The Ship of Dreams and Nightmares

April 11th, 1912. Queenstown, Ireland...

Mary grumbled to herself as she followed her husband, George, up the boarding ramp, her daughters in tow.

The bulk of their luggage was in storage, except for a small bag each, containing clothes and necessities for the journey, and a small iron trunk, fastened with the most complicated lock her "husband" could afford, which was never allowed out of his sight.

Bad enough that she'd been forced into the marriage in the first place, forced into a new name and a new personality, and her daughters with her, each in their turn. Now the wretch who called himself her lord and master was dragging them across the ocean for a new life in a new land. Somewhere utterly land-locked, without so much as a sea-bound river, if not an outright desert, if he followed his usual pattern.

Voices shouted to be heard above car engines and ship horns; sailors calling orders back and forth, street stalls hawking their wares... thousands of voices in dozens of languages, melding together into an unbearable din. Crowds gaped; whether they were passengers lining up for their turn to board or just random passers-by stopping to gawk at the massive cruise liner, the press of bodies covered the entire wharf.

It was a special kind of torment, to be so close to the ocean, yet impossibly separated from it. To be able to see the marine life just below the surface, and to know that they were out of reach. No doubt George would find it humorous, if he knew her thoughts.

Mary remembered swimming, slipping through the water as swift and sleek as a seal, in the days when she had still been Muirin, and able to live where she chose, never far from the sea. Before George, who called her Mary and himself her husband, and would brook no opposition.

The ship's horn blared across the harbor, a warning that they would be departing soon, and Mary resigned herself to the inevitable.

Titanic was called the ship of dreams, bound across the Atlantic for America. A new land, with new opportunities. A strange land, unfamiliar to all of them. Perhaps unfamiliar enough that they could finally escape...

April 13th, Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean...

George's chest was attracting attention, of the unsavory kind. Mary was hardly surprised; a small chest guarded so zealously must hold treasure, though she doubted any who were granted a glimpse inside would know the true value of the four sealskins, each carefully rolled and folded to disguise their cape-like shape.

The third-class cabins were cramped, but not unbearably so, and the other family who inhabited the other two bunks were kind enough. The food was nothing to write home about, but the passengers were all in the same boat, metaphorically speaking, and overall made for merry company. The conversations largely revolved around speculation of what America would offer, a subject on which Mary remained silent.

There had been a pod of seals following the Titanic since it embarked. At least a hundred meters above them, it was hard for Mary - she felt more like Muirin, here on the open waves, but it would do no good to say so - to make out individual features. She fancied that some of them looked familiar, and that they were more active when she was on deck, but hope could be as bitter as it was sweet, precious in it's fragility.

It was so hard not to hope, but she had hoped before, and been disappointed.

She dared not hope again. Not yet.

April 15th, 1912. Somewhere off the coast of Newfoundland...

There was a strange phenomenon, when ships sank, that Muirin had witnessed when she and her sisters sunk the ships of fur-hunters. When a ship went below the waves, it created a whirlpool-like effect, dragging anything too nearby down with it.

Already, Muirin could hear the Titanic straining, listing to one end as the flooded part tried to sink. The liner was simply too large to withstand the dual forces for long, and it wouldn't be long before it tore itself in half.

There were not enough lifeboats for all the passengers, a sad oversight that would hopefully lead to new regulations in the wake of the tragedy. Third-class, and a man, George was the lowest of priorities, ranked only above the sailors and staff to be allowed in one of the lifeboats. As such, he had fled above before anyone could get the bright idea of closing the gates between cabin decks, hoping that the confusion might allow him to slip onboard.

Good riddance.

For the first time, forgetful in his panic, he had left the iron chest behind.

It was still locked, of course, but Muirin's eldest, Aileen, had been friends with the boys too young to accompany their fathers on fishing boats. That had resulted in Aileen picking up a number of skills that Muirin pretended not to know about. There was a poker, too, for tending the tiny metal stove that provided warmth in the freezing nights.

Best to try the direct route, first.

Muirin wrenched at the lock, heedless of the noise. There was enough shouting and clamor outside the cabin that no-one would notice. Finally, the lock bent enough to come out of its hold. A final wrench, and it was bent enough to be slipped out of the lock.

Muirin stood and swung the now-misshapen poker at the small window of the cabin. Unlike the lock, it shattered easily, and she took a few moments to clear the remaining glass out of the portal. "Girls, quickly!"

They scurried over to join her, Aileen handing her the largest of the sealskin cloaks. Muirin wrapped it around her shoulders, nearly weeping at the feeling of coming home, the familiar weight she had been denied for so long. "Don't fear the jump; you'll transform once you hit the water."

She led the way, trusting them to follow. The moment she submerged herself, the grey sealskin merged with her pale human form. Arms vanished, hands transforming into flippers. Legs melted into a long body, feet changing into a powerful tail.

Three smaller juveniles joined her, dark shapes under the water approaching; the seal pod who had followed the doomed Titanic from harbor to here.

They were the ones she thought she recognized, Muirin's family from before she was stolen away as a seal-bride.

Titanic had been the Ship of Dreams, after all; for it had led her finally to her freedom.

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