THE OPEN OCEAN
Marina waited until Aga had João securely tied before turning to Joaquim. He stood at the rail a few feet away, arms folded over his chest and jaw clenched. “Are you . . .”
“I’m fine, it appears,” he said. “I can hear it, but it’s not bothering me. Not like it did him.” His eyes met hers, a thin line between his brows as if he wondered why that was the case.
Marina licked her lips. “I—”
A shout from nearby saved her from having to explain. Marina went to the rail and glanced over. There, to the aft, was a small naval vessel. It was single-masted, but she could hear an engine pushing the boat to keep up with the much faster Deolinda.
The call came again from a sailor using a bullhorn. It was more distinct this time, a request for them to drop their sails and prepare to be boarded. Marina looked back at Joaquim. “They’ll put a pilot aboard. That’s the only way we’ll be allowed closer to the islands.”
He nodded once and gestured for Aga to take the end of the main boom while he headed to the mast. After a moment of his fiddling with a rope, the sail began to slide down the mast while Aga furled it with quick and clever hands.
Marina sighed. Once again, I’m of no use. She waited as Joaquim and Aga lowered the other sails. João tugged at his bindings, the scowl back on his face. Clearly the blockade was still affecting him.
The ship slowed and the smaller vessel came alongside. Once Joaquim pointed the rope ladder out, Marina flipped it overboard. A moment later, a sailor in a tan pareu and vest stood on the Deolinda’s deck—the pilot who would take them into harbor. She surveyed João’s bound form with amusement. An older woman, she had a touch of gray in the brown hair twisted into a tight knot atop her head. She was career navy, a fact given away by the webbing missing from either side of her index finger. That allowed her to handle a firearm yet preserved the webbing between her other fingers so she wouldn’t be water-blind.
She turned to Joaquim and yelled, “Why are you crossing our territorial boundary?”
Apparently she believed his ears were stuffed. Joaquim looked startled, as if unsure how to respond.
“We’re on our way to Amado,” Marina answered instead. She adopted the firm tone she used with her father’s clients, her business voice. “We’re to meet with the Portuguese ambassador there.”
The sailor cast an appraising eye over her, one eyebrow lifted. Marina knew what the woman must see—a smallish human woman, dressed in borrowed clothes. “Embassies are all on Quitos,” the woman protested.
Marina lifted her chin. “The Portuguese ambassador and her mate are currently on a retreat to Amado, to visit with the ambassador’s grandmother. My grandmother. Her house is on Cartas Bay, so we don’t even need to enter the harbor at Porto Novo.”
“Ah,” the sailor said, eyes sliding back toward Joaquim. He remained silent, but was clearly following the conversation. “Now I understand. That one’s yours.”
Marina crossed her arms over her chest, feeling Joaquim’s eyes on her. “Yes.”
The sailor grinned. “The gods favored you, little one. Human or not, he’ll make pretty daughters.”
Marina felt a flush creeping up her cheeks. Will the woman never stop talking? “Could we get back under way? We’d like to reach the bay before sunset.”
“Fine,” the sailor said briskly. “I’ve got some paperwork you’ll need to fill out, and then we’ll set sail again.”
Marina sighed inwardly. There’s always paperwork.
* * *
One of the sailors had boarded the ship to act as pilot. She’d leered at him and João both, but Joaquim held his tongue. Among Marina’s people he was expected to be quiet, wasn’t he? Marina dealt with the woman firmly—surprising him, he had to admit—and soon they were passing the harbor of a rocky island.
After an hour or so, the calling that had itched at the back of his mind ceased, and he realized they’d reached the far side of the magical blockade. Joaquim let loose a breath. He hadn’t realized how much it had nagged at him until that moment. João looked far worse, slumping against his ropes. After Aga conferred with Marina, she went and freed him. The young man seemed unnerved, but quickly got to his feet and took stock of their location. He came over to Joaquim’s side and apologized for his earlier actions, eyeing the pilot warily the whole while. But his attention was soon drawn away as they sailed past the breakwaters of a large port.
Joaquim stared. The nearest pier in the harbor was busy with bare-chested men with silvery legs bared by tucking up their wraps. They labored alongside the sailors unloading the English ships docked there. From a distance it seemed very chaotic, although in Joaquim’s experience, most cargo exchanges happened in an orderly fashion, no matter the outer appearance. But as they eased past the harbor, he realized he’d been fooled by one aspect: those weren’t bare-chested men out working the freight. They were women, or rather, sereia.
Duilio had told him the women on the islands often went scantily clad, but for some reason he’d expected they would alter that custom when working with human sailors. The sailor piloting the Deolinda wore a vest, after all. But apparently on the docks that didn’t apply.
Marina grew up dressed like that.
He hadn’t put his limited knowledge of the sereia’s customs together with her. She seemed so proper and modest that he couldn’t imagine her doing such a thing. Surely when she’d been on that English ship, around English sailors, she’d dressed more like she did now.
Joaquim shot a quick glance at her as they sailed into a bay with a beach. She peered out toward the sands, one hand held up to shield her eyes from the sun. Months ago, he would never have believed her a sereia if she hadn’t told him. She seemed completely human, with human ideals and morals. What had that effort to fit in cost her? When she’d arrived in Portugal, she had her webbing cut away to protect her safety. He knew that her hands often ached with ghost pain from her missing webbing. And even now she wore his shirt with the neck buttoned to the top to keep anyone from seeing her gill slits.
Does she regret that? Why have we never talked about that?
“Over there,” she said, pointing toward the shore.
The mountains marched away from that bay in all directions, but Joaquim could see a few houses built there. Children played at one spot on the beach, and at the far edge of the bay, a single figure stood waiting. It was Duilio, dressed in native garb. Farther back on the sands, two Portuguese soldiers waited, his guards.
The pilot relinquished the wheel as the ship moved farther into the bay, and then they were busy with the anchor and sails, and he didn’t have time to worry any longer.