The Fourth Seagull

→

→

→

→

Three seagulls perch on the mast.

One more and it’ll be an ill omen.

I lean against the railing, rolling a cigarette, studying my crewmates work. Our ol’ Lady Divine holds at least a hundred sailors, all readying for a two-to-three-month crossing. At some point, I’ll need to check over the weapons, then act the host, but for now—

I’m the fourth seagull. Watching, waiting, ready for bad luck to find its prey.

Salt permeates the air and the rigging creaks with each caress of the tide.

On the dock, a knot of passengers swirl like fish in a net—mostly wealthy, old money and new. At least ten of them. Enough to be a headache and make me question Cap. He must be desperate to take such cargo. Affluent, arrogant, entitled chumps. They’ll assume we work for them. Take joy in ordering sailors around. With my charm, they’ll think I’m their personal errand boy. Cap always gives me the work that requires a smile—and the kind of teeth that can still bite.

I should’ve shaved this morning, put on fresh clothes, pretended to be respectable. But after last night, I’m still nursing a hangover. My shirt’s stale, my hair’s greasy, the taste of rum still clings to my teeth. Perfect for the wench at the tavern. Less so for these rich arses. Cap’ll likely give me hell over it, but damn it, he shouldn’t have taken on live cargo.

I rub the stubble on my chin. Maybe I can push introductions onto one of my mates. The waves thud dully against the hull, the sound heavy in the morning air. I take a drag from my cigarette, cursing my lot in life when I see you.

Your head’s held high, revealing a slender, pale neck—so delicate, so beguiling, I want it beneath my lips. A neck begging to be kissed. Bitten. And then there’s the rest of you—strong jaw, porcelain skin, guarded eyes.

I wasn’t expecting you. Sure, the leering man who likely carries more than one venereal disease, or the withered crone draped in lace and hunched over a cane. But you? What are you doing crossing the Atlantic?

No wedding ring. No partner I can spy.

Just you.

Alone.

My fingers itch, reading the slip between your practiced poise and the thin thread of insecurity beneath it. My mates notice you. You’re too beautiful to hide behind the other passengers. A couple of sailors pause their work, watching as you tuck a lock of hair behind an ear. You feel the heat of their gazes and know you’re not safe here.

A woman like you is blood in the water.

You try to befriend the old crone. She’s forbidding enough that no man would dare approach her, but her scowl is deep-set. She’s suspicious of an unchaperoned maiden. You smile softly, but it’ll take time to win her grace. You have better chances with the pompous male passengers, but they’re just as dangerous as my mates. Lone women don’t belong on boats—especially not ones with men like me aboard. Whatever need drove you to cross the Atlantic must be vast to defy common sense.

I tap ash over the railing, watching it catch in the breeze. You’ve caught a rich old man’s eye. His cheeks flush at the sight of you, hand heavy with jewels gesturing as he talks. A vision like you belongs in my company. He won’t take no for an answer—will pretend not to notice your disinterest. They’ll want you for what you are. Same as me.

A gull screeches overhead. The fourth. Bad luck for someone. Maybe you.

I’ll let introductions wait. Let you suffer for a day or two first. Let the gravity of your mistake sink in. Then you’ll see my handsome smile, hear my silver tongue, watch my perfect gentlemanly act. I’ll shield you from all these threats. Kindly pressure the old lecher until he retreats. You’ll feel safe then. Comfortable. We’ll have at least two months together.

Long enough for those guarded eyes to soften.

Long enough for me to taste that pale neck.

Long enough to forget there was ever a choice.

✦ CHARM & TEMPTATION
A maritime short story about charm, power, and the moment before safety becomes a lie.