Fish Out of Water: The Catgirl Fishing Isekai

Making A Splash

 

Chapter 3

 

■

 

“I said stay close to me,” Bart repeated, for the third time.

 

“I’m trying!” I called back, for the third time, half running to catch up to him. “My legs aren’t as long as… as yours!”

 

I’d been about to say “as they used to be,” which would have just been confusing and suspicious.

 

I’d been trying to follow Bart’s instructions since we’d left the door of The Crooked Hook behind, but the moment I’d stepped out onto the street I’d froze in place, for the first time. The street that Felda’s tavern sat on was surprisingly busy, and I understood why as soon as I got a look at the rest of the buildings that flanked it. For starters, it was the last street before one hit the docks, so there were plenty of sailors and fishermen coming and going from both directions. And there also appeared to be several other taverns spread across the row, if the similar signage between them was any indication. The street-facing facade of each one bore a similar hanging sign, etched with a name and the symbol of two overflowing tankards, slightly tilted until their rims touched, and a large iron lantern set into the wall underneath it. I guessed lighting the lantern was a way to signal available vacancies, or something like that.

 

Across the street, I found the other reason for there being so much foot traffic: the shops. I could pick out multiple clothing and tailoring shops by the mannequins in their windows, two butchers shops, a general store, and a handful I couldn’t name but seemed to offer specialized services, like one I saw that seemed to sell nothing but barrels of varying sizes.

 

But the main attractions were the bakeries. I could smell them, the scent of fresh baked goods cutting through the other smells of people and meats and the sea like a hot knife cutting through butter, then spreading that butter on…

 

“Hey!” Bart barked, and I jumped.

 

“Sorry!” I sputtered. I’d stopped to stare in the window of another bakery, at the display shelves stocked with flaky pastries and treats. It’d happened so many times now I really couldn’t blame Bart for getting frustrated. “Everything just smells soooo good.”

 

“I’m not buying you anything,” Bart said, keeping his gaze fixed forward, ignoring the entire worlds of culinary delights we were passing by. “You just finished eating.”

 

“I wasn’t asking you to!” I protested. I knew by now that Bart had a pretty negative view of me, or, at least, of other cat people, so I knew better than to expect anything more than polite indifference from him. Now, if it had been Felda who I’d been walking with…

 

“Good,” Bart grumbled. At the very least, he wasn’t walking so fast that I had to hustle to keep up with him anymore. Still, if I was going to be staying at Felda’s place for the foreseeable future, I was not looking forward to seeing Bart every day. Actually, that raised another question.

 

“Sooooo…” I started, tilting my head up to see Bart’s face as we walked. “Are you and Felda married or something?”

 

“What?!” he spat, his brow furrowed, his eyes leaving the street and fixing on me.

 

“Well, you act like an old married couple, I just wondered—”

 

“No,” Bart cut me off, picking up his pace again. “We’re just old friends.”

 

“Huh,” I said, smirking to myself. At least I’d found one way to bother him right back if he kept being such a jerk.

 

After our initial slow start, we reached our destination fairly quickly. Situated at one of the corners where the street became a three-way intersection, a squat building with a unique design stood out. It resembled the public toilets you might find at a park or playground, a single building with two open doorways, blocked from the street by a pair of wooden walls that almost met in the middle. As we approached the structure, I spotted a figure waiting outside. They wore flowing, earth-toned robes, and their face was covered by a wooden mask with large, circular glass lenses. They were leaning on a staff which had a hook-shaped lump jutting out of it, from which hung a slotted metal box, and as we approached Bart drew something from his pockets and dropped it into the slot. The figure nodded, touching their fingers to the edge of their wide-brimmed hat.

 

“Who is that?” I asked, after we’d stepped inside the small dividing wall.

 

“One of the druids,” Bart explained.

 

“Oh,” I said, like I knew what that meant. “Do you… have to pay them to use the bathrooms?”

 

“No, they’re paid by the taxes the village collects, but it’s customary to make a small donation, if you can, to thank them for their services,” Bart elaborated, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

 

Huh. This fantasy fishing village had a surprising amount of infrastructure. I wondered what other public services there were…

 

“Well?” Bart prompted, and I jumped.

 

“Right,” I said, looking between the two open doorways, but there didn’t appear to be any kind of signage. “Uh, which one is which?”

 

“What do you mean?” Bart asked.

 

I blinked at him. He stared back at me.

 

I moved to the left and carefully peered inside. I saw a row of raised bowls that were obviously sinks, a line of wooden cubicles, and a raised trough against one wall. I jogged across to the right side and peeked in, and found the same setup.

 

Huh. Unisex toilets? How… progressive?

 

“Uh, nevermind,” I said to Bart, who was still watching me curiously, and ducked inside.

 

■

 

“That’s going to take some getting used to,” I said, several minutes later after rejoining Bart and following him up the street again. When Felda had mentioned the toilets were public I’d been picturing something else, like a few disgusting outhouses, not public facilities more well maintained than some restrooms I’d seen back on earth. The sinks even had little alcoves with several tiny bars of sweet, floral-scented soaps on them. I took another sniff at my fingers, and could still only smell vanilla.

 

“A lot of things down here aren’t going to be like what you’re used to,” Bart said, and I looked up at him. He was sort of right, but not for whatever reasons he thought he was. I still hadn’t worked out what he meant by “down here”, so until I did I was going to have to stick to just nodding.

 

Looking up from my hands, I finally noticed that we weren’t heading back down the street towards the tavern, but had instead taken the intersection and were proceeding further into the village.

 

“Where’re we going?” I asked.

 

“I have some things to do around town,” Bart said. “You can head back now, if you want.”

 

Oh, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.

 

“Nah, I’ll stick around,” I said, stretching my arms over my head. “I wana see what you’re up to.”

 

“Fine, but no more dawdling,” Bart said, and I could see his jaw working as he walked, and hid my smirk behind the back of my hand. Which just reminded me of how good they smelled, and how good those pastries had smelled. I really was going to have to see if I could get Felda to let me try some sometime.

 

Eventually, our path took us to the bustling main road, the one that I had glimpsed out the window of Felda’s bedroom, and the closer we got to it the more I noticed the vibe of the village changing. The buildings became bigger, and the street became even more well maintained, transitioning suddenly from bare, well-trampled earth roads to an actual paved street, with tightly packed rust-colored bricks. I’d expected walking on them to hurt, since I was still walking around without any shoes, but I didn’t feel any extra discomfort following Bart across the well-worn stones.

 

I also began to notice the people more, now that I didn’t have the intoxicating aromas of bread and sweets distracting me. Though they varied in cut and style, the clothes did not vary much from person to person. Most were dressed in simple shirts and pants like the pair I’d borrowed, but here and there I saw people dressed in more stand-out garb, like the women in long dresses and heavy aprons I saw occasionally, or the few people in flowing robes or colorful cloaks. I figured it was a matter of which people were locals, and which were out-of-towners, or maybe tourists.

 

And, I couldn’t help but notice that, as I looked at them more, many of the people looked back at me, and kept on looking, long after I’d looked away.

 

“Uuh… Why are people staring at me?” I asked, hunching my shoulders and moving a little closer to Bart’s side, almost unconsciously.

 

“Because you’re a catkin,” Bart answered, bluntly. “Most of them will have never seen your kind before, and the few who have would never have seen one in a place like this.”

 

“Really?” I asked. I’d been half keeping my eye out for any other cat people on the streets, but I’d mostly been seeing, well, humans, and one or two other dwarves, and a handful of people I couldn’t identify with pointed ears and bright, vibrant skin tones.

 

“What about other, uh… y’know…” Shit, what was the word he’d used for other animal people?

 

“Other beastkin?” he asked.

 

“Yeah, that!” I said, snapping my fingers and pointing up at him.

 

“We have a few around the village and in the outlying farms,” Bart said. He’d stopped walking to answer, and was now looking at me strangely.

 

“Ah, okay. But, cat people, er, catkin, are rare down here?” I asked, and that only made his stare intensify, his brow furrowing and pushing his thick, black eyebrows together.

 

“Yes,” he finally answered, and resumed walking. I got the distinct impression that I’d said something too unusual and he was on to me, but there was nothing I could do about that at the moment. I was spending all my spare brain power ignoring the onlookers.

 

I was glad once we finally stepped into a shop, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I thought that no longer towering over everyone would help ease some of my social anxieties, but it seemed it wouldn’t be that easy to overcome. Stepping away from the door, I raised my eyes and saw that we’d entered a… uh…

 

“What is this?” I asked Bart’s back.

 

The shop we’d entered was small, with most of its floor space taken up by two shelves completely loaded with little glass bottles, each one containing some kind of colorful liquid, or powder, or small circular pellets. The ceiling was strewn with lengths of rope from which hung tied-up bundles of plants or dried-out dead animals, and the whole place was overwhelmingly fragrant, like I was sticking my nose directly into the spice cabinet.

 

“Apothecary,” Bart answered, moving to the long glass counter, at which I saw a much older man weighing a pile of black powder on a little scale. Behind him was a floor-to-ceiling shelf with even more glass bottles of what I could only assume were potions. The man looked up, squinting through a pair of tiny, circular glasses balanced on the end of his nose.

 

“Oh, good afternoon Bart,” the older man said, his lined face scrunching up as he smiled, bending up from his work. “The usual then?”

 

“Afternoon, Alfred,” Bart replied, pulling something from his pocket. It was a small drawstring pouch, and he pulled from it a large silver coin, and set it on the glass countertop, while the old man moved to grab something from the many-drawered cabinet behind him. He came back with a metal tin with an image of a black leaf and a moon on it, and passed it off to Bart while collecting the coin with the other hand.

 

“What’s that?” I asked while Bart tucked the tin into his coat.

 

“You ask a lot of questions,” Bart said, and I narrowed my eyes up at him. He ignored me, and turned to leave.

 

“Oh! Hello there!” the old man said, stopping me just as I was about to turn and follow. He adjusted his glasses on the end of his nose and peered down at me across the counter. “Bart, who is this little critter?”

 

Bart, whose shoulders rose and fell very dramatically, turned back around.

 

“Nobody, Alfred, don’t worry—”

 

“I’m Sam,” I blurted out, standing on my toes so I could stick my arm over the counter. Alfred’s eyebrows went up and he smiled, taking my hand and shaking it.

 

“Oh, my pardons, I thought you were a lass,” Alfred said, chuckling politely.

 

“I am,” I said, then did a mental double take. Why had I corrected him? I wasn’t a “lass”, not technically, but that would take way more explaining. Alfred, for his part, looked as confused as I felt, but smiled nonetheless.

 

“Oh? Well, either way, I have something for you, Sam,” he said, once again rummaging around behind his counter. He came back with a wide-lipped glass jar and removed the top from it, holding it out towards me. Inside were several familiarly-shaped objects. They were little marble-sized spheres of something honey-colored, wrapped in translucent waxed paper. Just to confirm, I leaned forward and took a sniff.

 

“Hmm… butterscotch?” I asked, and Alfred beamed and nodded.

 

“Indeed! Have a couple,” he said, and I obliged and reached into the jar. I took two, dropping one in my pocket and unwrapping the other, popping it into my mouth. The taste was immediate and strong, the hard candy bathing my tongue in the taste of brown sugar and butter, with an aftertaste of something dark and smoky.

 

“Mmmmmh…” I hummed as I tasted it, working out the flavors in my head until I was sure I’d figured it out. “Are these made with... molasses?”

 

“That’s right! I guess it’s true what they say, you can’t sneak anything past a cat’s tongue, huh?” Alfred asked with a wheezy chuckle as he replaced the jar behind the counter. “Still, I didn’t think I’d see another catfolk in my lifetime. What brings you to our corner of the kingdom, little Sam?”

 

“Uuh…” I stammered, my brain churning up into overtime. I really hadn’t thought of any way to explain what I was doing there, or even where I’d come from before. I’d been letting Bart and Felda come to their own conclusions, and figured by the time one of them asked I’d have something to say, but this was too soon.

 

Behind me, Bart dramatically cleared his throat, and for once I was glad he was so rude and blunt.

 

“Uh, sorry, we’ve got a lot of stuff to do today!” I hastily explained.

 

“Oh, of course, don’t let me keep you. It was a treat meeting you, Sam. Until next time, Bart,” Alfred said amicably, bending down to resume his work on the scales.

 

“Bye, thanks for the candy,” I said, walking backwards after Bart and returning to the streets. Once we were back outside I took several deep breaths to clear my head of the smoky, fog filled air of the apothecary.

 

“Phew, “ I breathed, looking up to Bart. “Thanks for the save.”

 

“Alfred is nice, but he will talk your entire day away if you let him,” Bart said, once again taking off down the street with purpose in his steps.

 

“Yeah, I got that,” I said, working the slowly melting lump of candy back and forth in my mouth. It seemed like old folks could be counted on to be the same everywhere, fantasy world or not.

 

“He won’t be the last one to ask,” Bart said, and when I looked up questioningly, he continued: “Where you came from, what you’re doing here. That’s why it’d be best if you keep quiet, and don’t draw more attention to yourself.”

 

“Uh huh…” I said, rolling my eyes. If he thought that would be enough to get me to clam up for the rest of the trip, he had another thing coming.

 

Still, it did remind me that, when the time came, I was going to have to have answers ready for those questions. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d simply been banking on never having to explain myself, and letting everyone make their own assumptions, but that was just easier than the alternative. And way easier than the truth. How did I possibly explain that before I’d woken up in Felda’s bed, I’d been an entirely different person. That I came from an entirely different world. That I’d been a human, and a… a…

 

I shook my head. I couldn’t explain it. I’d sound delusional, or worse. No, for the time being, I’d just coast, I’d learn what I could and let people believe what they wanted.

 

Besides, I wasn’t about to let Bart get away with such an obvious deflection.

 

“Speaking of questions,” I said, sidling up beside Bart again, “You didn’t answer mine. What was that you bought back there?”

 

The way he twitched, he’d obviously assumed I’d just completely forgotten about his dodging the question only minutes ago. He sighed again and kept his eyes fixed on the road.

 

“Tea,” he answered.

 

“Oh, special tea?” I followed up, rapid-fire.

 

“Yes,” he said, starting to show his teeth slightly as he talked. “It helps me sleep.”

 

“Oooooooh,” I said. I supposed that explained the moon on the container. “You have insomnia then? That’s rough.”

 

Again, Bart broke his stoic stare to give me a look, and I cursed internally. Something about me was standing out to him as unusual, I was sure of it. It would be so much easier if I could meet another catkin and learn how they were supposed to be, but it sounded like that was highly unlikely for the time being. I just had to hope no one else was as familiar with them as Bart seemed to be.

 

Still, I supposed maybe I’d pestered Bart enough for one day, and he had answered my questions in the end, so I kept my mouth shut for a while as we walked, and studiously avoided asking any more questions.

 

We made two more stops on the main street, first to one of the many general stores, where Bart picked up a pouch of tobacco and a couple spools of thread. Second, we entered a store that seemed to specialize in preserved foods, the bins on their shelves stocked full of long strips of dried meats and jerkies, the scents of which set me drooling again, as well as stacks of hard breads and cheeses, dried fruits, and salted fish. Apparently, Bart was pre-paying for a delivery of fresh food stocks to be delivered to the docks and loaded onto his boat, and again I watched him handle several more of those silver coins. I’d have to remember to ask Felda to explain the currency they used around here to me sometime.

 

“We’re almost done,” Bart said, seemingly out of nowhere. “We just have one…” He stopped, and though I think he tried to hide it, he glanced at me out of the corners of his eyes before amending his statement. “... Two more stops to make.”

 

“Okay?” I said, finding that I was slightly out of breath. I did have to take two or three steps for every one that Bart did, and he had been setting a pretty brisk pace. It wasn’t just that my legs were a lot shorter, but my body also seemed out of shape, or underused, and I was going to have to work to build up its stamina. Now I knew how Morgan must have felt, before her parents made her take those classes at the gym.

 

Bart let me set the pace, thankfully, and we arrived at another shop with a wide street-facing display window in the front. Behind the glass, I saw several tall pairs of sturdy looking boots, and further inside, I could make out more boots and shoes in various stages of completion sitting on shelves and hanging on racks.

 

A shoe store? Or, what would it be called for them, a cobbler?

 

“You need new shoes?” I asked, looking down at Bart’s own pair of well-trodden black boots.

 

“No, you do,” Bart said, and I blinked. “I know you might prefer it, but you can’t keep walking around barefoot. It’s a miracle you haven’t trod in something or hurt yourself already.”

 

I had been keeping my eyes open for horse apples on the road, but I got his point. It still didn’t change one fundamental fact though.

 

“I don’t have any money,” I said.

 

“I know,” Bart replied, putting his hand on the door and pushing it open, heading inside.

 

Hmm. A sudden change of heart? Or was maybe Felda putting him up to it? Either way I hope he didn’t expect me to pay him back any time soon.

 

I followed Bart inside and found him at the counter, talking with a stocky blonde woman in a heavy leather apron and thick brown gloves. When she caught sight of me, her eyes went wide and she slapped both hands down on the wooden counter, leaning over it to get a closer look at me.

 

“Oh. My. Goodness!” she said, making no effort to hide her delight at meeting me. I was starting to recognize a pattern. “Look at you! I could jus’ eat you up!”

 

Chuckling modestly, I approached the counter, sticking my arm out for another handshake, but she was having none of that, and raised a cut-out portion of the counter so she could come out and, with speed and strength I hadn’t expected, lifted me off the ground in a crushing bear hug.

 

“Nyeh!” I yelped in protest, kicking my legs in the air behind me.

 

“Oh! Sorry hon’, I jus’ cain’t help m’self around cute things like you,” she said, thankfully placing me back on the ground, where I hunched over with my hands on my knees and caught my breath.

 

“That’s… okay…” I panted. I was pretty sure I’d felt my spine let out several pops when she’d squeezed me, but I wasn’t going to hold that against her. Not so soon after she’d held me against her, anyway. “I’m… Sam…”

 

“Sam, huh?” the woman said, giving me a considering look up and down. I’d thought this world wouldn’t be completely unfamiliar with the idea of girls going by masculine names, but I supposed that was why I’d picked the name I had.

 

“It’s short for Samantha,” I explained, and the woman made a noise of comprehension.

 

“Ooooh!” Then, after thinking for only a few moments, she grinned at me and asked, “An’ what’s Samantha short for?”

 

“What?” I asked.

 

“Because she din’t eat her veggies growin’ up!” she answered, and burst out laughing, raising her hand to slap me on the back, then, thinking better of it, slapped Bart’s back instead. Bart let out a groan on my behalf, because I was still too stunned to react. Was that a short joke? Was I going to have to get used to those now too?

 

After she’d calmed down, the woman gave me a more serious look and put one heavy gloved hand to her chin.

 

“Still, Samantha huh? Cain’t say I ever heard that name. S’cute though, jus’ like you,” she said, sticking out her other hand. “The name’s Claire! Claire Perkins, and Barty-boy here tells me you’re in need of some fine footwear?”

 

“Uh, that’s right,” I said, glancing briefly at Bart. His jaw was working again, and I was beginning to worry about his teeth. I wonder if he was regretting this act of kindness already.

 

“Well, let’s see ‘em then!” Claire said, moving forward and putting both hands on my shoulders, spinning me around and ushering me towards the far end of the shop, where a row of raised chairs were set against the wall atop a raised platform. I climbed up the short staircase and dropped into one of the chairs, and Claire produced a wooden box with an angled top and a raised edge at the bottom, indicating for me to rest one of my feet on top of it.

 

“Hmm, looks like you’re ‘bout an eight and a half, maybe nine,” Claire declaired, er, declared after looking at the notches for a moment. “But them claws, those might be tricky. Can you retract ‘em any more than that?”

 

That was an excellent question. I had actually completely forgotten that I had those until she’d mentioned them, and as I looked down at them, I tried to focus on feeling out whatever new muscles controlled them. I was pretty sure I felt something, and flexed it, a sensation running through my foot and up my ankles as the claws extended several inches.

 

“Woah,” I said, a little surprised at how long they turned out to be. I could probably do some serious damage if I kicked someone with those. I wondered how long the claws on my fingers got. Then, remembering this was the opposite of what I was supposed to be doing, I tried my best to reverse the feeling and… un-flex the muscles? My claws retracted, but not much further than they had been when I’d first started.

 

“Looks like a no then, and probably best to do away with anythin’ closed at the front,” Claire mused, standing up again. “Don’ you worry though, I got plenty a’ pairs of stylish sandals for the discernin’ beastfolk!”

 

With that, she disappeared behind the counter, and then through a hanging curtain, into the back of the shop. Bart, finally recovered from Claire’s initial reaction to meeting me, wandered over.

 

“She’s a lot, huh?” I said, quietly, and Bart let out a sigh.

 

“She’s from one of the colonies,” Bart explained.

 

“I see,” I said, nodding my head. One day, that trick might stop working, but not this day. That also probably explained why her accent was so different; it sounded almost like a southern accent that had wandered off and gotten lost.

 

“Uh…” I started to speak again, but immediately stopped. I still wasn’t sure if this sudden turn was of Bart’s own doing or not, but I figured maybe it was his attempt at extending an olive branch, of sorts. “Thanks… for this, by the way.”

 

Bart didn’t say anything for several seconds, and I was almost convinced I’d judged the situation wrong, but he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and turned his whole body away, looking across the shop.

 

“You’re welcome, Sam,” he muttered, and I felt a smirk coming on.

 

You are a puzzle box, Bart, but I’m going to solve you.

 

Finally, in a flurry of movement and curtain flapping, Claire returned with a small wooden box, loaded up with what I at first assumed were loose strips of leather, but were in fact, several pairs of sandals, the style that were mainly a sole and several straps that kept it held against the foot.

 

“Okay, let’s try these!”

 

I spent the next several minutes trying on pair after pair of sandals. I immediately vetoed any of the ones with even a slightly raised heel, and decided I wasn’t a fan of the kind with ultra thin straps that went all the way up my shins. It felt a little too showy for me, so we started trying the pairs with thicker, bulkier straps, until I found the pair I liked the most.

 

It was a sturdy pair with a thick sole of supple, dark leather, and broad straps of a brighter, reddish leather held in place with three simple buckles, one across the area just above my toes, one that wrapped around the bridge from the heel, and one that sat just above the ankle.

 

“A good choice, those,” Claire was saying while I was doing the customary awkward stomping shamble around the shoe store trying to get a feel for a new pair of footwear. “Those’re runner’s sandals, got a good grip on ‘em, an’ they’ll last you a long time I reckon. F’they don’t, bring ‘em right back and I’ll get ‘em fixed right up, no sweat!”

 

“They’re great,” I agreed, doing a little jogging in place. For how sturdy they felt, they were surprisingly light. I actually could see myself taking up running in them. Which, considering my abysmal stamina, a bit of cardio probably wouldn’t go astray.

 

“How much,” Bart asked, and I felt my heart sink a little. I had no frame of reference for any of the currency, but I couldn’t imagine a pair of handmade shoes, especially a pair this nice, would be cheap.

 

“Well, let’s see,” Claire said, making a show of bringing a hand to her chin again. “Let’s call it… five clams.”

 

Uh, what? They didn’t seriously use clams as money around here did they? No, I’d seen Bart hand over those coins, maybe that was just a name for the currency?

 

“Claire…” Bart started to say, only for Claire to throw an arm around his shoulder and laugh boisterously. Then, something weird happened.

 

“Ah ha ha, I know Bart, it’s quite a steal, huh?” Claire said loudly, more loudly than usual, and then, she did… something to her voice, because when she spoke next she sounded somehow different in a way that made my brain hurt trying to figure it out. “Don’t worry, you can pay me the rest when she’s not around.”

 

Huh?

 

What was that supposed to be? Did she think I couldn’t still hear her? She hadn’t even lowered her voice that much, but she was clearly acting like the conversation was only between her and Bart for that moment. Bart looked from her, to me, then sighed and pulled the little pouch from his pocket again.

 

“Alright… Sam, you be sure to thank Claire for giving us a deal,” Bart said, pulling out five of those large silver coins and handing them over to Claire. So, those were clams. One mystery solved. But, he definitely also seemed to think I hadn’t heard what Claire had said to him. I thought about calling them both out on it, but I had a very strong feeling that that would be moving beyond suspicious and straight into alarming.

 

And I really liked the sandals.

 

“T-thank you!” I blurted out, putting as much genuine enthusiasm into it as I could.

 

“Hey, don’ mention it! Actually, do mention it, tell your friends to visit ol’ Claire for all their footwear needs!” Claire said, putting her hands on her hips and grinning.

 

My friends, huh? The last time I’d seen any people that could be considered my friends had been… the party… on the boat… Mandy had put the whole thing together. She’d gotten her parents’ permission to use their lakehouse; said she wanted to get all of us together before we all went off to college. Before they all went off to college…

 

“Sam?”

 

Bart’s bassy voice brought me crashing back into the present and I looked up from the floor, which I’d been boring holes into, and blinked my eyes a few times.

 

“Huh? S-sorry, I was, uh… just thinking about something,” I said, clearing my throat a few times. Just as I was wishing I had some water, Bart pressed a canteen into my hands. I mumbled a “thanks,” or maybe just thought about mumbling it, and took several greedy gulps. When I lowered the canteen and could see again, I found both of them, Bart and Claire, looking at me with such naked concern on their faces that it made my stomach lurch.

 

“I’m… I’ll… outside!” I stammered, shoving Bart’s canteen back into his hands and bolting from the store.

 

■

 

I spent several minutes with my back pressed against the cold glass pane of the display window in front of Claire’s shop, just sucking in huge gulps of fresh air and trying to wrestle my jackhammering heart back under my control. Both my back and my brow felt slick with sweat, and the worst part was, I couldn’t even understand why.

 

I could sense Bart hovering over me before I even opened my eyes, but when I did I found him, looking not at me, but out at the bustling street.

 

“Are you—” he began to ask, but I wasn’t going to give him the chance to start pitying me.

 

“I’m fine,” I said, jumping to my feet. “We’ve still got one stop left, right? Let’s go.”

 

I took a few steps, but of course I didn’t know where we were going, so I turned, looking at Bart and tapping my foot impatiently. He met my glare, and his face looked so sad I just wanted to punch it.

 

“Alright. Felda needs a couple extra loaves from one of the bakeries,” Bart said, picking up his feet and starting to walk. Slowly, so I could keep up. “I’ll… get you something, while we’re there.”

 

“I said I’m fine,” I groused, roughly rubbing my palm against one of my eyes. It was stinging again.

 

Fuck. Fuck.

 

I had mostly gotten ahold of myself by the time we reached the first street, the one that led back to the crooked hook and was lined with so many shops that leaked such sweet smelling scents into the air. I no longer felt like I was about to crumble to pieces, but I was still angry, both at Bart for acting like he needed to handle me like a delicate china plate now, and myself for making him think that. But, the further down the street we walked, and the more of the delicious air I breathed in, the more my rage boiled away, until it was reduced to a bare simmer.

 

Finally, we stopped, as Bart seemed to have picked out one of the bakeries for us to enter. I honestly wouldn’t have known how to make such a choice, as they all looked and smelled quite similar. But, before I followed him inside, I noticed that the sign hanging above this one was different from the others. It still bore the iconic symbol of a loaf of bread fresh from the oven, but the sign itself was shaped not like a simple square, but as an oval, with a pair of protrusions at the top.

 

Huh… looks kinda like a…

 

Then, I entered the store, and saw the woman behind the counter.

 

R-rabbit!

 

The woman behind the counter was tall, really tall, but instead of being built like Felda was, she was lean. She wore a long blue and white dress with short sleeves, and an apron that looked to be made of some sturdy canvas-like material, and heavily dusted with loose flour. Her skin was a tanned, caramel color and was contrasted by her hair, which was a snowy white with a hint of silver, worn in a long braid. And, there were two rabbit ears sticking out of the top of her head.

 

“Oh, what a surprise, hey there, Bart,” the woman said, turning her head to smile in our direction, and one of her huge ears flicked slightly.

 

Oh my god. Is this how everyone feels when they look at me? No wonder no one can take me seriously!

 

I tried not to let my mouth hang open as I followed Bart up to the counter, but I was almost certainly staring at her.

 

“Afternoon, Bonnie,” Bart said, and I had to bite down on my tongue. Her name was Bonnie? Did she have any idea how cute that was?

 

Bart fished around in one of the pockets of his jacket and pulled out a folded square of paper, passing it over the counter to the rabbit woman.

 

“Felda needs these, said she’ll pay you first thing next Solday,” Bart said, and Bonnie nodded her head, while I was struck by the realization that this place also had different names for the days, and I was going to have to figure out what they were quick, before anybody found out I didn’t know them.

 

“Oh, sure, let me go get these for… you…” Bonnie trailed off, her eyes skimming right off the list and onto me. “Well, hello, I didn’t see you down there.”

 

“You’re very… tall!” I blurted out, and bit my tongue again. I wasn’t sure what I’d been about to say, “cute” or “pretty,” but whatever it was it was definitely not something to just say to a stranger.

 

“I am!” Bonnie agreed with a giggle. “So, you’re the new demi-human everyone around town is buzzing about?”

 

“E-everyone?” I stammered, feeling myself shrink towards the floor. It was true that I’d noticed a lot of people staring at me during our trip, but had they also been talking about me too? With my head swimming, I looked to Bart, my only other anchor point at the moment, and he gave me an apologetic shrug.

 

“It’s a small town. People like to gossip,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t worry too much about it, things will settle back down soon, long as you don’t do anything to draw extra attention to yourself.”

 

Shit, so that’s what he’d meant earlier. Well, I was thankful that I’d still managed to heed his warning and, aside from that small bit of unpleasantness in the shoe store, not done anything to make myself worthy of more than a second glance. I just had to keep it up until we got back to the tavern, and I was golden.

 

“Wait,” I said, eager to jump the conversation onto a new topic. “You said ‘demi-human?’”

 

“Yes? Oh, that’s right, you’re a cat, you probably wouldn’t have heard…” Bonnie said, turning around from pulling several long loaves of fragrant bread from the pair of warmers behind the counter and sliding them into a brown paper bag. “But, that’s been spreading amongst those of us down here, as a better word than beastkin, y’know? They say it’s to remind people that we’re still people too.”

 

I tried, and failed, to stop myself from glancing sideways up at Bart. He was at least looking appropriately guilty. Well, I hadn’t known, so I couldn’t have corrected him, but it was something to keep in mind for the future, and it definitely brought back some of that simmering resentment I’d almost completely let go of.

 

“Well, anyway, I’m Bonnie, it’s nice to meet you…?”

 

“Uh, Samantha! But, call me Sam,” I said, and she gave me a warm smile and bowed her head slightly.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Sam, feel free to stop by anytime,” she said, then lifting her head she passed the paper sack full of bread to Bart. “Here’s your loaves, Bart, will there be anything else?”

 

“Actually, yes,” Bart said, and I couldn’t miss the surprise on Bonnie’s face. I guessed Bart usually didn’t stick around long, if he regularly made pick-ups for Felda like this. “I’ll take two pastries.”

 

“Oh, what kind?” Bonnie asked, and Bart cleared his throat and looked down to me.

 

“What kind do you like?” he asked, like I would know the answer instantly.

 

“Uuuh…” I peered down into the tilted viewing window of the glass countertop, at the neatly arranged rows of delicate pastries, some of them dusted with what looked like powdered sugar, some coated in chocolate, all of them absolutely mouthwatering. Literally, I realized, bringing a sleeve up to my lips.

 

“Something, uh, jelly-filled?” I ventured.

 

“Oh, I have plenty of danishes, over here.” Bonnie smiled, motioning to her left, at a shelf of circular pastries the size, and thickness, of a hockey puck. The centers were piled with a generous amount of delicious looking fruity jams, and then drizzled with a creamy looking icing. I felt my eyes go wide as I took them in and decided, yes, I definitely wanted a danish.

 

Wait, danishes? Do they have a Denmark here?

 

I decided that the danishes looked too delicious for me to question their existence for the time being. It was hard to decide which of the vibrantly-colored jams I wanted a taste of the most, but in the end the one that won out was a deep, midnight purple, and I pointed it out to Bonnie.

 

“That one,” I said, and she leaned closer to see my choice.

 

“Oh, the blueberry?” she asked, and I nodded my confirmation. Grabbing a pair of wooden tongs from a hook, she lifted one from the row, then stopped and glanced over to Bart. “Will you be taking them with you?”

 

“We can sit a while,” Bart said, and I realized I’d never gotten a proper look at the bakery, since the first thing I’d seen upon entering had been Bonnie. Casting a quick glance around, the first thing I noticed was that there were indeed several small tables situated around the outer edges of the bakery. Tables that definitely had people at them, who had probably been watching me since I entered.

 

Turning away from the tables, I peered behind the counter, where a wide, open doorway led into an even bigger kitchen area than the one that Felda had. I could see a large central table, even more coated in flour than Bonnie’s apron, and one of presumably several ovens against the wall.

 

“Here you are,” Bonnie said, snapping my eyes from the back of her kitchen to the danish, resting on a little cloth napkin in the center of a wooden platter.

 

“T-thank you!” I said, gratefully accepting the plate with both hands. Bart had a plate of his own, and I spent several seconds looking up at him, wondering when he was going to move towards one of the tables, before I realized he was waiting for me to choose.

 

That was an easy choice. I headed towards the back of the shop, further away from the wide windows, and dropped into a seat at the table tucked into the back corner. That meant I had two walls to my back, and could see the whole store from where I was sitting, and for some reason that made me feel much better.

 

Bart sat down in an adjacent chair, setting his plate before him, but made no movement to start eating his danish. I’d briefly entertained the idea of waiting a few minutes, maybe trying to strike up some casual conversation with Bart, but in the end I couldn’t resist the intoxicating aroma of sweet baked goods that I was practically drowning in.

 

I lifted the danish and took a massive bite.

 

It wasn’t anywhere near as affecting as when I ate the seafood earlier, but it was still one of the best pastries I’d ever eaten. The crust itself was incredibly fluffy, with just the right amount of buttery taste worked into every layer. The cream drizzled across the top was also more tangy than I’d expected, more like a cream cheese than a frosting. But the real star of the show was the blueberry jelly, of which there was way more in that first bite than I’d been expecting. It was sweet, sugary and tart, with a hint of acidity, and despite not even being finished with my first one, I was already scheming of ways to get Bart to give me his.

 

I slowed down my overzealous eating as I continued to work through the treat, but every time I looked up, Bart still hadn’t even started on his. He had even pulled that book out of his pocket again, and was reading it, while the heavenly snack sat waiting on his plate, completely untouched.

 

Finally, I finished every last crumb of my own danish and let out a satisfied sigh, using the cloth napkin to wipe my mouth clean.

 

“That was soooooo good…” I sighed, feeling a sense of deja vu. Then, I waited approximately two seconds before casually asking. “Aren’t you going to eat yours?”

 

“Hmm?” Bart looked up from his book, like he’d forgotten I was there. “Oh, finished?”

 

He noted my empty plate and then, amazingly, slid his towards me as well.

 

I wanted to pounce on the surprise extra treat. I almost did, my hands itching to sink into that pillowy crust, my tongue longing for another taste of blueberry filling. But, as I leaned in for the kill, Bart’s words from before suddenly floated through my mind.

 

Useless… Too aloof, too flighty, too easily distracted to support themselves… contributes nothing and eats more than a growing child…

 

I lowered my hands, which had been poised to grab the danish and lever let go, and instead set them on the sides of the plate, sliding it back across the table towards Bart.

 

“Uh, n-no, that’s okay,” I said, and Bart looked up from his book again. “It’s really good, you should at least try it, I… I insist.”

 

Bart stared at me, and I stared back. We were still, basically, strangers. I didn’t know anything about him, or his long and storied past, or why he was the way he was, and he didn’t know anything about me, because I couldn’t tell him anything about me, because the “me” that existed in this world only came into being yesterday. I still wasn’t entirely sure why, but for some reason the two of us had started off on the wrong foot. Bart may have started out unable to hide how little he already thought of me, but I hadn’t exactly made it easy for him to get a better picture of me over the course of the day, either.

 

So, maybe, I could make a real effort at starting over, and let him eat the damn danish.

 

Hesitantly, Bart’s hand came up, and he pinched the danish between his thumb and middle finger, lifting it up and taking a comparatively much more conservative bite. And I’ll admit, as I watched the look of enjoyment that he failed to stop from spreading across his face, I felt a little jealous. But, the contented feeling I felt welling up in my chest was almost as good as getting a whole second danish to myself. I sat back in my chair and let my eyes, and my mind wander, while Bart slowly ate his pastry and read his book, and, for a time, I felt at peace with everything once again.

 

And then, the bell jingled, the door to the bakery roughly pushed open, and in walked the biggest asshole I’d ever meet.

 

■ ■

 

Morgan

The Sea of Blades - Serday the 10th, First-Quarter of Summer, The Night of the Four Stars

 

Morgan held her breath.

 

Despite what she'd just told herself, that these pirates likely wouldn't resort to senseless violence for no reason, she was still having trouble remaining calm. That may have been true for historical pirates, but she wasn't in the past, she was… somewhere else. Another world, where things were different, and fantastical creatures were real. Technically, she counted as one.

 

She only hoped that, whatever the pirates had come for, they'd take it quickly and leave.

 

“Red Molly,” the captain of the fishing vessel said, with obvious disdain.

 

“Silas,” the woman in red, appropriately named Red Molly, replied with a sharp-toothed grin.

 

The two captains stared each other down, every tense second that passed feeling like it took another year off Morgan's lifespan. From her vantage point behind him, Morgan saw Silas’ hand start to move, discreetly slipping into one of his pockets.

 

Oh no, is he going for a weapon!?

 

“W-wait!” Morgan shouted, a second too late, as Silas drew something from his pocket and flung it towards Red Molly.

 

All eyes turned towards her, including Red Molly's, causing her to miss her grab for the little black pouch Silas had tossed at her. It hit her square in the face and bounced off, hitting the deck with a metallic clatter, and Red Molly reeled back, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

 

“Ah, fuck!” Red Molly swore, hunching forward and hissing through her teeth.

 

 

“Let me see…” the bandage-wrapped figure said quietly, their voice flat but distinctly feminine.

 

“I'm fine, Poppy,” Red Molly said, her voice going nasal from her holding her nose. Poppy persisted, and Red Molly relented, dropping her hand. She leaned in for a closer look, and Morgan's already hammering heart skipped a beat.

 

They're going to kill me!

 

“It's not broken…” Poppy concluded after a few moments, and Red Molly sighed, rolling her magenta-tinged eyes.

 

“I know that!” she huffed, bending down and plucking the pouch off the deck. She loosened the string at the top, and Morgan saw her pull out and inspect several thick coins made of dark metal.

 

Those look really heavy, Morgan observed, which only heightened her certainty that she was doomed.

 

“Well, I was going to wait until our business was concluded to ask, but…” Red Molly trailed off, handing the pouch off to Poppy. Which seemed odd to Morgan, as she didn't appear to have any pockets, while Red Molly had plenty.

 

“Why is there a naked woman sitting on your deck, Silas,” Red Molly asked, fixing her stare on Morgan. She felt herself shrinking and pulled her knees tighter against her chest.

 

“Don't rightly know, we were just about to figure that out before you lot showed up,” Silas said, casting a glance her way, but thankfully not staring like the other captain was.

 

“O-oh, I, uh… I woke up in the ocean, a-and I didn't know where I was, thought I was dreaming. I was chasing a… a weird-looking fish, and I think it led me into your net on purpose…” Morgan stammered out, looking between the two of them and trying to ignore the other thirty or so people on the deck who were also listening to her.

 

“Really?” Red Molly hummed, arching one dark red eyebrow.

 

“Honestly, when I spotted your ship approachin’, I thought she was one a’ yours, and you were testing out another ‘distraction’ on me,” Silas said, scratching his head.

 

“No, never seen this gal before, but that ain’t a half-bad idea…” Red Molly said, trailing off and rubbing her chin. “Well, no matter! Poppy, better give her a check, make sure she didn’t hit her head, or eat some poisonous urchins or somethin’.”

 

Poppy nodded her head, and padded across the deck on silent feet, approaching a much more confused than scared Morgan, who did her best not to stare as she knelt in front of her.

 

“Hold still,” Poppy ordered, her voice surprisingly soft and even, and Morgan complied, not jerking away when her unexpectedly-cold fingers came to rest on the sides of her head. She felt her poking through her hair, hair she hadn’t realized she had, actually, and checking for any signs of injury around her scalp area.

 

Is… is she a doctor?

 

Usually, doctors wouldn’t willingly volunteer to serve on a pirate ship, but Morgan was rapidly starting to realize her many points of reference to real Earth history weren’t going to be as helpful here as she’d maybe hoped. She didn’t know anything about the way pirates or doctors worked in this world, so maybe they were actually really common.

 

Morgan let her mind fixate on those topics, so she could more easily ignore Poppy’s increasingly thorough examination of her.

 

“Open your mouth,” Poppy said, and Morgan let out a strangled squeak before doing just that. Poppy leaned in for a closer look, and Morgan felt her train of thought go spiraling.

 

Get ahold of yourself! she screamed inside her head. This is not the time!

 

But, try as she might, she couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering back to examine what little of Poppy’s face she could see, or her nose from picking up her scent — like sea water, and a strange hint of antiseptic — or wondering if she and the captain were—

 

“Give me your arm,” Poppy said, and Morgan shut her mouth with a snap and stuck her arm out, the movement stiff and robotic. Poppy hesitated, and Morgan got the impression she was staring at her, before she reached up and took her arm in one hand, turning it over and laying two of her fingers across the spot where her wrist met her palm.

 

“Your heart is beating very fast,” Poppy observed, and Morgan felt her throat close up again.

 

Sharks can’t blush, right? Humans are the only animals that can, but this world has way more than just humans in it .

 

“You have no reason to be afraid,” Poppy stated plainly, thankfully misdiagnosing the source of Morgan’s elevated heart rate. “Captain Molly won’t harm you. She is only here to bother Captain Shortbranch, and to deliver his goods.”

 

Huh. So his name was Silas Shortbranch? Under different circumstances, she might immediately begin to wonder if nature-y themed family names were a ubiquitous elf thing, or if it was just a coincidence, but she had bigger things to think about at the moment.

 

“May I draw some of your blood?” Poppy asked, and Morgan jumped. She nodded, as she didn’t see anything wrong with that, but she wondered where on her body Poppy was keeping whatever equipment she was going to use to safely draw, and store, her blood for analysis.

 

She got her answer when Poppy leaned down to the outstretched arm they still held, and opened her mouth, revealing an array of needle-sharp teeth. Once again, Morgan squeaked like a field mouse as Poppy’s mouth closed around her wrist, and though she felt some momentary discomfort, there was no pain from the tiny teeth. Her head swam, and not just from the sudden drop in blood pressure she knew she was probably experiencing.

 

A-a-a vampire?

 

After only a short moment, Poppy’s lips left her skin, and she looked up. Her tongue, which was a pale pink color and came to a sudden forked point, quickly flicked across her lips, ensuring there was no blood left behind.

 

“Mmm… No poisons or toxins I can detect,” Poppy mused, while her tail appeared over her shoulder. The blunt tip widened, and opened, revealing a more circular copy of her mouth, complete with even more sharp teeth. A few drops of clear, cool fluid dripped from the second mouth onto the circular bite marks on her wrist, and Poppy used two fingers to spread it before using a fresh roll of cloth gauze to wrap the wound, tying it tight.

 

No. Not a vampire. A leech!

 

“So, you really were tricked into a net by a fish?” Poppy asked.

 

“Y-y-yeah,” Morgan replied, taking her arm back and using it to squeeze her knees tighter, tucking her chin between them.

 

“Hmm,” Poppy hummed, rising to her feet. “Well, I hope you are more careful in the future.”

 

“I-I will be!” Morgan called after her, then groaned internally. She sounded so desperate!

 

Eager to distract herself from that whole debacle, she took in the state of affairs on the ship and what had changed since she’d been distracted by the impromptu checkup.

 

Several crates were in the process of being ferried over from Molly’s ship to Silas’, the first of which was being hauled up with the assistance of the cranes as Morgan watched. The crate was set down on the deck and at Silas’s instruction, two crew members with crowbars set to work prying the lid off. Morgan couldn’t see what was inside, until Silas reached in with a laugh, and held up a large glass bottle filled with a dark red liquid.

 

“Ha ha, Molly, you despicable sea witch you!” Silas exclaimed, turning the bottle in his hands and inspecting it. “I can’t believe you actually managed it!”

 

“What is it, Captain?” one of the sailors asked, moving to peer over Silas’s shoulder.

 

“Three crates of Primrose Vintage,” Silas explained, holding the bottle’s top towards the curious fisherman. “Made from only the finest winter blackberries, in the heart of the Empire.”

 

“Cor,” another sailor said, also wandering close for a look. “That stuff goes for five silver crescents a bottle back on the mainland. How much did you give ‘er, cap?”

 

“Three iron ten-pieces a crate, and worth every bit of it,” Silas said, bringing the bottle to his lips and kissing it. “Oh, you’ve outdone yourself this time, Molly.”

 

“What can I say, I live to please,” Molly said, adopting a casual pose against the ship’s railing, taking another bite of her half-eaten fruit, sending more juices down her chin and staining her cocky grin scarlet. And also her shirt, which Morgan assumed was the reason she wore so much black.

 

“Calloway,” Silas snapped, one of the sailors jumping to attention and saluting.

 

“Aye, cap’n?”

 

“Go on down to the hold, bundle up one of those giant Red Tuna we picked up, and ten of those Fencer Crabs,” Silas said, and the sailor named Calloway bustled off to complete his orders. Turning to Molly and the arrayed crew of pirates, who were looking suddenly a bit less intimidating and a lot more amicable, he grinned. “I want you and your crew eatin’ like kings tonight.”

 

“Then you’d better have more for us than a tuna and some dinky little crabs,” Molly said, grinning back, then jerked her head in the direction of the ship. “I’m sure Balthazar will be delighted to hear, though. He’s got a new recipe for crab cakes he’s been dying to try out.”

 

Huh.

 

By now, Morgan’s heart rate had completely settled, and she’d allowed herself to just sit and casually observe the events unfolding in front of her like she was simply watching the world’s most immersive movie.

 

So, the pirates don’t just attack everyone indiscriminately, they have people they’re on friendly terms with. And, these pirates at least, have a side hustle for smuggling highly-prized goods out of this so-called Empire. I can only imagine the cost of acquiring these crates legitimately is much higher, and probably includes additional taxes or fees, making this a much more desirable option for ships looking to flip the wares at a profit.

 

“How did you get them?” Morgan found herself asking aloud, before she could stop herself. When Red Molly, who looked like she’d forgotten she was there, turned towards her, she cleared her throat and clarified. “The crates, I mean, how did you get them?”

 

A few of the other pirates shared a chuckle at the question, but Red Molly looked like she was more than happy to answer what, in retrospect, was a bit of a silly question.

 

“We took them, of course!” Red Molly exclaimed, throwing her arms wide, and Morgan saw Poppy behind her bringing one hand to her hidden face in an obvious gesture of exasperation. “From a big fat-bellied schooner that thought it could sneak past us through a fog bank in the night. I tell you, our old friend Admiral Aurelio was not pleased to see me treading upon his decks again!”

 

“You had to start her off, didn’t you?” Silas grumbled good-naturedly when Molly paused to take a breath. Morgan got the impression that it wasn’t particularly hard to get Red Molly started.

 

“They didn’t see you coming, then?” Morgan asked, feeling a bit like a child in the library, asking for the story to continue.

 

“Nope, not thanks to our secret weapon here,” Molly said, using an arm to snag Poppy around the shoulders, the latter having tried to quietly slip away before, presumably, this exact thing could happen. “Don’t matter how many guards and lookouts a ship has, they never see Poppy comin’ until it’s too late. And once they’re all droolin’ onto their pristine red shirts, we can pull right up aside ‘em and take the ship, free as you please.”

 

“Wow,” Morgan breathed, her eyes moving from Molly to the thoroughly embarrassed-looking Poppy, who was trying to pull her hood even further down over her face. “That’s impressive. Do you knock them out by just dropping their blood pressure until they lose consciousness, or do you have some kind of natural anesthetic?”

 

Morgan thought it was a fairly innocuous question, but the way everyone was looking at her now made her think twice. The only person who didn’t seem befuddled by her question was Poppy, who lifted her head, pushing her hood up and letting Morgan get a look at her eyes. Her pupils and sclera were both black, with the only bit of color to her eyes being the corneas, which were a pale pink.

 

“I derive a fast acting sleeping agent from my natural toxins and extracts from the Serasflower,” Poppy explained, once again moving her tail and draping it over her shoulder. “I can store several doses in special sacs in my tail, and deploy them at will with a single bite.”

 

“I see…” Morgan said, nodding her head. “I don’t know what a Serasflower is, but I assume it’s what induces unconsciousness, and with your toxins acting as a vasodilator, it would allow the mixture to circulate that much faster…”

 

“That’s correct!” Poppy exclaimed, the calm, emotionless mask that was her face breaking in an instant, the small smile that had come to her face allowing her little teeth to peek out again. “At first, I used toxins from the skin of Azure Nightmare frogs, but keeping specimens alive aboard the ship proved difficult, and the potency was less than predictable.”

 

Wow, she was really going now. Morgan, of course, soaked up every word like the thirsty sponge she was.

 

“So the Serasflowers were less effective, but easier to cultivate?”

 

“Yes, that’s right! They require only regular watering, a perch with access to regular amounts of moonlight, and decently enriched soil.”

 

“I assume it also made the agent less likely to cause adverse effects in case of accidental overdose?” Morgan asked, and Poppy nodded so hard her hood bounced

 

“Exactly!” Poppy confirmed. “The old formula could easily stop the heart if I miscalculated the weight of my targets, but with… the new batch, I… uhm…”

 

Then, like an engine running out of steam, she petered out and came to a stop. Realizing how worked up she'd gotten, she schooled their expression and reached for the hem of her hood. But, before she could hide their face again, Morgan saw that her cheeks had taken on a pinkish hue, similar to the color of her eyes. She wasn’t sure, at first, if it were really there, or just a trick of the light, but the way Poppy was acting, ducking out from under Molly’s arm and moving to the opposite end of the ship to stand against the railing, she assumed she’d seen correctly.

 

“Huh,” Red Molly said, looking at Morgan with a new look now, a strange, hungry gleam in her eyes. “Another seadweller scholar, huh? What are the chances of that?”

 

“Y-yeah, something like that,” Morgan said with a modest shrug. “My parents they… really pushed me to perform well, uh, in my schooling. Uh, but not that kind of schooling.”

 

Morgan couldn’t help but snicker at her own bad joke, which was fine, since nobody else laughed at it. She thought she saw Poppy’s shoulders hitching under her cloak in the distance, but that was probably just a coincidence.

 

“Interesting,” Red Molly said, and tossed the last palm-sized bite of the red fruit into her mouth, chewing it deliberately.

 

“Well,” she spoke, with her mouth still full. “‘Bout time we headed out. Tide’s calling, and all that!”

 

Huh?

 

Morgan blinked, and watched on as Red Molly, after swallowing the fruit, brought two fingers to her lips and let out a shrill whistle. In a flurry of movement, the pirates departed, filing back down the ladder to their waiting boat. Poppy’s head turned, casting one more glance in Morgan’s direction, before she descended as well, leaving Molly the last to leave. She shared a few quiet words with Silas before stalking towards the ladder, every step she took causing her boots to let out sharp staccato thuds against the hard wooden surface of the deck.

 

Swinging herself over the edge, Red Molly stepped down the ladder, pausing when only her shoulders and head were still visible. Her magenta eyes met Morgan’s, and she held the gaze for several seconds, and Morgan wondered if she had something more to say. But, all she did was give her a quick wink, and then she was gone. Morgan sat there, staring at the empty space where she’d been, and then watched as the dark shape of the pirate ship began to move, pulling away from the fishing vessel and starting to drift off towards its next destination, wherever that happened to be.

 

The ship had almost completely disappeared into the night before Silas appeared at Morgan’s side, his voice startling her out of her daze.

 

“You know,” he began, and Morgan looked up at him from her still seated position. “If you wait much longer, you’re gona have a harder time catchin’ up to ‘em.”

 

“Huh?” Morgan asked, which only caused Silas to give her a tired half smile and shake his head.

 

“Well, jus’ that you seemed pretty fascinated there, from the moment Molly an’ her crew came aboard, ‘til the moment they left,” Silas explained.

 

Really? Morgan just thought she’d seemed scared of them. But, she supposed, she had been fervently paying attention to everything that the charismatic captain had said and done since she’d arrived, that was true.

 

“Y-yeah, well… it just seems like they live very exciting lives, you know?” Morgan said, and Silas nodded again.

 

“Aye, that they do. Dangerous, an’ more likely to be cut short early than the rest of us, but exciting lives nonetheless,” Silas agreed. “And, somethin’ tells me, the kind of life you wish you led?”

 

Morgan furrowed her brow and tucked her chin between her knees, thinking it over. That wasn’t true, was it? She’d been perfectly fine with her life the way it was before she woke up in the middle of the ocean as a shark person. She had excelled academically, and was on course for one of the best colleges in her state, one her parents had personally picked out for her. And while it was true that she enjoyed reading stories about people who led dangerous, exciting lives, that wasn’t just because she secretly longed to do those things herself, was it?

 

Well, I guess if I ever get to see Dr. Adams again, I could ask him.

 

“Even if I wanted to,” Morgan said, sighing. “They wouldn’t want me. I’m just smart, and a lot of what I know isn’t even going to be practical or useful. I don’t know the first thing about sailing a ship, and I’m too small and weak to do even heavy lifting…”

 

She was spiraling, she knew, but it was better to be realistic than entertain some fanciful dream of running off and becoming a fantasy pirate.

 

“Really?” Silas said, disbelief evident in his tone. “Well, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, you look plenty strong to me. If you’re small, then I’d shudder to think what a big one of your kind looks like.”

 

“What?” Morgan asked, looking up at Silas again. Then, for the first time, she realized she didn’t really have to look up that far when she did, despite her being seated and him standing.

 

With her heart starting to beat faster, Morgan, also for the first time, stood up. And up. And up.

 

“Woah…” she whispered to herself, finding that she stood a head taller than Silas, and head and shoulders above the rest of his crew, who were now looking up at her. A sight she didn’t usually get to see, outside of meeting much younger children, since back on Earth she had only been a single inch above five feet. But now, she was sure she’d smashed all the way past six feet to maybe six and a half.

 

Is this how he always felt?

 

Shaking her head to prevent herself from getting fixated on any more people who she’d left behind on Earth, she clenched her fists, marveling at the strength she couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed in them until now.

 

“Listen,” Silas spoke again, thankfully having half turned himself away from her when she’d stood up. “I don’t know your circumstances. I don’t know how far you are from your home. Tides, I don’t even know your name. You say it was a fish you chased into our nets, and I believe ya, but… I have a feelin’, if you just slink back into the water and head back the way you came from, it won’t be long before you’re chasin’ another fish into another net. So, maybe, think about what you really want do with your life goin’ forward, yeah?”

 

What she wanted to do with her life, huh?

 

For the longest time, the only thing she could remember wanting was to do well in school, to do well in college, to go on to land a high powered, successful job, like her parents both had. But, the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if that wasn’t just what they wanted for her. Did she want to risk her life on a creaky old sailing ship, pledged to a crew of pirates, made to do morally and ethically-dubious acts at the behest of a captain who seemed more than a little off-balance.

 

She didn’t know, but, maybe, that was the point.

 

Morgan hadn’t fully given up on the idea that all of this might still be some kind of dream. But, she figured, whether it turned out to be a dream, or truly some kind of second life, a second chance, to live the way she wanted to, to actually learn how she wanted to live for herself, she was determined to make it a good life.

 

And, she mused, as she felt her wrist sting slightly from where it had been bitten, there was one thing she did know for certain. She wanted to see Poppy again. She wanted to hear what it was like to daringly sneak aboard a ship all alone, she wanted to hear her gush about poisons and toxins, and she really wanted to see her blush some more.

 

“C-captain Silas,” Morgan said, willing her voice to steady.

 

“Aye, lass?” Silas said, crossing his arms and smirking up at her.

 

“Thank you, for pulling me out of the water,” Morgan said, taking a deep breath. “The next time you see me, I’m going to be a member of Red Molly’s crew.”

 

“That so?” Silas laughed, jerking his head. Morgan peered out into the night, and could only just barely make out the impression of Molly’s ship on the water in the distance. “Well, you’d better get after ‘em then!”

 

Morgan nodded, and, with a running start, leapt off the deck of the fishing vessel and began swimming as fast as she could towards the horizon.