Feminine Revenge [Ongoing]

Chapter Sixteen: A Different Sort of Day

It had been days and still I stumble every few steps when the boat tilts a little to one side and another unexpectedly. That's not to say I had much experience on a rocking boat. This was the biggest out of the five, and most of the smaller waves did not rock the boat in the slightest. Yet, out of all those times when it did, I still had no balance to speak of. It was awfully embarrassing to tip over into the nearest beam – or worse into the nearest person. Pearce had laughed at that, most pretended not to notice, and only Hillam or Jayce ever pretended to by sympathetic.

Still every day, I strode up to the helm. Although I sometimes stumbled rather than strode, I wanted to place myself within view of ... well nothing really. The sea did not have landscapes with peaks and valleys. No changes to this flat expanse until a storm pulled over or the area or the sun went down. Yet I found myself there every day until someone called me in for another argument that was thinly veiled as a 'consultation'.

I watch the surface of the water, the sparkling sun bouncing off the water and nearly blinding me when it flashed in my eyes. It shimmered like diamond-encrusted cloth. Solid with only the boats tearing through the beautiful surface making it rip. You would never guess what it hid. The first hint may be in the way it smelled. Like poorly dried meat. Rotting and salty. You could never bury someone underwater, could you? They just decomposed right into the ocean and mixed into this smell.

Still these ... these mermaids. They hid themselves under the surface of the water and caught unsuspecting men when they had no way of fighting back. Not really. Never happened within sight of the harbour. Always happened before they reached the other shores. The boats come back completely demolished – if they come back at all, that is – to the point where no human being could survive upon it. Those who did ... well they were never really right in the head afterwards. Of course, they know how to act normally, but so whacked out in the head it's a wonder they can.

I wonder why. Why did they attack now? Why are they doing this at all? Couldn't they just leave us alone? Leave us be? Was there any merit to all this?

Does it matter?

Then ... most importantly ... how best to get rid of them?

I scanned the shimmering expanse of the deep blue, looking for a sign of life. A sign of a tailed woman. The fairy-tales got that right. They forgot the bloodiness. Maybe this happened in the past and they passed this knowledge down, making it a little more child-friendly each time. A shame. If they had figured out how to kill these creatures, I would surely love to know.

Ah, wouldn't that just be a hoot. I go and ask for fairy-tale books to pour over and try to find a solution to our problems. I am sure I would get quite a few strange. The question now would of course be: would they give me what I asked – if it turns out they have one aboard? Would they – with a completely straight face – give me a collection of a child's bedtimes story for me to read?

"What are you doing out here?" Someone asks, interrupting my stream of thoughts – not that they were all that important anyway. "Every day I find you here."

I turn and spot Heathcliff marching up the few steps to the platform that I stood upon.

"I enjoy it out here." I reply. "Why? Is there another thing someone needs to ask me about? Another drawing you need explained or can't decipher my handwriting again?"

"No, nothing like that." He comes to stand beside me. "I just have nothing to do at the moment. Much like you, I suppose."

"I think there's a card game going on in one room or another, if you'd rather join that." I suggest helpfully, and perhaps a little hopefully.