The black ship was already moored to the dock when I skidded to a stop. Dirty, greasy men unloaded cargo. Some were simple boxes, filled with fragrant spices. Others were full of fabrics and silk. Perfumes, grain, and precious gems. The majority were barrels of wine or beer and sacks of dry goods like flour and sugar. The crew quickly handed their cargo over to dockworkers, who hastened to load it to the merchants who had paid for the shipment.
I scanned the faces of the men for any sign of the one that had fathered me. I spotted him after a moment, striding down the boardwalk like he owned the ship.
"Papa!" I screamed, shooting forward like a bullet toward him.
My father's mischievous face split into a wide grin. He caught me up in his arms, laughing joyously.
"Oho, look at you!" He cried proudly, grinning up at me. "My goodness, you look just like how I left you!"
I realized I was covered in mud-like wet sand. I laughed. "No, sir! I shot at James!"
"You shot…?" Papa broke off, looking behind me. James had plodded forward silently, looking extremely humiliated.
"Oho, so you did!" Papa set me down on my feet, kneeling to be at my height. He had grown a brown beard in his time away, his wild bright brown eyes shining like they always did when he was at sea. "You've grown, little one. Before you know it, you'll be old enough to marry."
I made a face. "To whom?"
Papa laughed. "Why not James Norrington?"
I made a retching noise. "No, sir! I can't marry him."
"And why not?" Papa said, the light dancing in his eyes. "Because he comes from money?"
"Because he's my friend. That would be far too gross."
Papa laughed and swung me onto his shoulders, not even caring that I was filthy. He strode down the dock toward Aunt Angela's house. My aunt was waiting on the porch. Her face turned white as she caught sight of us.
"Good Heavens!" she gasped as she saw me. "I just cleaned you, Grace Fisher! What have you done to your clothes?"
"Ah, I'll buy her a fresh wardrobe later in town, Ang," Papa said smoothly as he waltzed over and eased me back onto my own feet. He embraced his sister, who drew back after a moment and gazed into his face.
"It's good to have you home, Edward," Aunt Angela said quietly, her eyes filled with tears.
Papa smiled wistfully. "My home is on the sea, Angela. You know that."
Angela glanced at me. "Why don't you go get cleaned up, darling? You can swim down on the beach. Here." She gave me a simple pale blue tunic to wear. "Bring your dirty clothes back to me when you're finished. You can wash them later."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, wanting to give Papa another hug, but not wanting to soil his clothes. Besides, I could tell that Aunt Angela wanted to have words with her brother, words I wasn't to hear.
"Run along now, child," Aunt Angela urged as Mary emerged. Her face brightened. "Uncle Ed!"
"Mary!" Papa gasped. "Is that you? What have you been feeding these children, Angela?"
Mary looked pleased. "I'm almost nine years old."
"Next month!" Papa said. I felt a twinge of jealousy. He was my father, not hers. He should have been devoting his attention to me, not Mary.
But Mary skipped to me. "Shall I go with you to the water?"
"Yes, please," Aunt Angela answered for me. "Run along, girls. Lunch will be ready at noontime."
"But that's so far away!" I complained.
Aunt Angela gave me a look. "If you're hungry, you may have a snack when you return. Now go."
"Yes, Mum," Mary said obediently, tugging me away. I let her, unwilling. I didn't want to depart Papa's presence, not after only just getting him home.
"Your father's a wild horse of a man." Mary said once we'd walked on the sand.
"What does that mean?" I asked indignantly as I stripped off the soiled clothes and waded into the cool Atlantic water.
Mary sat with her toes wedged deep into the yellow sand. "I overheard Father saying it once. I guess, well… isn't it a bit odd? How often Uncle Ed is away?"
I frowned. "Papa works on a merchant ship. Of course he would away at sea often. It's his job."
Mary didn't look convinced. "I suppose."
I scrubbed at my skin until it was pink and clean. I felt so much calmer in the water than I did on land. I thought about the opal ring I had dreamt about nearly a month prior, and wondered if it would bother Mary if I searched for it now.
"Do you want to see how long I can hold my breath underwater?" I asked her spontaneously. Mary looked intrigued.
"James Norrington says you can go three minutes." She said.
I nodded. "I bet I can go even longer."
Mary looked nervous, but curiosity won her over. "Show me. Prove it."
I took several sharp, shallow breaths, then one final, deep pull on the air. Then I dove.
I opened my eyes to the world underneath the waves. It was clear and inviting. I swam down to the edge of a jutting black rock, admiring the snake-like zigzag pattern of the sand, shaped by the constant push-and-pull of the tides. I sifted through the pale sand. A large purple starfish with a single orange dot was stuck to the side of the rock. I dug underneath it, picturing it as an X-marks-the-spot, like in one of James' bedtime stories.
My hand scraped against something hard.
Excitement quickly turned to disappointment when I pulled up a small granite rock. I tossed it away irritably and kept digging. The sand drifted up in lazy underwater clouds, but my vision remained clear. I felt the familiar light buzzing in my brain again, but it was dull and not enough to persuade me to resurface. Not yet.
I unearthed another few boring rocks and an offended flounder. Then something small and black caught my eye.
I picked up another rock, but this one was different. It had a strange, fish or bug shaped imprint on one side.
I felt the urge to breathe air. I kicked off from the sand and burst through the surface. I inhaled the sweet air deeply, vaguely bothered by the fact that I hadn't found the ring again.
"Grace! Oh, thank Heaven!"
I glanced over. Several feet away, Mary was on her feet, looking terrified. She was twisting her wrists. "I thought you had drowned!"
I grinned. "I was digging for buried treasure!"
Mary looked annoyed. "You are just like Uncle Ed."
I laughed and swam back over with my prize. I tossed it to her. "Take a look at it."
Mary did. She frowned. "It's… some kind of imprint."
"I think there's a word for it." I said. "I'm going to show it to James. Maybe his tutor knows."
Mary wrinkled his nose. "Honestly, I don't understand why you bother with that arrogant pig. He thinks he's the prince of the whole town."
"He does not." I defended him. "He's a good friend."
Mary didn't look convinced. "He's spoiled."
"He's well-off." I shot back. "He's lucky to have so much prosperity."
Mary looked disgruntled. "Well, all I am suggesting is that if someone has that much money, then they should spend it on the needy and less fortunate, not on themselves."
I understood Mary's frustration. We had grown up and lived in poverty. But even though there were some hardships and few possessions, we lived a simple, humble, relatively happy life. It was uncomplicated by politics or prestige. We didn't just survive; we lived. I had always had a warm bed to sleep in, clothes on my back, food in my stomach. We were lucky.
Others weren't.
Slaves were sometimes treated well. Homeless vagrants and vagabonds who drifted through our town on a boat or on the road sometimes stayed. Most left if they didn't want to look for work. A few stayed and lived in doorframes of pubs or under raggety tents made of discarded fabric. Those ones usually died within a year, during the first real bite of winter, if they hadn't pickled their livers with alcohol already.
We had family, shelter, and love. We were lucky.
The Norringtons were divinely favored.
Mary and I walked the short distance home. Saint de Lune was a small town, but it was a hub for commercial trade. It wasn't far from Liverpool, the biggest seaport in the country. I could see many white-sailed ships drifting across the ocean any given day, but especially now, as the crop harvests began to come to fruition. Mary and I counted twenty on the horizon, not including Papa's docked vessel, by the time we arrived back at the house.
Papa and Aunt Angela were having tea and sharing a plate of crumpets. I placed my dirty clothes in a tin bucket, letting them soak in cold water before I'd wring them out and scrub them against a washboard. Papa smiled brilliantly and swung me up into his strong arms.
"I was worried you'd turned into a fish." He said, setting me down on the softest chair. It was a wooden one with a cushion. I beamed up at me, delighted to be the center of his attention.
"Tell me about your adventures out at sea." I pleaded, pleating the hem of my tunic.
Aunt Angela smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Maybe later, popkin. Your father was just explaining to me his next voyage."
I frowned. "But you just got back!"
Papa patted my hand. "Yes, I know, love. But I've got to work. I need to be able to provide for you. I have a job, and I need to keep it."
I searched his face, so unlike my own. He did provide, by bringing back a sackful of money for my caretakers, which gave me clothes on my back, food in my stomach, a roof over my head. But he was forgetting the most important thing he could provide.
"Your job is stay." I said quietly.
An uncomfortable silence settled around the table. A cricket chirped nearby. Papa looked sad.
"My job is to give you chances that I never had." Papa said gently, taking my hand into his. They were so much larger, rougher from his work. Mine were tiny and fragile. I looked up at him, the forbidden question popping out of my mouth before I could stop them.
"What happened to my mother?"
Aunt Angela clanged her teacup back onto its saucer. "Grace Fisher!" She said sternly.
A shadow crossed Papa's face. He swallowed hard and looked away. "She passed away. She died giving birth to you."
I felt a small implosion in my stomach. Grief. Guilt. So it was my fault that she was gone.
"I'm sorry." I said. "I'm sorry I took her from you, Papa."
Papa looked at me fiercely, tipping my chin up so he could look directly into my eyes. "Don't ever be sorry for being my child, Grace. You were the one thing I did right in the world. You are my greatest joy. Do not ever let anyone else tell you otherwise."
I blinked away tears. His passionate words inflamed my spirit, burning away the remorse and pain.
"Some old witch called me a half-breed." I confessed, averting my gaze. "In the marketplace."
Aunt Angela inhaled sharply. "You went into the square unsupervised?" Her voice was filled with disappointment.
"I was on my way to see James off." I protested. "It was the quickest way. I promise, I didn't steal anything."
"Of course you didn't." Papa said reassuringly, rubbing my wrist. His callouses brushed against my soft skin. "What else did she say?"
I shrugged, wanting to forget the entire experience. "She was very angry with me."
Papa straightened. "I would like to go into the market, Angela. Fancy anything? I can haggle for some coffee."
Aunt Angela raised her brows. "Is that all you plan on doing there?"
Papa winked. "I may bring back a seahag."
I clapped my hand over my mouth. Aunt Angela rolled her eyes. "Really, Edward. I don't allow such sailor talk in my house."
Papa kissed her cheek. "I apologize, Sister. I forget my place."
Aunt Angela waved him off, but she was half-smiling. I rose and hurried after Papa. Aunt Angela looked concerned. "Grace, dear, why don't you stay here and-"
"She'll be perfectly safe with me, Angela," Papa said briskly, taking my hand and leading me out of the door. "We'll be back soon enough."
Aunt Angela bit her lip but didn't argue. I let Papa swing my hand back and forth like a pendulum, like one in the grandfather clocks I'd seen in the Norrington Manor. We walked down the dirt road leading into the heart of Saint de Lune, and I listened to Papa's tales of his adventures out at sea. He mentioned several storms that had blown them off course, talked about massive fish they'd seen swimming underneath their ship, spoke about meeting various people from many different lifestyles in the Caribbean Sea.
"Our next voyage will be down to Cape Horn." He said as we entered the bustling marketplace.
I stopped. We had learned about geography not long ago in the schoolhouse. "That's at the bottom of the world."
Papa smiled wistfully. "It'll be a long voyage, but it's one that I must take. I'll return within a year."
I couldn't help it; my jaw dropped open. "What?"
Papa squeezed my hand. "It will go quickly. You'll have your family here and the Norringtons." He smiled strangely as he mentioned James' family; it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Why don't you like the Norringtons?" I asked shrewdly, hoping to convince him to take a shorter voyage. "They're really nice!"
Papa looked away into the booths. "It doesn't matter what I think of them, darling. Now come on, let's go look for that old witch. I'd like to talk to her about scaring my child."
It didn't take long to find her. She was seated at the same booth in the same chair, wearing a multi-colored scarf today with strands of green and blue and black woven together. She squinted beadily at us as we approached.
Papa drew himself up to his fullest height, an intimidating 6'4. "Excuse me, madam. Could I have a word?"
The old lady was silent. She glared at us as if we were roaches in her store.
"Perhaps she doesn't speak English." Papa said after a moment, noticing the exotic merchandise she sold.
I shook my head. "She spoke it very clearly, Papa."
"Alright." Papa let go of my hand and leaned forward, splaying his large hands on the wooden counter separating us from her. "Listen up, you. I don't appreciate old hags speaking to my child the way you did a few weeks ago. Apologize to her, or I'll burn down your shop around your ears."
My eyes widened. Papa was fiercely protective, but he wasn't violent. But there was something about his posture and tone that made me believe him. "Papa…"
But he ignored me. The old lady blinked once, her black eyes bottomless and utterly empty.
"Got it, witch?" He growled. "I'll take your silence as an apology. Don't come near my child again or I'll feed you to the sharks."
He pulled back, glowering down at her. I looked between Papa and the old lady. He seemed satisfied with her passive demeanor and took my head. "Let's go find something to eat, shall we?"
"You have brought a death sentence upon us."
The voice was reedy, raspy, and thin. But most of all, it was filled with venomous hatred. Papa halted. I looked up at him, in fear for the old lady. Why hadn't she just stayed quiet?
"Excuse me?" Papa said quietly, turning around very slowly to face her.
The woman was breathing heavily, her chest heaving. She raised a bony finger and pointed it at me. "You will be punished for bringing that monster upon our shores. The one with the power to relinquish evil's hold on the seven seas will be born at the end of June. She will have the power over land and sea. She will walk between two worlds. Upon her head will be flames, her eyes, the power of the sea. Her stolen presence will be dealt with at the ruthlessness of the God of the Sea. She will bring doom to the lands she is brought to. Throw her back into the sea, back into the depths from which she came, lest the unrightful rule of the Seven Seas brings his fury upon those she taints those with! Behold, unless she is brought back to the King of the Seas, the land will perish in fire and water, and we will all become what we dread most… the one with the power to relinquish evil's hold on the seven seas will be born at the end of June…"
Her voice had risen to a horrible scream, an accusation flung straight at me. I stood, paralyzed with horror, the hair on the back of my neck rising, shaking. The woman's eyes rolled back into her head, gutteral moans and foreign words tumbled from her mouth like lava.
Papa had leapt over the barrier and seized her by the shoulders, shaking her hard. "Shut up! Snap out of it, witch! Come out of your trance!"
He shook her harder. I gasped, afraid for him and for her. Several shoppers had come over, pushing me out of the way in their haste to stop my father from killing her. It took several men to pry him away. The old woman was screaming, clutching at her scarves, her shrill shouts piercing my very heart.
A man in black robes - a priest - hurried forward. He pressed his palm against the woman's head, muttering in Latin. He pressed a cross against her with his other hand. "In the name of God, come out of her, demon!" The priest insisted, his voice becoming harder and louder. "COME OUT, DEMON! BE GONE, IN THE NAME OF THE LORD!"
The old woman let out a final horrid cry, and then dropped like a fallen tree at the men's feet. She was hauled into her chair, smelling salts applied. The priest continued to pray over her.
"Wake up, wake up." I muttered, afraid for her. If she had been possessed, it wasn't her fault for spewing demonic words.
At long last, the woman's eyes fluttered open. Papa was standing not far away, blocked by several large men, his eyes narrowed in unspent fury. The old lady moaned and placed a hand to her forehead faintly. "Oh… oh… ohhhh…"
The priest sighed in relief. "You are set free from the grasp of Hell, my lady. You are free."
Papa shook his fist angrily. "She deserves to die! She's unclean. She's evil."
"No!" I cried, shaking my head. "No, don't kill her!"
"Kill her!" Another man chanted. "Burn the witch!"
"No!" The priest shouted over the din. "She has been set free!"
The divided crowd began to argue louder. Papa was on the side of the ones hellbent on execution. I clamped my hands over my ears, trying to drown out the awful sound.
The sound of a gunshot made me jerk my hands away. The crowd went silent, every eye trained on the origin of the sound. Admiral Norrington lowered his smoking gun, sitting on his magnificent white stallion.
"What is the meaning of this?" Admiral Norrington asked calmly, his voice full of authority.
Papa's face darkened in anger. "This isn't your business, Norrington. Move along."
There was a bubble of commotion at Papa's hostile words. I blinked, confused. Why hadn't Papa addressed James' father using his title?
Admiral Norrington surveyed Papa coolly. "Don't be so quick to jump to violence, Edward." He looked over at the wan face of the old woman, who was now clutching the hand of a woman who was praying over a rosary. "What has this woman done?"
"She's a witch!" A man next to Papa yelled. "She's frightened this child for demonic reasons. She should be burned before her evil spreads and festers!"
"She has been purified!" The priest said loudly, looking alarmed. "Sir, I beg you; help these men see reason."
Admiral Norrington wasn't the mayor, but he was a well-respected public figure who had spent many years involved with the British Navy. Authoritative reasoning emanated from him.
"Take the woman to the church." Admiral Norrington instructed. He raised a brow at Papa's outraged expression. "Anyone who follows will be taken to the prison until they've calmed down."
I hadn't noticed them gather, but several soldiers, armed with bayonets, were standing at the ready. Papa's face flushed dark red with anger. His rage was clearly felt by others, who booed and hissed at the old woman was led away by the priest. Sanctuary was rarely deserved, but untouchable once it was granted.
The old woman glanced my way as she passed. I expected to feel a thrill of fear, but all I felt was pity. If she really had been possessed, it wasn't her fault that she had said those strange, evil things to me.
Right?
I rubbed my arms, chilled, even though the air was warm and the sunshine plentiful. I watched the old woman being led away and swallowed up by the procession of soldiers. I caught Admiral Norrington's eyes. He gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment, before steering his steed around and bringing up the rear of the escort.
Papa made his way over to me. He looked angry, but forced a small smile. He bent down so that we were eye-level. "Are you alright, Grace?"
I gave a tremulous nod. Papa sighed and smoothed my hair back behind my ears.
"I'm sorry, love," he muttered. "there's some people in this world that aren't meant to be here."
"What if it wasn't her fault?" I asked quietly, swallowing against the dryness in my throat. "What if there really was a demon?"
Papa gazed deeply into my face. His bright brown eyes were the exact same shade as Angela, Nathan, Samuel, and Mary. Mine were the opposite. I reached up and touched a lock of light red hair nervously. I shared so little with him.
"There is no such thing." Papa said urgently. "Do you understand? No such thing as mermaids, dragons, demons, fairies… it's all a lie. All we have is right now." He pulled me into his arms suddenly, scaring me and pleasing me all at once. "I love you, Grace. Nothing can ever change that. Understand, love?"
I didn't understand his urgency, but I knew it would be best to make him believe everything was okay. Even if I didn't understand. So I nodded convincingly into his neck.
Papa pulled back, smiling oddly. "Good girl. Now, let's go and return to the house, eh? Your Aunt will be making bread and salmon."
"Alright, Papa." I said amicably, unwilling to stir up any more trouble. I let him lead me back to the house where I had grown up, where everything was normal.
I couldn't stop thinking about the old woman's words. What had she meant? Was it just coincidence that I was born at the end of June? Or that my hair was red? My eyes blue?
Papa spent the night in the main room by the fire. He snored loudly, a sign that he wouldn't soon awaken. I crept past him when the moon was higher than my window, careful not to let the door clang behind me. When I was past the front lamppost, I ran as fast as I could to the Norrington Manor.
It took nearly fifteen minutes, but once there, I picked up a small pebble and threw it against James' window on the second floor. I threw another one after a pause. The pebble bounced off the glass. I prepared to throw a third one when the pane opened. James poked his head out, brown hair sticking out wildly in all directions.
"James!" I whispered hoarsely. "James!"
James frowned. "What?"
I waved. "Come down."
James grunted drowsily. "Alright, just a moment." He disappeared for a minute. Then the front doors opened. He carefully closed them behind him. I pulled him over to the edge of the property underneath a large oak tree anchored in by its roots near the edge of a formidable cliff. I ripped at the grass in the silvery light of the moon. James yawned several times.
"What is it?" He asked on his tenth yawn. "What's the matter?"
I told him everything. From the morning with Papa to the old woman's nightmarish outburst to dinner. "He says he's leaving in three days." I finished sullenly. "For a year."
James said nothing at first. Then he cleared his throat. "Father told me. About the old woman."
I snapped my head up. "And?"
James sighed. "They're going to execute her tomorrow. At sunset."
I shook my head. "How horrible."
James grimaced. "Better a dead witch than a live one."
I knew James had parroted it from his father, but the words coming out of his mouth still grated against what Aunt Angela and the priest had taught me: mercy for my enemies. Forgiving those who trespassed against us.
"I feel sorry for her." I admitted, twisting up more grass. "She was possessed, wasn't she?"
James grunted. "Even more reason to weed out evil."
I shook my head. "I wish I could be as judgmental as you are, James."
James frowned, looking slightly offended. "I have to be quick with my decisions, if I want to be an Admiral someday."
I shrugged. Then I blurted, "Do you think I'm adopted?"
James, adding fuel to my fear, didn't say anything. He merely looked at me.
"Do you?" He asked me after a long pause.
I pleated the hem to my tunic. It had been a thought that had tormented me for years, even if I kept it suppressed. "No… yes. No. I'm not sure."
James scratched his arm. "I don't think a man who wasn't your father would defend you the way he did today. Do you?"
I watched the waves reflecting in the light of the moon. It stretched out endlessly, all the way to the New World. "No, you're right."
"It's normal to miss your mother, I think." James added thoughtfully. "Many women die in childbirth."
I sighed. "I suppose you're right, James." I sat with him in comfortable silence for awhile, listening to the distant crash and wash of the waves below the cliff. I looked at the harbor, the boats moored in place, gently bobbing in the waves.
Then another boat caught my attention. It was large one, black, with a white belt around the middle. Tall white sails caught the night wind, bringing it into port. There were no flags declaring its allegiance or nationality waving in the breeze.
James suddenly went very still. Then he sprang to his feet.
"James!" I called out. "Where are you going? What's the matter?"
James was breathing very hard. "That ship… those sails… you see the torn one, right there?"
I followed his finger, but didn't see. His trained eyes were much sharper than mine. "No?"
James swore. He started to run back to the huge house.
"Wait! James!" I scrambled to my feet. "What's wrong? What's the matter?"
James threw a furious look over his shoulder. "That's The Misty Lady! That ship is the one that attacked my father's!"
