September 1901
Upernavik, Greenland
Nicky sat in the galley with Reid while he unfolded the piece of paper. His cheeks were flushed, and she saw that his hands shook.
“Are you nervous?” she asked him.
“A little,” he said, lowering his eyes to the page.
“You’ve shared your songs with me before,” she said.
“Aye, but this one’s about you,” he said shyly. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“About me?” she said, looking down at the words on the sheet of paper.
“Well, it’s about the folktale, too,” he said. “But I thought of you when I wrote it.”
She felt something turn in her stomach as she looked down at the words written on the page.
When once a town lost half its men
a wife did swear that ne’er again
the sea would cause such hearts to grieve
and sailors to their wives would cleave.
So by the shore, upon her knees,
she prayed that Lír would calm the seas.
Lír heard and said, be changed this night—
part seal, my queen, until first light
these seas no more will cause thee strife
if you’ll become my selkie wife
“It’s fiction,” she said, trying to raise a smile to match his.
“But you’re the selkie wife,” he said. “That’s what Lovejoy said. Only . . . Daverley said I’m not to . . .” He saw her face fall. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You haven’t,” she said, forcing a smile on her face. “It’s just a song, isn’t it? Why don’t you go and teach it to the men?”
“Won’t you come and listen?” he said.
She desperately wanted to say no, but she saw the look on his face, his childish eagerness to impress her. Reid looked upon her as someone he could talk to, and she found herself acting toward him as though he were a younger brother. When Daverley was distracted, she kept an eye out for Reid in case he got into trouble. He was a good boy, eager to help, and he often brought her extra portions of food from the galley.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll come and listen.”
She followed him up to the deck, bringing an extra blanket for her shoulders as Reid handed out the new sea shanty to the crew. Most of them were drunk, their limbs loose and their eyes moving across her.
“What’s this, then?” Lovejoy said, lifting his eyes from the page to Reid in suspicion. “A selkie wife?”
Some of the men threw furtive glances at her, as though they’d worked out the connection between her and the shanty for themselves.
“It’s my new sea shanty,” Reid said proudly, standing before them. “I’m going to teach you the tune.”
He sang it aloud, and the men repeated it. After several tries they’d managed to get it, and Reid lifted his arms to conduct them. The horizon was beginning to darken, a storm coming. She waited for a call from Lovejoy or the captain to bring in the sails. But no call came; the captain was out of sight, and Lovejoy was singing loudly with the men, his arms wrapped around Wolfarth and Harrow as they danced and kicked their legs out.
The men’s singing outpaced Reid’s conducting, faster and faster, the lyrics beginning to run together.
And then, with a loud cheer, the song finished, and the men burst into applause. It had started to rain. Nicky shrank back under the cover of the forecastle. She saw Daverley approach then, a bucket of tar in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. Reid turned to him, beaming with pride.
“Uncle,” he said. “What do you think of my—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Lovejoy grabbed him roughly by the collar, yanking him toward Nicky.
“If you like her that much, what say you give her a poke with your stick?” he said. “Come on, now. Right here.”
The other men laughed, but Reid’s face had flushed red with humiliation. He looked like a child, radiant with fear. Lovejoy reached forward heavily and pulled at the boy’s belt, as though to strip him of his trousers. The movement prompted an instinctive reaction from Reid—with a cry, he struck Lovejoy in the face, as hard as he could.
The men fell silent. It was quite a punch, coming from such a scrawny lad. Lovejoy staggered slightly, the blow catching him on the jaw, but it would take more than that to knock him down. He straightened and cocked his head, shrugging off Royle and Gray when they stepped forward to intervene.
“That’s enough,” Daverley said, his eyes settling on Reid. “All of you, back to your stations.”
The rain fell hard, pelting the deck and bouncing upward. The boat had started to rock, ravenous winds clapping the sails. The men glanced uneasily at one another, but no one moved.
Lovejoy turned to Reid, and then Nicky, who had risen to her feet, outraged at the way he had seized the boy. She opened her mouth to shout at him to stop, but just then he raised his eyes to her, and she shrank at the look on his face. It was the same transfixed expression that came over him when he made her wear the bear’s skull, as though degradation was a drug he couldn’t resist.
“He’s just a lad,” Daverley said, approaching him.
“Maybe he’s a eunuch,” Lovejoy sneered. Slowly he removed a knife from his pocket and held it by his side. “We can make it so, if not.”
“Put the knife down, Lovejoy,” one of the other men called, and for a moment it seemed he’d realized he’d gone too far and would comply. He gave a great laugh, as if it were all a game, and the men laughed in echo. She saw Reid relax, his face loosening. But then Lovejoy lunged at Daverley, managing to shove him to the side. For such a stocky man he was surprisingly swift; in an instant he was holding the blade against Reid’s smooth throat.
On the ground behind them, Daverley struggled to his feet. He had blood in his hair from where his head had struck an iron hook hanging from the mast.
“I think we’ve got two lasses on board, lads,” Lovejoy hollered, holding Reid tight with his free arm.
“I’m . . . I’m not a lass,” Reid stammered, his hands clawing at Lovejoy’s arm held fast across his chest. Reid’s eyes fell on Nicky. She held up her hands, signaling him to stay calm. Lovejoy’s knife flashed in the sunlight, and a sudden movement might result in it cutting too deep.
“Prove it,” Lovejoy said. “Prove you’re not a lass. Go on.” He lifted the knife and pointed it at Nicky, instructing her to move toward him. “Swyve her right here and prove yourself.”
Lovejoy nodded at the rest of the crew to join in. A chant rose up: Swyve her! Swyve her! Swyve her!
Reid’s face had crumpled. Lovejoy pushed him toward Nicky, the knife at his back, while Cowie and Gray tugged at the hem of her skirt, trying to lift it.
“Stop it!” she shouted.
She looked at Daverley, who was on his feet behind Lovejoy, trying to gauge how to intervene without worsening the situation.
“Captain!” he shouted. “Captain Willingham!”
Lovejoy nodded at the two men at either side of Nicky, and quickly they seized her, holding her in place. Lovejoy lowered before her, lifting the hem of her skirt on his blade.
“I’ll make it easy for you,” Lovejoy told Reid.
Reid hesitated, unsure of what to do. Liquid bloomed on the deck by his feet, and Lovejoy roared with laughter.
“He’s pissed himself!” he yelled to the others. “So afraid of a woman that he’s pissed himself!”
“You’ve made your point,” she said angrily. “Put the knife down.”
Lovejoy’s smile faded, his eyes darkening. He moved the knife away, only to ram the wooden end into her face. She felt a hard crack against her cheek, the heat of blood rising quickly around her eye.
“You don’t give orders,” he said with a growl. “You don’t speak. Got it?”
She cowered from his hand, raised again to strike her.
“You want to know how you came to be on this ship?” he said then, a cruel smile on his face.
She noticed that Reid had stepped backward, as though he wanted to run away.
“You were attacked in a park, correct?” Lovejoy continued.
“I was,” she said, cupping her injured eye. “What do you know of it?”
“Oh, I know plenty,” Lovejoy said. “And I believe Master Reid knows plenty, too. Don’t you, lad?”
“I had nothing to do with it,” Reid shrieked. “I had no say in the matter!”
Somewhere behind her she heard footsteps on the stairs from the captain’s cabin. Her mind raced. Why was Reid reacting like this? Had he been involved?
“I think you’ll find that Master Reid here was the one who assisted in carrying you aboard,” Lovejoy said. “While you were asleep.”
“I was unconscious,” she spat.
Reid trembled, his eyes brimming with tears. She looked to him, unable to hide her confusion.
“I was only doing what I was told,” Reid said, a sob in his voice. “I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know . . .”
“You knew plenty, lad. And you knew exactly why we were bringing a lass on board.” Lovejoy glanced at her. “I don’t know about you, selkie, but I’d be livid if I knew I was helping out the very lad who’d bundled me aboard a whaling ship.”
She felt suddenly as though she were falling. Reid’s face told her everything—that he had helped the man who had attacked her. Perhaps the man was Lovejoy, his appearance changed by the hat and clothing. Either way, Reid had placed her in the hold, where the barrel had fallen over and pierced her foot.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why did you do that?”
Reid covered his face with his hands. Whatever he said, she didn’t hear through his sobs.
Lovejoy chuckled to himself, bending to the coil of rope by the mast. Daverley approached Reid, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, lad,” he said.
Just then, Reid gave a strangled cry of fury and charged at Lovejoy with his fists. In a single movement, Lovejoy sidestepped Reid’s blow and swept his knife across, slicing Reid’s left thigh. She heard Reid cry out as he staggered forward, falling on all fours.
A ruby-dark patch bloomed beneath Reid, and he fell slowly into it, like a bale of hay collapsing in parts. He made no sound, but the red puddle drew shouts from the men. His body spasmed and jerked with shock.
Nicky lunged at Reid quickly, pressing her hands against the wound to stop the bleeding. “Call Dr. O’Regan!” she shouted.
With a wounded yell, Daverley charged at Lovejoy, but in a moment Captain Willingham was there, ordering Stroud and Cowie to pull Daverley off Lovejoy. As they grabbed Daverley he swung an arm at Lovejoy, landing a heavy blow that streaked the air red.
“Get this man in the brig,” Captain Willingham yelled at Daverley. “Back to your stations!”
But the men didn’t move. They crossed themselves as Nicky leaned down close to Reid, her cheek against his, whispering the Lord’s Prayer into his ear.
“Please,” he said, grasping her arm. “Please don’t let me be taken.”
“I won’t,” she whispered. She felt the warmth of Reid’s blood around her knees and on her arms. She clasped both hands tightly around his leg, until she felt she might squeeze the very bones. But the blood flowed from the cut like a tap, pumping vehemently through her fingers and revealing muscle through his torn trousers.
“Clear a path!” Dr. O’Regan shouted, and quickly he cut the boy’s trousers to attend to his wound. “Thomas!” he shouted. “Keep your eyes on me, Thomas!”
But Reid had fallen still, his eyes staring up into the sky.
By the time Dr. O’Regan made the first stitch, Reid was already gone.