Mythology Siren's Overture

_**Alrighty, this is an original short story idea that got into my head after I read a prompt on Tumblr from (screaming-till-im-numb) that goes as follows:**_

_**"I want someone to write a book where Mermaids are the women thrown off ships when the sailors got afraid because having a woman on the boat is bad luck. And as they sink to the bottom legs tied together they change slowly until they can breath, until they can use their tied up legs to swim. And they drown sailors in revenge, luring them in by singing in their husky voices still stinging from the salt water they breathed. "**_

_**It's far from a book, I will admit, but it is quite long (just barely under 13k words). Hope you enjoy my take on this unique prompt, I know it certainly was fun for me to write. **__**I have this set in the mid to late 18th century (1700s) in London, please do keep that in mind while you are reading.**_

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><p>Abigail Monroe stared at the roughly dug grave plot that her husband had been lowered into, in a cheap pine box, and decorated only with a small inexpensive gravestone. She felt some remorse in not being able to afford anything more than the most basic of funerary rites for him, but he'd drunk and gambled most of their money away in the last year. James had been far from a good husband, with his drunken rages and constant monetary drain on the small shop her family had run in London.<p>

They'd been married just after her fifteenth birthday, in the small church just up the street from the shop. She'd worn her mother's wedding dress, the tiny pearls around the neck of the gown the only piece of her mother she had that day. The family matron had died of an illness when Abby was a little girl. Abby wore her carefully shaped wedding band on her left hand now, more as a memory of her mother than a dedication of her wedding vows.

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><p>Her father had been at the wedding, barely able to stand to give her away as his lungs were wrecked with consumption. After her mother had died, the older man had thrown himself into his work, often putting long hours in the back work room of his jewelry shop where he worked in silence, leaving his young daughter to learn how to sell the wares at the front of the store very quickly.<p>

And she did, having little other choice, at the tender age of twelve she found herself making careful notes on how to describe jewelry pieces to customers while her friends shopped for ribbons and played during the days. He took her to a seamstress, ordering that she should be dressed like a woman and not in the shortened skirts of a girl, her protests that she was still a girl falling on deaf ears as the multiple layers of dresses, chemise and corsets were layered on her.

She became a partner for her father's business, no longer his young daughter.

When she was thirteen, he decided that she should try to learn how to craft the pieces herself. And so began the long nights of his instruction in the back room, and the days of her wearing gloves in the showroom to cover the burns and cuts that she got from the molten metals and sharp edges of gems. After a year of her clumsy attempts, and poorly constructed pieces, he declared her talentless, ordering her to leave his domain and focus on selling his own masterpieces; he would simply have to find someone to marry her that knew the craft, betroth her to another gemcraft man's son.

It hadn't taken her father long to find James, the third son of another jeweler a few blocks from their shop and twice her age, who had been more than willing to marry her. She'd had no say in whether or not she had wanted the marriage or not, her protests once again falling on deaf ears. Her father had taken James into his shop, holding off the wedding for over a year while he assessed James' own talent, the praise that Abby had longed for coming easily for James. Her father had never noticed James sneaking out at night, or the hidden bottles of gin around their house.

Abby had stuck to her own duties, her practiced smile and rehearsed greetings to customers coming easily now after years of practice as she sold ready made pieces and took detailed orders for custom ones.

Then her father had gotten sick. She'd tried desperately to run the store front and nurse him back to health, calling for a doctor on more than one occasion as she worriedly looked at every bloodied cloth he took away from his lips. He'd known he was dying, she'd seen it in his eyes the morning he'd ordered her to go to the church to see about arranging her wedding.

She'd ran down the dusty street, her long skirts held high in her hands, ignoring the small voice at the back of her head that wondered why she was going to lengths for her father when he'd done so little for her these last long years. She'd burst into the small church, it's worn paint cracked and the windows open to catch a gasp of air in the late summer heat. She'd begged the vicar with tears in her eyes, scared of what she would be leaving behind, and even more terrified of what she would be entering into. The elderly man had agreed, his white hair sparse around the dome of his bald head.

"When?" he'd asked her, his gentle hands leading her to one of the pews to sit and catch her breath.

"Now?" she'd asked, her hands twisted in the skirts of her gown.

She'd waited with held breath for him to give her a slow nod before she was running out of the church again, nearly slipping on a patch of water as she turned to run back to the shop and her dying father in the rooms above it.

She'd burst through the main door, taking a moment to hang the small wooden sign out that told customers the shop was closed before rushing to the back room. Abby had explained the situation to James quickly, having to repeat herself a couple times for his hungover mind to comprehend what was going to happen. Once she got him fumbling to his room, sending a silent prayer that he'd be able to get himself into his best clothing, she hurried up to her father's room.

"Papa," she said, sinking to her knees as she entered. "The vicar is preparing the church now. We can go down as soon as we are ready."

He gave her a slow nod, his arm rising to give a waving gesture with his hand towards the trunk seated against the far wall.

"Your mother's," he gasped out, before he was racked with another coughing fit.

Abby hesitated, her hands coming to try and help him before he weakly gestured for her to go look at what he was indicating. After a long, worried look to her father, she bit her lip and went over to the trunk, her shaking hands fumbling with the latch before she was able to get it open. Inside the truck, packed carefully away had been her mother's wedding dress; a blue satin gown with tiny pearls sewn carefully around the bodice of the dress, and bits of lace decorated the ends of the half sleeves. The long silken skirts whispered as she pulled the dress out of its wooden prison, and she looked up at her father.

He nodded at her, another bloodied cloth still held to his mouth in anticipation of more coughing. Emotions warred within her before she finally turned to hurry out of the room and into her own small room. She heard James plodding up the stairs as soon as she started working at the ties on her dress.

"Help papa get dressed please," she called out to him, quickly working at the laces on her bodice.

His heavy steps continued down the hall, her father's coughing following shortly after.

She'd dressed as quickly as she could, taking only the barest of moments to appreciate the fine fabric that she was dressing herself in. The dress was large on her small frame, the hem pooling slightly on the floor and the laces pulled as tight as they could around her waist. She felt a little silly in the too large gown but quickly had to put it from her mind as she pulled the few hairpins she had in her loose bun, brushing out her dull brown hair.

Her hands worked quickly to part and braid it, twisting it back into a nicer looking bun than before. Examining herself in the tiny mirror, she felt a twinge of disappointment wash over her that she was readying herself so quickly for her wedding, but another fit of coughing from her father in the next room had her setting the small mirror down and hastening to her door.

James and her father stood just outside his room, the older man dressed in ill-fitting, too large clothing that showed the damage the consumption had done to his body; James held him up, his blood-shot eyes barely glancing at Abby's emerging form. Her father gave her a weak smile, his hands shaking with the effort of standing up.

"Let's go," she said, gathering up her too long skirts and turning to head down the stairs, the men slowly following behind her; her strange wedding procession beginning.

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><p>"Mrs. Monroe," came a low, gruff voice behind her, interrupting her memory and causing her to jump.<p>

She turned, swallowing as she saw a slender, finely dressed man in a well tailored suit standing behind her; two large men stood on either side of him, their huge arms barely compressed into their shirtsleeves. She felt her eyes widen and her pulse quicken as she took an instinctive step back, her balance wavering as the unsteady ground began to crumble into James' grave. One of the large men came forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her back from the open pit.

"Mrs. Monroe, walk with me?" the well-dressed man asked, giving her a toothy smile and holding an arm out for her to take.

Abby swallowed, looking up briefly at the behemoth of a man currently holding her arm and gave a slight nod. She was walked over to him, fear rising in her chest as she watched the two giant men fall into step behind her and the slender man.

"You can call me Lord Oliver," he said, tucking her hand under his arm and turning to walk out of the graveyard. "Your late husband was an... associate of mine."

Abby felt herself stiffen. She'd been told that James had been killed in a barfight, and the details had seemed rather dubious. She swallowed, working hard to keep her voice steady when she spoke next.

"I see, and you've come to pay your respects?"

Lord Oliver laughed, giving her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He patted her hand, turning down a path where she saw an open carriage waited at the end, horses and driver sitting ready.

"I'm afraid, Mrs. Monroe," he said, snapping a finger and gesturing towards the waiting coach. One of the large men behind them hurried forward to open the door. "I'm afraid that your husband left a rather large debt with me that I need to collect from you."

"N-now?" she asked, looking nervously between him and waiting coach.

His hard grey eyes fixed on hers.

"Now. I seem to recall him bragging about a jewelry store that the two of you ran, I believe I should find what I need there."

Abby nodded, unsure of what else to do, feeling her hands tremble in fear. She gasped aloud when one of the large men hoisted her into the coach, planting her on one of the cushioned seats like a doll and sitting down beside her. Lord Oliver carefully climbed in after, sitting across from her, watching her with those cold grey eyes. The other large man slammed the coach door closed, causing her to jump again, a smirk coming over Oliver's tight lips, and the vehicle rocked as the man climbed onto the back of the coach. A short whistle from the man at the back and the coach was moving, the men around her sitting in silence as Abby nervously wrung her hands in the folds of her dress.

The drive was long, almost painfully so, as Abby felt every bump and rise in the road, her body leaning against the coach or the man next to her at every turn. She knew that the graveyard wasn't terribly far from the shop, but the minutes had felt like hours as Lord Oliver stared at her.

She'd practically leapt from the coach when they'd arrived, fumbling with the small key she'd had tied around a worn piece of ribbon up her sleeve. It took her three attempts to fit the key into the lock and get the shop door open, her hands trembling so badly from the man standing just behind her; she swore she could feel those cold eyes cutting into her.

"Very good," he said, sauntering into the room and taking a look into the glass cases.

She walked around to the other side of the counters, giving him her best smile.

"Ho-how much does he owe?"

Lord Oliver looked up from his perusal of the mostly empty cases, his hand reaching into his coat pocket to remove a folded piece of parchment that he held out to her. Swallowing, she took it from him and opened it; she felt her stomach drop to the floor.

"I-he, this can't be right," she said, the large sum that James had borrowed causing that nervous ball in her stomach to grow.

Lord Oliver looked at her, that smug smile across his lips the only expression he held for the longest time.

"James was able to pay back half of the sum, before his... tragic death," he finally said. "I shall simply collect the remainder of the debt from your wares."

The nervousness that Abby had felt hadn't decreased much, even half of the amount that James had borrowed was a staggering sum, especially with the sorry amount of jewelry that remained in the shop. After two years of marriage, the back stock that her father had created in the years of his solitude had been sold and only a handful of pieces remained, spaced throughout the cases to make it seem like she had more than she did.

"Get everything out," he said, gesturing around the room with a wave of his hand.

The two men that had come in with her moved behind the counters, roughly opening the cases and pulling the pieces out. Her mouth opened to protest before she closed it, those harsh grey eyes locking on her. She bent to collect pieces herself, sending a silent prayer that she'd have enough still in the showroom left from James' neglect.

With all the pieces laid out, a dozen in all, she stepped forward and picked one up to begin telling him about it, her best showroom smile on her face. He held up a hand, picking one up himself to inspect it. She watched him, afraid to breathe, as he picked up each of the pieces in a painfully slow order to examine.

"These are all of the pieces that you have?"

Abby nodded, hesitated for a moment before twisting off her wedding band and setting it on the glass counter as well. He raised a curious eyebrow up at her before examining the ring as well. He was silent for several long minutes while he looked over several of pieces again before letting out a long sigh.

"I suppose it will suffice," he said, pulling a set of gloves from a pocket and pulling them on his hands, turning to leave the shop.

"Collect the pieces," he said to one of his men. The man nodded, pulling a cloth bag from his own pocket, roughly placing the pieces inside.

"I could wrap those properly for you," Abby said, moving her hand to try and pick one of the pieces up.

"Not necessary," Lord Oliver said, stepping outside. "I plan on having them changed into something actually desirable. Good day, Mrs. Monroe."

The men finished collecting jewelry pieces, the man standing by the door wrenching the heavy pendulum clock that was hung on the wall off before they both left, the door slamming behind them. Abby sunk to her knees, her nerves and fear of the situation she had just gone through. Her hand came up to her chest as she gasped for air, tears coming to her eyes. What had James done to her now?

Her neighbor had found her, still huddled on the ground later that afternoon when she'd come over with a dish of food. Elizabeth had helped clean her up, Abby telling her about the horrible experience she'd had with Lord Oliver and looking around her now empty shop and the gaping hole in the wall where the clock had been.

She'd shown Elizabeth out shortly after that and locked up the shop, not wanting to be around anyone. She'd lost what little she had left that day; the remaining jewelry that her father had made for the shop, her mother's wedding ring, and her husband, though her feelings on the latter were diminishing.

She spent the rest of the night, carefully going through the shop and the rooms above and behind it collecting anything of value that she could sell to live off of; it hadn't amounted to much. Her saving grace had been a small collection of coins at the bottom of her mother's trunk, meant to be put aside as a dowry for Abby. She had kissed the coins, knowing they'd bought her time to figure out what she was going to do to save herself from this dilemma that James had gotten her into.

She slept in her old room that night, not the larger one she and James had shared after her father had died. Various plans and ideas ran through her head, only to be struck down by worries and anguish at the impossibility. As she drifted off to sleep, one last idea came to mind that brought a smile to her face, making her wonder if it was just crazy enough to work.

Abby spent the next days going around to see other people, shop owners, old friends of her parents to desperately try to sell what little she had, selling the shop itself for a stomach wrenching low sum to a modiste* who had declared it useable. Selling the last of her possessions for a few meager coins broke what was left of her heart, but she knew she had little choice if she wanted to survive off the streets and not end up in a brothel house.

The voice in the back of her head kept nagging at her, kept telling her that she was making a foolish decision, that she should try to remarry or try to get a job serving in a house somewhere; she was young, she surely had better options than this.

She held a thin cloth up over her head as she hurried through the streets in the rain, the dark clouds rumbling overhead ominously. She'd only been to this area of town a handful of times, for festivals and parades; this time she was looking for only one building. Abby emerged from a small side alley to see the impressive white stone building sprawled about the block before her, the company flags of the East India Company hanging limply on their poles in the wet air.

Abby quickly crossed the road, pausing briefly as a team of horses rolled past carrying a cart full of barrels, splashing water across her dress and feet. She skipped up the steps, tossing the soaked cloth that she had been holding over her head aside before pulling the door open and stepping inside, taking careful steps not to slip on the polished marble floor as water dripped off her clothes.

Finely dressed men moved around her, barely paying any attention to her as she looked around wide-eyed at the fancy furnishings surrounding her. She had no idea where to go, who to ask for her query or if they would even talk to her; doubt flooded her mind as she began walking down a hall, her hands wringing as she encountered locked door after locked door.

She wandered down the long hall, her soaked leather shoes squishing on the fine floor as that ball of dread and worry grew in her stomach again. Several men passed her in the hall that eyed her down their upturned noses, her plain threadbare dress and simple cotton bonnett in sharp contrast to the rich silks and satins of their suits. She kept her shoulders and head down, giving them the barest of smiles as she continued to try door after door, sending up a desperate prayer that she might find someone to help her with what she wanted.

She found one door cracked half open at the very end of the hall, a young man in wrinkled clothes hunched over a desk stacked high with parchments, folders and books. He was muttering to himself as he scratched a quill across the heavily embossed parchment before him. Abby rushed into the room, the door slamming open as she did so, causing him to jump high in his seat in alarm, ink splattering on the page he had been writing on.

"Yes?" he asked her testily, digging a cloth from his coat pocket to dab at the ink on the parchment before groaning and looking up at her.

Abby hesitated, taking a step backwards.

"Well, what is it? I'm very busy, I haven't got all day."

"I-I came to see about getting special letters," she blurted out, pulling out the meager purse of coins she'd been able to gather in the last few days and setting it before him.

"Letters?" he said blankly, glancing down at the purse before looking back up at her with a confused look.

"The letters that you give to your pirates," she said, smiling at him.

He stared at her for a long moment, looking back down at the desk, smiled and looked back up at her.

"You came here to try and buy Letters of Marque from the East India Company?"

She swallowed and nodded. "Please, you have to help me. I-I don't have anything left, my husband was killed, I've sold my home for this and all my possessions."

She gestured to the small bag of coins on the desk. "It's all I have, please," she begged him, bringing her hands up to emphasize her words. "Please, it's all I want."

He still stared at her in shock.

"Did someone put you up to this? Robert or Stephen?"

She looked at him confused, looking back to the door and shaking her head, biting her lip in worry.

He sighed, putting a head up to his forehead and closing his eyes.

"Ma'am, I am an undersecretary-"

"Oh that's okay," she said quickly, cutting him off. "I don't have to see someone important, surely you could just get them for me? Then I can be off to try and find a ship."

"A ship?" he exclaimed. "You mean to tell me that you are going to try to become a privateer yourself?"

"It's happened before," she said defensively, trying to maintain her composure.

He stared at her for another long moment in incredulity, as if not believing what she was telling him before letting out a long, heavy sigh. Slowly, his hand reached out to pick up a packet of papers from one of the stacks on his desk, holding it up for her.

"Do you have any idea what you are asking for? Really?" he asked.

She held her head up, meeting his gaze before giving a small shake of her head.

"Please," she begged, taking a step closer to him.

There was a knock at the door, an older man bustling in with his face turned down in a pamphlet, not looking up as he walked.

"Francis, do you have those documents I asked for?" he asked.

Abby looked at the new man, watching as he looked up to inspect her with a frown. Looking back at Francis, she saw his hand holding the packet of letters lowering, his attention towards her gone as she was all but forgotten. She swallowed, fearing that she was watching her only opportunity slipping away ahead of her.

She made a decision, leaning forward and snatching the papers from Francis' hand, turning quickly on her heel and ran from the door. She heard the surprised cries from both of the men as she ran down the hall, folding the packet up as she did and stuffing it down her dress front. She was out the front of the building and across the street before she heard them attempting to follow her.

They didn't attempt to follow her in the rain, likely not wanting to ruin their fine suits in the foul London weather. She'd given everything that she had left for these letters, tucked safely inside her dress, now she just had to find a ship to take her.

Now was the next part of her plan, the easier part as she worked her path back towards her shop. Part of the deal that she had worked out with the modiste was that she would be able to stay in the shop for a few nights while she worked out her last days around London. Her hand was clutched to her chest, holding the packet of letters close to her as she wove through the streets and crowd.

The rain had finally stopped as she slipped through the final alley needed to get to her destination, taking a quick, nervous glance before walking around the corner and into the brightly colored modiste's shop.

A bell rang overhead as she opened the door, eliciting a cheerful "Bonjour!" from a back room and a rustling of skirts as the modiste moved to see who had entered her shop.

"Hello Madam-" Abby started, giving the french woman a small smile before being loudly interrupted.

"Abigail, excellent, just in time. Come, come," Madam said, gesturing quickly with her jeweled hands for Abby to follow her back the way she came with a great swish of the large skirts that she wore.

Abby felt incredibly underdressed around the rich fabrics, fancy hats and delicately crafted wigs that were arranged around the shop. She followed the french woman through several rooms to the back of the shop where a tall, slender man stood close to a mirror, examining his eyes. The modiste spoke rapid french to him, her short, plump form in stark contrast to him. The man leaned back, looked Abby once over before looking away, speaking in french as well with a sneer in his tone.

"Abigail, please, come and sit," she said, gesturing to the chair the man was now standing by impatiently.

She walked cautiously to the chair, untying her damp bonnet and setting it on the floor beside her as she sat down in the hair chair. The man moved quickly around her, roughly pulling the pins that held her hair down, causing her to wince.

Part of the selling agreement she'd made with the sale of the shop was that she'd sell her hair with the shop, as ladies' wigs were becoming more and more popular in the aristocracy and with the season starting soon. She said nothing, only occasionally wincing as her hair was roughly brushed out, parted and shorn off in long cuts.

The man took most of her hair, cutting as close to her scalp as she thought he dared; she tried not to jump when she heard the shutting of the shears closing close to her ears. As each section was cut, he handed it back to Madam, who then carefully laid her lost hair on a tray.

When he was done, he stepped away from her, allowing her to see that all of her long brown locks were gone and just the close cropped cut of a boy's remained. The pair behind her continued to speak to each other, an argument of some sort as Abby stared at her reflection. Slowly, she bent and retrieved her cold, weathered bonnet and pulled it over her head, tying it's worn ribbon under her chin again and standing up; her hand went to her chest to check that the precious letters were still safely held under her dress.

She ducked her head, moving to leave the shop while they continued to argue when Madam stopped her with a firm hand on Abby's arm. She held up a small silver coin to Abby, causing Abby to stare at her.

"For your troubles, Jacques cut shorter than I told him to," she said, turning to glare at the man.

Abby hesitantly took the coin, smiling at the older woman before the modiste had turned her attention back to Jacques to continue their argument. Abby let herself out, using the coin to pick up a large supper for herself on the way back to her last night in her childhood home.

As she let herself into the shop through a side door, the modiste now owning the key to the main shop front, she wondered if she should go pay a visit to the graveyard before heading to the docks in the morning. Another roll of thunder overhead sent her scurrying inside, telling herself that she would just have to wait until she returned to London, whenever that would be, to tell her mother what all had happened. She'd planned to the day James had been buried, but her day had been interrupted by Lord Oliver.

She ate her meal in her room, sitting on her bed with the last candle that she had left in the house. She had carefully removed the papers from her dress, blotting a thin cloth over the back of them where the damp of her dress had gotten to the parchment a little. The symbol of the East India Company was printed largely on the back of the packet that she angled towards the light and attempted to read.

Her father had taught her some symbols for reading, but most had been ones for running the shop and some of his own creation for telling pieces apart or describing pieces for future reference. Abby furrowed her brow as she struggled to try and make out the large flowing script on the pages but was unable to make any sense of it.

She did understand the numbers listed in neat columns and rows on one of the back pages, though she wasn't entirely sure what that was needed for. She had helped her father with the bookkeeping of the shop as soon as he'd deemed her unfit to make jewelry. Letting out a long sigh, she set the packet aside on her bed and rubbed her eyes, strained from trying to make sense of it all.

Tomorrow was the day that she would attempt to make a new life for herself, and the letters sitting beside her were her saving grace to be able to do so.

She awoke at dawn, the sunlight streaming in through the crack in the wood of her window. She moaned and stretched, her still damp dress clinging to her as she did so. Sitting up, her thoughts began to awaken as well and race through her mind of everything that was to happen today. She looked over beside her, at the letters still resting beside her; they were her fate.

She got up, divesting herself of her dress and undergarments and turned to pick up the folded stack of clothes sitting on a small stool under the window. She'd taken a set of James' old clothes, his least stained set, and spent the last nights carefully taking them in to fit her small frame. She felt strange dressing in the loose shirt and breeches, having to use a strip of cloth that she tore from her chemise as a belt to keep the pants around her waist. She slipped her feet into a pair of her father's old boots she'd found, torn pieces of cloth shoved down into the toes of the boots to make them fit her small feet.

She tore another large piece from her threadbare chemise, wrapping up her precious papers carefully before settling them down her shirt like she had the day before. She sat on the edge of the bed, eating what was left of her dinner from the night before and tried to calm her nerves for what she was about to do. She could do it, she knew she could; she just had to convince others that she could.

Abby descended the stairs from the upper room, looking around the bare cases and empty shelves of the rooms that she'd grown up in. She remembered, with some effort, her mother's cool confidence as she helped customers in the showroom while her father worked busily in the back with piles of gemstones and stacks of precious metals to create masterful jeweled creations. She ran her hands over the smoothed wooden work surfaces, the tools that lay on them coated with dust having gone long unused.

She felt the prickle of tears in her eyes as she slowly crossed to the side door, turning to give one last look at her home, knowing that whenever she was able to return to London, it wouldn't look like this again. Whatever plans the modiste had, she didn't have it in her heart to ask what those were, scared to think of what the answer might be.

Abby stepped out into the humid, sunny air, instinctively moving her head down to shield her eyes before remembering that she no longer wore a head covering. Sighing, she moved her feet in the boots, the footwear feeling strange around her feet with the cloth stuffed down at the toes. She readjusted the shirt, making sure it fell loosely around her shoulders and set off towards the docks, holding her head high and confident even though her mind was reeling with worry.

She wove her way through the streets, some people casting her strange looks, others staring but most not paying her any mind at all. She assumed this meant her disguise had worked for the most part; dock workers were ignored for the most part, and were rarely seen in the part of town that she lived in, which would explain the stares she had gotten. A few stares had been from former customers as she had rushed past, not looking back in fear of losing her nerve.

The scents of saltwater, foul barnacles, and fish assaulted her nose before the sounds of shouting, cursing and men laughing did. The docks were broken up into three parts; the center dock that ran straight down the middle was Fisherman's pier, holding all of the small vessels that local fishermen used, only used for going short distances.

To the right was Navy pier, holding the grand military ships, all in the same color but ranging in shapes and sizes with officers standing before them talking to each other while holding maps, compasses or cups of tea and conversing with each other whilst their ships were being loaded or unloaded by the various enlisted men. She knew that she had no chance at trying to get aboard one of these ships, as they completed medical examinations, albeit crude ones, before allowing one to join. And her bargain of Letters of Marque wouldn't work with the military.

Her path lie to her left as she slowly turned, swallowing and began to walk down the row of varied ships. Merchant row it was called, with crates, barrels and tied bundles set up as stalls to display wares from all over the world, tired and bored looking sailors lazed on the docks around the goods, giving her curious glances as she approached.

"Wha' you want?" one of them asked her, looking up from under his hat as he lay on stretched out on the dock.

"I want to see the captain," she replied, attempting to make her voice sound lower. "I want to join the crew."

The men paused, silent for a moment while they looked at each other, looking her over before they all burst out laughing.

"Wait, I-I have-."

"Go home, lass," a different man said, turning his back to her. "The seas are no place for a woman."

They continued to laugh at her as she moved on to the next ship's stall, only to receive the same treatment there, and at the next ship, and the next. All down the long line of Merchant's Pier she was either laughed at, ignored or, in one case, yelled at to get away from the ship, the fear and superstition overcoming the sailors.

Abby cast a look down at herself, frowning and disheartened; she had thought that she had done remarkably well for her appearance. She swallowed, looking up and seeing there was one last ship on the pier, with only one old man on the dock sleeping by a rather pitiful selection of goods. Abby bit her lip, looking around and walked further down the pier, to where the gang plank extended down to the pier was. Looking around and seeing no one watching her, she hurried up and onto the ship, smiling once she was finally on board; now she just needed to find a way to stay aboard. The thought of trying to hide away in the cargo crossed her mind as she walked around the upper deck, smiling as she examined the ship.

The boots she wore caused her steps to echo slightly on the wood, her head moving around as she looked up and around at the heavily patched sails, tight lines of rigging and coiled piles of rope lain about the deck; the tall, thick wood of the mast rose high into the air, an imposing figure of the three-masted ship. She felt her cheeks tiring from the smile stretched across her face as she tried to look at everything; it was perfect.

"And just who might you be?" came a male voice behind her.

She whirled around, holding her arms out to steady her balance as she did so and stared at the man casually leaning against the side of the ship. His dark hair had been pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck, and he was dressed simply in a loose white shirt, brown breeches and leather boots that looked like they had been molded to his feet.

She swallowed hard, seeing him study her carefully from across the deck, unsure of what he'd say. Would he laugh her off the ship, toss her request aside like all the others had?

"I want to come aboard the ship," she blurted out, not moving from her position.

"You are aboard the ship," he replied casually.

"I mean, I want to stay aboard. Work, sail and the lot. I'm a hard worker, I'll do whatever you tell me."

He quirked a brow at this, a smile twisting at the ends of his lips. He had no moustache or beard, but the shadow of whiskers was evident across his face, like he had been shaved recently. He moved off his position against the railing, sauntering over to her with that half smile still on his face.

"You're a woman," he declared, green eyes staring into hers.

Abby felt her mouth open and close, her gut clenching with the realization that her last chance was about to be taken from her.

"I have letters," she said, holding her ground, looking up at him desperately. "Letters of Marque, from the East India Company."

He froze at this admission, both brows raising in surprise as he studied her. He was silent a long moment before he crossed his arms, a skeptical look crossing his features.

"Show me."

She took a step back from him, her hands shaking and stuck a hand down her shirt and removed the cloth wrapped packet of letters from their position next to her belly. She felt his eyes on her as she unfolded the thin cloth, holding up the folded papers for him to see. His eyes widened as he saw the company symbol of the East India Company emblazoned on the back in dark ink. His hand came up to take them from her when she pulled them back, quickly rewrapping the cloth around them and stuffing them back down her shirt.

Abby looked back up to see him studying her again, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I traded everything that I had for those papers," she said softly, crossing her arms over her stomach protectively. "I'm not going to just let you take them from me, I know better than that."

A slow, sly smile spread over his lips, a hint of appreciation in his eyes as he crossed his own arms.

"How will I know they are real?" he asked.

"I told you, I traded everything I had for them. I went to their offices yesterday and got them."

"You got them. You just asked for them and they gave them to you," he said, a tone of disbelief in his voice.

She nodded. "More or less."

"More or less," he repeated, still staring at her in amazement.

She smiled at him nervously, taking another step back.

"And you won't give me the letters unless you let me join my crew," he continued.

"Your crew?" she asked, a note of surprise in her voice. "You're the captain?"

"Aye, I'm the captain of the Carina. I'm Adam."

"A-Abby," She stammered out, before nodding at him. "Yes, I want to join you."

"And the Letters of Marque?"

"I keep them until we have need of them."

He smiled again at her, that calculating look back in his eyes. "Smart girl."

He gestured for her to follow him, leading her below to the tightly cramped decks; the foul odors of stagnant seawater and filth. He led her back to the end of the ship, turning a knob and kicking the bottom of the door with his foot to open it. Inside was a small room, dominated mostly by a desk laden with charts and various navigation equipment.

"These are the Captain's quarters," he said, gesturing around the small room. "You'll sleep in here."

"What?" she exclaimed. "With you? Certainly not."

"You'd rather sleep with the whole crew? I'll get you a hammock, I'll not be giving up my bed so easily. Took me too much to earn it."

She swallowed, considering her options as he turned to look back at her, a devilish smirk on his face; he knew he had her beat. Finally Abby nodded, consenting; it would be easier to worry about one man than a whole crew of them. Perhaps she hadn't thought this plan through as well as she had thought, but it was far too late for that now.

"Now what?" she asked him, feeling slightly foolish for the question.

He shrugged. "We wait for the crew to return, likely tomorrow morning, then we sail."

"For where?"

He smiled wickedly at that. "Wherever we want to go."

She spent the rest of the day going over parts of the ship with him, learning how to tie knots properly and learning the various names of things around the ship. Adam was kind and patient with her, smiling, laughing and flirting with her; she felt comfortable with and around him quickly, while a small part of her brain screamed at her not to trust him.

She went to sleep that night, in the hammock that he had set up for her across the small room from him. A smile crossed her face as she drifted off to sleep.

The sounds of heavy steps and laughter overhead woke her the next morning, causing her to sit up and wobble in her hanging bed. Adam chuckled from his desk beside her.

"It's the crew returning," he said, marking a position on a map with a careful mark before setting his instruments down. "I'm going up to talk to them now. Stay here, I don't really know what they will think of having you aboard."

She bit her lip and watched him go, wrenching the difficult door open with a practiced motion and disappearing into the dark bowels of the ship beyond it. As she listened to the ruckus above, with muffled groans, shouts and jeers, her thoughts drifted back to the letters still tucked at her side; the only thing keeping her on the ship.

She looked around in the room, knowing that she had a few minutes before Adam made his way back down, looking for a place to hide her prized possession. She glanced up, and saw the planks of the ceiling overhead and grinned. She scrambled out of the hammock, struggling not to land in a heap on the floor, and hurried over to Adam's desk. She carefully moved things out of the way so that she could stand up on the surface, boosting her small frame up with his chair; she was lucky that the ceiling in the room was so low or she wouldn't have been able to reach. She carefully eased one of the polished boards up, sliding the cloth-wrapped letters inside the void made from the wood below the upper deck and above the ceiling of this room. Hooking the cloth on a bit of nail to keep them from sliding all about she let go, removing her hand and carefully replacing the board.

She heard footsteps out in the corridor, causing her to cast a panicked glance towards the door before hopping onto the chair, onto the floor, turn and smile up as the door was shoved open.

Adam and another, older man who gave her a wary glance entered the cabin. Adam chuckled again, smiling at her.

"Looking at the maps again?"

She nodded, forcing herself not to look up. "They are just so neat, I haven't seen anything like them before."

Adam turned and gave the older man a look, his smile not fading.

"Well then," Adam continued after a moment's pause. "Would you like to come up top and see us cast off? It's time we got out of port, always makes me anxious to stick around too long."

The other man grunted, turning and leaving the room without a word to either of them, Abby felt her smile fading.

"Don't mind him, he's just offput by the idea of having a woman onboard. I told him not to worry about it, just sea stories," Adam said, gesturing for her to follow.

She could hear shouts overheard and the creaking of wood as the ship began to move from it's mooring against the dock. She came around the desk and he grabbed her hand, tightly and pulled her up top.

The bright light of the sun stung her eyes as she came out into the open air, causing her to bring her free hand up to shield her sun-shocked eyes. Abby saw the men all around her turning to look at her, with either curiosity or disgust etched across their features as they worked. The landscape of the harbor moved around them as the sails were let down to catch the breezes, slowly carrying them faster and faster.

Adam pulled her hand, leading her up by the wheel where a stocky man stood at the spoked helm, turning his head up to Adam when they approached. Adam gave him a series of numbers that the man repeated with a brisk nod, not turning the wheel more than a few careful spindles at a time as they navigated their way through to open water.

"What was that?" she asked, leaning towards him.

"Our heading," he replied, leaning back on the rail like she'd seen him do the first time she'd seen him.

"And where is that?"

He grinned at her, that devilish smile of his spreading across his lips.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

She stared at him for a moment, watching as he turned away from her to shout an order down at the men below, moving his hands to emphasize his point. Abby's focus drew from the crew working below, above and around her to the vast blue horizon in front of her. It was such an amazing adventure that awaited her, she could feel it in her bones, and she was so excited to finally get to do something with her life other than just wait for it to start.

Abby was swept up in the adventure of living aboard the ship, the amount of new things that she was learning and the careful patience of the men around her that helped her, rather than growling and shouting at her like her father had. There were those that avoided her, Adam had told her that was to be expected and to just ignore them in return.

Her favorite thing, by far, were the sunsets though; the bright colors that streaked across the sky like a god's paintbrush changing the sky each night; it never ceased to amaze her. And then again every morning, the sun broke the dark sky with the same colors, chasing away the horrible blackness of the night.

But with that darkness, came the stars; she had never imagined there were so many stars in the sky. She and Adam had laid next to each other on the floor of the crow's nest, her mouth agape but silent as she watched him trace his hand before her and tell her tales of all the stars, naming so many of them in the great vast beyond.

Abby wasn't idle though, in her days and weeks aboard the ship she did her best to contribute as much as they would let her. She stood watch and mended clothes and sails, as they had declared her the best at doing so. She did her best to prepare food from what supplies they had and what tools she had available. Despite the drawbacks, and being told to wait in the Captain's quarters during the storm they had encountered, rather than try and help, Abby felt that she was useful, felt that she was needed somewhere. She felt like she was wanted. It was a wonderful feeling to have.

One calm night, well into the second month of their voyage, Adam ordered the men to bring up barrels of rum from below decks, to much cheer and merriment of the men aboard. They all brought out mugs and musical instruments as they began to drink, laugh and play as the drinks and jokes flowed in bounty. Adam urged her to participate, drinking and laughing himself, telling her it was a rite of passage for being part of the crew. Abby laughed and went along with it all, taking cautious sips of the strong brew and dancing with the few men that pulled her from the side to twirl her about the deck like a fancy lady in full skirts. Even Adam spun her around a few times, that dazzling smile of his captivating her more than she cared to admit.

The night continued long into the early hours, the various watches being traded often so that everyone could join in the merriment. Abby found herself scrambling up the long lengths of rope ladder to the crow's nest at one point, glad that she wasn't afraid of heights and for a break from the dancing and drinking to rest her feet and stomach. She leaned against the edge of the wooden side of the Nest, looking down at the men joking and laughing together. She smiled down at them; these mismatched group of merchant men were more of a family to her than her father and husband had ever been.

Her gaze fell onto Adam, the Captain. Her Captain. She felt her blood heat as he threw his head back in a laugh one of the men had told. She tore her gaze away, forced herself to look up at the stars and try to name as many of the stars that she could from when Adam had sat up here telling her all the names and stories.

She was remembering the tale of Cassiopeia when her relief came, smiling and balancing a mug of rum in one hand as he crawled into the wooden box. She smiled at him, laughing as he toasted her and took a large swig. She could never hope to drink like these men did.

She turned and carefully navigated back down the rope ladder to rejoin the party, accepting another mug that was shoved at her that she sipped at again as her abused feet were spun back into dancing when she returned.

As the first rays of dawn began to break over the sky, she held her hands up and staggered over to Adam.

"Oh, lord, my feet can't take anymore," she said, bending one knee up to massage at foot through the leather.

Adam laughed, draping an arm across her shoulders and turned to lead them away. "Come on, I should retire as well."

A strong wave rocked the ship, causing her to stumble and curse. He paused and bent to pick her up with a chuckle, smiling at her as they descended below decks while Abby giggled in his arms. She waivered as he set her down outside the closed door, holding onto part of the ship as he turned and kicked the door open before leading her inside.

She expected him to help her into her hammock then, perhaps tease and laugh with her while he crossed the room to collapse on his own bed. Instead, he closed the door and turned to her, smiling that devilish smile of his at her. She blinked, stumbling on her feet again as the ship moved in the water, he moved forward quickly to steady her, his hands resting on her shoulders as he smiled down at her.

Her skin felt heated as he moved one of his hands to cup the back of her head, tilting it back and kissing her; she could taste the rum he'd had on his lips and again on his tongue as he gently urged hers open. She felt her knees going weak as she leaned into him, his other arm snaking firmly around her waist as his lips worked against hers.

He turned her, lifting her up and pressing her hard into the wall of the cabin, placing one leg between hers to keep her from falling. The hand that had been holding her upright now pulling feverishly at her shirt tucked into her breeches as she felt her body begin to burn against him. He broke the kiss, moving his hot lips to trail down her neck as she gasped for air, her senses screaming with the attentions he paid her.

Her shirt worked free and he leaned back to pull it over her head, Abby moaning as his hands began to caress her naked flesh and his lips moved back to reclaim hers with a hungry passion. Her hands roamed wildly about, clutching at his shirt and raking through his hair, the leather tie that had been used to hold it back, falling to the ground.

He pulled back again, biting her lower lip when he did and smiling at her, both of them breathless. He stared down at her, lust and desire evident in his eyes as she gasped for air, her hands still roaming across his shoulders and chest. James had never done this to her, never made her burn with desire, never looked down at her like this.

She tugged at his own shirt, pulling it up and over his head to reveal his tanned, muscular chest, the hard contours were hot under her hands as she eagerly leaned into him for another desperate kiss, feeling the vibrations of his chuckle against her breasts as she did so. His arms moved, holding her tight against him as he stepped back from the wall and moved the short few steps in the small room to the flat bunk of his bed.

Abby awoke later with a warm arm thrown over her stomach and a rough cotton sheet covering part of her body, Adam's warm body laying sprawled next to her as she was tucked neatly between him and the wall of the ship. She smiled, stretching as much as she could in the small space and let out a murmur of discomfort, her muscles screaming in protest from the dancing and other various activities from the evening and early morning hours.

Adam shifted beside her, turning his head to give her that devilish grin of his before moving to kiss her shoulder.

"Good morning," he said.

"Is is still morning?" she asked, nervously moving her arms down to cover her bare chest as he looked at her.

He shrugged, resting his chin on her upper arm. "Does it matter?"

She smiled and shook her head, shivering as he brought a hand up to trace patterns across her bare flesh.

"I must admit, I never expected you to work out as well as you have," he told her, shifting to prop himself up on his arm and look down at her.

She blushed. "I told you I was determined."

"Indeed, you and those letters of yours," he said, watching her.

She smiled at him, the idea of her letters safely tucked just above their heads coming to her mind. She felt her eyes flick towards the board she'd hidden them above, before quickly looking back at Adam.

He was smiling at her again, moving up to claim her lips in a kiss.

"Thank you," he said, as he broke away from her.

"For what?" she asked, her hands moving to rest against him.

"For finally showing me where you hid those damned letters," he said, moving off her, off the bed and onto the floor.

She watched, stunned as he hopped onto the top of the desk, uncaring of the maps and documents he stood on and punched the board in the ceiling, reaching his hand in to find the letters.

"What?" she whispered, finally finding her voice.

He gave her a sardonic look as he removed the cloth wrapped packet, jumping down and beginning to work at the knot that she had tied.

"We've been going over this room since we left port trying to find where you hid the blasted things, I knew you had to have hidden them in here since you didn't have them when you came up on deck when we set sail. Stupid me, you weren't looking at the maps at all that day were you?" he ripped the cloth off, unfolding the packet to started to read.

"But, why?" she asked. "I said we'd use them if we needed them. This is just a merchant ship."

He snorted, looking up at her. "Do you have any idea what Letters of Marque are actually used for?"

"They give you employ by the East India Company, they'd be used to get paid whenever we'd pull into port."

He stared at her, the corners of his lips curving up into a smile before he chuckled, shaking his head.

"Are you really that naive?" he asked, watching as the hurt crossed her face.

"This is a PIRATE ship, Abby. These," he said, holding up the letters. "Say that we are privateers though, not pirates. So we can't be hung like dogs if we are ever caught."

He turned his attention back towards the letters, eagerly reading his newest prize. Abby stared at him, feeling shamed and used as she sat naked amongst the coiled sheets. She kicked the sheet covering her away, her bare feet hitting the floor as she scrambled over the room to scoop up her shirt to cover herself. She heard him flipping the pages of the packet behind her, slowly at first and then more rapidly.

She turned around, searching for her breeches and boots that had been lost in the heat of the hours before.

"What are these?" Adam demanded, the earlier amusement gone from his voice.

She looked at him, confused. "I've told you several times now, Lett-"

"No they are not!" he shouted, throwing them to the floor and glaring at her. "You lied to me!"

Her eyes widened as she shook her head rapidly. "No, no I didn't. I went to the building, I went and saw an Undersecretary and he was telling me about the papers when someone else came in. Those are the ones he had in his hands so I grabbed them from him and ran out of the building."

Adam stared at her, disbelief evident on his face.

"Those are tax papers," he said finally, walking to the bed to snatch his breeches up, shoving his legs into them and pulling them up. "Whatever you traded for them, you got worthless, bloody TAX papers to show for them."

She stared at him, a cold sensation running through her body as she recalled the encounter with the gentleman in the East India office, remembered looking over them that night and seeing the rows and columns for numbers and wondering what they could be used for. She swallowed hard as she looked around for Adam, who was working his foot into one of his boots.

"I-I thought," she started, her voice breaking as she fought back tears.

"That much is obvious. Smart move not letting me see them before we left port, very smart."

She swallowed again, watching as he stood up straight, boots now on and grabbed her arm in a tight grip, hauling her towards the door. She gasped, still only dressed in her shirt, and tried to pull her arm away, protesting as he wrenched the door open and hauled her along behind him.

"Adam, what? Stop, I'm not dressed!" she protested, pulling on her arm as he walked briskly towards the sunlight spilling down from the upper decks.

"Think about everything, Abby. You've been given the easiest jobs aboard, the best sleeping accommodations, aside from my own, always given the most of everything from the crew. Do you really think that was just because?" Adam asked her with a sneer in his voice. "I ordered them to do that, for those bloody papers that you DON'T have. They searched that room time and again while I kept you occupied, the fools never checked the ceiling apparently."

She felt aghast at this admission, that everything over the last weeks had been false for her; that the love and companionship that she had felt last night was all a farce. Abby's heart pained her as the realization of everything dawned on her and this time, the tears did come as Adam hauled her up the stairs and tossed her onto the deck.

The men stopped working, silence falling as they turned to look and see what the commotion was about.

Abby curled up on the wooden deck, moving her shirt down to try and cover as much of herself as possible while Adam glared down at her.

"She doesn't have them," he sneered.

Everyone around her was silent, watching as he took a few steps, pacing, thinking.

"Captain," an older man who served as the ship's doctor and was forever telling sea stories said, casting a wary glance down at Abby. "You know women are-"

"I know Samuel!" Adam roared, turning on his heel and facing the man. Several other men backed away from Samuel, hurrying to start other tasks around the ship. Abby swallowed, afraid and unsure of this new side of Adam she was seeing; it terrified her to see fully grown men scurrying away from him.

Adam stopped, looking down at her with a hard glint in his eyes, calculating much like he had the first time she'd seen him back in London. She desperately wished she'd never left there at this moment.

"Get her off my ship," he said, staring into her eyes as he said it.

The hard feeling that she'd been feeling in her heart at the thought of the loss of the family and friends she'd gained on the ship dropped to her stomach at his words. She watched in horror as he casually looked away from her, walking towards the mast of the ship. No one spoke for a long moment as they considered his words.

"In a boat, sir?" One of the younger sailors finally said, stepping forward and hauling her up off the ground, not looking down at her.

Adam bent and picked up a coil of rope, tossing it to land at Abby's feet. She stopped breathing as she stared at it, her whole body starting to tremble. She looked up at him, her head shaking fiercely as she began to beg and plead with him.

"Adam, please, no, please don't!"

Adam's hard eyes met hers as she began to struggle against the young sailor's arms. More sailors came forward, one picking up the rope and binding her legs together while others held her thrashing body. She cried, kicked, screamed and begged but everything fell on deaf ears as they bound her. The sailors around her cast wary glances towards Adam as her legs were tied, and then her hands.

He watched her still as they dragged her closer and closer to the edge of the ship, all while she squirmed, begged, cried and pleaded with them; several of the men looked away, focusing on other tasks while she neared the edge of the ship's sanctuary.

"Adam, PLEASE," she screamed, reaching her bound hands out to him.

He moved towards her, that dark glint still in his eyes as he stared at her, no hint of a smile on his lips. He stood before her, looking down at her.

"I have no use for you," he said in a near whisper, tilting her chin up with a hard grasp of his fingers.

"No, please, don't," she begged.

He ripped his hand from her face and shoved her chest, sending her backwards out off the ship, out into the dark blue water of the ocean.

She screamed as she fell, the water engulfing as she hit the surface.

The water was cold, shockingly cold as she broke the surface, trying desperately to move her bound limbs and spitting the salty water out of her mouth, coughing and gasping as only more replaced it. She screamed. The water pulled at her, trying to bring her down into it's depths as she fought desperately against, her own tears mixing with the ocean as she struggled. She coughed, desperate in her fight to try and stay alive and knowing in her heart that she was losing the battle.

She dipped under the surface again, the waterlogged rope becoming heavy as she struggled to work her hands free and try to stay afloat. She gasped for air, coughing and choking on the seawater as she broke the surface again, only the dip beneath the waves again.

She was losing the battle with the ocean, she knew it as she was swept under by another wave, gasping to the surface again with another cough, another cry. She strained her eyes ahead of her, seeing the ship sailing away from her, knowing that Adam had so callously, so casually dismissed her, deceived her. This had been her chance, her opportunity at a better life and he'd stolen it all from her with so much casual malice.

Another wave crashed over her, sending her deep beneath the ocean's glassy surface this time. With her legs bound together, she was only able to kick in one stroke and she knew it wasn't enough as she felt her breath dying in her chest, her bound hands clawed at the rope as she exhaled her breath of stale air and took in a lungful of water.

She coughed, gasped and gagged as the water entered her lungs, her body twisting as it demanded air. Her bound hands writhed as her body suffered, every cough and gasp of water an agony as her mind heralded her death. She closed her eyes, trying to accept her fate as her body still screamed at her for air.

The pain faded, her body's screaming need for oxygen no longer dominating her mind as she floated in the water. Abby opened her eyes, looking around in amazement at the vast blue space of the ocean.

'Is this what it was like to die?' she pondered, her eyes looking up to see the sun dancing in patterns across the top of the sea. 'Pain, suffering, regret and then, peace?"

A shape flashed at the corner of her eye, causing her to look quickly to her side; she saw nothing but the empty, vast ocean. She saw another flash, causing her to spin around, an unease building in her, not knowing what it could be. She looked up, swiveling her head around as she tried to catch sight of what was around her.

Something tugged at her bounds, causing her to look down sharply and gasp. A woman with dark hair and dark skin floated in front of her and pulled at the knots binding Abby's wrists, a broken manacle hanging around one of her slender wrists. Abby jerked back, shocked, and stared at her. The woman looked up, her dark eyes wide as she looked at Abby with alarm before softening, a friendly smile crossing her lips. Abby's eyes look her in quickly. The woman was beautiful, with big dark eyes and wide lips that continued to smile at her as Abby looked at her; various types of sea life clung to her body, covering her shoulders, breasts and stomach and that single manacle hung off her wrist, like an ugly bracelet. Abby felt her own eyes go wide when she reached the woman's legs, because instead of two long legs like she had expected to see, was one long, blue-grey tail that reminded Abby of a fish, though certainly more elegant.

Abby's eyes shot up to the smiling eyes of the mermaid before her. The mermaid nodded, coming forwards towards Abby again. Abby backed up, shaking her head.

This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be real, as her mind screamed at the impossibility of the situation.

The mermaid let out a sound that sounded like a laugh, causing Abby to look back at her. She opened her mouth, trying to make a word and notes escaped her mouth as from a song. Abby slapped her still bound hands over her mouth, eyes widening in shock. The mermaid gestured down to Abby's own legs, causing her to look down and see that her own bare legs had filmed over with a tail of her own, the gold and red colors striking out boldly from beneath the rope that still wrapped around her. Abby stared down at her legs, now fin, in amazement before dragging her shocked gaze up to stare open-mouthed at the mermaid opposite her.

Dark hands began to work at the ropes tied to Abby again, her long fingers deftly pulling at the knots to loosen and then finally remove them. Abby rubbed her wrists as the rope came free, floating up and away from her as it was released. She bent over, helping as they both worked at the knots binding the ropes to her knees and ankles, finally freeing her from the horrid brown length that had cursed her from the ship.

Abby looked up now, not knowing what to do next; she obviously wasn't dead, but having no idea that mermaids were real, she also had no idea what to do as a mermaid. The mermaid beside her let out a long, high note that sent a chill down Abby's spine as it echoed through the water and her bones. She looked on in confusion as the mermaid waited, seeming to listen for a long moment before Abby began to hear the same high note repeated, over and over again as it resonated through the water.

The mermaid smiled widely, taking Abby's hand in hers and began to swim forward, urging Abby to follow her. Abby moved her legs, swimming was foreign to her to begin with, even more so with the addition of this strange tail. Slowly, patiently and deliberately they moved forward through the water as Abby learned how to move about in her new environment. As she learned how to move with her new appendage, they moved faster and faster through the water, causing Abby to smile and laugh as the feel of the water rushing past her skin thrilled her.

But, just as soon as she'd gotten into her rhythm, they stopped, the mermaid pulling back on their held hands and pointing to the surface of the water. Abby looked up, seeing the form of a ship moving slowly along overhead. It was strange to see now, as she'd thought that the ship had moved so fast while she was aboard but now, after the thrill of the swim she'd just had and some base knowledge inside her knowing that she could go even faster, this ship that she'd seen before as so vast and grand just looked small, out of place, and vile amongst the beauty of the ocean.

More shapes flashed around her vision, Abby looked and saw more mermaids circling around the ship, smiling up at it. They were all of various ages, races, ethnicities. She saw more like the one holding her hand, the sunlight glinting off the broken manacles some wore on their wrists, another that swam in front of Abby had her hair sectioned into pieces of a long tail itself, each section decorated with a gold band.

Abby rose to the surface, wanting to get a better look at the ship, the mermaid that had helped her coming up beside her. She felt her eyes widen as she took in the sight of the familiar sight of the Carina, her former ship; Adam's ship. She felt the wave of betrayal that he'd done to her hit her, twisting at her heart like a knife.

She looked at the mermaid beside her, wishing she could drag him out of the ship's depths to punish him for hurting her; she'd trusted him, believed every word he'd said and it had all been a lie, crafted together for bits of paper. And he'd just tossed her aside like refuse when he hadn't gotten what he'd wanted.

The mermaid beside her released her hand, smiling at her again and began to sing. Abby watched, her eyes wide in amazement as slowly, the mermaids that she'd seen circling beneath the ship began to rise up from under the water and join in the song.

The men on the ship began to shout, to cry out, to curse; Abby watched as they pointed and gestured panicked hands towards the water around them, attempting to cover their ears and look away from the siren's that surrounded them.

Several of the younger sailors didn't heed the warnings, as she watched them jump into the water towards the beckoning mermaids. As soon as they bobbed to the surface, wild grins and wide eyes on their faces, they were swept up in an embrace and pulled deep beneath the surface with the flash of a colored tail the last evidence of where they were.

The men continued to shout, while the song continued around them, more and more men slowly falling prey to it's enticing call as mermaid after mermaid claimed her prize and swept him deep beneath the ocean's surface. Abby watched, her eyes searching wildly for Adam, as splash after splash indicated one less member of his crew.

Then, she saw him, stumbling out of the lower decks to look around at the chaos unfolding around him. He shouted orders that fell on deaf ears, looking around madly to see the men jumping wildly in the water to be claimed by the mermaids awaiting them. His gaze landed on Abby, his eyes widening in shock and fear as her eyes locked with his.

She sang, her voice darker, deeper than before from her screams and shouts while fighting against the pull of the ocean, the salt water stinging her throat. She sang to him not knowing where she knew the song from, coming from the same knowledge of swimming, of knowing the mermaids around her were more of a family than she'd ever known before. Of knowing that now she was truly home. She swam closer to the ship, her gaze not leaving his as she continued to sing. She watched as he walked towards her, the proud, arrogant and selfish man that he'd shown himself to be smiling madly at her once again.

He jumped off the edge of the ship, the same edge that he'd shoved her from as she continued her song, never wavering from it's melody, watching as he bobbed to the surface and came to her.

"Abby," he said in a whispered tone.

She moved forward, her arms wrapping around him to embrace him tightly, her lips turning up in a smile before she leaned forward and dove beneath the water, feeling her tail break the surface of the water for the first time as she led her captain down to the dark depths of the unforgiving ocean below.

* * *

><p><em><strong>*Modiste - a seamstressfashion shop, usually run by a french woman. They also sold various fashion accessories such as wigs, purses, fans, etc.**_

_**The first mermaid that Abby encounters is meant to be a former slave. The slave trade from Africa to America and Europe was at it's height around this time frame. For this story, I did have in the mindset that the women that were chosen, by the sea if you will, would be women that had led very unfortunate, hard lives through no fault of their own; be that by slave trade, fathers, husbands, pirates or whatever. The curse/blessing of being a mermaid would be gifted to one of these women whom deserved revenge and who had led of life that just, frankly, sucked.**_

_**Would there be mermen? I don't know, I didn't think that far on that topic but, this was the story of Abigail Monroe, and how she became a mermaid.**_


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