Seawitch: A Greywalker Novel Page 31

  The noise of returning otters and dobhar-chú had drawn close so I wasn’t surprised to hear a short scrabbling sound followed by the rough clearing of a throat. I could feel Father Otter’s presence at my shoulder even without seeing Fielding cringe. Solis flicked his gaze a degree or two aside but his attention didn’t move away from Fielding.

  “Does our cousin offend?”

  “He’s not being cooperative,” I replied, keeping my eyes on Fielding. “I’ve rendered all the services I was asked to perform and I still have nothing to show for it. While it’s of no interest to you, there is a small matter of human law and the death of the people on board Seawitch to be resolved. And beyond that is the sneaky way your cousin used me and you and still let people die because he didn’t have the spine to do what he ought. He didn’t help his girlfriend and he endangered the crew and got Reeve killed by leading the merfolk to him at the hospital. While I’m willing to let the human matters go if I must, I’m not ready to leave the situation here as it is and simply excuse a debt of honor because Gary doesn’t want to get his paws dirty.”

  I could tell by the way Fielding pulled back that Father Otter’s attention had turned on him and it wasn’t pleasant. “Have you not had enough of exile from your proper form? Will you prefer to be outcast and outlaw, too, now that you have regained it? We shall make it so—”

  A light came on in my mind at his use of “we” and “our”—they were not the common plural, but the royal usage—as Fielding lurched forward and down, putting his face to the rock floor of the cavern.

  “No! No, Uncle,” he gurgled even as his form flowed and shifted from human to otter in front of us. Even though he was the largest of them, he wiggled forward like a pup, keeping his head on the ground and rolling onto his side in front of Father Otter, exposing his throat and belly.

  Father Otter shrank down to his own otter form beside me and lunged forward, biting down on a mouthful of Fielding’s nearest ear and scruff. Then he shook the larger dobhar-chú hard until Fielding squalled and flailed with all of his paws as he was flung about. A stench thickened the air and Father Otter held his miscreant relative down until Fielding made a docile yipping that sounded like “Pax, pax, pax . . .”

  Father Otter spat out the fold of Fielding’s hide and glared at him with disdain. He made a barking noise at Fielding and turned his back on the younger creature before stalking away to join the rest of the returning otters and dobhar-chú redistributing themselves around the cave. The others watched but none interfered or gave any sign that they were upset at what had just happened. A few furry faces even looked a bit pleased.

  Solis and I stood still and watched Fielding resume his human form, shivering and sweating as if the scene between him and Father Otter had been a sickening ordeal. Perhaps it had been in a way we mere humans couldn’t understand. Fielding didn’t get to his feet this time but curled up to sit on the floor with his knees drawn up against his chest. “I’m to do as you tell me.” He sounded like a chastened child.

  “Or?” I asked.

  “Or I’ll have no home among otters or men. They’ll hound me to death. Father Otter is really pissed at me.” He was in his fifties no matter how he looked, yet he sounded like a teenager.

  I kept my growing dislike in check. “I see. What about the merfolk?” I asked.

  “They’ve withdrawn for now. Father Otter and the others will attack when you say so. But I think it’ll have to be soon—before the fish faces can regroup and come after us or Paul’s boat.”

  I was ashamed to admit that I’d almost forgotten about Mambo Moon. It lay outside the overlap but that didn’t make it safe and I had no idea what may have happened to it while Solis and I were in the dobhar-chú’s cave. I looked at my watch and picked a course of action, no matter how wild and stupid it was—even the faultiest plan put in action swiftly is better than working out a perfect plan and squandering the time to execute it.

  “I assume they’ll move at or just before sunset when we’ll have the sun in our eyes. There’s not much time. So we’ll have to be ready to go before they move. How long until sundown?” I asked Fielding.

  “It’s pretty dusky now so . . . maybe two hours to darkness, ninety minutes to red sun—that’s what the dobhar call sunset.”

  “All right. In one hour the dobhar-chú and the otters need to be in place as far into the overlap perimeter as they can get without being spotted. Father Otter will know the strategic points for placement. You need to scout and find where the other ghosts are and get into a hiding place where you can get to them quickly once the sun is nearly down. I’ll deal with the sea witch and her daughter.”

  “I thought you wanted me to be the go-between.”

  “I need those ghosts more than I need you dangling like bait. Besides, I don’t think Jacque will let you get close enough to issue the invitation I need.”

  “Jacque . . . ?”

  “You said the sea witch is a redhead. The woman who was on Pleiades until Father Otter came to talk to me at the marina is a redhead. The name she gave was Jacque Knight, and if she’s not the sea witch, I’ll be the proverbial monkey’s uncle.”

  Solis interrupted. “Could it not be Shelly who is the sea witch, as we discussed?”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. “The revised story doesn’t fit that scenario, and if you were a powerful magic user looking to unseat your parent, would you keep her around afterward?”

  Solis shook his head. “No. Then this business about virginity and power was the truth? But how does one have a child if that is true?”

  “I don’t know that it’s true or not—I can’t even guess at this point. Shelly was a mermaid. She’s still a mermaid. She just never became the sea witch, but there’s no way to know why and my speculation may not be correct in any case. The sea witch used to roam the Sound and destroy ships but she couldn’t keep the door open this time and then she lost a significant percentage of her ghosts. She’s got to be pretty angry at Fielding here.”

  “Didn’t I say she carried a grudge?” Fielding asked. “She never lets go of anything.”

  “You did. And I intend to use that to my advantage. But we have to get back to Mambo Moon first. Fielding, you find the other ghost receptacles and get ready to grab them when the sun goes down and bring them to me. Recruit other dobhar-chú or the otters if you need to; we have to get those things away from here or there will never be any peace.”

  “What about Jacque and Shelly?”

  “What about them?”

  “Aren’t you going to . . . destroy them?”

  “I said I would deal with them; I didn’t say I’d kill them. That’s not what I came here for. I won’t stop your clan from doing what it needs to and if my goals force me to do it, I will kill them both, but I won’t put my job aside to do yours.”

  “But—”

  “I already helped you and your clan. Now you return the favor. That’s the deal. That’s as far as it goes.”

  Fielding looked flabbergasted, but it was the truth: I hadn’t come here to play avenging angel for the wrongs done to the dobhar-chú or the merfolk. “Someone once called me the Paladin of the Dead and that’s what I am. My job is to get justice for the dead, not to settle scores for the living, no matter how magical.”

  “But I hired you—”

  “When? I was already on this case when you showed up. And you never offered me anything but false answers. You’ve never offered me any payment. I am not working for you. I’m working for something bigger and meaner than Father Otter or any clan of sea witches or even the insurance company. You’ll get what you want if it works with the rest of my own plans, not because I owe you anything or feel you’re the injured party. If you don’t like that, maybe next time you should offer something better than lies.”

  I turned my back on him and started for the dark passage that led back to the bay. Solis fell in behind me in a few steps, saying nothing as we were joined by an escort of otters and a sing
le dobhar-chú the size of a rottweiler.

  Nothing stopped us all the way to Mambo Moon.

  TWENTY-SIX

  When Solis and I stepped back on board, the decks of Mambo Moon were a mess. The skirmish between the merfolk and the dobhar-chú had sent a lot of sea life tumbling over the sides of the boat, and Quinton and Zantree were still clearing it away when we returned. Finishing the job killed about twenty minutes of the hour or so that we had before I’d have to be in place to bargain with and distract the sea witch from the snooping presence of Fielding and his relatives. Explaining what I needed to do took another ten minutes and resulted in an argument I didn’t win.

  I’d just finished summarizing the events and discussion in the otter cave and said, “So, Quinton and I will take the bell to the dock while Paul and Solis move the boat out as close to the bay’s mouth as possible. I’ll use the bell to get the sea witch’s attention—”

  Solis said, “No.”

  I stared at him. “What?”

  “I will not allow you to put yourself into the first line of fire.”

  “Not your decision, Solis.”

  “I believe it is. I am a policeman; you are not.”

  “This is no longer a police matter. You have the answers you came here for. Your case is closed one way or the other. You can attempt to take Fielding in or not as you see fit, and I have the background info I need to put the insurance case to bed, too. All that’s left is the concerns of the dead and the magical. That’s my field.”

  He shook his head. “Nonetheless, I will not be sidelined while you put yourself in danger. I can’t allow it.”

  “I can’t take you both: Mambo Moon requires two crew, since Paul will need a lookout while he pilots.”

  “Quinton is the more experienced boat hand. And it makes more sense for me to come with you than to stay here.”

  I sighed and shook my head in exasperation. “Things are going to get very weird out there—”

  “And the earlier parts of this day were not?”

  “Not like it’s going to get. A few ghosts in the engine room and some talking otters is not even in the ballpark. Quinton’s been through this sort of thing with me before.”

  “And you trust him more?”

  Way to put me on the spot. “That is not the issue.”

  “Then what is?”

  “Well, if you want the truth, I don’t think your family would forgive me if I got you killed.”

  He laughed a single hard bark of irony. “Eventually Ximena would understand. But Mama Gomez . . . she’s the one you should fear.”

  “I do.”

  “Most of the neighborhood is afraid of her.”

  “Which surprises me not at all.”

  “And does not change the situation. I will go with you.”

  Quinton cleared his throat. “Far be it from me to get in the middle of this . . . interesting argument, but I really am the better boat hand and if this is going to turn into another sea battle, we frankly need the best hands aboard. Not that I’m dissing you, Rey, but—”

  “The right man in the right position is more important than hurt pride,” Solis said.

  “Yeah. But while we’re on the subject of who won’t forgive whom . . . I’ve already lost Harper once.” Quinton gave Solis a meaningful look.

  Solis returned a somber nod. “I understand.”

  Zantree cackled. “I feel like I should break out the rum and cutlasses!”

  “You might need to yet. Those merfolk aren’t numerous, but they seem to leave quite a mess. If they come after the boat again instead of focusing on me and”—I hesitated for a moment while I adjusted my mind to the change in my plan— “me and Solis, you may need a few sharp blades around.”

  Zantree looked excited. “Really? ’Cause I have an old navy cutlass I’ve been dying to swing.”

  Dying . . . I hoped not. “Much as I hate to say it, now would be the time. They may be magical and they have an illusory cohort, but these merfolk are corporeal enough to stab,” I replied.

  Zantree looked ready to dance a jig and I wasn’t sure I’d just said the wisest thing. “Arrr! They’ll never take us alive. Eh, Mr. Quinton?”

  Quinton laughed and saluted. “Aye, aye, Cap’n Zantree! All hands to stations and prepare to repel boarders!”

  I felt a strange tickle of adrenaline from Quinton and I stared at them, incredulous. “Hey, this isn’t a game, you two. These creatures kill people.”

  Quinton sighed. “Then all the better reason to get our humor on now. A little levity helps ease the sheer terror I’d otherwise be feeling at the thought of being gaffed by fish men.” I wanted to laugh, also, but I was too aware of how much responsibility I had for these three men and how terrible I’d feel if any of them were injured or worse. This responsible-friend thing? It bites.

  We had a few more words about the details and I felt more and more desperate and afraid for them, but I didn’t speak up—what would have been the point?—even when Solis and I were ready to head out for the dock that stuck out from the shore, while Quinton and Zantree prepared to move Mambo Moon out as close to the cove mouth as possible to offer the surest escape. If Solis and I couldn’t rejoin them, we’d decided to ditch the dinghy, walk across the thin neck of forest to the other cove on the south side of the island, and wait there for the boat or a message. It was only a little more than a mile to hike, but we were sure the merfolk would not follow us across the ridge of dry land.

  And although I had denied it to Fielding, I was prepared to destroy the sea witch if it was the only way to keep the men with me safe. I wondered if my mixed feelings of fear, frustration, and resolve were as strange to Quinton as the flood of excitement and trepidation he was sending to me.

  Before we left, Quinton and Zantree did some flitting about with the dinghy to free the anchors. Once they were done, Solis and I, carrying one handheld radio between us, bundled up in waterproof jackets against the rage of the sea witch and her clan. Then we took the little boat and, with the bell from the Valencia tucked into a compartment in the bow, headed for the dock. As soon as we were clear, Zantree eased the big boat’s engines up enough to make way and turned her gently toward the exit. Solis and I continued on alone, running across the gold and orange reflections of sunset on the water. I hoped Fielding and the dobhar-chú were doing their part. . . .

  This time there was no storm to weather and summer clouds picked up the reflected colors of the sunset and striped the sky in red and pink as Solis and I sped across the water to the dock. We had to cut into the edge of the paranormal bubble as we neared our goal, disturbing the calm like a pounding on the door, and the world turned dark and silver with washes of thin color, as if we’d plunged into an impressionist film version of the cove.

  The water around us began to roil as if heated, though only a preternatural chill rose from it. By the time we’d tied off the dinghy at the short pier whose seaward half stuck into the overlay of Grey and normal, the water seemed to be alive.

  I snatched the bell from the boat as it heaved on the unnatural swell. The green energy ribbons imprisoning the ghosts of Valencia within its bell burned vivid emerald spiked with ruby red and the spirits billowed around us in a howling chorus. I checked my watch; then I swung the bell hard and felt the clapper strike, the peal rolling outward like a shock wave of white light on a note that shook the sturdy little dock under our feet. If Solis was right in his observation, we’d have fifteen minutes until this bubble collapsed—and most likely took the gateway with it.

  An answering shock of sound and light rolled back to us in a moment, and the water at the end of the dock belled upward like soft plastic deformed from below and lit by moving fireflies leaving sickly yellow-green trails below the bulging surface. The water rose higher until it was head height and then the surface peeled away, letting something come through.

  Water shed off the writhing shape as it came up, as if it made the liquid and spat it forth until the air had dried
it out too much to bear and the surface had to crack and peel away. The bulge differentiated slowly into three shapes riding a hillock of water: two slender women of nearly equal height and one wriggling, miserable man. The three were borne down to the dock as if by a giant watery hand.

  The first woman stepped forward. Her long red hair fanned and billowed around her as if she were still immersed in the water and she gave a cruel little smile that showed serrated teeth. She seemed to be dressed in the shimmer of moonlight on the sea that obscured the details of her body without hiding the sensual shape of it. The face that was still that of Jacque Knight but, stripped of the illusion of boring humanity, she was more beautiful and terrifying. Behind her came her paler version: Shelly, whose white skin and silver hair both held a pearly greenish tinge that gave her the look of something fragile and ephemeral. In this overlapped world I could see the faint impression of scales under Shelly’s skin and a long scar ruining the symmetry of her coltish legs and awkward feet.

  From a swift, hard glance deeper into the Grey I could see that Jacque’s form was more true, if somewhat glamorized, while Shelly looked more truly a woman who was half-fish, walking uncomfortably on her split tail.

  Shelly held on to Gary Fielding’s right arm but it was Jacque who reached back to yank him forward. She held him out toward us and shook him. Shelly stumbled a little as she was dragged along.

  “Did you send this creature into our realm to steal from us? Or is he as presumptuous as ever all on his own?” the sea witch’s voice ripped the air.

  Fielding crumpled to his knees as Jacque let him go. I wanted to yell at him and demand to know what fool thing he’d been doing to get himself captured but I restrained myself.