Call of the Sirens
Full sails into the wind, the Harrington soared it’s way across the seas. Crewmen milled above deck, adjusting ropes, preparing shot, climbing the masts to glimpse the horizon ahead. Shanties sang out through them, livening their spirits as they chased their goal.
By the wheel, their captain closely examined his map, cross checking with his compass to confirm their heading. Beside him Peter McBonne, or ‘Spec’, pointed out key islands to guide their course.
Isabella didn’t understand. A mishmash of shapes and lines, she thought. A child’s scrawling would be a more accurate picture of the seas. But if Matchstick said it was correct, then there was no argument left.
Especially with Spec guiding him. She never could tell what made Matchstick trust him so much. Was it the glasses? The heir of aristocracy in his voice? His vivid descriptions which sounded as if he would mould the world into his own image if he tried hard enough?
Because she knew him. He wasn’t smart, not in the ways it counted. He sure sounded it, with his irritating accent which reminded her too much of the Brits. Yet his knowledge was all books. Not experience. Not wisdom.
His actions to Wendy didn’t help matters.
As curiosity got the better of her, she approached the two men, leaning over the map to figure out what had silenced them for the last minute.
“What is it?” she asked curiously.
Spec looked to her as if she’d dribbled over his freshly cleaned boots.
“This, Gary,” he started, “Is a map far beyond your comprehension. I am sure the captain has told you the summary – that is shows the way to the island of Isla Sin Cabeza – but those words merely scratch the surface of it’s potential.”
She folded her arms, waiting for him to indulge her further. Matchstick, unlike his usual self, remained quiet as he began. She’d never understand their relationship.
“While this may appear crude and rough, it is a rather accurate map of these seas. Not in terms of their cartographic qualities. But rather their feelings of the world. Notice here. We passed the Robinson Island a few moments ago. Though geographically smaller than Bakers Land, it felt much more daunting. Thus, it is reflected as being larger on this diagram. Rather ingenious, wouldn’t you agree?”
“So you’re trusting a map made by feeling over facts?” she said, raising her eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound much like you, Spec.”
“We won’t find Sin Cabeza without him, Gary,” the captain said. After the years of serving him, she knew his tone told her to hold it back. “I’ve been searching for this place me-self for as long as I can recall. Never have I found something so impressive and clear as this.”
“Right you are, captain,” Spec smiled. “While our first mate may not see the full picture, we are already a third of the way along. Note the shoals. A common spot for most unprepared vessels to lose themselves in.”
Isabella followed his finger across the map. He was right. Sharp rocks darted out of the waves crashing against them in rage. Each stone jutted out like thorns, cutting the ship in the map like knives through paper. Atop a few stones, mermaids laughed hysterically.
Colour drained from her face as she recognised the name.
“Sirens Call?” she asked. “You sure about this, captain? I’ve heard of ships finding themselves lost forever when venturing through here. They say it holds sirens, pulling them further and further into their grasps until finally their ship capsizes. No man can escape their call.”
“Spec’s already thought of that,” the captain smiled.
Spec grinned and adjusted his glasses. “Are you familiar with the tale of Ulysses? Oh what am I saying, of course not. Well, in the tale, Ulysses comes across a group of sirens. Knowing what you have said, he bound his crews ears with beeswax so they wouldn’t hear them. I propose we do the same.”
Isabella nodded. She’d never heard of Ulysses before. Sounded old. But plugging their ears would be the only way to get through. Though they didn’t have any beeswax. Spec, sensing her next question, smiled and nodded.
“We must use the next best thing – tar. Along with cloth dipped in water, it will block the sound. If we are to run out, the rest of the men will be boarded below deck. While they may hear the calls, they won’t be able to do much more. I believe this is the only way through this rocky cove.”
“What about the ship we’re chasing? Do you think they would have a similar idea?”
“I’m almost certain,” Matchstick interrupted. “Spec is smart, but he’s an outlier among our kind. A British navy, for all it’s faults, would have a historian on board who would be doing much of what our friend here is. Even in a galleon, they have an advantage on us.”
Isabella grimaced, glancing around at the crew and to the sky. Matchstick had a point. There was always someone like Spec on those ships. Cowardly, ineffective in a fight, but smart enough to call out trouble where it appeared.
So there was a chance Wendy was safe. Even within those redcoats, she was safe. A great sigh of relief escaped her body. One less thing to worry about. Her friend was going to be okay.
Then again, why had she been kidnapped in the first place? She was with the map when they took her. Are they expecting her to be a guide? A navigator? She was hardly any of those. So if they weren’t using her for her mind, then they were using her for…
A bit of bilge made it to her throat. Clenched fists drew blood. Her mind projected images of what she would do once they found them. Removing their weapons so they would know what they had took from Wendy. Watching them bleed out over the waves.
She wouldn’t rest until they were all dead.
Matchstick, watching her mind spin through all of this, let out a laugh and patted her shoulder.
“We’ll get your lady friend back, Gary,” he grinned. “Just you wait.”
“Lady friend?” Spec asked. “Is there a variable I wasn’t aware of?”
“I’ll explain later, Spec,” Matchstick said, waving him off. “But for now, just know Gary here has a certain lass he’d be interested in rescuing.”
“I see,” he mumbled. “Well, I suppose that will help. Having a chance to save a partner is a great motivator. Though perhaps not as great as the monetary. And if something were to go awry, be careful where he may place his loyalties.”
Isabella grimaced, letting out a mumble at his implications. Spec smiled, please with her reaction. Matchstick, ignoring the two’s squabbles, ordered her to collect as much spare cloth and get to tying the heads of their crew. They’d estimated another hour until they’d reach the Sirens Call, so there was no time to lose.
A task to ignore the weight of what was happening to her friend. Something she needed right now.
She called out to the crew, grabbing five men to get their sorry asses to work. They all rushed to attention, cutting looted shirts and dresses and coats until they had more than enough headbands for a city. One by one, they were dipped into the seas muddy watersrrrrrrr and stitched with tar. Ready, they handed them out to the other men to put on. A few complained as their ears filled with the gross sea. They shut up once Isabella made her point clear as to what would happen if they were removed.
Sheathing her dagger, she made brought the last few wraps to the wheel. The pilot gladly took one, as did Spec. Matchstick refused.
“Lad,” he smiled. “Spec here was just telling me a little more about this you… you… you-less…”
“Ulysses,” Spec said.
“That’s the one. Apparently, he had a chance to listen to the sirens call himself. And it was the most beautiful and lustful sound he’d ever heard. I’ll follow in the footsteps of this brave warrior and witness the call of these sirens.”
He looked out over the waves, as if he was already hearing the tales told for his bravery. Isabella frowned.
“Won’t you jump into the seas?”
“I’ll be tied to the mast,” he grinned. “Their calls may entice me, but I won’t be able to free myself. And with all of your heads bandaged, none shall free me even if I beg to be. Oh, come on Gary, don’t give me that look. Spec assures me it will be safe. Right, Spec?”
“Of course,” he smiled. “If the hero Ulysses survived the calls, I see no reason you would not.”
“Well that settles it!” Matchstick laughed. “I’ll round a couple men to tie me up. Gary, you’ll be steering us. Even without those wenches, these rocks’ll break any wary ship which pass through. And there’s no one I trust more than to get us through than you.”
Isabella, still stunned at his daring move to head the call of sirens, nodded dumbly. Even for him this was risky. How was he just going along with this?
She glanced a Spec, trying to figure him out. Was it his idea? Did he plan on killing the captain? Incapacitating him so he’d become head of the ship? It didn’t sound right. Even if he did, she would be next in line. She had more respect on board than anyone else. So was it vengeance?
Spec looked to her and smiled. With his stupid, confident grin and laissez faire attitude, he was impossible to read. Maybe he was just supporting the captain, enacting out a story they heard from some old book.
The only problem would be: what would happen if the captain really was swept away?
As the hour passed and the crew tied their bandages to their heads and the captain to the mast, they finally made it to the rocky outcropping. With sails hoisted high and their speed carried by simple momentum, they breezed through.
At the wheel, Isabella was a natural. She had to be. It was the part that Matchstick trusted her with the most. With the simplest of moves, she steered the massive bulk of a ship around the tightest corners, over the highest waves, or through these dangerous seas. If it weren’t for the fantastical creatures hounding them, it would be an easy fix.
Soft murmurs flickered over her ears. At first, she thought she’d imagined it. But as the ropes holding Matchstick began to tighten, a bell rang through her mind. The signal for their first trial.
Soon, mermaid-like creatures on the far shores called out to them. Though muffled by the bandages, Isabella just grasped the beautiful singing. The timbre, the cadence, some other musical word she didn’t know. The way each note landed perfectly with the one before and the one after. Music only possibly by an angel. Or a demon.
Even knowing what they were trying to do, it was hard not to resist the temptation to listen. Like a jar of candies sitting on a shelf, Isabella wished to hear more. For just a second. Not long, she swore.
The yells and screams of her captain did a great deal of help to ward off these fantasies.
“Release me!” he demanded. “Release me or I’ll send the lot of you to Davy Jones!”
A few crew tightened their muffs. Another set averted their gaze. Most hid below deck, blocked so as to reduce noise from the outside. Isabella wondered how many would risk opening a panel to see. A dare, or a curious peak. They’d all been warned about what would happen if they tried. But you’d only get a pirate to do so much before they disobeyed orders.
“The problem with pirates,” Matchstick often say over one too many drinks, “Was they were all inherently stubborn and free men, with no bone of authority to break down and control.”
She felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning slightly, Spec pointed out one of the rock sides. At first, it appeared like nothing. Just scrap cloth from a ship which had made it’s way through the dangerous rocks. A red cloth. Then, white stripes. Blue ribbons dotted it’s line. A torso inside it’s stitching, with pools of deep red oozing outside.
Spec mouthed something to her. His practised speech made it easy to read the words ‘Fresh’ on his lips. She nodded and turned her attention back to the path in front of her, gripping the wheel tight enough to whiten knuckles.
So not only were the red coats here, they weren’t as prepared as them. A veritable boon. Though their crew rushed into it, their enemies were as impulsive. Reckless. Willing to sacrifice crew if it meant reaching their treasure before them. They were no longer the foreboding and terrifying threat which hung over them.
They were merely human.
“Untie me now!”
Her captains voice boomed over the deck. Isabella wondered if he was getting louder. His cries less muffled. His jeers clearer. Frowning, she adjusted her headband, making sure it was as tight as ever. With one hand on the wheel, she pulled on the loop, setting it in place.
Misguiding the tie, it quickly fell off her ear. Her mind cleared along with her hearing. She cringed, shutting her eyes and dulling her senses. She was ready for the calls and beautiful singing of the sirens to draw her in. Bringing her to the waves in their lulling tones which called on all men’s hearts so they no other action but to embrace those singing mermaids. To indulge and grasp themselves on the pinnacles of beauty and…
She carefully opened her eye. Nothing had changed. The singing was just that: a song. Not even a nice one. They shrieked and cried in wails masking pain and anguish. She wasn’t sure they even liked doing it. Though no clear words came from their pained howls, it was more warning than persuasion.
Matchstick, through all of this, continued to cry out for release. He must go to these women and become enthralled by their calls of love.
She readjusted her band back into position, having not let go. The whole interaction was strange. Why had it not effected her like Matchstick? Was there something different about her?
Oh, she finally realised. No man can resist their charms.
She was safe. After all her worries about being lulled in or entrapped, she was safer around the sirens than her own crew was. It was chilling, she realised. In a way, maybe these creatures were protecting her.
Before she thought of how the curse may effect women unlike her, they came through the worst of the seas and out into the wide oceans once more. Free from rocks, free from charms, the mood on the ship expanded and freed like it had taken of a tight shirt. Isabella laughed as she withdrew the band from her head and grinned.
“We’re past the worst of it, Cap’” she called out. “You can stop wailing now.”
“Oh Gary,” the captain cried. “You don’t understand. Imagine the most beautiful woman in the world. The one all men dreamed of and all women wished to be. And imagine she had only eyes for you. Begging to know you as intimately and intently as one could. It was the stuff of dreams. No lass has ever made me feel so wanted. So desired.”
She chuckled, shaking her head as she relieved the wheel to a man, calling for the sails to be let loose and the wind to take them further. Jumping the stairs, she soon removed her captain from the tight ropes. He rubed his arms a moment, before smiling.
“Aye, I suppose there shall be nothing quite like it again.”
“Actually,” Spec said, jumping in for his time to ruin the moment. “We can expect a couple more challenges along the way. The next item on the map appears to be a–”
“Save your worries for then, Spec,” the captain said, waving him away. “Plan, but only get back to me once you have something I can work with. I… I need a moment alone.”
He departed into his quarters, shutting the door tight behind and with finality. Isabella frowned, and turned back to Spec.
He looked at her with an odd expression, like she had managed to effortlessly lift a schooner. An impossible feat derived from her small figure. A hint of malicious study crossed his glasses as he regarded her. She narrowed her eyes, trying to piece the puzzle of his thoughts.
The reason hit like an loaded barrel.
Behind her. He was behind her when her muffs fell. He saw what happened. How she ‘resisted’ their cursed tongues. Yet as no ‘man’ could resist their calls, there must have been something different about her. Something wrong. Something he would need to find out. To keep below deck and away from the rest of the crew, or else he’d have to answer to the Captain.
She tipped her head and marched away. Maybe he knew. Maybe he only suspected. Maybe there was nothing in his look. Maybe he was just pulling one of those faces. She couldn’t risk worrying about everything all the time.
Her reassuring words did little to calm her growing fears.
To be continued…
Thumbnail by me
Cheesman Chronicles 
Leave a comment