Wake of the Bloody Angel

Chapter Thirty-one

It was the same kind of sea-living killing machine Marteen had chained to the bottom of his ghost ship, but if this first glimpse was any indication, Clift had been right: That one was a mere juvenile. What rose from the pool, slimy skin gleaming in the light, was bigger than the Red Cow herself.

It had the same bulbous head with at least one round eye. The oblong pupil, black as Rody Hawk’s soul, was big enough to reflect me full- length, which it was in fact doing. I froze, hoping that if it saw no movement, it would think it had been mistaken, but that was futile. This was a staring contest I’d never win. It knew damn well I was there and had nowhere to go.

The odor was ghastly as well. The creature on the ship had smelled like this, but here it was a thousand times stronger, and my gag reflex barely held on. This was what I’d smelled but couldn’t identify: the stink of the monster.

Two thick tentacles rose from the water, weaved a bit in the air, and then grasped a pair of thick stalactites. The creature lifted itself farther from the pool. For the first time, I wondered if it might not be just aquatic, but amphibious as well.

Not that it mattered, because its tentacles were plenty long enough to reach me. It was in the process of illustrating this, as a half-dozen arms unrolled their way across the cave floor, guided by that looming, all-seeing eye.

I desperately rattled the treasure vault door. Alas, the lock was sturdy. I slashed at the first tentacle tip near me, and it withdrew like a burnt finger. The others halted their advance. I glanced at the hole in the ceiling, using all my will to conjure a battalion of Suhonens dropping through to save my ass. They did not appear.

I couldn’t get over the partition wall, or behind the vault’s bars. I couldn’t attack a vulnerable spot on the monster, because none were within my reach. I thought of throwing my boot knife at the enormous eye, but I figured the last thing I wanted to do was seriously piss this thing off. If I was very lucky, it would crush me to death quickly before stuffing me into the shiny black beak that waited below the water. If I made it mad, though, it might toy with me.

More tentacles appeared, grabbing the edge of the pool and providing more leverage. The creature surged up even more, sending a wave at me that soaked me to the waist. The good thing was that if I wet myself like Duncan, it wouldn’t show. I’d be squid food with the appearance of dignity.

The water went through the bars and shifted Black Edward’s corpse. I could see his skull- face now, grinning at my predicament. A fine way to treat a fellow Arentian in trouble.

By now, the monster’s bulk blocked most of the light. If it rose much higher, all it would need to do was fall on me. There seemed to be no way out; I seriously considered cutting my own throat just to get this over with. But I knew that no matter what, I’d go down fighting.

Then a woman’s voice said, “Don’t hurt it again!”

I looked around. I saw no one, and it was such a ludicrous request, I called back, “Okay!”

“If you make it mad, I can’t stop it.”

That sounded reasonable, even though I had no idea who was speaking, where she was, or what she had planned. “So what do I do?”

“Just stand there and be quiet.”

I did. The tentacles did not attack again. In fact, they withdrew into the water. The ones attached to the ceiling released themselves as well. Slowly, so that very little water was disturbed, the massive monster sank back into the pool. It managed to keep that lone spooky eye above water until the last moment, looking at me with crustacean malevolence. Then with a ripple, it was gone. The water around me receded.

I waited until every last wavelet had vanished from sight before peeling myself loose from the bars. I crept around the end of the wall, the whole time watching the pool. When I reached the other side of the partition, I finally saw my rescuer.

She squatted by the pool, two big empty jugs beside her. She wore a man’s vest and ragged pants cut into shorts. She was barefoot, and her skin was deeply tanned. Her hair was wavy and untamed, and bits of leaves and other debris clung to it. I couldn’t see her face; she concentrated all her attention on the water.

“Just stay there,” she called. “This stuff puts it to sleep, but not for long and not if it’s agitated. You’re luckier than you know.” At last, she said, “I think it’s gone.” Then she stood and faced me.

I was speechless.

She put one hand on her hip. “Come on, I know I’m not the ugliest thing in the world, but you don’t have to make that big a deal. Or have you just not seen a woman in a while?”

My voice entirely escaped me.

“Okay, you’re making me nervous. I know you can talk. Say something.”

I took a breath, and forced out the only word that seemed to matter at the moment, because this woman standing before me, on an island thousands of miles from Neceda, was unmistakable.

“Angelina?”