Page 25 of Saved By the Selkie

I also don’t know what the pup will look like when he’s born. Will he look human, like Aramis? Or will I give birth to a little white seal pup?

Vaguely, I hope he looks like a seal. He’d be so cute.

But that will also reveal what I am to the entire crew. Aramis seems adamant that’s a bad idea. I’m not quite sure why, but I’m also not sure I want to find out if he’s right.

There’s a thump and a bang, and I rise to my feet, glancing around for somewhere to stow my pelt. If I hide it somewhere only I know where it is, then Aramis can’t take it back. I can’t risk Aramis finding it and taking it from me again. And I can’t risk another member of the crew finding it either—fathoms below, who knows what they’d do with it?

There’s another thump; I look around, then notice a loose panel in the wall, high up. I wriggle it open, then jam my pelt into the space. I mark the wood with my claws, then put it back in place.

I stumble out of the armory a moment later, almost barreling into Johan, who looks up at me and grins.

“There you are,” he practically hisses, and I recoil.

“Is—is something the matter?” I don’t like the way he looks at me.

He shakes his head. “Oh, no. Only—haven’t seen hide nor hair of you since last night. Thought you might have been one of those magical merpeople, just disappearing, flitting off into the sea foam.”

I scoff. Merfolk are hardly magical, and they don’t turn into sea foam. Then I turn a critical eye on Johan. “What are you doing down here?” The armory is right behind me.

He blinks. “I might ask you the same thing,” he says with a scowl.

“I—uh …”

He shrugs. “Never mind then!” he cries, holding up his hands. “Let’s pretend we didn’t see each other here—I won’t tell the cap’n you were down scoping out the weapons stock then, hm?”

“I wasn’t,” I protest, but Johan just grins and lays a finger against his lips. Then he turns and disappears down the corridor, taking the lantern with him.

I wait a moment or two, then follow.

Things go from bad to worse when we leave port three days later. No sooner have we left the harbor and unfurled the sails than a riot breaks out on deck. Gunshots ring out, followed by the boom of the cannons, which have been wheeled from their positions and turned inward. At least one crew member is tossed overboard with a scream and a sickening smack into the water below.

Leading the charge is—who else—Johan. He’s got a sword and a revolver, and he charges into Aramis’s cabin just as I arrive on deck to investigate the ruckus.

For a split second, I think about joining the melee—Porthos has just pitched someone overboard, and Anna’s shot someone else—but Johan emerges from the cabin, hands on his hips, holstering his gun. Behind him are two other goons—the ones who were shouting about spit-roasting me, whatever that means—with Aramis’s limp body slung between them.

There’s blood, dripping down to the deck.

I feel sick, bile rising in my throat as I watch Johan swagger to the bridge. Everything feels slow, murky, like we’re underwater, as he announces, “Aramis’s reign of terror is over! This ship is free now!”

The crew erupts into jeers; Anna and Porthos are corralled into a corner.

My feet unfreeze, and I book it back down the stairs. I know they’re coming for me next, and my only hope is to grab my pelt and throw myself on the mercy of the ocean.

My heart thunders in my ears; my breath comes short; and my footsteps echo, like a hundred thousand humans are coming after me. Maybe this is what Aramis was warning me about.

I dash into the armory and scrabble to get the planking out of the way. I drag my sealskin out of the hole, wadding it up and holding it to me.

“This way!” I hear someone whisper, and I duck down behind the kegs of gunpowder as light flashes into the armory.

“I don’t see why we need guns now,” Smitty says as he enters. “The ship’s ours.”

“Cap’n’s orders,” Giles says. “Says it ain’t right to have ’em stockpiled here, and only some have access to ’em. Every crew member gets one, ’cause we’re all equals.”

“Heh. I like how the cap’n thinks,” Smitty snickers, turning his back to where I am. He sweeps his torch toward the guns. “I ain’t never held a gun before.”

“Me either,” says Giles. “That lunkhead Aramis didn’t think I was trustworthy enough.”

“Aye, he was high and mighty, weren’t he? Thought he knew best, just cause his uncle is a count.”