Desire

Remember when I talked about saving something in a bad draft? Here’s the character I mentioned! Dawkins was the best thing to come out of that failed attempt to write a short story/novella.

*~*~*~*

It was the perfect sort of night to have drawn the short straw for duty, Dawkins reckoned. This far out, with no other ship for Christ only knows how long, there wasn’t really anything to keep watch for. All he was missing to really enjoy the crisp evening was a bottle of rum. The Capitan demanded sobriety on watch nowadays, though. Something about having lost too many men to a tumble over the side of the rail. He might be young, but he wasn’t stupid enough to not risk the man’s ire.
Even without liquor, the light of the mostly full moon reflecting on the water was beautiful. Dawkins stood at the bow and leaned on, but not over, the rail. He reached his fingers out for a brief moment, as if he could touch the white light and hold it to his chest. Would it be warm, like the sun? A sudden sound of splashing broke his quiet reverence. Squinting out over the water in front of him, he couldn’t see anything that could have caused it. One hand on his flintlock, he took off at a run, to inspect all sides of their vessel.
A single longboat wouldn’t have been frightening on its own; only that one longboat was very rarely just one. But there was nothing at all. No swimmer. No oars. Nothing but an unsettling silence that settled back over the night air. The young sailor frowned, coming to a stop in his pacing at the ship’s starboard side. A tuna, or maybe a swordfish wouldn’t have been too far out of the question, he supposed.
“D’ya hear that?”
Dawkins nearly pulled his pistol on the other sailor. Hells below, Nathaniel was too good at being quiet for his own good. He hadn’t even heard the other sailor make his way down from the crow’s nest.
“The splash? Yea. Damnedest thing, haven’t seen anything that could have made it. You didn’t drop the spyglass in did you? Cap’n will have your-”
“Splash? Are you deaf lad? The music. The singing. Most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever heard.”
The young sailor looked the man up and down. Nathaniel had a slight sway to his stance, like he couldn’t quite keep himself steady. Fantastic. Now he knew what the Capitan had been getting at. Drunk, or maybe sleep deprived, the older sailor would be useless if there was actually a problem. Dawkins was certain there was no music; just the sound of their voices and the water that lapped against the sides of the ship. He shook his head, frowning when the man came closer. Too close with how near he already was to the rail and the depths just on the other side of it.
“Nathaniel, easy man.” Dawkins put a hand out, pushing Nathaniel back gently and towards the firm ground of the deck. “You’re hearing things. Maybe you should stay down here the rest of the night. Climbing back up seems like it might be a lot for ya. I’ll take the high watch and-”
“It’s so beautiful. A choir fulla angels.”
The rambling made him roll his eyes. There had been rumors that the scouts stashed booze in the Nest, since the Capitan didn’t make his way up there. But honestly. Dawkins had no patience to babysit a drunkard AND the lives of the rest of the crew.
“All right. Let’s get you down to a bunk, Nate.” He shook his head.” You’ve had too much tonight. I won’t tell Cap. I’ve got things from here.”
When he started to lead Nathaniel towards the door, the man started to fight back. Lunging, scratching, fighting tooth and nail only just short of grabbing his sword. Nathaniel was head and shoulders taller than Dawkins, but his swaying stupor gave the smaller man enough of an advantage. He almost felt bad for practically pushing Nathaniel down the stairs once they managed to get there. Almost. He had kept the door open just long enough, to make sure that the man hadn’t broken anything or hit his head. He was already groaning about “that song” and trying to crawl back up. Dawkins closed the door and stayed with his back against it. With his weight on it, Nathaniel wouldn’t be able to get it open and the man would have to give up eventually.
It felt like an eternity, listening to the moaning on the other side of the door. He might have to tell the Capitan about this in the morning after all of the man didn’t seem better. Some sort of illness might have gotten to his head if the drink didn’t. Eventually, there was the sound of him retreating down the stairs to a bunk, at least Dawkins hoped as much. He got off of the door, walking to his position back at the bow of the ship. Only the sounds of his footsteps and the sea. Good to know the madness wasn’t catching, at least.
He wished he had brought his pipe with him, as he leaned on the ship’s rail and faced the door in case Nathaniel had tricked him. He tilted his head to look at the stars that dotted the clear sky above. The navigator could direct them by the shapes he swore were in them. Dawkins wasn’t sure he believed any of that. They just looked like blobs to him.
“Are you a witch? They do not usually let women sail on boats because they’re bad luck.”
That wasn’t singing. Someone was speaking. The voice was decidedly feminine. It sounded like his sister used to when she was annoyed with him when they were children. Before he-
“I know you can hear me. Down here.”
This time there was a thump that followed the voice, like someone striking their fist against the hull. He slowly turned around, taking a deep breath through his nose. Grip tight on his pistol, he bent his head down, following the location of the sound. Dawkins jumped backwards and fell on his back, not believing his eyes. Something was there…Some ONE was there. Scrambling to his knees, he nudged himself back to the edge.
A woman with skin browned from a life in the sun, wild hair stuck to her face and shoulders from being so saturated with water. The strands were so long, they covered her otherwise bare breasts. She seemed to be an expert swimmer, her legs barely even splashing as she kept herself afloat.
“No, you must be deaf then. That’s it, isn’t it? Of all the terrible luck…”
“Icanhearyou.” Dawkins could barely hear himself as he spoke the words, too quickly and a jumble of more sound than real words. “I’m not a witch. At least….I don’t think I am. Are you a witch?”
What other sort of woman would be out in the middle of the ocean with no sign of a boat or a raft, after all? He considered, however briefly, of throwing a rope down for her. But when she frowned, she looked rather menacing. And even from here, those teeth looked deadly sharp.
“Not a witch, and not deaf. Well, what are you then? No man can hear us sing and be unaffected. And you told the fat one you didn’t hear us at all…”
Hear us?
“No no. You aren’t real. This isn’t real.” Sirens were just stories that shitty sailors told. To excuse the fact they rammed their vessels into the rocks. And they especially weren’t normal looking in any of the tales.
Tails. A tail that looked more like a snake’s than anything. It was finned at the end, though, like a whale or dolphin. This weird, not-real woman had a tail. The sound of it slapping the water, like the splash he heard earlier, brought him back to attention.
“Ah I have it now!” She nodded her head as if she had discovered some great secret. “You must be one of those sorts that likes to do it with other men. So disappointing…”
Dawkin’s confusion and alarm turned to annoyance quite quickly. How sare this…Thing make any sort of assumptions about him at all. His cheeks turned pink as he grew flustered and made his way onto his feet.
“I’m not any sort, thank you.”
“Not any sort? What does that mean? What an odd thing you are. Not any sort.” The creature used its tail to propel itself backwards away from the ship, as if to get a better look at him.
Dawkins looked right back, unblinking. He could not tell if it was fear, or excitement that pounded in his chest. After a moment, the creature let out a sound that was almost a giggle and disappeared under the water.
“I will be back. You are fascinating, not-any-sort-of-man.”