Bound by the Depths

by Stacey Trombley

  I like to take my prey by surprise.

  I want to kill them all. Every man involved in the New York City mob will meet my revenge—from the top to the bottom. No one knows who runs the mob, but I know there are hidden men at the top, so high I can’t even reach them. Untouchables.

  Those men won’t be inside this building, I realize, as I look around at the uneven walls and dirt-covered ground. Only the slum dogs spend regular time in abandoned warehouses.

  There are several layers of lieutenants and henchman beneath those important men. Those important men communicate through several layers. Its protection to ensure a retribution attack, or a police raid would touch them.

  Tonight will be like that. Nothing overly out of the ordinary. The untouchable men will simply move on to new lowlifes that will gladly do their business. These men are expendable.

  But it won’t end with tonight. This is just the beginning. I will dig my way up so that I can slaughter the men truly responsible for the pain in my life.

  Men who used me. Men who only saw me as a pretty face, who valued only my beauty and what’s between my legs. Men who saw my father’s addiction and used it for their own gain. They buried him deeper until they knew he couldn’t pay, just so they could use him as an example.

  We would probably be dead in a ditch, if they had their way.

  Well, our positions are reversed now. It’s only a matter of how many lifeless bodies I can toss into the ditch before the night is through.

  A man sticks his head out into the alley, the tin over the opening squealing. I smile, licking my fangs. I am ready for a game.

  Let the count begin.

  Bluff

  The issue with a ship battle is that you have a lot of prep time. Too much. You know they’re coming. They’re going to attack. And it still takes hours for them to reach you.

  It’s maddening.

  We’re sailing forward as quickly as possible just on the off chance we can outrun them or they change their minds. This just delays the inevitable.

  Every member of the crew is prepared for battle, most standing on the deck, muskets in hand and cannons at the ready. There are a few in the sails, one in the crow’s nest, and a handful hiding below deck. Most likely Dodge would be one of those—hiding from the battle— but there’s no chance I won’t fight. Not in this one. Not when it’s likely me they’re after to begin with.

  Worst case, I’ll change my skin into someone else once the fighting starts, into a generic sailor and hope everyone is too busy to notice they have no idea who this lad is.

  If worse comes to worse, I’ll change into my go-to fighting form—Mr. Jib. He’s the largest man I’ve ever met, strong enough to smash a man’s head in with his bare hands. He’s killed a handful of Stede’s crew over the years, and they never got their revenge. He died of tuberculosis a few years ago.

  But that’ll be a last resort. He’s a good fighter, and a useful form, but they’ll know who I am immediately. I’d like to keep my identity a secret if at all possible.

  We watch the ship in the distance growing larger. Drawing closer.

  It’s quiet on deck. Just the rush of the waves lapping against the deck. The heavy breathing of a few of the men as we watch. And wait.

  “Which crew is it?” a young sailor asks, holding a shaking sword in both hands. “Do you think we have a chance?”

  “Only a few ships with black sails, lad,” a tall sailor tells him. “None of them are pirates I want to face.”

  In reality there are only a handful of pirate ships left in the part of the world period. Travel to the other end, near the India ocean, and you’ll find a whole pirate armada, run by Rosemera’s idol—Ching Shih.

  Even over there black sails aren’t common. There’s only one other ship I know of with black sails, but the Black Fleece hasn’t been seen on open waters in near a decade. Mostly likely it ran aground in West Africa at some point. Captain Thomas was rather bold with his docking options.

  Then there’s The Revenge.

  “Seems to me we don’t have much a choice,” another sailor says with a quiet voice as the ship draws closer.

  “It doesn’t matter who it is,” I say, “There’s always a chance.”

  A few snickers echo around me. “Coming from the fat chef who’s never held a sword a day in his life.”

  “Yeah, where’d that bravery come from, chubs?”

  I roll my eyes and keep my focus. “If you’ve already given up you might as well jump ship. Better luck amongst the sharks and sirens than against a crew you’re too afraid to fight.”

  “Oh, we’re gonna fight,” says the first mate, a redhead with an Irish accent, his head held high.

  “Good. Then believe you can win. That’s the only chance you’ll have.”

  The young boy examines my face. I wonder if he knew Dodge much, if he thinks I’ve gone crazy or if he just thinks he missed the amazing bravery hidden beneath the deck, slaving over spices and boiling oils.

  It’s silent again for a while, and I feel sorry for Rosemera, alone in the captain’s quarters just waiting, having no idea what’s happening or when the battle will begin. Windows have a rather limited view on a vessel like this.

  The pirate ship grows bigger and bigger. I study the frame, the size, the shape. It’s certainly not a vessel I’ve seen before. Large and sleek, cannons along the edges. A statue of a siren, blue and glistening, acts as the figurehead, leading the way.

  “It’s Stede,” I say under my breath.

  “Can’t be. That’s not The Revenge. His ship is a sloop, I dunno what that thing is but it’s not that.”

  I swallow. “Trust me.”

  “Is that a siren?” the young boy whispers “A real one?”

  The scales glisten and shine, the colors realistic enough.

  “No,” I tell him. “But the point is dangerous enough. Rumor has it, those black sails were a siren’s gift.”

  “Malarkey. Sirens in’t real,” the first mate says.

  “Sure they’re not.”

  “So he’s allied with them?” the boy says, slipping close to me, ignoring the first mate.

  I don’t answer. No point. I want these men to be brave and smart, but not fearful.

  “Remember what I said before? Doesn’t matter who we’re fighting. We can win.”

  His lip trembles, but he nods his head.

  Within minutes, the ship is close enough to see the crew. Captain Stede stands tall at the bow, watching us with stony eyes. He has long blond hair and dark red marks mar his face and arms. He has a black bandage covering one eye.

  That’s new. Scars from his battle against us.

  I smile, somewhat proud, somewhat terrified of the added desire for vengeance those marks will pour into his veins. Power or not, he’s going to want Whitley to pay.

  For the first time, I’m relieved she’s not here with me. My stomach aches at that thought, true as it is.

  “At the ready!” the captain shouts. The men around me lift their weapons, matches are set to strike, hands are cupped and ready. The ship glides up next to us. Closer. Closer.

  Even my heart is pounding. Fire, now! I think. Even though I know the battle that will matter most will be on the ship.

  “Fire!” he shouts.

  The fuses are lit.

  Fuses that are much too long. We wait. And wait.

  Finally the blast rings out, shaking the deck. The muskets shoot, aiming at the other ship’s cannon operators. Too late. They return fire, splintering wood and sending several sailors to the ground.

  The broadside only hits the railing, though. They’re not aiming at the bow. They’re not looking to sink us.

  Another few shots ring out, fire is scattered here and there, and then several pirates swing from their sails over onto our deck. Several more are in the water, climbing up the side of the ship like damn monkeys.

  Finally, time for a real fight.

  Whitley

  My fingers press ov
er the mobster’s mouth to muffle his screams as my teeth slice into this throat. His life seeps into mine. Terror slithers down into my limbs, filling me.

  His body drops to the floor. One.

  I slip in through the tin door. It clanks behind me.

  “Clear?” someone calls through the darkness.

  I creep towards the sound until the silhouette comes into view. The next mobster is dead on the floor, his life filling me with euphoria in an instant.

  Two.

  Who’s next?

  I follow a series of whispering voices to another door. Behind it there are several men chattering. Perhaps a woman or two.

  I stop, realizing there is a large crowd in the next room. There are too many to make it a surprise attack, so this time I go for a different option. I press my forehead to the crack in the door where light peaks through and I take in a few calming breaths.

  Then I sing.

  The melody fills the air around me, the magic muted—I don’t want them completely hypnotized before they die. That would be too easy.

  At first, there is sudden silence. Voices entirely hushed. Then the screeching of chairs. Now it’s time to act. How many more lives can I steal before this is over? I wonder.

  I shove the door open, slamming against the wall dramatically. Blood drips from my mouth, and I smile.

  Terror fills their eyes.

  “Do you know who I am?” I ask in a sing-song voice. They don’t seem to care. Three men approach me with chests pushed out, ready to kill and ask questions later.

  There is one man in the crowd that I recognize. Mr. Collins is the name that pops into my mind. He met with my father on more than one occasion. Business meetings, he called them.

  I sing again, cool and calm; one clear note with one instruction.

  Be still.

  They obey, though I realize quickly that without the sea on my side, my power isn’t quite as strong as it could be.

  I let the moment sit, just playing with them. I want to drag them below the surface, let them drown slowly. But there is no water here. I must be creative.

  I leap straight for Mr. Colins, bypassing the only woman in the crowd and three other men who are closer. Mr. Colin’s eyes grow wide as my claws slice into his face. He falls to the ground, cowering, but I decide in the last second that I don’t want it to happen that quickly.

  I’ll let the others die quickly and allow him to watch.

  Everyone reacts then, my spell broken. Screams fill the room. More than one set of hands grabs onto my shoulders. I rip into every piece of flesh that touches me, tossing them to the side, ripping jugulars with my teeth, digging into stomachs with my claws. Within moments, there are several lifeless bodies around me. Several more have fled.

  A massive boom rings out— the shot of a gun ripping through the room towards me.

  I swallow as more blood flows over my blue dress.

  The flesh of my shoulder is in pieces. I look to Mr. Colins, who holds a shaking gun.

  He drops it and flees from the room as I drop to my knees in a puddle of my own blood.

  Bluff

  The blade flies through the air, blocked by the first mate’s musket, saving the life of one of his sailors.

  More pirates leap aboard, and I throw my body into the fight. My flimsy limbs prove of little use, though. My mind is sharp and movements fast enough to help at least a little. I leap between Umber, a skinny one-eyed pirate known for his affinity for torture, and the young sailor boy who asked me all those questions. Wish I knew the lad’s name.

  Steel rings out, vibrating through my bones as our blades connect. He curls his lip, disappointed he didn’t hit his target—he would have, without my involvement.

  I push the boy aside, shove Umber back, grabbing a dagger from my waist belt and stabbing it under his jaw.

  His eyes grow big, but I don’t wait to hear the sounds of his death. Those are never things I enjoy. I move on to the next.

  There are nearly a dozen pirates aboard now. They’ll overrun us quickly at this rate.

  I spin when I hear a familiar grunt. Rosemera is at the helm, still in her beautiful beaded gown, sword at the ready. Perhaps she noticed the helplessness of the situation. Or perhaps she was simply too impatient to wait it out.

  “No!” the captain roars, sprinting up to meet her, apparently thinking she’ll need protection. I battle another pirate, one I’ve never seen before. Few crew members could have survived the sinking of The Revenge, so it’s unsurprising that Stede would have round up an entirely new crew.

  I slice his throat, then move to the next, refusing to meet his eye. I don’t like to know the life I’m taking. I don’t ever want to watch the soul release from the body, and know it’s my fault.

  I do what I must, but I’ll never enjoy it.

  Well, except perhaps Stede. I would enjoy watching him die.

  I allow the battle to push me backwards, towards the helm. I won’t give up the fight to join Rosemera, but I don’t want to be separated from her either.

  I fight another pirate, stepping backwards up the stairs to the helm, where the captain stands between Rosemera and three pirates, his sword pointed at them but not moving.

  “Look at how pretty the little Rosey is all dolled up,” a long haired pirate say. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t want to give up her character as a high society broad. The tobacco ship captain can’t know she’s a pirate or her chances with Robert will be over before they begin.

  I shove my foot into the pirate in front of me and turn to aid them. Before I reach them, the pirates act, knocking the captain to the side easily. Rose doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t consider the possibility of allowing the captain to be killed—which would keep her secret much easier—she leaps over him, sword flying, glinting, and spinning. It slices through one pirate’s throat. She jams her elbow into the next’s jaw and then into the stomach of the third.

  I reach her just in time to kick the remaining live pirate the rest of the way to the deck, and shove my sword into his chest.

  The captain sputters in disbelief. Rosemera meets my eye.

  “S’pose we’re going to have some explaining to do,” I tell her.

  She looks down at the main deck where the few remaining sailors are being cornered, chains at the ready. Stede crosses the rocky plank onto the ship deck.

  “I’m not sure it’s going to matter,” she tells me. “I think we lost this battle.”

  “Surrender!” he shouts to the crew. “Or your lives are forfeit.”

  Whitley

  Pain shoots through my every limb and sears through every thought. My vision blurs. My own sticky blood warms my cold skin, but my hands shake nonetheless.

  For several moments I don’t even know where I am.

  I want to lash out, I want to kill everything within reach, until I realize everything within reach is already dead. Anyone who avoided my wrath has fled.

  My chest heaves, sucking in desperate breaths, and I look to the wound in my shoulder.

  “Daddy,” I whisper, knowing immediately that he’s not here. That he’s never been. Never will be. I’m on my own.

  I pull my body up, and back out into the cold night. I follow the trail of my own scent, dragging my half limp body back the way I came. I need the water. Need the ocean. That’s my parent now. It will heal me, I’m sure of it.

  My mind spins, but determination drives me forward. I have more to accomplish. I won’t give up yet.

  Finally, I reach the water and fall face first into the cool and calming liquid. It envelopes my whole body. The pain recedes, for a moment. The stinging returns directly in the wound only. Right next to my shoulder, several inches from my heart.

  I swim deeper down to the sooty bottom of the river, where I let my body go limp, drifting in the water. Blood billows out of my shoulder and into the water, and I close my eyes.

  A SWEET MELODY CLOUDS my dreams. Drifting in and out. Crashing against my soul like the crash of the wav
es. A gentle pull. A rush and jostle as it crests against me.

  I groan and open my eyes.

  I don’t know how long I lay at the bottom of the river. Pebbles and sediment soil my dress, making it darker. Brown and splotchy, dark where my blood soaked through.

  My shoulder is stiff, but only painful when I move it.

  The song drifts closer, and this time, my heart throbs in panic.

  Run, the voice inside me screams. Don’t let them catch you.

  I want to stay in the water, let it continue to heal me, but whatever is coming—well I don’t want to find out why the voice in my head fears it so much.

  I swim back up to the surface, letting my arm remain limp at my side.

  I reach the docks, and my whole body is heavy as I try to pull myself up onto dry ground. I’m not ready. I’m not strong enough.

  But soon there are figures swimming towards me, their voices calling. Tugging me. I tear myself from the water, like I’m ripping an organ from my body. There is no one around now. The moon is high in the sky. The cool air is still. Silent.

  But the water is not silent.

  The murmurs beneath the surface are waiting for me.

  Come to me.

  Join us.

  We’ll kill for you.

  I flee from the voices, tripping and stumbling as I keep moving further into the city.

  I came here for vengeance, and I’ve only just started. Only just tasted the glory of death, of deserved pain. I want more.

  But first, I need to rest. First I need to heal. If I can’t do that in the waters, I’ll need somewhere else to go.

  The sea isn’t my only home. This place was once my home.

  The feelings are vague, buried beneath so much more. But I know there are people I trust here. Friends. I follow the feeling, follow the memory. My steps are slow, dragging.

  I don’t know how long I walk like this, but I look up at the massive stone building in front of me. A lantern is lit inside the window. The wooden door is double my height.