her eye patch to its proper place.

  Lieutenant Stratford strode in. "Sir, you may wish to speak with Mr. Bodgers."

  "What now?" the captain asked. The sight of the wreckage had left her in foul humor, and she could feel the dark squall of a headache starting to brew.

  "Some of the men are complaining about the massages."

  "The what?"

  "Mr. Bodgers claims that pirates like to give each other massages. He's been holding mandatory workshops at night. When I told him there was no record of such, he told me that just because something wasn't in my books didn't mean it wasn't true. He said that if I continued to jeopardize the ship's morale, he would challenge me to a pirate duel."

  "He threatened you?" The captain's surprise flashed like lightning through her headache.

  "Not exactly. His version of the duel involved belaying pins, spare rigging, and pails of water."

  "Where the bloody hell is he getting this information?"

  "His imagination has always run a bit fancifully, sir." Stratford paused. "To be fair, only some of the men complained. The others quite seemed to enjoy the massages."

  The captain clenched her jaw so hard, her molars were in danger of bursting. For the first time since they began this venture, Hardwicke's despair threatened to drown her usual optimism. "This, this, is what we're going to fight Redbeard with? Good Lord above. We should save him the trouble and slit our own throats."

  They both knew the rumors of why Redbeard's grizzled beard was red. If a ship resisted his demands, the consequences were fatal for all on board. His favored method of execution for officers was the Red Smile—a dagger's slice from ear to ear, curving across the throat. As the poor sap was dying, he would give the victim a kiss—the Red Kiss, he called it—until blood and gore drenched his beard.