Ocean's Cage Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Part 1

  Part 2

  Part 3

  Part 4

  Part 5

  Part 6

  Part 7

  Part 8

  Part 9

  Part 10

  Part 11

  Part 12

  Part 13

  Part 14

  Part 15

  Part 16

  Part 17

  Part 18

  Part 19

  Part 20

  Part 21

  Part 22

  Part 23

  Part 24

  Part 25

  Part 26

  Part 27

  Part 28

  Author's Note

  Part 1

  Updates

  About the Author

  Ocean's Cage

  Demelza Carlton

  Book 5 in the Turbulence and Triumph series

  In memory of Peewee, a caged bird who learned too late the price of freedom.

  Copyright © 2015 Demelza Carlton

  Lost Plot Press

  All rights reserved.

  One

  When you hardly see your husband and the only thing you do together in bed is sleep, the Kama Sutra is about as useless as a motorcycle to a mermaid. Well, most mermaids.

  For me they were both fodder for fantasy. Dreams of what I wanted to do...once William was done with all the rebuilding brought on by the recent cyclone and landslide. The Ross Hill pumping station was now connected to a spur rail line, though it required constant maintenance to keep the line above the sucking mud. The design for the replacement pier was complete, awaiting only the building materials and calm ocean in the cove to commence work. The new houses at South Point weren't William's problem – they'd be the South Point manager's responsibility, but William still needed to ensure the building materials made it from the port to South Point between the delivery of the new Ross Hill pumping engine and all the phosphate travelling between the mine and the port.

  We could see the ship carrying everything we needed just drifting offshore, waiting for the swell in the cove to die down so it could unload the construction materials William needed for this ambitious schedule of works. If only sirens could calm storms...

  For a moment, William was silhouetted against the faint light coming in through the doorway. All hardness and muscle, just begging to be kissed and caressed. But all I received was a peck on the lips before he pulled on his shirt and hid his gorgeous body from me. I thought I caught a glimpse of a shadow on his side, like a bruise, but it could have been just a trick of the light. I'd fallen asleep waiting for him last night, so I hadn't seen him undress. Perhaps tonight, if all went well, we'd be at leisure to explore each other's bodies in intimate detail. Just as long as that bloody ship docked today.

  By the time I'd risen, William had vanished down the road to Flying Fish Cove. The weather report and any communication from the drifting ship would be waiting for him in the wireless station, and he'd hopefully share any news with me over breakfast. I dressed and pinned up my hair in the pre-dawn light, knowing Anne would comment if I wasn't looking my best. I left off my hat and stockings – that was one item of correct attire I hadn't bothered with. Who'd want to wear stockings in the tropics? Certainly not me.

  Anne had lent me some books to read, as I'd exhausted William's collection during my first fortnight of lonely mornings. Today's volume was from a man named Rudyard Kipling, who'd lived in India. I found his accounts of colonial life there fascinating, as they weren't dissimilar to everyday life here on Christmas Island, but I did find him quite obnoxious, too. That meant I read through his books quite quickly and today was no exception. I closed the book with a snap and headed back inside for an old favourite – the book of Hans Christian Anderson fairy tales Merry had given me as a going away present.

  I'd no sooner settled in my seat on the veranda when Cook appeared with a tea tray, the faint scent of jasmine wafting out to wish me a good day.

  I smiled, thanked Cook and wished her a good morning.

  "Not such a good morning if the supply ship doesn't come in. We have only tea enough for one day, maybe two," she grumbled and I realised why my tea didn't smell as strongly as it usually did. Rationing, I presumed.

  "That means we're low on food, too, doesn't it?" I asked.

  She grinned. "Plenty of eggs, chicken and pork, with vegetables from the garden, but there will be no bread or tea tomorrow."

  I was the reason for this, I was certain, though she didn't say it. I'd been drinking her tea supplies and eating far more of William's food than their last grocery order from Singapore had allowed for, but I also knew she'd been shopping at the kongsi, the Chinese grocery store, to purchase more. I assumed even the kongsi had run out of tea, given how much I'd been drinking. As for flour for bread...even I knew that had to be ordered from Singapore.

  I'd happily head out to sea for fresh fish instead, but mealtimes were the only time I saw William, and sometimes not even then. Last night he'd missed dinner altogether. The third night this week I'd dined alone. I'd almost wished for another disastrous dinner party with the Jacksons if it meant company, but I couldn't quite bring myself to suggest it. Even if I did think I'd only make half as many mistakes as last time.

  I opened my mouth to apologise, but she'd already returned to the house. I opened Merry's book to the tale that mesmerised me most – the one about a young mermaid who wanted to be human.

  Why it held my attention so much, I couldn't say. Of course, there were parallels in her story and mine, given we both left the ocean to live among humans, but that's where the similarities ended. She'd given up everything, even her voice, to catch the man she wanted. I'd had everything taken from me and I'd gained a voice, in learning William's language. She'd never known a man's love, nor had she loved one – her prince was just a means to an end. And she'd seriously considered killing the man she purported to love, perhaps the most sensible thing she did in the whole story, given that he'd utterly rejected her for some other woman despite the tortures the poor mermaid had endured. But her intelligence was short-lived and she not only let the man live, but ended her own life, too. Ah, no, her final thought had been rational – she'd thrown her dying body into the ocean, instead of leaving it for humans to examine.

  I couldn't even contemplate killing William – I loved him too much for that. And I knew he returned my love. No, I'd never cast myself back into the ocean. Not now I'd lived with him and known the joy that was our life together. If happiness meant remaining on land and pretending to be human, so be it. No human had even guessed at my true nature in all my time on shore – not even Merry, who'd lived with me for years, and William didn't believe in mythical creatures. No, I would be the perfect, human wife for William until the end of our days. William and I had been apart long enough and I wouldn't permit the ocean to separate us again.

  A soft, "Breakfast, Mem," roused me from my thoughts and summoned me into the house. Somehow, the sun had risen and the frigatebirds were fishing in the waves for their breakfast, so it shouldn't have seemed like such a surprise that it was time for mine. And William's.

  Rationing meant I was back to Cocos eggs, I was pleased to see, as William barely noticed if I'd decided to eat raw robber crab for breakfast, let alone an omelette with shrimp. The appetising aroma alone was enough to make me ravenous, and in the absence of anyone to censure me for unladylike behaviour, I cut myself a large piece of omelette that barely fitted in my mouth.

  "It's a ruddy miracle. The cove's as flat as a millpond this morning and we've already winched the engine ashore!" William burst into the dining room, grinning with the best news we'd had in weeks. "I h
ave to return right away to head up the incline with this load. Get Cook to send some lunch up later. I'll see you at dinner, lass!"

  I received a peck on the cheek and a shower of crumbs from his mouthful of toast, and my husband was gone before I could say a word.

  Sighing, I reached over and snagged his unwanted slice of toast. If the ship in the port wasn't the Islander, it would be a while before I saw more bread. It'd be a shame to waste it.

  Two

  After breakfast, armed with a fresh pot of distinctly weak tea, I sat on the veranda for singing practice. Not that I improved any, but some siren I'd be if I lost my voice.

  My consortium of crabs assembled at the first notes of my call now – almost as if they'd been trained to respond, too. I worried that I was eroding their natural instincts in driving them to obey me so frequently, but it was better to test this on six crabs out of that many million on the island instead of enslaving humans. Well, I thought so – Mother and the other Elders might not agree.

  A light song of control soon had them even more attentive, responding to simple commands as easily as breathing. One command had never worked, but I still tried it. "Fight," I whispered.

  They sat unmoving, lined up in front of William's motorcycle. Usually he rode the Triumph to work, but today he'd taken the train, so here it stood. I started to sing the sequence that released the creatures from my command.

  I was tempted to offer to take William's lunch to him on the motorcycle, but I'd only ridden it once and William had been my passenger, shouting instructions or simply reaching past me to take control, the whole way. I wanted more riding lessons, but those would have to wait until William had time for me again.

  What sort of job required such hours from a man? Day and night without cease or rest, barely stopping to sleep and no time to spend with his wife. And was the shadow I'd glimpsed this morning bruising from some injury suffered at work? I'd heard rumours of riots when the coolies had been worked too hard or their supervisors had used violence. This was why we had the ever-present Sikh guards in the Settlement and on watch outside our homes. But if someone had hurt William, I would not be content to sit idle. I'd summon tiger sharks to the cove and watch them feed on the culprit's sorry carcass. While he was still alive.

  The crunch of metal drew my attention and I gasped in horror. The crabs had begun to attack one another and, much worse, William's motorcycle. They'd already shredded the tyres and one particularly feisty creature had climbed up the frame, snipping wires and lines with its claws as it went. A robber crab's claw reached up and severed the fuel line before attacking the fuel tank itself.

  "Stop, stop!" I cried, jumping off the veranda to shoo the beasts away from William's crippled Triumph. They paid me no heed – they were too busy destroying things. Something nudged my foot and I turned to see another robber crab with its claws raised, ready to join the fray by ripping through me.

  I stamped my foot – usually sufficient to drive the huge crabs away – but the claws rose higher still.

  Hesitantly, I began singing again – a song of control, though I could hear my voice shaking. I just wanted them to stop wreaking havoc, to calm down and go back to their usual hiding spots. I wanted no more violence.

  The sound of ripping metal stopped. I dared to open my eyes. Both of the robber crabs were backing away into the shadows beneath the house, one still clutching a glinting piece of metal from the motorcycle. The red crabs scattered more slowly, but their holes were nearer. Even as I watched, they disappeared. From four to two to one to...no, they were all back in hiding. I let out a little moan of relief.

  I was under no illusions. I'd done this...somehow. With a misguided song, I'd driven the controlled crabs into a frenzy. I'd even incited the two hidden robber crabs to riot. But why had they fought now, instead of when I commanded them to? And why the robber crabs, when I'd only controlled the red crabs?

  I wished the memories of the party on the Trevessa weren't so hazy. What had I sung to drive them to my side? It wasn't a song of control, for the somnolent look and slow response of those under command made them unmistakeable. It was as if I'd somehow imbued my own emotional state into the melody, transferring my desires to my listeners and driving them to respond. So when I'd sat in the mess hall, quietly singing along with the gramophone as I wished for William to return, the room full of men had responded by offering to take William's place. And when I'd raised my voice on North Keeling Island as a child, furious at the humans who'd murdered Duyong, I'd wanted nothing more than for them to slaughter each other, which they had.

  And now? I'd thought of rioting and violence, shredding a body into tiny pieces, and the crabs had responded, taking their fury out on William's poor Triumph. That clinched it. It wasn't safe for me to sing around humans – or to sing at all, without a clear purpose in mind. If that was what I needed to live safely on land without hurting those I loved – or their prized possessions – then so be it. I'd never sing again, silencing the siren inside so I could live happily as a human. It wasn't such a sacrifice, surely.

  My tongue would be busy enough when William got home: trying to explain what had happened to his motorcycle. Luckily, he wouldn't believe the truth.

  Three

  The trudge of footsteps on dirt alerted me before Anne's voice rang out: "Time for your tennis lesson!" She stopped dead. "What on Earth happened to your husband's motorcycle? Did the coconut crabs get to it?"

  I closed my book. "Yes. They were...unusually aggressive this morning. Two of them. I managed to chase them back under the house, but not before they did a fair bit of damage. I hope William can fix it."

  She bit her lip. "I doubt it. He'll probably need to get a new one. You should push him to take you with him. You haven't been shopping in Singapore yet and you really should."

  I glanced down at my dress, which was one of three morning dresses I owned. I'd have called them work dresses before, but they were looking distinctly worn after the beating they took in Amah's laundry, and I wasn't sure how many more they'd survive. My clothes certainly were cleaner than they'd been after a round in the laundry with me, though, to give Amah her due. A welcome distraction caught my eye and I reached for Anne's book. "I should get some new books there, too. Here – I've finished with Kipling. He's very pompous. I hope he never comes to the island to visit, especially if he speaks like he writes. I'm not sure I could keep a straight face."

  "Once you start laughing, you'll set me off, too, so we're both lucky he'll never visit Christmas Island. No one, not even Mr Murray, the CIPCo manager, deigns to visit us." She pronounced the abbreviated company name as though it was one word. "Leave the book here. Kipling's no use at tennis. I'll pick him up on my way home."

  We strolled down to the wide, grassy expanse of the padang, where some of the kampung children were waiting to act as ball girls and boys for our game. The first time they'd been there I'd protested, not wanting to be embarrassed in front of a group of children, but I'd found tennis to be a matter of force, angle, control and momentum – all the parameters I used intuitively while swimming. I believe humans called this physics and it was best understood by engineers like William, or so Anne said, but it was one of the first lessons my kind learned as children, for judging the ocean currents and eddies poorly could kill more surely than any shark.

  The children were necessary to ensure we didn't lose all our tennis balls. The crabs mistook them for eggs and stole them, so the children rescued our balls from the crustacean kidnappers and earned themselves credit to spend on sweets at the kongsi, courtesy of Anne and I.

  Today I focussed fiercely on the game, trying to keep my mind on the ballet of ball, racquet and..."That benighted bosunbird took the ball!" I cried in surprise, watching the golden bird soar across the padang and into the jungle, its long tail streaming behind as if taunting me to take hold and drag the bird back. Luckily for him, the bloody bird flew too fast and too high for me to catch it.

  Anne doubled over laughin
g. It took her some time to recover her composure, by which time she'd called an end to our game, declaring me the winner. Linking her arm through mine, she set off up the road. "We should have lunch together today. The men are all up at Ross Hill, playing with trains and engines and heaven knows what else, so we'll support one another and perhaps even have a glass of wine to celebrate."

  We headed for her house, where one glass of wine multiplied into several – I lost count after the third – and we only switched to tea because we'd finished the last bottle of wine. Supplies truly were running low if the Jacksons were out of wine.

  Two pots of tea later, I wove my way somewhat soberly through the garden that separated the Jacksons' bungalow from ours. I could already hear the train cars coming down the incline in the cove, so William couldn't be far from home.

  I trudged up the steps, surprised at how heavy my legs felt. Had I done too much exercise during our tennis match?

  A shadow in my reading chair shifted. "I thought you'd be home by now, lass," William said, rising.

  "I was with Anne. We fell to talking and lost track of the time," I replied, crossing the veranda in three strides so I could dive into his open arms. I inhaled the scent of him, wanting to burrow into his chest as his arms wound around me. He smelled of soap, not mud and paraffin and machinery. I raised my head so I could see his face. "Have you already bathed? You've been home that long?"

  "It's a good thing you've made friends with Jackson's wife. I thought you two didn't get along at first, but I guess I was wrong. As for my bath, I came down the incline with a load of phosphate. I wanted to show you that you still have a husband under all the grime, for I was afraid you wouldn't let me in the house otherwise." William's chest rumbled with his chuckle before he dropped his voice to a whisper. "And I figured if I was clean, it was more likely you'd agree to do some dirty things in bed tonight."

  It was my turn to laugh. "I'd love to." With my body pressed against his, I could feel his eagerness, and it matched my own. "Before dinner or after?"