Voyage of the Chevalier: Episode 2 - Airship Sails and Mermaid Tales

Continues from Voyage of the Chevalier: Episode 1 - A Nefarious Patron. Consider using the link and reading it first.

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“Prepare to be boarded, men!” Captain Duncan Fourchette shouted to his men.

The buzzing of the incoming airships grew louder, and the plumes of greyish black smoke loomed larger. The boatswain busily directed the men to haul in the sails while a loud ratcheting clank was heard from below as the Chevalier’s props were whirred into reverse to keep the ship stationary in the deep-sea currents. By now, the large standard of the Serene Republic, a bundle of wheat and scythe on a field of blue, white, and red, was barely visible to Duncan on the side of the nearest airship. Duncan grimaced as he thought the standard was ironic considering the aristocratic lifestyle of the revolutionary government.

“Those are navy airships, alright,” said Marcel, his lieutenant.

“Monsieur Hackett, the spyglass!” Duncan shouted to the lookout.

The man scrambled from his position on the prow to the mid-ship and handed it to him. Duncan deftly held it to his eye and surveyed the oncoming vessels.

“Light armor, twin propellers… two rotary guns apiece…” said Duncan grimly, “and from the direction of the smoke plume, they are riding a headwind.”

Duncan was in the right position to see that one airship was emblazoned with the name ‘DRS Papillon.’ He thought it looked less like a butterfly and more like an angry wasp.

As the airship was speeding ever closer, he gave the spyglass back to Hackett and said, “Get aloft and keep an eye on the surrounding oceans and skies. I want to know if we should be expecting any more guests for breakfast.”

“Aye, captain,” he said, preparing to climb up the ratlines of the main mast.

Marcel looked back and forth and whispered to Duncan, “What shall we do about our… situation… down below. Shall one of us go down?”

Duncan was careful not to make any suspicious movements as he said, “No, Marcel. If I can survey their ship in detail, they will be able to survey ours much better in the minutes they’ve had to creep closer; and if one of the Chevalier’s officers is seen running into the hold, they will want to search this place with a fine-tooth comb. No, this might be tricky, but I might have a plan. If you would care to follow me…”

Duncan began to walk nonchalantly to the entrance of the hold, Marcel following in tow. They both held their hands behind their back as though in inspection of the crew and the ship’s rigging. The mechanical humming was steadily increasing in volume but was still dulled by a moderate distance. Duncan hit the door to the hold several times with his foot, but held his chin high and took a dramatic, over-emphasized breath.

“Attention! Attention!” Duncan said at the top of his lungs.

The crew looked sideways from their current tasks at the captain.

“Prepare for BOARDING! We are being BOARDED!” Duncan said, angling his face slightly to the hold.

Marcel nodded and got the hint, “All hands, PREPARE to be BOARDED!”

The crew, already aware of the navy vessels, were rather puzzled.

“The herring must have gotten to his head,” one deckhand said to another.

Duncan kicked the hold door three more times and said, “thank you all,” and walked off.

“Do you think she heard?” Marcel said in a whisper.

“I hope so, for all our sakes,” said Duncan.

Duncan wondered what the Republic Air Navy would do if they caught their resident mermaid, Madeleine, in the hold. Best case scenario, they would dump her in the sea, which she insists is dangerous this far out. He hated to consider the alternative, considering airships have precious little cargo space as it is. Nevertheless, he was certain that her discovery would end up with his and Marcel’s head on the chopping block and his crew in chains. A defense of blackmail would likely not serve well in the Revolutionary Court for someone like him.

With all preparations made for boarding, the crew took positions along the rails and masts near conveniently placed loose belaying pins and caches of pistols and rifles. The two airships descended upon the Chevalier, so close that the humming of their engines became a roaring. One of the pair, the Papillon, lingered over the Chevalier’s top mast before deciding they could not pass a ladder through the rigging. The Papillon then carefully descended next to the aft of the Chevalier. The crew of the Chevalier passed a gangplank to the Papillon while its own sailors, dressed in a gawdy blue uniform, tied off ropes onto the Chevalier. Duncan could almost imagine his engineer’s silent rage at this perilous jerry-rigged mooring, but he kept a blank professional stare as the Papillon’s captain walked onto his ship. The man wore two gold epaulets on his uniform along with a scarf and two silver medallions on his chest. His hair was kept long in an elegant but overtly masculine coiffure, and he wore a large delicately waxed moustache. Two Republic aeronauts followed him.

“I am Captain Besson,” he said, bowing formally.

“Captain Fourchette,” said Duncan, returning the bow, “pleased to make your acquaintance. Welcome aboard the Chevalier. How may I assist you in your inspection?”

Besson seemed pleased that they appeared to be fellow countrymen, but nevertheless he sighed the sigh of anyone performing a dull repetitive task, “Thank you for your cooperation. We may start with your manifest…”

The Chevalier rocked uncomfortably with the added bulk of the Papillon floating midair off its starboard aft. Duncan tried buying some time for Madeleine by giving Besson and his men the grand tour of his quarters. He then made a casual self-deprecating ruse about digging the manifest out of a cluttered desk drawer as he handed it to Besson. Besson then cleared his throat and donned a monocle as he read the contents of the manifest with half-interest. Suddenly, his pupils widened with surprise as he said. “Could you show me your hold? Especially this sample of… algae destined for the Université de Coldport?”

Marcel spoke suddenly, “Captain, that cargo is… photosensitive. The university asked us to keep it in the dark for fear of ruining the sample.”

Besson, not moving his eyes from the manifest, said indifferently, “Nonsense. We keep an oil lamp in the Papillon. It should give us just enough light to finish our inspection.”

Besson looked up and nodded to one of his men. The aeronaut left promptly.

“There,” said Besson, “when he returns, we may check your hold and we can go.”

After a small period of awkward silence and shrewd stares, the aeronaut returned with a rather battered navy-issued hooded oil lamp. Besson motioned for Duncan to lead the way.

“Allons-y, Capitaine,” said Besson.

Duncan smiled with inscrutable charisma as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He stood up from his desk and ushered the aeronauts out of his quarters. Marcel smiled less convincingly, but stayed behind Besson and his men as they were led out the door. Duncan and Marcel could hear their heartbeats in their necks as they walked across the deck. Duncan set the walking pace as slow as possible as they walked towards the mid-ship. The crew looked on anxiously, paying attention to any signal that Duncan might give. Aside from the foaming sea and the creaking of the two entangled ships, all was silent as they walked forward.

Just as Duncan turned his head to attempt small talk, a crash and a muffled popping and snapping noise emanated from below deck, followed by two thumps in quick succession. Everyone instinctively stopped in their tracks, confused. A handful of the nearby crew heard it, too, and looked silently at each other and Duncan. Marcel frowned knowingly. Besson reached for a pistol at his waist, but his hand stopped midair.

“What was that?” asked Besson.

Duncan turned on his heels and lied with the first thing that came to mind, “You know these old ships, Captain. They sometimes creak and shudder at sea.”

Besson was not convinced.

“If your ship makes that sort of moan at a full stop, Fourchette, she should be in drydock.” he said, brushing rudely past Duncan and towards the hatch leading to the hold.

“What am I going to find down there, Monsieur? This is your last chance to tell me.” he demanded as his men began pulling the doors open.

Please let her be hidden, Duncan pleaded in his mind.

Duncan replied, “Just some tobacco, coffee, and fish from New Colverelle.”

“And your specimen?” he asked accusingly.

Duncan made a concerted effort to remain calm and said, “Yes, Capitaine Besson, the specimen.”

Besson lit the lamp as the hold doors fell to the side with a pronounced thud. He held it in front of him as he descended the steps to a small area left open as a landing. He swung the lamp left only to find barrels and crates. He then swung it right. His eyes widened and mouth hung agape. Duncan reached warily towards his gun and his crew reached errant hands towards whatever was nearest.

Suddenly, Besson slammed the hood over the lamp and covered his eyes with his hand.

“I am sorry, Demoiselle!” he cried, “The captain did not tell me you were down here!”

Duncan could only hear the mermaid from his vantage point, but he could see Besson’s reactions fully.

“How forgetful of him,” Madeleine said, “I come down here for privacy.”

Duncan was flabbergasted. Had Besson only seen her human torso and not her tail?

“Please leave, Monsieur. I am in the middle of my…” she continued, searching for the proper surface word, “…toilette. I am unclothed.”

Thinking on his feet, Duncan said, “I think you better come back up here, Capitaine, and give the mademoiselle her space. She might have just tipped something over is all.”

Besson nodded and climbed the steps, uncovering his eyes and being careful not to look in Madeleine’s direction.

“Yes… that… that is for the best. You are right.” He replied.

He climbed the steps and two of Duncan’s own crew shut the door behind him. He blew out his lamp and sighed.

“You neglected to inform me about your passenger.” He said matter-of-factly.

Duncan’s crew exchanged confused faces, but they knew better than to ask questions during an inspection. They were still nonetheless perturbed.

Duncan breathed in, searching for a moment to formulate an excuse, “Well, Captain, I thought she would have shut herself in her quarters. Besides, you asked about cargo. I did not know private persons were subject to naval inspection. Has the law changed recently?”

Besson’s face revealed a mixture of curiosity and displeasure at the remark.

“Non, Monsieur, but I thought you would have the decency to obey the spirit of the law, and not its letter,” he said, unaware of his answer’s irony, “moreover, Monsieur Fourchette, I find it shameful you would allow a girl unchaperoned on a ship.”

Duncan’s eyes shifted. Regardless of the fact they were completely unaware of her presence until now, he did not appreciate this insinuation about his crew. He replied confidently and proudly, “This is hardly a jungle, Capitaine. My crew is most civilized… and enlightened. The mademoiselle goes as she pleases, and my crew do not interfere unless it is pertinent to perform their duties. I run a very tight ship, is that not right, men?”

“Aye, sir,” they replied in near unison.

Besson was shocked, but also impressed. Softening his stern posture, he said, “Well then, it seems you are not so much the unscrupulous bunch we feared. Forgive my suspicions, Captain, and accept my sincerest apologies. We have many reports of smugglers, pirates, and Imperial spies operating throughout the Salais. Thank you for your cooperation and do watch yourself. Bon voyage, and until we meet again.”

“Yes, farewell,” Duncan said, praying that the second half of that prophecy never came true.

“Men, back to your posts,” Duncan ordered.

He observed as Besson and his men returned to the Papillon. They untethered their airship from the Chevalier and then ascended slowly back into the sky. The Papillon blared its steam horn twice, beckoning its sister airship to follow it westward. Despite returning to their prior labors, the crew kept careful eyes on Duncan and Marcel. After waiting a moment to ensure the airships would not circle back, Duncan nodded for Marcel to come over. He did so without hesitation.

“It seems the men now know,” Duncan whispered with dismay.

“Well, they know there is a woman aboard, just not that she is… you know…” Marcel whispered, casting cautious eyes at the various crewmembers on deck, “What shall we tell the crew?”

“Nothing, yet,” Duncan said, “Informing them while still keeping certain… euh, aspects a secret is going to be challenging… we should check on her first before anything.”

Marcel’s eyes showed he had not outgrown his prior apprehension with confronting the mermaid, “You check on Madeleine. I will stay here… with the crew.”

Duncan’s brow shifted as he looked teasingly at him. “Coward,” he said.

“It’s those eyes! They look into you, like a sorcière!” Marcel pleaded, not sensing the humor.

Duncan smiled teasingly, “Then stay up here and keep an eye on the door… poule mouillée!”

Marcel gave him a stern look when Duncan turned to descend the steps.

“Petit malin…” he muttered loudly enough for Duncan to hear.

Duncan slowly turned to where he knew Madeleine’s metal box was. Strangely, he did not immediately see her luminescent blue eyes -as he was now accustomed to seeing- in this shadowed compartment. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust before he noticed that the lid to the box was indeed shut, but not completely. He took a moment to scan his surroundings, immediately seeing the now slightly duller sheen of Madeleine’s eyes behind a stack of crates just to the right of her box. She climbed out, he wondered. Then he saw her eyes were at a higher level than he was accustomed to, a sight that forced Duncan into a moment of calculation. It was when his eyes fully adjusted to the shadow that he had no doubt as to what he saw: Madeleine was standing unsteadily on two shaking legs and holding herself up with the crates. Her legs and waist were dappled in loose silvery scales as though she had just butchered a large sea fish. Her hands were now shaped like an ordinary human, no longer webbed and clawed. She was also not lying to Besson; she was -how Duncan could affirm– completely unclad as mermaids were wont in their common forms and she made no effort to hide it. He did his best to keep eye-contact out of respect.

She tried to take a wobbly step towards him but felt uncertain. Matter-of-factly, she gave him her typical stare and said, “I heard you the first time, you know.”

Duncan could not believe his eyes as he failingly searched for an appropriate response, “You’re…”

“…Standing? Yes, about that…” she began.

“No…” he politely interrupted, “you’re… you know.”

She looked down at herself nonchalantly, then back at him, “Oh, yes, that’s right. I think that is the least of our problems right now, Duncan. Could you give me your shoulder?”

Duncan immediately obliged, stepping next to her so she could hold his shoulder and attempt to stand.

“Actually, this is going to become a concern sooner than you think…” Duncan said, attempting to be diplomatic as she was giving him a rather stark gaze. He then yelled loudly, “Marcel!”

There were a few seconds of silence before he heard from the top of the steps an uneasy, “Yes, Captain?”

“Come down…” said Duncan trailingly.

Marcel took a breath in as if to say do I have to but decided the better of it. He slowly walked down the creaking steps and looked.

“Marcel,” Duncan said furtively and calmly, “can you retrieve the extra set of clothes and boots I have in the trunk in my quarters… discretely?”

Marcel swung his head around and he said, “Why, what is the…”

He suddenly saw Madeleine and his eyes widened like saucers, and whispered in a shout, “Grace du Créateur! Legs… euh, bien sur, Capitaine…”

He left as quickly as he came, walking with a suspiciously nervous canter.

“I am fine,” Madeleine insisted, “my people have lived this way for thousands of years.”

“Madeleine, I realize that, but the men are growing suspicious. They are at least somewhat cunning and observant, otherwise I wouldn’t have hired them! They now know a woman is aboard, it is only a matter of time before they ask to at least meet their passenger.”

“‘Passenger’ is an odd way to put it.” she replied.

Duncan’s heart sank but he hid it well. Madeleine still noticed in his eyes.

“Fine,” she ultimately said, “I’ll play along. I’ll show my face, but I refuse to be paraded.”

“Thank you,” Duncan said.

“Help me sit down.” She ordered.

“Of course,” he replied.

He carefully set Madeleine down on a large crate as she struggled to put her feet in the proper location. She was having more success than before but was still largely unsteady. She held her fingers awkwardly on his shoulder as though they were still clawed and webbed and was afraid of causing injury. As Duncan was now close, he observed that her gill slits were still present beneath her drying hair and her eyes were still roughly the same uncanny color. He then lost himself in supposition, mostly puzzled as to why she stayed in the box if she could grow legs.

She sensed his thinking in his gaze, “Now you see why I couldn’t have gotten far. I didn’t even know I was capable of the change until this moment.”

Duncan watched as she spoke, taken by passive fascination and listening intently.

“Most merfolk peoples can do it in some manner, some easier than others. For some, the change is more complete, but it’s always different. Selkies, lucky northerners, can simply change their skin. They’re all smug about it, too. The elders of my people pass down stories, telling us how we do it, but it all comes down to instinct and necessity. Not to mention the transition is most… painful. And sitting here like this feels… wrong.”

Duncan knew shape-changers existed, but he did not know mermaids were counted among them. Shape-changers were poorly understood in common society as they were so rare in his age. He remembered that he had once seen a beastly loup-garou bound in his father’s menagerie and that he had felt rather sorry for it -despite the court’s insistence it was just a wolf. To see Madeleine in this way reminded Duncan of that buried memory.

Then, Marcel re-entered the hold with a quick but casual walk. His expression was grim as he handed the clothes to Duncan and cast wary glances at Madeleine.

She merely looked at him matter-of-factly and said, “Merci, Marcel.”

He swallowed and exhaled, managing a solemn, “Je vous en prie.”

The two men looked away and let her dress, only helping if she asked. They could hear through the walls the engine being brought back up to steam as its vents hissed and internal gears thrummed.

“I think I am ready,” Madeleine said.

The men turned back around. She sat there in Duncan’s spare clothing, which fit a little large on her. To say she was uncomfortable would have been an understatement.

“Satisfied?” she asked.

Marcel shrugged and Duncan nodded.

“That will do.” Duncan said, “Are you ready?”

He held his hand out. Marcel stood to the side and watched. Madeleine exhaled sharply, then took it and used his hold to help herself up. As her momentum carried her forward, her other hand instinctively grabbed his shoulder, putting them back face to face. He kept a steady eye on her as she looked disdainfully at her feet.

“You make it look so easy!” she said to him.

Duncan shrugged, then chuckled calmly, “I’ve had well over twenty-seven years’ experience. You’ve had an hour at best, and you’ve at least gotten yourself upright. It’s a damn good start.”

Still keeping an eye on her feet, she asked, “How do you do it? Walk?”

Duncan was taken aback by the question, trying to remember the non-existent memories of his most formative years.

“I don’t quite know, it’s mostly instinct and practice for us. I guess try to balance?”

Marcel squinted at him while Madeleine shot him a sarcastic glance as if to say is that not what I am doing? Duncan was clueless in how to respond.

Marcel exhaled completely, then took a brave breath in and said, “I think this is a job for someone with a bit more life experience. I have… had nieces and nephews… once.”

Marcel gently took Madeleine’s other arm and put it around his shoulders.

“Alright, Mademoiselle, keep your legs under you, try to flex your knees and thighs, get used to them, get used to your weight.”

Madeleine buried her frustration and did as he instructed while still leaning on the two men.

“Now try to keep yourself up. If you feel yourself lean, keep yourself centered over your feet.” he said, slowly taking her hand off his shoulders.

She absent-mindedly bit her lip as she struggled in place for a moment, her other hand still grasping tightly onto Duncan’s shirt. In short order, she got herself to stand, and she laughed victoriously. Emboldened by her success, she attempted to step forward and tripped on the heel of the other boot. Duncan and Marcel caught her midair. Her smile faded instantaneously as she let out an unsettling growl from her throat.

“This is going to take some time,” said Marcel rhetorically, attempting to swallow his unease.

The three of them spent the next hour below deck helping Madeleine practice walking. Meanwhile, the crew grew uneasy. Little did the group know that whispers were starting as the crew grew idle after finishing their last orders. One brave soul, the boatswain, walked towards the hold.

“Requesting entry, Captain,” he shouted.

“Not right now,” Duncan replied, “I am attending to something urgent. What is it?”

He said, “Engineer’s said the engines back up to steam and we wanted to know what your orders were, sir.”

Duncan paused, then said, “Resume course, half-steam! Keep her gentle.”

“Aye, Captain. Also, Hackett says he’s seen naught but blue sky and would like to come down off the mast, sir.”

Duncan sighed, “Bon Créateur! Tell him to get down if they’re gone!”

“Aye, aye.”

He left. By now, Madeleine had learned to walk in a slow, deliberate fashion. She still had trouble, particularly due to the rocking of the ship, but she had learned just enough to keep her steady.

“If you’re feeling steady,” Duncan said to her, “shall we resume our conversation in my quarters where it’s somewhat more comfortable?”

She nodded, keeping focused on her steps. The two men let her set the pace as she walked forward. She hesitated at the steps leading out onto the deck. The subtle pitching and heaving of the ship made her uncertain.

Duncan stepped forward and warmly said, “Here, watch me.”

He held a rope suspended on one side and carefully ascended the steps, allowing Madeleine a chance to observe his movements. The crew saw him emerge from the hold and turn back around, holding his hand back down. After a few seconds of hesitation, Madeleine braved the steps and ascended, carefully followed by Marcel.

The moment her head emerged from the hold, several crewmates could not help but immediately acknowledge her unexpected presence. She instantly felt their eyes and looked at the various men on deck with a combination of curiosity and apprehension. Duncan noticed this as he took her hand and helped her up the last step. He could have sworn he heard a quiet “why is she wearing the captain’s clothes” from the back.

“Men,” he shouted, “if I could have your attention.”

They all turned. Other heads poked out from doors on the poop deck and back towards the engineering room, galley, and pilothouse. Marcel climbed out and stood behind Duncan and Madeleine.

Duncan continued, “You remember, men, that I said this run requires the utmost diligence and discretion? After this morning’s revelations during that rather unfortunate run-in with the naval authority, I have found it prudent to reveal certain details of our current commission which I previously deemed necessary to hide. Along with our cargo came a passenger, whose presence was essential to our completion of the commission. I would simply ask you as your captain to value her privacy and allow her free rein of the ship whenever possible. Am I understood?”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” They replied.

He then added, “And, if you are to be asked at port who she is, refrain from answering. Though, if you are pressed, say she is a niece of a professor at the university. Understood?”

“Aye, aye!” They said with some confused glances as they returned to work.

Marcel whispered in Duncan’s ear, “Why such a lofty alias? She’s wearing your clothes, damn it!”

Duncan responded, “Blame your excuse in the manifest. We can’t safely forge a new one out here, think if we run into more navy men while we’re at it! At any rate, it’s best the three of us continue this conversation in my quarters.”

They then walked across the deck, subject to the furtive glances of the crew. They entered down into the captain’s quarters. Duncan sat at his desk, Marcel in the hammock, and Madeleine on the trunk. Duncan then reached for his naval charts, compass, drafting tools, and chronometer in his desk.

“What was our last read on latitude, Marcel?” Duncan briskly asked.

Marcel was confused by the seeming change in conversation, but answered, “This morning we passed 34 degrees north. Why, Duncan?”

Duncan looked at the chart, tracing a line and calculating distance and longitude using the chronometer.

He sighed, “So we’ll be nearing the northern boundary of the Republic colonies within the day, right before we make our oceanic crossing on the Salais north current. Marcel, what ports within the day’s travel would you suppose have a sizable market while not being large enough to draw naval attention but not small enough to arouse suspicion?”

Marcel looked confused, “I thought we were bound straight for Coldport, Duncan?”

“Humor me,” he said.

Marcel thought for a moment, “Bonmarin is closest, but it is much too large. Other than that, the coast out here is mostly fishing towns and naval depots. Moorhaven, maybe?”

“Yes,” Duncan said, “Moorhaven would do nicely. We could be there by sunset.”

Madeleine cocked her head to the side.

Marcel was about to say the word Louis but corrected himself, “Duncan, what are you plotting? We need to be in Coldport…”

“They never gave us a date we were expected there, which gives us enough time.” He said.

Marcel’s eyes widened, “You have a plan to weasel out of the contract! But how will we get the money for Delaneuve so he doesn’t take the ship and turn us in?”

Madeleine’s eyes widened in recognition of the name.

“I have the beginnings of a plan, but it is not without risk. I will need the three of us to pull it off.” he replied.

“What sort of plan?” asked Marcel, baffled.

“The three of… us?” asked Madeleine, curious.

“How would you like your own clothes, something that fits you more comfortably?” Duncan asked her.

She nodded, “I suppose it would do to practice this form when I can. Yes.”

Duncan looked at Marcel.

“You and I will move her box to your quarters. Now that the crew are aware, she is due more proper arrangements. Meanwhile, have some men string up another hammock in here;” he said with a smile, “it will be like old times.”

“Very well,” Marcel said, dismayed at losing his private quarters, “I will inform the men and adjust course.”

“So, we are now bound for this Moorhaven?” Madeleine asked.

“Bien sûr,” Duncan replied, “we are bound for Moorhaven.”

***

The tale continues!