The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (boyxboy)

CHAPTER 9

The Merry | Present Day

"Let me see them again!"

"Yeah, yeah, just don't drop any this time."

Az turns his head away from them and to the top of the mainmast where sits the Merry's narrow lookout point. He's heard it called a "crow's nest" by almost everyone who's ever made reference to it, and he's always thought it an odd name. You don't tend to find crows out on the open ocean. Gulls, most commonly. And sometimes other birds with a variety of strange-shaped beaks that Az has never cared to learn the names of.

Up there, the world sways dangerously, his vision swims like he's thrown back an entire bottle of Slade's favourite wine, and his body turns sweaty and shaky. If Az weren't utterly incompetent up there, he knows they would have him at the post more often. He's small and quick (and not too well-liked), and therefore the perfect candidate for it.

He considers scaling the rigging now and curling himself around the top of the mast so that he doesn't have to hear them as they pass around the siren's teeth. As they laugh in awe at Paver's brutal actions.

"Damn, look at how sharp they are!"

"What'll ya do with 'em?"

There's a discernibly triumphant smirk in Paver's voice. "Was thinking of selling them to someone high up. Keep one for myself, of course. You never know when you might need a way to charm a woman into bed."

They chuckle. Az tries not to audibly gag.

"Yeah, because charming them is how you work," one sniggers.

"Wonder how much they're worth anyway."

"Plenty," Paver promises.

"It's a tough sort of beast, isn't it? Didn't really scream much. I thought it would."

Paver barks out another laugh. "I'll get it to crack, don't you worry."

Az slams his hands down on the rail and loses the small pot of oily resin he'd been using to varnish wood. Gripping the side of the ship so tight, his knuckles turn white and his fingertips ache. Any second, he's going to be sick. He bites down hard on his tongue.

"Still can't believe it's real. Suppose the captain's in a good mood now?"

"Actually," Louis' nasal voice sounds out. "He's been kind of touchy. The siren ain't lookin' so good. It's getting weaker. Captain didn't want it getting sick or anything. He reckons it'll be worth less. And he can't sell it if it's dead, can he?"

Trying to breathe deeply, he puts his head in his hands. This is too much. This isn't what he expected. This very real siren with expensive scales isn't what he expected. And they've never taken prisoners before.

He'd heard them torturing the creature through the thin walls. His store room is flanked on either side by other store rooms and then even more store rooms, and there hadn't been many options for where to put it. As Noah had tended to his wounds with needle and thread, they'd both heard the cries, the whimpers, the impressive refusal to actually scream.

Az wondered then and wonders now why it didn't just sing and make it all stop.

He knows how cruel they can be. He's seen it so many times: a man held down and his fingers hacked off one at a time for letting Az out of his sight for ten seconds; another's hand stomped on until his fingers bent at odd angles, then tied up and thrown overboard for having a disrespectful attitude; a would-be thief forced to guzzle bottle after bottle of wine until he vomited, before having his neck broken. There had been one horrifying time — Az's first time allowed off the ship — where Slade had shown him how far he was willing to take things.