I raise an eyebrow at his partner. The man is frozen until I wiggle my fingers at him. He swings his sword with his left hand in a broad arc. I lazily step out of the way and sucker punch him in the grogblossom. Blood sprays from his left nostril,combining with the tracks of tears down his cheeks. He drops his sword to cup his hands over his face. A strange wheezing noise reverberates from behind his fingers before he bends over to catch his breath. I slam the hilt of my sword onto the top of his head to drop him next to his partner.

I find no joy in stabbing them through the heart…the fight was over too soon.

Where have all the competent soldiers gone?

“Captain,” shrieks Greenhorn, my newest addition to my crew. He slashes and thrashes his short sword at a soldier who hasn’t broken a sweat. If the soldier would break his choreographed steps and actually fight, Greenhorn would be a filling for a pine box.

“For all that’s holy, watch his movements! He’s repeating the same bloody steps,” I grouse as I step over my former opponent. I stomp with Chub at my heels to where Greenhorn has frozen. His sword is fast enough to block the soldier’s thrusts and jabs without all the fancy footwork.

“Jab left, jab left, right thrust, parlay back,” Greenhorn sings as if the soldier can’t hear him. “You’re right! This nutmeg is stuck in his head as if he’s swirling down a whirlpool.”

“I’ll kill you, scoundrel,” his opponent yells. “We will clean thestreets of pirating scum like you and claim this island in the name of King—”

“Oh, save it!” Chub yells as he slashes the soldier across the throat. “I have no patience for royal rhetoric without booze!”

“You saved the tavern! How can I ever repay you?” Maude’s sour milk smell fills my nose as she presses against me.

“Looks like one of you land lubbers will earn Maude’s free drinks. The yellow-bellied sod who hit Maude went rogue. Remember her promise and bring her his head!” I yell to the crowd, who raise their weapons and cheer. “Me hearties’ work here is done. Let’s weigh anchor! We’ve got a Kraken to hunt!”

“A Kraken? Did it threaten your boat? Is it dangerous?” Maude asks, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Not to you—” I remove her hand from my chest and glide a few inches away from her “—but she will be the death of my patronage to your working girls. The next time you see me, I’ll be a married man.”

9

Sabrina

“We’ve fired the irons, so don’t give us any trouble,” grumbles my burly handler. The burns on my arms, back, and tentacles itch at the sound of his voice. Little round buttons of torture dot my body, reminders of the times I had the energy to fight. Between living in my own excrement and cramped conditions for my tentacles, my body is too sick to lash out at my captors.

He lifts the lid off the watertight barrel that has been my home for the last two weeks. I’m blinded by the early evening sun after sitting in complete darkness for hours. Despite the filthy water’s rancid taste, I cower deeper into the oversized barrel. He grabs me by the shoulders to drag me from my prison. I hit the floor on my elbow and cry out from the impact. My tentacles slither from the barrel to coil around me like armor.

“Shutup,” he yells as he kicks me in the back.

I cough and sob as the agony races up my spine. What I wouldn’t do for an hour in the sea?! I’d stretch my tentacles along the warm sand of the bottom, cleanse my gills, feed on fresh fish, and never take my freedom for granted again. My daydream takes my consciousness away as I’m groped and manhandled by the show’s stagehands. Weights are chained to my tentacles to slow me down. My wrists are bound to my neck in an elaborate, beaded harness connected to a leather leash. I hold onto my vision of the open water—that way, I don’t think about who this harness was originally made for or what became of her.

“Never thought I’d see the day she’d submit,” says Ol’Barnabie with a belly laugh. He crouches so his cigar dangles an inch from the end of my nose. “This fish was a maneater who took on six men with whaling nets. Now she’s my little doll who lets me pull her strings in any fashion I want.”

His evil laughter chills me to the bone.

“You stay sweet until after showtime, and I may have Rufus and Dolbie put new saltwater in your tank. Would you like that? Have you had enough of swimming in my piss, or have you enjoyed adding your own?” When I drop my chin to cry, he kisses my forehead. The slimy imprint of his lips is worse than the burnt brands from the irons.

Thankfully, Rufus throws a bucket of cold seawater over my head. If I had a warning, I would have opened my gills to clean them. Outside the barrel, I use my lungs to breathe, but inside, my gills must filter air from the piss-soaked water. My head is jerked backward as one of the men pulls my hair off my shoulders. Their dirty hands wring gray water from the strands. Satisfied I won’t drip on the stage where Barnabie would slip, they tuck the mass into my collar.

“Can’t let the fringe cover what the audience is here to see—the menfolk, at least. Our profits rose by two since we added you to our freak show,” Rufus laughs. The joke’s on him. The venue doubles in size with each island we visit. I bet Barnabie is raking in doubloons hand over fist but tells these nutmegs the revenue raises slightly to keep the excess.

“Yeah,” Dolbie chimes in. “I bet the boss could do better if he allowed the punters to pet her dairy. Then we would be rolling in coins.”

“Nah,” Rufus says with a yank on my leash to follow him. “We’re not that type of show—that would anger the local madams who help us fence the authorities.”

“The authorities are in the audience!”

“On the islands, yeah, but on the continent? No way would those Puritanscoundrels be caught dead at a show with a woman’s body exposed. Half the wenches aren’t allowed to show their shoulders or ankles. A breast might send the preachers to the golden gates early.”

Lifting each weighted tentacle is a struggle. I must concentrate to get one weight off the ground. My palms slap the ground as I crawl when I normally glide upright. The beaded chains on my chest scrape the dirt, and a dust cloud tickles my nose. Still, my handlers pull my leash, angling my neck so my chin touches my collarbone. Black spots wink in my vision as my air is cut off. My gills moan and wheeze as they compensate for my lung’s lack of air.

“Let’s go,” Rufus whispers tersely before grabbing my two front tentacles. Their weights dangle from his arms. Their cuffs cut into my flesh. Blood beads where tentacle meets metal.

“He’s telling the story of how she capsized his ship and he wrestled her to shore, so it will be a tick before she’s needed,” Dolbie says while picking up my back two tentacles. He’s mindful to scoop up the weights as well.