Ghosts Beneath the Deck

The ship slept. Above, the waves whispered against the hull like a lullaby sung by the damned, but below, there was silence. Only the groan of old timber and the soft hiss of the lantern swinging in my hand broke the stillness as I descended into the lower decks. It had been years since I’d walked this path as master of the Black Serpent. Years since the boards had creaked under my boots with that familiar rhythm. Every sound now felt foreign. Every corner, wrong. The air itself was different, too soft, too civilized.

When I reached the last door on the port side, I stopped. Mauve’s quarters. Once, it had been tidy, spartan, a place for a loyal officer who needed little but a bed and her blades. Now, candlelight spilled through the cracks, warm and steady. I pushed the door open. She was seated at the small table inside, her hair unbound, the years showing faintly at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t flinch when she saw me, didn’t rise, didn’t bow. Just stared, her hands folded neatly before her.

“Captain.” Her voice was quiet, almost reverent. “I wondered when you’d come.”
I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. The latch clicked like a pistol being cocked. “You knew I would.”
“Yes,” she said simply. “I did.”

The candle between us wavered, its light throwing her face in sharp relief, steady eyes, calm, unafraid. The kind of calm only born of guilt.

“You’ve changed this ship,” I said, letting my gaze wander the cabin. “Curtains, candles, soft colors. It smells of lavender, not salt. Tell me, Mauve, who gave you the right to strip my Serpent of her fangs?”
Her jaw tightened. “She was adrift, Captain. Someone had to lead her.”
“You took my ship.”
“I kept her alive.”
I leaned forward, letting the light catch the edge of my face. “You mean you tamed her.”

She didn’t look away. Brave, or foolish, I couldn’t decide.

“I did what I had to. The crew was broken after you vanished. They were frightened. James saw that.”
At the mention of his name, something in me twisted,slow, deliberate, venomous. “James.”
Mauve hesitated, then nodded. “He took command after the battle. You were gone. The Heart of Shadows had taken you, or so it seemed. None of us thought you lived. We saw you fall, Captain. We saw you vanish into the air, no body, no trace. The sea swallowed you.”
I circled the small room, dragging a hand along the wall, tracing the scratches and dents left by years of storms. “That was enough for you? A puff of smoke and you all believed I was dead?”
She looked down, her voice lowering. “It wasn’t just smoke, sir. You were gone in an instant. The Heart exploded, light and shadow like I’ve never seen. Every man on deck thought he’d seen the end of the world.”
I stopped behind her chair. “Yet, the world kept turning.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “James made sure of it.”
My hand clenched against the wall. The lantern flame flickered, stretching my shadow across her face. “So my brother takes my ship, my wife, and my name fades from every whisper of the sea, and you all just sail on, singing his praises.”
“James didn’t want praise,” Mauve said, turning slightly toward me. “He wanted peace. For her. For the crew. For himself.”
“Peace,” I repeated, the word bitter on my tongue. “That’s what cowards call surrender.”
She shook her head. “He was tired of blood. We all were.”
I laughed, low, harsh. “Tired of blood? Then you should have found another ocean.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Mauve didn’t speak again, and I could hear the faint sound of waves against the hull, the whisper of the ship breathing around us.

When she finally did speak, her voice was gentler, almost regretful. “You weren’t meant to return, Captain. The Heart should have taken you with it.”
“Here I am.”

The truth was, I didn’t know how I’d returned either. One moment, there had been nothing, a void, a heartbeat without a body, and the next, I was back on that cursed island, the Heart still beating faintly beneath my hand. It had brought me back for a reason. My gaze shifted to the corner of the room. The cradle sat there, small and crude, carved from one of my old storage chests. A scrap of blanket was draped over it, faintly embroidered, a woman’s touch, not Mauve’s. It had been my mother's. The child lay sleeping inside, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm with the sea’s sway. Strands of dark hair curled at her temples. I took a slow step toward her.

Mauve rose, instinctively, placing herself between me and the cradle. “She’s asleep,” she said. “Don’t wake her.”
I looked down at her, my expression unreadable. “You presume to tell me what I can and cannot do on my own ship?”
“No,” Mauve said carefully. “I’m asking.”

The gall of her almost amused me. Almost. I brushed past her, crouching beside the cradle. The lantern light fell over the child’s face.

“She has Isabella’s eyes,” Mauve said quietly.
I frowned. “No. James’s.”
Mauve hesitated, then nodded once. “Yes. Perhaps.”

I studied the girl. So small. So helpless. The idea that this fragile thing had been born from betrayal curdled my blood.

“She doesn’t know who I am,” I said finally, my voice low. “She doesn’t know the sea runs through her veins.”
“She doesn’t know hate, either,” Mauve replied. “Don’t give her that.”
The way she said it, firm, certain, made something in me snap. I straightened, turning on her. “You forget yourself, Mauve. You think because I bled once, because you sailed without me, that makes you my equal? You think your pity means anything to me?”
“I don’t pity you,” she said. “I fear what you’ve become.”
For a long time, I said nothing. Then I laughed, a low, broken sound that filled the small room. “What I’ve become? No, Mauve. I’ve remembered what I am. The sea’s chosen monster. The hand that drags the defiant down into the deep.”
Mauve didn’t move. “You were more than that once.”

Her words struck deeper than I expected. I turned away from her, toward the cradle again. The baby stirred, her small fist curling in the blanket. Her breath was soft, steady.
James’s daughter. Isabella’s child. Mine to decide.

I stared at the tiny form in the cradle. The lantern flame flickered again, throwing her shadow long against the wall. For the first time in years, I felt something close to uncertainty. The same feeling I’d had before a storm, when the sea went too still, when the wind held its breath.

“She’ll be trouble,” I said.
“Then she’ll be her mother’s daughter,” Mauve answered.

I didn’t respond. My eyes lingered on the child a moment longer, my thoughts dark and shifting. The sea always took back what belonged to her. That much I believed. Sometimes, she demanded payment in kind. Maybe this child was the debt. Maybe she was the curse. Maybe she was the key. I turned toward the door without another word, the lantern’s light catching the edge of the iron at my hip. Mauve didn’t stop me. I didn’t look back. The ship creaked, whispering in the dark, as if waiting for my decision. As I stepped into the corridor, the thought followed me like a shadow. What to do with the girl?