Wake of the Bloody Angel el-4

by Alex Bledsoe

  “We’ll still check these houses and see if anyone’s hiding,” Clift said. “Make lots of noise. I don’t want to lose anyone to a misunderstanding.”

  As we walked up the sand, my legs tried to convince me that I was still on the ship’s rolling deck. I knew it would happen after all this time at sea, but I hoped it would wear off soon.

  I estimated fifty dwellings made up the settlement, most no bigger than my cabin on the Cow. The ground between them was a mix of dirt and sand, and the marks of hundreds of footsteps had been set into the sun-baked soil when it was wet following the last storm. My own boots barely left a scuff.

  I opened the door to the first hut. It wasn’t really a door, just a woven straw mat attached to the doorframe by rope loops. The smell made me wince. I peeked inside and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dimness.

  It was a one-room dwelling, with space for a single bed, a stove, and a sea chest in the corner. Shelves went up one wall and held souvenirs of the owner’s life, mostly knickknacks from various ships. The room was trashed as if someone had gone on a mad search through it. I suppose the men left behind might’ve gotten drunk and done this, but it was impressive destruction for sailors Marteen had described as too old and sick to serve on the Bloody Angel.

  An unmistakable rust-colored smear on the wall got my attention. Someone had bled here, and recently enough that the stain was still faintly sticky.

  I stepped back to the door, tried to banish my preconceptions and take a fresh, open-minded look at the hut. Two things struck me as odd. One was that the damage was confined to the floor, and rose no higher than my waist. The shelves below that line were knocked aside and their contents scattered; above it, they were intact.

  The other odd thing was the clean square spot on one wall above the damage line, where a picture had clearly hung until recently. It was nowhere amongst the debris.

  I moved down the line to the next dwelling. The second hut had identical damage, down to the missing picture from the wall. And the third. But in that one, I found something else: a ship’s bell, still highly polished as if it were a treasure and carefully displayed on a high shelf. Engraved on it were the words BLOODIE ANGELLE. It was the first actual confirmation that Marteen had told the truth.

  I emerged at the same time Jane did from across the way. She said, “Every place I’ve checked has been trashed, but low to the ground, like drunk midgets had come through. I found some bloodstains, too. And there’s a space on the wall where someone took down a picture.”

  “Same here,” Suhonen said as he rejoined us.

  “And me,” Clift agreed.

  “And me,” Duncan said.

  “Likewise,” I said.

  We all looked at Dietz. He said guiltily, “I, uh… didn’t notice.”

  “Go back and check,” Clift said. As Dietz skulked away like a guilty child, he added, “And put back anything in your pockets. We’re not pirates anymore, remember that.” To the rest of us, he said, “What else did you find?”

  “I found an old bell from the Bloody Angel, ” I said. “But no signs of life or bodies,” Jane said. “And not enough blood to indicate a real fight.” She shook her head. “Man, this stench will stick with me. Who lives like that?”

  “Pirates,” Clift said.

  “We never did,” she insisted.

  “I think your memory is turning rosier with time,” he said.

  Dietz returned. “Yep, there was a picture missing in every house. Why would somebody take them?”

  “We don’t know that anyone took them,” I corrected. “We just know they’re not there.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Dietz said dryly. “Here in the tropics, the art migrates this time of year.”

  “We’re migrating, too,” Clift said. “Let’s see what else the island’s got for us.”

  A triangular pile of stones, like a cairn, stood at the edge of the jungle. It marked the head of a trail that led off into the thick growth. I dismantled the rocks to see if anything was hidden inside. There was not; it was a mere marker. I glanced at the trail, a dark tunnel into the thick forest of the interior.

  “If Black Edward lives here,” I said, “it’s probably at the other end of this.”

  “I don’t see any smoke coming from the interior,” Suhonen pointed out.

  “If he’s spotted the Cow, I doubt he’s cooking us dinner,” Jane said.

  “Unless we’re the main course,” Dietz said. “Man in desperate enough straits isn’t picky about his table fare.”

  “Given everything else we have to worry about, Dietz, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop looking for new things,” Clift said. Then he strode off down the trail, the rest of us following.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The trail took the path of least resistance and meandered over the uneven landscape. It went around rocks, fallen trees, and changes in the terrain. Originally, it had been wide enough for two people, but the greenery had encroached on it. In six months, the jungle would close it up, like a healed wound.

  By noon, we were exhausted, overheated, and deep in the island’s interior. We stopped at a clearing cut by a spring-fed stream, where we drank and rested in the shade. Strange sounds told us of many curious animals lurking just out of sight. Birds with cries like mocking laughter watched us from high in the trees. Hungry biting insects sought our skin.

  “He’s probably dead, you know,” Jane said. She reclined against a tree with her eyes closed. A spot of blood had soaked through the bandage on her thigh, and she kept one hand waving to chase the flies away from it. If she was in pain, it didn’t show.

  “Who’s probably dead?” Duncan asked as he took off his tunic, dunked it in the creek, and wiped his face with it. He had scars along his lower back and, by implication, his buttocks. I’d seen those kind of marks before: the physical sign of his foster parents’ tender care.

  “Black Edward,” Jane said. “That’s our luck. I bet he died yesterday.”

  “Now who needs some optimism?” I said.

  She was undeterred. “If we’re extremely lucky, we’ll find his corpse. Although the maggots have likely made short work of him in this heat. He’s probably mostly liquid.”

  I nudged her. “You’re a ray of sunshine, you know that?”

  She laughed, but her voice was tight. “I’m ready for this leak in my damn leg to stop, that’s what I am.”

  Duncan checked to make sure Clift and Dietz, the only ones unaware of his parentage, were too far away to overhear. “I hope he’s not dead. I’ve finally worked out what I’m going to say to him.” I waited, but he didn’t elaborate.

  “Just bloody great,” Dietz said as he emerged barefoot from the stream, holding his battered boots. “No one to fight and nothing to loot. Tell me again why I volunteered for this chickenshit boarding party?”

  “Because you thought there’d be someone to fight and something to loot,” Clift said. He stood watchfully in the shade while we rested. He was on alert, but hadn’t said why.

  “I’m not sure no one’s around,” Suhonen called. “Look at this.”

  We joined him beside the stream. In an open patch of mud, there was a bare human footprint. None of us but Dietz had removed our boots, and his feet were much broader.

  “Fresh, all right,” I said. The sharp edges and imprinted skin detail told me that. “Made since this morning.”

  Jane looked around for additional prints and quickly found them. “Here. And here. And look, he pushed through that tangle of vines. He’s headed toward the beach.”

  “But he didn’t take the trail,” I said.

  “Why?” Duncan asked.

  “We spooked him,” Suhonen said. I nodded.

  “So either he went somewhere else on the island, or else he’s probably watching us right now,” I said.

  Jane nodded. So did Clift. Duncan clenched his jaw in frustration. I leaned close to him and said, “I don’t think Black Edward would be running around barefoot and hi
ding from every little noise.”

  I wasn’t as quiet as I thought, because Dietz said, “Unless he’s gone crazy here all by himself. All this heat, the bugs, might drive anyone seal-shit nuts.” When we all glared at him, he demanded, “What?”

  I shouted to the jungle, “Hey! We’re not here to loot or fight. Angelina Dirnay sent us to find Black Edward Tew. Can you help us? We can pay you.”

  We stood very still, but there was no response. In fact, there were suddenly no sounds at all, no birds or insects or wind. Even in the bright sunlight it was spooky.

  “I knew it,” Clift said as he drew his sword. “I had a feeling.”

  “Hey,” Duncan asked softly, “is this an ambush?”

  Before he could reply, there was a loud hiss from the jungle to our right. It sounded like an old man clearing his throat. A very, very large old man.

  Instantly we were all armed. Jane and I reflexively stood back to back, to cover all sides. I glanced at Duncan, but he showed no sign of panic. Except for Dietz frantically putting on his boots, no one spoke or moved.

  The sound came again. I watched the undergrowth for any sign of movement.

  Jane whispered, “Thar she rustles.”

  I followed her nod. At the edge of the undergrowth, something blue, forked, and as big around as a child’s arm snaked out, touched the ground in a couple of places, then drew back. A moment later it reappeared and repeated the motion. It was far too big for a snake’s tongue, even the huge tropical ones you might reasonably expect here.

  “What the fuck?” Dietz barked, hopping up and down to settle his boots on his feet.

  “Quiet!” Clift rasped.

  Suhonen drew both his swords and took a step toward the strange sight.

  “Wait!” I whispered urgently. The image had suddenly clicked into place. “We might consider running.”

  “No,” Suhonen said, and spread his feet. “What ever it is, I’ll face it.”

  “Yeah,” Jane said, drawing her own enormous weapon. “It’s just some animal. How bad can it be?”

  Only Clift took my warning seriously. “If LaCrosse thinks it’s bad enough to-”

  I looked behind us and saw another blue tongue flash in and out of the jungle shadows. “The one in front will get our attention,” I interrupted. “The one in back will attack first.”

  “There’s one in back?” Dietz cried, and tried to watch all sides at once.

  Then the first one emerged, and even Dietz fell silent.

  It was a lizard. It had gray-black skin that seemed to be the same color and texture all over. Four squat legs lifted the upper body off the ground, while the tail dragged behind it, deceptively limp. The blue tongue continued to check its environment, and its black eyes showed no interest in us at all. Its thick, goopy saliva trailed in strings along the ground, collecting bits of dirt and leaves.

  And it was fifteen feet long.

  And it wore a metal collar.

  “Holy shit,” Dietz whispered, mesmerized.

  I knew Jane watched for its companion, so I kept my eye on the one in front. The collar threw me: who would keep this sort of animal as a pet? Even right out of the egg, they’d snap a chunk out of you. But pet or not, its casual stalking behavior told me it was far from tame.

  It turned its huge head and looked right at us. Then it opened its mouth and hissed. I saw the hole in its lower jaw where the tongue retracted, and rows of even, very sharp teeth. The saliva in its mouth made a wet smack when it closed.

  “Get ready,” I said. “This one’s just for show.”

  As I predicted, the one behind us burst from cover hissing like a newly forged lance head dropped in a bucket of water. It undulated side to side as it ran straight for Duncan, who yelled in terror but stood his ground. The problem was that from head on, the lizard presented virtually no target. It would be on the boy before he could get into position for a blow. I yelled, “Duncan! Run!”

  Fortunately, Suhonen covered the distance between them in two steps and, coming in from the side, brought both swords down on the lizard’s spine.

  One blade bounced off. The other broke.

  I caught this peripherally, because the one in front now had my complete attention. It moved slowly toward us, not giving away until the last moment that I was its target. It lunged between Clift and Jane and snapped sideways at my legs. I jumped back, simultaneously jabbing my sword toward that open mouth. I hit some of the soft tissue, because it hissed and arched its back in pain. Clift swung at it and sheared a layer of skin and flesh off one shoulder. The muscle beneath it was white and ropy.

  “Nice,” I said gratefully.

  “There’s a reason I sharpen my sword every night,” he said.

  The one Suhonen whacked had turned and charged him, and he now lay on the ground beneath it. His legs were locked around its belly and those huge hands dug into its throat, holding the jaws just out of reach of his face. It snapped all around his head and tore at him with its claws, leaving great deep scratches. “Is that all you got?” Suhonen screamed at it. “Is that it?” Then man and lizard began to roll around the clearing, neither releasing its hold on the other.

  Jane looked for a vulnerable spot while Duncan tried to stab the thrashing tail. That was a mistake: suddenly the tail cracked like a whip and knocked him ten feet through the air.

  The one I’d stabbed saw this and rushed for him. I dropped my sword, leaped, and grabbed its tail. It was cool, dry, and the muscles inside it were hard as stone. I dug in my heels. At first it didn’t realize what had happened, and kept straining toward Duncan.

  Dietz stuck his sword in the ground and drew his knife. “Well, I said I wanted a goddamned fight,” he snarled, then jumped on its back and drove the knife deep into it. Duncan scrambled out of range, still trying to catch his breath.

  Clift and Jane rushed over to help, since against all common sense Suhonen was strangling the life out of the second lizard. Just then mine realized I was there and swung back to snap at me. It snagged part of my tunic and tore away the fabric, its teeth stroking but not breaking my skin. But that was nothing compared to the flash of silver as Jane used the huge sword Suhonen had given her to slice off the lizard’s head, and a lock of my hair as well.

  The sword buried itself in the ground and the head rolled, jaws still snapping. The body began to thrash; Dietz and I let go and scrambled away. Jane yelled at it, “You’re a pair of boots now, ya bastard!”

  I got to my feet and checked to make sure she hadn’t also gotten an ear. “A little close there, wasn’t it?” I yelled, my voice higher than normal. I’m sure it was just the exertion.

  Jane wrenched her blade free of the ground and said, “Close only counts in venereal disease, LaCrosse.”

  With a great roar, Suhonen heaved the now-lifeless lizard off his body. He lay there gasping, his arms and legs bloodied but a huge grin on his face. “Now that… was what… I needed. Worth breaking a sword for.”

  “Not your third one, I hope,” Jane said, and the big man began to laugh.

  I knelt to examine the collar on the strangled lizard. It fit snugly, as it would have to, since the creature’s head was about the same diameter as its neck. There was a lone loop welded onto it for a leash or, more likely, a chain. And a name was engraved in the metal:

  BUTTERCUP.

  “Someone’s pet, all right,” I said. “Or watchdog.”

  “Stand aside,” Jane said, and when I did, she decapitated this one, too. “Always pay the insurance,” she said, and draped the huge bloody sword across her shoulders.

  Now that the crisis was over, the cut on my shoulder suddenly announced itself, and I winced as pain ran through my whole right arm. I gingerly lifted the collar of my tunic and checked it; the stitches were intact, and it wasn’t bleeding. That was good news. It did nothing to ease the pain, of course.

  Clift knelt and cut open the lizard’s belly. “Let’s see what this thing’s eaten lately,” he said, then lifted the c
arcass from behind. He wiggled it until its organs fell out with a splat.

  “I’ve had to shake the lizard before,” Dietz said, “but never like that.”

  Clift let the corpse fall to one side and used his sword to push aside coils of intestine and cut open the stomach. In addition to fur and feathers of their normal prey, there was a severed finger, a belt buckle, shreds of clothing, and a sailor’s pipe. “I think we know what destroyed those huts. And where the ones who stayed behind have ended up,” Clift said, wiping his hands on the grass.

  “Except for whoever left those footprints we found,” Duncan said.

  “And who wants to bet that Mr. Footprint is also the one who let Buttercup and-wow, this one’s named Pansy-off their leashes?” Dietz said.

  We exchanged a look. The idea that Black Edward might have gone crazy now didn’t seem so unreasonable. If, of course, he hadn’t also become lizard food along with everyone else.

  I said loudly, “We killed your lizards. You can’t possibly kill us all before we find you, so you might as well come out and talk to us.”

  I was bragging about our prowess, of course, but it seemed an appropriate bluff, given what we’d just done. It didn’t impress our unseen watcher, though, because he didn’t appear.

  “Well, if there are answers,” Clift said, “they’ll be at the end of the trail.” So we resumed our hike. Behind us, smaller specimens of the same lizards ambled from the forest and began fighting over the corpses.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The trail grew more treacherous as it climbed the nearest mountain’s slope. Here the greenery had gotten a better grip, and in a couple of places we had to stop and seriously look around to figure out where the path continued. Suhonen, in a giddy mood despite the slashes covering his arms and legs, whistled and cut through anything that blocked our way.

  No more giant lizards attacked us, and despite our best efforts, we saw no sign that anyone secretly pursued us. It wasn’t a big island, but there were plenty of hiding places, especially for a lone man familiar with the terrain. If Black Edward had left those bare footprints, this case could turn especially ugly. The only real way to find a single person on an island like this was to use what the Pontecorvans called Kayhemadda: set fire to the greenery and let it burn the island clean. It was a literal scorched-earth policy that would be a very last resort.