She would shrug off our praise. For a few weeks our gossip would boil down to a few filthy jokes. Then she would be caught screwing another Siren’s charge in a broom cupboard, or beating an apprentice who picked unripe pears from the orchard. After that, our gibes grew claws.
They say that Clay’s first victim was a serial killer, and that she had drunk the poison herself to make sure that he would swallow his share. They taught the new Siren about it: ‘This is what you should be willing to do’. I wondered if the story was true. Mistress Clay seemed to have no scruples at all – no loyalty or ambition. What would she risk her life for?
She bothered me.
I wondered what depths she would sink to. She treated her body like a portion of meat, and did not seem to care who gobbled her up. Her mind was always somewhere else, so perhaps it was easy to sell herself for a murderer’s tongue. She enjoyed it, they said. She chose lovers, not victims, and only became a Siren after they had slaked her animal lust.
I did not know if that was true. How could I? The Siren laughed about sex the same way that the old women joked about our chores. Neither of us really understood what the other people were talking about. But people talked about Clay. We all said that we understood her, but it was a lie. We bullied her like children and then mocked her for being outside of our sphere.
That was the woman I was bound to. She tore me from my home like a tic from a dog’s ear.
Nobody wanted to wait on Mistress Clay. We hid our hands behind our backs and lowered our eyes. We held our breath in case a sneeze was mistaken for a nodding head. The High Mistress passed her cold eye over us, and I felt a chill running through my body when it landed on me. My mother had wrapped green silk strips around my wrist that morning. Normally the bright fabric made me smile, but today I felt it drawing the Mistress towards me. I tried to hide the stump, but it was too late.
I could pass on the duty, but there was nobody I hated enough to banish from the island. My sisters would have willingly taken away my orders to keep me safe, but I would have done the same thing for each of them. I made myself smile, and tried not to cry when they kissed me goodbye. Some of them wept and swore they wouldn’t sleep until I returned home. The depth of their love made my throat close up. I couldn’t bear to be there for a second longer, and I tore myself away without a final goodbye.
I regret that.
CHAPTER 2
My new Mistress was perfectly indifferent to the chaos our departure caused. The seamstresses had packed so many dresses into our chests that it took five servants to lift them, but Clay never offered to help. Her green eyes were fixed on the seething sea. Against her red hair they looked grey and flat, as if all of the life had been bleached out of them.
“I’m Harriet.” I told her. She blinked and looked around. The woman was like a bird, small and scrawny and quick, and I had the distinct feeling that I had just ruffled her feathers.
“I remember you.” her voice was soft – any coarseness had been beaten out of her – but there was a lively note in it that surprised me. “You were in my class. Dahra cut off your hand.”
I unconsciously hid the stump behind my back. The woman shook her head impatiently. The notion that a servant would try to hide something from a Siren was insulting. Mistress Clay held out her hand to gesture for me to be still. Her voice became dull, “I suppose you want to stay here.”
“I’m ready to go.”
“You didn’t volunteer, is what I meant.” she waited for my apologetic shrug, and then she smiled. The expression made her face look younger but it did not suit her. I suppose when her skin was painted it would make men sigh, but without it she looked like any other woman standing on the brink of everything she knew. She looked like me.
“You volunteered.” I muttered the words before I realized I was thinking them. My new Mistress’s smile froze, and she glanced at the boat.
“Another Siren would have been chosen if I hadn’t. No matter who she was, you would still be standing on this pier, wouldn’t you? Everyone knows why you’re here.”
Clay’s words were matter-of-fact. I don’t think she was being deliberately cruel, but they made me flinch. I wanted to tell her why nobody had volunteered, and how much everybody hated her. I bit my tongue so sharply that it bled. When I was finally composed, the bitch had walked away.
Of course everyone knew why she had volunteered! She made such doe-eyes at Master Gaskell that the Siren were their servants to fetch them when they were together. They wanted to see it for themselves! The fact that nobody had seen anything actually happening was more damning than if they had seen Clay’s skirts lifted around her waist. That was what she always did – so why was this man different?
I looked over my shoulder, and saw a crowd of islanders standing in an enthralled gaggle on the shore. The jetty could not have held all of them, and many of the women wouldn’t have been able to leave the pier, but there were still hundreds of Siren and servants staring at us. It made me blush and look down, grateful for the comforting darkness of my veil. I was not used to people looking at me.
The second I stepped into the rowing boat my stomach lurched, and when we boarded the ship I felt it turn over altogether. Mistress Clay ordered me to read to her, but as soon as I saw the black letters swaying before my eyes I retched. I had never been so miserably ill in my entire life. I threw up long after there was anything left in me to lose. My new Mistress fussed over me more than I expected her to – in fact, more than I wanted. I couldn’t stand the smell of her perfume. When she leaned over me I had to hold my breath. Still, she took care of me, and read to me while I had my eyes squeezed shut.
When I finally started feeling better all I wanted to do was throw the window open and get rid of the sickly-sweet smell. I teased my Mistress until she agreed to leave me alone for a while. As soon as the door clicked shut, I dragged myself out of bed and dizzily pulled myself across the room. Mistress Clay’s perfume vial sat in a chest by the bed. I snatched it up and threw it into the sea.
I drank in the salt air like an antidote, and when I struggled back into bed I slept deeply for the first time in days.
The window was still open when I woke up, and the room was cold. I thought my Mistress must still be outside, but then I heard a noise. She was lying on her bunk and her eyes were open. They shimmered a little in the moonlight, and I realized that she was crying.
If she had been one of my sisters I would have leapt out of bed and closed her in my arms. She looked so wretched! But she did not weep, or sob. She lay perfectly still, and the tears simply overflowed from her eyes down her cheeks and into the pillow. If I hadn’t looked at her, I would never have guessed she was crying.
“Do all Siren cry like that?” I whispered. She slowly turned her luminous eyes towards me, still not moving, “Is it so you don’t wake people up?”
“The men, you mean?” she murmured, and looked back up at the ceiling. “Yes, I suppose so. The Mistresses only taught us how to be quiet. If they’d told us why we might need to cry, there would be far fewer Siren in the world.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m out of practice. I woke you up, didn’t I?”
“No, I meant – why are you crying?”
“I’m not.” she said placidly. “I’m practicing.”
I huffed out whatever soft words I had been saving for her and buried myself under my blanket.
When I woke up the next morning I felt like death. My Mistress glowed with happiness and beauty. The sailors flocked around her as she swayed around the deck. She laughed gaily as they shared increasingly bawdy stories, and invited a crowd of them to drink with her in our cabin.
When I ventured below decks a few hours later the door was locked. I could hear moaning coming from inside the room. Whatever had upset the Siren slut, she had clearly found a way to cheer herself up. I gritted my teeth and waited, hoping like hell that she’d had the good manners to use her own bed.
When the door fina
lly opened I closed my eyes and did not look at the man who walked through. I did not want to know who he was. I had to spend weeks meeting his eyes over the dinner table. I waited until he had gone before I went into the cabin and snapped the lock closed. Only then did I look at my Mistress. She was lying in her own bed (thank the gods for small mercies). She was completely naked, lying on one hip with her head resting on her wrist. Her flat eyes were fixed on the porthole. Swirls of grey shadow overflowed from the waves and painted ghastly lines on her cheeks. I picked up her dress from the floor and threw it at her.
“I’m warm enough.” she said. I scowled.
“Don’t bother putting on the act around me. I know as little about sex as you do about… about laundry.”
“I used to clean my own clothes.” she smiled and cut her eyes at me. “What does that tell me about you?”
I blushed and muttered, “At least I know how to be modest.”
“I could be modest too, if I spent my whole life cleaning sinks. Your life is so sordid.” Clay sat up, and her hair tumbled over the red marks on her neck. Her dress was impossibly crumpled. When she pulled it on she somehow managed to look more lascivious than she had when she was naked. I wanted to slap her, but I forced myself to lower my hand. I told myself that she had as little control over her looks as I did over my own.
“You could find someone to be modest for while you’re here.” My Mistress did not look at me as she smoothed the sleeves down with her fingertips. “Nobody would ever know.”
I felt myself reddening. “Why would I want to be like you?”
“I don’t know.” Mistress Clay gave me a wan smile. “Perhaps I should try to be more like you. Do you think you’re beautiful on the inside?”
I did not understand what she meant. Thanks to her barbed teasing I was too confused to care. “Does it make you happy?” I blurted out. “Do you actually like letting them do that to you?”
She smiled her brittle Siren smile at me, but she did not answer.
That night, she covered her eyes when she cried.
CHAPTER 3
By the time we reached Thym, the nearest Altissi port, we were heartily sick of the sea. Miette leapt ashore the second the gangplank was lowered. I almost followed her before Dahra caught my elbow. I understood even without her nails sinking into my skin: from now on, everything that we did would be watched. A Siren is a creature of the sea, a temptress who shimmers in the tide and sings in the storms. Such a creature does not launch herself onto a jetty like a headless hen.
Apparently, Mother Miette was exempt. The old bat would have followed her Mistress off the edge of the earth, but heaven help anyone who got in her way. She made a space in the milling crowd and folded her arms, daring the Altissi to come closer.
We followed her with our hands neatly folded into our sleeves and our heads lowered. The soft hoods of our cloaks hid our faces. Anyone who peered beneath would only see our grey silk veils. Miette and I shoved at the surging crowd when they came too close to our Mistresses, but the press of bodies was overwhelming. I have no idea how the Siren managed to look so serene. I was terrified!
“Here!” Someone shouted, and we fought our way towards a waving hand. The man was hoarse and sweating by the time we reached him. He dabbed at his red forehead with a handkerchief. “Dear ladies, it’s such a pleasure to…”
“How dare you address the noble Siren as ‘dear ladies’?” Miette’s voice was so strident that the crowd hushed. “My Mistresses have enough love for your people to come to this flea-bitten country, but they will not be insulted! How dare you make them walk through this rabble! And do you think they’re pleased to be spoken to so rudely – by a mere mortal…?” she sniffed and then spun around, kneeling beside Dahra in a pantomime of pathetic remorse. The crowd watched with interest. “Blessed Mistress, I beg your forgiveness. I have failed you, so early in your journey…”
Dahra lowered her hand to touch the woman’s shoulder. She moved with such authority and grace that the crowd edged away. I could hear my heart pounding, but other than that the dock was silent. Beside me, Mistress Clay folded her hands inside her cloak. They were shaking. When I realized she was trying not to laugh I knelt down beside her and dug my thumbnail into her palm. Her nails scraped across my fingers when she pulled away. I sighed and ducked my head. Anger would serve her better than laughter.
“My beloved lady, will you give this man leave to address you?” Miette asked Dahra. The Siren lowered her head a little, and the sweating man stepped forward. By now his face was as pale as wax.
“Please forgive me, Lady Siren. The heat of the day, the crowd…” he waved his hand vaguely, and a waft of sweat drifted over to us. I wrinkled my nose, since I was safely invisible under my veil. The Altissi man struggled to summon the few courteous phrases he knew. “I have the great honour of being your escort for the next part of your journey. I have prepared the finest carriages… litters… nice horses…” he stumbled to a halt and the crowd tittered.
Mistress Clay wriggled her fingers at me to get me to follow her. The man flinched when she laid her soft white hand on his shoulder.
“My love, why are you so frightened?” her voice was full of music, and she pressed a hand to her heart. I was dumbstruck by how easily the petty slut transformed into this graceful creature. “You have not offended us. We are happy to be here. Our servant is simply protecting us. When your beloved subjects spread news of our arrival do you want them to name you in the same breath? Surely they will tease you. It is so sweet of you to welcome us like an old friend, but the customs must be observed.”
“Yes.” he mumbled, looking dazed. Collecting himself, he bowed deeply to all four of us and recited a stilted, formal speech which he had probably memorised to welcome a visiting prince. He changed a few words, and it made a pretty display, but I knew that my Mistress was uneasy. There should have been a formal welcome. She glanced at Master Gaskell, and her shoulders relaxed a little. He was slouching against the carriage with his hands in his belt and a bored, amused expression on his sunburned face. As soon as the blustering speech was over it was Master Gaskell who hauled the door open and helped us inside.
“Don’t worry.” The man said as our carriage drew away, “Everything has been arranged. Nobody will stop us until we reach the capital, or even acknowledge us. The Altissi are afraid that we will be ambushed if the wrong people know we are here.”
“Ambushed?” I asked nervously. Master Gaskell looked at me as if he had scraped me off the bottom of his shoe.
“We’re surrounded by the Altissi. The Siren have killed their brothers and fathers for generations. They have no reason to like you.”
Mistress Clay snorted and rested her head in her hand. She watched the trees rattling past the window. Her makeup started to run as a fine mist streamed through the gap, but she did not close the shutters.
Altissi was as flat as the Mainland was steep. The sailors had told me that the Altissi people called our country Yanget, which was an ancient word for mountain. At first I was amused by their simple ways – calling a mountain ‘mountain’! – but then, I thought, hadn’t we done the same thing? Our country was formed of a Mainland and an island, and we had never bothered to think of a name for either of them. Altissi, oddly, meant ‘high’. I looked at the marshland we were travelling through and wondered if the people were truly insane.
“Perhaps they don’t mean the land.” Miette mused when I spoke aloud. “Many things can be high. Crops, profits…”
“…people.” Clay muttered under her breath. We all pretended that we hadn’t heard her.
We stopped to relieve ourselves after six bone-aching hours on the cobbled roads. We waited until our entourage tottered off to the trees, and then watched them erecting a wobbly screen for us to squat behind. Mistress Dahra wandered off to study some of the plants that the men hadn’t urinated on. Clay was dancing from foot to foot before the men pegged the screen to the ground.
I had to w
ait for everyone else to finish. I looked at the filth my betters had left behind, and quietly slipped into the trees. As I watered the nettles I forced myself not to grow angry. I refused to spend the entire trip waiting for Mistress Clay to piss.
When I straightened up I heard rustling in the trees behind me. I stood bolt upright with a squeak, thinking that one of the coachmen had crept close to spy on me. I could not see the russet colour of his uniform. I relaxed. I had imagined it. I pulled up my undergarments and scrubbed my hands with a dock leaf, and then I heard the noise again.
I spun around like a rabbit! If it wasn’t a servant, then who was it? Master Gaskell’s lazy threats echoed in my mind, and I swallowed back a hard lump in my throat. I had left the clearing, so nobody knew where I was. If they left without me I had no idea where to find food, or shelter. I had no idea if there was a village nearby – but what if there was? What if it was full of angry men whose brothers had all been sailors? I wrapped my arms around myself and stumbled backwards through the leaves.
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