Bound by the Depths

by Stacey Trombley

  I purse my lips. “Then why are you going back?”

  She shrugs. “It’s where he is. Not sure where it’ll lead me, but I highly doubt it’ll end with me being his lady.”

  I don’t respond. I stare out at the water. There were times I imagined myself as the highly eligible and rich bachelor wooing Whitley, the beautiful classy lass at a ball.

  It’s a pretty picture, but less appealing in reality.

  I’d rather stand beside her on a ship, sailing into the unknown with no one to tell us what to do. Better than to be under the control of their society’s expectations.

  “Perhaps I can convince him to try piracy out.” She winks.

  “Do you love him?”

  Rosemera sucks in a breath. “I... don’t know. I’m... infatuated. That’s the word, yes?”

  I nod.

  “Can’t stop thinking about him. How I felt to be there with him. How impressed I was at him helping me despite what he knew—he wasn’t like the rest of them.”

  I’m quiet, watching the waves crest and crash against the ship.

  “Do you love her?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I whisper. I tried so hard not to. I fought with everything I had to avoid that fate and I failed. I don’t even know how it happened. When it happened. Perhaps it was the night we landed on the beach. Perhaps it was when she saved me on the ship before that. Perhaps it was the night I met her.

  I bite my lip. It doesn’t matter, really. Fate told me I’d fall for her, and despite myself—I did.

  I just know if I give her up now, I’ve lost. If I can get her back, I can still possibly win this awful game.

  “At least you’re admitting it now.”

  My lips curl into a smile and I shrug.

  “The more you fight it, the worse it gets.”

  I laugh. “Might as well stop struggling and just drown in it?”

  “Who says you must drown?”

  “Well, I mean, she is a siren.”

  “She’s Whitley. Forget drowning. Picture soaring.”

  “What a romantic you’ve become, little Rosey.” I pinch her cheek. She swats my hand away.

  “Oh hush!” she yelps at me.

  “I can’t wait to meet this beau of yours. Be sure he’s well aware if he hurts you he’ll have a pirate to answer to.”

  “Yeah, me.”

  I laugh. “He’ll have an entire crew to recon with.”

  “Poor, pathetic soul,” she says.

  Whitley

  The water of the river isn’t as fulfilling as the salt water of the ocean. It feels good on my skin, but the relief is short lived. The magic here is muted.

  The sea is not far, just past the bank of the island of Manhattan. The desire for more squirms through me, but I do find it a relief that the calling is so much weaker now. There are no pesky melodies trying to lure me into their trap.

  Here, I just am.

  I want more, but I will be content with this—for now.

  I swim, fluid, one with the water, following all the vessels as they meet on the bank far from my previous victim. His life fills me with strength, and I find myself eager to meet these bad men of New York. Men I can enjoy ripping apart.

  As I approach the docks, the smell of sweaty men fills me with hunger.

  I swim slowly, my anticipation so delicious.

  I lift my head above the water, a few yards from closest dock, and just watch. I could grab any one of these men if I wanted. Or perhaps I could stretch my muscles and try for a more ambitious approach—I could sing them all into a sleep and take several at once.

  That’s risky, but the temptation is strong...

  I could have them all.

  No, not these men. Wait for the right men.

  I sigh and gather my patience, watching as a predator spying on her prey. No one notices me, hidden in the marsh. They heave boxes onto small cargo ships and push off rowed vessels. Those would be easy—so very, very easy to take. Three men row out into the open water, all alone.

  It’s like they’re begging me to take them.

  They want to swim with me, I sigh to myself.

  They want me to sing them to sleep. An eternal, beautiful sleep. Oh, they will love me in their last moments.

  And then they will fear me.

  I turn to the alley across from the wagon trail and notice a man slinking from the shadows. He wears a leather vest and heavy boots, beard thick and long. On his upper arm is a red tattoo.

  I blink as I stare at the marking. I know that symbol. Somewhere inside of me, I remember it.

  An image rocks through me. It was not this man, but another wearing the same symbol seared into his skin. Many of them. They all had the same dark eyes, eager for violence. For pain.

  They wanted to hurt me.

  My father pulled us from our home to flee from those men. We ran through the shadowed alleys, while his warnings flooded my panicked mind. Warnings of all the terrible things those men would do to us if we were caught. As so we boarded a ship with all the possessions we were able to gather and left the city.

  I remember the fear I felt. The helplessness. The confusion.

  I don’t ever want to feel that again. If I were to swim away, letting this man live his life, I’d be an accomplice to his future violence. I can’t have that, can I? Not when I know I could stop it here and now.

  I drift forward, watching him talk with a man at the docks while looking over his shoulder periodically. I don’t want someone else to fear because of the mob. But oh, do I want them to fear.

  I want to let that terror and helplessness become their very being. I won’t sing to them, though. No, I don’t want to mute their panic, or give them the pleasure of desire before they die. That would be too kind for such terrible, cruel men.

  No, they will only fear me.

  I slink from the water and rush into the brush near the buildings and then into the dark alleys. The sun is dipping low in the sky, which means I’ll be able to use the shadows and darkness to my advantage.

  My skin aches, unwelcome in the cold air. But I can manage to part from the water for this. The pain and discomfort will be worth it.

  Bluff

  My apprentice—Joey, I finally learned—made an impressively delicious roasted chicken for the captain and “the lady.” And I, the cook, was given all of the credit, though I hadn’t lifted a finger.

  “You’ve out done yourself, Dodge,” the captain says the next morning.

  I shrug. “’Twas only chicken.”

  “Don’t be silly,” he says with a pat on the shoulder. “The taste was impeccable. She was very impressed.”

  He wipes a line of sweat from his brow as he paces back and forth.

  “Nervous, were ya?” I smile

  “Of course! This might be the next lady of the house, and if she likes me— us!— it could change everything for our prospects.”

  “The next lady? It’s really that serious?” I ask.

  “From the way the lad spoke of her in his letter? Yes. I rather think it’s possible.”

  I cup my jaw. Perhaps Rosemera was underexaggerating this relationship. Was she also underexaggerating her potential to stay in New York as a lady? Love is a powerful thing.

  An unsettling feeling presses down on my chest. Though my best friend since childhood has true happiness within her reach—Rosemera as prim and proper princess would be such a waste of talent. A waste of boldness and bravery and strength, and cunning. She was born to be a pirate. An adventurer. A leader.

  The thought of losing that, well it’s worth mourning. Though of course I’d support her no matter her choice.

  “So I’m going to need you to do it again,” the captain tells me. “Pull out a miracle with our meager supplies and I’ll reward you greatly.”

  I suck in a breath. “What about the boy? Joey. He’s been a tremendous help.”

  The captain rolls his eyes. “Easily replaceable. You know that.”

  I chew the insid
e of my cheek. “He was a great help with last night’s meal,” I say. His appreciation is highly valuable in my situation, but I hate when old drunks take credit for something a younger and more impassioned person achieves.

  “And I’m sure the apprentice we pick up in the city will be even more of a help.”

  “A new apprentice?”

  He nods. “We talked about this, Dodge,” The captain stops to stare. “You really must cut back on the drinking.”

  “I cook better drunk,” I mumble, holding back a laugh at the ridiculous thought. And yet the captain’s smile tells me I’m right in my hunch that it was something Dodge would have said.

  “No, you really don’t.”

  An idea pops into my mind. He won’t appreciate Joey for his talent, but perhaps there’s a way to use this character I’m playing to showcase how talented the boy is.

  “We’re making good time, by the way. I suspect we’ll dock before sundown tomorrow. Last night to impress the lady.”

  “Noted. I won’t let you down, cap.” I wink, knowing full well that’s exactly what I plan to do.

  THE WORLD SPINS. I’M shoved into a chair, and cold water shocks my system.

  “Heyyyyy!” I slur. “That’s... unneceessssary.” I considered pretending to get drunk to complete my plan for the evening, but then figured—why not? Rosemera will be busy, ruined dinner or not. So I might as well pass the night away in some ridiculous fashion. At least it’ll get my mind off of Whitley and the distant humming I keep hearing beneath the surface.

  They’re calling to her, deep in the oceans, anywhere they can reach. I don’t know if they’re following me or just searching the whole ocean all at once.

  Either way, I’m the only one that can hear it, and it’s unnerving. Under the haze of alcohol, the sound dims.

  “It’s very necessary, you fool!” A voice hollers at me, sending a rather discomforting throb through my head. “How could you get drunk today of all days? Tomorrow, you could drown yourself in rum it wouldn’t matter. But tonight?”

  I look around, blinking my surroundings into focus. Or attempting to, at least. I’m in the mess hall. A few other sailors are watching, but pretending not to, as the captain reams me out. I almost laugh. Oh, wait, I do laugh.

  The chuckles bounce my chubby belly, which makes me laugh even more. I fall from the chair, barely managing to catch myself before my face plants on the wooden planks.

  “You are in no state to cook, Dodge! What are you expecting me to do now? Feed her gruel?”

  I roll my eyes. “Joey will make you salted ham and vegetables. He’s already working on it.” I laugh again, knowing he’s going to be shocked at how good it tastes. “It. Will. Be. Fine.”

  Uptight son of bitch. Hopefully I managed not to say that aloud. I giggle again.

  “The hell kind of chef are you? Pushing off your most important meals on a child so you can get drunk?”

  “It’s delegating. That’s leading,” I push a few strands of straggly hair from my face. Dodge’s combover is not working for him. “You taught me that, innit ya?”

  I spit out in laughter at the expression he gives me. Clenched jaw, eyes popping out of his head.

  “You’ll be finding new employment when we reach port,” he tells me.

  My laugher drowns out his receding footsteps. I suppose that means you’ll be in the market for a new chef. I happen to know just the guy.

  I HEAD UP TO THE MAIN deck a few hours later for a bit of fresh air and to avoid the judging gazes of the sailors around me. A merchant ship is not so different from a pirate ship in many ways. In others, it’s glaringly obvious.

  Merchant ships are much more tolerant of self-righteous folk. The kind who expect you to live up to certain life standards. Like not getting drunk on the job.

  The dinner has already started, so the upper deck will be quiet in comparison to the lower decks. And I figure I may be able to get a hint of a reaction as the captain tastes his meal.

  I stumble from the stairwell. Holding my immense weight up with Dodge’s weak arms is a challenge. I draw in a long breath of fresh salty air, but the moment I look up at the sky I realize something is off.

  Something isn’t right.

  Deep dark clouds hover over us. There is a greenish haze in the waters around us.

  Shit.

  I listen for the song— the melodies that travel through the water seeping up into the wind. But I don’t hear an attack song. No warnings. Just the same discordant screeches of sirens calling to other sirens.

  The sound churns my stomach, and I heave the contents of my stomach over the railing of the ship into the sparkling green waters.

  These kinds of sailors may or may not believe in the legends. They may not know the signs. Then again, this isn’t a very typical attack. This is something else.

  Should I warn them? Would they believe the thoroughly and obviously intoxicated chef?

  “OY!” the shout resounds against the sails. “Black sails ahoy!”

  I whip my head around. Black sails can only mean one thing.

  A bell clinks, ringing through the cool air. My mind is still hazy, but panic sobers me up in an instant.

  “Pirates!” the shouts begin. A sailor rushes past me to holler down into the hold. “Pirates!”

  In only moments, the deck is swarming with fearful sailors as they rush to prepare to defend their vessel, and I push back against the railing, out of the way.

  I tap my fingers against my thigh nervously, thinking this through. There are very few ships who use actual black sails. Only one comes to mind at the moment.

  A ship that I happened to witness sinking into the sea.

  The green haze of the waters below is another clue I can’t ignore.

  “It’s The Revenge,” I whisper under my breath. More accurately, it’s Captain Stede. Since Whitley and I tore his last ship to bits just weeks ago, it can’t be same ship, but that matters very little.

  The captain rushes out onto the deck. “Stay inside, my lady,” he says before slamming the door shut and placing a wooden board over the handle, locking her in. Fool.

  Even though she might be better equipped to protect me during the raid than I her—I still can’t fight the urge.

  I rush up to the door and knock the board aside. The captain is too distracted. No one even bothers to consider what I’m doing alone with the lady as I slip inside. The door inches open, and I push my massive belly through the opening, pulling it quickly closed behind me. “You alone?” I ask to be sure. She nods, and for the first time in two days, I shift back to my true form. I shake off the disgusting feeling of Dodge’s pudge. Feels good to be me.

  “Ugh, Bluff. You smell awful.”

  I shrug. “I have a habit of getting intoxicated at inopportune times.”

  She smiles. “Who doesn’t?”

  “But in my defense, I’m not sure there’s ever an opportune time in my life.”

  She chuckles, but her face falls straight much too quickly. “So what’s happening? I heard pirates.”

  “I think it’s Stede,” I say.

  Her eyes grow wide.

  “His crew was pretty decimated last I saw. Perhaps we can fight them off.” Actually, his crew was all but exterminated. I’m almost surprised he himself survived. But, given his allies, I suppose it isn’t too hard to image a few survived. They must have obtained a new ship and added more crew.

  Rosemera’s expression tells me she’s not so sure about that. Stede has never lost a battle. Not with a pirate ship, not against a merchant ship. No one but Whitley and me. And really it was mostly Whitley. Unfortunately, I don’t have her power to aide me this time.

  “What do we do? Do I suit up and help? Better to survive than keep this ruse up, right?” She winces, and I know the thought of giving up her chance to be with Robert is painful.

  “No, not yet. If you must fight, we’ll fight. But keep the dress on. Find a weapon and hide it. We’ll see if it comes to that
.”

  She bites her lip, shoulders still tense. “Should we jump ship? We can swim to shore while they attack?” We are sailing up the coast, meaning we are never more than a few miles off shore. That’s a long swim, but the likelihood of surviving the swim may be better than the likelihood of surviving a pirate raid.

  I shake my head slowly. “The sirens are surrounding us as well.”

  Her face goes pale. Fear most definitely doesn’t become her, but I know she’s never been a fan of sirens. I don’t blame her in the slightest.

  “I’ll fight. You stay here. If they make it this far, you fight too.”

  “I don’t like letting boys do the fighting for me.”

  “I know, but I’m not convinced we should give this plan up just yet. This is more important.” My heart aches for her. I’m not convinced my own love life is going to work out to anything other than tragedy but perhaps hers can. High-society lady or not. That’s her choice to make. I want her to have the opportunity it make it.

  “Trust me,” I tell her, squeezing her upper arm.

  Then I form back into my pudgy chef and rush from the room, towards the coming battle.

  Whitley

  Sharp, uneven gravel sends pain shooting through my bare feet as I slip through the shadows between buildings. My teeth chatter, limbs trembling from the cold. I’m still dripping wet.

  The bearded man carries a large bag over his shoulder and keeps checking behind him—either out of simple paranoia or because he can sense me.

  Could be either. Could be both. If the man has any instincts at all, he should feel the tingle on that back of his neck that tells him death is coming. A song rumbles in my chest, just beneath the surface. I long to suck the life from him.

  But I am seeking bigger fish... and he will lead me right to them.

  I grit my teeth through the pain, my feet sliced open on jagged rocks. I keep moving silently through the dark streets, ignoring the shiver in bones.

  Finally, the man slips into a small opening in a brick building. I stop in case there is a lookout. I could take them out easily, of course, but then they’d know to expect me. They’d be on alert.