The title (originally 'Seachange', but I can think of at least two other fics with that name) is from 'The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock', by T S Eliot.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

You hear a lot, in here. The gasps and exclamations and whispered cuss-words, of course; you get to expect those. The insults and lewd questions, when a couple of lads slip old Marveloso a few bob to come back after the show's closed for the night. The occasional wail of a child who's had nightmares about my sort. All of it's natural, normal, expected. Not like me.

But what I mean is, people talk. I don't know if they think we're deaf, or can't understand the King's English, or just don't care about mortal things any more. They wander around the little tent, gawping at us like we're treasure, and they chatter to one another. Princess Barbarossa ("the Red-Bearded Royal Beauty from Romania") says it's because if they stop talking, they'll have to start thinking; and they're scared to think about us, in case they get to thinking how little different we truly are.

A couple of apprentices came in today, talking about the Black Pearl's raid on Port Royal last month, and how much profit had been in it for the pirates.

"Four chests of gold coins from the fort, Sergeant O'Shea said!" said the older of the two, counting out his pennies carefully for Tom on the door.

"Ah, but that ain't the 'alf of it," said his friend, a short lad with curly hair. There was the sound of England in his voice, as though he were fresh off the boat from Bristol. "It ain't just gold they took, is it? They 'ad a load of soap, lavender-scented soap, from our shop, and Mrs Grundy next door lost all her made-up dresses. And there was a chap down at the quay yesterday, making his apologies to the factor because the pirates'd made off with all his stock."

He stared hard at Bar, and she glared back haughtily: she does it well enough for royalty, I'll give her that, though I know the beard is mostly glued on.

"And what about the governor's daughter, eh?" said the other boy.

"Well," said Curly judiciously, "I wouldn't dare put a price on 'er."

"'Specially now she's been Barbossa's guest!"

They snorted with laughter.

I was sorry for the governor, though it seemed that he'd got his daughter back unharmed; alive, anyway. The mention of the Pearl fascinated me most, but my heart sank fathoms deep when I heard my former captain's name. The thought of Barbossa properly alive again, now that the curse was broken, made me angry and not a little afraid.

"Barbarossa? That's my name!" Bar complained, once the boys had gone and the Marvellous Marveloso was making his afternoon rounds. "Someone's gone and stolen my name!"

"No they haven't, Bar," said Marveloso patiently, making little hushing motions with his fat white-gloved hands. His name is actually Dai Evans, and he has a wife and five daughters in Swansea; sometimes he sends them money. I'd ask him to send something to Sarah and little Will back in Deptford, but I can't remember the name of the street; was it Copperas or Coopers? It's more than ten years since I was back home.

And, of course, I'm stone-broke. Never brought a single precious stone or Spanish coin up with me from the bottom of the sea; never thought of finding my fortune through having been sunk. Not that I could see much down there, even after the sea-change, just the occasional dull shine and gleam, illuminated by the glow of a deep-sea fish's skin.

Dai—Marveloso—was still on about the man who'd sent me down to the depths.

"There's a pirate, a common criminal, who's calling himself Barbossa. You're Barb-ar-ossa. Quite different. Quite distinctive. Quite lov—"

"He stole my name!" said Bar venomously, pacing behind her rope so that her gaudy skirts swirled around her ankles. "You'd better not let 'im get away with it!"

"Hush, my dear! Of course I won't!" soothed Marveloso, but I could tell he was mostly worried that someone would notice her Cockney accent.

Later on came a gang of midshipmen on shore leave, several of them still green around the gills from a night in Port Royal's taverns, crowding into the stuffy tent. They were telling one another different parts of a story about cursed pirates who became bare bone by moonlight, fought and defeated by some brave Commodore and his men. I longed for every detail of that defeat, even from such rough rude lads as these. Had Barbossa met his match at last? And what of Koehler, my old nemesis? I remembered him grinning down at me, through a veil of silver bubbles; it had been night-time, but the curse hadn't taken hold yet, and the raw red wound on his face had grinned too, like a toothless second mouth.

"Look at it, pressing its ugly warty face up against the bars!" shrieked a spotted youth, pointing rudely at me. "Like it's listening!"

"Stinks of fish, too," said another. He squinted at the roughly-lettered plaque in front of me. "Mer-man. Want a fishy, merman? Raw and wriggling?" He waggled his fingers suggestively.

That stench, I wanted to say, is nothing but rotted kelp and wet sacking: and oh, if only you would truly bring me fresh fish, I'd lead you to sunken treasures beyond your wildest dreams! But it's difficult to speak clearly, as a man should, through the barbel-moustache that sprouts from my upper lip. "Fish!" I tried, but what came out was a hissing, breathy noise that even I could scarcely recognise as human speech.

"Worse than pirates!" yelled one of the lads, and they all roared with laughter. I wanted to beg them to tell me more about Barbossa, but they wouldn't understand a word I said. Few do, these days. And anyway, they were already moving on to stretch their eyes at the Great Serpent of Midgard. Marveloso had an eye on them, and he obligingly tugged the string that made the heaped, scaly coils twitch and writhe.

A couple of the midshipmen were still talking about the pirate attack, and about someone fighting Barbossa, but it was hard to pick out their voices from the general clamour in the dim, greenish light of the tent. I strained to hear their words. I must have looked distressed, for Marveloso told Tom to dump another pail of seawater over me.

Cooled and refreshed, I still couldn't help asking Tom if he knew what had really happened to the pirates. Tom's always been friendly towards me, and he's been with the circus for long enough to make sense of my manner of speaking. He's not shy of asking me to repeat myself, either.

"How come you're so interested in 'em, mate?" he asked me, once he'd got the gist of what I was saying.

"Once sailed on a pirate ship myself," I said; and Tom said, "Aha!"

I blinked at him—not like a man, but with my extra eyelid, the one that slides across the eye—and made a querulous noise. To do him credit, Tom didn't flinch.

"Thought you might've been, mate," he said, squatting down next to the dented hipbath that Marveloso had found for me. He's not a cruel man, Marveloso, and he doesn't want me to be uncomfortable; the bars that separate me from the visitors are only there to keep up the pretence that I'm still dangerous.

"Don't forget who cleaned you up when that fisherman brought you in!" Tom went on cheerfully. "There's scars and tattoos under them scales of your'n; you weren't born half-fish."

The kindness of his smile frightened me more than anything had done for years.

"I'm a merchant sailor," I mumbled, giving myself the lie.

"But you never look so lively as when the lads come in an' talk of pirates," said Tom. "Who did you sail with, Bill? Was it Morgan, or Roberts, or—"

"Sparrow," I said thickly. "Then Barbossa."

Now he looked interested. "Sparrow, eh? Did you hear they had 'im up at the fort? Oh, now, don't do that with your eyes, mate, you know I—"

"Fort?" I had risen up, half out of my hipbath, and Marveloso was gesturing frantically at me, although there were hardly any visitors at the moment.

"He was going to hang," said Tom, his own eyes widening. "But the Governor's own daughter begged for mercy for him!"

I snorted at this, though in truth I could easily imagine Jack charming his way into a naïve young girl's affections.

"And then his mates rescued him at the last moment! And that Commodore let 'im get away! That's what I heard, any road."

Jack was free! That made me smile, though from Tom's face it wasn't exactly a nice smile to look at. I subsided, and let some of the tepid seawater splash over the sides of the bath.

"Black Pearl," I said. My mouth-parts were getting dry, and it hurt a bit to talk, but I wanted to hear every detail of the story.

"That was his ship, aye," said Tom, perhaps not understanding. "You sailed on her!"

I nodded, and frowned, so that he would know to tell me more.

"I heard he sailed off in 'er," said Tom confidentially. Marveloso had an eye on us, and any moment now he was going to call Tom back to his admission-duties. The midshipmen had gone off in search of further entertainment, and the tent was almost empty. There was a young man with his girl—a fine-looking couple, nicely turned out—hesitating at the tent-flap. Marveloso shot us a reproving look and hurried to greet them.

I tried not to smile too broadly, in case I alarmed the young lady, but my joy threatened to overwhelm me. Jack Sparrow had the Black Pearl back! 'Twas the best news I'd had in ten years, better even than the realisation that the curse was broken.

I wondered what had become of the coin I'd sent home to Sarah and Will.

"Tell you more later," promised Tom, rising stiff-kneed from beside my bath. He waited until the young couple were almost in front of us before he tipped another bucket of sun-warmed seawater over my head and shoulders. It was not what I craved, but it was much, much better than nothing; and so I played my part, stretching my arms out, sighing and rumbling with satisfaction as strands of kelp caught at my weed-greened hair, and half-winking, with that lateral eyelid, in a way that couldn't be faked with mirrors or string.

The young woman gasped and stepped back, but then her mouth firmed and she moved forward again, stooping slightly to look into my eyes.

"So like a man," she marvelled, eyes travelling over my scales, my green beard, and the pale, coral-scarred skin of my throat. Marveloso is very conscious of proper modesty; Princess Bar's voluptuous form is draped in sweaty, primrose-coloured satin, and my body is hidden by a coarse, sack-like garment that stays damp for days. Many recoil even from what's left uncovered, but this young woman did not flinch. She looked at me as though I were human. Still thrilled by Tom's tale, I wanted to tell her my own story; I even opened my mouth to speak. But her young man (well-built and handsome, dressed in fine linen but muscled like a tradesman) was tugging at her hand.

"Elizabeth, we have to get back for dinner!"

He had turned away—clearly uninterested in me, or in any of the other freaks of nature, Princess Barbarossa or the Midgard Serpent or the Man with Three Faces—but when she pulled her hand free, he let her go, though his frown deepened.

"You were a man, once, weren't you?" said Elizabeth to me in a low voice, looking directly into my eyes.

Tom was glowering helplessly at me over her shoulder, and her young man was obviously eager for his dinner. Boring sod. I took no notice of either of them, but smiled my best smile (mouth closed, fangs tucked underneath my lips, barbels as still as I could make them) for her, and nodded, once.

"The poor creature..." I heard her say, as the two of them hurried away.

"You know who that was, mate?" said Tom, wide-eyed and grinning like a maniac, as soon as they'd gone.

I grunted, no longer in any mood to be teased.

"That was—" He lowered his voice as Bar cocked an ear towards us. "The Governor's daughter! She that Barbossa took!"

"Back to work, Tom!" called Marveloso, with an extravagant gesture that reminded me all over again of Jack Sparrow. Alive and well, and with the Pearl his own once more! And that young woman knew him: she'd pleaded for his life. Somehow I couldn't imagine her being fooled by Jack Sparrow, not for a minute. I wondered how a Governor's daughter had met a pirate. Knowing Jack ... Oh, how I longed for the rest of that story!

Still, we'd be in Port Royal until Monday week. Maybe she'd be back.

-end-