A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! This story isn't exactly overflowing with feedback, so it really means a lot to me when anyone reviews. I hope you're all enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

Chapter VII

The next day, I began to see just how strenuous life aboard a ship truly was. Not only was I exhausted from endlessly pulling ropes and scrubbing floors, but I was also sunburned beyond belief. I'd never spent much time above water, and I naturally had an extremely fair complexion. This did not bode well for me, as I was now a very angry shade of red. Even the tips of my ears, which I didn't even know could be exposed to the sun, were burnt and throbbing painfully.

Everyone noticed and poked fun at this fact, and, either in an act of mercy or an act of torture (I still haven't decided which), Sparrow sent me indoors to the galley.

And so, I spent the latter half of the day attempting to fabricate some sort of edible creation.

My materials were scant: a couple of apples, some old fish (I wasn't sure how much longer it would last), about half a cup of palm oil, a tad bit of rum, some flour, some brown sugar, and three eggs.

I had laid all of these ingredients out on the counter and was staring at them contemplatively, when Tim appeared.

"I've been sent to supervise you," he announced in response to my bewildered expression, plopping himself down on a stool across from me.

"How are you feeling this fine afternoon?" I asked him smugly, remembering the previous night's travesty.

He groaned, rubbed his temples, and replied, "I really don't care to talk about it… What've you got here?"

"I don't quite know," I answered tentatively. "But I expect I should make this fish before it goes completely bad, what do you think?"

"Aye, t'would be a shame to let it go to waste."

"Does fish go with brown sugar and apples?"

He made a face of utter repulsion, which I took as a no. "Why don't you just make fishcakes," he suggested.

"Fish… Cakes?"

"Yes," he began slowly, throwing me an odd look, "fishcakes. Haven't you had them before?"

"No…"

"They're fairly simple to make, I reckon. I've seen me mum do it loads of times." There was a brief flash of sadness across his face, but he continued, "Just put some oil in a pan for now – I'll help you with the fire."

When that bit was finished, he started cutting the heads and the scales off of the fishes, before slicing them into smaller pieces. "Crack the eggs into one bowl and pour some flour into the other," he instructed. "We don't have everything we need, but this should suffice."

I did as I was told with limited success – a few pieces of eggshell fell into the mix, but not enough to matter in any significant way.

"Now watch," he said as he dipped a slice of meat into the egg and then into the flour. He then dropped the coated fish into the hot pan, causing the oil to hiss dangerously. I backed away nervously at the sound.

"Aye, you've got to be careful not to burn yourself," he said in response to my reaction. "Haven't you ever cooked before? Surely you already know all of this?" he interrogated insistently. He couldn't seem to fathom that a woman my age would be so inexperienced in the culinary arts.

Suddenly, he seemed to have an epiphany. "You're high-born, aren't you?" he accused.

"What – no – I – "

"You are," he interrupted, "You must be. That explains why you speak so proper and don't know how to do nothing – and it explains the way you look."

"I know how to do things," I snapped back defensively. "And I'm just naturally pale, alright? I don't see why everyone seems to find it so amusing…"

"You don' know how to cook, that's for sure. And 'naturally pale' isn't an entirely accurate description – I've seen lobsters that aren't as red as you are right now."

"You flatter me," I retorted sarcastically.

"I'm merely statin' a fact, Miss."

"You don't have to call me 'Miss,'" I said. Despite myself, a small smile had found its way onto my face. I quite liked this sort of little banter, I found… "Just Cassie or Cassiopeia will do just fine. It's not as if I'm high-born, after all…"

He gave me a mischievous grin as well, but continued to help me fry the pieces of fish.

"How old are you and your brother," I asked suddenly.

He gave me an odd look and said, "Fifteen, why?"

"I was merely wondering."

"In other words, far too young for you, Miss Cassie."

"Excuse me, but that is a repulsive notion – I assure you I did not mean it in that way!"

"Relax, I'm only pulling your leg."

"What?" I demanded in horror.

"I'm joking, I'm joking! Golly, it's a figure o' speech. What's the matter with you?"

"Oh, sorry… I hadn't heard what you said," I lied, still not understanding what he was talking about. "You two are still young, though – how do your parents feel about your being here, if you don't mind my asking? "

He cast his eyes downwards and suddenly became much more serious. "Me brother 'n me were born in the colonies. Never met our father," he said solemnly, "And our mum died last year of consumption. The two of us tried to work as stable boys back up North, but them frilly toads treated us in a right ghastly fashion. So, we hitched a ride on a trade vessel and eventually got off in Tortuga. What about you, what's your story?"

"It's a bit complicated... Essentially, I stowed away on a ship from London and escaped in Tortuga, where I met Mr. Gibbs and followed him aboard the Jewel. And now here I am."

"Have you got a family?"

"I had several sisters," I said delicately, "But my parents died before I was old enough to remember them. It was mostly just me and my siblings growing up."

"How many sisters do you have, exactly?"

"Five," I answered, arbitrarily coming up with a number. "But they're dead now – there was a fire in our house and I was the only one to escape. That's part of why I decided to come here – I had nowhere else to go, and starting a new life in the Americas appeared to be the best course of action." I felt guilty for lying, but, to be fair, parts of my story were true. The parts that mattered were, at least.

He nodded slightly in silent understanding – we'd both lost people close to us. Having connected in this small way, we went back to work. It felt very odd to interact with someone – a human, at that – on this level. True, my sisters and I were just that – sisters. But our relationships would have seemed strange to humans. For instance, we were not nearly as close as Tim and Tom were, and we did not interact in the same way. We were all related, to be sure, but the odd thing was that none of us had known our parents and so we did not feel connected in any deep way. I didn't know how (this is going to sound very bizarre, but bear with me) mermaids were produced. Or reproduced, perhaps, is more accurate. It wasn't something that I thought about often, mind you, but it did indeed strike me that the entirety of my species was female.

And, within my family (I'm using the term loosely), there was a rigid hierarchy. Tamara was the queen, and she had five close "advisors," if you will. The rest of us had to wait for them to take their prey before we could do anything, et cetera. It was similar to the way that many other types of animals interact in a large group. And even below me were the youngest mermaids, who were, for all intents and purposes, servants. We were a bit more sophisticated than, say, a pack of wolves, of course; but the parallels were still there. Plus, we were solitatry creatures within our familial bindings: it wasn't all that common to see a group of mermaids who were particularly close in the sense of friendship. Apart from the queen and her minions, that is. Our selfish natures made it nearly impossible to have meaningful relationships with other living beings, even within our own species.

But alas, I digress. I was done with such a life, so there was no use in devoting my thoughts to it. However we came into being was how we came into being and, to be entirely honest, it wasn't as if I was dying to know the logistics of it. I could only hope, for everyone's sake, that this voyage would make me less like my sisters. I wasn't exactly proud of my hertiage, per say, and I knew that it would be best if I could dilute the moral flaws in my character with human culture.

When Tim and I had finished cooking, I rationed out the food and he called the rest of the crew down to eat.

I watched with eagerly as Schmitty, the man with the iron stomach, took the first bite. After several moments of pensive chewing, he announced, "Not bad. Not bad at all, milady."

I beamed at him happily and took a spoonful of food from my own dish.

"It's good," Emery finally agreed.

"No thanks to me, o' course…" Tim grumbled quietly.

I looked at him sassily and decided not to let the rest of the crew know the extent of his helpfulness – I rather liked that they thought I'd done all the work.

At some point, even Sparrow made it downstairs. He grabbed a fishcake with one of his dirty hands from off of my plate and took a large chunk out of it. He mulled it over carefully and turned to go back upstairs. Before he did, however, he swung back around, saluted Tim, and said, "G'job, Timbo," with his mouth still full.

Tim grinned broadly at this fleeting acknowledgement. It was clear to me that both he and his brother held the captain in absurdly high esteem. Normally I would have found such hero-worship a bit off-putting, but, for some strange reason, I found the quality endearing in the Spritely boys. However, I couldn't help but fear that Sparrow didn't quite merit the admiration he elicited.

After dinner, the rest of the crew decided to have a relatively tame night (the previous day's festivities had taken a sufficient toll on them). They huddled on deck in the lamplight, playing cards and other betting games. But no one really had any money to wager, thank goodness, so there wasn't much of a risk that the games would turn violent. Not that I though any of my crewmates had the potential of being unnecessarily argumentative, but still… I'd only known them for a matter of days, and I wasn't ready to trust all of them just yet.

Hence, I did not participate. Instead, I hung the upper part of my body over the side of the boat and reveled in the spray of the sea and the cool breeze.

Sparrow spotted this and planted himself beside me. "Not going to partake in tonight's activities?" he questioned.

I shook my head. "Don't know how to play," I explained. "Plus," I continued, "I rather prefer to just enjoy the water."

"I see," he commented cryptically.

"Aren't you going to partake in tonight's activities?" I replied.

"Nope. The captain of a ship cannot afford to stoop to the level of his crew," he said in half-jest, "I need to separate myself from the rest o' you scallywags – I've most certainly learned that the hard way, and I won't be forgettin' it any time soon."

"I see," I echoed. His actions did indeed reflect such a philosophy, despite the fact that he seemed critical of it. I'd noticed before that he was rather detached from the rest of the crew (apart from Gibbs, of course).

I turned to him brazenly and asked, "So what exactly do you do in that little room of yours? You're obviously scheming something, but you've yet to tell us where we're even going."

"No one's asked," he said dismissively.

"That's not true. Marty's asked – so has Mr. Gibbs."

"I wasn't aware that we had an eavesdropper aboard… I admit, they have indeed asked. But they know me and they know enough to know that they can't not trust me."

"What?"

"What I mean so say is this: they understand my… methods. If one o' the others had asked, then of course we might have run into some sort of confrontational impasse, which would be most unfortunate. But such a thing has yet to happen."

"I'm asking."

"But you don't really care, do ye?"

I blinked slowly, surprised. How did he know that? "On just what exactly are you basing such a bold conjecture, if I might ask?"

"Oh, many things. You're not like the rest o' the sea dogs on this pathetic dinghy - you're just glad to be here. You're here for the the journey rather than the destination, at it were. For instance, look around the crew. As I said before, Marty, Cotton, n' Gibbs already know me so we can't use them as examples. But look at Emery and Schmitty."

"What about them?"

"They could potentially be trouble. They've sailed before; they've got scars and rings and gold teeth – veritable proof of previous expeditions, no doubt. The teeth show a hankering for treasure, mark me words. And the rest – well, the Spritelies don' care where we're going in the least, same as you, and young Wentworth is distracted."

"Distracted?"

"Aye, distracted. By you, no less. I've seen 'is type many a time. Could perhaps be hotheaded and rash at times, but as long as you're around I'm quite confident that he won't be any trouble at all. Haven't you noticed? I think he's being rather clear about his intentions, love… Aren't you charmed by his misplaced sense of ethical responsibility or his honorable demeanor?"

"No, I can't say that I am."

"Interesting. Why not, pray tell?"

"I don't know, I'm just not."

"He is handsome enough, is he not? And chivalrous? And strong, and brave, and all of the other things that bonny lasses such as yerself find quite attractive in a man, aye?"

"I don't know, I guess so… But I'm not attracted to him so there really isn't anything interesting about it."

"That's precisely what is interesting, my dear Cassiopeia."

"Anyway," I said in an attempt to change the subject, "I'd still like to know where we're going."

"Will knowledge of said destination affect your decisions or desire to proceed with this noble quest?"

"…No, I suppose not…"

"Then you don't need to know," he said simply. "Just know this – I was not lying when I said we were headed to treasure. Eventually, anyway. But I must strongly urge you to bear in mind that not all treasure consists solely of golden coins and fancy jewels, love." With that, he strode away from me and climbed back up to the helm.

A/N: Thanks for reading! One thing I'd like to hear back about is what you guys think of the pacing - I've always struggled with this, and I'm afraid often make my stories move too quickly. I'm trying especially hard not to do that with this one! It'd also be great to hear what you think of the other characters as well (i.e. Wentworth, the Spritelies...).

So, as always, I'd love some feedback! Not to put any pressure on you all, but today is my birthday and reviews would make wonderful gifts :p

Until next time!