by Sarah Gailey
He clenched a fist as he tried not to wonder whether they’d missed him at all.
The pond was a horror to survey. Four ferals had found their way into the water—just four, Houndstooth thought. So much chaos for just four.
Chaos was the only way to describe it. At first glance, Houndstooth thought that all three ferrymen floated on the surface of the water; after a second look, he realized that it was one ferryman floating in three different places. The other two were nowhere to be seen, but the pink tint of the formerly clear water gave him an idea. Their boats had been reduced to splinters in the water; sections of the barge’s railing were floating alongside their remains.
Houndstooth looked around Hero, trying to see the paddock, but it was out of sight. Please, he thought. Please let it be whole. He pushed away a mental image of Ruby, trapped in the paddock as a feral pushed its way in.
He looked back to the water, where a partygoer had seen fit to attempt a swim to shore. The three ferals in the water were still tearing at the severed leg of a ferryman, tossing it into the air as they rammed each other away from it. As Houndstooth watched, the man—blond, and lanky as hell, Houndstooth noted—swam for the shore. He looked over his shoulder at the ferals, who still hadn’t noticed him. His eyes were a startling shade of blue.
Houndstooth recognized him with a jolt, and stopped in his tracks, his boots skidding on the wood of the dock.
“Parrish?” he called it out before he realized his error. The swimmer paused, turning to look at who had called out to him.
The ferals looked, too.
“Houndstooth?” The man—Parrish, it was definitely Parrish—was treading water, staring at Houndstooth incredulously.
Houndstooth hadn’t believed it until then, not really—hadn’t believed that the little blue-eyed boy, the federal agent he’d so deftly exhausted some four months prior, was truly the man behind it all. If Hero hadn’t disappeared, Houndstooth realized, he would never have thought of Parrish again.
But Hero had disappeared, and somehow this man—the briefest of entertainments in a closed chapter of Houndstooth’s life—was back.
“What are you doing here?” Parrish shouted. Houndstooth shook his head, didn’t know how to answer. He automatically checked the water, a habit that had hardened over the last few months. He blinked, looked again.
“I’m here for Hero,” he said. He went to gesture at Hero—but they were gone, out of sight ahead along the dock.
“Who?” Parrish called, still treading water, his arms making little splashes on the surface of the pond.
“Hero,” Houndstooth said. “Hero Shackleby? They came here with Adelia Reyes?”
Parrish spat, looking over the water, his head bobbing as he kicked to keep himself afloat. “This ain’t exactly the best time,” he said—but he started swimming toward the dock Houndstooth stood on.
Somewhere to Houndstooth’s left, Hero’s voice called.
“I’m right behind you,” he called back, watching Parrish swim.
Watching the water.
“Parrish,” he said, not too loudly. “Watch out.”
“What was that?” Parrish said, pausing in the water. Footsteps pounded along the dock—Hero was coming back—but Houndstooth couldn’t look away from the water.
“I said watch out,” he murmured, as four wakes shot along the surface of the water toward Parrish.
“I can’t—damn it,” Parrish said, pausing in the water, splashing again in an effort to hold still for long enough to hear Houndstooth. His seersucker suit clung to him, and Houndstooth was struck by just how bony the man was. “I can’t hear you, Houndstooth, what did y—”
And then, just like that, he was gone.
He disappeared below the water with barely a splash—one moment, talking; the next, absent.
Houndstooth counted as Hero drew up short a few feet away. They watched the water with him. One … two … three … four … five—
And then he was back above the surface, arms thrashing, swimming desperately away from the triangle of ferals that had closed in on him. One surfaced, blood streaming from its drooping, whiskery jowls. Then a second—then a third. They shoved at each other, jaws gaping. Houndstooth spotted a shoe between the teeth of the largest one.
They fought each other and bellowed and Houndstooth half hoped that they’d be too distracted to finish the job. But then Parrish looked back over his shoulder, faltered, took in a lungful of water. He coughed and spat, and the feral with the shoe between its teeth turned.
It saw Parrish.
Parrish screamed as the three ferals, the smaller two closely trailing the largest one, closed in on him. They bumped into each other, snapping and bellowing. Parrish swam as hard and fast as Houndstooth had ever seen a man swim, and it looked as though he might just be able to outswim the ferals.
“No!” A raw scream sounded from the riverboat, and then a girl in a beautiful gown was diving into the water, false curls falling from her head as she jackknifed through the air. Her powerful jump had taken her far, and she entered the water close to Parrish, closer than the ferals. She swam toward him, water frothing before her.
“Acadia,” Parrish shouted, choking on water. “Acadia, help—please—”
The girl had reached him, and she grabbed him by the collar, treading water. “Thank God,” he gasped, “thank God, you have to help me—”
The girl planted a hand on his head and shoved with a mighty yell. His head disappeared beneath the surface of the water. The girl reached beneath the churn with the hand that wasn’t drowning Parrish, and seemed to root around. After a moment, Parrish surfaced, sputtering.
Acadia held up a hand. She was clutching a waxed leather folio.
“No,” Parrish said, grabbing for the folio and getting a mouthful of pond water. He was tangled up in his own suit jacket, which had come half off during his struggle. “No, you can’t, those are—”
But the girl folded herself in the water, planting both feet on Parrish’s shoulders. She pushed off, shoving him down below the surface of the water and springing away from him, and began to swim toward the shore, holding the folio aloft with one hand. And still, the hippos were closing in on Parrish.
He surfaced, choking. He looked after the girl and shouted hoarsely, but she didn’t look back. He coughed a few more times before turning to see the trio of ferals approaching, too close for him to even consider escape.
He didn’t even have the good sense to drown before they got to him.
Poor bastard, Houndstooth thought. Three on one? He doesn’t stand a—wait.
He counted the ferals again.
One, two, three.
He could have sworn there had been four before.
The section of the dock that lay between Houndstooth and Hero exploded, shards of wood flying in all directions. Hero stumbled, nearly falling into the water as the dock shook with the force of the feral that was bursting through just a few feet ahead. It bellowed, then vanished below the surface of the water.
Houndstooth watched the shadow in the water as it circled, building momentum for another run at the dock. In front of him, a five-foot section of dock was gone, floating in fragments.
“Hero!” he called, even as he reached over his shoulder to unstrap his harpoon. “Run to the paddock! Abigail is there—”
“I know!” they called back. Houndstooth could only just hear them over the gurgling screams and thick tearing noises coming from the water, where the three ferals had reached Parrish.
And then the fourth feral was back, and Hero was running toward the paddock, and Houndstooth was bracing his feet on the dock although he knew it was a useless effort. He twisted the harpoon in sweat-slick fists, trying to find a grip that would make him feel ready.
The beast burst out of the pond near Houndstooth’s feet, spraying water as it bellowed.
Houndstooth aimed the harpoon at the exposed roof of the feral’s mouth. As he drove it forward, the feral turned i
ts head to bring its teeth down on his leg. He dodged it so narrowly that he felt whiskers scratch his trouser leg—and then, the harpoon meet soft flesh.
Too soft.
The harpoon was jerked out of his hand, and as he watched, the hippo backed away with the shaft of the harpoon sticking out of from between its teeth like an absurd toothpick. It shook its head, but the harpoon was stuck fast in the back of its throat. Behind Houndstooth, another thump shook the dock. He tried to grab the harpoon, but the shaft was already slick with dark blood and the beast was jerking around too quickly for him to get a firm grip.
Something pounded on the dock behind him, hard and fast. Hero was already out of sight ahead of him, and Houndstooth was grateful for that because he wouldn’t have wanted them to see him die this way. Sweat soaked his suit jacket, and he peeled it off before rolling up his sleeves. He drew his knife, clenching it between his teeth, and braced his feet on the edge of the dock in preparation. This was it, then: he bent his knees, ready to jump into the water so he could kill the beast in front of him before facing whatever was behind him. He took a deep breath through his teeth, closed his eyes—
“’Oundstooth, no!”
He turned as the pounding on the dock behind him got louder, and there was Archie, running toward him with her meteor hammer already swinging. She reached him just as he was stepping back from the dock’s edge, and she swung the heavy hammer high before bringing it down with a crunch on the skull of the feral. She dragged it back by the chain, trailing rich red through the water, and wound it up to swing again—but the beast was already sinking below the surface of the water, its skull cracked wide, blood and brain matter floating on the pond’s surface like oil.
“Archie—” Houndstooth’s heart was pounding in his ears, and he and Archie stared at each other, breathless. “Where did you come from?”
She gestured up toward the second floor of the barge as she wound the chain of the meteor hammer around her waist. “I saw you fighting that thing, and I jumped. Are you alright? Where is ’Ero? ’Ave you seen Carter? What’s—”
Houndstooth crushed her in a hug, letting his knife fall to the dock. She embraced him back, clapping him on the shoulder with her free hand.
“You saved my life,” he breathed. “Again. God, am I so useless to need all this saving?” She clapped him on the shoulder again, gracious enough to not say yes. “Did you see that girl?”
“Who, Acadia?” Archie nodded. “She is … formidable, no?”
“Will she be okay?” Houndstooth asked.
Archie laughed. “I think she will be just fine, mon frère. For now, you’ll want to worry about yourself.”
They both stared at the hole in the dock.
“I don’t think I can jump that,” Houndstooth said.
“Nor could I,” Archie said. “I landed poorly, I am afraid … I don’t think my ankle could take another landing.” Houndstooth looked, and saw that she was standing on one foot. “I think it is not broken, but it will be of no use today.”
Behind them, screams rose from the barge as a feral bellowed.
“I don’t think we can go back, either,” Archie said.
A shadow appeared in the water. “Fucking damn,” Houndstooth said. His harpoon was underwater, still clenched in the jaw of the dead feral. He knelt to pick up his knife as Archie hefted her meteor hammer with a weary arm. The shadow stopped in front of him—and without so much as a ripple, Ruby’s head slid up out of the water.
“Roo?” he said, disbelieving—but there she was, his Ruby, out of the paddock and ready for him. Her saddle was soaked, but he couldn’t begin to care. Behind her, a white splash, and then Rosa’s ears flapped above the water’s surface.
Houndstooth turned to look at Archie. “Hero must have opened the paddock.” As they watched, more shadows filled the water. The ferals, still fighting over the scraps of the swimmer, didn’t notice these new hippos until a moment too late—and then the real fight began.
“We ’ave to get out of ’ere,” Archie said as the ferals’ bellows were met and matched by the roars of the hippos who were attempting to pass them.
“I concur, my friend,” Houndstooth said. He held Archie’s arm as she stepped down onto Rosa’s saddle with her already-swelling ankle.
“Houndstooth!” The call came from around a corner, and then Houndstooth’s heart swelled because there was Hero, riding Abigail toward him at breakneck speed. They stopped next to Ruby as Houndstooth settled himself into her saddle, and then the three of them were skirting the frothing knot of ferals and hippos in the center of the pond.
Ruby shook her head and snorted nervously as she swam through the bloodied water. Houndstooth stroked her flank, murmuring to her in an attempt to keep her calm without attracting the attention of the ferals. As they reached the stream that led to Thompson Creek, Carter came running along the bank, one hand pressing his hat to his head.
“Grâce à dieu,” Archie breathed—and then she held out a hand and Carter jumped into the saddle behind her, clinging to her waist as they rode away from the fray and into the safe waters of Thompson Creek.
* * *
They were a few miles down Thompson Creek when Houndstooth asked the question he’d been sitting on since Hero had ridden around the dock on Abigail’s back. Archie and Carter rode a hundred feet behind them, squeezed together into one saddle. Rosa was slowed by the extra weight, and Archie had to set an easy pace to keep her ankle free of the stirrups. Houndstooth had been waiting to ask until he and Hero were far enough ahead that he could be certain the sound of his question—and of Hero’s answer—wouldn’t carry, even over the insect sounds that were rising with the dying light.
“Hero?”
Hero looked at him, and his heart faltered like a hop learning to walk. They looked exhausted, too thin from months doing whatever they’d been doing. Blood and sweat and mud spattered their shirt, and there was a cut on their arm that was too deep not to worry about. They rubbed a hand across their face, smearing the dirt that was smudged there and leaving a light streak across their cheeks.
They were the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen.
“I’m so sorry, Hero.” He swallowed around something sharp, something like shame and anger and fear all stuck through his gullet. He was so sorry that he was choking on it. “I should have … I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” they said.
“What? No—”
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” they continued, as if they hadn’t heard him. “I didn’t—there was so much happening all at once, and the ferals—”
“It’s alright—”
“—and I … seeing you, Houndstooth.” Their voice broke, and they looked away, but Houndstooth could see starlight reflected in their eyes. “I thought you were dead. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, and I tried not to let myself think about it, but late at night when the baby would cry and wake me up and it would all hit me at once and—”
“Hero—”
“—I’m sorry.” It had grown too dark for Houndstooth to see Hero’s tears, and he was too far to brush them away with the edge of his thumb.
“It’s alright,” he murmured. “Or, it’s not alright—none of it was alright—but I understand. I’m … I thought you were dead, too. The only difference was, instead of pushing the feelings away, I…” He paused, struggling to find the words that could describe the depth of his obsession with the idea that Hero had to be alive. “I lost myself in them. I said things, Hero. I did things that I didn’t have to do. I hurt a man who didn’t—he didn’t need hurting. I hurt Archie. I hurt her, and I haven’t even apologized to her. I don’t know if she’ll let me.”
There was a soft splash as Abigail nudged her shoulder against Ruby’s. Houndstooth reached out. He was too far from Hero to lay a hand on their shoulder, but his outstretched fingertips met theirs, if only for a moment.
“I think Archie understands,” Hero said. “She knows what it’s l
ike to be far from the person you love.”
Houndstooth looked over his shoulder at Archie, Carter, and Rosa, silhouetted in the moonlight. “That she does,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Hero, I have to ask you something. I’m sorry, but I just—”
“What is it?” Hero sounded so small in that moment that Houndstooth wanted to cup them in the palm of his hand where they’d be warm. He cleared his throat again and reached out to see if Hero’s fingertips were still within reach, but his hand met empty air.
“Houndstooth? What’s your question?”
Now or never, he thought. He might as well ask, because the answer would be the same no matter how long he waited.
“I was just wondering,” he asked. “Where’s Ysabel?”
Chapter 13
Hero debated not answering the question. They were silent for a long time, and Houndstooth, bless him, was patient. He waited while they thought about lying to him, while they thought about ignoring him, while they thought about diving into the water and swimming away.
But in the end, they looked over and, in the dim light of the waning moon, saw him reaching out a hand. He was waiting for their fingertips to meet his—waiting so patiently—and they knew they had no choice but to tell him the truth.
“Adelia has her,” they said.
Houndstooth was silent for a long time. Then: “How?”
“She came to the paddock,” Hero said. They would never forget the look on Adelia’s face when she made it to them. She had burst up out of the water along the edge of the paddock, levering herself over the netting. Hero had asked how she’d dodged the notice of the ferals, but she’d been too out of breath to answer. She’d held out her hands for the baby after scrambling onto the back of a hippo that bore the brand of a Port Rouge rental company. When Hero had handed Ysabel over, Adelia had looked like all of her illness and suffering and flight had been worth it.
“So, what—she’s going to keep running?” Houndstooth’s voice was gentle, and Hero couldn’t hold back their smile.
