Storm of Sharks

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘A good man, then?’

  ‘Once, perhaps. Last thing the count said to me was that Mesner was behind the ambush. We were way west of Hook Island, moored up, keeping watch over the Clusters for Bosa. There should’ve been nothing at our backs but open water. Instead two of Ghul’s ships took us by surprise. Mesner must have tipped off the Kraken. He had no family; reckon it was gold that turned him. In any case, I managed to escape in a rowboat during the melee. That was three weeks ago. I’ve been here ever since.’

  ‘What have you been doing in that time?’

  ‘Trying to get this lot to fight back, to begin with. We may be smaller than Hackett and his men, but we outnumber them ten to one. We could defeat them if we pulled together.’

  ‘And where’s Vega now?’

  ‘Me and a couple of other lads took a fishing skiff the other day, followed the rumours out to sea. Found what we feared the other night.’

  The boy was quiet for a moment as he composed himself. ‘Lord Ghul’s built a sea fortress, right at the heart of the Cluster Isles’ crescent. That’s where he’s taken my captain, and no doubt the others too.’

  ‘A sea fortress? But what island could he build it on, in the middle of the bay?’

  ‘That’s just it. There ain’t no land out there. It’s a tower in the sea.’

  Drew was confused by the boy’s description. ‘I don’t understand how he could’ve built a tower without land, Casper.’

  ‘Nor do I, but I saw it well enough myself.’

  ‘Are you sure? You said yourself it was at night.’

  ‘Ain’t nobody on the White Sea got eyes as keen as mine, Lord Drew. I wasn’t lookout for no reason. That’s why the captain kept me close: Count Vega always said I was his best investment.’

  ‘How close did you get to the fortress?’

  ‘Not very; sea was full of ships around it. If we’d tried to get nearer they’d have sent us to the bottom –’

  ‘Did anyone see you come here?’ Drew asked, interrupting him.

  ‘If I don’t want to be seen, I don’t get seen. The camp was empty, anyway. Children were all at work, at the docks, on the boats and in the fields. There weren’t even any guards when I came through.’

  ‘Well, there are now,’ said Drew. ‘Someone’s out there.’

  They could both hear the footsteps now, attempts at stealth betrayed by the squelching of mud. Drew dropped his head, allowing the wolf in enough to heighten his senses. There were multiple figures approaching from different directions, all closing on the hut. He could smell sweat and metal, alcohol and tobacco.

  ‘Stay put,’ whispered Casper.

  Drew heard the boy stand and snatched out at him, catching his ankle.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ he growled, the beast barely restrained. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’ll draw them away. They can’t find you, my lord,’ he said, ripping his leg free from Drew’s grip.

  Then he was gone, the door slamming shut as he made a break from the hut. Bursts of obscenities were followed by the shouts of the guards as they gave chase. Then came a sound that made Drew’s heart stutter in his chest: the wail of a boy. The guards had caught Casper.

  Casper ripped a chunk of flesh from the forearm that held him tight and spat it into the mud. His hand burst free from the panicked guard’s grasp and he raked his fingers down the man’s face, ripping red furrows into his cheek. Another soldier jumped forward as his comrade struggled with the enraged boy, blood pumping from his maimed arm.

  ‘You little –’

  The flat of the guard’s hand struck Casper’s face hard, sending his head ricocheting into the wounded officer’s jaw. The soldier released his grip as the two collapsed into the mire. Casper rolled on to his back, blinking and seeing stars as the men stood over him.

  ‘I thought you said he wouldn’t put up a fight, boy,’ said a third guard, calling to a figure behind him. Casper tried to focus as a boy emerged from the huts at their backs.

  ‘He’s supposed to be blind,’ replied Kit nervously. Casper’s heart sank at the boy’s betrayal.

  ‘Then what do you call this?’ screeched the soldier, clutching his torn limb with trembling fingers. ‘He’s an animal, blind or not!’

  ‘He’s wild is what he is,’ snarled the third man as Kit walked closer. ‘We should kill him here. No point dragging him back to Hackett only for him to cause more trouble. Who knows what else he might do, given half the chance.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Kit warily. ‘That ain’t him.’

  ‘Aye,’ said the officer who had struck Casper. ‘You said the stranger had one hand. This one’s got two!’

  ‘Then who’s this?’ asked the wounded soldier, giving the boy a kick. Casper whimpered as the boot hit his ribs, causing him to double up in the mud.

  ‘That’s Skipper,’ said the nervous boy, peering around the guards, unable to look Casper in the eye.

  ‘You’ve betrayed us all, Kit!’ gasped Casper.

  ‘By giving the stranger over to ’em? This buys me and mine favour with Lord Hackett!’

  ‘You’ve put yourself and your family in danger,’ cried Casper. ‘You can’t trust them! Run, Kit!’

  ‘There’ll be no running,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘More importantly,’ said the third guard, ‘where’s the lad with one hand?’

  There was a blur of movement as a dark shape shot from the shadows between the nearby huts, catching the sergeant as it leapt by. The man was gone, dragged off between the ramshackle buildings before his companions had time to react.

  ‘Sweet Sosha!’ squealed the wounded guard. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Sarge!’ called the other man, nervously weighing his sword in his hand. ‘You there, Sarge?’

  ‘This ain’t right,’ said the first guard, stepping over the concussed Casper, cradling his arm against his belly. ‘Sarge said we were to just grab the lad in that hut and take him to Hackett. You set us up!’ he said, rounding on Kit with an enraged snarl. His good arm came up and down in a sharp, savage motion, and the boy fell to the mud. ‘You promised us there was someone sheltering here, someone the Crab would want. It was a trap all along!’

  The wounded guard kicked out at Kit but the boy didn’t respond, lying unmoving on the ground. ‘Well? Answer me!’

  ‘Leave him be, Colm,’ said the other man, his eyes flitting between the filthy huts, searching for their enemy. ‘So there’s two of ’em. They’re just kids.’

  Of the sergeant, there was no sight, no sound. The guard reached down and grabbed Casper by the hair, dragging him to his knees before him. He raised his sword and placed the tip against Casper’s spine, poised to thrust down.

  ‘You see this?’ he shouted. ‘I don’t know who you are, boy, but we can make this easy. You give us the sarge, we give you your little mate back. And we walk away, right?’ As he turned back to the shadows, there was a resounding clang as a blood-smeared helmet flew through the air, striking his own armoured head. The impact was enough to send him staggering back, the sword point wavering from where it hovered over Casper’s neck.

  The Werewolf bounded forward, leaping over the kneeling boy and hitting the guard in the chest. The two went down, the sword tumbling to the mud as the man tried to defend himself. The lycanthrope’s head loomed over his, lips peeled back to reveal teeth as thick as spear shafts. The beast’s head turned in Casper’s direction as the man screamed, fumbling for his weapon belt.

  ‘Defend yourself,’ Drew growled, as the boy struggled to his feet.

  A stabbing pain rocketed through Drew’s abdomen, cold steel scoring
his stomach.

  The guard looked down the lengths of their bodies to where his hand clutched the bloody dagger. He brought his gaze back to the Werewolf’s, the beast’s pale yellow eyes staring through him. The man’s cry of horror was cut short as the Wolflord’s jaws snapped at his face.

  Casper felt the first guard catch him by the shoulders, yanking him from his feet. The man swung the boy high like a rag doll before sending him crashing into the ground. The soldier reached down to pick up the sword that lay in the mud, but Casper was one step ahead, lashing out with a kick and catching the man’s torn forearm. The guard bellowed, instantly retracting his wounded arm as Casper grabbed the weapon.

  Stumbling clear, the guard’s eyes flew to the Werewolf that now crawled off the body of his dead companion. Then he turned from the growling beast to the crouching boy with the blade in his hands. He backed up against one of the huts, nowhere to run, his arm bleeding profusely. Dropping to his knees in the filth, he stared warily at his enemies. The boy rose, lifting the heavy blade in both hands, the tip wavering before the sole surviving guard.

  Casper glanced at the Werewolf as the beast paced between the buildings, twisting his head and sniffing the air. Blind though Drew was, there were other ways for him to find and strike his enemies. The lycanthrope snorted as he found the guard’s scent, suddenly crouching, poised to pounce at any moment. Casper looked down to where Kit lay motionless in the mud. The boy’s eyes were closed, his pale face turned to one side, half submerged in a puddle. Even from a distance, Casper could see he was dead.

  ‘What … what is that?’ said the injured guard, staring at Drew. ‘Is that the Wolf?’ he asked, never taking his eyes from the beast.

  Casper stepped forward, the weapon heavy in his hands, but he held firm. The guard’s throat bobbed, his eyes wide, torn between the boy and the Wolf.

  ‘You killed Kit. You’re a murderer.’

  ‘I’m a soldier, boy,’ gasped the man. ‘Put the sword down before you do something stupid. Perhaps Hackett might spare you –’

  ‘He was a child, and you killed him.’

  ‘What is that monster?’ the guard cried, ignoring the boy’s accusation.

  ‘I only see one monster here,’ replied Casper coldly. He could feel sweat pooling against his palms as he gripped the sword’s handle. ‘I ain’t never killed a man before.’

  The guard gulped. ‘You don’t wanna start now,’ he whispered.

  A clawed hand touched Casper’s shoulder, gentle but firm. A squeeze was all it took to draw him away from the villain and the dark act that might follow. Casper stumbled back, light-headed and unsteady on his feet, as the beast turned his bloody muzzle back to the Krakenguard. Slowly, the Werewolf’s lips peeled back, teeth bared, jaws opening.

  ‘Please,’ said the soldier, his eyes wide with terror. ‘Sosha, no!’

  The wounded soldier made to scream, but the sound never escaped his lips, as the Werewolf’s fist struck him clean across the temple and plunged him into a deep and troubled sleep.

  3

  The Shark, the Shackles and the Shanty

  ‘Sing me another shanty, old-timer. Something involving a handsome sea captain this time, and the colourful death of a spineless squid.’

  While his fellow prisoner struck up a tune a few feet away, Count Vega, buccaneer pirate prince and former captain of the Maelstrom, leaned forward and allowed the chains to take his weight. He glanced at the outlawed silver manacles fastened tight about his wrists, the links of steel securing him to the wall at his back. Vega looked down at the waves raging in the darkness far below. The occasional spume of white froth materialized, caught in starlight before vanishing from sight. The constant rocking motion was familiar to his sea legs, but the sheer distance from the ocean remained alarming. He’d climbed what he’d thought were tall crow’s nests before, where the pitch could fling a man to his death, but nothing compared to this.

  ‘When the black-hearted Maelstrom hauls out of the dock,

  Sail for the Shark and to death in the dark!

  To see these poor fellows, how on board they flock,

  Hey ho, to death in the dark!’

  Vega smiled at the shanty, a variation on an old favourite from the Cluster Isles. The elderly chap singing was a navigator by the name of Florimo, imprisoned for the composing and performance of a defamatory ditty about Lord Ghul’s parentage. Observing the harmless chap’s apparent dementia, it struck Vega as cruel beyond words that the Squidlord was holding him prisoner, but few of the Kraken’s actions surprised him. Florimo had been kind enough to sing the words of the offending song to the count, and the two had quickly become friends.

  Vega strained his neck further, inspecting the tower’s curving walls. Other figures were manacled to the structure’s exterior, above and below. Captive captains like me? he wondered, the occasional wail sounding over the ocean’s roar. Walkways, ladders and bamboo gantries crisscrossed the wall in all directions, allowing the jailers access to their prisoners.

  ‘O’er whiplash and squall hear the Squid’s sorry wail,

  Sail for the Shark and to death in the dark!

  Such is the price for the Kraken’s betrayal,

  Hey ho, to death in the dark!’

  ‘Shut that racket up!’ came a shout from above. Vega looked up, spying a couple of figures jumping down the walkways, drawing close to where he and Florimo were chained.

  ‘Racket?’ the senile old sailor piped up in shock. ‘You wouldn’t know a fine tune if it bit you on your –’

  ‘Silence!’ yelled the heavyset man as he swung down from the platform overhead, landing with an almighty rattle on the runged floor. He rose quickly, a head shorter than the Sharklord but twice as wide. Lord Ghul had paid Vega a visit every day since his capture, and the sea marshal of the Lion’s fleet dished out torture at every opportunity.

  ‘Do my words offend your delicate ears, my lord?’ crooned the toothless Florimo. ‘Oh, but your poor, sweet lugholes! Free my treacherous hands from these chains and I would cut my tongue out, if it should please you!’

  Vega’s grin was short-lived as the Squidlord grabbed Florimo by the throat.

  ‘If I wanted your tongue, you tatty old bird, I’d tear it from your scrawny throat myself.’ The Kraken sneered, his broad hand rippling beneath the prisoner’s jaw. ‘You’re only alive because your miserable plight amuses me, you wretched excuse for a sailor. Too infirm to sail ship, to haul rope, to mop decks – I wouldn’t trust you with the slop bucket; you’d probably drown in it!’

  ‘Strictly speaking, my lord,’ spluttered Florimo, ‘I’m a navigator, and such duties are beneath –’

  Vega watched in horror as the flesh of the Kraken’s hand tore apart between thumb and forefinger. The gash ran up the sea marshal’s arm like a fault line, severing the limb in two as the twin appendages thickened. All the while, the remainder of the Squidlord remained unchanged. Ghul had complete mastery over his therianthropy, and was able to control individual portions of his form as only the greatest Werelords could. The digits disappeared, fused into the transforming skin of the Weresquid, the pair of tentacles beginning to burst forth circular suckers that shone with sharp teeth. One writhing limb caressed Florimo’s face as the man cried out fearfully, the razor rings catching his skin.

  ‘I could flay the flesh from your body,’ whispered Ghul, his voice gurgling as if partly submerged in water.

  ‘Leave the old man alone, you wobbling sack of guts,’ called Vega. ‘It’s me you’re here to torment, isn’t it?’

  The Kraken glared at him, drawn away from the assault on Florimo. His lips peeled b
ack, revealing the shifting insides of his mouth. Vega’s stomach lurched at the sight of the Squidlord’s beak, grating and snapping where teeth should have been. The other tentacle snaked through the air towards the count, rising up like a cobra, ready to strike.

  ‘Leave them be!’ a woman cried as she swung down from the gantry overhead, landing on the lurching deck with easy grace.

  Ghul reluctantly released his hold on the old sailor’s face, the tentacle slipping away to reveal circular cuts scarring the man’s cheek.

  ‘My lady,’ said Ghul submissively, even managing an awkward bow.

  ‘You can drop the courtesy,’ said the woman. ‘Such a title has never sat well with me, and we both know I’m certainly no lady.’

  ‘You’ve sat on my throne for years, Ghul, yet you still bow like a hunchbacked cretin,’ Vega taunted the Squidlord.

  The woman’s black skin shimmered in the starlight, her shaved head cocked to one side as she turned to look the Sharklord up and down. ‘I’d be careful what you say if I were you, Count Vega,’ she purred, the accent in her velvet-smooth voice revealing her homeland as Bast. ‘The only reason you’re here now is that my dear friend Lord Ghul has very strict orders to keep you alive. You have him to thank for the very fact you draw breath. Consider that the next time you mock the Lord of the Cluster Isles.’

  ‘Thank you … er … my lady,’ said Ghul, struggling to fulfil her request.

  ‘Call the Kraken what you like,’ said Vega, ‘but there’s only ever been one Lord of the Cluster Isles. I made that title my own, remember, Ghul? You’ll be calling yourself a pirate prince next, I wager. Dress yourself in a bonnet and crown yourself Queen of the Sirens for all I care – it won’t change what you are.’

  ‘And what’s that, little fish?’ asked the Squidlord, stepping up to the woman’s side.