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The life of a pirate was not one of gold and pleasure. It was one of thievery, kidnapping, betrayal, murder, starvation, drowning, plunder, and plotting. It was a life of discomfort, competing with rats for food, shivering under layers of wet, moth-eaten cotton, and slowly going insane from months stuck on a small wooden box, tossed around on stormy-gray water that stretched endlessly in every direction.
In other words, it was a watery hell, a curse upon the sanity of whatever miserable soul decided to seek adventure on the seven seas.
Unless you lived on The Heron .
After thirteen years aboard the small vessel, Cleo could safely say that there were worse people than pirates, greater demons than a tropical storm, and scarier situations than looking down the barrel of a flintlock pistol. It was a matter of perspective— sure, it was terrifying being kidnapped and brought on board for the crew to do whatsoever they wanted to her, but after some quick thinking, a witty tongue, and a particularly good rabbit soup, Cleo had earned a spot in the crew, and soon found them to be nicer, better people than one would expect.
Misled and misunderstood were good words to describe the ragtag group. Most of them, at least. There were, of course, some problematic members of the crew— they were still pirates, after all, and as much as Cleo did her best to flood their minds with love and compassion, there was always a hard little corner of their hearts that pumped pride and greed through their veins.
And sometimes, that greed got the better of them in unexpected ways. . .
—-----
“More mutton!” Eloise yelled across the table. There was a chorus of aye! ’s accompanied by a brandishing of mismatched tankards, gripped in greasy, calloused hands that glistened in the candlelight. The room was small and stuffy, hot with ale-warmed bodies and high spirits.
“I’ll get you your mutton, El, if you sit your ass down! ” Cleo hefted her tray of empty bowls, grinning at the crew’s laughter at her heckling. “You’re gonna fall and upset the whole table!”
“‘M not!” Eloise slurred, swaying dangerously in place. Scott and Water quickly grabbed her shirt and dragged her down, sending her to her butt on the wooden floor amid uproarious guffaws and howls.
“She’s sat! Bring the mutton out!” Scott yelled, waving his tankard around so some of it sloshed out over Olive, who shouted and shoved him away. They began scuffling, meanwhile, the rest of the table began chanting, “Mut-ton! Mut-ton! Mut-ton!”
“Alright, alright!” Cleo laughed. She cupped her hand around her mouth and leaned out the door. “Owen! Bring the rest of the lamb!”
“But we were going to dry it into jerky!” Owen shouted back from the kitchen down the hall.
“Bring it anyways!” Cleo yelled, and the company cheered in glee.
“A toast for our cook!” Gabriel hollered drunkenly. “Best lamb on the seven seas!”
“Goodness sakes, you can’t toast me at every meal!” Cleo protested, but the crew was riled up already, and the tankards were thrust into the air again. The ale that wasn’t spilled on the table was then promptly downed, and a call went up for another round.
Cleo shook her head in mock disappointment, gathering the now-empty tankards and stacking them on her teetering tray. Sniff stood up on her chair and started a song, and everyone else soon joined in, words slurred and harmonies horrendously out of place, but hey, the spirit was there.
Owen squeezed into the room as Cleo was leaving, and Cleo tousled her hair, smiling fondly at her young assistant. Owen gave a grin back, until Gabriel spotted her in the doorway and waved her over. “OY! Come here, lass, we’re hungry!”
“I’ll be back in a bit,” Cleo said quickly. “Entertain them until I get back, aye?”
“Aye aye,” Owen said, saluting sloppily. Gabriel, ever impatient, grabbed her arm and yanked her into the room, evoking a yelp from her and another bout of laughter from everyone else at the table.
Cleo smiled as she walked down the skinny hallway, leaving the noise of chaos and gaiety receding behind her. She stopped in the kitchen only to add her load to the pile of dirty dishes sitting next to a basin of cold water, then grabbed a small plate sitting off to the side and piled some meat and potatoes onto it, adding a small gapple on the side as an afterthought. Then she was out in the hall again, but this time her steps led her up the stairs and across the deck to the captain’s quarters.
“Come in,” came Captain Christian’s voice when she knocked, and she pushed through the door. The atmosphere in this room was wildly different, stacks of books and maps and chests pushed in every corner. It was even smaller than their tiny dining room, but the candlelight here was soft, not harsh and flickering as those that danced to rowdy sea shanties.
“Brought you some food,” Cleo said, carefully placing it down on a corner of the desk. “It’s not much, and the girls have already drunk a whole casket of ale, but I snagged a gapple for you this morning from a treasure-hunting quest.”
“Thank you, Cleo,” the captain said, setting down his quill. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get you more food for cooking, my business went longer than expected this afternoon, and it slipped my mind—”
“Oh, it’s fine, Sniff went out and got me a nice lamb. And Owen and I ‘ll go out to the market again tomorrow— maybe do some fishing or something, we’ll see.”
“Get some more rum, too, at least six caskets. There’s been a reported increase in illness among sailors because of bad water, and we don’t want anyone getting sick before the raid on that merchant ship next week.” Christian pushed his papers aside and dragged the plate towards him.
“Right.” Cleo blew a strand of hair out of her face and crossed her arms. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, captain, I’d better get back to the galley before the crew finds out I’ve got more ale in the kitchen.”
“Thank you, Cleo,” Christian said softly, and turned back to his work.
A loud CRASH sounded from below deck, followed by a chorus of ooooh ’s, and Cleo turned on her heel and dashed out of the cabin. “HEY! THAT BETTER NOT HAVE BEEN THE TABLE!”
—-----
Cleo woke up early in the morning, when the moon had just slipped past its highest point, by Scott shaking her shoulder gently.
“Sorry to wake you up, Cleo,” he said, quiet but still audible of the creaking of the ship and the snores from the rest of the crew, “but I’ve just ended my watch, and I’m headin’ off to bed. ‘S just an hour past midnight, I think.”
Cleo sat up, wiping the sleepiness from her eyes. “Thanks for waking me up, I’ll get right on with breakfast. You getting anyone else up for the watch?”
“Nah, it’s a quiet night, I don’t reckon anything's gonna happen. Captain’s awake, anyhow, and so is Gabriel, so if there’s trouble they’ll be likely to hear it.” Scott set his lantern down on the floor beside Cleo’s hammock. “You can take this, I won’t be needin’ it any more tonight.”
“Thanks.” Cleo swung her legs out from her hammock and bent down, lacing up her boots, then picked up the lantern and made her way to the kitchen to begin preparing for the crew’s early breakfast.
Nighttime brought The Heron an ethereal atmosphere. It was quiet, without the screech of gulls and the bustle of pirates running about the ship— yet there was never a moment of silence, the waves forever in motion, splashing up on the ship’s hull and stretching out to touch the sandy shore, the sound of wood creaking and groaning as the ship rocked, lamenting the constant assault of salt against lacquer. Cleo let the sounds fade into the background as she filled a pot with water and began chopping up peppers and tomatoes, tossing them into the liquid for a cold soup.
—-----
Plip.
—-----
It took Cleo a few seconds to process the noise. She blinked at the pot. A single drop of red was spreading through the cloudy orange broth.
Plip. Another drop fell into the pot.
“What in the. . .?” Cleo looked up. A dark red liquid was seeping through the wooden planks of the deck above. As she watched, another ruby teardrop formed and fell down, landing squarely on her forehead.
Cleo instinctively rubbed the liquid away, then stared at the red smeared across her hand and raised it to her nose. The sharp smell of copper tainted her fingers. Blood.
Plip.
Blood. A pit opened up in the bottom of Cleo’s stomach. Slowly— so, so slowly, deliberately— like a creature pinned under the gaze of a predator— Cleo reached out and picked up her lantern. She took a breath, heart pounding suddenly— and slipped out of the kitchen.
The ship breathed as she glided down the narrow corridor. The sound of the waves, the noise of snoring and rustling coming from the rooms, the creaking of wood— all of it blended together, loud but muffled in Cleo’s ears, like she was underwater. . .
The moon was all that shone in the darkness above deck. The harbor was shrouded in a blanket of pearlescent fog. Cleo breathed in droplets of salty air and exhaled them with a shuddering tongue. There was no use in subtlety, not with her lantern casting a golden glow all around her, so Cleo licked her lips and called out, “Hey! Is someone up here?”
There was a moment of silence, then a splash sounded on the port side of the ship. Cleo gasped and hurried forward, quick steps clacking on the deck and echoing across the harbor.
The stench of blood met her just as she reached the area of the deck above her kitchen. Cleo gagged and covered her nose with her sleeve, holding her lantern aloft. A puddle of the red liquid was smeared across the lacquered wood, but there was no body in sight. Cleo crouched down next to the puddle and put her lantern down, cursing under her breath, and reached out with a shaking hand, dabbing at it with her finger. It was warm.
“Oh gods.” Cleo scrambled back to her feet, knocking her lantern over. The flame flickered and went out. “Oh gods, this is— god —”
“Cleo?”
Cleo whirled around. Christian was standing behind her, face grim as his eyes fell on the pool of blood.
“Captain,” Cleo said quickly. “I just got here, I swear I didn’t—”
Plip.
Cleo and Christian stared at each other, then looked up in tandem.
Oh.
God.
—-----
“Gabriel, our dearly beloved friend for many years on this vessel, was found dead this morning, sometime between the hours two and three, by myself and our ship’s cook, Cleo. A pool of blood was on the deck, large enough to seep past the lacquer and drip through the wooden planks to the kitchen below, where Cleo was beginning to prepare today’s breakfast. Hanging above the puddle, suspended by a thick rope connected to a weight which had been dropped into the water on the other side of the ship, was Gabriel’ body. Upon first glance, a deep gash was visible on his neck and torso, being the main source of the blood, and after lowering the body, we found several more wounds, specifically, his tongue had been cut out and his hands severed. We are unsure where the missing body parts are.”
Captain Christian hesitated, looking around at the pale, horrified faces surrounding him, then cleared his throat and continued. “Understand, Gabriel was a good friend to many of us— and this mutilation— this murder — will not and cannot be forgiven or forgotten. We will not rest until the man responsible for this disturbing slaughter is found and put to justice.”
There was a moment of silence, then Sniff raised her hand. “El and I went out drinking last night and slept in the Inn in town. If either of us left, the innkeeper probably would’ve seen. . .”
Gallow’s expression relaxed slightly. “That’s good to know, thanks for the information, Sniff. Is everyone that left the ship accounted for?”
They were. And after a brief search (Scott was still asleep in his hammock, and Owen was combing the beach for crabs for breakfast), the rest of the crew that had stayed on the ship overnight were all accounted for as well, and all seven crew members were gathered on deck.
“Okay,” Christian said slowly. “Let’s split up. Sniff, you take Olive back into town, talk to the innkeeper, the street patrol, anyone that could have seen or heard if someone snuck on or off of our ship.”
“Aye aye,” Sniff said, saluting. “Olive, let’s go.”
“Stick together!” Cleo called after them. “We don’t want anyone getting into any more trouble!”
“Hang on,” Eloise said as the two of them headed off for the gangway. “Shouldn’t someone else go with them? If Sniff or Olive are the murderers, they could easily just off the other person and be halfway across the ocean before any of us notices they’re gone!”
“Riiight,” Scott said, drawing out the word, “but you and Sniff are the only ones that left the boat, far as we’re aware, and you might be in cahoots. . .”
Eloise’s face twisted in offense. “I— I’m sorry, are you accusing me of being the murderer?”
“I’m just saying we have to be careful!” Scott exclaimed. “At this point, we don’t really know enough to rule anyone out, so it’s safer to assume that any one of us could be the murderer, and yes, that includes you, so if you don’t want to be accused, then you have to give us a defense for what you were doing in town!”
“I was sleeping ,” Eloise said, crossing her arms. “Me and Olive were drunk, and we wanted to go out and hang out at the tavern in town, get to know new people, whatever. We had a few more drinks, passed out on the bar, and woke up in the Inn with killer headaches, so we both made our way back to the ship for Cleo’s hangover drink-thing she makes. We got to the dock just as Owen was leaving, and then when we got to the ship Christian came out and told us Gabriel had been murdered.
“Oh, thanks for the hangover remedy by the way,” Eloise said, addressing Cleo. “You’re my favorite.”
“Was Sniff with you the whole time?” Christian asked.
El frowned. “The whole time I was awake, yeah, I think so. I mean, we both got absolutely hammered, and I was asleep for a while, but as far as I’m aware she was with me.”
“If you were drunk, you might not have noticed if she left,” Water said, concerned.
“. . .True.” El hesitated. “I guess the innkeeper will know if she’d left. But if Olive kills her—”
“Then we know it was Olive, and we exact our revenge,” Christian said solemnly. “And if Olive dies, we know it was Sniff, and she becomes our target.”
They all sat in silence for a moment.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Owen muttered. “We shouldn’t have to be so afraid of each other.”
More silence.
“What was everyone else doing?” El blurted out suddenly. “It was pretty early for people to be awake.”
“Captain, you and Cleo were the ones who found the body, right? Did you see anything?” Water asked.
Cleo gave a quick summary of her perspective, but Water’s expression only became more suspicious as her account continued.
“Hang on, why would you make soup at two in the mornin’?” Water interrupted at one point. “There was no reason for you to be cooking that early, we eat breakfast at five at the earliest.”
Cleo crossed her arms. “ You try making soup for six people that scramble around on the rigging all day, it’s not a simple toss-everything-in-the-pot, it takes hours just to simmer all the vegetables, not to mention the meat if you want any flavor with your breakfast! If you want to accuse me of murder, fine, but don’t expect there to be any crab floating around in your portion of the soup!”
Water apologized, and the rest of the crew quickly lept on the topic of breakfast. No one wanted to stay on deck much longer, out in the fog and so close to the still-drying bloodstain where Gabriel had hung, so they all moved down below deck, and slipped into their usual routine of standing single-file outside the kitchen while they waited for Cleo to serve up their breakfast in bowls.
“God,” Cleo muttered, shoving past them into the kitchen. “Minds in their stomachs, I swear. . .”
She hesitated. The pot of soup was left abandoned on the counter, uncooked and spoiled by Gabriel’s blood. Guess they’re getting hardtack and jerky for breakfast.
“Cleo!” Owen stumbled into the room, hefting a large bucket of crabs. “I got the crabs for the soup— I got as many as I could before Olive came and fetched me for the meeting— It’s horrible, Cleo, just horrible . . .”
“I know, it’s really bad, isn’t it?” Cleo took the bucket from her, peering inside. “Well, it’s not enough for soup— not that that matters, since the broth’s unusable anyways— but I can boil these later and make them into biscuits for tonight. For now, how about you help me break up some hardtack?”
“I can’t even think straight, it’s all too horrible. . .” Owen muttered. “My mind’s filled with the thought of his hands. . .”
“You mean how they’re missing? Thrown overboard, I reckon,” Cleo said. She exhaled slowly. “Look, just try not to think about it too much, okay? Captain Christian has everything under control. We’ll find the murderer as soon as we can. Focus on the food, focus on the ship, and everything will sort itself out.”
“Focus on the ship. . .” Owen said distantly. Her eyes slowly moved upwards to the dark stain hanging above her head. “Someone should bring the captain some food.”
Cleo smiled and handed her a few pieces of hardtack. “Well, everyone’s getting rations today, so go eat, bring some of this to the captain, then scrub the deck ‘till it shines, understand?”
“Aye aye.” Owen sighed and gave a half-hearted wave as she left. “Gotta get my mind off things somehow. . .”
Breakfast was served. A few of the crew members grumbled about the dry, meager meal, but everyone else ate without complaint, faces disheartened and minds wandering far from the food. They finished quickly, and dispersed into groups, wandering around the ship to complete their daily tasks, though the usual laughter and singing of ship-work was gone, replaced with hushed whispers and suspicious glances towards one another.
It must have been someone on the ship, Cleo thought, elbow-deep in a basin of soapy water. No one off of it woulda known Gabriel, even when we berthed at the docks he was cooped up in his room. But who the devil would want to kill Gabriel of all people? He always did his job well, there wasn’t a single cannon that misfired under his watch, and he always made sure to aim for a part of the ship that wouldn’t kill the merchants. HE certainly wouldn’t wish death upon anyone, not unless they really offended him, but he wasn’t really the confrontational type. . .
I know it wasn’t Scott. I saw him climb into his hammock. And no one could have crept past the kitchen without me noticing them. So it must have been someone who was already outside the sleeping quarters. Cleo dunked the dishes in another basin of clear water. Sniff, maybe. . . she’s gone off to investigate in town, though, so she’d have to be pretty confident that she’d be able to cover her tracks. . . who else was awake? Christian? He was on the deck, he came at me from behind. . . what was he doing out there at night?
Cleo pursed her lips. I’d better just go ask him.
She wiped her hands on her dress and made her way out onto the deck. The sun still hadn’t risen, but the sky was lighter, and everything was shrouded in grays and blues. She carefully avoided the brown stain on the deck, walking around the mast where Water and El had their heads together, whispering with animated hand gestures. As she approached the door to the cabin, her ear caught the sound of conversation, and she slowed her step, frowning and creeping forward to listen.
“—course, but that’s a risk we’ll have to take. We’ve come too far to give up now,” Christian was saying.
“But the crew, sir, they all like her too much, they’ll be out for blood if we do anythin’ to her.” That was Scott’s voice.
“They’ll like her less when we expose her as the murderer,” Christian said solemnly. Cleo inhaled sharply. They know who it is?
“But how’re we gonna do that, sir, there’s barely any evidence—”
“You said you were confident in what you heard.”
“Heard, yes, but I didn’t see anythin’, cap’n, it was too dark— you’ve a better chance at having seen it, sir, the moon was bright above deck. . .”
“I told you what I saw,” Christian snapped. “I have no doubts about it. I don’t care how the crew will react, it is my duty as captain to put an end to this predicament before anyone else gets hurt. You can aid me, or turn a blind eye, but by this afternoon I will send Cleo to a watery grave.”
Cleo flinched, a curse on the tip of her tongue, but a hand covered her mouth suddenly. She jerked backwards, wide eyes meeting Owen’s, who put a finger to her lips and slowly removed her hand, then beckoned for Cleo to follow her before slinking away from the captain’s door, into the fog. Cleo hesitated a moment, heart pounding, then followed.
Once they were out of earshot from the cabin, Owen took Cleo’s hand. “ Cleo. You have to run, they’re gonna kill you—”
“Hang on, hang on, hang on!” Cleo hissed. “Owen, I didn’t kill Gabriel, he was already dead when I found him—”
“It doesn’t matter if you did it or not, Christian is gonna come after you, and then he’ll shoot you, and then—” Owen’s eyes welled up with tears. “You weren’t meant to be a part of this, Cleo, I don’t want you to get hurt, just get as far away from here as you can before I lose you.”
“I’m not—” Cleo stopped.
You weren’t meant to be a part of this .
Gotta get my mind off things somehow —
—
Her.
“Owen,” Cleo breathed. “ Where were you last night? ”
—-----
Plip.
—-----
A tear fell from Owen’s face. Her expression was emotionless. Her eyes held the words she knows in them, and the damning revelation crashed over Cleo like a tsunami.
“Owen .”
The ship creaked.
“I was above deck,” Owen whispered. “I was leaving Christian’s cabin, and I saw him , and he was drunk— and I had a knife. . .”
Cleo squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart pounded in her throat. “ Owen.”
“Cleo, please. ” Owen was fully crying now, but her voice was level and steady. “He was hurting me, Cleo, he would take me to his room, and he’d—”
“But he was out on the deck!” Cleo stumbled backward, running a hand through her hair. “He— he was trussed up in the ropes like a butchered pig, Scott would’ve heard— o-or seen, or Christian—”
“ Christian, ” Owen hissed, “is a coward. I went to him for help when Gabriel started saying those— those rotten words , and he dismissed me. He said I was paranoid and dramatic, and then things got worse, and Gabriel started touching me and Christian still wouldn’t listen —”
Owen cut herself off, evidently realizing her voice had been growing in volume while she’d been speaking. She took a deep breath, and continued in a low whisper. “I’ve taken care of Gabriel, and soon the captain will be gone too. I don’t want to kill you, Cleo. Just walk away and forget any of this happened.”
“. . .The captain. . .” A chill ran down Cleo’s spine. Her eyes flicked back to the cabin door.
“Don’t,” Owen murmured. “It’s already been done.”
“ Goddammit, Owen, ” Cleo said, voice cracking, and spun on her heel, dashing through the fog and flinging the door open.
“Cleo! What. . .” Christian froze, hand raising slowly to his throat.
Cleo and Scott both stared in horror as Christian began spasming, eyes bulging as his muscles jerked in every direction. He opened his mouth, but nothing but red foam bubbled from his lips.
“Captain!” Cleo gasped, coming around his desk.
By the time she had reached his side, his eyes were glassy, and his body slowly tipped over, falling to the floor. He gave a final jerk, then died.
“Oh my god.” Cleo fell to her knees, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. “Gods, Christian, my god —”
Click.
Cleo looked up and found Scott pointing a gun directly at her forehead.
There was silence for a moment, then Scott spoke in a quavering voice, “Game’s up, Cleo, I’ve caught you red-handed. No more lies.”
“Scott, listen to me, I wasn’t the one who did this —”
“I told you no more lies!” Scott shouted. His finger twitched by the trigger. “I woke ye up— I woke ye up because ye told me, so you could go off and kill Gabriel— and now you've gone and killed the captain—”
“ It wasn’t me —”
“I told you no more lies!” Scott yelled. His body trembled, but his hands remained steady. “Everything leads to you, Cleo. I never— I never thought you’d do this, but there’s no one else it could’ve been — ”
He took a deep breath, face hardening. “I’m sorry it had to end this way.”
Cleo’s heart hammered in her chest. “Scott, wait— ”
BANG.
—-----
Water stood in the doorway, arm extended from flinging the door open. Her eyes were wide, taking in the scene, Scott holding the gun to Cleo’s head, about to fire, Christian’s body slumped over on the ground—
“Don’t shoot,” she said breathlessly. “Don’t— it wasn’t her, Scott, we heard the whole thing—”
“Where’s Owen?” Cleo demanded, using the desk to help pull herself to her feet.
“Owen. . .?” Scott murmured.
“El’s gone after her, she jumped overboard and swam to shore, they’re trying to chase her through town now— we heard the whole thing, Cleo, all of it, we was listening by the mast, we head all of it—”
“Dammit,” Cleo swore. She dashed past Water and leaned over the ship’s railing, staring off at the small town. Shouts could be heard in the distance.
“Do you think they’ll catch her?” Water asked quietly, coming up behind her.
“I-I don’t—” Cleo let out a shuddering breath, digging her palms into her eyes. “I don’t bloody know. I don’t know.”
Her hands dragged down her face, pausing a moment over her mouth before dropping again to the railing. Everything that had occurred in the past few hours crashed over her like a wave and she sagged in exhaustion, eyes still fixed on the distant town. The sun broke the horizon, spilling red light over the water. Cleo squeezed her eyes shut.
I don’t know if I want them to.