“It’s the Captain!” cried a pirate. “She’s done those stars in.”
The starfish had certainly been dealt a savage blow. Fury and Fitz and a column of lantern-bearing pirates were making their way through a charnel field of thousands of pieces of starfish meat, few of them bigger than a man’s fist.
But as the pirates advanced, the starfish pieces began to move, pallid horrors wriggling across the stony ground, melding with other pieces to form more mobile gobbets of invertebrate flesh, all of them moving to a central rendezvous somewhere beyond the illumination of the lanterns.
Hereward did not pause to wonder exactly what these disgusting starfish remnants were going to do in the darker reaches of the harbour. He ran along the wharf and took Fitz’s hand, helping the puppet to climb the boarding nets that Fury’s crew were throwing up. Before Fitz was on his feet, pirates raced past them both, talking excitedly of treasure, the starfish foe forgotten. Hereward’s own boat crew, who might have more reason than most to be more thoughtful, had already been absorbed into this flood of looters.
“The starfish are growing back,” said Hereward urgently, as he palmed off a too-eager pirate who nearly trod on Fitz.
“Not exactly,” corrected Fitz. “Forjill-Um-Uthrux is manifesting itself more completely here. It will use its starfish minions to craft a physical shape. And possibly more importantly—”
“Captain Suresword!” cried Fury, clapping him on the back. Her eyes were bright, there were several dark spots on her face and her ears were long and furred, but she evidently had managed to halt or slow the full transformation. “On to the treasure!”
She laughed and ran past him, with many pirates behind her. Up ahead, the sound of ancient doors being knocked down was already being replaced by gleeful and astonished cries as many hundredweight of loose gold and silver coinage poured out around the looters’ thighs.
“More importantly perhaps, Um-Uthrux is doing something to manipulate the sea,” continued Fitz. “It has tilted the harbour floor significantly and I can perceive energistic tendrils extending well beyond this island. I fear it raising the tide ahead of time and with it—”
“The eagre,” said Hereward. “Do we have time to get out?”
“No,” said Fitz. “It will be at the mouth of the gorge within minutes. We must swiftly deal with Um-Uthrux and then take refuge in one of the upper buildings, the strongest possible, where I will spin us a bubble of air.”
“How big a bubble?” asked Hereward, as he took a rapid glance around. There were lanterns bobbing all around the slope above the quay, and it looked like all two hundred odd of Fury’s crew were in amongst the Scholar-Pirates’ buildings.
“A single room, sufficient for a dozen mortals,” said Fitz. “Ah, Um-Uthrux has made its host. Please gather as many pirates as you can to fire on it, Hereward. I will require some full minutes of preparation.”
The puppet began to take off his bandanna and Hereward shielded his face with his hand. A terrible, harsh light filled the cavern as Fitz removed an esoteric needle that had been glued to his head, the light fading as he closed his hand around it. Any mortal that dared to hold such a needle unprotected would no longer have hand or arm, but Fitz had been specifically made to deal with such things.
In the brief flash of light, Hereward saw a truly giant starfish beginning to stand on its lower points. It was sixty feet wide and at least that tall, and was not pale yellow like its lesser predecessors, but a virulent colour like infected pus, and its broad surface was covered not in a rasping, lumpy structure of tiny suckers but in hundreds of foot-wide puckered mouths that were lined with sharp teeth.
“Fury!” roared Hereward as he sprinted back along the wharf, ignoring the splinters in his now bare feet, his ruined boots flapping about his ankles. “Fury! Sea-Cats! To arms, to arms!”
He kept shouting, but he could not see Fury, and the pirates in sight were gold-drunk, bathing uproariously in piles of coin and articles of virtu that had spilled out of the broken treasure houses and into the cobbled streets between the buildings.
“To arms! The enemy!” Hereward shouted again. He ran to the nearest knot of pirates and dragged one away from a huge gold-chased silver cup that was near as big as he was. “Form line on the quay!”
The pirate shrugged him off and clutched his cup.
“It’s mine!” he yelled. “You’ll not have it!”
“I don’t want it!” roared Hereward. He pointed back at the harbour. “The enemy! Look you fools!”
The nearer pirates stared at him blankly. Hereward turned and saw…nothing but darkness.
“Fitz! Light the cursed monster up!”
He was answered by a blinding surge of violet light that shot from the wharf and washed across the giant starfish, which was now completely upright and lifting one point to march forwards.
There was silence for several seconds, the silence of the shocked. Then a calm, carrying voice snatched order from the closing jaws of incipient panic.
“Sea-cats! First division form line on the quay, right of the wharf! Second to load behind them! Move you knaves! The loot will wait!”
Fury emerged from behind a building, a necklace of gold and yellow diamonds around her neck. She marched to Hereward and placed her arm through his, and together they walked to the quay as if they had not a care in the world, while pirates ran past them.
“You have not become a leoparde,” said Hereward. He spoke calmly but he couldn’t help but look up at the manifested godlet. Like the smaller starfish, it was becoming quicker with every movement, and Fitz stood alone before it on the end of the wharf. There was a nimbus of sorcerous light around the puppet, indicating that he was working busily with one or more energistic needles, either stitching something otherworldly together or unpicking some aspect of what was commonly considered to be reality.
“Cold things from the sea, no matter their size, do not arouse my ire,” replied Fury. “Or perhaps it is the absence of red blood…Stand ready!”
The last words were for the hundred pirates who stood in line along the quay, sporting a wide array of muskets, musketoons, blunderbusses, pistols and even some crossbows. Behind them, the second division knelt with their own firearms ready to pass on, and the necessaries for reloading laid out at their feet.
“Fire!” shouted Fury. A ragged volley rang out and a cloud of blue smoke rolled back across Hereward and drifted up towards the treasure houses. Many shots struck home, but their effect was much less than on the smaller starfish, with no visible holes being torn in the strange stuff of Um-Uthrux.
“Firsts, fire as you will!” called Fury. “Seconds, reload!”
Though the shots appeared to have no affect, the frantic movement of the pirates shooting and reloading did attract Um-Uthrux’s attention. It swiveled and took a step towards the quay, one huge point crashing down on the middle wharf to the left of Mister Fitz. Rather than pulling the point out of the wreckage it just pushed it forward, timber flying as it bulled its way to the quay. Then with one sweep of a middle point, it swept up a dozen pirates and, rolling the point to form a tight circle, held them while its many mouths went to work.
“Fire and fall back!” shouted Fury. “Fire and fall back!”
She fired a long-barrelled pistol herself, but it too had no effect. Um-Uthrux seized several more pirates as they tried to flee, wrapping around them, bones and bloody fragments falling upon shocked companions who were snatched up themselves by another point seconds later.
Hereward and Fury ran back to the corner of one of the treasure houses. Hereward tripped over a golden salt-boat and a pile of coins and would have fallen, had not Fury dragged him on even as the tip of a starfish point crashed down where he had been, flattening the masterwork of some long-forgotten goldsmith.
“Your sorcerer-puppet had best do something,” said Fury.
“He will,” panted Hereward. But he could not see Fitz, and Um-Uthrux was now bending over the quay with its central torso as well as its points, so its reach would be greater. The quay was crumbling under its assault, and the stones were awash with the blood of many pirates. “We must go higher up!”
“Back Sea-Cats!” shouted Fury. “Higher up!”
The treasure house that had sheltered them was pounded into dust and fragments as they struggled up the steep cobbled street. Panicked pirates streamed past them, most without their useless weapons. There was no screaming now, just the groans and panting of the tired and wounded, and the sobbing of those whose nerve was entirely gone.
Hereward pointed to a door at the very top of the street. It had already been broken in by some pirate, but the building’s front appeared to be a mere façade built over a chamber dug into the island itself, and so would be stronger than any other.
“In there!” he shouted, but the pirates were running down the side alleys as one of Um-Uthrux’s points slammed down directly behind, sending bricks, masonry and treasury in all directions. Hereward pushed Fury towards the door, and turned back to see if he could see Fitz.
But there was only the vast starfish in view. It had slid its lower body up on to the quay and was reaching forth with three of its points, each as large as an angled artillery bastion. First it brought them down to smash the buildings, then it used the fine ends to pluck out any pirates, like an anteater digging out its lunch.
“Fitz!” shouted Hereward. “Fitz!”
One of Um-Uthrux’s points rose up, high above Hereward. He stepped back, then stopped as the godlet suddenly reared back, its upper points writhing in the air and lower points staggering. A tiny, glowing hole appeared in its middle, and grew larger. The godlet lurched back still farther and reached down with its points, clawing at itself as the glowing void in its guts yawned wider still. Then, with a crack that rocked the cavern and knocked Hereward over again, the giant starfish’s points were sucked through the hole, it turned inside out and the hole closed taking with it all evidence of Um-Uthrux’s existence upon the earth and with it most of the light.
“Your puppet has done well,” said Fury. “Though I perceive it is called Fitz and not Farolio.”
“Yes,” said Hereward. He did not look at her, but waved his arm, the brassard leaving a luminous trail in the air. “Fitz! To me!”
“It has become a bloody affair after all,” said Fury. Her voice was a growl and now Hereward did look. Fury still stood on two legs, but she had grown taller and her proportions changed. Her skin had become spotted fur, and her skull had shifted, her jaw thrust out to contain savage teeth, including two incisors as long as Hereward’s thumbs. Long curved nails sprouted from her rounded hands and a tail whisked the ground behind.
“Fury,” said Hereward. He looked her in the eye and did not back away. “We have won. The fight is done.”
“I told you that I ate my enemies,” said Fury huskily. Her tail twitched and she twisted her head and growled. “You did not tell me your name, or your true purpose.”
“My name is Hereward,” said Hereward and he raised his open hands. If she attacked, his only chance would be to grip her neck and break it before those teeth and nails did mortal damage. “I am not your enemy.”
Fury growled again and began to crouch.
“Fury! I am not your—”
The leoparde sprang. He caught her on his forearms and felt the nails rake his upper arms as he clutched at her neck and then there was a coruscating burst of violet flame and he was holding only a necklace of yellow diamonds, the golden chain so hot it burned a white scar across his palms before he could drop it and shout with the pain.
“Inside!” called Fitz and the puppet was at his companion’s knees, pushing Hereward through the door. He fell over the threshold as Fitz turned and gestured with an esoteric needle, threads of blinding white whipping about faster than any weaver’s shuttle.
His work was barely done before the wave hit. The ground shook and the sorcerous bubble of air bounced to the ceiling and back several times, tumbling Hereward and Fitz over in a mad crush. Then as rapidly as it had come, the wave receded.
Fitz undid the bubble with a deft twitch of his needle and cupped it in his hand. Hereward lay back on the sodden floor and groaned. Blood trickled down his shredded sleeves, bruises he had not even suspected till now made themselves felt, and his feet were unbelievably sore.
Fitz crouched over him and inspected his arms.
“Scratches,” he proclaimed. He carefully put the esoteric needle away inside his jerkin and took off his bandanna, ripping it in half to bind the wounds. “Bandages will be sufficient.”
When the puppet was finished, Hereward sat up. He cupped his face in his hands for a second, but his burned palms made him wince and drop them again.
“We have perhaps six hours to gather materials, construct a raft and make our way out the gorge,” said Fitz. “Presuming the eagre comes again at the usual time, in the absence of Um-Uthrux. We’d best hurry.”
Hereward nodded and lurched upright, holding the splintered doorframe for support. He could see nothing beyond Fitz, who stood a few paces away, but he could easily envision the many corpses that would be floating in the refilled harbour pool, or drifting out to the gorge beyond.
“She was right,” he said.
Fitz cocked his head in question.
“Meat and water,” replied Hereward. “I suppose that is all we are, in the end.”
He hobbled out the door and added, “Present company excepted, of course. Do you suppose anything remains in the Scholar-Pirates’ fabled armoury? I need a new sword.”
* * *
—
Fitz declares it too powerful. Its doing something with the sea, making its own eagre. We have to get out.
* * *
—
Rum. Chimney. Drop a makeshift grenado down.
* * *
—
Boom. Eagre comes in. Waterspouts.
Marooned on the island.
* * *
—
“I think we should tell her a little more,” said Hereward, with decision. He straightened up, stepped left to keep his balance and held the rail once more. “I shall do so immediately.”
“Only a little more,” cautioned Fitz. “And be sure to emphasise the treasure once again.”
Richard Bowes (1944– ) was born in Boston and has lived most of his life in New York City, where he worked as a board game designer, an antique toy merchant, a copywriter for fashion companies, and, for many years, a reference librarian at New York University. His first publications were three novels, Warchild (1986), Feral Cell (1987), and Goblin Market (1988); in the early 1990s, he began publishing short fiction, including a popular series of stories about a haunted contemporary New York that were later revised into the novel Minions of the Moon (1999), which won the Lambda Literary Award. Bowes’s work has also won two World Fantasy Awards and an International Horror Guild Award. His story “There’s a Hole in the City” has been broadcast on New York’s WBAI radio station each year on September 11. “The Bear Dresser’s Secret” first appeared in Electric Velocipede in 2009 and was included in Bowes’s collection The Queen, the Cambion, and Seven Others (2013).
THE BEAR DRESSER’S SECRET
Richard Bowes
EARLY ONE MORNING Sigistrix the Bear Dresser left the Duchess and her castle. He gave no warning before he slammed the golden tricorn hat, the sign of a Grand Master of the Animal Dressers Guild, onto his head and picked up his suitcase.
He gave no reason, though as he walked through the gates he did remark to Grismerelda, the Duchess’s young maid, “A Bear Dresser answers to no one.” She watched the many snowy egret feathers on the Grand Master’s hat flutter in the breeze as he disappeared into the dawn.
; The Duchess was having her hair done when they told her. “Faster, faster, silly girl,” she said. “Today is a disaster and I must look my very best.” Every morning Grismerelda spent hours getting her dressed and ready.
“It’s just like a Bear Dresser to leave like this. Dear Grandfather Fernando the Mad would have known how to handle him.” She enjoyed reminiscing about her distinguished ancestors. Who among us doesn’t?
She summoned her chamberlain, her guard captain, and her jester. “You see what must be done,” she told them. “The bears have no one to dress them, and the Great Fair is one month from today.”
“Yes, your grace,” said the chamberlain.
“He never looked trustworthy to me,” said the guard captain.
“Take my life, please,” said the jester.
“We have entered our bears in the animal costume competition from time out of mind,” said the Duchess. “And with a few highly regrettable exceptions, such as occurred last year, we have always won first prize. And we will continue to do so.
“Sigistrix always dressed bears for me. His father dressed them for my father. His grandfather dressed them for mine, except for those times he escaped and had to be brought back in a cage. These things were much more easily handled in the old days before they had laws.
“I expect results from you three by his evening, or I will be most ANNOYED. And you all know what that means.”
Indeed they did. The three were deathly silent for a moment. Then the chamberlain cried, “Gentlemen, to the bear’s house.”
Meanwhile the bears themselves, large and small, brown, black, and white, were at home dressed in their natural fur.
“Good morning, bears. Always lovely to see you,” said the chamberlain and kissed several paws.
“Ten-hut!” said the captain.
The Big Book of Modern Fantasy Page 171
