There was no doubt that it was her voice, but there was plenty of doubt that it was actually her.
“Meridan!” Dahlia replied.
“We do not know it’s her,” I said.
“Help me! Please, someone!” the voice shrieked.
“Men!” I called out. “To the ship!”
“Aye, cap’n!” someone yelled back from the boats.
I watched the lanterns from the longboats, focusing on the blurry orbs.
“Help!” came Meridan’s voice again, that time from the starboard side of the ship.
“It’s not her. She wouldn’t talk like that and you know it,” I said, hoping my words would convince Dahlia not to do something reckless.
“And how would they know what she sounds like if they did not cross paths with her?”
I shrugged. “They could have been stalking us this whole time, listening to our conversations.”
Again, the voice called out, desperate and too like Meridan to ignore. But we had to.
“Tow them in,” I said, moving to the ropes on which the boats were tethered. “Men! To me! Bring in our boats!”
Anyone on deck was up in a beat, leaving their bowls abandoned on the floor as they rushed to the ropes and began to heave. Dahlia headed to the starboard side of the ship and searched the fog, her hand clutching the hilt of her bronze cutlass.
With my men hauling the boats in, I ran to Dahlia’s side at the ship’s edge. Together we watched the lanterns drift closer, small orbs trembling in the fog. We threw the climbing nets overboard, cords whispering as they unraveled toward the water. Behind me, a sudden grunt and boots scraping across the deck. I spun. One of the ropes was straining, drawn taut by something unseen. It hissed against their palms and then snapped taut again.
I turned back to the sea. Out there in the white smog, one glowing orb swayed, slow, deliberate, like a pendulum counting down. My men gathered beside me, breath shallow. Then, without warning, the light went out.
No screams.
No clashing of swords.
No sound at all. Only the sea breathing below us.
The rope then went lax beside me, splashing in the water below as if the boat at the other end had been severed from it. Even the chill of the air could not extinguish the heat of anger searing beneath my skin at the thought of losing one of my boats and four of my men.
A feminine giggle echoed from the water and suddenly my crew was rushing about, grabbing their pistols and positioning themselves at the harpoons, despite that we couldn’t penetrate the fog enough to see the water’s surface.
“Pull up this rope!” I ordered my men, marching back to the starboard side to help the others onto the ship.
When everyone was on board, the others were quick to begin hauling the remaining longboat up out of the water and secure it. From the port side, Meridan’s screams once more haunted our senses. The worry was painted all over Dahlia’s face as she stared across the deck toward the familiar tone.
“We have to pull up the nets,” I said.
She nodded and folded herself over the railing, reaching for the ropes. We started to drag them upwards lest something unwanted use them to board the Weaver, but just as we began to tug, something weighed on them. I pulled my pistol from my baldric and aimed downward while Dahlia drew her cutlass, awaiting whatever was coming up from the fog.
A pale white hand reached up, grabbing hold of Dahlia’s wrist. She drew back her blade to strike, but the ghostly figure that emerged made us both hesitate.
“Meridan,” Dahlia gasped, tossing her sword to the ground.
She reached over, taking both of her arms and lifting her over the railing. Tucking my pistol away, I continued raising the nets so nothing else could follow. Cathal appeared to take Dahlia’s place until we had the nets rolled back over the railing and secured.
Mullins ran to Meridan with a sheet from his own bed and tossed it over her naked body. She sat hunched over herself, out of breath.
“You must prepare,” she said between deep breaths.
