Siren Ch. 08

"So many of you have escaped the cruelty of the officers in the Navy, who whipped and beat and kept you in squalor. Have you not come this far to become your own men, who would answer to no lord or king?"

An affirmative cry went up from many of the men, but not all of them.

"Don't listen to her!" Abbott screamed. "She is bewitching you again! She will be the death of us all!"

She did not look back at her accuser, but kept her gaze on the men she had sung to, listened to and entertained for all these long weeks. She knew them, but they did not know her. And with that would be Abbott's advantage. She could not deflect the blame to him as long as they still suspected her.

"I too seek as escape," she said, mixing the edge of sadness into her voice but careful not to over play her hand. "I have suffered as much as any of you at the hands of the same men who beat and tortured you, who treated you ill and stole your freedom. And like you, I seek only the chance to escape that fate." She turned as she spoke, meeting as many eyes as she could. Those who were not already sympathetic did not quite believe her.

It was a last card to play, but when better than now, when she faced the end of Abbott's sword? If they could see her as kindred, they would not betray her to Abbott. She walked over to Roland who turned so that her back was not to the man foaming for her death. She looked him in the eye, ignoring the cold stillness she found there, knowing it belied his fury at her taking the situation in hand. "You have to show them."

Roland's hands flexed into fists, undoubtedly wishing her arms were wrapped in them, carried off to somewhere far from here. "No," he said quietly, steel edge in his voice.

She looked straight ahead into his chest, seeking strength for what she was asking. "It's the only way. If you lose, we die. Please, Roland."

He didn't move, and the silence rose behind her as the men waited to see what she would do next. A woman revealing the flesh of her back would be no surprise to these men used to the whores of Nassau. But for her, the mysterious passenger, it would make the impact to shake them loose of Abbott's poisoned words.

"Please," she whispered, more desperate. She could hear Dooley talking to Abbott. The spell would be broken, her work on their minds lost if he tarried any longer.

Roland finally unwound his arms and brought them forward. She closed her eyes as she felt him tug the shirt from under her makeshift belt of twine. She had seen the scars of many of the men, and besides the whip marks on a few of the freed slaves, hers were worse. Cool sea air met her skin and the sun kissed the top of each ridge so she might feel the exposure acutely.

The silence left by the crew at the sight of her marked skin, filled with the call of sea birds and the creak of the ship. Roland turned her so that the rest of them might see. Excruciatingly slowly, her shame was broadcast to them all. The quiet, coupled with their stares conspired to freeze her bones, lower her heart deep into her stomach and bring tears she could never let them see to burn her eyes as she held them back. She wanted to press against him, to bury her face in his body as if it might save her the humiliation of what was occurring at her back. But she held herself still.

"Witch!" Abbott screeched at her, snatching the moment away. But she had them, she must have. Roland immediately tugged the shirt back over her skin with the barest touch of his hand at her back as if making sure she was still there. Dooley stood dumbly next to him. Kenna met his eye and the floundering desperation there.

"This is not the matter at hand!" Dooley cried, he turned back to the men around him, the men who were now looking with disdain at Abbott and his violent intentions. "Captain Roland is nothing more than a Lord in disguise! He has commandeered our ship and our lives for his own use!" The crowd had turned, even the loyalists at his back were pulling away from him.

"Call for your vote," Roland said harshly, holding Kenna behind him, the familiar grasp on her arm.

"You will kill us all!" Abbott roared, his sword whistling from his belt. Roland's hand dropped from her and before she could blink, he had two swords in either fist.

"You do not want this fight, old man." Kenna stepped further back, away from the blades and the bristling men wielding them. She took a quick look around and saw that most of the men were hanging back, letting their captain confront the quartermaster. A fight was better sport than a vote after all, and any excuse not to return to work would do for now.

Kenna turned to the stairs she'd just descended to further her retreat only to find them full of sailors cheering as metal crashed into metal behind her. She fled in the other direction, up to the forecastle as Dooley and Abbott attacked Roland in unison. Only once she reached the top did she dare turn to look at the fight below.

He moved so fast she found herself breathless. Dooley himself was not unskilled, and Abbott attacked with the same harsh directness one might expect from him. Even then, their disadvantage was obvious to Kenna who had never seen swords crossed before meeting this crew. Roland's twin swords met every attack and returned them in kind, Dooley bled from his arm, Abbott lost the dagger in his left hand. Dooley rushed in and Roland turned his blades on him, Abbott recovering and coming up at his back.

She had long lost her fear of his hand, and day after day she lost sight of the brutality she had grown to expect after years of beatings. At some point she'd lost sight of his capacity for carnage, no doubt by his own design. But now, watching his blades as he beat back his enemies, she was forcibly reminded of the savagery he was capable of, and she should have been more afraid. Kenna would not recognize the gratitude she felt at that moment, the hope that he would lead them out alive.

Every time Kenna had ever faced violence she had learned to close her mouth, take her licks in silence. Her jaw would lock closed and her efforts to keep it there offered a point of focus away from what was wrought upon her. But this time, when she spied the Master Gunner scramble to his feet and launch himself back at Roland, she found her silence abandon her.

"Mr. Munro!" she screamed across the space above the main deck. The cook wrestled his way forward, grabbing a line and dropping onto the deck in front of the older man, his sword still in hand. He set about confirming to Kenna that his days as a cook were not his original occupation.

More of Abbott's men joined the fight, met with hollers and knives from the other men. The main deck erupted in violence and Kenna stood aghast. Roland fought three men, including Dooley even as his crew came to snatch away those focused on defeating the man they'd been poisoned against.

Such was her attention on the men threatening Roland, she failed to see the man slip up to the forecastle as the others rushed down to join the fray. She was too intent on Dooley pulling a pistol to aim at Roland, the loud crack of the shot, knocked up by the flat end of one sword, while the other blade buried itself in the quartermaster's gut. Her cry of relief was captured behind a hard palm pressing her head back into his shoulder. Her hands, clutched as they were on the railing, were wrenched off in his other fist.

Kenna tensed to fight, pitiful though it might be, her voice silenced by the crushing hand and her own instincts. She felt herself lifted up, and suddenly every hold on her was gone and she flew free. Just before the water welcomed her into its cold embrace, she saw Jasper's face over the side as she plummeted off the ship.

****

So hopefully the lack of naughty bits wasn't a bad thing, as it was high time something happened aboard this ship.

I still don't know the fate of this story as of my leap to publishing, which grows ever more complex as I try to balance everything. Updates will be forthcoming if I ever have any :)

Thanks to everyone for your support! Let me know what you think!