by R. J. Blain
It took until sunrise to stagger to my feet, swaying. I needed to reach the Wanderer, so close yet so far. The surf washed around my boots, its caress an invitation. If I let go, the sea would take away my pain.
It would claim months of my life, too, which I couldn’t allow. What would happen to Abrahan if I succumbed to it? How many months would I lose?
Too many. I locked my glare on my ship and took another step forward. I would crawl over broken rocks and coral if needed. I would claw my way up and over the engine onto the deck. Inch by inch, I would drag myself to the cabin and raid the medical supplies on board.
If the marina had done as I had demanded, there’d be something in the kit to either kill the pain or serve as a stimulant in a pinch. If not, I’d make do somehow, even if I needed to eat coffee grinds for a boost.
My captain’s cutlass, still sheathed at my side, jabbed me in the ribs, and I shoved its hilt aside. The water reached my hips, and warmth spread from my chest, the sea whispering for me to join it properly, so I might rule my waters as a shark.
I took another step. I would not abandon Abrahan. I would not abandon him as I had been abandoned.
I would not. The water flowed around me, and I recognized the pull of the outgoing tide, guiding me closer to my ship, which bobbed on the gentle waves.
Abrahan.
Nothing pissed me off quite as much as someone shooting me in the face, not even losing my captain’s flintlock or the key to the House Lost at Sea. I could recover those easily enough—and I would, soon. Why couldn’t I have been shot a little higher? Taking a round above the hairline still made a mess, requiring years before hair would grow back over the scars, but losing a chunk of my cheek and jaw made for a bad time for everyone involved, including those who’d have to look at my ugly mug until the scars faded.
Not even Ricardo would be able to smile at me with half of my face mangled. Of course, he’d be inclined to abandon his more pacifistic ways when someone he cared about was hurt. It made him an unexpected threat in battle. Nobody expected the pacifist to start beating heads together, running people through, and otherwise murdering without much in the way of remorse.
According to the ship’s electronics, five days had gone by. All-in-all, the curse’s ability to heal my broken and battered body had outdone itself. I had a jaw, although the tender, too-soft bone hurt when I touched it or tried to speak. I’d lost several teeth to the bullet, which were already growing back, too, adding to my general discomfort. Raw, pink skin stood out against my tan, marking where the white scar tissue would show given time.
For some reason I couldn’t understand, the curse had preserved my lips, which I’d be grateful for later. Nothing hurt more than trying to talk through a twisted and scarred mouth.
A few tentative prods at the back of my skull revealed where the bullet had exited, and the bone there, too, gave under pressure and hurt like hell. I’d lost a large chunk of hair, although I’d be able to hide the bald spot with work and some clever styling.
All in all, I resembled a zombie without wearing any makeup. If Abrahan lived, he’d believe in the curse’s power. How would he react to my resurrection from the dead? I expected a meltdown, but I’d endure it. If he had survived, I’d deal with it for weeks if necessary.
Eating hurt, but I choked down as much fish and rice as my stomach could hold. My body would need it to heal, and I couldn’t afford to take another unexpected nap. After five days, if Abrahan still lived, he was likely a captive of those who had tried to kill me.
There were many people around the world who shot first and asked questions of the bodies, but few had the ability or resources to reach an island far from land. For someone like me, who could survive on the sea’s bounty, who knew the waters and the best routes to reach Africa or India, the island posed little challenge.
Four people came to mind when I thought of those who might reach the island and have the ruthlessness required to steal my treasures—or try to: Benny, Bensen, Captain Naidoo, and Lucretta O’Malley, descendant of the pirate queen Grace O’Malley, who had walked the Earth before the dawn of the Golden Age of Piracy.
If Benny or Bensen were involved, I didn’t know what I’d do. If Lucretta’s treachery resulted in a hair on Abrahan’s young head being damaged, I’d scuttle her frigate, take her captive, and slowly—very slowly—revive every last bit of pirate cruelty I’d witnessed in my long years and make her experience them all.
I’d just eat Captain Naidoo.
My first stop would be my cavern hoard, where I’d climb the walls to the uppermost shelves, a spot I hadn’t shown my new cabin boy. The metal, waterproofed boxes stored out of reach held my modern tools, and I’d dig out the high-powered weaponry for my next outing to the House Lost at Sea.
If a flintlock and cutlass couldn’t do the job, my ACR would give me the best bang for my buck. I’d also dig out the handguns, of which I’d bring two for certain, a Beretta and a Kahr. I liked the little Kahr the best of them; it packed a big punch in a tiny package. The Beretta earned top points for reliability, capable of handling a beating without becoming a piece of scrap metal.
Would three guns be enough? I thought about it, shrugged, and decided I’d go in fully armed. Maybe something a little safer would prove useful, especially considering I needed to recover Abrahan alive. My ARWEN 37 would do the trick, and I’d bring the ammunition box containing my anti-riot rounds.
I’d also toss in a few grenades modified to fit the gun just in case.
A giggle built in my chest, and I adjusted my captain’s sword on my hips. Who was I kidding? I’d take everything I had and turn my visit to the House Lost at Sea into a real party. I was done drawing the short straw.
I wouldn’t get mad. I’d get even, and I’d enjoy every last minute of it.
Twenty-Four
Just sinking her wouldn’t be enough.
It took me three hours to do a full weapons check, and I savored every minute of it. When I went to the House Lost at Sea, I’d be ready. I even wore a bullet-proof vest underneath my clothes, choosing a t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket as my war attire. I took rope and cloth to hold my hostages captive, hanging the bundles from my belt for easy access later.
To add a modern flare to my dated methods, I brought along two rolls of duct tape and a handful of plastic zip ties.
I used my boots to stash my knives and a pair of single-round derringers. If I ever made it back to the United States, I’d have to buy a second pair. They were wonderful. So much fit into them. I needed to see what other wonders the modern world had to offer.
Excepting pants, as I’d yet to find a good pair of women’s jeans that had proper pockets.
Before I left, I sat on the lowest shelf and meditated, reminding myself over and over I had a job I needed to do and could not afford to nap at the bottom of the ocean for any period of time. The curse would serve me, and I’d fight it fin and tooth to complete my mission.
Becoming a shark would be easy. Wrestling back my humanity would be the real challenge.
I dove into the water, and the curse grabbed me with eager hands, ripping away my human shape before I touched the surface. Lashing my tail, I slid my way through the tunnel and angled towards the open ocean so I could circle around to the main island.
High on its cliff, lights gleamed within the windows of the House Lost at Sea, and my fury crested. Someone dared enter my domain?
Death would be far too merciful a fate for them. To shoot me in the face was one thing, but to take my key, my cabin boy, and my home? I scouted the island in search for their ship, and I found it anchored a hundred feet from shore near one of the sandbars.
The modernized frigate infuriated me even more than the invasion. I slinked closer, my dorsal fin cutting through the waves. A rope ladder dangled from her polished side, close enough to the sandbar anyone with any skill at swimming could reach the vessel.
The gold plate on her bow informed me her name was the Serendi
pity.
I dove beneath her and went to work chewing on her wooden rudder. It wouldn’t sink her, but I wished the captain luck trying to go anywhere without the power to steer the ship. A cursory examination of her engines satisfied me; without the rudder, the Serendipity would surely crash into something and sink without any extra help from me.
I’d take the time to sabotage the rest of the ship, however. Just sinking her wouldn’t be enough. The frigate would crumble around Lucretta O’Malley’s ears, and I’d stalk her through the waters and enjoy every moment of it. Once the Serendipity sank, I’d toy with my brunette captive, drag her to one of the difficult-to-reach caverns dotting the island chain, and take my time with her.
It took me several hours of leaping from the surface and attempting to shed the influence of my curse before I managed to transform and catch hold of the rope ladder instead of thumping into the frigate’s side as a shark. The effort left my head pounding, and I scrambled onto the deck, bent under the burden of so many weapons. Taking shelter behind one of the large coils of spare rope, I set aside most of my weapons to retrieve later and began my exploration of the ship.
Lucretta O’Malley had taken a great deal of care with the Serendipity, and I pulled out one of my knives and went to work, fraying the rigging, shredding the thick canvas sails, and otherwise ensuring chaos when she attempted to leave my islands. I found sleeping quarters for twenty-five, a small number for such a large vessel. Then again, a skeleton crew of ten could keep a frigate of the Serendipity’s size afloat. The engines would make it easier for fewer men to keep her floating.
One, ten, twenty—they’d all suffer by the time I finished with them.
I took savage joy in dismantling the captain’s quarters, shredding her clothes, and breaking every little trinket I could get my hands on. I pilfered her golden compass, a piece far too lovely and old to destroy, and I left her captain’s log intact, smiling as I added an entry foreseeing the sinking of the Serendipity.
It took the entire night to finish my work, reclaim my weapons, and dive from the deck, transforming before I hit the water. I couldn’t smile as a shark, so I breached and splashed around in my pleasure at having completed the first step of my revenge.
I also left a few bite marks on the Serendipity’s hull.
O’Malley would only wish she could tame my striped ass when she found out what I’d done.
Before I assaulted the House Lost at Sea, I would rest. I beached myself where the surf met the shore, deep enough for the water to wash over my gills, but close enough to land I wouldn’t sleep and forget I was human.
I dozed until the sun rode high in the sky, and I hunted to satisfy my hunger before beaching myself and fighting the curse’s influence. It took longer than I liked, but I didn’t mind braving the staircase in the light of the setting sun.
The shadows hid me, and the moon illuminated my path.
Next time I planned my equipment for an assault, I needed to remember how much my guns weighed. Add in the ammunition, my cutlass, and the bulletproof vest, and I regretted my decision to bring it all. Grumbling curses every last step of the way, I reached the top, unbuckling several of the holsters and easing the weapons into the grasses skirting the cliff.
Candlelight flickered in the windows of the House Lost at Sea, and someone had left the front door open. From what I could tell, there was no damage done to the manor, so I assumed someone had either taken the key from me after I’d been shot or it’d fallen before I’d tumbled into the ocean.
I crawled my way through the grasses to the stone path leading to the front door, dragging my weapons along with me. The murmur of voices warned me of those inside, although I couldn’t tell how many or how close to the door they were.
Of Abrahan, I saw no sign.
Since killing my victims wouldn’t drag out their suffering, I prepared my ARWEN 37, loaded it with anti-riot rounds, grabbed extra ammunition, and slung my assault rifle across my back so I could grab it if needed. I kept my Kahr and ditched the rest of the weight in the bushes surrounding the manor.
I crept up the stairs, keeping low and easing my feet down so creaking wood wouldn’t betray my presence. Before I entered, I needed a good look inside, which meant taking a position beside the door so I could peek around the corner.
A teenager in a rumpled, dirty shirt and bloodstained jeans slumped in a chair inside the foyer, and his snores accompanied the murmur of conversation deeper within the house. Lazy sentries made my job so easy. After a second check to ensure no one else lurked in the entry, I slipped inside the House Lost at Sea.
Silver mirrors reflected my image back at me into infinity, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Maybe if things had been different, if Captain Maritza's loyalty had run deeper, then the two pirate queens would have had an eternity to spend together.
I pulled off a strip of duct tape, cut it with a knife, and held it between my teeth while I uncoiled a length of rope from my belt. First, I needed to ensure the boy’s silence. Once I ensured his silence, I would secure him to the chair. I didn’t want to kill him—murder wouldn’t serve my purposes yet—but I needed to get inside undetected.
Clonking the poor kid with the pommel of my cutlass would leave him with a headache he’d never forget and possibly kill him, but I’d take the risk if necessary. If I hurt the boy, I could take him to shore in the Wanderer.
I’d try the gag and tie method first, and if he put up too much of a fight, then I’d smack him around. Palming the tape, I slapped it to his mouth and pressed hard. His eyes flew open, and before he could cry out, I pinched his nose. “Quiet. Make a sound, and I’ll teach you how much it hurts to have a cutlass run through your gut.”
The kid’s face paled to a sickly gray-green, and he froze in place. His eyes focused on my cheek and jaw, and he whimpered. I glanced at my reflection.
Ah. Somehow, the gunshot wound had opened, and to add to the horror show that was my face, I’d split my lip enough to show the gaps where I’d lost my teeth. I blamed ramming the Serendipity in my effort to shift so I could board her.
I’d give him nightmares for a long time to come. Too bad.
It didn’t take long to secure him to his chair. I patted his head. “Good boy. You just sit there and wait for a while. That’ll teach you to nap while on watch.”
On the Calico, Captain Louisa would’ve had the guilty boy walk the plank and play with me for a while before relenting and allowing him back on board. When she was in a truly foul mood, she left the ones who couldn’t swim in the water the longest, punishing me for allowing someone irresponsible to stand guard by forcing me to keep him alive in the water.
I’d have to revive the practice if I decided to get a proper ship or fully man the Wanderer and return to a life at sea. Abrahan could use some company around his age, too.
My captive whimpered again.
“Shh, little baby. It’ll be all right. You’re too cute to kill.” I wasn’t lying, not really. Once he was cleaned up, he’d decorate my ship well enough. Hopefully he’d prove at least a quarter as clever as Abrahan. Nothing annoyed me more than crew incapable of tying their shoelaces without help.
Either way, I couldn’t let him go. He’d seen through me, literally, and I had no way of explaining the state of my face. Oh well. What was another mouth to feed? Killing adults didn’t bother me, but I’d only slay the young if necessary. I’d give the boy one chance to redeem himself in my eyes.
I tiptoed my way deeper into the manor, and my captive wisely remained quiet.
Twenty-Five
I told you I was tough to kill.
Beyond the entry, a hallway led deeper into the House Lost at Sea, and I recognized my captain’s touch in the wood paneling, a match for the Calico’s interior when she’d been new. Compasses, sextants, and trinkets plundered from our prey hung from hooks, and behind glass cases, old captain logs waited, intact despite the long centuries.
I bet Ricardo had played his part in the
choice of display pieces. He’d loved collecting compasses and sextants, and I’d found ways to add to his collection despite being barred from seeing him.
The memories hurt.
With one look, I could easily understand why someone like Benny would betray me. He loved history far more than he had liked me, and each treasure was marked by a plaque engraved with the date, the plundered ship, and where she’d sunk. The right side of the hallway showcased Captain Maritza and her crew, and the left side tore at my soul.
From the day my captain set sail for the first time to the sinking of the Calico, everything was documented. Someone had even sketched portraits of everyone, and the faces of those lost to me so long ago stared at me from behind clear panes of glass, somehow untouched by time.
The artist had captured Ricardo perfectly, and I touched the glass barring me from reaching his portrait.
I’d been right; Lucretta had found someone just like my Ricardo, and I considered going back to her ship and lighting it on fire.
Even I had a place among my captain’s treasures, and anyone who had met me would look upon my portrait and know the truth. Whoever had captured my likeness had done it well, right down to the way my hair frizzed when out at sea, the style of my clothing, and the way I stood, eyes narrowed and scowl fixed firmly in place.
I’d scowled a lot after losing Ricardo.
Who had drawn the picture, and how had they done it without my knowing?
I couldn’t afford to linger long, and I swallowed to ease the tightness in my throat. Those who had invaded my islands hadn’t damaged the delicate frames or sought to disturb the hall and its treasures.
The hallway left me with one question: what had gone wrong?
I’d never know.
Halfway down, the displays from both ships ended, leaving empty cases and frames waiting to be filled. The sounds of conversation grew louder, and I spotted light shining beneath a door at the hall’s end. I tiptoed my way closer, straining to listen, but the voices were muffled enough to mask the words.