Free Encante by Aiyana Jackson

at once uncomfortable and endearing. They seemed far from the sexual creatures I had seen only moments before.
    “This is Liza,” Stella told me. The girl with tentacle hair looked up at me, evidently recognising her name, even if she couldn’t speak. “And this is her sister, Beth. Of course, those aren’t really their names. I give them human names when then come to me; even Drusilla can’t translate their real names into speech.” Stella petted Liza’s head. “They’re saying thank you.”
    “They’re most welcome. Stella,”—I glanced up at the older woman—“how old are these girls?”
    She held my gaze as she answered: “Just shy of twelve.”

Chapter Ten
    D rusilla’s introductions troubled me more than I could possibly have foreseen. It was not only the notion that the encante were kept as sex slaves, but the brutal manner in which they were treated. Girls so young, so helpless, so completely at the mercy of a ship filled with men, the majority of whom appeared not only to condone their treatment, but actually partake of what was on offer.
    That night I found myself once again seeking the hydroponics lab, and once again listening to the slow, decidedly melancholy notes of someone’s music drifting to me down the corridors. It seemed I felt more than heard the music, as if it seeped out of the pipes running throughout the ship. It was Axel I sought, and answers. I was not disappointed; I found him once again in the belvedere at the centre of the bay. This time my arrival was no surprise to him.
    “It seems you like it in here, Mister Escher,” he said by way of greeting, stepping out onto the walkway and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his rumpled trousers. He appeared generally dishevelled, and I wondered if I’d woken him from a snooze.
    “Actually, I was looking for you.” I smiled. “And please, call me Simeon.”
    “Looking for me?” The boy’s eyes became guarded. “Whatever for at this time of night?”
    “Your sister introduced me to Stella.”
    “I see.” He leant with against the gazebo, seemingly nonchalant, but something told me it was feigned; he appeared tense, and despite looking at me directly as we spoke, his eyes kept flickering, just slightly, towards the gazebo behind him. “You’re wondering how my father can possibly condone such things—how he can allow his daughter to be aboard, when her kin are being treated in such a manner.”
    “Yes.” There was no point dancing around the issue.
    “He has no choice.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Drusilla was brought aboard this vessel as soon as my uncle realised her potential. She has not left it since.”
    “But . . . you’re talking years!”
    “Indeed.” He attempted a smile, but it faltered. “There are only two ways off the Narwhal, Simeon: upon the metaphorical shoulders of my uncle, as he sings your praises for making him a fortune, or in a coffin. My sister has yet to make him a fortune.”
    “And you?”
    “I was never expected to do so; I am his heir, I shall take over when he dies. Until then, my sister shall never be free, nor will the encante my uncle believes he owns.”
    “You will free them when you take over the ship?”
    Axel pushed off the wall and leant so close to my ear I could feel the vibrations of his voice against my neck. “When I take over, Simeon, I shall free all of us. Until then, my friend, watch yourself.” He glanced over his shoulder, into the shadows of the gazebo. “My sister had that made, you know. There is something about the acoustics in this room that prevent my uncle’s listening devices from working. Be it the water or the plants, or the damnable fish themselves, I do not know, but it is the only place a person can be assured of any amount of . . . privacy.”
    “Devices?” I frowned. “What sort of devices?”
    The boy looked at me in the patronising manner of a parent faced with telling their child that his nose sits between his eyes.