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Bones has a
Hook for a
Heart
by John MacBeath Watkins
The ladies, the maids and the waterfront tarts
That's a rhyme you'll hear from Port Royal to the Red Sea. So you might think I
am a man with few friends, and had you seen me at the beginning of this adventure the
I blame Howard Pyle. There is only one historical instance of pirates forcing
someone to walk the plank before Pyle made his infamous illustration of pirates doing
just that. Now here I was, blindfolded, ropes binding my arms to my sides, inching my
way out to keep the Whiffy Henry's cutlass from digging into my flesh.
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"If ye won't tell us where the treasure be, ye can think about it as ye sink under
"If I knew where it was, you'd know by now," I told them. "Gold can't be spent
on the bottom of the sea. Let's join together and search for it."
"If ye don't know where it is, yer no use to us," Hook-hand Herman said. "Get
I heard Peg-leg Percy's high-pitched laugh, and the shriek of his parrot, Prudence,
who was no doubt letting go a streak of white down the back of his left shoulder.
The ship was rolling in the long swell of a distant storm, sails filling well on a
broad reach. Eventually I'd lose my balance and fall into the sea, and it was pointless to
fight it. Pointless is a way of life for me, or would be for a few more minutes. I
clenched my fists and tried to stay calm, tried to keep my legs loose enough to match the
ship's roll. I reflected how much easier it would be for me if they had followed real
pirate traditions. Real pirates didn't set up planks overboard and nudge someone out
Davy Jones' locker, they found it more efficient to simply throw them overboard without
ceremony.
The ship lurched and I lost my balance, my train of thought, and all else as I
sailed though the air and into the warm waters of the Spanish Main.
As I entered the sea, water pressure ripped the blindfold from my head, letting me
see that the bottom was not far down. I let the air out of my lungs and let myself sink to
the sea floor. I breathed in sea water, which is really too thick for breathing, and mighty
hard on the lungs. The bottom was sandy at that spot, and I nearly landed on a ray. It
startled me as it broke from its cover under the sand and flew, more than swam, through
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the light-green water and the cathedral of sunbeams penetrating the waves above. It was
beautiful down there, and my lungs were adjusting. All I had to do was get my bearings
and walk or swim to the treasure. And find a way to get rid of the ropes that bound my
arms.
Being able to live forever seems a dream when you're young. when you're old,
and haven't changed from when the dream started, being unable to die is the problem. I
now think the ultimate freedom is to be able to decide whether to live or die. Most
finally have that freedom taken from them by death. I have been robbed of it by life.
When I was young, I lived more in books than in life. My playmates were
Cyrano De Bergerac, Scaramouch, even Calico Jack Rackham (the imagined one, not the
loser Anne Bonny developed such contempt for.) Fine, high summer days in the library,
lost in the stacks with musty volumes, that was my childhood. When I finally fell though
into the books, I thought I would be the hero of those books. Instead I found myself
living off-scene, meeting the characters mainly when they were not in their plots.
There were others like me. One of those inept pirates who made me walk the
plank was one of them. Like me, he could survive without eating, but hunger would
make that miserable. We could live without breathing, but could never get used to it.
Books have meaning, plots that are crafted without the randomness of real lives. We
were seldom a part of that. If ever we make it into the pages of books, we do so as
existence was enough, who did not need to have a more fleshed-out personality or even
appearance.
I was a dreamer, always a dreamer. I could be anyone when I was reading, even
if the character wasn't well written, even if the plot was a colander of holes. It was my
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joy and my downfall. I remember finding my persona at the age of 12. I found it in an
old pulp from the '20s, back when the academics had not yet completely taken over the
field of poetry. The author called himself "MacBeath," though I imagine he was
probably some bespectacled, ink-stained writer living on dreams and canned beans. I
turned a page, and there it was, in a '20s imitation of piraty script with Pyle's illustration
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for shattered hearts and souls we've lost,
a patch for an aye,
a sigh, a sigh.
I read it twice, closed my eyes, and felt the roll of a long, slow swell on the open sea.
The illusion was so real that I opened my eyes again, and the library steadied again
where I sat on the oiled softwood floor. I read the poem thrice, and closed my eyes with
holy dread, just as suggested in 'Kubla Khan.' The deck of the library rolled again, and
this time I heard the call of a seagull demanding offal from the cook, who was cleaning
fish at the lee rail of what was clearly not a library at all when I opened my eyes again. I
got to my feet and found I was standing next to the scuttlebutt, a wooden barrel with the
top off and a wooden ladle for the entire crew to drink from, something my carefully-
scrubbed aunt June would never have allowed. Aunt June had raised me since my
mother had gone to the hospital for the treatment, June said, of shattered nerves. My
father was in no shape to raise me, since raising a son meant being sober enough to
recognize him most of the time. Aunt June was my curse and my salvation. She cared
enough about me to take me in, to keep me in her mind at all times, and to keep me from
sin. Sin's a terrible thing to be kept from, because it's more attractive at a distance.
Perhaps that's why I was reading about pirates, and dreaming of being free from the love
of a good woman. Aunt June cared a great deal about being a good mother to me, not
just because my mother could not, but because she wanted to rescue me, and mom, and
even my dad. She was a rescuer, no two ways about it. I was in need of rescue, and
resented it. I wanted to be strong, and independent, and never to need anyone.
Somehow I had some intimation of what that would cost. The pulp writer who depicted
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the pirate whose humanity was chipped away by his wounds spoke to some part of me
And so I began my life in books. And there I was, drinking from the scuttlebutt
and looking at my big, scarred hands and long, tan, sinewy arms. I felt the scratchy
beard on my face, the mustache that drooped from the sides of my mouth, the gold hoop
in my right earlobe and my long, greasy black hair. This was who I wanted to be, and
"'Oreson!" a loud voice called nearby. I turned and looked because my name is
Orson, which means bear, but I was soon to realize that Long Tom Terwilleger was
"Get up that mast, ye 'oreson," Long Tom said. "Keep a sharp lookout. The
British Navy is in these waters, and if ye don't want to swing for the things ye've done,
I stood gawping for a moment too long, and Long Tom backhanded me, setting
my nose bleeding.
"Wake up, ye bloody fool! Ye damn baboons elected me captain, so now it's my
job to keep ye alive and help ye win some booty. Up the mast, I say!"
Climbing trees was more my speed, but at least I didn't go to the mast and try to
climb it there. I headed for the weather rail instead, grabbed a black-tarred shroud above
the deadeyes and swung myself around to the ratlines. I scampered up to the crosstrees
and set myself down cross-legged to scan the horizon. My powerful, athletic frame had
felt good climbing. I was at least 60 feet above the deck, in a part of the rigging that
described a wide arc above the hurrying hull of the ship, and I felt at home for the first
time in my life. I had started my real life in fiction. I'd no longer be Orson James
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Bonner. By answering to 'oreson, I had unintentionally gained a new identity. Long
Tom was a reader sucked into books, like me, and taught me to travel though the covers
I've no notion how long ago that was. You cannot count the days, the months, the
years or the lifetimes that pass in books. You grow weary, but you don't grow old, you're
just a nameless character in the background of the novels you travel though. We are the
readers. Those of us who live that way try to make our own tales, to bring some
My narrative after walking the plank was to walk toward my treasure. I'd seen no
reason to share it with the lads, when walking the plank would free me of their company.
Anyway, the treasure was on the bottom, and now I was on the bottom.
It was mid-afternoon when I walked the plank. The sun would be in the west, so
I started swimming with the rays slanting from behind me. My kicking legs didn't
provide enough power to get me to the surface. I would launch myself upward from the
bottom, only to take a downward trajectory after a few feet. I kept bumping my face into
the sand, so I decided to wait until my arms were free to try swimming. Instead I
I was looking for a sharp rock or something that I could use to saw through my bonds.
I'd prefer to not use a coral head; did that once and ruined the best coat I ever had. And
Walking on land, it's easy to make three miles an hour. Under water, it takes far
more effort to walk even one mile an hour. I hoped there was land less than a hundred
miles away. I'd been walking for three hours or more when a shadow passed over me.
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For a moment I thought I might still be bleeding from the nicks Whiffy had given me,
and the scent might have attracted a shark. It would be inconvenient to be bitten in half
by a shark, more so to be eaten by one. Readers can recover from such a thing, but it's
not an experience anyone courts. I've been bit a few times, but the sharks spit me out.
I turned to look, catching sight of a fin in the corner of my eye. I kept turning,
but it was close, and fast, and balancing with your arms tied isn't the easiest thing.
Suddenly I felt something sharp at my back, and a tug on the ropes. Adrenaline coursed
through me as the reptile brain sent the message SHARK! through my system. Then my
bonds were falling to the sea floor and soft hands covered my eyes, soft breasts rested on
Each of them wishes to believe she's the only mermaid in my life, and they all
Mer people can do a kind of circular breathing under water that allows them to
talk. An extra air passage makes it possible. It does sound funny and squeaky, though.
Fortunately mammalian vocal chords are not intended to make sound with water. I
exhaled completely to show her that I had no air in my lungs. She put her arms around
me and started pulling me to the surface. I managed to twist around and get a view of
her face. For a moment of panic I blanked on the name, then it came to me. Thetis. Of
course, she'd have a mername, but if you couldn't do circular breathing underwater, it
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We got to the surface and I began shoving the water out of my lungs, then
coughing to get some lung capacity back. Meanwhile I was trying to remember all I
She lay back on the surface, gently stirring her fins to keep us comfortably
moving on the surface. I lay back, relaxing in her arms. At last, when I could speak, I
said, "Thetis, thank God." Then I let the blackness that had been chasing me for days
seep into the back of my eyes, and I slept in the mermaid's arms.
There are a lot of myths about mer people, the main one being that they are
related to fish. Another is that they have one tail fin. Try to imagine how a horny-
handed sailor, months at sea with only the memory of women to help him form a pup
tent over his hips at night, would react to someone who was cold and scaly from the
waist down. He could do better at the worst bordello in the most horrible town in New
Spain. If mermaids were half fish, sailors would think they were just a tease.
You might think they would be just as described in books, but the world behind
the text is different. It forms a sort of vast unconscious world of the literary mind, and
the unconscious is not just another country, but another kind of country than the
conscious text. Not to get too deeply into the matter, let's just say there is a reason both
fairy tales and massage parlors offer happy endings. That's the basic law behind the
physiology of mermaids.
Sure, they have webbed feet, and are awkward on land, and have seal-like fur on
their legs. They are mammalian all the way, and I speak from experience here. Thus the
breasts, which would be unneeded if they spawned like a damn flounder. They look a lot
like a human above the waist, and we are related, though not as closely as it might
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appear. We can't interbreed, which is why the mermaids like a dalliance with a sailor so
well. I find it's best to avoid the males, for reasons you can well imagine.
I remember all those years ago, taking my ease in the captain's cabin of my own
ship, the first that was my own, basking in the knowledge that my scurvy crew knew
only I could navigate us safely to port, when I heard the breakers and knew they'd steered
me near the rocks. I came rushing out onto the deck bellowing at the top of my lungs,
But over the sound of the breakers, I heard voices singing words I could not
comprehend, words that seemed to calm my fears of imminent death, that brought my
gaze to the women on the rocks, their bare breast rising as they inhaled for the next
verse, and I knew we were lost. My eyes locked with their leader's, and in those dark
brown eyes, I saw my own destruction. And I embraced it, just to look in her eyes.
Planks crashed into rocks a moment later, the deck lurching and throwing me over the
As the ship came apart and the crew were washed overboard, I saw Horrible
Harold De Pue pushed under by a coquettish mermaid as he reached his enormous hands
for her breasts with a look of beatific idiocy. She giggled as she drowned him, a sound
that for some reason penetrated the crashing of the waves, and if it hadn't been Harold
who was getting drowned, a chill would have gone though my soul at the sight of such
inhuman levity. As it was, I knew Harold pretty well, and mentally congratulated her on
her taste in men and her willingness to deal with Harold as so many had wished to.
I found myself being towed away by the raven-haired beauty I'd locked eyes with.
She would take me under until my lungs were bursting, then bring me up, so she thought,
just in time to keep me from drowning. She'd not heard of readers back then.
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She finally took me to a sandy cay with almost no vegetation, and left me to pass
out from exhaustion in the warm sun on the pale sand. She was back soon with a butt of
fairly fresh water, knowing that unlike her, men could not drink the sea. Thetis then set
about to seduce me, which, me being male and a sailor, was probably less difficult than
falling down.
After a few days of passion, I began to think of how I would get off the island.
"But you don't need to leave," Thetis said with a pout. "Do I not bring you all the
"Yes, and thank you," I said, fearing she would decide to withhold them for spite.
"Do you pine for other company than mine? Are there other women in your
"You're fine company for me, lass, and I'll show you how I like you," I said,
reaching for her. She giggled and rolled away into the water, then began splashing me.
"I will keep you for ever and ever, and play with you every day," she called.
Until you tire of me, or your pod decides it's time for you to wed and your new
"I'm made for command," I told her. "It's not women I miss here, it's command
"Keep talking like that and you certainly will," she taunted, gripping her nose
She was far from my first mermaid. I've learned that when mermaids tire of a
man, they leave him on the beach to die of either thirst or starvation, depending on how
much it rains. Or if he makes too much of a fuss, she'll get irritated and drown him.
There's few that survive the love of a mermaid, yet fools that they are, sailors dream of
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such a dalliance. If you had a child who treated a pet the way a mermaid treats a sailor,
I didn't wait for her to tire of me. I'd been shot, hanged, bit by poisonous snakes.
I'd suffered horribly from each of these things instead of dying, and I'd found drowning
not much worse. I swam away one day, and when I tired of swimming I let myself sink,
got used to the water in my lungs, and went to sleep on the sandy bottom. I went on for
days like that until the sea floor started to shelve, and I knew I was approaching an
island. In a little bay I found an anchor on the bottom that was attached to a ship above.
I climbed up the chain, found the anchor watch sleeping soundly on deck, and stole the
boat that hung from the stern davits to make the rest of my journey more comfortable. In
a matter of weeks I'd raised a new crew, stolen a ship, and gone on the account once
more.
But back to my more recent predicament. I awoke on wet sand, on a reef that
would disappear beneath the waves if a brisk wind came up. Thetis was cuddled up
against me pretending to sleep. I kissed her and her eyes fluttered open with mock
surprise.
"Oh! You!" She exclaimed. "I never thought I'd see you here again."
I looked around at the sand and the rocks. It wasn't the beach she'd taken me to
the first time we'd met, and what other place did we have in common? Then it dawned
on me.
"Well, isn't this where you were headed?" She waved her eyelashes at me
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"Aside from the ship, you mean?" I gave her a sidelong look, wondering what she
"Aside from the ship and what's in it, I mean," she said.
"Well, there is the wee sea sprite that pulled me from the wreck," I suggested.
"Ah, but you left her behind on purpose," she replied, a little iron creeping into
her voice.
"I told you, I was made for command, not to be a toy for you. Anyway, you'd
have tired of me finally. Think of it this way, you had your way with me, and were left
with fond memories, not foul recriminations like an old and bitter unhappily married
"You walked out on me," she said petulantly, curling herself up while turning
"My name is Orson. It means Bear," I told her. Pirates aren't polite when they
see a chance to make fun of your name, and mermaids aren't either.
"Bear?" She said dubiously. "I suppose that would depend on who the father
was."
She was quiet for a time, then sat up and said, “Jack, you've never been with me
by choice. So I have to ask...well...if you were cast away on a desert island, and could
choose anyone, living or dead, as your companion, is there any chance you'd
choose...would choose...” her eyes teared up, and I pulled her to me. She put her head
under my chin.
“Someone recently dead, I think. That way I could eat them without a struggle.”
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She pulled away and started pummeling me about the head and shoulders, while I
Then I grabbed her wrists to stop the hitting, and kissed her.
We slept after we slaked our passion. When we woke, I kissed her again and got
up.
"I'm going for a walk," I told her. I looked around the reef. It was perhaps 50
feet by ten. I walked into the sea at the southwest corner. The salt was already irritating
The naming of ships is a difficult art. I had thought of naming her 'Adventure
Galley,' but the skipper of that vessel swung. I thought of 'Golden Hind,' but the crew
were already making fun of my name, and I didn't want them making fun of the vessel's.
I thought of naming it after one of the fastest, most beautiful predators of the sea, but
there was something not quite right about the name 'Tuna.' And the crew was no help.
They agreed on 'Silver Fish.' I felt they lacked reverence for the vessel.
I walked around to the stern and looked up at the stern castle. The weeds and
barnacles had not yet obscured the name Compass Rose or the compass rose I'd had
painted above it as a visual aid to illiterate sailors. I'd done well with my first command.
Oh, nothing great and glorious like winning naval battles against a superior force,
nothing constructive like bringing the bricks and stonemasons to build a city. Just
terrible, bad things, done to mostly good people. Just robbery at sea, that's all piracy is,
and the people who do it are mostly scum. It wasn't much of a life, but I was good at it.
A shadow passed on the sand in front of me, and Thetis descended with the grace
of a porpoise. She gestured for me to follow her through a rent in the hull. It was dark
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within, but I could see where a chest had broken open, and the dull gleam of gold and the
Thetis found a gold tiara with large rubies and smaller diamonds set in it. She
played with it, looking at it shyly, and I resigned myself to loosing the bauble to her. It
But she swam toward me with it in her extended hands, and placed it on my head.
Then she swam back to the treasure and gathered coins, rings, even a few pearls, and
bowed before me with her hands full of more wealth than most men see in a lifetime.
Then she loaded my pockets with the stuff. She was buying me with my own treasure,
which was fair enough, she'd stolen it fair and square, and among pirates theft is
property.
If this was her notion of a bride price, I'd not escape her so easily as the last time.
I took her hand and let her swim me to the surface. By the time we reached the
"I expected you to leave the coins. Your people don't have the craft of
metalworking, and only take things already shaped the way they want them. But that
I knew what that must have cost her among her own people. I put an arm around
"Deeper."
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"It's impossible, of course. I don't fit your world, you don't fit mine. We're fine
when it's just we two, but when your people or mine come along…"
Under the sea was a world I never could share with her. Oh, I could survive it,
but I could never be a part of it, just as she could survive on land, but never be a part of
that world.
We had three days of domestic tranquility before a sail appeared on the horizon.
"Worse," I said, as I could just make out her standard. "My crew."
I'd know that standard anywhere. Whiffy Harry had only recently entered the
world of books. When I told him to make a flag, he asked what symbol it should bear.
"You come from the same world I do," I told him. "You know the symbol for
The next day it was ready to raise. As it unfolded, I expected to see the skull and
crossbones. Imagine my dismay when a round, green face with its tongue out snapped in
the breeze.
It turned out that between my departure from the stacks in 1939 and Whiffy's
entry into books sixty years later, the symbol for poison had changed.
"They're your crew. When you give an order, won't they do as you say?
"Of course, of course. I was forgetting. I must have accidentally told them to
mutiny. Must have slipped my mind. They must be doing exactly what they should."
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She gave me a knowing smile and rolled into the sea, swimming away and
leaving me to await them alone. Well, she'd signed up for pleasure, not battle. I buried
the baubles I'd brought up from the wreck beneath the largest rocks I could lift.
The ship was hull-up already, and it would be only an hour or so before she
arrived. I decided to dive on the wreck again and try to find a rusty cutlass or at least a
boarding ax.
It was dark inside the Compass Rose, darker than it had been before. The angle
of the sun had shifted and less light came through the rent. I'd been so mesmerized by
the gold and by Thetis that I had no idea what else might be down there. I stumbled and
swam through the wreck, trying to remember her layout and where things were stored. I
entered again near the stern, where the rocks had holed her just forward of the deadwood.
I found myself in the light room, where a lantern had hung and shined through a window
for the magazine. I entered the magazine, strewn with what remained of useless bags of
sodden gunpowder, and found the stairway leading to the bread room above. One more
deck up to the armory, where racks of cutlasses and boarding axes were ranged across
from racks of muskets. Both were rusted almost to uselessness. I grabbed a couple
cutlasses and a couple boarding axes, and headed back to the reef.
I chose to stay beneath the surface to avoid attracting attention while I used sand
and stones to clean as much rust as possible off my pitiful arsenal. By this time my
erstwhile ship, the Bat, with her jolly Mr. Yuck flag must be getting closer.
hull of a ship to sink her. They couldn't kill me of course, not a reader, but they could
make life damned unpleasant for me. If I could deprive them of the ship, we'd be about
even. Whiffy Henry was the only reader among them, and he was no match for me. For
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one thing, he wasn't yet aware of a reader's resistance to death. I say resistance because I
The wind was coming up. I could hear waves above me crashing on the reef. I
went to the lee side of it and began to empty the water from my lungs in case I had to
parley.
I poked my head above the reef. Bat was maneuvering to come into the lee of the
Now I want you to try to see the next part as my crew saw it. After forcing me
overboard, they gave each other a congratulatory drink, spending the rest of the day and
most of the night celebrating and telling each other what brave fellows they were. Then
the next day came, and they realized that none of them knew where they were or how to
navigate to anywhere else. They came close to putting Bat on the rocks that day. After
that, they were afraid to sail at night, because they had no idea where the reefs were.
And just as they were beginning to quarrel with each other, hung over and
looking for someone to blame, the voices came, voices that sapped their will and raised
their lust. They were no longer following where the compass pointed, they were
The voices led them to my reef, but stopped before they wrecked the ship.
Thetis, knowing I would want my ship back, had told her mates to bring the Bat to me.
Giving me that which she would have liked to keep, such as that tiara, showed she was
giving me herself. Giving me my ship back was both a repair for the damage she had
done before, and showing that she knew my heart's desire and would give it to me.
When they had dropped the anchor and paid out less scope than I would have,
18
"I've brought you your ship, my love," she said. "Shall I and my friends get rid of
"No, I have a use for them," I told her. "I can't sail a 70-ton brig alone."
The sun was slanting toward the horizon when four members of my bickering
crew rowed to the reef in the ship's pinnace. They had a small chest, little more than a
jewel box, containing all the gold we'd accumulated so far on a rather unrewarding
cruise.
"You sure about this, Herman?" Whiffy Henry asked. "It seems like we should
"With mermaids about? Why give them the temptation to steal our treasure?
We'll bury it while they're not about, and come back for it when we're sure they're gone,"
Herman said.
It sounded pretty obvious to me that Herman wanted to come back for it alone. I
think it sounded thin to the rest of them as well, because it struck me that they wouldn't
do his bidding if Herman weren't such a foreboding character. Six-foot-six, with a thick
black beard and a hook for a left hand, he was the very vision of a villainous pirate. His
plan was unsound, because he couldn't navigate well enough to find this reef again unless
he'd been concealing great depths of proficiency. But terrible things have been done in
It was obvious even to them that they couldn't just bury the treasure in the sand,
because the first storm would uncover it again. So they set about looking for rocks to put
it under, and the ones they picked, of course, were the ones I'd put my stuff under.
19
It took Herman's strength to move the stone, but it was Whiffy who saw the
This caused some confusion, because the pirate book whose background we were
operating in was set in the late 17th century, and the word loot didn't enter the language
until the Napoleonic wars. The rest were characters, which meant they didn't know
"Lute?" asked Tim. "I see nothing that looks like a lute."
Percy was from a different book. He'd had a good job as a background character,
dancing in country balls in Jane Austen novels until he'd become bored and crossed over,
first into a Gilbert & Sullivan operetta, then into sterner stuff. When his leg was blown
off while he was visiting a history book on the sack of Panama, he realized he could
So now here he was, a peg for a leg, a parrot on his shoulder, down on his knees
in the sand on my reef scrabbling for rings and coins in the muck. Shows you don't
know who a man is until you see him in surroundings that entirely suit him.
"You know what this means," Tim said. "It means someone else will be coming
here for their own swag, and they'll likely get ours too, if we bury it here."
So they dug up all my hard-won plunder and put it in a sack, then got wood and
food and booze from the pinnace and started setting up a fire on the reef. The sun went
down while they were cooking up a fish stew, and they were soon in their cups, feasting
and talking about what grand fellows they were, and how the ladies would adore them
20
All the while I kept behind the rocks and followed all their actions. As night fell,
Thetis whispered in my ear, "Shall the lasses and I lure them to their deaths? They
"Not unless you can climb the rigging and shake out the courses when it's time to
I waited until their speech was slurred and their bravado was wearing thin. Then
I went around to the side they'd left their boat on, and quietly swam away with it,
mooring it behind the ship. I swam back as silent as a graveyard on a winter's night,
filled my lungs with air and dove down to get some rocks. These held me under water as
I marched out of the sea. I used a cutlass I had sharpened to slash my cheeks so that
blood flowed down them as I came from the sea. Behind me, Thetis gave an unearthly
screech as only a mermaid can, and even knowing it was coming I felt the hair rise on
my neck and back. The men looked out into the moonlit night to see their dead captain
marching noisily out of the sea with blood rolling down his cheeks and a bloody cutlass
in his hand.
"Know death when you see it before you, lads" I intoned in what I fancied was a
Herman brought his hands to his face, forgetting for a moment that one of them
had been replaced by a hook, and managed to blind himself in one eye. He howled in
pain and terror, while Tim and Whiffy tried to hide behind air molecules. Only Percy
showed some life, scrambling to where they'd left the boat and even walking into the
water a few steps in confusion when he found it wasn't there. Then he turned to me, his
face pale, and said, "I always loved you in life, Jack, I did. Don't harm me now."
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"Your lives are all mine, to take, to keep, to use as I will," I told them. "You've
Just then Three-fingered Tim gathered his courage and ran at me with his cutlass.
"Too late for that," I told him. Then I hit him with the guard of my cutlass and
"Put the plunder back under the stone," I ordered them. Before they maneuvered
the rock back in place, I had them each undress and I searched their clothing, finding all
they had stolen from each other. Whiffy had stolen nothing from his companions, which
showed a lack of enterprise, and had also used his trousers as a mobile latrine. As a
reader, he had the least to fear, but it was well to have proof that he didn't know that.
I'd left Tim's cutlass sticking out through my back while they did this, to give
"And now it's buried again," I said. "Herman, pull out this cutlass. I want you to
"Let this be the proof to you, none of you can kill me, and any man that crosses
me I'll follow to the ends of the earth to make him pay. Sail with me as captain, be my
loyal crew, and there will be plenty of plunder and fine clothes and women too. Cross
They were all eager to pledge allegiance to me, and in their terror only a little
voice, all the way at the back of their minds, was telling them they could find a way to
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"And now you'll all witness a little ceremony," I told them. I took with me the
tiara, and a fine gold ring with diamonds and a large ruby, and walked into the sea.
When I was chest-high in salt water, the mermaids surrounded me and Thetis came to my
arms. They sang their unearthly chorus, mesmerizing my men, and I placed the tiara on
Thetis's head, and said, "with this ring I do wed," slipping the ring on her finger.
That is how I came to pledge myself to a princess among mermaids, knowing the
terms were surprisingly similar to the pledge my men had made to me.
Don't mistake me. I haven't been faithful always, only frequently. I've not stayed
around to comb her tresses and bring her oysters filled with pearls. I've been myself, and
never stropped my wild wandering. But we've often been a small convoy together,
keeping each other safe in this world of peril. That's the pledge we made to one another,
and to remind her who she was dealing with, I told her after I slipped the ring on her
finger:
a sigh, a sigh,
and the peg for a soul and the nay for an aye
a sigh, a sigh
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for battles won at such a cost
a sigh, a sigh.
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