Strange Noises Fiction by Rachel Greenham

Sam’s right, of course. It was hard work, but I do feel better now I’m up on deck. And if I do say it myself this dress is rather gorgeous. Pity my hands look like barnacled reefs right now and I can’t touch anything. But the sea air is helping, I think. They’re throbbing less anyway.

It’s a warm evening, and the deck is lit by coloured paper lanterns. In fact, all of the ships and boats in the harbour are similarly decorated. The mizzen deck has been cleared of stalls and is laid out with food and a space for dancing. There are elves and humans together down there, mixing freely. Sam and I are, for the moment, alone on the bridge. I don’t think old sailing ships back home had a direct access from belowdecks to the bridge, but this one does, in a small stairway leading up from the cabin where I’d been put. But then, there are many ways in which a Neri familyship would differ from any sailing ship back home. It is, after all, a family ship.

Trading is over for the day; this is the time for meeting friends, eating out, listening to music. I haven’t seen Market like this before now; I’d always been in the inn playing on the box-harp for the inn’s customers.

Which reminds me: “Where’s my box-harp?” I ask Sam.

“It’s here. It’s downstairs packed away.”

“All right.” It’s not as if I’m in any condition to play right now.

I take the time to look across the harbour, at all the other lanterned ships, and the lights along the quayside. I can see the inn, and I wonder what Hethan’s doing having lost both Jalese and myself in that manner. Not to mention having to deal with what happened on his premises.

“Are you all right?” Sam asks.

“Just a bit cold,” I admit.

Sam does something then that completely surprises me. Standing behind me, she runs her hands through under my arms and around my waist and clasps them together at my tummy. And I lean back, accepting the embrace, which also completely surprises me.

“Is that better?” she asks.

“Yes.” I don’t mention that I think the warming effect may be more down to blush response than actual thermal exchange. In any case, she does feel warm, that close to me.

Impulsively I turn around, in Sam’s embrace. Carefully I put my hands behind my back, resting their backs against the folds of the dress’s skirt over my bottom.

She really is beautiful, I think, with that suggestion of luminosity humans seem to have after dark, through these eyes. She has those beautiful large dark brown eyes, and lovely long black hair, currently tied back in a simple ponytail.

I move forwards to kiss her. But she moves back and disengages her arms, stepping back out of reach.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” she says.

“I’m sorry.” Now I feel wretched and rejected, like the only other time I ever tried to kiss a girl. “I was being stupid.” I turn away again, finding something across the harbour to look at. Some of my hair falls across my face. I try to shake it back. “Do you still see Paul when you look at me?”

She comes up close beside me. “No,” she says. And her hand moves the stray hairs away from my face and gently behind my ear and I feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle on the deck. “That’s not it at all.” I look at her face again. She’s watching me intently. “I just would never take advantage,” she says. Then she leans forward and kisses my forehead.

I’m blushing; because implied in that she’s saying I am attractive, and that’s something I’ve never been. At least, not in any way I could believe it, or want it.

She straightens and resumes her intent gaze. “You know it’s funny. Since we’ve been here I’ve watched you becoming more and more you every day. It’s like you’re finally coming into focus. Does that make sense?”

I can’t answer that.

“How long have you wanted to be a girl, Paul?”

My breath stops. I want to run away. I want to hide. I’m afraid, suddenly.

But I stay. I keep her gaze and I whisper, “All my life.”

She nods. “Thought so.” And that’s it. As simple as that. I have to breathe again, hard. I’m feeling dizzy and delirious. I’ve told someone. I’ve finally told someone.

“You understand, I never did,” she says. “Not once. I can’t – be like this the rest of my life, Tani. It’s not going to work.”

“I know.”

“I guess you do.” She smiles, letting it go for now. “Maybe we should join the party,” she says.