Unhooked (9 page)

The Captain's face goes tight, and I know I've hit a nerve. “Aye. He's the biggest lie of all.” He turns away from me then, dismissing me with a wave. “Enjoy your stay with us, Gwendolyn. While it lasts.”

“But—”

The Captain's no longer listening. He gives the waiting boys a terse nod.

“Come on, then,” the boy with the tattoos says, taking me so roughly by the arm, I yelp. He's stockier than Will, with hair that is the definition of the color brown and eyes that don't seem to see me.

“Gently, Devin,” the Captain scolds. “There's no need to be rough.”

The large boy's shoulders slump at the reprimand, but he doesn't loosen his hold on my arm. As he and Will escort me back down to the main deck and across to the stairway leading below, I don't meet the eyes of any of the boys who have again gone silent and still to watch our procession.

By now the sky has darkened from the bruised purple. The island is getting more difficult to make out. It's visible only as an empty space in the swath of diamond stars scattered across the velvet night. As Devin pushes me toward the stairs that lead belowdecks, I take one last look at the open sky and notice the double moons hanging overhead.

I understand then just how far I've come, and I wonder if I'll ever be able to find a way back.

After the sea, there was the march. And when they arrived, finally, through a maze of mud and unsteady planks, they found a land coated in mud. The boy soon grew to hate his new home under the ground—the trenches carved into the land like veins. He wondered where his brother was, whether they shared the same mud or slept under the same sky. But still he was not afraid. That would come later, when there was nothing that could be done. . . .

T
HEY DEPOSIT ME INTO A tiny cabin with a narrow bunk built right into the wall, but I don't have any intention of sleeping. I lie there instead, listening to the ship, until far into the night. At some point, long after the footfalls have gone silent, a wailing cry breaks the stillness of the night. I sit up, trying to figure out where the sound is coming from and what could be causing it, but in the end, I can't tell if it's a man or a monster that makes those terrible screams.

Eventually exhaustion takes over, and the next thing I know, I'm surfacing from a dreamless sleep. At first I'm completely disoriented. The room is unfamiliar, and when I try the door, it's locked. Through the slit that serves as a window, I can barely make out the sea, and from the slant of the light, I can tell it's already afternoon.

Tentatively, I take stock of my situation. My body still aches from the ordeal I've been through, but my eyes aren't so swollen, and my headache is nearly gone. The wound on my leg looks better too. It's red and angry, but at least it's starting to heal.

I'm still checking the wound when I hear a rustling in the corridor. Curious, I test the handle and discover that the door's unlocked. I ease it open and find a squat toad of a boy with hair as ruddy as the freckles across his cheeks.

He hands me a plate of lumpy biscuits as he blocks the door with his body. “Sorry, mum, but you're to stay in the cabin,” he proclaims with a bashfulness that doesn't match the responsibility of his post. “Captain's orders,” he says before he gently closes the door in my face.

I spend the next four days trapped in that cabin while an odd parade of boys brings me food. Most of the boys sport the same dark tattoos as Devin. I can't tell exactly what they're for, though—some sort of loyalty to the Captain? Some mark of rank?

Each night, I lie awake for as long as I can, listening to the sounds of the sleeping ship, and each evening, long after the ship has gone silent, the same wailing cry breaks the stillness of the night.

By the fourth morning, I'm at my breaking point. The muscles in my legs twitch with the need to move more than the four paces that make up the length of my quarters. So when the soft-looking, freckle-faced boy is the one who brings me my breakfast of lumpy biscuits, I know he's my best chance to escape.

“Breakfast, mum.” He doesn't meet my eyes as he waits for me to take the plate.

I hesitate, wanting to hold him off while I consider my options. “What's your name?”

His eyes widen a bit, as though I've surprised him by speaking. Slowly he raises them to meet mine. They're soft eyes. Young eyes. “Owen, mum,” he says, pushing the plate toward me again.

“Owen,” I say, repeating his name as I stand. He shifts nervously when I don't immediately take his offering. “Where are your parents, Owen?” I ask, finally inching closer to take a biscuit from the plate.

Confusion flashes across his face as he backs toward the door. “I have other duties, mum.” His eyes dart away from me as he speaks. “I best be getting back to them,” he says with a curt nod before he eases himself out of the cabin. But he's so nervous and flustered, he doesn't notice the door hitting my toe instead of latching securely.

I wait a few minutes, and when I'm sure no one's around, I ease myself into the narrow corridor. The ship creaks and hums with the normal noise of the day, and once I know the way is clear, I don't hesitate to make my way up the short flight of steps to the deck above.

The sun is low on the horizon, and all around me, the ship is bustling with activity. No one seems to notice that I've managed to escape. The few boys who glance at me look away just as quickly, as though they don't care. Or maybe as though they don't even recognize me from the day before.

“Well, that was easy enough,” I say to myself, trying not to worry that it was maybe
too
easy. I'll take what I can get. Not that I have any idea what to do next—I'm still on a ship. I'm still far out to sea, and they're all still armed.

So maybe I should find myself a weapon.

I find a cap sitting on a barrel and pull the hat over my short hair. Trying to blend in, I scour the deck for some boy careless enough to have left his weapon unwatched. But before I find one, I catch a glimpse of the Captain's dark head near the center of the ship. Hiding behind one of the crates, I watch for a moment as he shows one of the younger sailors how to properly lunge at someone with a dagger.

He looks so at ease helping the child. Considering how violent the lesson is, the Captain's face is strangely relaxed, happy even. When the small boy lunges correctly and manages not to tumble over, the Captain's face splits into a wide and sincere grin. “Well done, Davey.” He laughs as he ruffles the boy's shaggy hair before sending him off to practice on his own.

But before the next boy can step forward for his turn, a hushed murmur falls across the deck. Thinking someone has seen me, I duck lower. After a moment, though, I understand it's not me that has drawn their attention. No one is even looking my way, because every one of the boys has turned toward the back of the ship. The deck quickly fills with their uneasy whispers.

When I turn to look in the direction the crew is all watching, I see that a girl with long blond hair is standing as regal as a queen on the upper deck directly above me. Her flesh-colored pants sit low on her hips and fit her like a second skin. They look like they're made of poorly cured leather, and they're covered in ragged seams that crisscross her narrow thighs like a spider web. She's also wearing a shaggy fur vest dyed the color of blood. It's not the color of fresh, bright blood, but the rusty red of blood that's gone thick and dark.

As I study her, I realize why the boys are so unsettled by her presence: beneath the vest, her bare skin is a pale alabaster and is covered in a weave of opalescent scales. The scales look like an intricate tattoo, only they have the iridescent shine of a dragonfly's wings. Even stranger, the scales seem to be shifting, moving. The individual scales melt into themselves and re-form into new shapes with an undulating rhythm that makes the very surface of her skin look alive. It reminds me of the island and the way the jungles shivered with life.

One thing is excruciatingly clear—there is no way the blonde can be human, and I can't help but wonder if she, too, is Fey.

But there is something else about her . . . something familiar.

I duck again as the Captain stalks toward the stairs. “Bloody hell,” he mutters as he passes a few inches from my hiding spot, up to where the strange girl waits for him. Will is right behind him.

“Fiona,” he calls to her as he mounts the steps. “What am I owing to the pleasure of this unexpected visit?” He doesn't sound at all happy to see her.

I glance up at the blonde.
Fiona.
The name strangely enough suits her—beautiful and exotic, just like she is
. Not just beautiful,
I think as my skin prickles in warning.
Dangerous.

Her voice is low, but the ship is so silent, it's easy to hear her response. “Save your charm for your crew, Rowan. Come. We must speak.” She doesn't wait for him to follow her to his cabin.

The Captain's jaw goes tight. He hesitates only a moment before he turns around and eyes the ship full of still and silent boys. “As you were!” he roars, and the boys snap back to their previous activities. Then he follows Fiona through the heavy door.

Quietly, I emerge from my hiding spot, bracing myself for an attack, but not a single one of the boys bothers with me. I make my way as quickly as I can toward the rear of the ship and hurry up the steps.

The Captain's door isn't completely closed, and as I edge closer to the opening, I can hear tense voices coming from inside.

“I must be absolutely sure. If I'm to do what you're suggesting, I need proof,” the Captain says in his soft, lilting voice.

“You
do
want to end Him, don't you?” a female voice that must be Fiona's buzzes in reply.

“Of course. As do you. In fact, I think you may be wanting it a bit more, which is why I'll require some assurance that this isn't a fool's mission.”

“You've wasted too much time already, boy,” Fiona says, her voice like an angry hornet's nest. “If he takes the girl's life, he may well be unbeatable. Think on that as you hesitate.” I hear a long, threatening hiss, and then a flash of light comes from within, followed quickly by a bark of surprise from Will.

“Bleeding hell,” the Captain growls. “I hate when she does that.”

“The flashing or the demanding?” Will asks.

“Both,” the Captain says simply.

After a moment of silence, Will speaks again. “Do you trust her?”

There's a hesitation before the Captain speaks. “No. But we've not much choice. I've seen your arm, Will. I know well enough how you've been trying to hide the mark there, and I know as well that your time is running out far too quickly. For many of the others, too.”

“But iffen she's wrong . . . Iffen we attack Himself and it doesn't work, or if the girl's not what she thinks, it could be the end of us.”

“I'll not disagree, but if we're to hesitate and Fiona's right, death might be the best we can hope for,” the Captain tells him.

A moment's pause settles over the conversation before Will speaks again. “Your mind's made up, then?”

Another long, tense silence follows, and I'm not sure what's happening. I'm about to retreat, when the door suddenly clatters open, surprising me enough that I fall back onto the deck. I look up to see the two standing over me, looking every bit as surly and irritated as the pirates they are.

“How much do you think she heard?” Will asks.

The Captain's face is impassive. “She'll have heard enough, I'm sure.” He pins me again with his sharp glare. “Gwendolyn,” he says pleasantly. “Perhaps you'd like to join me inside for a bit of a chat?”

It is pretty much the last thing I want, but he already is hoisting me up from the ground with that steel grip of his. “And, Will?” he calls over his shoulder as he pushes me through the door.

“Yes, Cap'n?”

“We're not to be disturbed.”

When the call to “Stand To!” was passed like a grenade through their lines, the boy stood with the rest, as a good soldier does. They stood and stood and, eventually, began a verse to pass the time. But they never finished it, for another sound broke in and stilled them. . . .

T
HE CAPTAIN DRAGS ME INTO his quarters, and the sounds of the ship beyond disappear when he slams the door shut behind us. “Me mother taught me it's rude to lend your ears where they've not been asked for. I'm surprised yours didn't teach you the same,” he says, pulling me across the cabin.

“I didn't mean—”

“Of course you did,” he snaps as he deposits me into one of the barrel-shaped chairs to punctuate his point. “I would think that after I pulled your scrawny arse out of the sea, you'd at least owe me a bit of honesty.”

A wild laugh escapes from my chest. I'm not sure if it's because I'm still in shock from being discovered or from the absurdity of what the Captain's just said, but his demand has shaken loose something wild and reckless inside me. “Honesty?” I huff, my voice cracking with a kind of hysterical disbelief. “You think I owe you
honesty
?”

The Captain's voice is low, almost pleasant when he speaks. “Have I not fed you and protected you? Have any of mine raised a hand to harm you?” He shakes his head. “No. And that is by my order alone.” His voice has gone darker now, and the once-spacious quarters feel suddenly smaller, the air suddenly ten degrees warmer. “Are you not still on my ship? Are you not still
alive
despite your seeming incapacity for self-preservation?”

I suppose I should be intimidated. I probably should be shrinking back in the chair, begging for my life, but I am too crazed from being locked up, alone for days in a tiny cell, with nothing but my wild thoughts for company. I'm too angry about once again feeling cornered and helpless. “Am I the girl?” I ask instead.