Fear the Drowning Deep

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  Mr. Gill brushed aside the gray curls plastered to his brow. “I’ve called a meeting,” he panted. “My house. In an hour. I’ll explain there.” He turned without another word and jogged toward the next house down the row.

  “Wait! Whose bodies did you find?” Da shouted after him, but Mr. Gill didn’t glance back. “We have to go to that meeting,” Da said, resting his eyes on each of us in turn.

  I nodded, lost for words as I tried to imagine any explanation other than another monster.

  Mam’s face turned ashen. “But Peddyr, I don’t know that I want Grayse hearing—”

  “I want to go.” Grayse stomped her foot, nearly knocking over the paraffin lamp that sat near the door.

  Sighing, Mam leaned against the wall. If the shadows beneath her eyes were any indication, she hadn’t slept well despite draining a mug of Morag’s healing draught. In fact, she hadn’t looked at ease since she examined my arm last night.

  Fynn cleared his throat and turned to Mam. “I’ll stay with Grayse so you can attend the meeting, ma’am.”

  “You will?” Mam’s eyes brightened. Since learning that Fynn had been the one to bring Cat back to shore, Mam and Da had been treating him like a hero, forcing extra helpings on him at breakfast and shooting him looks of admiration.

  “Of course.” Fynn grinned at Grayse. “You can teach me a new game, if you’d like.” Grayse reached for his hand, her pout vanishing. Fynn’s eyes met mine for the briefest moment before he disappeared into the main room, and I mouthed my thanks.

  “And you girls?” Mam asked, looking between Liss and me.

  Liss started toward our bedroom at once. “I’m going to change. I’ll be ready soon.”

  Mam’s gaze shifted to me. “How’s your arm, bird?” She lightly touched just above the salve-stained bandages covering me from elbow to wrist.

  “Mally’s salve burns worse than the cuts themselves,” I muttered, “so I think everything’s healing as it should.” I didn’t quite trust that Mam believed the story we’d given her about Cat scratching me in her confusion during the rescue. Still, there were more pressing concerns at hand.

  Mam smoothed my hair, frowning. “Do you want to come with us? You can stay here if your arm’s hurting more than you’re letting on.”

  “No. I’ll come.” As Mam narrowed her eyes, I hurried to add, “It hurts a bit. But I want to go.” I had to find out who had been lost this time. And I didn’t mind the pain, as I’d told Fynn the night before as he carefully bandaged my arm. Each time it throbbed, the wounds reminded me of what I’d won.

  That the creatures from my nightmares could be slain. Of course, I didn’t want to face another so soon, but I had sisters to protect. And now, Fynn.

  “Don’t leave without me.”

  I breezed into the bedroom and found the four remaining Bollan Crosses on the dresser where I’d left them. I shoved them into my pockets. The meeting would be a good time to offer the crosses to anyone willing to listen to a witch’s apprentice.

  Near the bed, Liss stared at two skirts with shimmering eyes, as though the mention of more bodies had bothered her more than she cared to show in front of Mam.

  I paused, wanting to offer words of comfort, but found I had none.

  The Gills’ house was stuffier than usual, packed with more than half the town. In the crowd, I spotted faces I hadn’t seen since the start of summer, and many who hadn’t deigned to attend Mally’s wedding. People crammed themselves into every available corner, glancing around and conversing in terse mutters. I followed Mam and Da to the back of the room. The Gills themselves were nowhere to be seen.

  Mam, Da, Liss, and I squeezed in beside Lugh and his da by the hearth. I caught Lugh’s eye, and he gave a strained smile. His da nodded curtly.

  Perhaps he thought I was mad, too, but the stares and whispers bothered me less now. Maybe, in time, my skin would grow tough and leathery like Morag’s, an impenetrable armor against the nonbelievers.

  Sweat beaded on my neck and trickled into the collar of my dress as the minutes wore on. Mr. Gill couldn’t expect us to sit here patiently for hours, waiting for a better explanation than the one he’d barked at our doorsteps.

  Someone shook my shoulder, startling me from my thoughts.

  “Do you think old man Gill will be here soon?” Lugh leaned around his da, studying me, his brow furrowed.

  “You have a really strong grip.” I rubbed my shoulder. “And I certainly hope so.” I scooted across a few feet of rug, claiming the small space between Lugh and the Gills’ firewood basket.

  Lugh touched my shoulder again, lighter this time. “How’s your arm?” Before I could respond, he added, “I heard the whole story from Cat’s mam this morning in the market.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “My da’s been sending me for Samson almost every day lately. Says it calms his nerves.”

  I glanced at my bandaged arm. “It feels like Mr. Watterson’s dog gnawed on my arm. But I’ll mend. Cat’s safe, and that’s what matters.”

  “Still.” He touched his forehead to mine. “I hate seeing you in pain.” My breath hitched. Deep in my chest, something twinged, a duller ache than the one in my arm. Then I thought of Fynn, at home trying to make Grayse forget her worries for a little while, and the ache faded.

  “Where is Cat, anyway?” I peered at the newest arrivals tramping through the door.

  Lugh frowned. “I haven’t seen her or her mam yet. They probably stayed home. They’re sick of hearing about death and disappearances.”

  “Who isn’t? But it’s better to know what’s happening than to sit home and wonder. The things I imagine are usually worse than the truth.” I sighed. “Even if the truth is horrible.”

  The Stowells weren’t the only people missing the gathering. Thomase and his mam were absent, as were Ina Cretney and her brood. Lugh, Liss, and I were the youngest people in attendance. Parents must have been trying to conceal the grisly details of this latest tragedy from their children.

  The buzz filling the house suddenly faded to whispers, as if I’d plunged my head underwater. Everyone looked toward the foyer where Mr. Gill and his wife appeared.

  Mr. Gill squared his shoulders and began in a weary voice, “Thank you all for your patience. I’ve been struggling to find the right words, but we have little time to waste. The bodies of Nessa Daley, Eveleen Kinry, Alis Stowell, Nanse Doughtery, Austeyn Boyd, and Brice Nelson were found in the harbor late this morning.”

  Lugh tensed beside me, sucking in a sharp breath. I put my hand over his and tried to disguise my exhale of relief as a cough. There was no new murderous sea beast. Just the fossegrim’s victims washing ashore at last.

  Mr. Gill raised his voice as cries of shock and horror burst from many mouths. “Adam Radcliff and his brothers made the discovery when they went to check their traps just before noon. There’s no doubt they were murdered.”

  The murmurs grew louder, making it nearly impossible to hear Mr. Gill above the din. “Not Brice,” a man groaned. “Not my oldest friend.”

  “Murders in the harbor?” a woman shrilled. “I think it’s time we gather our things and leave this town before we’re murdered, too.” She paused for a moment, then snapped, “I don’t care if we go to the poorhouse! Poor is still better than dead, last I checked.”

  “What if it’s me, next? I have to protect my baby.” An older girl with dark hair clutched her belly, her face pale as a gull’s wing. Lugh looked like he might be sick. Not only had he lost his mam, but Mr. Nelson had been a great friend to his family.

  “Do you need some air?” I asked Lugh. He didn’t seem to hear me.

  The conversations had become a shouting match.

  “Would everyone just be quiet!” Da was on his feet, shoulders shaking. Silence descended on the house. “Better,” he grunted. “Now, let Danell finish.” Da sat again, folding his hands in his lap, and nodded at Mr. Gill.

  “Yes. Well.” Mr. Gill coughed. “Thank you, Peddyr.” His expression
darkened as he surveyed the crowd. “As I was saying, seven deaths on our shores in one summer is the greatest tragedy in the history of Port Coire.” He eyed each of us as sternly as though we’d confessed to the murders. “Someone in our fair town has developed a thirst for blood, and we need to decide how we’re going to stop the offender before he strikes again.”

  I shook my head, filled with unease at the thought of a hunt for the murderer. Now that I’d slain the fossegrim, there was no culprit for Mr. Gill to condemn.

  “How were they killed?” Da demanded.

  Mr. Gill mopped his brow with a handkerchief and sighed. “We aren’t certain. Their bodies were in a terrible condition, made worse by time and the water. We’ll share full details with the authorities so they can determine the cause of death, but the reason I’ve called you all here is to discuss how we can keep our community safe in the meantime.”

  Adam Radcliff stood, arms folded across his barrel chest. “It looked like something—or someone—ate them.” He swallowed. “Well, ate parts of them, anyway.”

  “That’s enough!” Mr. Gill snapped. “You’ll frighten the women and—”

  “Whoever it was left their heads, and a few fingers behind. And several of these.” Adam locked eyes with Mr. Gill as he held up what looked like a long, red-stained piece of bone. “I apologize if I’ve upset anyone. But sharing these details may help us find the killer.”

  Gooseflesh covered my sweaty skin. That was no ordinary bone shard.

  It was a serpent tooth, just like the one that stabbed Lugh’s foot on the beach. The serpent had eaten the fossegrim’s victims. I thought of Fynn’s tale about fighting the serpent for a drowned girl to eat, and wondered if the serpent attacked those poor people once the fossegrim lured them into the water. Not that it mattered.

  I thought I’d saved our town, but I was wrong.

  What mattered now was stopping the serpent before it made a meal of anyone else, on land or at sea.

  “We must seek out the murderer today!” someone cried, to scattered applause. “We can’t continue to live in fear!”

  “This is the work of the Little Fellas!” a woman argued. “They’ve put a curse on Port Coire, and we’ll all have to make a sacrifice if we’re to break it!”

  “What kind of sacrifice?”

  “Enough babble!” With a rustling of skirts Ms. Elena shuffled to Mr. Gill’s side. She peered into the crowd of faces until her eyes found mine. “I’ve been silent far too long. No man would do anything this hideous. Nor would the Little Fellas.”

  She raised her paper-dry voice over the murmuring of the crowd. “The Little Fellas live for their tricks and revels. They might curse the life of a lone mortal who crosses them, but they aren’t killers.”

  Mr. Gill made a noise like a dying goose. “Now see here, this isn’t a children’s tale! There’s a dangerous—”

  “No, you see here, Danell. I remember when you were this high,” Ms. Elena motioned to her knee, “and I gave you a thrashing for making birdcalls during the Sunday sermon. You’re still a little boy who needs to shut his mouth and listen.” She paused, breathing deeply. Mr. Gill’s face turned white and red and purple all at once. “We must look to the sea. There’s a monster, called forth from the deep—”

  “Sea monsters again? Ha! The old woman’s as mad as Bridey Corkill.” Mrs. Kissack rose to her feet and pointed an accusing finger at me, as though I’d somehow caused Ms. Elena to stand up and support my claim.

  Every head in the room turned toward me, and I dropped my gaze to the floor.

  “Danell Gill is right,” a deep voice said. “There’s a murderer in our midst, lads, and we need to do something. I have to protect my family! Who’s with me?”

  Cheers rang through the house. There was an inhuman quality to the voices of my friends and neighbors that made me shiver.

  “The first order of business,” Mr. Gill called over the babble of voices, “will be to impose a curfew. Anyone roaming town after dark will be considered suspect and held for questioning.” Several people nodded. “Are there any volunteers to patrol the roads and cliffs tonight? We need enough men for two shifts: six to midnight, and midnight to dawn.”

  Da’s hand shot up, as did Lugh’s. Then Lugh’s da put his hand up, and father and son exchanged a rare smile. Mr. Watterson and a smattering of younger men came forward, all willing to sacrifice their sleep for the good of the town.

  I shook my head. The most disagreeable thing they were likely to find was a stray Manx cat in heat. Unless their eyes were trained on the sea, and the moon swelled to its fullest, they wouldn’t find the culprit slinking among the waves.

  Every moment they spent arguing over details of a pointless patrol was another moment that the serpent was free to claim another victim.

  And if the serpent was as terrible as Morag described, fighting it would be a far greater challenge than the fossegrim. I knew the truth; I couldn’t waste any more time.

  Climbing to my feet, I pulled the four remaining Bollan Crosses from my pockets and strode to the front of the room. Before I had a chance to think of the eyes upon me or the laughter that would drown out my words, I addressed the group. “These are Bollan Crosses,” I mumbled, staring at my feet. “They’re a charm to ward against drowning, and I thought—”

  “Speak up!” a dry voice commanded. I raised my head, clutching the crosses to my chest. Ms. Elena gave me a faint nod of encouragement.

  After a slow breath, I tried again. “These are Bollan Crosses. They’re just wrasse bones on string, but they’ll keep those that wear them from drowning.”

  The house was silent.

  Meeting Lugh’s bright eyes helped me continue. “I rescued my best friend from the ocean last night, and my charm worked quite well. Morag Maddrell made them.” I knew how most people felt about Morag, but she deserved credit for her work. Anyone too proud to touch a gift from a witch would have to accept whatever hand fate dealt them.

  “How do we know old Morag isn’t the one who put a curse on us?” Mrs. Kissack cried.

  “Can witches charm someone’s head off their body?” a voice countered.

  “How do we know the hag’s even still alive? When was the last time anyone saw her?”

  I set the crosses on a small table with shaking hands. “You’re all welcome to them. There are only a few, but I’m sure Morag can make more.”

  “I have one,” Lugh called loudly, over the throng of people who were now discussing the possibility of Morag’s involvement in the gruesome deaths. “You can scoff at sea monsters, if you must, but surely some of you are wondering how one man—or a few—could cause such a rash of murders so quietly in your own backyards.” Lugh locked gazes with me from across the room, and I mouthed a silent thank you. “Are you willing to risk your lives? If there’s even the smallest chance these charms work—what’s the harm?”

  No one stepped forward, but at least I’d tried, and so had Lugh. I wove between close-pressed bodies to reach Mam’s side, aware of the disapproving glances following me.

  “You were splendid up there,” Mam whispered fiercely. “Morag would be as proud as I am if she knew.” Her gaze slid out of focus, and she rubbed her temples. “She taught me about those crosses when I was younger. I remembered after you gave me one to wear for the wedding, but I hadn’t had time to tell you …”

  I threw my arms around Mam’s waist and squeezed. “I’m going. I’ll see you at home.”

  A current of gossip swirled in my wake as I crossed the foyer. As I stood outside, letting the breeze dry the sweat on my brow, movement from the front window caught my eye. Fenella Kewish, the town gossip, picked up a cross and slipped it on. Snowy-haired Ms. Elena took one next, followed by Martyn Watterson.

  I touched my fingers to my forehead in a quick salute, and turned away.

  While the town argued over murderers and how mad I was, I had work to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The sun hovered above the treetop
s as I ran home. There were still a few sunlit hours in which I could scour the land for the few poisonous plants I knew. If I was quick about it, there might even be time to deliver my finds to Morag before curfew.

  Fynn glanced up from the hearth as I rushed inside. “What’s wrong?” He dropped the wood he was about to feed to the flames.

  “Too many things,” I panted, running a hand through my damp, sticky hair. With hardly a moment to catch my breath, I recounted every detail of the meeting. When I finished, silence fell over the house.

  We needed to act quickly, for the sake of anyone near the water.

  “Fynn?” I laid a hand on his arm. The touch seemed to recall him from whatever vision had claimed him.

  “The serpent sounds angry,” he muttered. “Hope I at least gave it a good scar, or—”

  “Where’s Grayse?” I interrupted. I’d forgotten she was supposed to be with Fynn. The remnants of a card game lay on the floor, but there didn’t appear to be a mischievous blonde head behind any of the furniture.

  Fynn nodded toward my bedroom. “She’s taking a nap. Cheating at cards exhausted her.”

  I hurried toward the door. “I’m going to wake her. We’ll drop her off at the Stowells’—they weren’t at the meeting, so they must be home—just in case Mam and Da are out discussing the new curfew a while longer.”

  “You could tell me where we’re headed, while you’re at it,” Fynn said.

  I paused to offer him the ghost of a grin. “We’re collecting herbs for Morag. I’ll explain on the way. If you want to come, that is.” I opened the door, calling over my shoulder, “Whatever you decide, I need to go now….”

  Fynn hurriedly pulled on his boots. “Then I’m with you.”

  We maintained a brisk pace after dropping Grayse at the Stowells’ cottage, slipping behind a row of tall houses as a shortcut to the overgrown field that bordered the forest. The usual scuffing of feet and shouts of hello! were absent, leaving only the sighing of the wind. Unease clung to me like cobwebs as I explained to Fynn how Morag would make serpent poison with whatever we found today.