Sandra dusted her hands, satisfied. Unaware that she attracted an audience while singing to the animals. Her secret was out!
“Siren! Witch! She’ll bewitch us all!”
“What are they frightened of? Was I singing off-key?”
“No, you sing beautifully, Miss. Fret not. They think you a’ Siren.”
The sixteen year old thought that Hodari was a mute. His voice was deep like a lion’s roar. Warm like molten chocolate. Mistress’s type.
“Is that a compliment? I have not sung since I was a small child. What is a Siren?”
“She is no enchantress or harlot. She is our Cook. Captain’s orders.”
The pieces fell into place. It was Maxwell who fell over. The isolated quake of the deck was Hodari coming to his Captain’s aid.
I would have run too if Hodari charged towards me barehanded, let alone ready to fight.
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The crew disbanded, making ready to dock the ship and make much needed repairs.
“What can I do to help?”
“Once we make landfall, resume your duties. Do you know how to ignite and maintain a fire?”
She had to be careful with her response.
“You don’t need to mollycoddle me, sir.”
“Captain’s orders, m’lady.”
“Tell your ‘Captain’ to mind his own business.” She bit back, bobbing her fingers like bunny ears.
No response. Sandra expected to be struck by a man of his stature. She was fortunate that Hodari was unflinching. A blow from a hand his size would prove fatal to someone her size.
“LAND HO!” A boy with half black, half white hair bellowed from the Crow’s Nest.
“Thank goodness!”
Sandra hurried away under the guise of gathering her belongings. Once she gathered her thoughts, the ex-maid disembarked. Not wanting to encounter Maxwell or Hodari, she kicked off my shoes and meandered across the spit of sand to a cluster of miscellaneous, tropical trees. The brunette set about gathering firewood. Breaking off kindling with her hands and over her knees. Splitting larger branches of driftwood with an axe she borrowed from the galley. During the winter, Sandra had cut firewood to warm her Master and his children’s baths and to cook with. Maxwell was not the only jack-of-all-trades.
***
Sandra toiled into the evening. Gathering firewood and stoking a fire large enough to rival a lighthouse beacon. Like all of the staff at Fort Featherstone, she had plenty of mouths to feed. Mouths that had been using debris to patch the ship. The walls of Maxwell’s luxurious cabin had muffled anything less destructive than canon fire. The sixteen year old wondered why this ship was unnamed. The brunette recalled hearing the name Duchess in the commotion.
“I’ll break the lines! Hodari. Point ‘er for the rocks. The Duchess won’t follow. She’s too big.”
What is all this debris? Did we return fire? Wait a moment. Duchess. Duchess. Where have I heard- THE Duchess? Isn’t that the newest ship in the Queen’s Navy? THE pirate catcher!
The Duchess was designed specifically for ramming vessels of ill-repute. Armed to the teeth, as her Master exclaimed while Sandra served his tea the day that the Duchess sailed off on her first hunt. The Duchess was stated to be larger and faster than the rest of the fleet by leagues. Master Featherstone received a telegram as he was an investor. Why would the Duchess attack a ship full of harmless merchants? Was Maxwell’s ship unknowingly stolen and sold to him?
The crew gathered, asking their cook to sing for them while they filled their bellies. Sandra obliged. One short song turned into an entire night. The crew took turns sharing sea shanties for the ex-maid to harmonise. For uneducated sailors, there was no lack of talent. None of them could read or write. Some could barely speak. Excluding Maxwell and Hodari. Despite all of that, there was not a single dry eye by the fire. There were improvised harmonicas, string instruments and a drum. Sandra enjoyed herself thoroughly. Losing her voice verse by verse.
***
It was not much past midnight that Sandra stirred. The raging inferno reduced to smouldering ashes. Everyone was fast asleep. Snoring loudly. Their bowls stacked, ready to be washed in the morning. She felt a flutter of pride. Without Maxwell and Hodari’s supervision, she expected the seamen to chastise her for stowing away, but for now she felt like a broody hen mothering her hatchlings. Her thoughts drifted home. One sailor rose and shuffled away from his crewmates. Sandra did not pay him any attention. He was probably getting up to relieve himself. She foraged for a canteen that did not stink of alcohol or backwash and gulped down the water.
Chills vaulted down her spine as she watched the sleeping men rise one by one, shambling towards the water with their eyes sealed shut and their arms swinging limp at their sides. She followed them. Singing reached her ears. She recognised those eerie harmonies. Sirens!
Nothing like the cheerful shanties from dinner. These hymns were sombre. Sensual. Haunting. Wordless spells to lure men to watery graves. She tried to call out. Reminded of her predicament. The reason that she woke in the first place. She did not stand a chance of drowning out these huntresses with no voice.
Already the water churned crimson with blood as the crew waded into the water and were torn apart. Her blood ran as cold as ice in her veins when she recognised blonde hair among the sleeping parade. She dashed out from behind the rock that crouched behind to conceal herself from the Sirens. She charged at Maxwell with all of her might, toppling him. He snapped out of his trance, waking with a start. Unsure of where he was. The last thing Maxwell remembered was falling asleep in Hodari’s lap, by the light of the fire with Hodari’s hand resting on his back.
“S-Sandra?”
Sandra crouched between Maxwell and the wretch who almost had him. The Siren bared her discoloured, misshapen teeth at Sandra. Sandra bared her perfect, pearly whites at the Siren.
If you want him, you’ll have to pry him from my cold, dead hands!
The Siren made a noise somewhere between a hiss and a snarl. Lurching towards her, to take Maxwell by force. Sandra struck the Siren across the face without further warning, leaving behind deep, bloody claw marks.
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