They store her in the hold, her tail wedged between barrels of fish. It's either an ironic or calculated statement of her position aboard ship. Knowing the Captain of this cursed ship, it's both.

The crewmen linger, throng the hatchway, one going so far as to polish the barrel's hoops. The others make every excuse to chance by. It seems that salted fish is in high demand.

Her threats have no mark on them, and they are soon against the glass, the boy nearest of all, smearing the mist of his breath . The Quatermaster approaches, and she knows him only by his step, because when he appears in the small box of blue it's the same unfamiliar, dead face. They disperse, quiet as seals in shark waters.

Eventually, he leaves as well,and she is left alone with the fish and the muffled slap of waves against the hull. She likes fish. Not salted, she has no taste for it, but fresh, all silver scales and fragile bones...

She is hungry, has not eaten more than minnow for days, and yet she is forced to ignore the pull, her deep seated need to take one of these two legged meals into the deep with her. She will eat when she leaves this cage - the sleeping guard will make an easy catch.

When she gets out. Any wave length wood is strong, the workmanship solid. Her compliments to the craftsman. If and when she comes across him.

The chinks of light fade, here, gone and here again as her watchdog settles in for the night. She has made nary a mark on her confines. No matter. Now is the time for waiting. The waves lull the ship into a dream state. If not for the glass, she could be adrift in the currents...

If not for the net, she would be.

The timbers creak. Her guard, if that he could be called, splits the air with his growling. Faintly, the slap of rope at the mast. Again, the wood groans.

"You are a mermaid."

Daughter. Where did you come from?

"How do you know my father?"

Demanding little thing, isn't she.

"I was beginning to believe you wouldn't come."

"What? What did you say?"

Did she speak too lowly? Dear oh dear. Daughter will just have to come closer, won't she?

The glass is cool - cold against her skin.

Pause. Nothing but the waves, their breathing, and snoring.

She will silence him at the first opportunity she finds.

Her head is tilted, eyes dark like ... like nothing beneath the waves. Interesting. She has her fathers hair, curls and all. No flames.

She slaps the glass again to get her point across.

She gets the idea, fumbles at the lock until she puts the lantern down. Lifts the lid.

She barely tastes the difference in the air ( and there is a difference, of salt and sweat and no one could say it's fresh but it's newer) before there's metal at her collarbone, cold, muted, sharp metal, and a very familiar smirk on the face looking down at her.

"I'm not making it that easy."

Her? Escape? Where would she go?

Her mute appeal doesn't work. Her wrist is bound, not once but twice, before the blade is moved and she settles back against, nearly sending her lantern to the floor. She snatches it up before it hits deck.

So, not raised aboard a ship? Not a surprise.

"Now, how do you know my father?"

"Your father knows many women."

Why wouldn't she know him? Work it out.

"You're a mermaid."

Denial? No, not quite. Confusion, perhaps.

Confusion she can work with.

"Only a fool seeks to hunt mermaids. Why would he?"

"You do not think that he is foolish?"

He hunted mermaids. Burned and herd and killed her people. That is foolish in the extreme. But not he. Many things, but not a fool.

"Why."

She stands, moves away. Takes the light with her.

She too rises, to follow, but is brought short by the rope.

A question for a question. An answer for an answer. Is that not how it is done?

She pauses at the base of the stairs, alone in her own little pool of light.

"There is a ... prophecy."

A bad one, is the lengths taken are any indication. No matter of hers, only that it concerns her.

"What is your name?"

She pauses her assent.

"It is customary, is it not?"

A laugh. She leaves as quietly as she appears, leaving only darkness.

Clever girl. An answer for an answer. Names have power.

Then again now, this ...Teach, would it be? She sailed with this crew, by choice by her actions. Seemed to care for the Captain. More idealistic than smart, then, but still ... interesting.

And useful too.