Disclaimer: I do not own The Little Mermaid

Prologue

"Dangit!" I cried as I reached for my throbbing toe. "Dangit, dangit, DANGIT!!" I seethed through clenched teeth. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths till the painful pulsing subsided. I then let my foot down carefully and tested it lightly on the ground again. "Owww!!!" I whined, trying to stand. Little toes hurt the most when you hit them. And this time wasn't any different or less painful. I then looked down to see what had so viciously jumped out to take a bite of my foot.

The culprit happened to be a fairly large wooden chest that sat enclosed in shadow and covered in dust.

I reached for the little string that turned on the small light bulb in the center of the small attic. I took another look at the imposing chest and noticed that it was tightly secured with one massive metal lock. I stared more closely at the huge case and realized that it looked quite old. The wood was faded and a few boards were bent and pulling away from the tarnished metal framing. Funny. I don't remember seeing this before. I thought.

After taking one last curious glance at the chest, I turned and hobbled over to the small, dusty desk that had been my intended destination. My grandmother's attic was full of old furniture and brittle cardboard boxes fairly bursting with decaying papers and letters. It was a heaven for me – the genealogist and historian. I just loved coming up to this dusty room and sitting for hours reading every piece of yellowed stationary I could get my hands on. Most of the information I read was rather monotonous and un-interesting – copies of receipts from the grocery store usually aren't very interesting – however, there were special moments when I would miraculously come across an old photograph or an older letter from a relative or friend to my grandparents. Those were the times when I felt a tingle run up my spine or an excited breath escape my mouth. If I could, I would've sat up in my grandma's attic for days! But unfortunately I was only here for another three days and most of those hours were to be spent touring the town or helping my grandparents around the house. That was why this day was special. Today, I had the whole afternoon to myself to do whatever I wanted. That meant – the attic.

I finally reached the old desk and placed my hand on top of it. The coinciding tingle ran up through my finger tips and caused goose bumps to pop out along my warm skin. I smiled as I twirled my fingers over the dark wood, leaving thin trails in the layers of dust.

This desk was originally my great-great grandfather's and had been kept in the family since his death. Though it wasn't especially taken care of, our family had always seen this piece of furniture as a very important part of our history and so, had tried to preserve it as best we could. Although, right now it looked more forgotten than cherished. Stacks of papers crowded the top and even stuck out messily from the open drawers. Fortunately, these papers weren't anything important and so were in no danger being left out in the open. However, being the nosy person that I was, I still wanted to skim through the piles and see what I could dig up about our history.

Two hours passed before I finally decided to give up on the endless sheets of billing documents and other boring parchments.

As I stood to stretch my legs and head down to the kitchen for a snack, I suddenly remembered the old chest that had jumped out and taken a bite of my toe (which still hurt, by the way).

I walked over to the large piece and knelt down beside the huge lock. I looked it over and sighed realizing that it was indeed a sturdy lock and wouldn't open with just a jarring from my grandpa's hammer.

I looked around the little attic, thinking if I'd ever seen a key anywhere in my snooping.

Maybe the desk? I jumped up and scurried over to search through the drawers. I didn't find anything at first but after moving aside a large envelope, stuffed with old flashcards, I finally came across a small carved wooden box. I yanked it open and to my utter surprise and excitement found one huge, brass key that looked to be at least 100 years old! I took it gingerly in my fingers and ran back over to the chest to try it out. It definitely took some effort – enough to make sweat pop out on my upper lip and forehead – but with some determination I finally got the key to turn in the massive lock and with a resounding click, it unhooked.

I carefully took the lock and set in on the ground beside me. Then I reached forward and even more gently lifted the heavy lid.

What met my eyes was certainly not exactly what I had expected. "Huh?" I said confusedly as I gazed upon the mound of dirty, dusty rags. There was literally nothing of importance in that huge trunk except for the presence of more than a dozen, antique strips of torn cloth.

As I leafed through each piece of uncolored fabric, I looked in earnest for some gem or sparkling bobble that would explain the need for so much padding. But to no avail. Instead, all I found was the bottom of the wooden box and some depressed spirits.

I leaned back on my heels and frowned at the chest. My stomach grumbled and I suddenly remembered that I hadn't had lunch.

I then bent forward and was about to get up when I noticed something peculiar about the bottom of the chest and its distance to the floor.

My heart began to race as I looked from one to the other and realized that the chest indeed had a false bottom!! Hunger forgotten, I leaned far into the large chest and felt the edges of the raised layer of wood, hoping to find some hole or latch that would lift the wood. But once again, I had no luck. I then tried to turn the chest over and check the bottom but the trunk was just too heavy and far too old to be moved in such a way.

After much deliberation and arguing with myself, I finally decided that the only way I was going to see what was in the chest was to break the false bottom. And so, without much ado, I simply stepped into the large space and took a single jump.

I then proceeded to fall out of the trunk and land hard on my behind as the bottom broke.

However, my injuries were soon forgotten as I immediately peered into the broken wood and found a small, leather-bound journal, lying peacefully amid some other faded pieces of fabric.

I reached into the chest and carefully pulled the book out. If I were to guess, I would've said the journal was around 100 years old. Little did I know that it was in fact, 264 years old.

The leather was faded and stiff and the pages were yellowed and brittle. However, the book still held together quite nicely and the ink-written words were still dark and able to read. I fingered the precious diary with much awe and amazement. What a find! I wondered whose journal this was and how old it was and what was written in inside that I couldn't help myself but turn to the first fragile page.

"August 11, 1743…" I read aloud in a whisper. "Today our ship, the Brishim, set sail from our port in Dublin. Thirteen months will I be away. Not that I have much to miss. Yet, it will be a challenge to see how well I may be able to adjust to this new way of life and then how I will fare once we finally reach Africa. Till then, I shall depend on my fellow sailors and the good graces of the sea-gods to ensure my safety on this new, life-changing journey…."

Chapter one

"Buchanan!" I turned towards the man who'd yelled my name. "Aye?!" I cried in response over the noise of the sea port and the other men readying the ship for departure.

"Help Lummy with those ropes!" the burly man named, Arty, cried out to me, waving his large arm over his bright russet head towards where Lummy swung above us.

I immediately did as was told and ran over to the thick rope ladder. I pulled myself up with the ease of a well-seasoned sailor and finally reached the skinny, gaped-toothed man that kept tangling the large ropes in his hands. I leaned over towards him, tensing my legs to keep from loosing my balance and falling to my death. He sighed, frustrated, as I helped him to untangle the ropes and tie them into secure, compact knots.

"Aye…" Lummy said softly, still flustered and upset at his own incompetence. I merely smiled and slid back down towards deck.

The captain was now hollering to the rest of the crew. I ran over to hear commands but instead was met with a long-winded speech and far too many well-wishes. I winced as we then bowed in prayer for safe voyage. I wasn't a religious man. Never had been and after seeing the hawk-eyed, black-robed men walking around condemning innocent, hard-working souls, I didn't think that that life would ever be one to call my own. No, the sea was the life I lead nowadays. Unlike my father, I wasn't able to stay in one place for longer than a year. My soul was too restless and my fingers always itched for something new to touch and work with, if I stayed in one place too long. So far, I'd lived in many different places. Ireland, England, Italy and Greece being a few. I'd seen many faces too…and loved many. Yet constantly I'd left them all behind to find once again, a new life. Maybe this time, however, I'll be able to find a place where I can settle for a while and even start a family. But that's not likely.

In any case, this journey should be the most intriguing and challenging. And I'm one who loves to be challenged.

August 14, 1740. Today the weather is the hot and heavy. Every man among us is sluggish and unproductive. Even the Captain's wolfhound is lazy. He is currently sleeping below deck – the coolest area of the ship – and has been since early this morning. The midday meal will soon be upon us yet already I'm tired of the pickled meats and overly-salted vegetables. The rum has also been watered down to last us till we reach the next port. Tis a pity.

Currently I also sit below deck. The winds are calm and the waves steady which means that some of us are able to take a small break from the work and the heat. Our current course is set for Spain where we'll take up more supplies before heading onto Africa. Hopefully we won't encounter any storms till then.

"Buchanan! You're needed on deck!" someone called down the main stairwell to me. I rammed my journal into my small satchel and took the stairs two-at-a-time till I was hit, full-on, with a blast of hot, humid air. The smell of the sea invaded my nostrils as I walked swiftly to where the man was waving me over.

"Aye?" I asked when I reached him.

"The gaskets on the square sail 'ave come loose" the sailor said, pointing to the area overhead. I glanced at him, wondering why he wasn't fixing the problem himself when I suddenly noticed that his right had was wrapped in thick white cloth. "What happened to ye?" I asked. He looked confused then followed my gaze to his hand and chuckled. "Oh that. I cut up me hand when a lantern fell and broke early this mornin'. Glass was everywhere and since the flame was out I didn't see where's I was goin'. I tripped and landed on this hand. Now it's useless." He said, holding his wrist and frowning.

"Well, hope it heals soon. We'll be needing all the hands we can afford fairly soon." I said, beginning to climb.

"Aye…go raibh maith agat." The sailor mumbled – still looking at his injured hand. I merely smiled.

When the gaskets were back in place and I was once again on deck, I walked over to the ship's railing and took a brief moment to glance at the sea ahead. The bright, midday sun glimmered off the water's surface and caused the waves to sparkle and wink. I took a deep breath – filling my lungs with the salty air – and let it out slowly. Freedom. That's what this was. Freedom from the restraints of society and propriety. Freedom from judgment, freedom from ties to anyone, freedom from anything that tries to contain who I am. This is what freedom looks like.

The bell signaling the midday meal suddenly rang and I turned from the railing to head towards the galley. My thoughts still ran through my head as I ate my fill and listened to the raucous jokes and laughter that erupted from the crewmembers among me. I wasn't listening closely but it seemed someone had said something that especially rang true among the men and suddenly I was jostled from both sides as men stood with sloshing mugs to a chorus of cheers and exclamations. Someone elbowed me and I noticed it was the man, Bruce, who seemed to constantly be drunk even if he hadn't touched a cup of grog that day. "Ain't that the truth, Buchan?" he gave me no time to answer. "Aye, Aye! Sláinte!" he said before taking a huge, sloppy swallow of the watery rum. I raised my own mug half-heartedly. "Sláinte." I said quietly before downing my entire ration. I then slammed down the mug and shook my head, trying to shake off the effects of such a daring swallow. I then ran the back of my hand across my wet lips before looking up.

A few of the men sitting close were staring at me with wide eyes – mugs frozen in the air – but I just ignored them and quickly stood up from the table. With heavy footsteps, I walked out of the stuffy dining area and headed back towards the main deck.