Chapter Text
Janice, swimming behind the stern of the Hispaniola, admires the way the lantern lights cast golden, squirming shapes across the inky surface of the waves. The night is dark and clear and beautiful, and the noise from the ship above is like company.
What Janice is really listening to, though, is the conversation occurring just slightly above her. One of the windows of the captain’s cabin is open and Janice can clearly make out the voices, one of which is that of the sailor she keeps seeing.
“There is simply no such thing as sirens, Mr. Arrow.”
“I have seen—Captain, were it not for what I’ve seen with my own two eyes, I would agree. But I have seen her. Several times.”
Janice gives a quiet giggle, pressing her hand to her mouth. She is, in fact, a garden variety mermaid, but Samuel seems utterly convinced of her supernatural charms. It’s really quite flattering, in a sad kind of way.
“Mr. Arrow, I understand that this has been a very… trying series of voyages for you. For us all, in fact. I’m not surprised you’re seeing things—“
“I am not! Captain Smollet, with respect—“
“But I need you to put such ideas from your head. The men need steady instruction, not wild tales of fantasy creatures.”
Given that their interactions have consisted solely of awkward conversations and Samuel staring at her, Janice doubts there are any wild tales to be told. But people often have difficulty reconciling their own bridled views with the simple reality of the world. Is a mermaid really so great a leap in logic, in the mind of a frog in a periwig?
A brief stretch of silence follows. Janice wonders what’s happening. The voices return, much quieter this time.
“I fear the time at sea is getting to you.” The captain says, in what Janice thinks might be coded, discreet language for loneliness. “Mr. Arrow, when you take a wife, I think you’ll see better the…cause of these visions.”
“I am fully aware of the perils of sea on the mind of a man, but that’s not what she is.”
Janice presses herself closer to the stern of the ship, careful of the rudder. It’s a calm night, though, and there’s little movement. She listens closely.
“I think it would be wise were you to spend tomorrow abed, Mr. Arrow. Rest yourself and come back when you feel well again.”
“I am not unwell.”
Samuel grouses, but Janice hears the strange scratchy sound of talons on hardwood, and the briefly exchanged, overly formal goodnights. There’s the sound of a door closing, and then another opening. The captain heaves a sigh.
“Is he still going on about that siren he saw?”
Asks a familiar voice, one Janice recognises, somehow. It’s distinctly that of a woman. The captain makes a noise Janice can nearly picture as a frown.
“Yes. I really am terrible worried, Mina. He’s given her a name.”
“A name? So the cheese is just fully off the cracker.”
Mina? Mina from the island? So this is where she went! Janice wondered why she stopped showing up along the shoreline.
“Yes.”
“What’s he called her?”
“You won’t believe this—Janice. What sort of name is that for a siren?”
There’s a pause. Janice stares up at the glowing light from the cabin, makes out the movement of a distinctly Benjamina shaped shadow.
“Oh, what, the mermaid?”
She asks, and oh, what Janice would give to come up and watch what will follow.