Belly up to the Bar (C 1.4, H 1.5)

At his offer, it's my turn to fall silent. The more he brings up this advisor position, and the jingle that goes with it, the more real it feels. But willingly welcoming the Whispers into my work is Russian roulette, risky and reckless. I've survived for so long by avoiding those dangerous games, alone and untethered. Binding myself to this ship means if they sink, I sink.

But what happens if they rise? What happens if I help them?

I close my eyes and turn my face back to the sea. This is the Sippians we're talking about. I couldn't be one of them any better than I could sail with Canary. It's stupid to even entertain the idea.

"I'm pretty sure Salem is the only Sipp who actually likes me," I say. "And I've been at the Belly for years." So Blackjack wouldn't fire me for ditching them, would she? I'm not jobless and this is my only option, right? They might need me more now than ever. But who doesn't want more jingle? I never considered selling the Whisper's secrets. I wonder if, with the thought, the star-shine aura around me would fade in Mikkie's eyes. But is it wrong to trade Whispers for wealth? Isn't that what he does in the fighting pits when it comes down to it?

I frown as the thoughts circle and swirl around one another, my spoken words left incomplete with a silent but glaring I don't know left in the void.

His words snap my attention back to him. "You, yes. Not me."

Poseidon’s Belly is the most consistent part of my adult life, and the idea of leaving it behind is becoming more and more terrifying. I pull my legs up under me and stand. "It’s late."

Take the win, I think when Lucky lets me go without giving him the piece of information I know he wants most in the world. Take it and run while you can.

But I only get two steps away before I stop and turn back to look at him sitting there alone. I wonder how many nights he spends sitting here by himself, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"You're aware that everyone thinks we're sleeping together, right?"

I should go, I think again. I've done enough, learned enough, risked enough for one night. He clearly wants me to go. But against my natural judgment, I stay.

"So you don't mind if I'm using their assumptions to my advantage then."

My eyes go to the view and for a moment I almost ask if he wants company while he watches, but then I remember that this is the leader of a gang, the same man who threw me to the floor in the Belly by my hair, the same one who threatened to nail me to a wall and who made me a slave. He might be offering me a different opportunity now, but that doesn't change the past, or at least, I shouldn't let it if I value my safety.

I head back inside without another word, walking the now-eerie hallway back toward Lucky's suite, and I can't help but wonder...if Kiwi is with the Whispers now, who else might be there?

'Do you have Hard Strike in your collective?' I ask them, not sure I want to be stirring them up with questions but unable to stop my curiosity.

"All are in our collective," one whisper states clearly.

Another follows in a softer tone, "But some are easier to reach than others."

"What do you seek?" a harsh whisper asks. "And what do you offer in exchange for the knowledge?"

The Whispers send a slow shiver down my spine, something thicker than a cold wash of water and deeper than the skin.

'I want to know what advice she'd give her son in this situation. And I want a way to prove to him that it's coming from her.' I pause outside Lucky's door, thinking about what I could possibly offer the Whispers in exchange. I only have so many dead friends to give them. 'I'll try to make sure Mikkie is actually careful with that wound so it can heal and you don't lose your skull-smasher. How about that?'

A shrill whisper giggles, "You can't give us what we already have! Mikkie saw someone about that cut because you said so, you already made sure we won't lose our skull-smasher. Double-dealing isn't nice!"

"We want Harpy back," a soft whisper says in a honey-smooth tone. "Harpy used to be our skull-smasher because she trusted us. Regain her trust and we will speak Hard Strike's words to you."

It settles me somehow to hear that Mikkie actually went to Fubu about that wound. The fact that I got that confirmation of it free-of-charge from the Whispers is the icing on my inferior pre-packaged cake.

'Convince Nuport to trust you again?' I echo. 'I'm not even sure I trust you. But I might be able to convince her to trust me. I could do that.'

"This is an acceptable compromise," a whisper says flatly.

"We like youuuuu," a whisper adds with a giggle and the word "like" feels like "own".

That giggle is a resounding gong in my head, reminding me that even if I am not a slave to the Sipps, not their indentured servant even, I will always be at the mercy of a different master, one so close the only way to escape would be to leap into the icy waters where they reside and never surface again.

'Great,' I answer, as equally unamused as the first whisper.

I head into the suite and pick up my backpack where I dropped it, slinging it over my shoulder and heading down the hall to Salem's room. I open the door quietly to creep inside, expecting that she'll already be asleep.

As you expected, Salem is asleep in bed. Do you slip into the bed or take the floor?

I pause for a moment, watching Salem sleeping, then when she doesn't stir, I quietly move into the room and put my backpack down. I change into an oversized t-shirt that comes halfway down my thighs then tiptoe over to the window with its sliver of moonlight. I sink down to sit on the floor in the light with the mason jar I brought from home in my hands. I unscrew the lid and reach into the water inside, gently scooping one of the two dark ribbons there into my hand.

"Hello, friend," I whisper to the squirming black leech in my palm. I sit cross-legged and place the creature on the inside of my thigh next to a dozen little three-pronged scars from feedings past. When he bites, I don't feel anything but a slight tingling from the anesthesia in his saliva. I lean my head back against the wall, eyes turned up to the night sky. It'll be a good forty minutes before he finishes feeding, the orange speckles on his back stretched and full, but not of blood. He'll be full of darkness, of Whispers, of voices and the giggles that haunt me, and for a little while, the edge of the Whispers' knives will be dulled. They'll be quiet enough that I can crawl into bed with Salem and peacefully, finally, sleep.

End Scene