by Travis Bughi
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that it’s a lot easier to do something you’re not supposed to when no one is looking. Perhaps if Carlito knew you spoke to Mosley about him, he wouldn’t be so bold.”
Emily blinked in sudden clarity. It seemed like such an obvious solution that she wondered briefly why she hadn’t thought of it. The answer came soon enough, though; she’d never had to deal with someone like Carlito before. Priscila was right; Savara wasn’t nearly close enough to endure this anymore.
“Okay then,” Emily said. “I’ll talk to the Captain right away.”
“Actually, I’d save it for the moment.”
“Why’s that?”
“Storm’s coming. Can you feel it?”
Emily paused to sense the air, but nothing piqued her interest. Then the terrible sound of thunder shuddered through the ship.
“Damn, I’m good,” Priscila smiled. “Oh, and Emily? You might want to pack your things back up before they go rolling away.”
Chapter 4
Few things inspired such activity as a looming storm. Depending on the severity, even fleeing a hydra could seem less eventful, and those terrors were the most dangerous creatures in the sea after krakens.
Storms, however, could be monstrous in their own right. They could be just as relentless and devastating as any beast with the added difficulty of being un-killable. The only thing to do was try and outlast them, and sometimes it took the entire crew to do just that.
After Emily swept her things back into her pack, she secured it under her bed along with her bow and quiver, though she was hesitant to do so. After assuring herself they would be fine, she left her room. Priscila had already gone, charging up through the hatch—along with any other pirates that had still been below—and out onto the upper deck. Emily followed quickly, patting the knife at her side to make sure she hadn’t forgotten it.
As she neared the hatch, the ship began to lurch a bit more than normal. The dips and falls became deeper and longer, and Emily breathed deeply to steady her heart before bursting out into the open air.
It was already raining. Cold drops of water sprinkled her skin, and a chill was present that had not been earlier. Overhead, the day’s sunlight was a shadow of its former self as dark clouds tainted the sky, growing and expanding and occasionally thundering out their determination to do so.
Just ahead, Mosley was at the forward-most mast with another crewmate. They were securing the merman to the mast, giving him something to hang onto. Over the wind, Emily heard their conversation.
“Really?” the Captain yelled. “You led us into a storm?”
“It was either this or the hydra,” the merman said, his voice sounding clear in the damp air. “I figured you’d rather sail than fight.”
“What you figured,” Mosley said, “is that if our ship went down to a hydra, you’d be in trouble, too. In a storm, though, you’ll be fine if we don’t survive.”
The merman said nothing at first. He just continued to look into the Captain’s eyes as a crewmate finished the knot around the mast. Several loops had been made for the merman to put his arms through, allowing him something to grasp.
“If you like,” the merman said, “I can go back into the water.”
“No, no,” Mosley sighed, turning away. “We’d probably just lose you. As soon as we pass this, you can lead us to the leviathans.”
“Good luck then,” the merman nodded. “You should find them right on the other side of this storm. They’ve been following it for some time for protection.”
“Heh! One day,” Mosley squinted, “I’d like to learn just how you people know so much about the sea.”
The merman smiled at that, and Mosley returned it with a smirk. The crewmate finished the last knot, and then they both moved on, leaving the merman behind. Emily was still on the ladder, staring at the merman with her lips partly opened, looking at his well-defined upper body and finding it difficult to concentrate.
Then the merman looked over and caught her eye, and she quickly looked away. Stumbling over herself, she finished stepping out of the hatch and looked around for something to do. She could feel the merman’s eyes on her, and her heart raced. Despite the cool, damp air, her throat had gone dry.
“Emily!” Mosley yelled.
She followed the voice to the stern where the Captain stood at the helm, keeping the ship pointed steadily towards its target.
“Close the hatch, girl!” he yelled.
Emily slammed the hatch closed. It fell hard and made a clatter of noise that only increased her embarrassment. Get a hold of yourself! She commanded. He’s only a merman!
“And while you’re at it,” Mosley yelled, “get up here!”
“Yes, Captain!” Emily yelled.
She felt relieved to have someone do her thinking for her at the moment. She bounded over the deck, up one of the ladders flanking Mosley’s room, and right to the helm.
“You picked a hell of time to notice the beauty of the merfolk, my dear,” he scolded. “Now, grab this wheel and hold her steady.”
“What? Why me?” she protested but grabbed the wheel anyway. “Surely there’s someone else.”
“Relax! You’re not taking us through the storm, Emily,” the Captain said, his voice an escalated version of its former self. “The water ain’t even rough yet, and everyone else is busy. Just hold her here until I come back. I need to check the crew.”
Mosley bolted off at a speed Emily didn’t think him capable of. He propelled down the ladders and left Emily gripping the wheel with two white-knuckled hands.
She looked ahead over the bow of the ship and noticed that The Greedy Barnacle was aimed just off center from the heart of the swirling clouds. Beneath them, the grey haze of heavy rain obscured the crystal-clear view she’d become used to at sea. The wind began to kick up, the rain drops were getting heavier, and the light continued to fade.
Before her, the pirates were scrambling. The sails had already been dropped and were being rolled up to be stowed. Anything that wasn’t nailed down was either being lashed into place with rope or being hauled down into the hull. The thickest ropes were being used to tie down the cannons. Those great guns were by far the heaviest things on the ship, and losing them wasn’t nearly as much of a worry as them getting loose and sliding around the deck. There’d be many broken legs and arms if that were to happen.
High above the ship, atop the front-most mast, a lone pirate looked out from the nest. He leaned against the skeletal railing, taking in the best view the ship had to offer. Emily had no idea why someone would be there at all until she saw who it was.
“Damn it, Damian!” Captain Mosley shouted at the top of his lungs from beneath the nest. “Get out of there now! NOW, I SAY!”
Damian was the youngest member of the crew, just behind Emily in age. He’d been born a pirate, and his father had died in a scuffle trying to board and rob a merchant vessel. His brash and fearless actions often reminded Emily of her younger brother. Just like Nicholas, Damian had a tendency to compensate for his lack of age with sheer bravery. In the Captain’s opinion, though, it was all blatant stupidity.
“I know you can hear me, boy!” Mosley yelled. “Get out now, or I’ll shoot you myself!”
Mosley pulled out his single-shot pistol and aimed up. Damian looked on into the storm as if peering into the face of the enemy. A moment later, a flash and explosion of sound came from Mosley’s pistol, and a chunk of wood from one the railings near Damian’s hand burst into splinters.
“Ah!” Damian yelled. “You almost shot me!”
“You’re damn right!” the Captain yelled. “Don’t make me reload!”
Damian shook his hand and peered over the side down at Mosley.
“Alright, alright!” he yelled. “I’m coming.”
The rope ladder was just beneath Damian’s feet, but he decided to leap down onto it rather than step carefully. Just as he did, the ship lurched, and Damian�
�s tricky maneuver almost ended badly. The nest pulled away, and only with a frantic grasp of his hand was Damian spared from plummeting. He slammed into the mast as the ship swayed back again, and the Captain just shook his head.
Mosley, now finished with his rounds, ran up the ladder to relieve Emily of her post. She released her death grip on the pegs of the wheel, and the Captain eagerly took them up. He looked ahead at Damian who was now halfway down the mast.
“I’m glad you’re not that stupid,” he grumbled.
Emily chuckled. The ship yawed.
“You might want to go below to your room,” Mosley said. “Grab a bucket on your way down, too. This is going to be a rough one.”
“I can manage,” she replied.
“I’m sure you can,” he nodded, “but you’ll have to manage from below. Don’t be mistaking my commands just because I say them nicely, or I’ll have to start treating you like the rest of the crew. Now get!”
Emily sighed but obeyed. She waited for the next wave to pass and then went down the stairs towards the hatch. Other pirates were already there, pouring below decks from all directions. Only a few hands would remain on deck to handle the storm while the rest would wait below for the signal that they were needed. Too many bodies up top was a bad thing, hindering rather than helping, and so those who hadn’t been assigned to stay were ushered into the hull.
Emily did as she was instructed and grabbed a bucket on the way down. Mosley told her to grab it, because he apparently expected that she might finally puke. She severely doubted this but did not want to disobey Mosley so openly. She headed down into the hatch and crossed the hull back to her room.
Once inside, she lay out on the bed and slid the bucket under it. She didn’t expect to need it. She hadn’t felt even slightly queasy the entire time she’d been on the ship, despite all of Mosley’s assurances that she should.
Emily had never been at sea before boarding The Greedy Barnacle. Because of this, Mosley had confidently predicted that her first few months would be a living nightmare. He claimed the motion of the ship should cause her to puke regularly until her body was used to it, something just about every ‘land lover’ went through. This did not happen to her, though. Despite falling over herself as the ship rocked when it first hit rough seas, Emily never experienced the slightest discomfort in her belly. It confounded Mosley and plenty of the crew to no end, particularly due to the incredible amount lost over the ordeal. Only one crewmember, Lonzo, had bet that she wouldn’t puke at all.
There were a few theories revolving around why this might be. Some pirates proclaimed she must be a sailor at heart, born to ride the waves. Others surmised that her amazon training must have hardened her insides. A few figured she was eating something special that kept her stomach calm. Emily, though, didn’t believe any of that. She had her own theory, one that she hadn’t shared with anyone.
Not long ago, Emily had been exposed to something that, to her knowledge, no other mortal had lived through. Far away in the jungles of Themiscyra, she had been hunting with her grandmother when they were attacked by a woman named Heliena. After killing Emily’s grandmother, Heliena had attempted to kill Emily with the deadliest substance in the world: basilisk poison.
Heliena had delivered the poison to Emily’s blood by cutting her leg with a poisoned knife. The evidence of this was a pitch-black line on Emily’s skin where the knife had cut and the flesh had died. She passed it off as a normal scar, and hardly anyone questioned this answer, because the truth was unbelievable. Survival should have been impossible.
But she had, and it was nothing short of a miracle.
Just before she would have died, an Angel of Lucifan had come to her in a dream. Quartus had asked her what she would do if given a second chance at life. At that moment, the only thing she could think of was exacting her revenge on Heliena, and she’d answered honestly. She would hunt the woman down to the end of the world. To her surprise, this seemed to be exactly the answer Quartus was looking for, because he gave his life to her. She lived, and he died.
Months later, when Emily had tracked Heliena to Lucifan, she’d been shot with an arrow dipped in basilisk poison. Shockingly, Emily had been completely unaffected, her body miraculously immune to the poison that could kill immortals. Unfortunately, this immunity did not help her complete her task, and Heliena had escaped across the sea. The evil, banshee of a woman was on her way to Juatwa now, and Emily felt bound by both desire and destiny to follow.
She could never forget that encounter, though. She could sense—no, she could feel that basilisk poison still flowing in her veins. It could not kill her, but it was changing her in small, nearly unnoticeable ways. Emily believed it was this very poison that prevented her from getting seasick. As to what else could be happening to her, she had no idea.
She just hoped it would all turn out okay.
The ship yawed, and Emily watched her feet rise up over her head. Then the ship yawed the other way, and Emily’s head rose up over her feet. She blinked a few times.
“I should hang on to something,” she frowned.
Chapter 5
As foretold, the storm was rather rough, certainly the roughest Emily had been through.
When she asked Priscila about why they hadn’t noticed it earlier, she replied shortly that ‘it is always calmest just before the storm’ as if the line were a practiced saying. Emily thought the phrase rather catchy as she pondered the words to keep her nerves calm while the ship rolled.
She never used her bucket. Priscila asked for it but, in the end, didn’t need it either. Both stayed in their cabin throughout the ordeal per order of the Captain.
“I understand why he wants you out of the way,” Priscila said. “No offense, by the way.”
“None taken,” Emily sighed.
“However, asking me to stay locked up? Not even ready to help? I’m just as salt as the men, and Mosley knows that. How dare he?”
As they rolled with the ship, thunder and lightning strikes shuddered through the wood, and Emily felt each one in her chest. The intermittent voices of pirates shouting and calling out could be heard faintly over the howling wind through the various cracks in the wooden planks that made up the bulkheads. The women waited, fuming with their lack of involvement.
Mosley was trying to travel through the storm and avoid the eye at the same time. Emily had been told that although the eye of a storm was the calmest part, it was surrounded on all sides by a wall of the worst carnage. Thus, Mosley would rather avoid traveling into the eye, for he would have to pass the worst of the storm twice over.
Still, his target was on the other end of this inclement weather, and he didn’t want to miss it. Through the storm, past the eye they went, and after hours of held breaths and heavy sighs, their door was thrust open by Urbano.
“Eh, love,” he smiled. “We’re through the worst of it. Captain says you can come on out now.”
“Oy! At last!” Priscila shouted. “Did you ask him why we were locked down in here in the first place?”
“Nah, I didn’t,” he tisked. “You want me to?”
“No, I’ll do it,” she said, stepping over to him. “Everyone fine?”
“Lads are great,” he nodded as Priscila slipped an arm around his waist. “You still got your knights, love.”
“Good,” she chuckled and gave Urbano a kiss. “Come on, Emily. Let’s go talk to the Captain.”
Emily got up from the bed and followed the others out. As they traveled through the ship, Emily catalogued the damage that had been done by the storm. Pirates were working to empty the excessive amount of sea water that had leaked into the ship. They passed buckets along a line leading from the bilge to the rail where it could be tossed back into the ocean. It was a necessary and never-ending task, one that Emily had participated in more than few times. Of all the work aboard the ship, it required the least training.
Also among the casualties was a single barrel of gunpowder. The offending rope
that had freed it from its peers had been re-knotted, and it was now lashed to a post. Other than that, though, the crew had done admirably well. The passing storm left only fleeting scars, such as a thick stench of fresh saltwater, which alleviated the normally choking smells of dirty men. Also to Emily’s delight, most of the pirates were drenched to the bone, to the point where they were ringing out their clothes. She breathed in deeply and felt thankful that the sea had, at least, provided a forced communal bath.
The sails had been spared as well and were being removed from storage and taken to where they could once again be of use. Emily, Priscila, and Urbano passed this scene on their way to the hatch but stopped just shy when something caught their eye.
Priscila’s other three lovers were crowded around in a huddled circle. They stood shoulder to shoulder, listening intensely as Carlito spoke to them in a hushed voice. Occasionally, one of Priscila’s men would dart a quick eye around them, as if checking for eavesdroppers, but hardly anyone was paying them mind. With so much work to be done, Carlito really just seemed to be giving them orders.
“What is that about?” Priscila asked.
“Don’t know, love,” Urbano confessed.
“Find out for me, please,” she said, her voice light as if pleading.
“Sure thing,” Urbano nodded.
Priscila turned to climb out of the hatch, and Urbano waited until she was halfway out to give her behind a sharp pinch. He laughed when she cried out and jumped away before she could kick him. Priscila sighed and smiled as she watched him make his way to the others, chuckling quietly to himself.
“Can you keep a secret?” she asked Emily once he was away.
“Yes.”
“I love them all, but he’s my favorite.”
Priscila blushed at the confession, then scurried out onto the deck. Emily smiled and followed.
After hours of being confined to their cabin, the blast of fresh air they received upon arrival on deck was a welcome feeling. It was a cold, biting, outer-storm-edge wind, but it was refreshing. Emily clasped her arms around her body to shelter her heat but took a long breath without hesitation. The wind kicked up her hair and sent it flying, and she noted to herself that it would need to be cut soon. She normally never let it grow past her shoulders, yet it was now touching her shoulders, and Emily began to realize that maybe something about living on a ship made everyone, pirates included, a bit less hygienic.