Staring out the barred window of her chambers had proven to be valuable use of her time, after all. First, since it faced the east, her view pointed directly to the servants’ quarters, which allowed her to learn the patterns of the servants — when they rose, when they ate, when they washed. Where they gathered, where they went, where they did their laundry. And second, it gave Evelyn the unlikely vantage point of seeing Commander Callum’s guests — who invariably were Imperial soldiers. But in the last day, she had noted a strange and dramatic uptick in officers, each attended to by their own men as befitting their ranks.
The servants, distracted by their many new guests, were frantic. And with the arrival of so many new servants, there was a massive influx of new faces in the keep, and nobody seemed to recognize one another, and no one had time to care.
Last, it had given her time to pick off all the bright-red polish from her fingernails so they now looked torn and plain.
When her lunch was delivered, Evelyn focused on the servant who had brought it, a new girl she’d never seen before — likely temporary help to see to the influx of nobility at the keep. She was a young and timid thing, too, which was perfect.
“Oh, pardon me!” Evelyn called after her as soon as she had stepped clear of the door.
The girl peeped her head back in, and Evelyn met her uncomfortably close to the door so that the girl retreated slightly into the hall, granting Evelyn a rare glimpse of the hallway. It was empty. No servants. And more importantly, no Inouye, who had been absent for nearly a day now. “If you please,” Evelyn said, trying her best to hide the distraction from her voice. “I’d love some extra salt.”
The girl bowed low as was polite, and was gone.
But she did not see how the door did not quite close behind her.
Evelyn grabbed the sack she’d made of the white wedding-kimono fabric, which held the scissors, and hastily stuffed the bread from her lunch in it as well. After checking the hallway once more, she stepped out into it and made for the yard where the servants hung their clothes, taking care to go steadily, never to look as though she were worried.
There on the lines, as always, were the newly cleaned clothes of the myriad people who lived in the keep. Evelyn hastily grabbed some boys’ clothes — a white shirt, some wool trousers, a blue vest — and stuffed them into her sack with the bread and the scissors. Then, taking care that still no one watched, she scurried southeast, where — if Callum’s keep was indeed a replica of the 900th Emperor’s — there would be an entrance to a secret passageway.
And so off to the wine cellar Evelyn went.
It was a small, cool, dimly lit room with innumerable bottles of wine stacked from floor to ceiling on bamboo shelves. But in it, she knew, would be the entrance to the passageways.
She just had to find it.
She scanned the shelves, hunting for a break in the woodwork, but could not discern any. She shoved the tatami mats aside and felt along the wooden planks of the floor in vain for one that was loose. And then she began her examination of the wine bottles.
Most, she could see, were rice wine from the Imperial shore. No surprise there. Obviously, despite his location, Callum had done everything he could to afford himself the comforts of home. But it did not seem that he touched his stores often, for there was a thick layer of dust over the bottles that Evelyn tried her best not to disturb, lest the evidence of her snooping be noticed.
It was as she was taking care not to molest the dust that she saw it. One bottle that shone, free of dust in the spattering of fingerprints that dotted its neck.
She reached out and pulled at the bottle. But it did not come free of the shelf.
Instead, the entire shelf swung silently open, revealing the passage that would lead Evelyn between the walls. She removed her shoes and stepped inside. The shelf swung closed behind her.
In the darkness and the solitude of the passageway, Evelyn started to furiously tear off her clothing. The dress would not do for her escape, marking as it did her identity as nobility far too clearly. It crumpled at her feet as she hastily pulled on the boys’ clothing she had swiped.
She had done a poor job selecting it — the shirt was far too large. The vest accentuated her breasts, which would not do. And so she did her best to tuck the shirt into the pants, and left the vest on the ground with her dress. She’d have to go barefoot, but that was not unheard of among the peasant class. The dust and the grit from the floor of the secret passageway would serve to obscure her coddled, clean feet.
All that was left was her hair.
Evelyn pulled the scissors from her sack. They were cold to the touch and not the right kind of scissors, much too small for hair. She hoped they would do, hoped desperately that this plan would work.
It was a foolish moment to feel sentimental, but Evelyn loved her hair. She’d cared for it daily her entire life, painstakingly brushing every knot and snag from it, sifting her fingers through the silk of it. When she pictured herself, her hair was the only part she truly found beautiful.
But what price was beauty for freedom? From Callum and his cruelty. From Inouye and his burdensome desire. From captivity.
And so Evelyn cut. She cut and she cut, felt as her long locks drifted to her feet. Gulping back sobs, she did her best to keep silent as she cut away every tress. She kept cutting until she could feel her scalp prickle to the touch. Without a looking glass, Evelyn had no way of knowing what she looked like. Probably like a crazy person. But she ran her fingers over the soft stubble of her scalp and knew her hair, her long black hair, was gone.
Her transformation from Imperial noblewoman to servant boy was as complete as it could be. And while she knew she must leave with as much haste as possible, one thing still rankled her.
What was Callum up to?
If she did not find out now, she would never know. So Evelyn set off into the secret passages, in search of the meeting of Imperial officers she knew must be taking place.
It did not take long to locate the room where the meeting was being held — Commander Callum had ordered his entire wing emptied, so it was the only room with any voices in it at all. It was made especially easy by all the yelling.
“She operates on the Emperor’s orders.”
“The fact is the girl is here.” It was Commander Callum’s voice, just as terse as usual. “And by that mere fact, we can know that the Lady Ayer, no matter her competence, is not in control of this mission!”
“She’s the Emperor’s finest operative,” another man’s voice said. “You dare to interfere with her?”
The Lady Ayer? An operative? Evelyn’s mind tumbled over itself. But she was so boring. So domestic. She’d brought along so many doilies.
“I interfere because the Hasegawa girl has not been sold upon the Red Shore as was planned,” Callum said. “Without her, our excuse to invade the Red Shore is gone. Surely, the Guard will not be granted permission in this current congress. But if we want the Shore, we will have to let the Dove take an entirely new batch of our nobles, our nobility, sir, and frankly I will not abide it. The Hasegawa girl was perfect — young, beautiful, from an old and respected family. Even her parents agreed. All the Lady Ayer had to do was stick close to her and then report her death to all who could listen. She’d be the perfect corpse.”
Her parents had agreed.
They had sold her into certain death. What better way to rid themselves of their shameful, crooked daughter than in service to the Emperor? No wonder her mother had been so pleased with the arrangement.
Pain like the Kiyohime poison beat through Evelyn’s heart. She knew her parents had not approved of her, but they had been more than willing to trade her life for better standing in the court. She caught her breath and did her best to stifle the cry of agony.
“Well, then what do you suggest, sir? It seems the chicken has already flown the coop.”
“We take the Hasegawa girl to the Red Shore!” Callum shouted. “She can do us no good here!”<
br />
They were never to be wed at all, Evelyn realized. She was always meant to be a sacrifice made for the benefit of Imperial greed. No wonder his greeting had been so cold. A martyr for the Empire. Surely her parents’ “sacrifice” would have been rewarded. Perhaps her father’s debts would have been paid.
“Commander Callum. No.” The man who spoke now had a deep voice, with the unhalting manner of authority. “That makes little to no sense, and logistically, how do you suppose we explain it if the rest of the Dove does not make it there? Without the Lady Ayer to report her deceased, that whole mission is dead in the water. The fact is, our war with the Red Shore will have to wait. The priority now is the Pirate Supreme.”
“Air,” Commander Callum spat. “Air and lies. We do not even know that he exists.”
“We do, Callum. The Lady’s mission was not just to abet our claim to the Red Shore. It was, most importantly, to lead us to the Pirate Supreme. We have reason to believe that he, too, has an operative aboard the Dove, who could lead us to him. She’s done some fine work forming an allegiance on that ship, and though I’m loath to say it, that woman is cunning. We cannot endanger her mission.”
“But surely the Emperor must know there are great treasures to be had if we take the Shore!” Callum shouted. He sounded desperate.
“Won’t matter if our merchant ships keep getting sacked by pirates. That’s the real issue here, isn’t it? Always has been. Without safe trade routes, no conquest will matter.”
“True! And with the Supreme gone, it’ll only be a matter of a few short years before we take the Red Shore,” said another voice. “The Lady Ayer is no fool. She’ll send word. Our ships are faster, stronger, and bigger than any fleet on the open sea. Don’t you fret.”
“I should say, sir,” said another voice jocularly, “you ought to be happy. You have a young woman to wed now, and her family’s name to go along with it.”
“Word is she’s not ugly.”
“Yes, so her mother said. But her father told me the truth of it. She’s crooked,” Callum spat. The disgust in his voice was apparent.
“That’s never stopped a man from taking his husbandly rights,” one of the men chuckled. “It could be worse.”
Evelyn was not sure how.
Rake hauled Cook up the main staircase by his armpits. It was no easy task. Cook was a large man, and being dead, he was of little help. How Rake wished Cook had been killed in his kitchen — it could have been pinned on anyone then. But he had not been in the galley; he’d been in the officers’ cabins. And only he, Alfie, and the captain could claim cabins there these days. No one would believe Alfie had done it, and Rake certainly couldn’t accuse the captain.
Which raised the question: Why had Cook been on the upper deck at all?
The treasure?
Rake would have to claim that he caught Cook trying to steal the treasure. But it would have been ruthless to kill him for such a crime, and rather unlike Rake. Cook was useful, after all. And everyone knew that he was no thief.
If only there were a better story. But Rake could not conjure one. He’d have to rely on the crew’s fear of him, their trust that he was the captain’s man.
At least it was night. Rake hoped against all odds that the night crew was shirking their watch.
But when he reached the half deck, he was seen. Of course he was seen. The alarm was sounded — likely, Rake thought, by men trying to be of assistance to him. He was first mate, after all. It was time to act the part.
“Cook?”
“Captain find out about the bilge rats?”
“What’ll we eat?”
Rake lay Cook down and clutched his sides, still panting from effort. “Get the captain,” he ordered. The captain had, by some miracle, not been in the great cabin, so he was likely in the brig, availing himself upon one of the prisoners. Rake tried not to imagine who was the unfortunate soul this time.
As the men ran to do as he’d commanded, Rake closed Cook’s eyes. He would have been dead soon anyway, Rake reminded himself. Most of these men would be. Several of the Supreme’s ships would be along any day now, flying the mermaid flag. The captain had been less vigilant this time while plotting his course. They’d catch him — Rake was sure of it.
All he needed to do was live until then. Then he would be safe. Safe, and free of the burden of his awful pretense. Days had become weeks, had become months, had become years under the command of this man, this man Rake hated. Every day, Rake had contemplated simply slitting the man’s throat and pushing his body into the Sea. But that was not the Pirate Supreme’s way, and Rake was the Pirate Supreme’s man. Justice was so close, finally, to the Nameless Captain.
For the first time since taking the mission, Rake wondered what might happen to the Dove once the captain was removed. She was a fine ship, well built. The wooden woman figurehead had long since been worn down, so that the curls of her hair were only suggestions thereof. Time had rendered her face indiscernible. She could be anyone, and who’d remember otherwise?
When the captain came, he hardly looked surprised. The itch of worry spread through Rake’s body, but he held himself as though he were simply angry.
“Found this louse digging about in your maps, sir,” Rake said. “He drew a knife on me when I caught him.”
The men murmured among themselves. No one had been fool enough to draw on Rake in years. He’d long since proven himself deadly to the crew. But the captain only nodded.
“And why do you suppose he was in my maps?” the captain asked. His voice was calm, almost disinterested, as if there were nothing Rake could tell him that he had not already known or guessed.
“I think, sir” — Rake leaned closer so that he would not be overheard —“I think he was the rat we’d been looking for.”
It was a ballsy lie. Cook was one of the captain’s most loyal men. He had been for more years than Rake had been on board certainly, perhaps for more than he’d been alive.
“Is that what you think? You think Cook here, this fat, silly slob, was an operative of the Pirate Supreme?” The captain hardly made an effort to keep his voice down, as Rake had. The crewmen hushed, their bodies like a wall around Rake. One did not speak of the Pirate Supreme lightly.
“I do,” Rake said. He kept his voice even, thankfully.
“Then why did you not keep him alive, hm? I should have liked to question him, if he were the traitor we seek.”
“As I said, sir. He pulled a knife on me.”
“In my cabin.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And so you slew him, right then and there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So his blood stains the floor of my cabin?”
Shit.
Rake said nothing.
He could feel the men around him, could feel their eyes and their breath. It seemed no one blinked.
“The thing is, Rake,” the captain went on, “I sent dear old Cook to look after you.”
It was a beautiful night, Rake thought. Clear. He took a deep breath and let the cool sea air fill his lungs, let his eyes drift to the multitude of stars that shone above. He thought of the day he stood on the Supreme’s gallows. For Rake, Death was always near. He felt the brush of its long fingers daily aboard the Dove, felt it in the shadow he cast. But on the gallows, and now, he could feel Death as though it stood just next to him.
His lifelong companion. His only friend.
The captain nodded and several of the men stepped forward, toward Rake. “It seems we have found our rat, after all.” Rake shivered at the cold of the cuffs that were snapped into place around his wrists.
He turned and saw Fawkes. Of course it was Fawkes. Fawkes smiled his terrible smile back at Rake.
“Now, then,” Fawkes hissed. “Times, they are a-changing, eh?” And he laughed.
Rake breathed in deeply, steadying himself for the pain he knew was to come. He was caught. The worst was only just beginning.
But though the captai
n did not see it, an albatross flew overhead at that moment. It was unnoticed by all except Rake.
Flora slapped Xenobia’s hand away from her face.
“You lied to me.” She tried her best to sit up, but still exhaustion racked her body. She settled onto her elbows so that at least she met the witch’s eyes, which were as cold as the floor beneath her.
“I have never,” Xenobia retorted. “I didn’t need to,” she added when Flora only glared at her dubiously.
The man, whom Flora had never seen before, still stood in the doorway, looking simultaneously puzzled and angry. “Who is this?” he asked, motioning wildly at Flora, but both she and Xenobia ignored him.
“You could be so much stronger.” Xenobia’s voice still held its knife’s edge, but Flora found it no longer cut through her as it once had.
She had trusted her.
Just as Rake had told her not to.
She had believed her.
Even as she stole her love for Alfie away.
She had listened.
Even as Evelyn was held captive by Imperial swine.
“Why?” Flora asked.
“Think of the song,” Xenobia said, and there was a note of pleading in her voice that Flora had not heard before. “The only one you know.”
“You speak nonsense.”
“It is you. The song is you, if you would just —”
But before Xenobia could finish, the man pulled her to her feet and pushed her roughly out of the way. He stood before Flora and stared down at her imposingly. She could see now that he was an Imperial officer, and it was all she could do not to sneer at him.
“Who are you?” he asked in an official tone.
Flora looked him up and down. Despite the tone of his voice, she could sense the unease that lurked, knew his story without him telling it. His story was a tale of fear. Scratch the surface of most Imperials and that’s what lay beneath. For all their bluster, that’s what they were. Afraid. That the Emperor’s influence was not so great as they believed. That they were not so safe from the colonies. That they’d have to share. That criminals would get them. That witches would. That was why they killed. That was why they burned. And this one. He was among witches and he knew it.
The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea Page 21