by R. J. Blain
Neither option appealed to me in the slightest.
Without a single clue on what I’d done to offend anyone enough to be set adrift, I patted myself down checking for anything useful and confirmed I’d been stripped of everything except my clothes. While an enterprising thief would get some money out of my credit cards and bank account, they were going to be very disappointed if they thought they were about to get rich quick.
What was the point of amassing treasures if I made it easy for someone to steal them from me?
I sighed, rolled towards the side of the raft, and flopped my arm over the side, splashing my fingers into the cool water. After roasting for so long in the sun, submerging would shock the hell out of me and likely force my transformation, which served my purposes. A normal human wouldn’t last long in the raft. Without fresh water, there was little hope of survival. Within a week, death was almost guaranteed.
If I wanted to be able to return to my human form, I’d have to enter the ocean and transform before exhaustion and dehydration took their toll. Waiting would make it harder to resist the curse. The last time I had succumbed to its power, I’d been too near death, and it’d taken me almost a decade to remember how to live outside of the sea.
Intentions mattered, and as long as I went into the water of my own free will, I’d be able to leave again. In a way, it worked well for me; I could return to the Calico and retrieve the second part of the key from my captain before making my way back to the drifting raft to watch for anyone hunting me.
I doubted anyone was. Only one person knew I had gone out on the Lady of the Lake, and I hadn’t given Lizzy any reason to care what happened to me. It made certain things simple for me. Several phone calls and a reported theft later, I could resume my life without a ripple.
After all, it’d be my word against Captain Naidoo’s, and I’d give him no reason to counter my claims. My lies would serve him, and no one would learn of how I had ended up adrift somewhere off the Cape of Good Hope.
Then I could pay him a visit in a few months and obtain my revenge, using my next chunk of vacation time to swim across the ocean so there would be no evidence I’d returned to Africa.
Sometimes, the curse came in really handy.
As often as not, I lost many of my memories when I shifted from human to shark, retaining only enough of who I was to remember what I needed to do and to find my way back to shore. The sea welcomed me, and as though pleased I had entered its embrace willingly, it left my memory intact.
I circled the raft, contemplating how I might best taunt those who thought they could entrap me.
If I’d been left for someone to find, I knew one method to ensure their panic. I hungered, and a little bit of blood on the craft would go a long way to reminding the landlubber humans the ocean did not readily give up what it claimed. It wouldn’t take much to trick them.
Diving deep beneath the waves, I hunted, and when I found a school of fish too slow to escape my hunger, I dined. I saved one of the larger ones so I could splatter its blood on the raft and carried my prize back to the surface.
As a shark, I often forgot how time slid by, and when I relocated the raft, someone had already come for it. Without a need to keep the fish, I swallowed it and lurked beneath the waves, careful to keep my dorsal fin from cutting to the surface and warning the interloping humans of my presence.
Unlike Captain Naidoo, the humans sailed in a proper, fully rigged frigate, one boasting three proud masts and sails, although they were furled so the wind wouldn’t carry her away from the raft. In a nod to modern times, the vessel also possessed engines, and the vibrations of its idling passed through the water and annoyed me.
Why did such a beautiful frigate require something like an engine?
Several humans investigated the empty raft, and I slid through the waters for a closer look. Two stood in it, likely looking for any signs of my presence. Without fail, I would have left a few strands of my dark hair for them to find; it caught on everything, a reality I faced each and every day I maintained their two-legged shape.
I recognized the third figure leaning over the rail as a woman only by her slim shape and long hair, a rich brown gleaming with hints of red and gold. Something about her seemed familiar, but I couldn’t isolate where I’d seen her before.
“Any blood?” she demanded, and her voice had a sharp, displeased edge about it.
“Nothing, just some hair.”
“I will hang that fool by his entrails from the crow’s nest.”
Her words supported my theory I’d been left for someone to find, and I decided to give them a taste of what lurked beneath the waters they refused to take seriously. It’d take one solid strike and a bite to destroy the raft. I’d only give them a nip or two as a reminder to respect the ocean and its denizens.
Swimming deep, I circled around, angled upwards, and put every last bit of my strength into ramming the raft from beneath, using the force of my momentum to launch out of the water. I whipped my tail, catching one of the humans with my fin. I hit hard, lashing around to right myself, and turned, closing my teeth on the rubber and shaking my entire body like I would when I hunted seals or dolphins.
The two humans plunged into the sea, and their thrashing and flailing attempts to stay afloat amused me.
Releasing the raft, I turned my attention to one of the humans, and obeying my shark’s basic nature, I toyed with my prey, stealing his shoe. His high-pitched squeals pleased me so much I nibbled his toes without claiming a single one of them as a snack.
The other one lost the seat of his pants to my teeth, and to ensure they both knew how close to death they came, I grabbed them both by their clothes and yanked them beneath the surface. I gave each a final bite, hard enough to make them bleed, though they wouldn’t be long in healing.
With better things to do than torment the humans, I nudged them with my nose upwards before I sank into the depths. Somewhere far below, the Calico waited, and I no longer had any excuse to delay visiting my captain one last time.
The Calico’s final resting place remained engraved in my memories. The ship was so deep beneath the surface I couldn’t tell if the day had made way for the night. It didn’t matter. I assumed the curse gifted me with superior vision, as I had no problem spotting the encrusted, decaying vessel lying in the thick silt blanketing the ocean floor.
I glided through the wreckage, pausing at each and every skeletal form on the way into the heart of the ship. Faces and names partnered with the worn bones in my memories, and as though finally accepting their fate, the lightest nudge crumbled my crew, my chosen family, away to nothing more than fragments strewn across the rotten planks.
Even knowing the day would come when time would finally take its final toll on their bodies, it still hurt to watch them disintegrate, leaving me with nothing. I regretted my human soul.
Sharks of my kind limited their interactions to day-to-day encounters, remaining near other sharks only long enough to procreate, raise their young, and move on to better waters and plentiful hunting grounds. On rare occasion, I’d hunted with other sharks for large prey or to harass massive schools of fish, but those moments never lasted long.
Mourning went beyond the immediate needs of my kind.
Even knowing what to expect when I reached my captain, my presence disturbed the waters around her enough to destroy her mortal remains, leaving behind a pile of decayed bone and cloth. In it, I spotted her key, which remained attached to its golden chain. Her pocket watch likewise lingered, the saltwater unable to destroy its gold and glass. Even if time and the sea encrusted its insides, it’d work again.
I’d make it work again, no matter what.
In that, Captain Maritza had done well by my captain, giving her only the best. Not a single screw or gear would fall to time, every piece precious, a reminder of the eternity they had sworn to spend together. Mine, locked away in my armoire at home, came close. Everything always came close, but never quite close enough
, a constant reminder of what I had longed for but couldn’t have.
I lingered by her broken remains, and while the Calico’s hull protected my captain from the stronger currents, the sea still wore away at her, taking her from me piece by piece while I watched, helpless to stop the inevitable.
Until nothing remained of her, I stayed and grieved for what I had lost and could never reclaim.
I took her watch and the key, tangling their chains around my teeth. Until I changed back to human, I wouldn’t be able to eat, else I’d risk losing them both. With my captain and crew truly lost, all that remained for me was a final return to the House Lost at Sea, where I might put their spirits to rest once and for all.
I only needed to return to the land and my mortal life long enough to take the second half of the key. Then it no longer mattered if the curse took me in its entirety.
Someone would find the Calico and put her on display, just like the Terrier. They wouldn’t find much on the ship; I’d already taken the rest, hiding it in the caves not far from the manor perched high on its island cliff. Maybe I would find answers or peace behind the locked doors I’d never been able to force myself to break down.
Enough had already been destroyed, and I couldn’t bring myself to ruin what they, together, had built.
I slunk away from the old ship, gliding through the currents. If I swam long and hard, I would reach the island chain hiding the House Lost at Sea within several days. I could leave the watch and key in the caves hiding the rest of my hoard before once again crossing the ocean to South Africa, where I could wash up and play ignorant over my time at sea.
There were other places I could go, too, all of which would allow me to reintegrate into society, feign trauma, and escape without anyone realizing I was something other than just an unlucky human betrayed by a greedy captain.
I’d pay Captain Naidoo back for his daring, but I’d take my time with his ruin. I’d leave him with his Lady of the Lake, at least for a short while, but he’d find shark-infested waters more dangerous than ever before.
In that, my curse came in useful, and while my kin held no love for each other or humans, they took matters of revenge seriously. Maybe one day I’d understand the nature of magic.
Then again, I probably wouldn’t, but I could live with that.
Or, I could return straight to South Africa, keeping the watch and key with me. I’d save time—and lower the risks of being caught in a lie—if I were to wash up along a barren coast. I could protect myself with the truth; I’d gone with Captain Naidoo on a cruise and a late-night dive, but remembered nothing until the moment I washed up on shore.
It wasn’t far from the truth, and no one would believe I could transform into a shark. No one would believe I’d lingered for hundreds of years beyond my normal lifespan. Someone might locate the Calico, someone might even be able to identify her, but no one would ever believe the truth behind her sinking and the fate of her captain and crew.
No one would ever know.
The House Lost at Sea could wait until I recovered the second half of the key from its glass prison within a museum. I headed for the Cape of Good Hope, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Benjamin Allen would reunite the twin vessels and put them both on display for the world to admire, or if my captain and crew would forever remain a mystery lost at sea.
Nine
I loved the South African coast and its broken shores.
I loved the South African coast and its broken shores. Miles upon miles of barren sands and hidden coves offered me plenty of places to wash up without prying eyes witnessing my transformation from shark to human. The curse released me with ease, and I even managed to transform without needing to dislodge the key and watch first. Their chains dangled from my human mouth, and I carried them that way through the pounding surf until I reached the safety of the rocks, panting to catch my breath.
More than ever, I appreciated how the curse transformed everything I wore, which allowed me to dodge a lot of uncomfortable questions. To play the role of the dazed castaway and kidnap victim, I’d have to ruin my clothes, tearing the fabric with stones and seashells. Baking under the sun on the raft would give my skin the cast of someone inflicted with exposure at sea, and my inability to hunt after leaving the Calico would serve me well when the doctors insisted on verifying my health.
While the curse preserved my life, my body could—and did—wither when abused, and I still bruised and bled like anyone else. Unlike proper humans, I suspected very little could actually kill me. Drowning didn’t work; in the case of saltwater, I shifted into a shark. The few times I’d gone belly up in freshwater, I had resumed breathing as soon as I washed up on shore.
I’d been in several serious car accidents over the years, and what would have killed anyone else left me in a comatose state until my body healed enough for normal function to resume. It had happened once in the past decade, and the doctors had determined their miraculous workings had been the primary factor in my survival.
Lucky me.
The spot I had picked, within a mile from what looked like a popular beach, would work well for my needs. The waterline didn’t quite reach the cliffs, and given a little time, someone would come around and find me. If someone didn’t, I’d change tactics and stagger along the coast. After a few minutes climbing around on the rocks, I’d be able to convince just about anyone I’d been either lost overboard or had been involved in some sort of accident.
I tucked the key and watch into my pocket; unless someone searched me for them, they’d remain safe and hidden.
To keep the illusion of having washed up on shore, I flopped near the high tide line and settled in to wait. Patience born of endless hours hunting the ocean as a shark partnered with my more human tendency to enjoy the crash of the surf and the cries of gulls on the whispering winds. Both sides of my life melded into one, the closest thing I found to peace in my hundreds of years searching for the freedom I’d likely never find.
What the sea claimed it never returned, and I enjoyed deluding myself into believing it liked me. At least that way, I found it easier to tolerate the burden of my curse. It didn’t matter, not really. Shark or human, human or shark, my nature didn’t change all that much when I shifted.
Sharks hunted to survive, hunted for mates, and thrived within the seas. As a pirate, I had preyed upon men and women alike, taking those of interest and luring them to me, ultimately leaving them behind when the seas—and my captain—called me again.
The watch and key didn’t weigh much, but they smothered me all the same. Why had Captain Louisa chosen Captain Maritza over me? What had I done so wrong? Why hadn’t I been good enough? Had I merely lacked the flare she desired? Had my loyalty faltered without my knowing?
Some questions couldn’t be answered, some doubts could never be eased, and time couldn’t erase my most painful memories. In my twisted little world, those three rules haunted me. Death wasn’t a guarantee, and I was pretty sure if I really wanted to, I could find enough loopholes in the United States tax code to dodge giving the government any of my hard-earned money.
After several hours of waiting, I determined my choice of location had been a little too good, and I staggered to my feet to implement my second plan. Without my wallet, I’d have to sweet talk a police officer, assuming he didn’t think I was an insane tourist and throw me in prison for breaking some law. At least I’d be honest when I claimed I had no idea what happened, as I didn’t, not really.
Captain Naidoo selling me out stung, but I’d figure out a way to stack the odds in my favor, and when I finished with him, I’d make sure he regretted crossing me.
That’s what good pirates did, and it’d been far too long since I’d indulged in any treacherous activities. I needed to practice, or I’d lose my edge.
I’d spent longer than I thought as a shark, and I didn’t even have to make up a cover story. Captain Naidoo had laid out the foundation for me, and with wide eyes and trembling voice, I play
ed my part as an adventure diver on an expedition gone terribly wrong.
The police took me to their station, so rustic in nature I found the place charming in a reminiscent sort of way. I worried it’d come crashing down around my ears, and I suspected it’d been built before I’d been born.
The police officer in charge of me, a big black man with a voice so deep I felt his words as much as heard them, kept staring as though he expected me to vanish if he looked away for even a moment. I found him amusing, although I questioned his superstitions.
“The Captain of the ship…” he mumbled, giving an expectant pause, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.
“Captain Naidoo of the Lady of the Lake.” I hated myself for forcing a pleasant, almost ditzy chirp rather than my more direct snap, but if the backstabbing man wanted to paint me as a dimwitted landlubber who bit off more than she could chew playing with sharks or looking for sunken treasures, I’d cooperate—for now. “It must have been those sweet little cocktails he gave me for the first part of the cruise. I didn’t have many, but your liquors sure seem to be strong here, sir.”
“It happens to the best of us,” he reassured me again after making me tell the same damned story for the tenth time. “And you don’t remember going on the dive?”
I held my hands up in surrender. “Nary a thing. Next thing I knew, I was alone in the water. I must have ditched the gear. I wasn’t wearing a wetsuit, which baffles me. Guess the water must have been warm last night, so it shouldn’t have been needed, right? Must have been why. Lesson learned. Those little cocktails and the ocean do not mix. I guess Captain Naidoo must have my wallet; it would have been left on the Lady of the Lake when I dived, right?”