Gargantis

by Thomas Taylor

  There is a chorus of snarled agreement from the other fishermen.

  “I don’t suppose,” says Deep Hood, once this has died down, “anyone would notice if Herbert Lemon met with a little accident. The storm is returning, fiercer than ever. People would think he got swept off the harbour wall and washed out to sea.”

  There’s another rumble of agreement at this, but it sounds a bit less certain than before. The fishermen all look at one another.

  “Wouldn’t that be …?” says one.

  “… a bit too drastic?” says another.

  Deep Hood lifts his metal box and bangs it down on the table with a CRASH!

  The fishermen jump.

  “Are these hard men of the sea I hear speaking?” gurgles Deep Hood. “What would your ancestors say if they could see you standing here in doubt? Or are the fisherfolk of Eerie now so soft that they can’t do what needs to be done?”

  There’s an angry growl of annoyance around the room.

  “We ARE men of the sea!” one man shouts.

  And another adds, “Aye, we could do it.”

  “It’s just …” says another, “the Lost-and-Founder is only a boy.”

  “Aye,” says a fisherman with a lanky beard. “I was there when he was found, washed up on the beach in a crate of lemons. Just a weedy child.”

  “But he is not –” Deep Hood rises to his feet – “a child of Eerie! What do you, the heirs of Saint Dismal, the fisherfolk of Eerie-on-Sea, care about an outsider?”

  “Very well,” declares Boadicea Bates, “to destroy Gargantis and save the town, the boy could be sacrificed.”

  “Good,” burbles Deep Hood. “I’m pleased that one among you, at least, has the will to do what must be done.”

  Deep Hood starts to lower himself back into his seat, but before he gets there, the fisherman with the lanky beard speaks up again.

  “What about you, though?”

  A silence follows this. Everyone turns to look at Lanky Beard. The fisherman goes a bit pale and clearly wishes he hadn’t spoken at all, but he ploughs on.

  “I mean, you’re a stranger and all. That’s to say, you’re not from around these parts neither. We’ve never even seen your face. And now you’re telling us what we should and shouldn’t do—”

  Before Lanky Beard can finish, Deep Hood’s hood trembles, and the pink whippy thing we saw back on the boat shoots out and strikes Lanky Beard in the face. The fisherman staggers back, clutching at his eyes, but the thing darts at him again, this time grabbing his beard and yanking his head down onto a tabletop. The fisherman reels away in shock, before the pink whip darts out a third time, punching the man’s feet out from under him. He goes down with a sickening crunch, and stays down.

  And then we finally get a good look at this fearsome weapon and realize with horror that our first impression – the one we had back on the Jornty Spark – was right after all.

  “It is a tentacle!” Violet whispers to me, clutching at my arm.

  As we watch, mesmerized, the pink and repulsive tentacle, with gaping suckers along its underside, coils in languid triumph over the crumpled body of the sailor. Then it retracts into Deep Hood’s hood, with a disgusting smacking sound.

  “Do not dare to question me!” gurgles Deep Hood in his slippery voice. “There is more Eerie in my blood than you could possibly imagine.”

  Another silence follows this. There’s a moment before it’s broken by the tremulous but determined voice of Boadicea Bates.

  “Now now, th-there’s no need to be hasty, sir. Scaring’s one thing, but killing? Well, that’s a hard business, that is. ’Specially when it’s just a child. But I said we could do it, and we will. It’s just … might there yet be another way?”

  Deep Hood lets out a watery hiss of menace.

  “Maybe you won’t be so soft when you hear what this Lemon child has done.”

  “Done?”

  “Yes, Boadicea Bates. This child you are being so precious about has done something unforgivable. He has opened the bottle. Herbert Lemon has opened the fish-shaped bottle, and he has taken what’s inside!”

  CLAMMY DODGER

  THE ROAR OF FURY that meets Deep Hood’s words is louder than thunder. The fishermen stamp their feet and wave their fists in the air, and my insides turn to ice as I sit up on the balcony and realize that all this fury is being directed at me! I feel a tingling as the sprightning starts getting agitated. I give my widest of wide-eyed looks at Vi and hope she thinks we’ve heard enough now.

  Violet looks shocked, but she doesn’t get up. Down below, the anger subsides, and it’s clear that Violet is determined to witness what happens next.

  “How do you know this?” demands Boadicea Bates. “How do you know the boy has opened the bottle and stolen the light?”

  Deep Hood, still standing beside the fireplace, raises one arm and presents his gloved hand, palm upwards, to Boadicea Bates. She takes a step back.

  “I have,” he says, “my spies.”

  Something moves in Deep Hood’s drooping sleeve. For a moment it seems as if the tentacle might reappear, but then I let out a gasp of surprise.

  The clockwork hermit crab emerges from the sleeve.

  It does so slowly, as if assessing its surroundings, reaching with one cautious brass leg and then another, before climbing onto the man’s outstretched hand. Its iridescent shell and gleaming workmanship are so fine that it seems entirely out of place in this dreary place, and in such sinister company.

  “This is your spy?” says Boadicea, amazed.

  “My spy, and my slave,” declares Deep Hood, tipping his hand. The hermit crab is suddenly falling. It twists in the air, extending its sword arms with a schlaak! to absorb the shock of landing. The shell regains its balance and then raises its swords threateningly at the fishermen in a way I know all too well. I rub the cut on the back of my hand.

  “It’s fixed!” I hiss to Vi, remembering how I’d repaired one of those broken sword arms myself and left it on my desk with a replacement bolt. “Someone’s been in my cellar!”

  “My mechanical spy discovered the crime this morning,” Deep Hood tells the room. “There is a small hole melted through the bottle’s stopper. The Gargantic Light is gone.”

  At this, there are more cries of outrage from the fishermen.

  Deep Hood stoops and beckons the shell towards him, as if he’s calling a small dog over to give it a treat. The hermit crab turns to him but hangs back.

  A hiss of menace ripples the edges of the hood, and the shell clatters reluctantly forward.

  “This happened because my clockwork slave failed to bring me the bottle last night as I commanded,” Deep Hood burbles as the shell arrives at its master’s feet. “And I do not tolerate failure.”

  Deep Hood kicks the shell.

  It’s a strong, cruel kick, designed to punish.

  The shell flies across the room and out of our sight. We hear it land with a crash! and an “OW!” from a fisherman. Someone must kick it back, because it flies into view again and lands in the middle of the bar room floor. It scrabbles back to its mechanical feet, but another fisherman steps up and kicks it too.

  “Lousy thing!”

  And then another.

  “Stupid little spider!”

  Soon the hermit crab is flying left and right, as more and more of the fishermen are drawn into the spiteful game, swearing and kicking viciously. And I feel terrible when I remember that I kicked it once too.

  Overwhelmed by the fishermen, the clockwork hermit crab draws its limbs back inside its shell. When a particularly well-aimed kick sends it towards the fireplace, Deep Hood catches it out of the air, to a loud cheer from the fishermen. He shoves the shell roughly into his coat pocket and sits back down.

  “At least if Herbert Lemon has the light on him,” says Boadicea Bates, “it will be easy to take it. But –” and she turns to Deep Hood again – “are you sure it will lure Gargantis?”

  “Still you doubt me
,” Deep Hood gurgles in reply. “And yet did not Saint Dismal himself lure the creature with his Gargantic Light?”

  “He did!” cry the fishermen.

  “And did he not preserve this miraculous light in a bottle so that his trusted followers could use it if ever Gargantis should return?”

  “He … he did?” suggests Boadicea, because now the fishermen sound less sure.

  Deep Hood spits with contempt.

  “It is fortunate that I am here to explain your own history to you. Have you forgotten how Saint Dismal was hailed as a hero? The saviour of the town? Have you forgotten the glory that was once his? Do you not want this for yourselves?”

  “We do!” shout the fishermen, heartier than ever.

  “And if it’s a question of expenses…” Deep Hood adds, flipping a catch on top of his metal-bound box. The side of the box opens, and a hush falls over the room as the gleam of treasure is revealed. The box is filled with small bars of warmly glittering gold, which spill out and clatter across the tabletop.

  “It will be an expensive business, for sure,” says Boadicea after a moment, her eyes – like everyone’s – fixed on the gold. “A little, er, compensation will be most welcome.”

  “It’ll be a thirsty business, and all!” cries a fisherman, and there’s a nervous laugh around the room. “I feel dry just thinking about it.”

  “Barman!” Deep Hood bangs the table with his fist. “Bring drinks for everyone. Tonight these brave fishermen will catch the biggest fish of their lives!”

  The men cheer, and the tense atmosphere gives way to a sense of celebration. The men call for pints of Clammy Dodger, while one of them produces a squeezebox from somewhere. Music begins, and the fisherfolk break into song – a song so salty and ripe that it makes Violet’s eyebrows shoot up and me blush bright red.

  “Is your boat ready, Boadicea?” says Deep Hood when the music subsides.

  “Aye!” declares the fisherwoman. “My fine Bludgeon’s shipshape and ready, and the old whaling rig is set up, as agreed. It’s been a long time since we hunted something as big as a whale in these parts, but the cannon is primed, and the explosives you gave us fit beautifully on the spears. We’ll bring this fish in, no matter how big it is.”

  “Just see that you do,” replies Deep Hood. “It’s no good to me on the bottom of the sea. I need it dead and beached in the harbour.”

  “Either way, the town will be saved…” Boadicea starts to say, but Deep Hood bangs his fist on the table again.

  “I will have its carcass!” he roars. “That is our deal, and you will stick to it. Any man who fails me will feel my wrath. Or any woman.”

  Boadicea backs away.

  “But any who bring me the body of Gargantis will have their pockets filled with gold.”

  “We’ll see it done,” says Boadicea. “Won’t we, lads? We need only the bait.”

  “Precisely,” says Deep Hood. “The Gargantic Light. And the Lemon boy has it.”

  “Not for long!” cries a voice.

  “A-ha-ha-rrr!” the men guffaw as they clash their pint glasses together, relieved to be able to pass on the threat to someone else. “We’ll catch that little Lemon fish first! And that pesky book girl, too, if we have to. We’ll catch everything!”

  “No one fishes like an Eerie man fishes, and no one fishes like he!” sings the sailor with the squeezebox. Then the men join in, singing the next line: “He’ll catch all the day, and he’ll catch all the night, and he’ll catch all the fish in the sea!”

  “Rubbish!” shouts Violet in a loud voice, all roughed up to sound like a salty old sailor, and my jaw drops, because what? But Violet hasn’t finished yet. She leans over the railing, her own hood covering her face, and calls down into the smoky bar room.

  “Whatever happened to, Be good to the sea, and she’ll pay you in kind. Take just what you need, and not all that you find?”

  There’s a confused rumble of responses to these words, and a few of the fishermen downstairs mutter, “Aye, ’tis true,” and “It’s what my grandpa always said.” But I’m not really paying attention. I’m too busy shrinking down into my coat and wishing I could teleport straight to my Lost-and-Foundery. What is Violet doing?

  “Pah!” shouts Boadicea Bates up to us. “That’s all well and good, but Eerie-on-Sea is in danger. And besides, there’s many here who need this gold.”

  There’s a murmur of agreement at this, but Violet is already calling back, in her best fisherman’s voice, “By Dismal’s beard! By north wind cold! We’ll love the sea, and not the gold!”

  At this, the fishermen sound more uncertain than ever, and a clamour of unease rolls around the bar room below us.

  “Violet!” I hiss. “Where are you getting all this stuff?”

  Then I remember she’s been reading a book about the old sayings of Eerie-on-Sea.

  Now, I’m all for learning things from books. Really, I am. Learning things from books is great! It’s just that shouting those things out when you’re supposed to be in disguise and not drawing attention to yourself is … well, there’s probably an old saying about that too. And if there isn’t, I’m going to make one up, as soon as I can think of a rhyme for bonkers.

  “Who is that?” Boadicea calls up to us, standing in the middle of the bar room with her fists on her hips. “Is that you, Chumbly? Got a sore throat again?”

  Vi sinks back from the railing. I catch a glimpse of her face in the shadows of her hood, and I suddenly understand two things: (1) even Violet thinks Violet’s gone too far this time; and (2) if the fishermen don’t lose interest in us, and soon, we are going to have to run very, very fast. The whole bar is looking up at the balcony now, and Boadicea Bates is frowning. Beside her, the dark shadow of Deep Hood’s hood is turned full on us.

  “Since when did Chumbly have so much hair?” says one of the fishermen.

  “He doesn’t,” says another. “Chumbly’s bald!”

  Boadicea takes a step towards the balcony stairs.

  “Ready?” Violet whispers to me, her eyes wide with alarm.

  I nod.

  And I am ready too, ready to fly like a rocket down the rear corridor and out the back door and home to the Grand Nautilus Hotel and whatever safety we can find there. And we’d probably have got a good head start, too, if what happens next didn’t happen. But it does. The tentacle flies up from Deep Hood and yanks my own hood back from my head. The elastic strap holding my Lost-and-Founder’s cap breaks, my hat flies off and the sprightning bursts out.

  The Gargantic Light, charged up with my fear and crackling with miniature lightning, flutters over my head in full view of everyone in the Whelk & Walrus.

  TOASTED MOLLUSC

  “BLADDERWRACKS!”

  Violet jumps from her chair and leaps towards the back stairs – the way we came in. I grab my cap and throw off the fisherman’s coat as I jump after her. There’s a scrambling sound of kicked-over bar stools and angry shouts behind us, as the fishermen surge up the staircase from the bar. I run through the balcony exit with Violet, and she slams the door shut behind us.

  We clatter down the rear stairs.

  A fisherman staggers out of the stinking toilets in the corridor ahead of us, doing up his flies. He has a completely bald and shiny head.

  “Chumbly, I presume?” I cry, barrelling past. “Coming through!”

  “Oi!” the fisherman shouts. “How’d you know my name? What’s going on?”

  Then I hear a gasp from Violet. I turn to find that the fisherman has grabbed her.

  I skid to a halt, the sprightning zooming around my head in a crazy orbit, crackling with energy.

  “Is this what you’re looking for?” I say, pointing to the fizzing thing.

  “By Dismal’s beard!” The fisherman’s eyes nearly pop from his head. “The Gargantic Light!”

  He lets go of Violet and swipes at the sprightning, which dodges his hand and then lets out a brilliant arc of lightning. The man is thrown off his feet
as electricity scorches the mouldy wallpaper right down the corridor.

  “Come on!” cries Vi.

  We skid around the corner and throw ourselves at the rear door of the pub – and freedom. The door bursts open, and we’re through. But then, before we can race off into the dark, Violet is yanked back. I turn, and in the dingy light from the pub, I see Deep Hood’s pink tentacle has emerged from the bar and coiled itself around Violet’s arm, suckering onto her.

  “Herbie!” Violet gasps, struggling as the tentacle begins to pull her back in.

  “The coat!” I shout. Vi is still wearing the too-big fisherman’s waterproof she took as a disguise. “Shrug off the coat!”

  Violet ducks, and the coat slips off her easily, being several sizes too big.

  The tentacle pulls it away, into the building.

  But before we can run, the tentacle flings the coat away and darts out again, seizing Violet’s ankle in a vice-like grip.

  “It’s still got me!”

  I grab Violet under the arms and heave, but the thing is strong and my feet slide. I look up and see in the dimness of the corridor a shape darker still – it’s Deep Hood, massive and terrifying, filling the doorway. The tentacle is drawing Violet in, and I suddenly know that there’s no way I can pull her free. Violet will be lost for sure, and me with her, unless I do the only thing I can do.

  I let go.

  “Herbie!” Violet cries, a look of horror on her face as she is pulled to her doom. But I don’t reply.

  I’m already running.

  Running, that is, back towards the doorway. I take the door in both hands and slam it shut with all my force on the tentacle. There’s a sickening, rubbery crunch – and a roar of pain from Deep Hood. The tentacle releases Violet’s ankle, and we burst through the wheelie bins and out onto the cobbles and run pell-mell into the storm-trashed back alleys of Eerie-on-Sea.

  We don’t stop running till we reach the Grand Nautilus Hotel. Violet dashes for the window to my cellar, which is certainly the quickest way in. But I try to compose myself as I head around to the main doors. We aren’t being followed just yet, and I mustn’t draw attention to myself. I tuck my uniform in and manage, with some coaxing, to get the sprightning – which is highly agitated – to stop zooming around and hide herself back under my cap. The wind is picking up again, and with the elastic strap broken, I’m going to have to hold my cap in place with my hand. If I’m lucky, I won’t bump into Mr Mollusc while I dash back to the Lost-and-Foundery.