The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (boyxboy)

CHAPTER 11

This time when he comes in with the fish, he tiptoes closer to the siren. Its complete lack of reaction bolsters him somewhat. Not daring to speak in case he shatters whatever this is, he places the cutting board on the floor and shifts it closer with his foot. He watches the siren's face twitch again, its jaw moving in little circular motions. Az pushes the board a little further.

He waits. The siren refuses still to even open its eyes.

Ravenous stray dogs in Albahri would wolf down scraps there and then, hackles raised and growls deep in their throats. Cats were more careful. Cats would creep slowly, take the food gently, then dart away to eat in secret. Cats, much like the siren, tended to ignore people.

Hating the idea of some stranger watching him eat, but remembering the siren's bound wrists high above its head, Az scurries away to find some help.

Slade laughs when he asks for permission to let its hands free. "Feeling bold, are we?" he asks derisively. But he allows it all the same.

Erring on the side of caution, Slade sends three of the crew back down with him. The siren still doesn't acknowledge any of them, but its muscles coil tight like springs under its skin, its jaw razor-sharp as it clenches its teeth together. Its body jolts — flinches, Az realises — when they actually touch it. He unwittingly holds his breath while the men unwind the chain from the hook in the wall. He thinks the siren holds its breath too when they drop its arms and scamper away out of the room. Pain, barely masked, twists the siren's dry lips.

Heart in his throat, Az watches the creature for a moment longer. Its trembling fists, its eyelids still clamped firmly shut. Then he leaves it alone, hopefully to eat the offered fish.

He finds every excuse not to go back in there alone while its hands are unbound. Someone's shirt needs mending, Noah cut his finger badly trying to peel potatoes so he needs more help than usual in the kitchen, there's a terrible mystery stain on the stairs to the wheel that he simply has to scrub clean.

It's long past nightfall, the stars twinkle down warmly, when Az notices the smell wafting down the corridor. He knows the stench of mackerel that has been sitting out in the humidity all day. With a heavy heart because he knows what he'll find, he dares to crack open the siren's door and sees the fish sitting there untouched.

In the morning, two men come down to attach the siren's wrists back up to the hook in the wall and take away the rancid fish. By sunset, Az still hasn't gone back down there. He doesn't know what else to do. It's not like he can force food into the siren's mouth.

"Stringbean..." Noah calls softly, and Az looks up from the candle's dancing flame he's been staring at. The kitchen is quiet now that most of the crew have retired to bed or are at least dispersed evenly enough that Az can't hear them. "You're not eating."

Az considers the almost full bowl of soup in front of him, long cold, before pushing it away. "I'm not hungry," he mutters as snakes twist and coil in his stomach.

Noah sighs, a big but gentle sound, and throws down the pot he's washing.

"I know you're trying," he offers.

"I'm not sure Slade will agree," Az replies, and the snakes in his stomach hiss at that.

The cook pauses, appearing to think for a moment. "Four days with no food. It's a tenacious creature, I'll give you that. But so are you, aren't you? You'll get there."

"I thought the longer it goes without eating, the easier it might be to get it to actually eat. But it just...doesn't." Az searches Noah's face helplessly.

Noah lets out a humming noise. "Stringbean, have you tried...talking to it?"

"Well, I said hello, and I keep asking it what it'll eat, but it doesn't–"