Another
commotion on the deck brings Captain Briggs out of a deep sleep.
“We've
got her,” he hears Ed, the steward, shout. “She was skulking
around the cargo.”
By
the time he makes it on deck, the crew are gathered round the
foremast. “Got who?” he asks, pushing his way through them.
“The
siren,” declares the steward proudly.
At
their centre, the Captain finds a short, plump girl, dressed for the
sea, who has been tied to the post and gagged with a deck cloth.
“The
siren is she?” he asks, reaching to remove the rag. “We'll see
about that.”
“Careful
Captain,” cries the mate, grabbing his hand, “We don't want her
singing.”
“Good
point,” he replies, taking a knife from his belt. Holding it to
her throat, he says “Sing and I'll gut you, understand?” She
nods a little. “Well then,” he says, taking the rag from her
mouth, “Who are you, and what are you doing on my ship.”
“You
can call me Phoebe,” she tells him with great confidence, “I've
come to help you, you know, with your problem.” She winks.
