by Aaron Galvin
Water rushed in.
Kellen spat it back out.
“Kid!” Bryant yelled.
Kellen ignored him. He angled his head sideways: one cheek pressed against the cool metal ceiling, the other wet by the water line. Kellen gulped each panicked breath of air. His hands scoured the wall for the water hole. Found it. Plug the hole!
He tried to slip his sweat pants off. Each attempt forced his head beneath water.
Choking and spitting, Kellen put his cheek to the ceiling.
The water rose further. Trickled in whenever he dared open his mouth.
Kellen flipped to his back. Sat on his knees and tilted his head. Crammed his lips and nose to the metallic ceiling.
Water filled his ears. Touched the corners of his eyes and continued to rise.
Open the doors. He prayed. Please, God, open the doors!
Light cut through the darkness and Kellen felt a sudden undertow yank his legs out from under him. His back crashed against the floor as the hidden wave rushed him toward the door. He opened his eyes to a swirling world of putrid green and dim light. He winced at the shock to his irises and moaned. Brackish, stale water filled his mouth.
Kellen choked it down as the surging water carried him toward the newly opened door. He saw roll bar cages outside and clawed for any kind of hold to stop.
The water prevented it.
Kellen felt the hold’s sheet metal floor vanish and the exhilaration of a quick drop before he landed on a rubbery slide that flung him into a cage. He immediately threw up the water he had swallowed, watched it fall through the slatted cage floor as a constant wave crashed over his body and drained away.
Kellen heard someone sputter for air beside him. Bryant, he assumed, before retching again. His throat raw, head pounding, Kellen laid his cheeks against the bars as water subsided around him. His eyes adjusting to the light, Kellen opened them slowly.
Rust-colored iron bars encaged him. His legs dangled through the openings and, as Kellen looked down, he found his cage hung poised over a concrete pit. The stagnant water that had carried him out of the bus drained from his cage, pooling below in the pit. Kellen nearly threw up again at the rank odor.
Kellen heard Bryant coughing for air and, for the first time, glimpsed the man he’d shared a cell with. David Bryant looked older than Kellen would have initially guessed him to be, closer to fifty than forty. As Bryant crawled to his knees, Kellen didn’t guess the marshal nearly as powerful as he sounded inside the dark hold.
Kellen felt something furry graze his arm. He looked to his right and into the eyes of a brown seal with long whiskers and pointed ears. The Cape Fur Seal stared at Kellen knowingly even as water cascaded around its body and emptied through the strainer flooring like a small waterfall.
“Ah.” Kellen scrambled away.
The seal tilted its head quizzically at his surprise. Then Kellen saw the sealskin split down the middle, falling away and morphing into wet clothing, revealing the girl who foretold of his escape from the jail. Marisa Bourgeois…
“You…” Bryant said to her. “How did you get here?”
“I was in the cell next to yours,” she answered. “It seems our paths are linked a little while longer, Silkstealer.”
“Don’t call me that.” The marshal bristled. “You know damn well—”
Kellen heard a bang. He winced and saw the furthest of the bus holding doors had been opened. Water spewed down the rubber slide attached to it, carrying out a Sea Lion and another familiar face.
Boone? Kellen thought back on his former cellmate from the Lavere County Jail. Why would Selkies haul our town drunk here?
The slide dumped both Boone and the Sea Lion into a neighboring cage. Kellen watched the animal position its body closest to the oncoming tide of water, almost as if it meant to shield the old man cowering in front of it. The Lavere town drunk had crunched his body into a ball. His hands, raised to protect his face and head, shook violently. Kellen heard Boone hoarsely cough for air as the water ebbed.
Kellen glanced around his new surroundings and found himself in a warehouse, large as an enclosed hangar for multiple airplanes. He smelled the sea, both fishy and briny. Heard gulls call somewhere outside and water lapping even closer. Not from the pit below, but nearby.
Opposite the bus, a mast gently swayed, the tip of it nearly touching the building’s arched, sheet top ceiling. Dim fluorescent bulbs hung from the steel grated rafters like weak suns pitying any who chanced to happen upon such a wretched place.
“Well, well, well,” came a man’s voice. “Look what we have here, Silas. Looks like the lil’ Crayfish made quite the catch on his first time out. Bagged his father a couple Selkie runners and a few mates to boot.”
The speaker approached Kellen’s cage sweeping away his black hair, long and greasy. His beady eyes greedily took in the situation. A coiled, translucent whip hung from one hip, a sheathed dagger on the other.
Kellen hated him on sight.
The man stopped shy of reach. “Ooh…and a pretty lil’ lass to go with ‘em. ‘Ello, love.” He said to Marisa Bourgeois. “Tieran Chelly’s the name. What’s yours?”
Marisa kept her silence.
“Quiet type, eh?” Tieran asked. “It’s all righ’. Makes it more fun for ol’ Tieran to tease answers outta you.” His gaze flitted to Kellen. “And what’s your name, lad?”
Show him you’re not afraid. Kellen stepped closer to the bars. “Come in and find out.”
Tieran pursed his lips. “Better watch out for this one, Silas. Defiant, he is.”
“Right,” said a fisherman along the dockside. Dressed in orange rubber overalls and a long-sleeved, hooded sweatshirt, the fisherman took a single glance at Kellen.
“Bah.” The fisherman continued stacking wooden lobster pods. “That one won’t keep me up nights. I’ll wager swordfish put up more fight than him.”
Tieran hocked a loogie and spat into the pit. He wiped his nose clean with the back of his hand. “Nah. He’s a live one, this lot. A real fighter. I know the look when I sees it.”
Good. Kellen thought to himself. Then you’ll know not to mess with me.
Tieran chuckled, patted the coiled whip at his side. “Don’t worry your pretty self, my son. Soon enough ol’ Tieran’ll take that fight righ’ outta you. Then, you’ll give me any name I like. Might be I decides to call you Bessie and you’ll say, ‘Yessir, Tieran, sir. Why thank you, sir.’”
Kellen glared back.
Tieran’s eyes flitted away. “Who’s this one, eh? What’s your name, gov’nor?”
Bryant cleared his throat.
“What’s wrong, ol’ chap? Swaller a bit a water in there?” Tieran laughed.
“I’m U.S. Marshal David Bryant. I’m ordering you to release us right now.”
Kellen watched Tieran’s jaw jerk back and forth, weighting Bryant’s words. “You hear this lot, Silas? We got a marshal on this haul. David Bryant’s his name.”
“Never heard of him.”
Tieran shrugged. “Silas’s never heard of you, mate. And we take our orders from the Crayfish and no one else. Righ’.” Tieran clapped his knees and left them. “Best get this lot aboard ‘fore the next catch comes in.”
The next catch? Kellen wondered as Tieran left them and rounded the bus.
Bryant coughed beside him. “So much for our plan, huh, Pinocchio?”
Kellen ignored him. He stood up, his bare feet slippery on the bars. His legs felt weak at the crouched position the hold had limited him to. The cage did much the same, only allowing him to stand a few inches higher. Kellen surveyed the area.
Fishing nets draped from nails hammered into the exposed wooden wall sides. Kellen couldn’t tell whether the nets hung there for storage or some fisherman’s idea of adding aesthetic value to the otherwise drab enclosure. A cleaning table stood nearby with heaped, day-old fish guts to judge by the smell.
The fisherman, Silas, didn’t seem bothered with the prisoners or t
he fishy odor. He had stacked lobster pots ten high along the wall. A good deal more lay in a pile nearby, almost as if someone had dumped them there with little care.
“Edmund,” Bryant said softly.
“What?” Kellen asked.
Bryant looked to make sure the fisherman didn’t see, then pointed at the cage Boone cowered in. “That’s Edmund…”
“No,” said Kellen. “That’s Boone. He—”
“Not the bum, boy. I mean the Sea Lion. It’s my partner, Edmund.”
Kellen looked again.
The Sea Lion waved its head up and down. Sat back on its hind end and covered its face with a long flipper.
Bryant nodded back then bowed his head.
“What are you doing?” Kellen asked.
“Letting him know I heard about Richie. His son.”
Kellen watched the Sea Lion with renewed interest. He’s one of them. A Selkie!
The Sea Lion seemed to survey the area as Kellen had done. It paid particular attention to the rafters above. Then it looked back at them, growled suddenly, frightening Boone in the process, and stopped. Immediately after, the Sea Lion shook its head from side-to-side.
What’s it doing?
“Right,” said Bryant. “Listen, kid. Whatever happens next, Edmund doesn’t want us to fight it.”
“But you said they wanna make us slaves. Take us—”
“All of it true. Listen. Edmund’s been through this kind of thing before and escaped. He’s telling us not to fight these guys. Whatever they want from us, we lay over. Let it happen for now.”
“What about our shot to get out?”
Bryant shook his head. “We missed it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Kellen wheeled and saw Marisa Bourgeois sitting in the corner of their cage. “What?”
“You didn’t miss your chance.”
“How do you know?” Kellen asked.
“I know because you will never escape, Kellen Winstel. The Salt has you in its sway now. An ancient and nameless voice sings your name, its melody dark and deep.” Marisa’s voice quivered. “These next few hours are the last you will ever walk upon these lands you call home.”
“Don’t listen to her,” said Bryant. “She’s nothing but a lying runaway.”
A cold shudder ran through Kellen as he remembered Richard Caspar had said the same when Marisa Bourgeois predicted his death. Less than an hour later, Caspar was dead.
She’s crazy. Kellen told himself. Just trying to get under my skin.
“All righ’, gents.” Tieran walked around from behind the bus, carrying what resembled a giant remote control in his hand as a black cable dragged behind him. Tieran paused shy of the cage, grinned at Kellen. “Up, up, up, and away.”
Kellen heard a whir overhead. He looked toward the ceiling and noticed a hydraulic pulley system of chains with hooks dangling from the ends. Tieran pressed another button and the hooks lowered until the ends clanged against the cage top.
“Righ’ then.” Tieran sat the control upon the lobster pot heap. “Shall we get to work, Silas?”
Kellen watched the fisherman throw his last trap upon the others and wiped his hands on his waders. He walked to a bright red steering wheel hooked onto the wall, and gave it a spin, unraveling a fire hose that piled neatly on the floor.
What’s he need that for? Kellen wondered as Silas grabbed the head of it and continued on toward his cage. The wheel unraveled faster.
“Ready?” Tieran asked.
“Aye,” said Silas.
Tieran looked at Kellen and Bryant each in turn. “No funny business now. You let ol’ Tieran hook these chains up and I’ll give you both a sweetie at the end. If not…”
Tieran shrugged then strode ahead.
What does he think he’s doing?
Tieran reached the cage and climbed it.
Kellen looked past him at Silas.
The brawny fisherman with tats of anchors and topless mermaids never batted an eye as his partner reached the top, whistling all the way.
Kellen stepped to the corner as Tieran’s boots dripped water and filth down through the open slats. He noticed Bryant shaking his head.
Don’t do it. Kellen took the meaning.
Then he heard Tieran hock a loogie and spit.
Kellen’s forehead felt wet. He wiped Tieran’s mucus away and glared up.
“Whoopsie.” Tieran grinned down. “Apologies, mate. I meant for it to go—”
Kellen threw his arms up through the slats and grabbed for Tieran’s ankles.
A burst of water shot Kellen in the chest. Blasted him back against the bars.
The fire hose. Kellen’s brain registered what had happened. Silas has a water hose.
Kellen lost his grip on Tieran’s ankle, but would not give up the other. He pulled down, even as the surge of water forced him back.
“Oi!” Tieran shouted. “Get him offa me!”
“Let him go!” Bryant shouted.
Kellen would not. He twisted the ankle with all his might. Heard Tieran yelp before Silas shifted the water stream at his face. Kellen felt like he’d been punched in the nose. Red flashed his senses as he lost his hold on Tieran.
The stream grew stronger.
Kellen tried to block it with his hands. Felt the water tearing at his skin.
Silas shifted the stream to attack Kellen’s groin.
Kellen yelped at the new blow. He curled up, as Boone had, shielding his vital parts.
The stream shut off.
Kellen shuddered, both from the cold and the onslaught. He heard a thud on the gangplanks as Tieran climbed down. Kellen sat up, his back against the bars as he cast a hateful stare on Tieran.
“What’d I tell you eh? Told you this one was a fighter.”
Silas snorted. “More like a whipped pussycat to me. You wanna take him out and learn him to listen?”
“Nah,” said Tieran. “Not yet. I mean to have more fun with this one first.”
“Suit yourself.” Silas left to resume his other duties.
Tieran ambled back to the control he’d left behind. He picked it up, pressed a button.
The cage rattled. Jolted upward.
Kellen shouted at the jerky move and tried to find his footing.
Tieran laughed. “Till next time, love.”
Up, up, up the cage rose with Kellen’s legs dangling out the bottom and him straddling a pair of roll bars. His groin screamed at him to reposition himself. Kellen obliged, lifting his legs and sitting sideways across the bars. Now near the ceiling, he saw the massive hangar in its entirety.
The bus that carried them had parked atop a pier. Behind it, a large door presently closed. To the bus’s left side, a trawler gently shook, anchored to the pier by ropes thicker than a grown man’s thigh. A Crayfish emblem painted its bow, with CRAYFISH II marking its side. Kellen didn’t see a CRAYFISH I, but he guessed it typically parked in the vacated expanse of open water beside the trawler.
Kellen noticed the bow faced another closed gate. A foot of air separated the choppy water from the bottom of the sheet metal wall and Kellen noticed daylight existed in the gap.
They drove through the night. Where am I?
Kellen’s heart thudded when the hydraulics holding his cage in place reached its ending point. The cage swayed at the sudden stop, poised above the trawler. For a moment, Kellen feared the chains might break. When they held strong, he risked a peek downward.
What he saw made him gasp.
Other cages, like his, sat upon the trawler’s deck and inside them, people. Most did not bother to look up. The few that did seemed not near as surprised as Kellen. Still more cages held seals and sea lions of varied sizes.
Kellen instinctively grabbed at the bars when the wench whirred and clicked, lowering his cage to join the others on the boat deck.
A pair of hooded deckhands appeared to guide Kellen’s cage onto the trawler deck. They climbed atop his cell and mutely unhooked the chains
.
Kellen felt frozen, unable to even think of fighting them off. He searched the faces of his neighbors. Most seemed older than fifteen but younger than fifty, and nearly all were dark-skinned and foreign with few exceptions. A pair of children played a clapping game. He saw an elderly woman he thought might fall over dead at any moment.
Bryant rose beside Kellen. “Welcome to the real Pleasure Island, Pinocchio.”
Kellen felt sick. He rushed the bars. “Let me out of here. Someone! Any—”
“Shut up!” one of the deckhands yelled back.
Kellen reached his arm through the bars. Tried to grab the nearest fisherman by the leg. “Hey…listen to me.”
The hooded fisherman slapped a long spear hook against the cage bars. “I said shut up!”
“Do as he says,” Bryant whispered. “Lay over. Let it happen…for now.”
Kellen noticed some of the others in cages watching him. A few whispered in foreign tongues. Look at the silly white boy, he imagined them saying, losing his mind.
Again, Kellen attacked the bars. “Let me out of here! You can’t keep a person in—”
He felt a punch in the gut, his wind stolen from him. Kellen fell, sucking for air.
The fisherman pulled the wooden end of his spear out of the cage. “Listen to ya pal there, boy, and it’ll go easier for ya. Otherwise, I gotta bring Tieran over here. Ya don’t wanna none of his whip, believe me.”
How did this happen? Kellen sat down hard.
Bryant sat next to him. “I know you don’t want hear it, but we need to listen to Edmund.”
“What he needs,” said Marisa. “You cannot give him.”
“Oh yeah?” Kellen asked. “Since you’re such an expert on me, why don’t you—”
“You need freedom from your demons,” said Marisa. “To cast off the hate your father seeded in you. The abandonment your mother crippled you with.”
“I’m not crippled, you stupid bit—”
“Yes, you are,” said Marisa, her tone resigned with sadness. “Crippled and blind to what could have been yours if you had only learned to show a bit of the same kindness and mercy you longed for yet never received. I pray you see that before the end.”
Kellen snorted. “You’re right, Bryant. She’s crazy.”
