Skulls & Crossbones

by Andi Marquette

  The Dizzer was singing a wordless tune, some melancholy air I had never heard before. Her voice was clear and high, and it found notes I had never heard come from the mouth of another singer. Her song seemed to wrap tendrils about my brain, so that although she sang no words, her music painted pictures in my head just the same. As I listened, I saw the sun come up over the 'berg fields, a group of seals sliding off the floes and into the depths to hunt for fish and crabs, and the water spout from a solitary whale against the horizon. The scenes were so peaceful that I could feel the tension flowing out of my body, and the first hints of sleep began to slip over my mind. I was vaguely aware when the Dizzer's song changed a little, because my pictures began to change as well. Soon I was seeing the clear night sky all ablaze with stars, the way it only looks from out at sea when there're no other lights around. The waves under the stars were glowing with a sea-born blue as tiny luminescent sea creatures rose to the surface of the dark waters to feed. I don't know when or if I fell asleep, or if I just lay there under the spell of the Dizzer's song, but when I was roused for the morning shift, I felt as if I had slept for a week. I went about my duties with such energy that I didn't realize until later that a tiny spot in the back of my brain was sifting through the normal working noises, hoping to catch another verse of the Dizzer's song. The longing ceased as soon as I recognized it was there, and I wrote it off to being up too late on account of Cap'n's new bunkmate. Any other explanation would border on warmblood rubbish.

  A week later, we were under full sail, cruising along the edges of one of the great 'berg fields, biding our time while we waited for the next round of ships to come through the lanes. Mid-month is when the warmblood traders come through to bring supplies of all kinds to the whaling and seal colonies. The ships come back through the same lanes a few days later, loaded low with seal skins and ambergris and blubber. Fulmarus Harbor has rogue traders dealing in every good and service imaginable, so it didn't matter to us if we caught the traders coming or going. Blubber and blankets both sell quick.

  According to Jonesy, by way of Mr. Jakes, Cap'n had gotten wind of a brand-new three-mast square rigger that was supposed to be coming through the lanes this month, laden with more than twice the supplies that the double-masted schooners had carried in the past. The traders had been upgrading their fleets for years now, and I'd watched as single-mast sloops had given way to double-masted brigantines and schooners, and now apparently those were yielding to three-masted barquentines. The bigger ships had more sail area to make them faster, making good Dizzers even more indispensable. We were all slavering at the thought of twice the take in this new ship's hull, but equally nervous at the thought of going up against an unknown ship with a new Dizzer. Would she be accurate enough and fast enough to take down an extra mast's worth of rigging? Or would we end up fleeing the 'berg field at top speed, being pursued by our own quarry? Many debates were held in the bunkroom after shift, and many wagers were posted.

  I normally would have joined in the banter, but I'd found myself bunking down earlier and earlier each night in anticipation of the Dizzer's song and the pictures it painted in my head. I'd never felt such peace as her music brought me, and I was developing a taste for it as if it was ale or whiskey. I started to hope that she'd come out on the decks during the day so I could put a face to the voice that had been putting me to sleep each night, but she had yet to leave Cap'n's quarters. The two of them were still very busy. Our Dizzer finally emerged from Cap'n's quarters one afternoon shortly after mid-month. The winds had been blowing hard from the south all morning, which had sent an icy spray out over our decks. Jonesy and his crew were working hard to clear us off . He'd just finished chipping away the ice in front of Cap'n's door when it swung inward and the Dizzer appeared. Jonesy startled at the sight of her but managed to make it look like he'd slipped on some ice and slid away, discreetly casting the sign to ward off the Evil Eye as he went. None of the crew noticed his motions, though, because they were too busy staring at our newest and most reclusive mate.

  The Dizzer was short in stature and thin-framed under her furs. She wore a cutlass at her hip, its hilt unadorned but well-worn, and I caught glimpses of twin knife handles peeking out the top of her sealskin boots. A few wisps of pale blonde hair escaped her hood and fluttered wildly in the wind. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, like the color of the 'bergs below the waterline, and her eyes were the deep blue of glacial ice. A scowl seemed to have been carved into her face with an awl. She looked as cold and inhospitable as the ice and seas around us. I had to give Jonesy some credit—if there ever was an ice pirate ghost, she'd look exactly like our Dizzer. I don't know what it was in particular—the hair, the pale skin, the eyes—but she was eerie.

  The Dizzer glanced around, realized we were all gaping at her, and issued a curt nod before climbing the stairs toward the upper deck and her catapult. Everyone scrambled back into action as she turned, trying to look as if they hadn't been gawking. I looked over and saw that Jonesy was focused on knocking the ice off the railings and showed no sign of moving to wind up the catapult or bring her a supply of ice balls—a major part of his team's duties—so I grabbed an ice ball off the main deck and headed up the stairs after the Dizzer.

  As I crested the stairs and stood before her, her eyes walked up and down my frame in such a manner that I remembered coldblood women are also adept at visualizing what lies beneath furs. I blushed, despite the frigid wind. I'm not as trim as I was in my younger days.

  "Hello," she said. Her voice was indeed beautiful, clear and high, but it didn't set any pictures adrift in my head like it did at night. I was relieved but also vaguely disappointed.

  "Afternoon," I said, and figuring she was here to practice, I hefted the ice ball up so I could sling it into one of the catapult's open baskets.

  "Wait," she said, and stretched out an arm to me. "That basket's not set right."

  I put the ice ball down on the deck. "Cap'n had Jonesy reset it before we left, Miss, so it must be."

  She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a 'miss.' "

  I shrugged. "Well, what'll it be instead?"

  Her pale lips twisted into a smirk. "Hook."

  "Hook?" I repeated. "Like that eejit in the warmblood storybook?"

  "One and the same," she said, offering a mirthless smile in lieu of an explanation of the odd moniker.

  "All right . . . Hook," I replied, a bit unnerved by her smile. "What do you think's wrong with the basket?"

  She pointed one mittened hand at the bottom hinge, where the basket opens to release the ice ball. "The pin's burred."

  I shook my head. "There's no way you could know that without taking it apart."

  She shook her head back at me. "It's not setting right. I can see it from here. It's going to lock up when I pull the lever and my throw will be off . Didn't your last Dizzer send an ice ball straight through the mast?"

  "He did, but he was an eejit. I don't think that a brand new basket could have saved him from himself."

  She smiled her mirthless smile again. "That's what the captain said."

  I remembered how she seemed to spend most of her time with Cap'n, and I felt my face flush again. I turned and busied myself with disconnecting the basket from its chain.

  "What's your name?" she asked as she bent down to examine the basket with me. "Shrike," I answered as I fiddled with the joint pin.

  "Oh, yes, the Archer. The captain mentioned you. And why are you called Shrike? That's an odd name." I could feel her blue eyes boring into me, but I kept mine trained on the basket.

  "I could say the same for you, Hook," I replied just as the pin loosened and dropped to the deck. I planted one mittened hand over it to keep it from rolling away and pulled the other mitten off with my teeth. The freezing winds and spray bit into my finger bones, and I picked up the pin as quick as I could.

  Hook had pulled one of her own mittens off and extended a bare hand.

  I placed the pin into her palm without
a word, our callused skin rubbing together like sandpaper. She rolled the pin around between her fingers and confirmed what she (and I) already knew.

  "Right at the point," she said, and I nodded. I'd felt the flaw as soon as I picked it up. It was just a wee bubble in the metal but it would be enough to slow the basket's opening and change the speed and direction of her throw. "You're good," I said.

  She nodded without conceit and gave the pin back to me. I reached into an inner pocket of my coat and drew forth a pouch of tools I use on my harpoons, selected a file, and rasped the point smooth.

  I let her take the pin from me and watched her slip it back into the joint. She started testing the motion of the basket hinges. The hinge moved cleanly and hung evenly after we re-suspended the basket.

  "Well, Shrike, it seems that the rest of the catapult's in good order, so I'll bid you good day." She turned to go down to the main deck. I felt an unexpected urge to follow her or to find a way to make her stay.

  "Don't you want to practice a shot or two?" I asked. "Get a feel for this particular catapult?"

  Hook turned back to face me, and I caught a strange reflection off her eyes as the light from the 'bergs hit them at just the right angle. It was like I was looking into the eyes of the ship's cat down in the dark hold below decks. I shivered.

  "I don't need to practice. I can assure you I'll hit my target."

  "Might make the rest of the hands feel better," I said tentatively. "They're a bit nervous—never seen your work before, you know? It might be good for them to see you throw a couple of shots and not take out anything on the ship, like our last Dizzer did."

  "But wouldn't that skew your wagers?" she said, and flashed a wicked grin.

  I flushed for the third time in our conversation. "What wagers?" I mumbled as I wondered how she knew we were betting on her.

  "The ship's walls are very thin," she said, answering my unasked question.

  "I know," I replied without thinking, then stared at my boot toes when I realized what I'd said.

  Hook laughed an unashamed, genuine laugh, which unnerved me more than her mirthless one had a few moments before.

  "Well, then you already know why I'm taking leave of your company. Good day to you, Mr. Shrike." She turned and walked down the stairs to the main deck, where all of the hands were attempting to look busy. "Oh, and one more thing," she called back over her shoulder. "Yes?" I said, leaning over the rail.

  "You should stop listening to your warmblooded friend, Jonesy. I think he's got you spooked." She paused outside Cap'n's door. "Pleasant dreams," she said with a wink, and then vanished back into the cabin, leaving me flushed and disoriented.

  I stopped my ears with rags that night. I heard no song and saw no pictures, but I didn't sleep at all, just tossed and turned like I had a fever. I wrote it off to skipping my evening ale.

  The next day, I saw Hook crouched by the catapult, forming ice balls in steel molds. I turned to go upstairs and tell her that we had a team to do that for her, but Jonesy grabbed my arm.

  "Shrike, what're you doing? Don't go up there." He sounded scared.

  I pulled my arm away. "Are you mad, Jonesy? I'm just going to talk to the Dizzer. Your ship's boys are supposed to be up there right now making the ice balls, not her."

  "Whist, let her make her own ice balls. You'd better stay away like I told my boys to do. She's not natural. Those eyes of hers and that skin—it's like she's never seen the sun. How does a Dizzer never see the sun? It doesn't make sense. It's not right. Nothing about her is right." Jonesy pushed me over to the rail. "You look down at that water, that cold, black water, and you tell me how she could swim through that all the way back to Fulmarus Harbor from a spot in the lanes that's two weeks out by ship. Does that sound possible to you? She should have been dead five minutes after she hit the water. Nah, Shrike, I'm telling you, she's a ghost or a spirit or something worse, and damn the sails, she's going to get us all killed or deliver us to the demons of the deep—"

  I cut him off right there. I had my own reasons to question Hook's normalcy, but I'd seen mates go sea-mad before, and it looked like Jonesy was headed right into that from the way he was ranting.

  "Jonesy, I don't know what sorts of barnacles took up residence in your skull at Fulmarus, but you'd best heave-to and attend to them, because you're not talking sense. She's not a ghost. I touched her hand yesterday. It was callused and cold and human. I don't know how she made it back to Fulmarus, but she's going to be a damn fine Dizzer for us. She caught a mistake you made on a basket joint without even taking it apart." Jonesy looked taken aback by that, and I went in to press my point home when I was interrupted. "You touched my Dizzer, Mr. Shrike?"

  Jonesy's eyes went wide, and he grabbed his iron rod and began to whack at the ice on the rails again. I winced and turned to face our Captain. She met me eye to eye, Cap'n did, because she's easily as tall as me and maybe even a little more so. I'm pretty certain that she has a lovely figure under her furs, too, but to be honest, I'm too afraid to give her a proper look. Her eyes were clear and free of the sea-madness when I turned to her, though, and I realized that she was jesting with me. I felt safe in nodding and answering, "Aye, Cap'n, we were filing down a basket pin."

  Cap'n grinned, and then said, "So that's what they're calling it now."

  I went to reply but the hand in the crow's nest bawled out, "Three masts, two o'clock!"

  "All hands! All hands!" bellowed Cap'n, not even bothering to verify the sighting. Out in the 'berg fields, masts and rigging are hard to mistake for anything else. A collective roar went up amongst the crew, and Mr. Jakes brought us around until the winds were right at our stern and we were running with full sails. He was aiming to push the larger ship into the 'berg fields. The barquentine's great speed would do it no good there, and its bulk would impede its maneuverability, giving us, the smaller ship, the advantage. The deck was a flurry of activity with teams of hands checking the sails and others keeping watch for 'bergs. Manticore pitched wildly in the waves as we plunged from crest to trough and back to crest again. Jonesy and his boys never stopped swinging their rods—they could barely keep up with the icy crust forming on the rails and decks from the spray and the froth. The trader ship must have seen us because they unfurled extra sails, hoping that their increased sail area would give them enough speed to get out into more open waters before we got close. It would have worked, had the currents around the 'berg field not been so shifty. This stretch of the shipping lanes is particularly treacherous, not only because of the 'bergs, but also because the currents are powerful and constantly shifting. A 'berg can catch the edge of a current and suddenly it'll appear right off your bow when there was no ice there a moment ago. And that's precisely what happened to the barquentine. Sound travels very well across the water, so we all heard the great crack! when the trader ship collided with a 'berg. A raucous cheer went up amongst the crew.

  "Too easy!" crowed Jonesy as he walloped at an ice sheet.

  "Focus!" hollered Cap'n, and the cheering petered out. Mr. Jakes brought us around into a port reach, and the sail hands trimmed and re-trimmed the sails, making sure that we were catching the most wind without luffing. I sat at my harpoon launcher in the bow and sharpened the points of my harpoons. I glanced to the stern to see what Hook was doing.

  It appeared that she had finished making her ice balls because she was passing the molds down to one of the deckhands. I saw a white pyramid stacked behind her and grinned in anticipation. Watching a great Dizzer at work is always exciting.

  We were close enough now to hear the shouting of the trader ship's crew

  and could hear the awful screeching noises the ship made as they fought to dislodge it from the ice. They'd struck the 'berg head on with their ironreinforced keel. It didn't look as if they'd sustained any structural damage, but they couldn't shake the 'berg. My hands were itching to launch a harpoon, but we were too far away yet, and Cap'n would have my eyes if I launched without a direct ord
er.

  Hook, however, was coming right into range. Even Cap'n's weathered face looked almost excited as she gave the order to Mr. Jakes to come about and put Hook in line for her shot. I glanced down at the main deck and caught Jonesy's eye. He looked ecstatic, despite his warmblooded fear of our Dizzer. "Mr. Jakes, hold 'er steady!"

  "Aye, aye, Cap'n!"

  "Mr. Shrike, watch the bow!"

  "Aye, Cap'n!" "And for fuck's sake, Jonesy, keep the main deck clear!"

  "Aye, Cap'n!" roared Jonesy, and dealt a fearsome blow to an ice sheet that had formed below his feet while he was staring at the trader ship.

  "Hook!"

  "Aye, Cap'n!"

  "For blood and glory!"

  " 'Til Death may take us!" Hook pulled the first lever. The centripetal catapult's center post spun wildly about its vertical axis, causing the baskets holding the ice balls to fly parallel to the deck on their chains. The wind screamed through the metal links as the baskets whirled about. Hook's face was a mask of concentration as her eyes flicked back and forth, somehow tracking each basket's speed and path. She pulled her right mitten off with her teeth, her eyes never leaving the baskets, and hovered her bare hand above the next lever. Her fingers were absolutely steady as she waited. My heart was in my throat, and all I could hear was the screaming of the wind in the chains and my pulse beating like a military tattoo. Hook waited. She waited. And . . .

  Struck. Her hand dropped to the next lever without a second's hesitation, and the deckhands ducked as the first ice ball rocketed out to sea. Without pausing for a breath, Hook dropped her hand, once! twice! more and released the other two ice balls in rapid succession. I held my breath as the three ice balls arched out over the sea toward their target.