of Maidens & Swords

by Melissa Marr

  I wait. I do not squirm overly much, but I remind myself that my character would be anxious, so I wring my hands together. I’m counting on the fact that he’s met dozens of girls, young women innocent and hopeful. I am a face in a sea of faces, a woman he could not recall because there is nothing particularly special about me. I’ve played at such acts in the past when a job required it. This time, though, the stakes are higher.

  “I’ve cleaned.” I motion at the cottage, pointing out that I am useful. “And gathered wood so as to build a fire for you. I spent some time in town, praying of course.”

  He nods, but I know it is in response to my implied warning that I have witnesses who know I am here, people expecting to see me with him. I’ve planned my trap, and for the moment, he must either accept me or cast me out. Murdering me is not going to go unnoticed; the good men of Prudence know I’m here. For the moment, his options are limited.

  “And where will you sleep, Miss Adelaide?” he asks after a long pause.

  I cringe a little, and it’s not fake. The thought of touching this devil fills me with revulsion. I’ve done worse things, but not many.

  “Until we’re wed, I’ll sleep there.” I point at the pallet I’ve made by the fire. It’s not soft, but I’ll likely sleep fitfully anyhow with him in the cottage.

  “I’ve been to sea for months.” He appraises me as if to see if I’m worth the time. I know instantly that he’s assaulted women before.

  I straighten to my full height and stare at him boldly. “Perhaps you should marry me quickly then, so I can go with you next time.”

  Hayes gives me a small smile and says, “That seems like an excellent plan. I’ve been looking for a good, dutiful wife.”

  Within two days, I am accompanying Hayes to his ship, Fitcher’s Bird. It takes a moment to remember that I am pretending to be a land dweller, and that I ought to be teetering on the deck more than I am. I clutch his arm.

  He summons a man to marry us, and I know that the ceremony is not binding in the least. I’d wondered how many women he’d wed and how he accomplished it, but I see now that it’s a simple deceit. The ceremony is not binding. There is no authority in a random crew member mumbling words over us, and I’d wager that he can’t read the Bible he holds carefully in his hand like it might become a serpent.

  I resist the urge to remark on their sin in lying over a Bible. Starting a fight now would serve to undermine the rest. I briefly meet Trembly’s eyes and then Mick’s. The men stand apart from one another, ready to aid me when I act. Their swords are mine, and as I look around at Hayes’ crew, I am grateful to have two of my men here on what might be a suicide mission.

  I startle when I meet a third set of eyes. Nox. He glances at me, but then resumes fixing a sail with a forearm sized tear in it. He’s a deft hand with a needle, and despite the mockery of stitching as tidily as he can, I’d trust his work over even the seamstresses that stitch royal garments. The trick is in the stitching. Nox uses a waxed hemp rope and a zigzag pattern. I’m not convinced he ought to be patching Hayes’ sails, but if we set to sea, I’ll be grateful for it.

  “Are we going home?” I ask quietly.

  Hayes smiles, and if not for the man’s character, I could see how he might seem attractive. As it is, I’d rather kiss an angry walrus.

  His crew seems to be restraining laughter or barking laughs that I cannot grasp.

  “We’re going to take a quick trip,” he says, tucking my hand into the bend of his arm.

  “Perhaps I could wait at the cottage. I have no clothing or—”

  “No need,” Hayes cuts in.

  He leads me to a room, the captain’s quarters I assume, and closes us in. He has a ring with two keys. One is used to lock the door. I tell myself I’ve survived worse, but any pretense of gentility is absent as he disrobes me.

  I know we are here to claim his marital right, but when he’s interrupted by a banging on his door, I sag in relief. Teeth marks mar my belly, and I am fighting the need to vomit from his harsh kiss.

  “Captain!” a man yells, thumping the door again. “The guards are here.”

  Hayes glares at me as he stands and fastens his trousers. It’s easy to weep and appear vulnerable under his hands. No acting required.

  He stares at me. “You will stay here.”

  Mutely I nod.

  “If you leave my quarters, I am not responsible for your fate.” He opens a wall-mounted cabinet. In it are six nosegays, little bound bouquets that Mother still calls tussie-mussies. The flowers are rotted and covered with what I know to be blood. The white ribbons are splotched with red. There are three other bouquet holders, and one with fresh flowers.

  He hands me the fresh, white flowers. “If you exit, these must be in your hand. Perhaps, it will protect you if the men see your bridal flowers.”

  I swallow, knowing that my own sisters’ blood stains two of those bouquets, but I nod.

  “I’ll have guests for dinner,” he says. “We’ll eat here. You’ll tend my needs.”

  I say nothing.

  “These are loyal men, wife.” He stares at me. “You will treat them as if they are your husbands as well.”

  “Surely, you don’t mean—”

  “Being at sea is lonely,” he says. “I keep my crew loyal.”

  There were horrors I’d feared, but this? This is worse. I would that I could kill him a thousand times. When Hayes leaves, I wipe my tears.

  “My baby,” Mother wails as she joins me.

  I’m caught with no words when I realize that she means me. My mother mourns my sisters, not me. She cares about them, not me.

  “He must die, Adelaide.” Mother’s temper fills the room with such chill that frost blossoms on the wall. “I want him to die.”

  “He will.” I meet her spectral gaze, and in this moment, we have a rare understanding. We are in perfect accord.

  By the witching hour that night, I’ve poisoned the man. Not fatally. I’m hopeful that I will find answers, but until I do, he may survive a bit longer. I slipped a bit of dried this and that into his ale. Not the first or the second mug, but after I was sure he was not likely to taste it.

  The three others he’d brought laughing to his quarters, those men I killed. No man there touched me, but they gave such lascivious looks that I couldn’t still my need for vengeance. His most loyal are dead on the floor. I set the stage, of course, suggesting that the ale smelled wrong. I blushed and tolerated the leers and forced kisses, but the rest? The rest I stopped with a few pellets of poison.

  They laughed. What else could I do? I made a choice informed by knowing what they intended to do with the innocent wife I am pretending to be. I cannot imagine the fates my sisters faced. No, I could. I shall not. To think of it is to kill Hayes on the floor where he’s sprawled.

  I take the key from Hayes’ unconscious body after I’ve taken the tussie-mussie and stored it somewhere safe. Whatever message it was to convey to his crew, I wouldn’t do it. It’s shoved behind a set of books. I cover myself with one of his cloaks, hiding my telltale red hair and womanly face. It’s a lousy disguise, but I’m hoping that I can have enough stealth to find clues without being seen.

  I have a sliver of time before he wakes, and I’ll not waste it. I take a short sword of his, a pair of pistols, and the holster. Being armed makes me feel better than I’ve felt in two days. I whisper a prayer that I will find answers and be done with this ruse, and I leave the room.

  With a gleeful pause, I lock the door. Hayes can stay tucked away with the corpses of the other devils I’ve dispatched.

  In the corridor, I listen at doors and open a few of them. I creep through shadows and seek out my own men.

  Trembly is the first I find.

  “Horrible man,” he says. “Vile crew.”

  I muffle my snort of agreement. “Tell me things.”

  “Room below deck. Stays locked. Only his special ones can get the key.” Trembly cringes. “Heard a scream there when I
was boarding, Addy.”

  I can’t decide if I have hope or horror at what that scream could mean. Based on their treatment of me, I could not fathom what horrors hid behind locked doors.

  “Where?”

  Trembly points, explains twists and turns.

  “Get Nox and Mick.”

  He nods.

  “Be subtle, Trem. If you kill anyone, put them to sea.”

  A look came into his eyes. Trembly—and the rest of my men—weren’t the villains that Hayes had gathered. No man who served under me or Nox was a mindless brute. We tolerated no prejudice. We forgave no senseless torments. That did not mean, of course, that they were gentlemen. Some people appreciated violence, and as long as they followed my rules on when and how to release that need, we were at peace with it.

  “Rules?” he asks.

  “Don’t ruin my mission,” I say each word clearly.

  “Of course!” he says, and we both hear his glee in being let off his tethers. Trembly is often at the edge of difficult to control. Mick is, too. I know that Nox chose them because of that. If they perish, we would not suffer their loss as we would with others. Such is the life of those who work with a band of killers. We are loyal to our own, but we know them for what they are.

  I step around Trembly and followed the directions he gave me. I have hopes that the key on the ring will open that door.

  When I reach the room, I find a man there.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m lost,” I say in my meekest voice.

  “Captain let you loose for the ship to have already?” The man leers at me, and I am sickened. Again. It’s not his leer but his words.

  Captain Hayes is not the only devil aboard this ship. I take the knife that I’ve hidden under my stolen cloak and plunge it into his throat. Blood spills on his hands as he tries to cover the wound, but I step around him and open the door he guarded.

  Inside five women cringe. Two look back at me from defeated faces. One doesn’t even glance my way. Three of the five are strangers. The others . . . look at me as if I might be an illusion. My sisters are not dead. The red-haired woman that was tied to the ship was another unfortunate soul. I will still avenge her. Hayes must atone, and I am still determined to be the instrument of his doom.

  “Mother said you’d come,” Lucy says softly.

  Mother’s ghost appears and grins. I can’t lie and say she looks lovely, but the vengeance-fueled ghost of my mother looks pleased.

  “My babies!” She gazes at me and says, “Now, kill him. Kill them all.”

  “Mother knows best,” Biddy murmurs.

  At that, Lucy and Biddy exchange a smile. No one mentions that she was the one that consented to their faux marriages to this devil of a man. No one mentions that her guilt has tethered her to us.

  “My babies,” she sighs and opens her arms.

  A yell from above deck makes everyone pause, and Mother howls in what I suspect might be a frightful cry of glee.

  “Addy!” Mick calls as he comes careening into the room. “Trem gave the sign, and the Morrígan is fast approaching.”

  “Nox?”

  Mick gives me the look most of the crew would: the one that says my other half is headed my way. If not for the fact that they’d give him the selfsame look, I’d scowl at Mick. He glances at me, tosses a long gun toward me, and grins. “Trem said you weren’t carrying a rifle.”

  Then he’s gone and I’m left with three strangers, my sisters, and my dead mother—none of whom are able to fight. The five wives are weary, under-nourished, abused, and one appears pregnant. My mother, despite her rage and knitting needles, is a ghost. They are mine to protect today.

  I lead them back to the captain’s quarters.

  There, the wives help me drag the corpses into the hall. Afterward, they settle in the room with the unconscious captain.

  “Shoot him if you want,” I tell them, and I give Biddy my rifle.

  “If we don’t shoot him . . .?” Lucy asks.

  “I’ll see that he suffers.” My answer is low, but I am rewarded by smiles from the collection of women. “I’ll be back or my man, Nox, will.”

  They lock the door behind me, and I join my crew in the take-over of Fitcher’s Bird. I thought the mission to discover my sisters’ fate would take longer. I thought they were dead. So, it is with a lighter heart that I lift my sword and gun and work my way to Nox.

  “They’re alive,” I call to him.

  “Good.” He cuts down a man. Typically, we are not so bloodthirsty. Nox is more of a gentle creature than I am.

  A few moments and another man down, and Nox asks, “Are you . . .well?”

  “Yes.” I know the question he’s trying to ask. Nox was with me after my assault during a rough battle with one of His Majesty’s Naval Vessels. It was a toss-up as to which of us had more nightmares afterwards.

  We fight our way to overcoming all of the Fitcher’s Bird’s crew, and I stride across the deck with my head held high. Nox has gone to collect the captain and the women. My sisters know him, and they will trust him.

  “Your captain fell for a ruse,” I say. “If you are innocent, you will have options.”

  They begin to announce innocence, and they defend one another. A devil vouching for another of his kind serves no purpose. I wait for the jury to join me.

  Voices still when the five wives are at my side.

  Nox and my men—which include several women with their hair shorn and blouses loose—stand with weapons in hand.

  Hayes stands on wobbly legs. He glares at me, and I smile. “I seem to have lost my bouquet.”

  Biddy takes one and hands it to me. Dried blood on dead flowers. The women start tossing bloodied corpses into the sea, and I wait. I know what they seek. They’ve seen this done.

  Hayes watches in silence as they chum the water with their dead assailants.

  The crew only reacts when, finally, Lucy points at a living man and says, “Him.”

  Trembly looks at me. I nod, and the man is tossed to roiling sea where fins slash the surface in their frenzy. If my crew wasn’t attentive and armed, the guilty might revolt. They beg, and they wait. One man charges me, apparently hoping for a quicker end.

  One-by-one, the wives pronounce judgment on the men. Those who visited their locked prison are given to the sea, food for the sharks that have gathered. By the end, there are ten men left onboard who are found innocent.

  Hayes, however, each woman cuts once. He is bleeding profusely when we tie him to a rope and lower him to the water. As we sail toward Prudence, to the cottage that I now own, we let him flounder atop the water, not sink, not drown, but dragged along the water for sharks to tear and sea to batter.

  My crew and I will build onto the cottage that is ours now.

  We widows will winter there. We shall heal. We’ll plan and rest. Come spring, we’ll sail, but my work is done.

  Never let it be said that we did not give the devil his due.

  Author’s Note on “The Devil’s Due” (2019):

  I have a shelf of pirate history, as well as quite a few shelves of folklore and women’s history. “The Devil’s Due” is a result of that mix.

  Last year, I read Dead Girls (Bolin; a NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK OF 2018), and it got me thinking about this folktale. It’s not a new thought. My story “The Maiden Thief” and my 2020 novel, Pretty Broken Things (an Audible Original), both explore what it means to be the wife of a killer. The latter is a thriller novel, and the former a fantasy story. Both are about facing the idea that you had intimacy with a man who kills and abuses women—and what you do with that information.

  In “The Devil’s Due” Addy is a pirate, a woman on a mission, and she’s still able to love and care about family. We can be all things. . . even when the ghost of your mother is wailing at you.

  The source stories for the folktale start with the devil, who has married three sisters over a span of time. In these tales, each girl was given a to
ken that the devil can use to verify if she broke his rules. In some of this tale type (Bluebeard, Fitcher’s Bird) they are at a castle or manor. The tussie-mussie, white dress, egg is stained by blood, and so the villainous man knows she’s opened the forbidden door. In some, she dies, is imprisoned, or is rescued by her brothers/father/the town. In a few, she rescues her sisters.

  These tales remind us that women need rescue, and/or they must be objects under men’s control. They tell us curiosity results in disaster (Pandora, for example, but there are many more).

  We still fetishize the death of women in thrillers, action films, and literature. Writing against that is a kind of power. I think we are more powerful if we are alive and speaking, that our stories matter more than as “character” development for male heroes. So, I tend to write “women who dare” in almost every text I write. We dare to be bold. We dare not to stay broken. We dare to be our own hero and tell our own tales.

  “Changing Guards: A Graveminder Prequel Story”

  Alicia met William Montgomery at the mouth of the tunnel. The peculiarity of her inability to enter the tunnel was no stranger than the fact that anyone could transverse it, but it still felt odd to her. Once, more than a century ago, she’d believed the preachers with their beautiful sermons. She’d trusted them when they told her that death was the end, that a fiery pit waited for those who sinned, and that peace was an option for those who lived a good and righteous life. Then the dead woke, and she’d found out that death was not the end.

  “Alicia.” William stepped into her world, the land of the dead. He was the only living man who could do so right now. There’d been others, including her own husband, but they were gone. Another would replace William, as he’d replaced those before him, but for now, there was only him.

  She said nothing. It pained her to hear an old man’s voice coming from his lips. Years ago, he’d caused a flutter in her heart every time he entered the land of the dead. Of course, the fact that he was still alive made him more alluring than most everyone here.