With a twist of her fins, she broke the surface again. Liquid streamed from her hair and down over her skin. It took me a few moments to see that it wasn’t just seawater but tears.
I touched the water again, and again the tide of remorse washed over me—remorse and pain and fear.
She hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. I knew that now, without a doubt. And I knew something else as well. She was dying.
The gag wasn’t just cutting into her skin, and it wasn’t just stopping her from singing. It was suffocating her. The wadding had wound around her tongue, and now it was trailing down her throat, a little farther with every swallow . . .
Her panic felt like mine. I wanted to rip the gag off, then and there. But I knew there were reasons to be cautious. Besides, if I tried, I’d have to fight Captain Ellis, and likely most of the others, too—and though I could win that battle if I put enough of myself into it, there were better ways to save the mermaid’s life. The gag was wet, after all. Could I find a way to compel the water in it to do my bidding?
Again I listened, this time not only to the mermaid but to the water all around her and especially in the wadding and the rope. The next time the mermaid submerged, I sang to the water, persuading it to float the wadding back up the mermaid’s throat. Then I used the weight of the water to stretch the rope fibers and slightly loosen the gag.
“Hold on there!” Captain Ellis started forward. “What’s she singing?”
Nat and Gabriel pulled him back.
“She knows what she’s doing,” Nat said. “Give her the chance she’s asked for.”
His confidence surprised and warmed me. Distracted, I sang a moment too long, loosening the ropes more than I’d intended. Even as I drew breath to fix my mistake, the gag dropped.
“Stop her!” screamed the captain.
Nat lunged toward the barrel. And then he halted, dazed. They all did, every one of them.
The mermaid was singing.
The ship’s doctor had spoken the truth: the song was exquisite, beyond anything I’d ever dreamed. Like the others, I was paralyzed by its beauty. Even as the mermaid wriggled out of the rest of the ropes that I’d so kindly—and so mistakenly—loosened for her, all I could think about was her music.
Unlike the others on the Dorset, however, I’d had long practice in dealing with bewitching tunes, and I had learned how to withstand some of their wiles. The best way was to go deep inside myself, to focus on my own heartbeat and not on external sounds. When I did this, the mermaid’s song lost some of its power. I found I could move again, although it took tremendous effort.
Singing magic, however, was beyond me. For that, I would have to open myself up and listen to the music around me again—and who knew where that would lead? I might end up singing the mermaid’s song with her. Better to plug the ears of the men near me and get their help.
Even as I turned toward them, the mermaid thrashed and knocked the whole barrel over. It split as it fell, and water gushed out, carrying the mermaid halfway to the rail.
“No.” I forced myself forward and grabbed hold of a slippery fin. “Stay. Talk to me.”
Even as I touched her scales, I felt her anger. There was no remorse here, no regret, only a wild hatred.
You will pay, Chantress. Mind to mind, she spoke to me, even as her lips continued to shape the beautiful song. The sea is coming. We are coming. And we will drown you all.
In shock I clutched harder at the fin. What?
Let go. The mermaid’s powerful tail slammed me against the deck. Stunned, I released her fin.
Still singing, the mermaid grasped the rail with her milky white arms and hoisted herself up and over it. With a great splash, she dived into the river and was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
STRANGERS
I raced to the rail. All was quiet and dark, and there was no sign of the mermaid, not even a slight glow under the waves.
But her song was gone with her, and that meant I could draw on my magic again. I listened to the Thames and found what I needed—a music to find the mermaid and trap her, a music to pull her toward us.