Note: I own absolutely nothing from Pirates of the Caribbean. Hope you all enjoy, and thank you for the support, it means a lot!

Aboard the Flying Dutchman

"The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I."
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The decks needed swabbing and, naturally, I was the one called up to scrub with the rest.
I hated doing it that day more than usual because Maccus had somehow been voted to go up and scrub with us deck-swabbers, rather than attend to some important duty that first mates ought to attend to. Maybe the captain didn't need him at the moment. If only he did. How long has it been now? I've long since lost track of time ever since the day I foolishly agreed to serve aboard this godforsaken vessel. It was as if I had been under a trance. Perhaps, at the time, I feared the touch of a rusty blade against my neck more than I feared the monsters wielding them. I hadn't been thinking, I'm not even sure I had known what the captain was talking about when he addressed me with those cold, penetrating eyes. It hardly matters now, what's done is done. I now owe a debt to this ship.

I'm sure that, if this world made any sense at all, I'd be recalling the bloodshed that took place on that fateful day; bring up mention of how the passengers were brutally slaughtered left and right. In those moments, that isn't what took my breath away.

Don't misunderstand me, what happened to us passengers was a terrible thing. In fact, I recall passing out during the start of the brawl. Afterwards...well, that was when the trouble began. I woke up to find the bestial crew of a ship called the Flying Dutchman standing around me and a few other of the passengers on our boat. You can guess what happened next. The captain emerged and confronted us as we sat shaking there, hardly able to believe what was happening to us. I need not try and describe our first impression of captain Davy Jones. You can imagine the terror we felt as he came striding along the half-sunken deck of what was left of our vessel. He had explained that we had a choice to pledge ourselves to a lifetime of servitude on his ship and that if anyone refused, he would be put to death. I don't recall being able to keep my wits about me during this time. I was dazed from having fainted and woken up to the horrifying specimens surrounding us. I couldn't believe that our voyage - what should have been a peaceful, successful one - had gone so wrong.
Many's the time I had heard of piracy being a scourge on the open sea, and of innocent travelers and merchant ships being attacked, raided, the people killed. It is easy to believe in such ghost stories when you are safe at home, in no fear of danger. But under the bright sun, kneeling on the hard, soggy deck with my eyes lowered and shivering for want of warmth, I could not believe it at all.

I understood later the specifics of what had happened. Our new captain had given us the terms, the years of service that were bound to us when we agreed to serve rather than die. But I'd rather not recall that particular meeting, as much as it left a dead-pan impression in my mind ever since then…because that's when I first laid eyes upon him. The 'hammerhead man,' as I had known him before learning what I was sure was not his Christian name. Maccus.

I was quick to understand that he was first mate on this ship. One could almost gather it from his presence alone - nowhere near as formidable as that of Davy Jones, but still he seemed to hold some influence over the rest of the crew.

I must own that I was utterly mesmerized by this man, although he surely was not a human man. Over the time it took me to adjust to my new "home," I found myself unwittingly stealing glances at him whenever he was nearby. Naturally, I had to keep my interest as secret as possible. I don't like to imagine what the pirates would think if one of them noticed my eyes continuously roving toward the first mate. I expect no good would come of it at all. It didn't matter that each and every one of them was a specimen worthy of many hours of attention: to them, excessive glances from a female to a male spelled out only one thing, and I knew no words could nullify it.

So, I kept a low profile and performed my duties as best I could.

But I could not keep my curiosity, my fascination with this creature, away...try as I might. As the weeks passed by and blended into months, I found myself wondering who he had been before he came aboard this ship. I had learned a thing or two since my arrival here, and as it happens, the monsters aboard this ship were all once human men. You would never guess it looking at them now. I feel foolish now that I think of it, but upon my first impression of these pirates, I think I believed that they might have actually been true sea-people, of a bizarre, uncanny sort.

But no, once upon a time, they had been as human as me.

I'm not yet sure what determines their transformation into the different sea fauna they resemble, but if Maccus is any indication, I would say the longer a person has been on this ship, the less human they begin to appear. It's a thought I still struggle with dreadfully...the idea of losing my human appearance and becoming as horrific as one of them...I could never live through that.

It's amusing though, as for all my talk, I find myself drawn to one of these "horrific creatures."

Maccus dons a tremendous set of scars. I don't believe there is an unblemished inch on him. Another peculiarity is that he seems to have lost the function of his left eye. I'd thought perhaps he had lost it in a skirmish with other pirates, but after having studied it over time, I'm beginning to wonder if the loss of his eye isn't a part of his gradual transformation. There is something very strange about it.

He has another set of eyes on each side of his hammerhead. I don't know if he can see out of these eyes or not, though I wouldn't be surprised - not after the things I had seen. I'm sure those extra eyes come in handy when keeping the rest of the crew in line. I thought, in jest, that maybe it's why he became the first mate. Far be it for me to ask him about his ability to see through those extra eyes or not. Maybe I will ask Tanger one of these days. Tanger is not a bad person, as far as pirates go.

I cried out in pain; my hand struck a barnacle, the result of my daydreaming. Frustrated, and doing my best to still appear busy, I looked around for something to stop the bleeding. I spotted a cleaning rag in my bucket that wasn't there a moment ago. Not bothering to wonder where it came from, I snatched it and covered my injured hand.


It began to rain later. It had been overcast all day and I welcomed the respite from the hot sun which often made bending down to scrape barnacles on deck very hard work. I couldn't tell the exact time, but it must have been nearer the end of the day. The horizon darkened, and the air felt thick. As all the tasks were complete, the crew enjoyed a bit of leisure time.

"Clouds are building up."

The voice made me jump. I turned and saw Tanger standing next to me. I let go a small sigh as he leaned on the wall beside me, and we stared out at the horizon at the gathering clouds, now turning a murky black. I hesitantly allowed my gaze to fall on the three large fins protruding from Tanger's back, steely-blue and glistening.

"How's the hand?"

I looked down at it. I hadn't been able to tie the rag very well, and a deep red stain appeared on the area where I had been cut. "Not bleeding so badly." I smiled. "You put the rag into my bucket."

"Aye. Best not tell anyone, though. Humanity is the last thing that's welcome on this ship, next to..." he stopped, as if caught in a mistake.

I noticed it, but acted as if I didn't, and shook my head. "I won't tell anyone."

He looked over his shoulder. "If any of them scalawags so much as had the notion that one of their crew mates had a soft spot, they'd be on him like…well, like barnacles on this accursed ship." He shook his head.

Of all the crewmen on the ship (aside from myself), Tanger looked the most human. If you ignored the fins on his back and the gills and scales growing in patches on his skin, you'd think he was your average sailor. I assumed this was because he was one of the newer members on board the ship, not counting myself and the passengers on our vessel that had agreed to join Davy Jones.

Though, contrary to his words, I had never thought of Tanger as "soft." True, he wasn't merciless and bloodthirsty like the rest of the crew, but he was still rough around the edges, as the saying goes. He may have shown kindness to me, but it was still far from what I would call warm or affectionate. I never feared for him being thought of as soft.
Yet, there was an odd sort of comradeship we shared, that no doubt came from the fact that we were both strangers in a strange land, and still retained much of our humanity - even if we were not encouraged to show it. We understood how hard it was to adjust to our surroundings and our company. Perhaps the others had understood it at some point in time, but I don't believe they remembered.

"I was wondering," I started, uneasily, "our first mate, Maccus...he has eyes on the side of his..."

"Hammerhead?"

"Yes. Is he...do you know if he can see with them?" I felt a bit silly for asking, after all why would he know a thing like that?

He leaned on his elbows. "Beats me, lass. Reckon he's the only one that does know."

I stretched my aching muscles and scanned the deck. Many of the crewmen were below deck or massed together on the other side of the ship, possibly playing a round of that dice game they seem so fond of. Maccus was nowhere in sight.

I glanced at Tanger, whose thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. Growing a little uncomfortable with the silence, I ventured to gently go against his advice and ask a delicate question. "Did you have any family before you came here?"

Though he wasn't looking at me, I sensed a change in the look of his eyes. "I had a wife and two children." He shifted uncomfortably. "Both boys, both grown by now."

He didn't seem to enjoy the topic, so I did not press him.

It was his turn to pose a question to me. "What about you, lass? Did you have a family?"

"Yes, of course. I had a mother and father, an older sister and an -"

"I meant a husband, and children?"

I gave a short laugh. "No, of course not." I never was able to see myself with a husband or child, and his inquiry caught me off guard.

"Do you still remember your parents?" It sounded like an absurd question, except for the fact that it was perfectly legitimate. I knew that people on this ship gradually lost their memories of their old life.

I looked down, hands on the railing, face bent towards the grey-green sea. "Yes, I remember them," I said, feeling a pang in my chest.

"At least you haven't lost them yet." He meant the memories.

I looked at him, studying his eyes that were the same gray-green of the sea. "You don't remember your mother?"

He shook his head. "Not my mother, nor my father, either."

I hesitated, then said, "Are you so certain that you might not have been...well...an orphan?"

He rubbed his brow, as if the answer was lost somewhere in his mind. "Love…love is the word, lass. Their faces are only blurred images in my memory…but I remember their love for me, and mine for them." His voice seemed to snag at the use of the word 'love,' and I wondered greatly at this; his tone was almost fearful.

I looked down, unsure of how to respond. Tanger was attacked, thrown onto this ship, forced into so many years of service, and was slowly beginning to resemble a monster. Was it so much to ask to keep a few memories? It was all he had left in life, and even that was being taken away from him.

I wished I could comfort him the way he did his best to comfort me when I needed it. We stood there for a while, immersed in our own thoughts. I heard a gull cry overhead and gazed wistfully at it, envying its ability to roam freely above the worries and troubles of the world below.

"I hope I don't forget my family," I said.

He hesitated, then said, "I can't lie to you, lass. Hang on to what memories you have, because there will come a time when you won't remember your own name."


I decided to spend the rest of my free time alone, away from Tanger.
A person can only take so much, and I wasn't in the mood to hear the hard truth, the reality of my existence at the moment. I would have preferred a lie to the cold tangibility he presented me with. The thought of not being able to remember my family, or my own name...

It started raining. I loved the sound it made on the wooden slats. The ship began rocking back and forth like some haunting mockery of a baby's cradle. A few moments passed by in which I watched the rain seep between the cracks of the wood. The salty smell intensified, and I inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the sea.

My ears perked up at the sudden outburst of voices nearby. I looked up. The clouds turned a sickly shade of black and green, and I was surprised when the rain intensified in a loud burst. In an odd sort of way, I suppose I was grateful that I now inhabited a body more adapted to the cruel life this ship demanded. Had I been my old self, I surely would have frozen to death, or something near to it, for the temperature had dropped. What mother would do if she could see me now. I half-heartedly amused myself with the thought, imagining the look on her face if she could see me sitting amidst such a ghastly bunch of pirates, and without a coat.

The voices rose again and this time they caught my interest.

"Play it fair or you'll be keelhauled for a fortnight!" The voice was hard and guttural so that I barely understood what was said. I stood up, curious as to what was going on.

As I expected, a fair-sized group were gathered around a select three, holding cups and tossing dice.

I refused to ever play such a game in all the time I've been on the ship, but that didn't mean I never watched the others at it. I always took double pleasure in watching Maccus participate. Not because I liked to see him lose a few more years to the Dutchman, but because I felt somehow that seeing him play gave me a better insight as to what kind of person he was, however minuscule that insight might be. It never seemed to matter much to him if he won or lost. I'm sure he's been indebted to the Flying Dutchman longer than anyone else on board, next to the captain. What difference would ten or so years make, at least to their thinking?

Maccus shifted one of the cups. I kept my eyes on his claws until the pirate next to him spoke. "Seven years then..." This was Hadras. The crowd buzzed and Maccus squinted his eye. I took a step closer. The pirates had figured out rather quickly that my refusal to play the game was due to the simple fact that I didn't know how to play. I never bothered to try and learn, as I had absolutely no desire to prolong my sentence aboard this ship. As such, they often enjoyed teasing me about it, goading me into playing a round, poking fun at the fact that I was probably the only one aboard who didn't partake in it. My being a female didn't help boost my confidence, either - as if it somehow contributed to my ignorance of the game. I was never the competitive, raucous type, and so always did my best to stay out of trouble. What on earth was I doing on this ship?

"What'sa matter? Ye don't wanna play?"

The voice came from my right. My stomach lurched as I recognized the beginnings of a "teasing session."

"I'm not interested in this game," I said.

"Too scared?" came a voice behind me.

I whirled around and was upset to find that I actually recognized this pirate. Palifico.

"I just don't." I tried to sound firm, but my voice shook, and I was more ashamed for it. I hated being the center of attention, having always fallen between cracks my whole life. Being in front of a group of regular people is a frightening thing for me, but it was nothing like being the object of ridicule to a gaggle of terrifying, disfigured seamen who looked as though they came right out of a nightmare. Many of them didn't even have human eyes with which to stare. I don't know why I was afraid, I certainly didn't have anything to lose except maybe pride.

I was about to drop all conversation and walk away, when another voice made itself known.

"Your name's May, isn't it?"

My spine tingled. I knew the voice. Had I retained a healthy human complexion, I would surely have turned scarlet red. "Yes," I answered.
Ella-May, my given name which I never much liked, but hearing it come from his mouth was...different.

Maccus held out his hand. "Do you play?" He asked, jangling the dice in his outstretched claw.

I swallowed and replied, "No," which came out rather shaky. He grinned then, flashing those razor teeth.

"What's a few more years of service, eh?" This earned laughter from the other crewmen and I felt my stomach flip-flop. I had to get myself out of there before the situation got worse.

I dashed out of the crowd and down the wet stairs, not caring which part of the ship I ended up in.

The laughter of the pirates echoed behind me, but it was Maccus's laughter that chased me down the steps to the deck below.


"Down!"

The captain was bellowing orders, and his crew echoed the command with uproarious fervor. My breath caught in my throat as I knew what was coming. The entire ship was being submerged underwater. I looked around for Tanger, but he was nowhere to be seen, so I hurriedly dashed for the nearest length of rope.

I looked around as the crew prepared to submerge, and nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt my hand being pried loose from the rope. I turned, surprised to see Maccus clutching my wrist. He forcefully closed my fingers around a thicker length of rope away from the edge. "The rope here's taut," he said. "You're a first-timer; you'd be whisked away in less than a second if you tried to grab anything else." He left as quickly as he had appeared. I swallowed and hung tight to the rope, determined to remember his advice in the future.

I could hear voices shouting, orders being given, feet thumping on the wood, but I dared not look up. Instead, I shielded my face in the crook of my arms and squeezed my eyes shut.

The ship began to shudder violently and, before I knew it, we were plunged beneath the surface. The crash of the waves was almost deafening and my heart beat wildly inside my chest as I was enveloped in cold, salty darkness.

Almost, almost, almost.

The noise was muffled as we sank underwater like a brick. I knew I would never get used to the sensation, not in a hundred years.

Those aboard the Flying Dutchman have the ability to breath underwater for any length of time, whether you had a pair of gills or not. I myself didn't possess any gills - not yet, at least. But it didn't impede me from being able to exist under the ocean as easily as I existed above it. Though I admit, I still have nightmares about my first submersion.

It was an entirely different world, being below the surface. It was dark, and muffled, and eerie. Sound and sight were completely different. I was able to make out the shapes of some of the crew, but that was it. I didn't know whether my sight underwater would develop over time or not, and wondered if the others saw things more clearly than I did. Communication was also a different matter. Naturally, we couldn't speak to each other the way we did above the surface, so communication seemed to take some form of telepathy...though I'm still not sure if that's the proper word for it. There were words being uttered, but they weren't sharp as they were above the surface; they had a ghoulish tone.
I do know that the more time I spent underwater, the easier it became for me to understand what the others were saying. Perhaps it was some kind of sea-creature speak that they only used when submerged - I had no way of knowing. The sensation was utterly terrifying, though.

I hate to recall my first descent into the ocean. Indeed, I had made a spectacle of myself the first time, panicking and flailing about like a hooked fish, nearly hyperventilating from the sinking feeling in my chest, the darkness, the absence of all the familiar senses I was used to. Tanger had been with me at the time. I remember his reassuring grip on my hand which, though I was grateful, did little to ease my fear. I don't know how I survived.

Yet, even when you're hundreds of feet underwater, there is still light to be found. Eels and deep-sea fish that blink and flash like fireflies sometimes came within proximity to the ship, but for the most part steered clear. The strangest thing in the world is to stand by the bulwark and see schools of fish from a distance, to catch glimpses of their iridescent bodies glowing and shimmering every which-way...and when all else is utter darkness, you feel as if you were in a dream. It's an eerily beautiful sort of light, yet I can't say that I ever took comfort in it. Lovely and fascinating as it might be, it was still an alien light from an alien world.

The pirates went about their usual business. Most of them were hungry and went to catch whatever kind of food they could find. It was always difficult for me to regain my appetite after submerging. The others were used to it. Truly, they behaved almost as if the ship were sitting peacefully on the surface under a cheerful sun. They meandered about their tasks and their talks as if it were all perfectly normal and not in the least bit strange.

After a while the adrenaline wore off, and my mind wandered to the incident that happened only minutes ago. Maccus gripping my wrist...the intensity in his staring eye, the feel of his rough skin on mine.

I pressed my lips to my wrist. He was rough when he grabbed it. I rubbed at the spot, trying to brush off the feel of him, but it stuck. My chest was heavy, but I blamed it on the depth we were at.

I looked down at my hand and realized, by the small wisp of blood that trailed through the water, that it was bleeding. One more injury to mark my time here, but I began to pay them less heed. Injuries were all too common in this place.

Shadows moved nearby, and I knew by now it was only some of the crew searching for something to gnaw on.

It surprised me, but some of the men moved with an odd sort of grace while underwater. I wondered if they felt more at home in the sea than they did on the surface. It was a frightening notion, for it would only contribute to what their outward appearance already spoke of: they were more fish than man.

I looked around to see if Maccus was within sight, the simple telltale shadow of a hammerhead, but I saw nothing. For the first time, I wished I had grown a set of gills. I'm sure it would ease my being underwater, and as atrocious as it is to think of myself with gills on my neck, I was in such a state that I would have thrown vanity out of the window for even the slightest bit of relief.

The Flying Dutchman groaned loudly. I took in a deep, watery breath and went looking about for something to do. I would've even appreciated the company of Tanger; anything to escape my thoughts that weren't only wrong, but preposterous as well. Nothing short of absurdity.
I saw a faint glimmer in front of me. It was a fish. Then, quick as lightning, a hand snapped it right out from under my nose. I looked and saw Tanger.

"No appetite, eh?" He asked through a mouthful of raw fish.

"No," I said. "Not for fish, anyway."

He chewed and swallowed. "Captain wants us to take down the sails." He motioned toward the great billowing heaps of cloth.

Tying down sails wasn't particularly hard work - not when you didn't need to climb to reach them. It wasn't one of my favorite chores but I would prefer it any day to the wheel.

It's what I called it, only because I didn't know the proper term for it at the time. I've been called to help work the wheel only once, probably because it required a certain amount of muscle to push it, and I wasn't the most muscular person on board. You'd have to push as fast and as hard as you could, and if you couldn't (or even if you could), your back met with a hellish sting. I don't know why I had ever been called to push the wheel with the others, the captain surely must have known that I would be of little use there. I more than suspect it was done for the sake of sadistic amusement. Still, I was never called to help turn it again after the first time. And very thankful I was for it, too.

So Tanger and I, and a select few others, got to tie down the tattered sails. Once, when I was up near the crow's nest, I thought I saw Maccus, which nearly caused me to flinch - until I realized it was an ordinary hammerhead shark. I blew out a stream of bubbles as the equivalent to a sigh of relief, but nevertheless kept my eyes on the shark until he disappeared from view. I don't know why none of the crew were ever bothered by the local sea life. Perhaps there was some kind of enchantment on the ship that made those belonging to the natural world afraid. Or perhaps the crew simply had no fear for their lives. At any rate, we were never bothered by any underwater predators (though it didn't keep me from watching them carefully as I went about my task.)

"Here!" Tanger called and whisked the rope to me. I eased myself down and secured it with the help of a few others, and we moved on to the next sail. My hand was raw from all the handling.

"Attention there, you!" One of the crewmen I recognized as Koleniko was shouting into someone's ear. I turned away, quite used to hearing people get shouted at by now. "You there, take on this side," someone snapped at me and pointed to the opposite side of the sail. I hurried to obey.

When I got there, I came upon someone I saw now and then, but had never associated with. I didn't know his name, but he looked almost as human as I did. His hair was wet and dark about his shoulders. Barnacles stuck to his skin, and I could just make out the form of a starfish suctioning itself onto his face. Something made me want to reach out to this man; I sensed a certain decency about him.

"Forgive me, sir…may I ask your name?"

He looked at me, as if wondering if it were him I was talking to. Then he answered, "Bootstrap."

I continued to pull the rope. Trying to make friendly conversation, I said, "I've seen you around before. You look very human, compared to the rest of the crew."

He gave a humorless laugh. "Won't be much longer before that changes." He gripped his side of the sail.

I kept my voice low. "How much longer do you think it'll be before I...change, myself?"

"It's different for all of us…the sea takes who she will, and when she will."

I began tying the rope. "How long have you been here?"

He shook his head. "Does it matter?"

I looked down at the tied rope. I wondered if Bootstrap chose not to tell me his real name, or whether he had simply forgotten it - whether his name even mattered or not. No, I suppose it did not matter, if what he said was to be believed.
I finished the rest of my task in silence.


Nothing noteworthy has happened for days now.
Besides our daily chores, I've been spending all of my free time talking to Tanger and familiarizing myself with the different areas of the ship - something I really hadn't had the courage to do until now.

I once had a thought of swimming away from it altogether while it was submerged, and simply never returning. It was a foolish notion, of course, and I didn't truly think it would work. Seeing as how I was now able to survive underwater, I had less fear of it than I had before (though I was still respectful of its vastness, its mystery and unpredictability. I may have been changing into something inhuman, but that didn't mean I was immune to the sea's often unpredictable cruelties.)
...There was also the allure of that certain someone that became increasingly difficult to ignore.

I had an eternity ahead of me…plenty of time to try and figure him out, as impossible as that surely was. From what I have learned while being on this ship, it seems as though the crewmen who have been here the longest barely remember their lives before the Flying Dutchman. I'm more than certain it has to do with some foul spirit of forgetfulness of the past lying over this vessel, because once already I felt I had nearly forgotten my own surname. A person doesn't just forget things like that.

I tried talking myself out of the fear that would loom up - that, even if I did forget my past, it technically would not matter, because I would not remember what I had lost. It was a losing battle, though. As it says in the Bible, "fear hath torment." And it did.

And it's strange to think that all of the people - creatures - aboard this ship had once led normal lives. I couldn't imagine, say, Hadras coming home to a wife and children after a hard day's work, or Palifico as a young human child, listening to stories that his father would tell him. If I hadn't known any better, I would say they were this way always.

And Maccus...would I ever be anything more than a simple deck hand in his eyes? Would he ever see me for more than what I appeared to be? The prospects didn't look good. And deep down, I knew that my own humanity was still lingering at the surface, and that it was only a matter of time before it sank into the abyss and I became as cold and unfeeling as those around me.

No...Maccus belonged to the Flying Dutchman, and thus was probably less of an individual than I realized. He was alive, and yet he wasn't.

Maybe I could satisfy my curiosity from afar by observing him surreptitiously, but not daring to get too close. For all I know, it may be just as well that I continue to lose my humanness - to think how much harder it would be for me to keep on with this existence, being allowed to feel, and remember, and pine for things I know I will never have again.


I'm losing myself more each day.
I can feel the changes taking place in my mind, in my heart. This morning I found another barnacle wedged onto my skin that hadn't been there yesterday. I didn't bother prying it off this time. My clothes are always wet and they have become very ragged. My skin has become more pale; I'm wasting away before my very eyes and there's not a thing in the world I can do about it. I try to pour myself into my work, try not to think about what's happening to me too much. I mustn't let my thoughts dwell on it or I might lose my mind completely.

Yet, there were more positive distractions that no doubt helped me hang on to my humanity a little longer. Tanger, for instance, was almost always open to conversation. My fellow passengers on our ship that had been attacked mostly kept to themselves, undoubtedly resigned to their fate by now. Sometimes I would talk to them, but not often. Even though we had been on the same vessel together, they showed little interest in associating with me.

Tanger and I talked about many things. Most of the time I'd reminisce about my previous life. I told him I had never been an ambitious person, that I once thought about becoming a maid for some rich noble, or working as a serving girl on fishing boats. They were young, fanciful notions, as women did not have as many prospects as men.
I never wanted to get married. Love never seemed like a certainty to me, and marriage, in my view, was a partnership of convenience more than anything else. Besides, it seemed so dull, resigning myself to being a housewife and losing what freedom I possessed. Maybe there was more ambition in me than I thought. There was also the fact that I heartily doubted I'd be able to get myself a husband, seeing as I wasn't the most attractive person in the world.

At least now I wouldn't have to worry about my future. It had been decided for me.


By evening, I was so hungry that my stomach was practically eating itself.
There wasn't much fare aside from fish and seaweed, so I had to wait until I had completed my chores to go and look for something edible. And what an embarrassing experience it was, as I couldn't yet swim as well as the others, and so moved thickly and clumsily through the water. I didn't know how they were fast enough to catch those dratted fish, even with their bodies suitably adapted to oceanic life. I must have tried for a full hour before finally being able to catch one - only to have it snatched from my hands as quickly as I had caught it!

I turned to see Koleniko standing there, and though it was dark, I could tell he had a look of cruel amusement on his twisted face. I was so stunned at first that I couldn't speak.

"Give that back," I said, my voice shaking with barely-restrained anger.

"Why don't you take it back," he replied and popped the fish in his mouth. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but the next thing I knew, I lunged myself at him. But he was quicker than me and caught me by the wrists, shoving me painfully against the deck of the ship.

"Foolish decision, wench! If you can't learn your place on this ship, we'll hand you over to the kraken, make no mistake!"

I wanted to reply, wanted to show him that I was not afraid, though I certainly was. But the better part of my mind seemed to kick in, for something told me that it was better to lie low and not cause trouble, as unfair as my predicament was. My fists clenched in anger, but I said nothing.

"Not to worry," he said, raking a hand through my hair, which made me recoil. "You can have what's left over. The bones are right fine to chew on." He laughed and left me alone on the deck of the ship.

Lot of trouble over fish. And I didn't much care for the way he made contact (it unnerved me, actually, but I tried not to show it.) I stood up, trembling, and took a deep breath.

At least we didn't attract attention. The last thing I needed was to be the laughing stock of the entire ship. I especially didn't want Maccus seeing me in such a prone state, though it likely didn't matter. He probably already looked upon me as little more than a parasite.
As intriguing as he was, he was also incredibly terrifying. I certainly wouldn't want to get on his bad side. For all I know, it might be the only side he has.

So there I was, empty-handed and hungry and no better off than I was before. I was too weary to try and catch another fish, so I resorted to eating the least slimy-looking bit of seaweed I could find and snatching up a crustacean here and there. Not exactly a meal fit for an ordinary person, but my stomach was begging for food. And as unappetizing as the fare down here was, I found out that it did no harm to my rapidly-changing system.

I had an older sister who was everything I wasn't: outgoing, lively, confident. She used to tease me about my squeamishness over anything creepy and crawly, especially when it came to spiders and worms, which had been my great dislike. I can only imagine the look on her face if she could see me now, chomping away at crustaceans and seaweed. I doubt she would even recognize me.

I was crunching the last bit of crab leg when I heard a noise behind me.

"Looks like you've got your first set of fins," Tanger said.

I frowned. For a moment I thought he was using some kind of fish-folk metaphor - but then he pointed to my left arm. I looked, and saw three small, light-red fins protruding from my skin. I dropped the empty crab shell which sunk slowly onto the deck.

"Oh my God..." I muttered, "Where did…where did these come from?" I rubbed my hand along my left arm, half expecting the fins to vanish, but they were there to stay, sure as daylight.

He laughed hollowly and held onto a line of rope. "The sea, lass. The sea."


I don't make it a point to get into details as far as duties to the ship go, but during barnacle scraping today, another one somehow lodged itself onto my skin.
I tried peeling it off this time, but to no avail. It bothered me a little, but I quickly made up my mind not to let it distract me from my duty. I had long ago given up trying to pry barnacles from my skin; I don't know why this one suddenly bothered me. Maybe it's because of the fins on my arm. Maybe it reminded me how powerless I was to retain my former appearance.

After the scraping was done, I decided to do a little exploring around the ship. I went a few floors below deck, and came upon a room that looked like it hadn't been used for quite some time - and on this ship, that was saying something. Curiosity got the better of me, so I went in.

The first thing I noticed, besides the water feeling slightly colder, was that there was a rusty brig sitting in the far right corner of the room. Next to it was a large pile of chains and clasps, all rusted and grimy as well.

A shiver ran down my spine. The place was creepy, creepier than any other part of the ship I've been to so far. But, foolish girl that I was, I didn't turn back. As uncanny as the room was, it was still just a room - what harm could it do me?

I caught sight of a sodden book on one of the small, rotted tables. I picked it up and examined it. Incredibly, some of the words were still discernible. It looked like some sort of log, or journal of some crewman that had lived on the ship, long ago. By the style of the writing, I gathered that whoever had written this was a person of at least some education. I didn't imagine many pirates (if pirate he was) took to reading and writing. It may have easily been that this vessel, whatever her story, had not always been crewed by pirates. There was no way to know.

The words read:

"…though I doubt the captain will give me a taste o' the cat-o-nine-tails. Yesterday's duties proved nigh unbearable for me, and I fear that I may not be able to last much longer. My back has grown sore, and…"

The rest was blotted out by ink stains and time. I flipped the page.

"…forever, and could actually feel it rushing into my veins…" I took a step back, still reading.

"…it is as if my mind had been replaced by that of a hagfish. I am forfeiting myself to this hellish curse, and in many a way, I have come to accept it."

Another step.

"…must depart; duty calls."

"I have returned with blood on my hands. My hand slipped on the helm, and gave the ship a minor jolt. How I cowered before the coxswain!"

My foot knocked up against something hard, and having been engrossed in the old journal, I momentarily panicked and stumbled backward. I fell hard on the floor amidst a pile of the old chains and clamps, and immediately got back to my feet. It was then that I realized my left ankle had been caught in one of the hard, iron rings.

I promptly dropped the book and tried to undo the clasp. Nothing happened.

Panic setting in, I tried breaking the old clamp open, hoping it was brittle enough to snap. No success.

I yanked again and again, but the bloody thing wouldn't budge. I grew frustrated and gave up the yanking, this time trying to ease my ankle through the ring. No good. I wondered how in the world I managed to get caught in this thing. It may have been the fear and frustration talking, but I had a slight notion that the ship was playing a very cruel trick on me. This ship has surprised me on more than one occasion, and although I have never been superstitious, I couldn't help but wonder at the absurdity of my misfortune.

I was stuck. Tears started welling in my eyes; I couldn't help it. How is it possible to cry underwater? I don't know, but I was. I began to think of worst-case scenarios, as is custom when fear takes over logic. I wondered what would happen if the pirates got called to their duties and I wasn't able to show up. What would happen if someone found me down here, and I was flogged for being so careless? I tried not to let my thoughts run too far.

"Damn it..." I whimpered through invisible tears. After a while, when I was emotionally and physically exhausted from trying to undo the clamp, I heard footsteps echoing down the corridor. Barnacles and various other anemones that were stuck to the walls coiled shut.

I held my breath, waiting to see who it was, and was vastly relieved to see Tanger emerge from behind the wall. He must have heard the chains rattling.

"Thank God you're here," I said, hands still on the chain. "I'm stuck."

I felt embarrassed that I had made such a spectacle of myself, but was glad for once that we were underwater, as it made my tear-stained eyes harder to see. I never could stand for people to see me cry.

His face was contorted in puzzlement, but he quickly assessed the situation. "Lassie, what were you doing down here in the first place?"

"I got it caught by accident," I breathed, ignoring his question. "Can you get me out?"

"How in blue blazes did you manage this?" He bent down and began fiddling with the clasp.

"I don't know," I snapped, growing annoyed at his questions, all the more so because I knew it was my fault I was stuck. "Don't ask me how, it just happened. Try to get the bloody thing off, will you?"

He shook his head. "No good. It's gonna take more than hands to break this off."

I slumped in exasperation. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Well…I'm beat." He rubbed the back of his neck. I think we both hesitated to turn to any of the crew for help. Such a thing might possibly make an already-bad situation worse.

Again, there came the familiar sound of footsteps. I hoped to God it wasn't the captain, he'd have me flayed for sure, or worse. Stupidity and clumsiness was never dealt with leniently on a pirate ship, and the Flying Dutchman was far from an exception.

Then a tall, muscular figure entered. It was Maccus. I felt my skin turn a shade darker, and was thankful that the murkiness concealed my flushed face.

"What's this?" He asked, mouth contorted, teeth bared in his usual snarl, eyes glaring and inquisitive. He stepped over to me and Tanger, observing the chains and clasp just as Tanger had done moments before.

"Eh…the lass just got herself in an accident is all…" Tanger answered, looking somewhat sheepish, if that were possible.

Maccus glanced at me, and I felt the heat rise in my face despite the cold surroundings.

He bent near the chain, and then as easily as if it were made of wafer-thin crackers, he snapped the link with his teeth. His jaws were mere inches away from mortally wounding my leg.

He stood up and said, "You're on duty now, wench - and heaven help you if you decide to go messing around again." He motioned for us to get back on deck. Tanger and I scurried past him, tail-between-legs. The ring of metal was still on my ankle, like a hideous piece of jewelry.

"That was a close one, lass," Tanger hissed into my ear when we were far enough away. We scrambled back on deck to perform our chores. He seemed almost put-out.

We kneeled on the sodden deck and began chipping away at a cluster of barnacles and mussels.

"Do you know how lucky you are he didn't report your little mishap to the captain?"

I had been punished before; I knew. "Then why didn't he?"

"I don't know, but next time have a care when you go prowling about."

My heart was throbbing in my chest. I knew it was from fear and relief from what had just happened, but I also knew that some of it had to do with Maccus. For the rest of the day, I replayed those few seconds over and over in my mind. I saw him striding into the room, fixing his one good eye on me, the slight rush of water as he snapped the chain from the clamp.

I tried to wipe away the feel of his rough hand on my ankle, where he had steadied the clamp, but the roughness remained.


During the following day, I found that everyone on board was calling me "Chainer" at the end of every order they gave me.
I asked Tanger about it, and he explained that it was a nickname I had "earned" after my little incident in the cabin below deck. Apparently, word got around, and thus I was known as "the girl with the chain," shortened to "Chainer." I wasn't sure what to think. I suppose I could have landed a much worse nickname, but...Chainer?

It now made me wonder where the name "Tanger" could have possibly come from. Or all the others, for that matter, if my own was any indication of where these pirates' got their unusual monikers.

Well, let the pirates call me what they wanted. I didn't really care as long as I never forgot my real name. I suppose I ought to consider myself lucky: I could have ended up being "Clamp."


A week later, the ship was brought to the surface.
It didn't take me long to find out why. Even though the Flying Dutchman had been underwater for some time, the captain had many ways of finding things out, even things happening on the surface.

There was another pirate ship nearby that the captain had somehow spotted - or "sensed" - far off. Tanger rushed up to me and hurriedly explained that the captain was about to unleash the kraken.

I had no idea what he meant, as I had never heard of a 'kraken' before. But everyone was busy, so I withheld my questions. They were shortly answered, however, when I saw huge, slimy, thick green tentacles snake their way out of the surface and up toward the oncoming pirate ship. I felt sick to my stomach; I recognized the beast. It was the same one that attacked our own vessel what seemed like ages ago, but the memory was as sharp as ever. I'd all but blotted the beast from my mind, and had never truly been sure that I'd seen it on that fateful day. Something like that couldn't be real...but it was.
Even though I knew the kraken would not attack the Flying Dutchman where stood its master, I was utterly terrified.

Kraken...so that's what Koleniko meant when he delivered his threat. Until now, I had never learned the name of the devilfish.

The attack seemed to last for hours, but in reality could not have taken even half that long. I watched as the pirate ship crumbled to bits, hull cracking in two, masts splintering to pieces - it was no more than a toy to the gargantuan beast. Even from this distance, I could faintly hear the screams of terror as, one by one, the men on the ship fell victim to the kraken. Even though the men on that ship were thieves and murderers, I couldn't bear seeing them killed off so easily. When at last the noise and the crashing and screaming ceased, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"It gets easier to witness after the first time, lass…" Tanger said, clearly sensing my horror, if not the turmoil on my face.

I managed to nod, not realizing how shallow my breathing had become. I didn't want to grow accustomed to watching people die helplessly, without even being able to defend themselves. Pirate or no, they were still human, and I have to own that I felt more than a twinge of pity as I watched those men die. I was, in a way, disgusted with Tanger for daring to suggest that such a sight could possibly become easier to watch. How could he say such a thing? Did he have no heart at all? Was his assimilation into the ways of this ship so powerful that it managed to steal whatever humanity he had left in him?
I was angry, and appalled.

Just when I thought the scenario was over, the crewmen started gathering around the captain. I joined them, though feeling faint and frightened of what might happen next.

Davy Jones took his pipe out and began smoking with slow, deliberate puffs. He seemed distant, almost melancholy, as he stared out to sea at the shipwreck. Although the kraken had been the one to destroy it, it had done so only by the will of the captain. He turned to Maccus, who was standing nearby, awaiting his captain's orders.

"Check for survivors," he said. Maccus and a select few others quite literally dissolved from the ship.

As much as I hated to see the men die, I hoped that there were no survivors. Better for them to die than to be press-ganged into this devil of a crew. I can only hope their souls made it to heaven rather than hell.

Slowly, the remaining half of the wrecked pirate ship sank eerily beneath the surface. Several larger chunks still bobbed hopelessly on the water, and it was no doubt from these relics that Maccus and the others might expect to find survivors, however unlikely that seemed.

I strained my eyes to see if I could catch any movement, any sign of life among the flotsam and jetsam, but to no avail.

I couldn't prevent the watery film from spreading over my eyes. I wasn't really sure why I was crying...maybe it was for the survivors, or from terror of the scene I had witnessed. When the mind and heart are too full, tears are bound to slip out eventually. My heart, at the moment, felt like a dam that broke under the strain of a force more powerful than it. Could I have been remembering my own experience with the monster?

Maybe it was because…despite my endless fascination for the first mate, I knew he was bringing those survivors to their fate, and quite likely their deaths.

I was hopelessly attracted to a murderer, and I was ashamed.


Later on that day, a thunderstorm had built up and settled over the ship.
I sat leaning against a sodden wall. The wetness of my tattered dress clung to my skin, making everything seem colder than it was. Raindrops glided down my face and hair, pattered against my skin, and pooled into every crack and crevice. Flashes of lightning illuminated the dark clouds overhead, accompanied by the rumbling of thunder.

I was happy that no one took notice of me, but truth be told before the eyes of God, I was also lonely. I looked around. I noticed a group lounging near the helm of the ship, each with a bottle in their hands. Another group on the forecastle was playing Liar's Dice, which is where I guessed the occasional outbursts of excitement were coming from. Tanger was nowhere in sight.

A loud clap of thunder sounded overhead, making me start. When I opened my eyes, seconds later, I saw Maccus standing at the railing not far from me. This caused a greater jolt to my system than the thunder had.

He seemed oddly preoccupied, as if he were searching for something far out at sea. His muscles were sleek and wet from the rain, his jaw set firmly in thought.

I briefly swept my eyes over the barnacles attached to his skin, surveyed the scars, the cuts. Laughter rang out from the other crewmen. I stood up and approached him, not at all sure what I was planning to do - as if my better senses were betrayed by heart and body that left sensible thinking behind.

I thought of saying something, thought of giving a small greeting, of starting up small talk - anything. But I could feel my heart beating in my chest, and words failed me.

He surprised me by speaking first. "Hurricane is on the way…" he muttered, without so much as a glance at me.

I dared to step closer. "How can you tell?"

He pointed one of his claws to the water. "They can sense it," he said, and looking I could see dozens of dark silhouettes of what could only be sharks; some of them hammerheads. "They're headed for deep water."

I much preferred to observe sharks from this angle than from down below in the cold, salty dark. It was mesmerizing the way they moved so fluidly.

The silence between us grew. I stared at him. A bolt of lightning lashed out overhead, briefly illuminating his fearsome profile.

When I was a child, I used to sit in a corner and cover my ears whenever a thunderstorm would hit. My sister would try to comfort me, and mother would shake her head, saying that I was behaving silly for cowering in a corner on account of a "ruddy thunderstorm." The years went by, and I eventually grew to appreciate them, for nowadays I take great delight when there is a storm; exciting, powerful, and beautiful all at once.

I turned my attention back to him, watched the way his chest rose in and out with his breathing. I knew that his soul was not his own, that it rightfully belonged to the ship. He seemed in that moment like a cold statue, almost devoid of life.

I reached my hand out, wanting to lay it against his shoulder, to feel the rough coolness of his skin; but I let it drop. He turned and fixed me with that glimmering eye.

"Get back to your duties," he said in a soft snarl (or what passed for him as soft.)

'No, not now. I don't want this to end,' I thought. I turned to leave, but stopped and turned to face him.

"Maccus," I blurted on a whim.

He looked at me, waiting.

"...I..." …Didn't know what to say. "…You should tell the captain about the hurricane."

It sounded foolish, but I didn't have time to correct myself. He didn't respond. Instead, he walked over to me, and I couldn't help but back away a little.

He grabbed my upper arm and growled, "I know my practice, wench. You just stick to yours." He released me roughly.

I scuttled away as quick as I could without appearing too shaken. I rubbed my arm where he had grasped it. It hurt. I glanced down and saw that it was pock-marked and red from the small spines protruding from his claws. I knew I shouldn't have prolonged the conversation; I don't know what came over me.

I trudged down the steps to the lower deck, nearly slipping on the slick stairway. At least down there I would be more secluded from everyone else. Right away, I began clearing shells and seaweed off of various crates lining the walls. It took some time for me to move the crates to the proper end of the room, but I managed with the help of three other crewmen who had been ordered below deck as well.

When that was done, we all headed back up as everyone began participating in raising the sails. We headed over, and one of the men tossed me a line which I absently took and started pulling. I poured myself into the work, but I couldn't get my mind off him.

I felt hurt that our few lines of conversation had started so civilly, and then I had gone and somehow upset him.

He was a mystery to me. I couldn't understand him, but I desired to. But then, he was the first mate of the Flying Dutchman; unapproachable by every means. I could only hope that my interest, my curiosity toward him would wane, and that I would not land myself in any more trouble. He was not meant to be understood.