Drawn Up From Deep Places

“Less piratical?”

“Younger. More gentlemanly. And kind, too.”

“Not by most standards, I think.”

“No, you are; far more civil than I’d thought you’d be, also, given your reputation. And handsome, as well. Those eyes of yours, they shine, like . . . fish-scales.”

“A pretty compliment.” Adding, as she looked away: “Beg pardon, madam. I am saturnine by nature and unused to company, particularly of the female kind.” He paused. “You know my limitations, but so long as we navigate carefully, we might come close enough to shore to put you off at Port Macoute. ‘Tis a rough place, yet there’s a woman there would surely take you in, if I but asked her . . . ”

“Oh, then my estimation is confirmed, sir,” she replied, impulsively laying her hand upon his arm, and Parry felt it again—that sensation he could not easily name, nor explain. “If I can only find some way to repay this fresh courtesy of yours . . . ”

“Madam, any man would do the same.”

(Not any man, Rusk piped up. Precious few, in fact. Oh, my poor innocent!)

Miss Attesee frowned in the ghost’s direction, brow wrinkling prettily. “Who is that man, Captain Parry? Must he be always here?”

How oft have I asked myself the same thing.

“‘Tis Captain Rusk, who had this ship before me,” Parry told her shortly. “I took it from him, and was obliged to kill him over it.”

(Only over that, Jerusha?)

“Did you want it so very much, then?”

He sighed. “Not . . . as such, no. It is a complicated question.”

(Ah, but explain it her anyhow, will ye—what we fell out over, and why. I do long t’ see you try.)

Reaching for the words, carefully: “Captain Rusk did me a good turn, by saving me from a Navy ship’s hold and breaking my witch-collar—but he expected to be paid, and his idea of due recompense went far past what seemed fair, by my tallying. Eventually, I grew beyond his ability to halter, and then . . . ” He spread his hands wide, fingers grasping at air, a blue-green flutter linking them briefly together, then passing away in a flourish. “ . . . as you see.”

“He was a bad sort.”

“Undeniably, given his occupation. But considering I now share it, it might be more accurately said he proved himself untrustworthy.”

(How so, man?)

How not, you great ape? You gave me your word, then broke it. You forced me—

(But how could I, Jerusha, beyond that first time? You, wi’ all your powers? You could’ve burnt my parts away, if you’d a mind to—and why not, if I so offended you? Unless they were giving you too much joy, entirely . . . )

Your “parts” are gone now, sir, along with the rest of you. Put them by.

(My point stands: You could’ve unmanned me, with a second’s thought. Yet ye did not.)

You . . . distracted me.

(As she does now, I’ll warrant.)

Cease your prattle! She is speaking again, and I want to hear her.

“Was there no peace to be made between you, then?” Clione asked. “Not ever?”

“No. He was a man of odd humours, and took pleasure in being hated. We had both had our fill of the other, I think, by the end.”

“I would think it would not be so easy to have one’s fill of you, Captain,” she said, seriously. And cupped his chin in both her hands, studying his sharp-planed face closely, before sealing his half-open mouth with a kiss that tasted, as only befitted, of the deepest, darkest parts of the sea.

***