Climbing back down from the Carmilla’s Fancy was a slow and painful process, but Nuriel wasn’t left with much choice. She was hurt, and she needed to find out how badly.

Finally she dropped down to the sand. Her knees buckles and she staggered, which sent fresh lances of pain across her stomach. Wincing, she grabbed onto a nearby beech trunk and pulled herself back up to her feet and started limping toward the water.

The sun was dipping toward the horizon, but it hadn’t reached it yet, so there was still plenty of light to see by. She waded in up to her calves and slowly pulled the tails of her shirt out of her trousers to inspect the damage.

The cuts were painful, but fortunately shallow. They were bleeding freely, but it didn’t look like anything important had been punctured. Nuriel carefully knelt down and washed them the best she could. The salt water set the fires burning anew and brought fresh tears to her eyes, but she endured.

When she had gotten most of the filth off, she cupped water in her hand and gingerly washed her ear.

The information she got from her fingers wasn’t good. That bird had taken a decent chunk out of her ear, and the flesh that remained was torn and ragged. Just touching it caused the burning pain to flare up.

Nuriel shivered. She was fucked. She was utterly fucked. She might not be in any danger of bleeding out, but wounds like that were sure to get infected. She would die just as easily from that as she would from getting ripped apart, and probably a lot more slowly at that.

Biting down on her lower lip, she glanced around to ensure that nothing was stalking her. Then she yanked out the strips of linen that she had used to bind her breasts and wrapped them around the cuts on her stomach. The pressure brought fresh tears of pain to her eyes, but she knotted them tight and gingerly tucked her shirt back in.

With any luck, the cuts would close without infection. The missing chunk of her ear was gone for good, but it wasn’t the first time someone had taken a large piece of flesh from her, and it was a lot less crippling than last time. At least she could still hear. At least she could-

The white-hot blade sliced through flesh, charring in its wake. Nuriel shrieked and bucked, but the restraints held her in place as Master Reginald coldly made good on his threat.

Sitting restrained across from her, Papa wept as he watched. He had to watch. Master Reginald had warned him not to turn away, lest he take off a larger chunk.

Finally it was done, and Nuriel collapsed, weeping around a mouthful of blood and pain. Ignoring her agony, Master Reginald took the lump of flesh into his gloved hands and turned to Papa. “I trust I’ve made my point,” he said coldly, and tossed the lump right into Papa’s lap. Papa grimaced in disgust, but he said nothing. Master Reginald had told him that Nuriel would lose one finger for every word Papa said.

“She will live,” Master Reginald continued as he dispassionately pulled off his gloves. “But disappoint me again, and I’ll take something she cannot afford to live without. Do you understand me?”

Nuriel was barely paying any attention. All she knew was pain. Pain, and a gaping emptiness where there hadn’t been one, an emptiness that told her that she would never be the same, never be-

Nuriel’s face twisted up, and she angrily wiped away the tears that had started forming. Stop it, she told herself. Nothing’s gained from going back there. Papa’s dead. Master Reginald is dead. It’s just you. And if you survived that, you can survive this.

It was a nice thought, but she could only wish that it was true.

Once she had calmed herself down, Nuriel sighed and turned back to the Carmilla’s Fancy. Getting back aboard was not going to be easy, but it was her best chance to find someplace halfway safe.

The first time she had climbed up, she hadn’t had to worry about moving in any particular way. This time she had to make sure not to bend at the waist too much, to rely on her arms’ to pull herself up through the ladder of branches.

It hurt more than going down did.

Finally she was able to pull herself onto the deck. She rolled onto her back and just lay there, gasping in agony.

She was so fucked.

When the burning had ebbed down into a tolerable throbbing, Nuriel gingerly rolled over and pushed herself up with her palms. Her legs felt wobbly beneath her, but she could stand.

All right, she had the ship to herself now. The bird had fled, and with any luck it would stay away.

Then Nuriel cast a glare over to the captain’s quarters, where its nest was. So long as that was there, there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t be back.

It took some work, but Nuriel was able to wrestle both doors shut. There. At least that damn bird wasn’t going to be slinking back in while she slept.

In the meantime, she needed a place of her own to sleep, and it wasn’t going to be out in the open. Nuriel warily eyed the hatch that led down to the cargo hold. It was shut, so maybe there was a chance that nothing had crawled in.

Opening it sent fresh lances of pain across her belly, but she winced and endured. The sun was close to setting and provided little light down the wooden stairs. Nuriel turned her head this way and that, trying to catch some kind of glimpse of anything that might be lurking within.

When nothing leapt at her face or growled in warning, she began to climb down the steps.

The steps groaned under her feet, but they held her weight, which was good sign. Also, while the ship’s interior smelled plenty damp and musty, she couldn’t pick out anything that smelled especially animalistic, no sign of anything taking up residence in the crew’s absence. Another good sign.

Nuriel sniffed again. Speaking of the crew, she didn’t even smell anything like decaying flesh. Well, maybe fortune was favoring her for once. No angry beasts, and no angry ghosts. Two points in her new home’s favor.

Still, not being able to see much of her surrounding put her ill at ease. This was not the first time she had been forced to sleep in a strange, dark place, and those instances had not always gone well.

Hoping against hope that nothing would disturb her that night, Nuriel went back up the steps and pulled the hatch closed again. Then she carefully felt her way back down until she found a corner next to a post that seemed reasonably dry.

Nuriel eased herself down and stretched out her legs. She shifted her weight around until she found a position that put little pressure on her stomach. Then she closed her eyes.

Nuriel had a number of rituals that she employed whenever she needed to fall asleep quickly. Given the number of uncomfortable places and situations she had gotten herself into over the years, she had gotten quite adept at snatching whatever bits of rest that she could no matter where she was or how much danger she was in.

Counting rats. Yes. Just imagine a ship’s hold, with rats darting from one end to the other. Picture the gentle rocking of the ship, the creaking of the timbers, the clanging of the ship’s bell, and count. One rat, two rats…

She got as far as seven before the darkness took her.

…

Laying a hand on Nuriel’s chest, the local girl gently pushes her back, so that Nuriel is lying flat on her back in the sand. Her ears fill with the sound of the night surf washing against the shore, and far off, the crew is still singing merrily around the bonfire.

Nuriel doesn’t care about any of that. All she can see is the girl’s dark eyes, like two pools of liquid night, and her smile, her teeth shining bright in the shadows that cover her face. Her curly black hair falls in waves around her bare shoulders, and when she slowly lays her body across Nuriel’s, it spills down onto Nuriel’s chest like a curtain.

Their lips meet, and Nuriel can’t keep herself from groaning out loud.

The girl sits up again, her legs straddling Nuriel’s hips. Their gazes still locked, the girl calmly reaches up and unwraps her garment from around her middle, loosening it. A casual push, and it drops down in a pile around her waist.

Nuriel inhales sharply.

Still smiling, the girl closes her eyes and lets out a pleased sigh.

When she opens them again, they are now the color of freshly spilled blood and glowing like embers. Her smile widens, exposing knifelike fans.

And when she dips down again, she goes not for Nuriel’s lips, but her neck.

…

Thump.

Nuriel’s eyes snapped open. There was the rush of bewilderment that came from being abruptly wakened, but that was banished from her mind with practiced ease. Within moments the dream was forgotten, sleep was forgotten, she had remembered where she was and why, and was on high alert.

It was now in the dead of night, if the complete darkness surrounding her was any indication. Nuriel took quick stock of herself. Her stomach and ear still ached, but not as badly as they had before. More importantly, she was untouched.

However, she was not alone.

Thump. Skitter.

There was something on the deck. She could hear its claws scratching the wood.

Her right hand started shaking. She quickly covered it with her left and listened. Maybe it was just some tree-dwelling animal that had wandered on board, like another monkey or something like that.

Then she heard a hoarse, cackling cry, a very familiar one at that. Nuriel felt icy fingers of fear slide down her back. The bird was back.

She listened as it walked across the deck, sometimes pausing to claw at the timbers. She was pretty sure that it couldn’t get in, so all she had to do was wait until it left. In time it would realize that hunting her was futile and give up.

And maybe if she wished hard enough she would end up growing wings herself to fly her away.

The bird called out again. It wasn’t the harsh cackle of warning from before, nor was it the screeches of pain as it flew off. This call was shrill and drawn out, clearly some kind of message.

A message that was answered.

Another call responded from further off, and Nuriel heard the sound of flapping wings. Then there was another call, and another, and another. She closed her eyes and mentally recited every profanity that she knew. Not only was the bird back, but it had brought friends.

Soon the air was filled with flapping wings, angry cries, and thumps on the deck above as the birds all came in for a landing. She couldn’t even begin to guess how many there were; she just knew that if they somehow managed to get in then she would be torn apart.

She heard them hopping across the deck and scratching at the hatch. They knew where she was, and they had come for blood.

The scratching grew louder as the birds started to go at the deck itself, and something soft landed on her head. Nuriel jerked, and instinctively covered her hand. More of the stuff fell across her fingers. Sawdust. The birds were looking for weak points in the deck and trying to claw their way through.

Nuriel eased herself up and looked around. There was next to no light to see by, but here and there were tiny cracks and holes in the ship’s hull to let in slivers of moonlight. One hole in particular looked large enough for her to see through. She crept along, one hand feeling her way while the other clutched St. George, with her heart pounding away the whole time.

She made it to the hole. Kneeling down, she got in close to take a look. Outside, she couldn’t see much other than the moonlit sands sinking into the water. She maneuvered her body around, trying to get a glimpse of the sky.

Suddenly her vision was taken up by a single golden eye, staring through the hole back at her.

Nuriel fell back as the bird screeched in anger. It went to work attacking the hole by jamming its beak through to widen it.

Nuriel stared in horror as the bird aggressively ripped at the decaying hull, sometimes using its beak while other times its talons. Other birds were answered its calls, and she could hear them swooping in to attach themselves to the ship.

Not knowing what else to do, she stabbed St. George at the dark-feathered talon that was shoving its way into the hole. It immediately withdrew with an angry hiss.

Then Nuriel felt something grab onto St. George’s blade from the other side. Panicked, she tried to pull him back, but the bird yanked again.

No, no, no, no! This couldn’t happen! She couldn’t end like this, torn apart by a flock of feathered monsters, with her only possession that meant anything to her stolen and defiled.

Nuriel braced her legs against the wall and pushed with all her strength as she pulled back with both arms. She was not going to let St. George go! Papa had given him to her, Papa had made her promise to take care of him! If she was going to die, it was going to be with St. George in her hands, blood on his blade, and not carried away to adorn some flying monstrosity’s nest!

She pulled once, twice, and then finally managed to yank him free. She was sent sprawling onto her back as the bird outside screamed in pain and rage.

Dazed, Nuriel lifted St. George up. Sure enough, there was a streak of dark red on the blade. She had managed to take a piece after all. Well, there was that comfort at least.

Then she giggled. Some comfort. She was moments away from a very gory, very painful end, but hey, at least she still had her knife.

Then, audible even over the birds’ screeching and squawking, a whistle sounded from off in the distance.

A shrill human whistle.

The birds all stopped there clawing and cackling, and for one bewildering moment there was complete silence.

A harsh, guttural sound that was part roar, part snarl, and part scream responded, and Nuriel heard something that was very much like several very large dogs huffing as dozens of feet pounded the sand.

Then the birds began to scream.

Nuriel had no idea what was going on. It sounded like there was a war going on outside, one filled with avian shrieks of rage and pain. The birds were going to war with something apparently, something that equaled them in numbers and savagery. She heard several of the birds’ cackles get suddenly cut off, followed by growls and the sound of ripping flesh and snapping bones.

Then the deck above thumped again as the new somethings leapt on board. Nuriel could hear them scurrying this way and that as they attacked the birds, could see where the beams of moonlight were cut off as their bodies passed over the holes.

How long the fight lasted, she had no idea, but before she knew it the remaining birds had given up. At least the sound of their squawking drew further and further away as they retreated into the night sky.

Above and below, her unlikely rescuers continued to dart this way and that, apparently finishing off any bird too wounded to fly and probably making a meal of their remains. There was a lot of growling, a lot of ripping, and a lot of breaking.

And Nuriel was lying very, very still.

She had no idea exactly what had shown up to drive the birds off, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that they were actually on her side. No, it was just some rival pack of animals, one that would be more than happy to rend her apart in the birds’ stead.

However, there was one advantage in her favor, and that was that they didn’t know she was there. So if she stayed very still and prayed to whoever might be listening that they didn’t smell-

The sounds of feasting stopped. And then she heard something sniffing.

Aw fuck.

The boards of the deck creaked as the newcomers walked this way and that, sniffing and snarling. Nuriel held St. George to her chest with both hands and closed her eyes.

Then whoever it was that had let out that whistle that had sounded off the attack whistled again. In response, the newcomers immediately retreated, leaping off the ship to the sands below and scurrying away.

Oh.

Well.

That happened.

Nuriel was internally debating the pros and cons of unclenching her muscles and quite possibly even moving when something new thumped onto the deck. It stood still for a moment, and then began to walk across it.

Whatever it was, it was lighter of foot than even the birds. Nuriel could barely hear the padding of its footsteps as it made its way from the stern to the…

It stopped next to the hatch.

Nuriel held her breath.

Then with an agonizing creak, the hatch was hauled open, letting moonlight shine into the storage hold.

And then something stepped onto the top step of the stairs.

Though every muscle was tensed up with terror, Nuriel forced herself to at roll slowly onto her side to face whatever it was that was coming down, whether it be the biggest and nastiest bird there was or one of those scaly monsters or a man-sized spider.

It was none of those things.

Nuriel’s gaze drifted from the bottom of the stairs to the top. And standing there, silhouetted against the stars, was a human form.

It was a woman, one with long and wild hair and a ragged dress. Her features were completely shrouded in darkness, but Nuriel could see a pair of shining scarlet eyes, staring directly down at her.

The breath caught in Nuriel’s throat. Her dream returned to her. The red-eyed monster in the jungle was real.

Time seemed to slow and stretch on and on as they two held each other’s gazes, the monster’s calm, burning gaze boring into Nuriel’s terrified eyes.

Then, so suddenly it sent a jolt of surprise down Nuriel’s spine, the red-eyed monster suddenly looked away, up toward the sky.

Nuriel blinked. It took less than a second, just a quick shuttering of her eyes. Nevertheless, the red-eyed monster was right in front of her, but in the space of time it took for her eyelids to briefly pass down and up again, it was gone.

And then the hatch swung closed, seemingly of its own accord.

Nuriel waited in the dark, listening intently. Her ear was throbbing again, as were the cuts on her belly, but she pushed the pain out of her mind and tried to pick out any sign of the red-eyed monster’s movement.

There was none. It was gone.

Nuriel remained where she was, hands clasped around St. George’s handle and pressing him to her chest, for the rest of the night.

…

When Nuriel’s eyes opened again, she was still lying flat on her back, hands clutching St. George to her chest, staring right up at the ceiling.

It was daytime. Exactly when, she had no way of really telling, but the sun was up and seeping through the cracks and holes that dotted the Camarilla’s Fancy’s hull.

She had survived the night.

She had made it.

Nuriel slowly closed her eyes and opened them again. Then she let her head fall to the left, so that she was looking toward the hole that the bird had been trying to break through.

Nothing.

So far, so good. Nuriel righted her head, and then let it drop to her right, laying her cheek flat against the wood.

Immediately agony flared up in her ear, bringing tears to her eyes. Nuriel gasped and immediately jerked her head away, relieving the pressure.

Her ear continued to throb. Nuriel lay as still as she could, waiting for the pain to recede into something manageable.

Gradually the fire cooled, but it didn’t die, and that scared Nuriel the most. Pain she could manage, but if anything it was now hurting more than it had the night before.

Infection.

Nuriel shivered. She had seen what an infected wound could do, had seen small cuts turn into ugly, rotting messes that grew and grew, had seen fully grown men be reduced to shivering, delirious wrecks when they got too bad. She had seen many of them die.

Though her chin was trembling, Nuriel closed her eyes and took a moment to compose herself. Then she gingerly rolled around the best she could and pushed herself up.

At the very least, the wounds in her stomach didn’t seem infected. They still ached, but they didn’t burn. Hopefully in time they would heal.

Hopefully.

Careful to not upset anything that might split open, Nuriel limped her way to the stairs. The hatch was closed, so most of it was covered in shadow, but she could make out their shapes at least.

There was something on them.

Nuriel paused. There, sitting on one of the middle steps was a basket. And there was something in the basket. The red-eyed monster must have left it.

Which meant that it had returned while she had been asleep. It had reopened the hatch and left the basket while she had been asleep. Now that was something that she was not comfortable with at all.

Nuriel continued to move slowly forward, now more out of caution than pain. The basket didn’t move, so it probably didn’t contain tiny flesh-eating beetles or giant worms or poisons snakes or something like that, but she was ruling no possibility out. She ascended the first few steps and looked inside.

Fruit. The basket was full of fruit. There were a couple of the yellow fruits she had pilfered from the monkeys, as well as some that were bright red and spiky. There were a couple of small green ones with rough skins, and a several smaller ones that honestly looked like blue grapes. And in the center was something long, fat, and purple.

Nuriel recognized exactly none of it.

What was more, there was a piece of paper lying on top. And on the paper was writing.

Nuriel picked it up and walked over to one of the beams of sunlight that was pouring in through a hole. Her reading skills were rusty due to recent lack of use, though they were fortunately passable. Papa had made sure of that.

And the note was simple.

Hello.

Do not be afraid. I am a friend.