At World's Beginning

Blue Like Sorrow

Then

If Franklin Sharp ever said he didn't enjoy Ona's company, he would have been a liar.

Yes, sometimes the things she said were startling and a lesser man would have fled before them. But Franklin found her fascinating. The day's duties kept him away, but at night he would sneak into the brig, carrying a rolled map of the Spanish Main and a tray of food. He wasn't entirely convinced she was being fed, and by the way she would tear into the bread each night, he suspected his fears were well-founded.

After slipping the tray of food through the slot, he would pull out a crate, flatten the map atop its surface, and they would discuss the mysteries of the sea. At first, it was just a way to pass the time as they headed to port in Nassau. But then Franklin quickly realized her wealth of knowledge was a variable cavern of precious gems.

She knew the breeding waters of the Caribbean lusca in the winter, the migration route for sea monks as they traveled from their territory of Zealand, and she even confirmed the existence of something called "the Devil Whale." She assured him, despite the name, it only took to attacking ships when it felt threatened. Franklin wasn't entirely bought on that premise, but seeing as he didn't have much experience with giant squids and strange fish people, he didn't offer an opinion on the matter.

Finally, after two weeks of this back-and-forth exchange of information that was slowly turning into a sort of cautious comradery, Franklin had to tell her the bad news.

"We'll be to Nassau within the week," he said, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles of the map with his hands rather than meet her eye. "And the captain wants to hand you over to naval authorities when we make port."

When the silence stretched on to an uncomfortable length, Franklin chanced a glance upward. Ona had the same wide-eyed fearful look she had had before when he'd told her he knew about the gills. Pity swelled in his chest, and something else that was a more recent development. He was growing protective of her, fiercely so, and the idea of someone mistreating her filled him with as much rage as if she was one of his own sisters.

"Why don't you just return to the waters?" Franklin asked softly. "I could contrive a plan to break you free of the brig. You could go back home, be with others of your kind."

It was a subject he hadn't broached until that point, though his curiosity had always been there. If she truly was a mermaid, there was no reason for them to even get as far as Nassau. Franklin had told her of his plan to make her part of his future crew, but it had only been a pipe dream. A child's dream. He knew the right decision was to free her. A creature like her didn't belong on a ship; no more than a fish belonged on land.

"I cannot," Ona finally answered. Her hands were in her lap and her eyes were cast downward. She still wore the cloth tarp, refusing any other stitch of clothing even now. It was a reminder to him that she had not yet accepted her lot, whatever that may be. Maybe it was time Franklin found out the full story, or as much as he could get out of her.

"Tell me why," Franklin said gently, so it was clear it was a request and not a demand. "Tell me, so I can help you."

She shook her head, long, yellow hair slightly rippling with the movement.

"You cannot help me. The deed is done. There is... no returning home for me now." She still refused to look up at him, and the slump of her shoulders spoke of a person who had given up on living. "It is no less than I deserve."

"I don't believe that for a moment," he responded hotly, sitting with his back straightened. "Whatever happened, whatever's been done to you, there was no justice or mercy in it."

For the very first time, he heard her laugh. He couldn't exactly describe it, only to say it had a sharp quality to it. Like steel swords sliding past each other. It sent a hard chill up his spine and was a stark reminder that this was no human woman that occupied their brig.

"The sea is no longer my home," she finally answered, stark blue eyes meeting his. "And I cannot survive the world of Man. There is only death for me now. The only two choices left are how slowly or swiftly it comes."

Her words should have perhaps chilled him to the bone, but instead stubbornness took hold of Franklin's heart. He leaned forward.

"I don't accept that. And neither should you."

Those blue eyes narrowed but there was a hint of something there, something almost warm and human.

"Bold, cheeky child," she murmured in a low voice.

"Aye, 'twas what my mother always told me."

Franklin gave her a wink before standing up, and then he carefully rolled the map and slipped it under his arm.

"I am serious, though. I'll find a way to smuggle you off the ship, and then we can decide where to go from there. Dress you in breeches and pass you off as a pretty-faced man, maybe. And ports like the one at Nassau, there's always ships looking to hire new crew."

He gave her a fond smile and added, "Death will have to wait a bit longer."

Ona remained silent, her eyes somewhere near his boots, though they flicked back and forth as if she was trying to find the words to say. After a long moment, she raised her eyes to his and asked, "What... is your mother like?"

It was the last question he had ever expected to hear leave her lips. But it was asked so sincerely he didn't doubt the importance of it. But as much as he wanted to answer, there just wasn't time.

"The captain is expecting me in his cabin to discuss our approach to port. But... perhaps I can tell you about her tomorrow?"

The lightness was back in her eyes, the shadows momentarily chased away. Sometimes, she looked this way after their conversations, and perhaps it was with a child's heart he hoped it was because his presence brought some happiness to her dark, lonely existence.

"I would like that, Franklin Sharp."

He tipped his tricorne to her, playing the part of the cheeky child she had accused him of being, and he thought he saw the ghost of a smile.

Almost, he thought with joy.

He turned and mounted the steps, and was so distracted by the lightness in his heart that he didn't see the other man in time, and crashed into his shoulder. Franklin managed to keep his feet, but he immediately scowled up at the sailor, noting with distaste it was the gunner, Robert Stone. He'd never liked Robert—liked him even less now that he'd nearly caused Franklin to crush the map of the Caribbean sea under his arm.

"Watch it," he snapped, the playful demeanor he kept with Ona gone in an instant. The much taller, heavier man sniffed at him disdainfully but said nothing and simply moved past Franklin to enter the galley.

Franklin gave him a parting look of loathing before mounting the steps up to the deck. A small voice in the back of his mind began to whisper in warning, but Franklin ignored it, his spirits too high for him to allow a dullard like Robert to ruin his day.

Putting the man out of his mind, he continued on to the captain's cabin.