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He shakes his head before leaving.
The boat rocks a little higher at that moment. Storm’s coming indeed. I’ve got a good pair of sea legs on me. I feel sturdier on the sea than I do on land. I’m used to her movements, her language. She’ll tell you what she’s going to do, if you listen.
I’m clean and dressed in a fresh corset, this one red, when Kearan and Enwen return.
“I’m telling you, it’s bad luck to twist left. You should always thrust and turn right. Good luck, that is.”
“Enwen, if I’m stabbing a man in the heart, it doesn’t matter if I twist the knife right or left. Either way, I’ve managed to kill the bastard. Why would I need any luck?”
“For the next man you kill. Suppose it causes you to miss the heart the next time? Then you’ll be wishin’ you took the extra time to twist right the time before. You can’t kill a man good and proper if you miss the heart.”
“I’m starting to think that my ‘next time’ is very soon.”
“Don’t be like that, Kearan. You know I’m the only friend you’ve got on this ship.”
“Must be doing something wrong.” Kearan already has his flask out, but as he raises it to his head, he frowns. Empty. So he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another one. Now I understand the reason for all the pockets on the coat he wears. I would’ve suspected they were for a thief to put his finds. No, they’re for holding multiple flasks of rum. I wonder how many he has in there.
“How do you fare, Miss Alosa?” Enwen asks, turning toward me, unfazed by Kearan’s words.
“For stars’ sake, Enwen,” Kearan says. “The woman’s a prisoner. How do you think she fares? Shut your trap for one blasted moment, would you?”
“The woman can answer her own questions,” I say.
“You shouldn’t be talking, either,” Kearan says. “Don’t need no noise from the both of you.”
Enwen rubs his temple. “Master Riden only said I ‘probably’ shouldn’t speak to her, on account of beautiful women have a way of playing tricks on a man’s mind. But it wasn’t a direct order.”
“He said I was beautiful?” I smirk at the thought.
Enwen looks troubled. “Probably shouldn’t have said that.”
The ship rocks faster and faster as time goes on. Coming up on a storm is like getting into an argument. There are a few warning signs. Things heat up. But then there’s a jump. The storm hits you before you’re ready. And then you’re too far in to do anything about it except get through it.
Everything is loud. There’s nothing to hear except the wind and waves. Nothing to feel except the bitter cold. I put on the heaviest coat I own to ward off the bitterness. Every once in a while, I think I catch a shout from above deck. But that could easily be an echo of the wind.
I have to resort to sitting on the floor. My chair can’t be trusted not to tip. Enwen sits as well. He pulls something out of his pocket: a string of beads. Maybe pearls.
Kearan starts snoring. I know he must have some affliction of the sinuses, because I can hear him over the storm. He jerks awake suddenly. “Give that back.”
Enwen must see the strange look I shoot Kearan. He explains, “He talks in his sleep a lot.”
Kearan rubs at his eyes. “This is a nasty one. Might tip us over.”
Enwen extends his pearls. “No, it won’t. I’ve got our protection right here.”
“I feel so reassured.”
“You should. Storms are a dangerous time to be about. Some men say this is the time when the unpleasant seafolk come roaming out of their underwater domains.”
“You mean the sirens,” I say.
“Surely, I do. They like to hide in the waves. You can’t see them in the water when the sea is boiling and tumbling and all, but they’re down there. Kicking and pounding at the boat, helping the storm take us under. They want us. Want to eat our flesh, make necklaces out of our teeth, and hollow out our bones to make instruments to aid their song.”
“Bloody poetic,” Kearan says. “And a load of rubbish. Anyone ever tell you, you can’t be hurt by something you don’t believe in?”
Realization lights up Enwen’s eyes. “That’s why everything is out to get me.”
I hide a smile behind one hand while Kearan tugs a flask out.
