The Island of Wolves

by Elizabeth Avery

  On the port side of the ship, one cell was missing, the space filled with a wooden spool table with a barrel for a chair. A lantern hung from the ceiling, and Skeever jumped up onto the table in order to light it, then flopped himself down onto the barrel chair. He looked so at-home there, leaning back against the wall with his long, bent feet propped up on the table.

  “You work down here a lot when you’re the warden,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Of course, with only one prisoner, I’m free to spend my time doing other things. I mean, where’s he going to go even if he gets himself out? Of course I still come by every now and then to amuse myself.”

  I didn’t know exactly what he meant by that, but the tone of his voice was nothing but unpleasant.

  I walked down the row of cells until I came to the one Risk had been thrown into. He was sitting on the floor at the back of it, his wrists manacled either side of his head to iron hooks imbedded in the side of the ship. His shirt, which had been ripped the last time I’d seen him, was now gone completely, exposing a chest mottled with bruises in varying states of healing, that didn’t completely cover the criss-cross of old scars across his torso. The worst one was on his shoulder. It looked like the outline of sharp teeth.

  He looked up at the sound of footsteps, revealing a black eye and a cut lip.

  “What did that bastard do to you?” he cursed, taking in the bandages wrapped around my head, arms, and feet.

  “It’s not like that,” I defended immediately. I explained my encounter with the lizard creature. Risk’s eyes widened as I talked. “Conon fixed me up once I managed to find my way back to camp. Besides, I should be asking that question. You look far worse than I do.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I do worry about it!”

  “What are you even doing down here?” he demanded, ignoring my concern.

  I explained about the Post Master arriving with a letter from the professor, and how I’d used the opportunity to bargain for the chance to come down and see him.

  “I wanted to make sure you were alright—”

  “Idiot! You’ve compromised your safety! Now they’ll think there’s something between us. You should have just left it alone.”

  “I was just trying to—”

  “Well I’m just trying to keep you alive!” he said. “You think I confessed to the captain just for fun?”

  “I still have no idea what was going on back there. Conon dragged me off and then the next thing I knew, the captain had completely changed his tune. What did you say to him?”

  “Exactly what he wanted to hear,” said Risk. “There’s some shit going down, and a finger needed to be pointed at someone. I just made sure it wasn’t you. And don’t ask for details. The less you know about the whole thing, the better.”

  We descended into an angry silence that lasted what felt like an eternity before I spoke up softly.

  “What do you think our chances are of getting home safely?”

  “Are you talking about the best case scenario or the worst?”

  “Best.”

  “Realistically, or in your wildest dreams?”

  “Let’s start with the second one, and work from there.”

  “They fix the ship, we sail to Kharu, then they let us both go with all our stuff and we never see them again,” he said, his tone clear on how likely he thought that idea was.

  “Fine, what’s the more-likely option?”

  “Ship gets fixed, we sale to Kharu and then you get let go, with your stuff, if you’re lucky. After that, you go to the nearest Post Office and have them contact the professor to bring you home.”

  “What about you?”

  “There’s no realistic way I’m getting out of this alive,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Maybe if I’m lucky, they’ll try and ransom me back to the EOTA.[9] But most likely, they’ll just kill me before we dock in Nyuesi.”

  I hummed thoughtfully. Some more pieces of this business were falling into place for me, despite the fact that no one seemed to want to explain themselves properly.

  “What’s our worst-case scenario then?” I asked.

  “We both die, obviously,” he said. “But there’s also a chance they won’t be able to fix the ship, and we just have to live out the rest of our days on the island. That is, unless the captain decides prison is the lesser option, and waits for Linesley’s next letter so he can use the Post Master to contact someone about the shipwreck.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a potentially good outcome?” I asked. “If the authorities come to get us, then we might be alright.”

  “I can assure you, if that becomes the option, we will not still be around when they arrive,” said Risk. “Smuggling is bad enough, without adding kidnapping and all the other stuff on-top. If they send out an SOS message with the Post Master, you can be sure the story will be that we were both lost in the serpent attack. They might even offer up our drowned and mutilated bodies as proof.”

  “You really think they’d go that far?”

  “Sure,” he said, shrugging as much as he could while chained. “Speaking of, don’t try to hold your breath… it makes the whole thing worse.”

  I swallowed nervously. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

  “There have been times.”

  “But you’re still here.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  I wanted to say: ‘not with that attitude,’ but it seemed cruel to pour salt in the wounds of someone who might really be on death row.

  “The ship doesn’t seem to be leaning as much now,” I pointed out.

  “They’ve rebalanced something somewhere,” he said. “Like the engine or the cargo ho—”

  “Are we done chatting?”

  I had almost forgotten Skeever was even there, lurking in the shadows. And listening to everything we were saying, I reminded myself with distaste. Going by the sparkle in his ratty eyes, he’d certainly heard a number of things he liked.

  “Yeah, we’re done,” said Risk.

  On the ride back to shore, Skeever seemed to be brimming with conversation topics.

  “So,” he began as soon as we were free from the ship. “How was your reunion with your spy boyfriend?”

  “Weren’t you listening in?” I replied. “I thought that was what you were there for?”

  “I’m not about to pry into a lovers’ conversation of sweet nothings,” he said. “Call me a romantic if you like, but—”

  “It’s not like that between us,” I interrupted firmly. “He was my bodyguard, nothing else.”

  “Oh, well, I suppose that’s better than the alternative.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it didn’t take you much to fall into the minotaur’s bed,” he replied casually. “If you’d been my girlfriend, I would have felt pretty bad about it.”

  There’s not enough gold in all the realms for me to ever agree to something like that with you, I thought savagely.

  “Nothing happened between Conon and me.”

  “That so? The way the crew says it, you and him have been shacking up quite nicely since we landed.”

  “We kissed,” I said firmly. “I was grateful for what he’d done for me on the ship. Nothing else happened. I don’t think a kiss is that big a deal considering he saved my life.”

  “I know, he was in our lifeboat,” Skeever’s eyes crinkled at my surprised expression. “What, did you think he swam all the way to the island with you in his arms?”

  I didn’t remember being in a boat, having only woken up as we were walking to shore, but logically I knew there must have been something between the ship and the island, even if the alternative would’ve been the more romantic image.

  “Of course not, but he still didn’t have to.”

  “True. Still, he got a nice little reward for it, didn’t he?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  He shrugged. “Well, you refused his advances on the ship, and
that’s got to frustrate a man. You’d be surprised the lengths some guys will go to get a lay.”

  I raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You think he threw himself off a sinking ship just to impress me?”

  Skeever shrugged. “Well, it worked didn’t it? Only pussy on board, and he managed to get himself exclusive access to it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Please. It was one kiss. I have absolutely no interest in having it go any further than that.”

  No one needed to know about the second kiss at the hot springs.

  “You’ll want to be careful, though,” he continued, his expression turning serious. “You might not always be able to count on that new boyfriend of yours for protection.”

  “What’s the supposed to mean?”

  “Ships have internal politics too,” he said vaguely. “You’ve already seen how things have changed between him and the captain. Ah well, maybe it’s for the best.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Skeever leant back in the boat and gave a thoughtful hum. “Call it intuition.”

  “You’re referring to what’s been going on?”

  His eyes narrowed. “And what is going on?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, frustration colouring my tone.

  I really wish I did though. I had bits and pieces, but the full picture still alluded me.

  “You’ll find that’s also for the best,” said Skeever seriously. “You’re not a bad girl, but you’ve fallen into a worse situation than you realise. Want some advice from someone in the thick of it?”

  I nodded.

  “Know as little about it as possible. If the shit hits the barn, you want to have plausible deniability for all of it, and the more you know, the less chance of that you’ll have.”

  Well, that just made me want to know even more!

  Chapter 12:

  The Ring of Horns

  When we arrived back at the beach, I could tell immediately that something serious was going on. A bunch of the perimeter torches had been moved to make a smaller circle just outside of camp. What looked like the entire crew was gathered around, and every now and then, a cheer or boo would go up, like they were all at some kind of sporting event.

  From next to me, Skeever gave a low whistle. “Wow, guess he really went for it.”

  I could see two figures inside the ring of torches, moving slowly around each other. They were both clearly minotaurs, judging by their size and horns. The one at the far side of the circle moved closer to the torches, which threw his features into relief.

  He had heavy broad shoulders and a thin waist, his coat covered in big black and white splotches. There were thin white stripes down one side of his black face, the colour contrasting his bright yellow eyes.

  I remembered seeing him around, but before now hadn’t given him much thought. He’d been on the ship, of course. I’d seen him at meal times, and his voice had been one of the ones giving their report to the captain about the beast that had wandered into the camp. In fact, now that I was paying attention, I realised he’d been one of the crew sewing the sails on the ship. So caught up in my thoughts about Risk, I hadn’t even realised that he wasn’t still there when Skeever and I headed back to the boat.

  As I approached the edge of the circle, I kicked myself that I hadn’t recognised the other fighter first. His dark hair, his strong arms, I’d know that silhouette anywhere.

  “Conon!”

  He turned at the sound of my voice, but it was the other minotaur who spoke first.

  “There she is!” he said, standing straighter and flinging both arms wide in welcome. “I was hoping you would make it in time, though I should thank you, Mr Skeever, for keeping her busy for a little while first.”

  “Not quite my intention,” the warden replied. “But always happy to be of service.”

  “Don’t get her involved in this, Harmon,” grit Conon.

  “Ah, but she already is,” the splotchy minotaur replied with a broad grin. “Don’t worry though, I’ll be sure to take good care of her.”

  Though I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, Conon had obviously taken it as an insult. He lunged at Harmon. I tried to push through the watching crowd and get into the ring. A long-clawed hand pulled me back roughly by the collar of my dress, and I landed on my rear next to the captain. He was standing just outside the ring, arms folded with a resigned-looking Theron beside him.

  “Leave them be.”

  “But they’re fighting!”

  “I have eyes,” he said, looking unconcerned as he watched.

  “Aren’t you going to stop them?”

  “No,” he replied, bluntly. “This is minotaur business.”

  “But you’re the captain!”

  “When dealing with a mixed crew, you have to respect their way of doing things,” he explained. “I run the ship, so they work for me. But when it comes to their own personal business, how they choose to sort that out is exactly that: their business.”

  “So why are they fighting?”

  “Conon has been the chief for some time,” explained Theron. “And Harmon has made a challenge for control of the clan.”

  “Is this what you were talking about?” I asked, turning to Skeever, who shrugged.

  “I knew it was brewing,” he said. “I didn’t think it would happen now, though.”

  “What if one of them gets hurt?”

  “Then I’ll have a position to fill when we get to Nyuesi.”

  “You’ll scare the poor girl with talk like that,” said Theron. “Don’t worry, it’s not a death match or anything.”

  “But I don’t understand,” I said again, giving the navigator my full attention. “This isn’t a minotaur clan. Why does it matter who’s the best of you?”

  “Even on the outside, we look to follow the strongest of our own kind,” he explained. “The more of us there are, the more we try to form makeshift clans.”

  “You see the same in cities and villages that have large populations,” Skeever added. “They’ll self-segregate and establish their own chiefs.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, as long as they follow my orders, they can do what they like.”

  “Why don’t you do something, then?” I asked Theron. “Don’t you care about Conon?”

  “I’m an old bull,” the grey-haired minotaur replied. “It’s long past my place to interfere. Let them be. Once the outcome has been decided, we can work on cleaning up.”

  Unable to do anything else, I watched as both minotaurs continued to circle each other. I expected them to have their hands up or something, like boxers would. Instead, they kept their arms loose by their sides, fists slowly clenching and un-clenching. Each step was purposeful, their hooves digging into, and kicking up the sand behind them as they moved. They walked slightly hunched, heads bowed just enough to put their horns out in front, but not enough to lose sight of each other. It was mesmerising to watch, and it seemed to go on forever.

  “What’s the matter, red-eyes?” Harmon spoke after several minutes. “Disappointed this isn’t a blood fight?”

  “I don’t need a blade to take you down,” Conon replied calmly.

  “I don’t doubt that, red-eyes. Bet you’re just itching to wrap your hands around another throat.” There was a smirk in his voice. “I’m surprised your woman doesn’t need to wear higher collars—”

  Conon bristled and charged. Barely a step behind him, as though expecting him to rise to the taunt, Harmon met his opponent in the middle of the ring. The sound of their colliding heads felt as loud as a gunshot. I flinched. Beneath their locked horns, their hands came up, grasping, pushing, trying to gain purchase on waists and shoulders, while throwing off opposing hands trying to do the same.

  While Conon was silent, barring the occasional grunt, Harmon wouldn’t stop talking. I couldn’t hear everything he was saying as they pushed and pulled each other around the ring, but every word out of his mouth seemed to stoke Conon’s anger.

  �
�This has got to stop,” I whispered to myself.

  “Don’t you go trying to run in there again,” Theron warned. “You’ll achieve nothing but getting yourself hurt.”

  Suddenly, the fighters broke apart. They jumped back to either sides of the ring, both breathing heavily. But while Harmon was grinning, Conon looked murderous. I had never seen him look like this before; he was terrifying.

  His hooves raked the ground, like an animal getting ready to charge. In response, the ever-smirking Harmon raised his hands in a ’come get me,’ motion.

  Conon lowered his head and lunged forward.

  Instead of meeting his opponent head-on again, Harmon grabbed him by the horns. He dug his front foot into the sand and twisted his shoulders, one hand pushing, the other pulling. Diverting the opposing bull’s charge, Harmon sent Conon crashing head-first into the beach.

  A great groan went up amongst the watching crew. Next to me I saw Theron’s fists clenching. If he didn’t like what was happening, why not do something?

  Keeping his hands on Conon’s horns, Harmon flipped himself up on the other’s back, holding him pinned with a heavy knee between the shoulder blades. “Yield!”

  Conon stayed silent, his hands and hooves struggling to gain purchase in the sand.

  “Yield!” Harmon repeated firmly. “Or you’re losing a horn.”

  “No.”

  Harmon wrenched the other minotaur’s head back and there was a cracking sound. Conon roared in pain and around the ring, the other minotaurs winced, reacting like most human men did to watching someone getting kicked in the groin.

  “Stop!” I cried, feeling tears welling in my eyes.

  “Sounds like your woman’s still rooting for you,” said Harmon loudly. "Wonder how long that will last? You think her mind’ll change the second you yield, or later on in my tent?”

  Conon bucked, trying to toss the other off him. Harmon held on like he was at a rodeo. Conon’s face might have been half-pressed in the sand, but his gaze was locked on me. I knew I must look a mess with blood-shot eyes and the tearstains down my cheeks.