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The ocean moved at the whim of a starless sky. Black water sloshed against the side of the dinghy, spread all around it like spilt ink running towards the horizon. If it weren’t for the pearl drop of a moon hanging over his head, Alex knew he wouldn’t have known what was sky and what was sea. Night closed in tight and dimensionless in the middle of the Irish Sea, but he’d taken the risk anyway.
The navy men who’d snagged him in Barritarian Bay hadn’t meant to let him go. They called him ransom, for the battle they’d lost to Lafitte’s pirates, furnished by General Jackson. The pirates had scattered, but Alex hadn’t been fast enough to get home to Galveston Island, or inland to New Orleans. He’d gotten as far as the breakers, and they’d plucked him from the saltwater.
Pressganged, the man who shared his bunk had called it. It had happened to him too, several years before, and seemed resigned to never going home.
Alex was not so content. His raising had never taught him to be so.
Months then two years passed him by, but not without planning. Under cold dark nights in the crow’s nest while the rest of the crew slept below decks. Hauling cannons into place under August sun off the coast of Algiers. Now, in deep November, as winter swells threatened in northern waters, Alex found his moment to slip away from the HMS Swiftsure. He knew it wouldn’t take long before he was fully forgotten.
He had kept second watch that night. When he rose from his bunk, wrapped in his coat, his pockets were stuffed with the few things he cared for — a small timepiece, a compass he’d stolen off his bunk mate , a small stack of letters, and a bronze key on a stiff bit of cord that he wore around his neck. The key to his mother’s home in Galveston, all the way across the world.
Getting into the water was easy. Lowering one of the dinghies into the sea on his own, careful of the rocking without the wind. He lowered himself down the rope lines, then pushed away, paddles guiding him away from the hull.
It had been hours now, and the world had turned into a mirror. Tipped over and out and around on itself until the moon was his only marker.
Alex knelt on the bottom of the boat, splinters pushing through the leather of his breaches and into his knees, staring into the heavens. He’d been so sure Ram’s Head was a stone’s throw from the port side.
He was adrift until morning. Too much time to let slip away, too many miles to let stretch between him and the hope of land.
He tucked his hands back into his gloves and pulled the oars from the bottom where they rested. Pulls came easily, the water flat and kind for the moment, but the inky water and implacable spot made his body roil with fear. There be monsters, there be serpents, there be simple nature to rise up and drown him without a peep. The chill and the damp and the wind to freeze him. Another navy ship come along to toss him to splinters.
Alex shook his head and tucked his chin. Pulling on the oars, he counted strokes as he moved. Five after four after two after one, until the numbers became rhythm became words became songs.
Farewell and adieu, to you Spanish Ladies
Farewell and adieu, to you ladies of Spain
For we have received orders
To sail for old England
We hope in a short time, to see you again.
Alex had plenty of songs now crammed in his head from the two years gone by. Men sang when they worked, when they cooked, when the smoked and drank. Sometimes they danced. Sometimes there was pipe or fiddle to go with it. Sometimes the generals barked at them and they abandoned the tunes. Sometimes it was the only thing keeping them at their tasks.
He taught them a few he knew, but was laughed off for them being yankee or not en ingles. Alex would roll his eyes and hum to himself then. He didn’t need to share.
Spanish Ladies stuck in his head though. The solemn tenor, the way they kept the coastal towns in his head. How when he heard the chorus, his mind jumped immediately to his sister, his abuela, his mother. Ladies of New Spain, but ladies nonetheless. Ladies he wanted desperately to see again.
We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas
Until we strike soundings
In the channel of old England
From Ushant to Scilly, Tis thirty five leagues.
A scraping under the bottom of the boat startled Alex from his dirge chant. He yelped and jumped, fumbling with the oars before he dropped them into the water, losing them forever. Clutching them to his chest, Alex caught his breath and steadied his heart. He thanked whoever was listening that he was alone, that none of the sailors he’d been among had ever heard him yelp like that.
He turned his head to the left. Dark water spreading to the horizon line. He turned to the right. Dark sky arcing over him to meet the oceans edge, where sailors old were convinced they’d fall off the edge into nothingness. The nothingness threaded the air around him. All of the something lurked underneath.
Taking steadying breath after steadying breath, Alex dipped the oars back in the water. He drew once, then again, then again, humming the same song to himself. Soon enough, he was back at an even clip. Moving along as if nothing had startled him, as if nothing had happened. Gliding over the surface of the sea like a ripple of glass.
We hove our ship to,
with the winds from southwest boys
We hove our ship to,
deep soundings to take—
Another bump to the hull, then the flicker of a splash just over his shoulder.
Alex didn’t scream, didn’t yelp, didn’t even whimper. He jumped in his seat, losing a grip on one oar. He reached for it, hand swiping the water as it sank away from view.
His heart plummeted.
“No. No, no, no, no…”
Another splash, and he whirled around on his knees, the boat rocking dangerously.
“Ay dios, please, no,” Alex whispered, twitchy and flighty as a desert hare. He was stuck, in the middle of the ocean, without a soul around him save for whatever was set on sending his heart bursting out of his throat.
In the middle of the ocean, in the middle of the night, missing an oar.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered to himself, dropping back to his knees. Folding forward on himself, he touched his forehead to the damp, salt-stained old wood at the bottom. Tears began to leak from his eyes as despair cut through every other feeling. Whatever words had been in his brain before had evaporated. They were replaced now by something he’d known his whole life.
Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus.
Sancta Maria mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.
“Amen.”
“Are you quite alright?”
Alex sat bolt upright at the voice not his own. One glance told him that he was still helplessly alone. He didn’t think he’d been gone long enough to be hallucinating. He hadn’t touched his water skin yet, but he was sure his head was on straight.
He wrapped his arms around himself, sitting back on his heels. “Hello?”
The water sloshed, and then—. “Bon jour. Or, bon nuit, I suppose, but are you having a good night? It doesn’t seem like it.”
“Holy fuck—.”
“Nothing holy about it.” A pale, lithe arm slid through the air and disappeared.
Alex exhaled sharply. “What—. What am I talking to?”
“Me?”
The water sloshed, the dinghy swayed, and then another splash sounded. At the stern of the boat, another body, another man appeared over the side, fair and pale and — Alex sucked in a breath — not all man.
Wet skin caught the moonlight like silver, webbing between slim fingers glowing like moonstone. His bare shoulders and torso ended not in breeches, stockings, or bare legs but luminescent blue scales. A tail, thick but elegant, swished behind his blond head like an exotic fan.
Alex gaped.
The mermaid frowned. “Bloody hell. Are you all like that?”
Alex blinked. “Like what?”
“That.” The mermaid pointed a sharp-nailed finger at him. “Mouth open to catch sea lice and krill. As if you haven’t been coloring your maps with us for thousands of years.”
“Sorry.” Alex, suddenly chastised, shut his mouth and cleared his throat. “I um. Were you—. Sorry. Fuck. You’re just— vaya.”
The mermaid’s expression softened — flattered now by his amazement. He crossed his arms back again, over the missing oar, now resting across the gunnels. His tail waved in the moonlight, dripping water like diamonds. His eyes, large and moth-like, blinked midnight blue at him.
“Did you lose this?” He tapped a nail against the soaked wood. “It dropped on my head while I was trying to get a better look at you.”
“You scared me,” Alex said, rushed. “I dropped it. I—.”
The mermaid pushed it back into the boat with a clatter. Then, in one smooth wave of motion, he pulled himself up into the small boat, folding up his long body until only his fins and his fingers dangled in the water. “It’s too late for sailors to be out. Don’t you know better?”
Alex smirked. “You speak English.”
“I grew up listening to enough drowned sailors, love.” He inspected the webbing and claws of one hand, bored nearly. He squinted at Alex. “You don’t sound English though.”
“I’m not.”
“What are you?”
“I’m Alex.”
The mermaid smirked. “I’m Henry.”
Alex chuckled and grinned. “Henry? Sort of pedestrian for a fantasy creature, wouldn’t you think?”
“Am I still a fantasy if I’m sitting in your boat?”
”Not sure. Maybe.”
Henry quirked a single brow. “You’re not English?”
“No. American.”
“Oh. There have been more of you lot lately…” Henry looked him up and down again. “You don’t seem to want to eat me.”
Alex choked on a laugh. “What?”
“Eat me,” Henry said, breezily. “Everyone always said that the people up here would want to slice us up and eat us for luncheon if we got too close.”
Alex shook his head. “No, sweetheart. I’m not going to eat you. Don’t like fish much anyway.”
Henry’s nose curled. “Rude.”
“Are you relieved or just snarky?”
“Both.”
Alex laughed. If he was losing his mind, he was having a dandy time of it. “Well, Henry, magical creature of the deep or whatever you are. This has been fun, but I’m in the middle of getting lost on the water, so if you don’t mind.” He reached down between his boots and wriggled the oar handle. “I’d like to get back to it before morning.”
Henry didn’t budge. He stayed curled up in the stern of the boat, studying him, turning for snarky and prim to thoughtful. “You’re far from home,” he said softly.
Alex nodded. “Very far. I’m trying to get back.
“To who?”
“My parents. My sister.”
“And they are very far away?” Henry pursed his lips. “How far away?”
“Thousands of leagues,” Alex answered. “In the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Near the Caribbean?”
“Yes.”
“Mercy.” Henry frowned, then exhaled sharply. “I can get you to the Wight. Can you manage from there?”
Alex stared at him. “What?”
Henry blew out a breath, exasperated. “I can get you to the Isle of Wight from here in about two and a half hours. Is that acceptable?”
“You’re helping me?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t fancy nibbling a skin and bones American for my supper.” Henry flashed a smile to say he was teasing. It turned sober shortly. “Teasing, of course. I’d like to help you. You’re too handsome to shrivel up waiting for luck.”
Alex preened a bit. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“I know.” Henry let his tail flicker and flash. “I’m extraordinary.” He drew a circle in the water with a single finger. “I do have a price though.”
Alex leaned forward. “And what’s that, darlin’?”
Henry’s pale cheeks flushed pinkish. He cleared his throat too, and Alex grinned for having flustered him. “A kiss.”
“A kiss?”
“Mhmm, just the one.”
Alex nodded and thought. “No curse or binding spell or nothing?”
Henry chuckled. “No, nothing like that.”
“Then why a kiss?” Alex asked.
Henry shrugged. “I dunno. You’ve not got any books. And why wouldn’t I want to kiss a handsome sailor?”
Before Alex could say another word, the mermaid arched and bowed his back, then slid headfirst and backwards into the starless sea. No less than a minute later, Henry’s blonde head, freshly damp, popped up at the side nearer to him. He didn’t touch the boat, didn’t move more. He simply floated there, waiting for Alex’s decision.
Alex exhaled. “Well. Alright.”
“Alright?”
Alex nodded. “Come up here, and I’ll kiss you.” He held out a hand to Henry. “I’ll kiss you when you get me to land too.”
Henry seemed to brighten at the prospect. He took Alex’s hand and pulled himself back up out of the water, some of it sloshing into the boat with him as he soaked Alex from the waist down. He mumbled a sorry, but Alex waved it away and reached for his face.
He was expecting cold, damp, perhaps a bit slimy.
What he got was warm, soft, and pliant. Smooth skin and seawater, clean moonlight and delicate skin.
When they pulled apart, they stared at one another. A bit off kilter, a bit curious. Henry leaned back in, placing a soft kiss on Alex’s cheek.
“Until we get to shore,” he promised. “Otherwise it’ll be morning before we stop.”
Alex laughed. He gathered up the oars as Henry slipped back into the water. “Lead on sweetheart.”
Henry turned in the water, tail flashing as he twisted under the surface. “Follow me, love. You’ll be safe and sound.”