“She stole my sword,” the old man says. He seems to deflate upon telling his tale, leaning against the doorframe to keep himself upright. “Do ye know how many generations that cutlass has been passed down? Sabine said she would gut me with it if I tried to stop her.”

“Go rest, Ulric. She’ll come back.” His wife comes to the door to guide her distraught husband inside.

“Ulric, which way did she go?”

His hand comes up, one gnarled fingerbone pointing south. “There. To the water.”

I wonder if Agnet is with Sabine. I thank him and make my way to the wharf. I slip twice, falling once to the rancid slime. When I turn out of the laneway to the open air of the bay, I see them. Agnet is there, along with Sabine, and even my sister. The silver light of the moon flashes, reflecting off the polished cutlass in Sabine’s hand.

They are lined up on the pier, every girl in the village. Eyes on the water, they watch the mermaid swim in the moonlight. Although I can hear nothing but the waves lapping the shore, I know that the mermaid is singing, and she is singing only to the assembled daughters of our cursed village.

18

18

THEY KNEEL ON the stone pier, hands folded in their laps as they gaze upon the mermaid in the bay. All silent, all enraptured by a song only they can hear. Some arcane ritual is being performed before my eyes, one that feels both holy and profane. My heart deadens at the sight of Agnet among them. I want to go to her, to bring her away from the others, but I dare not go any closer to the water. Not with the sea-woman out there.

The breeze skimming across the face of the water changes direction, and the girls all stand as one, the way the congregation rises at the conclusion of prayers. There are a few remaining fishing boats still tethered to the dock. I watch Agnet, my sister, and Sabine climb down into the boats and rummage around each vessel. They hand up tools and these are passed around to those waiting on the pier. There is an eerie martial precision to the way they march from the wharf and onto the thoroughfare that leads into town. As they move past my position, I see the tools they have taken from the skiffs. Knives and long hooks, harpoons and a club for braining fish. Sabine holds her father’s cutlass, while my sister clutches a machete that I recognized as belonging to Clovis.

Agnet holds an iron hook in her small hand as she falls in line at the end of this silent procession. I creep from my hiding place and take her arm. When she turns, her eyes are not her own, looking at me like she doesn’t know who I am.