Spirits

Chapter 6

The ship looked even worse from underneath. The crevices and slime on the upper deck couldn't match the cracks filled with barnacles and the decaying undercoat.

I ran my hand along with it, grimacing. The bottom of their ship told me so much about them.

My nails tapped along the woods, sharp fingertips peeling through the water-logged wood. The scratches followed me as I rose to meet the stormy surface.

With the skewed course of the ship, boarding would be next to impossible. Pondering the task in front of me, I circled the ship. Large swells pushed against the shift, their crests breaking over the rails and carrying across the deck. It was possible to ride a swell onto the ship, but I didn't know how strong my new body was.

The anchor itself was secured a few meters above the surf with the large porthole providing access. Water was flooding in and out leaving a constant stream of water falling back into the ocean.

Plotting my assent, I drew my fist back and brought it to the wood, the boards splintering under the pressure. There was no pain and I continued my ascent, the ocean disappearing below me.

I scaled the hull, my fists breaking hollow handholds in the wood. It was almost too simple.

The anchor port was dark and void of any human presence. I was able to make quick work of the door before peering into the hallway.

It was empty and I stepped into the passage. Without a human presence, the hall had a mournful feel. The low ceiling and narrow walls resembled a coffin. Soon they would house more than one soul.

"Where are you?" I whispered as I traced my earlier steps.

I could imagine him on the helm or locked in his own office. As a caption, I could at least hope he had the moral to fight with his men.

The stairs were sturdier, supporting my hurried steps. My bare feet slapped on the wood as I graced the top step.

Shadowed from view and hidden in the sheets of rain, I could see every man on the ship while they worked, unaware of my presence. My prey was not on the upper deck and I growled.

I crept forward, slowly making my way through the mass of men fighting for their lives. While a few stayed focused on their work, most of the men's eyes fell on me. With my less-than-conservative wardrobe, I would have assumed their eyes were cast to my body. However, they were now staring at something worse than clothing.

Whispers flew among the men, their voices ringing loud in my ears. The intrigue was a common theme, the other, more prominent, the tone was overwhelming horror. A girl who should have been dead was walking amongst them looking like death himself.

The crowd parted as I walked forward. People tripping and pushing into each other to clear a path. Unlike earlier, they fought to stay away from me.

The wind kissing my skin and whipping my hair around me. Despite the water assaulting my eyes, I could see everything. The clothing stitches stood out like a star on a night and every drop of water that rolled down the men's faces drew my eyes.

"Where is your captain?" I questioned no one in particular.

It didn't seem to matter as more than one man raised a shaking hand to point away from us. Their cracked nails and worn hands sent me on my way once more.

Through the stained glass that had once been a beautiful mosaic, I could see dark shapes shifting in the warm cabin that the rest of the crew was banned from.

I twisted the rusted doorknob and the door squealed open in front of me. I was met with silence and two pairs of eyes.

A buzzing tension engulfed the room as I looked at Captain Pierre, his eyes wide. Beside him stood the pudgy man from earlier, his whispers quivering as he looked across the worn desk to see my lone figure.