by The Awethors
* * *
RAYS OF SUNLIGHT danced across a swaying horizon where the sun met the sea. May’s elbows sank into her knees, her cheeks cupped in her palms. She sat with her legs swinging over the edge of a boat, keeping watch as it rocked from side to side.
Moments ago, the boat had been the captain’s dory, a fishing boat measuring sixteen feet long. To the captain’s misfortune, he’d roped the dory on the outside of the ship, not far above the water. To May’s great fortune, Swig had a beak that cut through rope as easily as it cracked nuts and seeds.
“Where d’we go? Life aboard th’ Water Lily is all I’ve ever known.”
Swig perched next to May. “We’ll go where the water takes us.”
“But th’ captain—we’re deserters, en’t we? We won’t be welcomed back.”
“I wouldn’t call it a desertion per se. It’s more of an escape. You weren’t born a pirate, May. The pirates stole you when they robbed food from your homeland. I refuse to believe you weren’t meant for greater things.”
May’s lips formed the tiniest of smiles. “I bet ye say that to everyone ye find in a flour sack.”
“Don’t you ever wonder where someone of your unique stature came from—what it all means?”
“No more amazin’ than a bird that speaks.”
Swig huffed. “It’s not an unusual trait for a parrot.”
May smirked as she stretched a section of fishnet found inside the boat. She slung one end through a hook and hitched it. She’d learned how to tie knots from Daniel. A knot of equal strength formed in her stomach.
Stiffly, she looped another knot at the other end of the net for a bed swing. Swig was right. She must forget Daniel and the Water Lily. At least she had Swig, even if he was a bossy know-it-all bird. Trust was hard enough to come by when all her human friends were pirates.
Comfortably tucked in for the night, May stared at the sea until the last fingers of sunlight faded into dusk. “Unique,” she said, tasting the word as she drifted off to sleep.
She woke the next morning to sounds of dolphins laughing. Swirls of spinning noses and tails flipped alongside the boat. Swig glided up above to dodge the splashes and sprays of water.
May rubbed her eyes and inhaled the freshness of the open sea. “Where are we? D’ye see land ahead?”
“Not yet. Although, the dolphins seem to be creating a reverse wake that’s driving us somewhere.”
“En’t that strange?” said May, peeking over the side of the boat. The water surrounding the dolphins rippled forward, the way a wake—a type of wave created by a boat passing through water—would have, only it ran in the opposite direction.
The nose of the nearest dolphin turned toward her. With a laugh, it flipped backward, creating a silver blur of tailfin and water droplets.
“I don’t believe the dolphins would do that for just anyone.”
“Huh, yeah,” said May. She wiped seawater from her cheeks and forehead. The water’s saltiness reminded her how thirsty she was. Her stomach grumbled. “D’ye think they can help us find breakfast?”
“That would be something, but I think not. For now, it’s all the sea air and sunshine we can absorb.”
“Yeah, well, don’t gorge ye’self. Told ye we should’ve stolen some of th’ captain’s stores.”
“That sounds like something a pirate would do.”
“I en’t a pirate.” May sighed, squeezing her arms across her rumbling stomach. “Not no more.”
Swig dipped his head. “Perhaps we should work on your speech, then.” He flew downward, landing in front of May. “Let’s try again. Repeat after me: I am no longer a pirate.”
May’s lips twitched. “I yem no lun-ger a pirate,” she said, testing out the words.
“Again. This time, less swarthy.”
The frown that followed would have made Swig’s cheeks pink, if that were possible. He raised his wings in a placating gesture. “I realize you grew up among men and boys, but you don’t need to sound like one. You, my dear, are a lady.”
“A lady,” repeated May, her eyes wide. She remembered watching what the pirates called ladies from afar. After a good plunder, one that covered more than provisions, ammunition, and fuel, the captain pocketed some of the gold before divvying it among the crew. The pirates of the Water Lily weren’t fond of saving their pay; they spent it right away. Mostly at parties with food, women, and drink.
May wrinkled her nose. The women at the merrymakings smelled like stale ale and rotting flowers. But a lady…She’d seen one once.
Years ago, per their usual routine, Daniel had carried May to a party in his satchel. She’d listened to the music and carousing as she’d peered through an opening in the bag.
“See that, May?” he said, his voice low. “Th’ captain’s got his eye on th’ rich man sittin’ at th’ table. Even his buttons be made of gold. Bet ye they play at cards t’night. Th’ captain will win, ye know. Then we’ll have a real party.”
May smiled from inside the satchel, nestled against the lower left side of Daniel’s abdomen, where she felt the rise and fall of each breath he took. She kept still, careful not to draw attention to herself by jingling his ration of gold coins. She feared her discovery would lead to a new life, one as a dancing monkey. Only the captain knew why her oddity hadn’t already been used for that purpose.
She observed the rich man. Unlike Daniel’s, the rich man’s belly was round. The gold buttons on his vest strained against the fabric, looking like they’d pop off at any moment.
May patted her own stomach, flat in the middle, the bones of her lower ribs sticking out against her skin. “What’re ye goin’ to buy with yer gold?”
She felt his ribs rise as he shrugged. “Ale, maybe rum. Did ye bring yer tankard?”
A brass thimble poked out of the satchel. “Aye!” she said, in her best stage whisper.
Daniel gave the satchel a gentle squeeze and chuckled.
While waiting in line for drinks, May and Daniel learned that the rich man had a daughter with him. She, too, had a taste for rum. Her gaze rested on Daniel longer than May would have dared. Shining eyes reflected a taste…for Daniel.
May felt his heartbeat quicken and instantly felt jealous and then thirsty. Daniel talked up the lady instead of filling May’s thimble. Seething, May took an inventory of the lady’s features, finding all of them superior to her own. Unlike the brown curls trapped beneath her headscarf, the lady had locks that were flaxen and smooth. Her clothes were finer and her features more delicate, despite her larger, regular-sized frame. May gritted her teeth. Even the lady’s fine words had a softness to them.
May shook her head from side to side, clearing the memory from her mind. Forgetting Daniel would be difficult. He and the pirates were all she knew. She stuck out her chin and placed her fists on her hips. The time had come to learn new things.
In her softest, most ladylike voice, she said, “I am no longer a pirate.”
Nor did she need the pirates, any of them.
“Excellent. We’ll have you speaking like nobility by the time we reach land.”