The Siren's Call

by Candace Osmond

  “Market Square, Madams,” he told us as he took my hand and helped me down the single step to the ground.

  I nodded politely and stood waiting for Lottie to follow. I glanced around and absorbed the strange beauty of where we were. A long, narrow alley-like area filled with merchant tables covered with small canopies and shop fronts which lined each side. In the distance, a set of cobblestone stairs cut across the width of the stretch and led to what looked like larger shop fronts. The smells of various things; dried fish, roasting meats, baked goods, and flowers all filled my nose and competed for a place there. Ultimately, the baked goods won, and I took Lottie by the hand as I made my way over to the quaint shop which had a hand-painted sign on the window that read Samson’s Bakery. Their front door was open and delicious smells of breads and cookies poured out.

  I inhaled deeply. “God, that smells like home.”

  “Let’s go in, then,” she suggested. “I’m sure the boys wouldn’t say no to some fresh biscuits!”

  We were like two giddy children as we loaded up on delicious buns and cookies. The kind baker, a short and plump lady with grey curls that reminded me of Aunt Mary, neatly wrapped everything and handed it over in a pretty basket. We thanked her and went on our way, weaving in and out of shops, stopping to strike up casual chit-chat with people walking about. Because, even though we seemed light-footed and carefree, our mission was never far from my mind.

  Find Maria.

  A fact that Lottie never forgot, either, I realized as she began slipping in questions about the port and recent pirates that may have come through. We spent the better part of the morning there in the busy merchant square, asking and prodding and listening, but were still no closer. I truly began to panic at the thought of my wish not working. I only had one more left and I wanted to use it to get us home.

  After I’d eaten half of the contents in my basket, we planted our defeated selves on a cold stone bench on the upper section of the square, surrounded by the larger shops that were clearly for the wealthier customers. The windows boasted bright colors of reds and blues, radiant emerald green dresses, sparkling jewelry and handbags. But one store stood out to me among the rest. An apothecary.

  “Mind waiting here for a moment?” I asked Lottie and she followed my gaze.

  “The apothecary?”

  I shrugged. “There’s a few things I’d like to get, if they have it.”

  She didn’t look convinced. Lottie leaned back against the bench and replied, “No, I go where you go.”

  “Alright, then,” I told her. “I just wasn’t sure if you were sick of walking around.” But the tired look on her face told me I was right. Then something dawned on me and I chortled. “Henry told you not to leave my side, didn’t he?”

  My friend failed to hide the way her cheeks flushed, her eyes flittering away from mine. “Not really,” Lottie started. “I saw how torn up he was about the idea of you leaving without him, so I told Henry I wouldn’t let you out of my sight. He never replied but the look on his face said, ‘you better not’. So…”

  I heaved a sigh but smiled for my friend. For the way she always jumped in, ready to protect anyone. “To the apothecary we go.”

  Inside the old, charcoal colored store awaited an interior unlike anything I’d ever seen before, sitting in a cloud of incense and herbs. Wall to wall, ceiling to floor shelves that were completely full of jars and tiny boxes. All sorts of sizes, shapes; glass, stone. Each one labeled in a fancy scrawl. I titled my head to the side and approached the shelves closest to me, straining to read what they were. Crow’s Foot. Amethyst Dust. Milk of the Poppy. No rhyme or reason to the way items were placed. Still, it was beautiful. Wondrous chaos.

  “May I help you, ladies?” croaked a voice in the distance. Lottie tightened at my side as I scanned the shop for its source. My eyes landed on an elderly woman, freakishly tall and mostly bones. A strange navy-blue fabric draped itself over her narrow frame, tucking and twisting around limbs. Mesmerizing jewels and brooches pinned pieces and a gold sash kept it all together. Dry, grey curls fanned around her arms as she stepped forward, giant wooden bracelets clanking. “My name’s Theodora.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I replied and stepped to meet her in the center of the beautiful shop. “I’m Dianna and this,“ I motioned to Lottie, “Is Charlotte.”

  Theodora lazily smiled and turned to light a flame under a tiny pot of incense. Sandalwood, by the smell of it. Like my father used to wear.

  “I’m looking for some lavender, as well as some loose, dried chamomile. If you have it?” I wasn’t a hundred percent sure things like that would exist in this era. But it would have been great if they did.

  The old lady’s eyes looked interested as her brows raised. “Having trouble sleeping, are we?”

  I could feel Lottie next to me, her curiosity peaked. “Yes,” I told Theodora. “I’m pregnant. Nearly five months. And it’s become fairly difficult to sleep.” I wanted it for myself, but also for Henry. I knew my disrupted, broken sleep kept him up all night, too. And with the stress of saving my mother on my shoulders, I found it impossible to relax enough to sleep through the night.

  “A woman who knows herbs and oils,” Theodora said and grinned before stepping closer. “You’ve had trouble sleeping before?”

  “No.” I stuffed my hands in the large pockets of my red skirt. “I just know those help.”

  “Very well, then,” the woman seemed satisfied with my answer then glanced to Lottie. “Anything for you, dearie?”

  Lottie waved her off as she stepped away. “No, thank you. I’ll just look around.”

  “So,” Theodora regarded me curiously, “Pregnant, are we?” I nodded. “Do you know what you’re having yet?”

  My face twisted in thought. “How–”

  “Oh, I have many ways to tell.” I watched as the kooky old woman roamed around the store, eyes scanning shelves, until her hands reach up on a shelf to pluck a small brown box, just big enough for a pair of shoes. From inside it, she pulled a long golden chain which dangled with a jagged stone. Milky white, like marble. “Do not be alarmed. ‘Tis no witchcraft.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Just hang it over your stomach like so.” She held the chain up high and the stone hovered just a few inches from the surface of my belly. Quietly, she waited until it was perfectly still. Suddenly, the pale rock began to gently sway back and forth, and I lit up with curiosity. “When the pendulum swings side to side, it’s a boy. But when it begins to move in a circle–” she paused and grinned as the stone started to change its motion. “It’s a girl.”

  I didn’t really believe in that sort of stuff. Or so I thought. But when Theodora spoke the words, my mind filled with bright colors of pink and purple. Of long, blonde curls bouncing around as she went through life. A girl. My girl. “Well,” I replied, “that would be wonderful.”

  “Now, let’s get you your things, shall we?” Her long boney fingers curled around my arm after she pat it once, leading me with her. “Now, the dried chamomile. I assume it’s for drinking? For tea?”

  “Yes,” I confirmed. “I’ll need something to steep it with, as well.”

  Theodora let go of my arm and climbed up the first two steps of a thick, wooden ladder. “The thing about pure chamomile is that it’s too potent. You must mix it with something.” She scanned the shelf in front of her pointed nose and pulled out a large stone jar. “White tea. From the Caribbean. Just a mild, loose tea and, when mixed with chamomile, will lull you into a warm, comfortable sleep.”

  “I’ll take it,” I told her. “Thank you.”

  Her stick-like legs lowered her to the floor, and she set the jar on a butcher block top before strolling over to another set of shelves, this one with wiry racks of tiny vials. “And lavender. It’s also pure and strong. Only use a dab here or there. A little behind the ear or rub on a pillow.” Her eyebrows raised in wait as she urged me to acknowledge.

  “Yes, of
course. I’ll be sure to remember that.” I craned my neck to find Lottie who was circling the store, mindlessly searching through the contents on shelves and tables.

  “You know, sometimes changing the room in which we sleep can help with restlessness.” Theodora’s thin fingers gently opened jars and poured oils, mixing and wrapping, packing my ingredients in smaller vessels. “Blocking out any light from a window, making the bed more suitable. Those kinds of things.”

  “Thanks, but I’m staying at a tavern, so the sleeping conditions are what they are,” I told her reluctantly.

  “Oh? A visitor, then? What fine establishment are you staying with?”

  “The Kraken’s Den. Near the docks. My crew and I pulled in just a couple of days ago.” I noticed Lottie come back within sight, stepping to my side with a curious stance.

  She gently grabbed my arm and pulled me off to the side. “Do not tell anyone where we are staying, Dianna,” she whispered loudly.

  I was about to protest. I hadn’t really given up any dire information. But then I gave it a second thought. That Wallace guy. Henry had said every pirate who pulls into port was expected to report to Wallace and pay a duty. We’d been avoiding the trip because Henry claimed we didn’t have time for the distraction. I began to wonder then, what sort of distraction it would really cause. I shrugged it off. There’s no way the old-world pharmacist could tell that we were pirates. We were dressed like upstanding ladies. But, one look at Theodora, the sudden appearance of a sly grin across her wrinkled face, told me that she’d been prying for information.

  I gave her a look of disappointment but said nothing other than, “How much for the goods?”

  After we paid, I walked out of the shop with a heavy cloud over my head. Henry seemed concerned with avoiding Wallace and I’d never really asked why. Not for details, anyway. But I couldn’t help but feel that I’d done something seriously wrong back there. The repercussions of which I didn’t even know.

  “Do you think I said too much?” I asked Lottie as we walked side by side down the wide cobblestone alley toward the smaller shops and merchant tents.

  She seemed to ponder on it for a moment. “No, I’m sure it’s fine. I just had a bad feeling about that woman.”

  “Theodora?” I confirmed and then stopped as something in one of closer tents caught my eye. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  I broke free of our stride and headed for the long, wooden counter. Its surface was covered in rustic trays of mismatched items. Brooches, rings, books, small weapons. A hand-painted sign read POST. A trading post! Like an old-school pawn shop. But of all the fantastical trinkets, only one really caught my eye. My trembling hand reached out a plucked a ring from its display. A golden band with an emerald nestled in a claw.

  Henry’s mother’s wedding ring.

  My breath caught in my throat as I turned the piece of jewelry over in my hands, examining and making sure it truly was the long-lost treasure. It was. I’d know it a mile away. Tears welled in my eyes and I looked to the merchant.

  “Where did you get this?”

  The man, aged and weathered, took stock of the item I held. “That?” he started, “Someone came through last week and traded it.” He moaned as he leaned down behind the counter and lifted a small wooden crate. “That and everything in here.”

  I peered in and a gasp escaped my throat. A ship-in-a-bottle, a black leather journal, a compass, and other things. Henry’s things. My free hand reached in and scooped up the model ship, noting the inscription. H.W.W. My blood began to boil with anger. These were all aboard The Devil’s Heart when it sunk to the bottom of the harbor.

  “Who brought you these things?” I demanded angrily. Lottie was by my side then.

  The old merchant appeared panicked. “I-I am not sure, Miss,” he stammered.

  “Yes, you do!” I yelled and grabbed the small crate, clutching it to my chest, the tears slowly escaping and dribbling down my one cheek. These were the only things left from my first home in 1707 before it was savagely burned and sunk to the bottom of Harbour Grace. “You said they came through just last week.”

  “What’s going on?” Lottie asked me.

  “This stuff,” I muttered, still angry. “It’s Henry’s! All of it. From The Devil’s Heart.”

  My emotions were bubbling over and it was all I could do to contain them. I knew scavengers went to the site where it sank, but seeing these things brought back some memories. Both good and bad. Flashes of images danced through my mind; getting yanked from the sea, being locked in the storage hold, the gunshot and the cook.

  Then my mind went to Henry and how I slowly peeled back the layers and fell in love with the man I found. My time on The Devil’s Heart was a rollercoaster of events and it brought me to him. It’s where everything started. But what were the chances the belongings would end up there? In a place where I was looking for my sister. It had to have been her.

  Lottie plucked a dagger from her hidden garter and discreetly held it out, pointed toward the man. Her face twisted with sheer intimidation. “Tell me who gave this to you or I’ll take you out back and gut you from your nose down.”

  The merchant’s eyes widened in horror and he held up in his hands in defeat. “Look, I do not wish for any trouble. Please–”

  I leaned in with an urgent whisper, “Was it Maria Cobham? Did the woman look like me? Just older?” I asked him desperately, almost afraid of the answer I already knew. He only nodded.

  I looked at Lottie and she regarded me from the side. “See? I told you.”

  I bit back the rest of my tears and pulled myself together. “Do you know where she went? Where she is now?” The poor man seemed frazzled and helpless. I knew he had no further information. But, surely, this was a sign of some kind. A connection. My wish finally unfolding and pulling me in the direction to find my insane sibling. “I’ll buy this crate from you,” I told the merchant and his shoulders sank with relief.

  Lottie leaned over the table; dagger still pointed in a threatening direction. “But if Maria comes through again, or you hear of her whereabouts, you must let us know.” With her empty hand, she reached into the satchel she wore and pulled out a tiny bag of coins. Discretely, she shoved it toward the man. “I trust you’ll remain quiet about everything. Come and find a man named Gus at The Kraken’s Den if you have anything worth sharing.”

  The merchant accepted the bag of schillings and nodded purposefully. “I swear to it.”

  Lottie sneered and backed away, returning her weapon to its hilt under the thick layers of her dress. “Good.”

  I loosened the string of my red leather coin bag, ready to pay the man whatever he wanted for Henry’s belongings, but he held his hands out to stop me. “No, no, please,” he said. “Just take them.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked, hesitant of his reasoning.

  He gave me a nervous smile and tilted his head, hands open. “I have no need for them. And they clearly mean something to you. Please,” he urged, “Take them. I insist. Consider it a gesture of good faith.”

  “Well, I at least want to pay for the ring,” I told him as I plucked a few gold coins from my pouch and placed them on the table between us. More than enough, I was sure. He would have sold it to someone, made money. He was running a business, after all. And I respected that.

  The merchant’s eyes flicked to Lottie by my side, almost as if he awaited her approval. When she didn’t react, he finally gave a nod and slipped the coins into his pocket. “If you must.”

  “I do,” I replied and swiped an empty red velvet sack from the table. “I’ll take this as well.”

  We bid him farewell and made our way down through the bustling merchant square toward our awaiting carriage. I’d transferred the contents of the crate and the other items I purchased to the more convenient drawstring sack and held it tight to my chest, arms wrapped around it as if it held the most precious things in the world. And, in a way, it did.

  Henry’s journal, his p
ast contained in its pages, in his mother’s blood. The ship-in-a-bottle I gave to him as a present, after the first night we made love. And his mother’s emerald ring. The one thing he so desperately wanted me to have on our wedding day. Henry was heartbroken over its loss. He never really said as much, but I could tell. Now, as we approached the carriage, I imagined the look on his face when I showed it to him. My heart warmed.

  “You know,” I said to Lottie, “You probably didn’t need to threaten that man back there. I’m sure he would have been fine with payment. Money talks.”

  She laughed as our driver opened the door for us to step in. “As does a blade. And it’s a conversation he won’t forget. I had to make sure he would do as I asked.”

  She went in first and I handed her the heavy bag as I followed behind, unable to stifle my own laughter. It’s like she had no idea the power she held just by being a woman. “I’m sure he would have listened to you, regardless.”

  “What do you mean?”

  We took our seats and settled in for the long, bumpy ride. “Lottie, you’re drop dead gorgeous. I’m sure you could make any man do whatever you wanted.”

  Her face crumpled in disgust. “I’d rather die than lower myself to those standards. My beauty is not a weapon. If anything, it’s a curse. I’ve had to become much stronger than one should ever be in order to deal with the people who’ve tried to use my appearance to their advantage.”

  I stared at her admiringly. My friend was a wonder. A rare gem, that was for sure. “And that’s why I love you, Charlotte Roberts.” I chuckled. “You’re such a badass.”

  I caught a glimpse of her blue eyes rolling at my expense as she glanced out the tiny carriage window. “I’m not sure what that means.” I sat and awaited her usual lecture about my modern tongue. Instead, she regarded me with a pleasant grin. “But I quite like it.”

  We spent the whole ride immersed in a conversation about strong females from my time and how far women will come. Lottie was mesmerized by my words, my affirmations of our future as a gender. I told her of the hurdles women will eventually face, the sexism that still lingers in the threads of modern day. She seemed fascinated by suffrage and admired how woman persisted. I could picture Lottie fitting in quite well in the future. Fighting for women’s rights. Owning her sexuality as she should. She reminded me of an old-world Jessica Jones or Sarah Connor. Only she wasn’t a superhero. She was real, and I felt beyond lucky to call her my friend.