Riverkeep (24 page)

“To confuse the beast!” shouted Samjon. “The captain says it hunts with sound an' so must we!”

“How can it . . .” started Wull, but the words stuck in his throat as the mormorach burst over the
Hellsong
, blocking the sun with its incredible bulk, water falling from it in sheets onto the deck. It wailed in agony through its arc, thrashing its trunk and splitting the rail, knocking one of the gongs and two crew into the water. Wull saw its head, the size of a carriage, the tusks as long as his arms, and the shimmering coils of muscle beneath scales the size of dinner plates.

The gongs stopped as men and women fell about, and Murdagh roared at them, stabbing his crutch as he spat and cursed.

“Gods,” said Wull, the blood running to his feet. “It's . . . It's so huge. . . . It's bigger than the ship.”

“Almost,” said Samjon. “The captain says we'll all be rich once we've killed it.”

“Start those hammers or it'll be the lash!” shouted Murdagh.

The gongs beat again, falling into a rhythm that sounded to Wull like the heartbeat of the earth. He clung to a tooth-studded cleat on the port side, away from the fresh, gaping wound wrought by the mormorach's tail, watching as the huge swathes of seawater darkened the timbers and drew from it a deep crimson, as though the ship were a living thing, bleeding under the strain.

Murdagh turned the sails to set her aback, settling in the open water just outside the port and dropping anchor.

“This is where he lives!” he shouted. “He's in that trench, an' he's filled with all
your
money! Let's bring 'im up!”

The gongs beat. Wull's ears trembled, his guts shaken by the wall of sound and the incredible sight of the beast—but the mormorach did not appear again.

“Are you all right?” said Samjon, sliding across the deck toward him.

Wull nodded. “I don't think I belong here,” he said. “I've made a mistake. This isn't my boat.”

“Well, you's here for a few hours now, 'less you c'n walk on water,” chuckled Samjon, knees rolling with the shifting deck.

Wull heard the thud of Murdagh's bone leg on the stairs behind him.

“The cut-squirt! I told you what I thought o' you joinin' my crew!”

He grabbed Wull by the shoulder and dragged him to the side. “I hope you c'n swim, little river boy, an' in mighty choppy sea, too! You's gettin' none o' Gilt's prize!”

“I don't want your prize!” shouted Wull, wriggling free and knocking Murdagh's hand away. “I want the tiniest bit of it, an' I'll pay. I already paid to get here—you have to let me stay!”

“An' who've you gave money to? My crew? No
Hellsong
crew's goin' to take a bribe from you 'less they wants to split their own share. Is it you what's done this, boy?” said Murdagh, gesturing at Samjon.

“No!” said Samjon. “But I'll happily split my share, Cap'n, if it helps the ship.”

“It would help the cut-squirt here,” said Murdagh, drawing his dirk and running his tongue over his teeth, “but I's not in the business o' sharin' my ship wi' strangers an' liars.”

“It's true!” said Wull. “I paid a man named Pent; he said he's found you crew before. He said you've worked together in the past an' I could trust 'im.”

“I's never heard o' this Pent,” said Murdagh, “an' I works wi' no other party. Man wants to work on my crew's got to earn it, not buy it.”

Wull's heart fell into his stomach. Murdagh gave an ugly grunt.

“I'd say you's been swindled, cut-squirt,” he said. “What'd you give 'im, exactly?”

“My friend,” said Wull, his head spinning, picturing the little mandrake in Mr. Pent's hand, hearing himself giving Tillinghast up like he was trading pickerel.

He had handed him over: all so he could be here, all so he could save Pappa.

But Wull knew in his heart that Pappa wouldn't want to be saved for such a price.

Murdagh laughed. “An' isn't that a high fare to have paid to be thrown overboard?” he said.

“What?” said Wull.

“Cap'n, I's goin' to split my share. . . .” said Samjon.

“Get belowdecks, cabin boy! An' you heard me, cut-squirt: get off! Swim! Or you c'n stay an' be sliced into chunks. . . . The beast's sounded from the noise, an' a little bait in the water 'in't goin' to hurt Gilt's chances of drawin' him out. . . .”

“Cap'n!” said Samjon.

“It's all right,” said Wull, touching his shoulder. “I don't belong here. The captain's right.”

“You swimmin' then?”

Wull nodded, meeting Murdagh's red, twisted stare. “But I'm comin' back,” he said, “in my own boat. I'll kill this thing myself, take what I need from it, an' sink its bones so it's lost. You'll get none o' your prize, Captain Murdagh, I'll make sure o' it.”

“Gah!” shouted Murdagh, lunging at Wull, blade outstretched.

The mormorach returned.

It smashed into the side of the
Hellsong
with such force that they were scattered to the deck, the slick wood tilting as the creature pressed its strength against it. Then it yielded and the ship crashed back into the water, a huge wave sweeping over the crew.

Wull jumped to his feet, ran for the rail—and was stopped by the sharp points of Murdagh's fingers at his ankle.

“Ye little demon!” shouted the old sailor. “Ye've cursed my ship! I'll kill you!”

“Let me go!” shouted Wull, kicking backward.

“I'll kill you! I'll kill you!”

Wull kicked Murdagh's chin, drawing blood from his lips. Murdagh snarled and reached for his blade.

Wull saw how easily the old sailor would stab him, how free of conscience he would be in the moment. He felt through his coat the little lump Pent had given him and snatched it, throwing it straight into Murdagh's good eye.

The captain flinched and, with a huge effort, Wull booted his hand away, loosening his grip for the tiniest moment.

It was enough. He ran, struggling for purchase on the fast, lurching deck, and dropped into the water as the mormorach jumped free of the sea beside him, a gigantic train of muscle that reached the highest mast even as its tail left the water.

Wull landed with a thump that took his wind. He kicked off his boots and shrugged free of his coat, leaving them to sink into the icy sea.

“I'll kill you!” shouted Murdagh. “Get me a harpoon! An' don't stop wi' those hammers!”

The gongs picked up as Wull swam, their sound holding him through the water like a fist. He plowed on, the waves taking his momentum, taking in mouthfuls of sour seawater as he went.

The mormorach sped below him, the silent power whipping past in a second, throwing him up on its wave. Wull felt himself tiny and fragile, his soft abdomen exposed to whatever sharpness might lurk unseen below the black water. He knew with his instincts the limitlessness of the void beneath him, the stretching reach of the deep toward his small body and his desperately kicking legs.

The creature thundered past again, a flash of gray that seemed to fill the sea for that second, too fast even to see the details of its body or the features of its awful face.

“Swim, cut-squirt!” shouted Murdagh, distant now. “Swim!”

The tip of the breakwater was getting closer. In the still water of the Danék summer he could swim such a distance in half a minute; out here, on the wild sea, each wave pushed him back nearly as far as he'd come.

He heard the cries of the crew as the mormorach
launched at the
Hellsong
again, and swam harder, almost within reach of the rusting ladder on the breakwater's wall.

Then he felt the mormorach behind him.

It was still a way off, he knew, but its energy stabbed at his back like a whirlpool's point, every bit of its strength driving toward him.

As his fingertips made contact with the ladder he heard the hiss of its fins tearing the surface and the rush of water filling its opening mouth.

He heaved himself up onto the first rung, pulling his feet behind him. The mormorach halted sharply, sending a wall of water that knocked out Wull's air and struck his head against the breakwater's rock.

The beast streamed off, back to the
Hellsong
, from which the sound of the gongs was now muffled by distance.

Wull scrambled up the ladder. There was hot blood on his head where he'd struck the breakwater, and his steps seemed unweighted, loose. With tiny stones stabbing at his stockinged feet he ran past the statue of the woman, through the discarded anchors and the silent, beached craft of the port. Groups of townsfolk were gathered, talking and gawking at the battle between creature and ship. Wull scattered them like hens as he ran toward the Brunswick, past the protesting barkeep and through the door of room three.

“Wull?” said Tillinghast, bound to a chair. His voice was weak. “Gods above, get away!”

Wull ran over and held Tillinghast upright. His face was intact, but his body was spilling outward from crude bindings, his skin split like the rot-swollen bodies Wull and Pappa found after months in sun-drenched water. A crude, dull blade was stuck in his chest.

“Till! I'm so sorry. He wanted the mandrake to get me on the ship, an' I thought I had to so I could save Pappa, but it's not right. I'm sorry. . . .”

“You shouldn't've come here. He only wanted me, an' I'm finished now. You shouldn't've—”

“How did you even find him?”

“Chewin' that rosy rubbish? Once I remembered what I was lookin' for, it was easy.” Tillinghast looked at the ground. “I's not proud o' this, but I's got a florist's nose.”

The door clicked shut. Wull turned to see Mr. Pent, grinning with spit on his chin, turning the key and dropping it into his pocket.

“I jus' want to take him away,” said Wull. “You've got the mandrake, an' that's what you wanted, an' you've got my money too, so jus' let us go.”

Pent laughed. He lifted the tight roll of money Wull had handed him that morning, threw it into the fire, then pointed at Tillinghast.

“You only want him?”

Pent nodded.

“Why?”

Pent looked thoughtful, then flexed his hands in a gesture of maddened strangulation.

“I's got no idea what you's sayin'.” Tillinghast sighed. “Mibbe if you explained it through the wonder of song?”

Pent pointed at Tillinghast and shrugged.

“I'm takin' him with me,” said Wull, his anger rising. “He's a pain an' he's rude, but he's my friend. An' look at him, he's ruined. Let me take him.”

Pent shook his head.

“I'm takin' him!” said Wull.

“Wull,” said Tillinghast, “jus' go!”

“No!” said Wull, and he rushed at Pent, head down, knocking him backward against the wall. Before Pent threw him off, Wull felt all the pieces of tinkling metal under the black coat, all the little blades and trinkets of violence neatly aligned like books on a shelf.

Pent tossed him to the floor and stamped after him. Tillinghast tried to rise but fumbled—Pent struck him across the mouth and kicked the table aside as Wull darted backward on the floor. As Pent came at him Wull rose and charged again, butting his stomach and swinging wild punches at his sides.

Pent drove a knee into his windpipe and pushed him to the ground. Spots flashed in Wull's vision, and he coughed, tasting blood.

“Wull . . . I's sorry,” said Tillinghast. “It's my fault. I told
'im you needed to get on a ship. . . . I's sorry. . . . I'd've turned me in an' all.”

He tried to stand again but slumped backward, broken and defeated.

Pent hunkered down, a thin knife held loosely in his hand. He smiled again and held it to the back of Wull's skull.

Wull felt his skin tear, and thought of Pappa, of his courage and his strength.

“No!” he shouted, rising with all his might—knocking Pent's hand aside and pushing his ribs.

The big man laughed, stepped away, raised the knife, and prepared to drive its point into Wull's brain . . . when his heel caught the corner of his coat. The fabric twisted as he fell, bunching the sharp, cruel, tinkling things beneath him into a fist of steel.

Pent wheezed as the blades sliced into his back, through the cage of his ribs and into his heart. He coughed violently, spraying flecks of bright blood onto Wull's face.

Wull fell backward, kicking away from Pent's agonized wriggle, the empty mouth hissing wordless curses and cries as the floor around him turned vividly red.

Then he was still, his last sound a tiny gasp that seemed to Wull like a whispered “please.”

“Wull!” shouted Tillinghast. “Are you all right?”

Wull nodded, looking at Pent's twitching body, the pool of blood moving toward him.

“I'm fine,” he said, sagging, “I'm sorry I gave him the mandrake. I'm so sorry.”

“'S fine,” said Tillinghast. “I'd've done the same. Course that's what makes me such a wretched git, an' is the kind o' behavior from which I's now repented. You did well facin' up to that blaggard, mind.”

Wull lifted the knife from Pent's hand and cut the bonds at Tillinghast's wrists.

“Let's go,” he said.

“You need to help me,” said Tillinghast. “I's mibbe savable like this but no good for much else.”

Wull lifted him into a hug, and they held each other a moment.

“Let me go, soft lad,” said Tillinghast. “Where we goin' anyways?”

“To get Pappa, an' then we're goin' after the mormorach.”

“I thought you'd gave up on it?”

“Only on catchin' it with Murdagh,” said Wull.

“Who's Murdagh?” said Tillinghast.

“The captain of the only huntin' ship left, the one I traded you to get on. But he tried to kill me. We need to go on the bäta, on my boat. That's how this ends.”