Vengeance of the Pirate Queen(28)

“Perhaps it only does so at night, far out of our lanterns’ reach.”

“That means it’s enormous.”

“Yet it can sneak off with a single sailor in the night?”

I keep my voice pitched low as someone walks by in front of us. “Why wouldn’t it wreck the ship? Take us all out at once? It clearly knows there’s food aboard.”

“Maybe it has a small stomach. Wants to make its meals last.”

“Then how long before it’s hungry again?”

Kearan’s face grows solemn, for it’s a question neither of us knows the answer to. “Do we dare attempt to attack first?”

“We have cannons and a single ballista, and we don’t know what would happen if we make it angry.”

“So we wait?”

“We wait.”





I NORMALLY KEEP NIGHT hours as it is, but I can tell some of the crew have a hard time adjusting. Dimella occasionally has to wake up sailors who slump against the companionway or other hard surfaces of the ship. Too many are less alert, their internal monitors relaxing in the bitter evening air. Night is for sleeping. It’s hard to convince the body otherwise.

I can sympathize, but if I’m to keep everyone alive, I need the crew to try harder.

The reason I kept my theories about the beastie between myself and Kearan is because I thought that would keep everyone calm and levelheaded for the fight ahead, but it would seem they need a little more fear in them to stay alert.

That means I need to … make a speech.

As I survey the sluggish night crew from atop the aftercastle, I swallow back my distaste and push through my discomfort. “Listen up, you lot!” My sudden shout startles many, and Enwen nearly falls over from where he’s leaning against the railing. “There is some sort of sea creature following us. It’s already fed on one of our own. Look alive or you might be next.”

That does the trick.

Philoria, Bayla, and Visylla keep the cannons loaded at all times in the evenings. They’re cleaned and unloaded by the scanty day crew, then readied again at night. I have a sailor stationed at the ballista at all times, scouring the water in front of us.

Many hold their pistols in their hands for comfort. Some even get into the muskets from belowdecks. Visylla brings up her collection of hand bombs, and I welcome it. Better to be overprepared than under.

I have a brave crew full of good people. Only the best would volunteer for this mission in the first place. They prove their mettle in their commitment to stay course. Only Enwen’s superstitions get the better of him from time to time.

And then it happens finally.

A change.

The water stops churning, despite the fact there are no obstacles around.

“Lerick’s gone!” Rorun shouts, and my eyes find him across the ship. “He was standing right behind me a second ago.”

“There’s something in the water!” This from little Roslyn up top. “I can’t make it out.”

When the water begins churning again, I realize what it must mean. It’s feeding. It releases air while eating, and the churning water is from its efforts to keep apace with us. But we can’t let this go on. Not when it just snatched another of the crew without a soul noticing.

“Weapons out!” I shout. “Gunwomen to your posts. Backs to the deck, everyone. Eyes on the water. Stay vigilant.”

Dimella takes up the call, repeating it belowdecks and waking the rest of the crew. I run to the ballista at the other end of the ship. It’s already loaded, harpoon slung in place. My muscles strain as I turn the weapon, angling it straight down into the water. The trajectory isn’t perfect, but if this beastie’s as big as I think it is, the harpoon will hit.

“Ready yourselves!” I shout.

I fire.

A larger rush of bubbles flies to the water’s surface. Something like a clicking sound erupts from the midnight depths below.

“Reload,” I order.

Visylla uses two hands to put another harpoon in place. She helps me at the crank to pull back the spring. I change angles, this time aiming for the other side of the bowsprit. I shoot.

This time the noise is unmistakable: a keening moan akin to a whale yet sharper. The sea is frothing madly beneath us, and something finally makes an appearance above the surface of the water.

It’s a tentacle of some sort, but not like that of an octopus. It’s smooth, not puckered with suction cups. It looks like a thick whip, except at the very end, which doesn’t come to a point. No, it’s large and rounded. And when the tentacle finishes rising out of the water, my eyes widen.

An unblinking eyeball stares at us all.

Enwen shrieks, but I’ve already got my pistol out. I take aim, sighting that bulbous eye at the end, and pull the trigger.

Blood and flesh rip apart. Another moan sounds below the ship, and I hear the splashing of water as the wounded tentacle retreats.

Not for long.

More of those whiplike appendages breach the surface. They surround the ship, each with a large, grapefruit-sized eye on the end. One of them still holds Lerick’s body, the tentacle wrapped around his neck. It releases him onto the deck of the ship with a horrible crunch. We stare at our fallen crewman, who is missing the lower half of his body.

There’s a moment of silence where I wait for Alosa’s orders; then I remember Alosa’s not here. This is my ship. And the crew looks to me.