Aquifer (8 page)

S
eward quiets the engine and rounds the wharf. Soon I’ll see the Shallows and the shanty, maybe for the last time.

Right now, I see the spire.

It rises black on black into the night — a star-eating billowing plume — and with it Seward plunks down to the deck.

“Lad, I think we’re late. The shanty burns.” He pauses. “Their plan be underway.”

“Then move faster! I need to get things out!”

Seward shakes his head. “You talk foolishness, boy. Only this trip kept you from fuelin’ that fire.”

I jump up and jam forward the throttle.

We power ahead. Seward tumbles onto his back and curses, and we round the bend. Flames leap into the sky.

The paintings. The books!

Seward scrambles to his feet, clutches my waist, and throws me to the deck. He lunges for the wheel, but it’s too late and we crash into the dock. I tumble, my ribs smashing against the
winch. I groan, push to my feet, and roll over the bow. I’m off and staggering into the blaze.

“Luca!” Seward’s words fight through the hunger of the fire that bites and gnaws the dry timbers of the shanty. “You must stay alive. For Massa!”

I pause, then crash through the door. Smoke overpowers my eyes and thoughts, and I drop to my knees and crawl to the corner where I can see the laundry pile’s silhouette topped by Father’s new coat. I throw it aside, grab a balled-up shirt, and breathe through the fabric. My lungs still burn, but I breathe deep and throw myself down the stairs, landing with a thud on a stack of books.

Where are you? Where are you?
I rifle through the piles.
There!
I find my two prized volumes — Father’s and the skeleton-guarded book from the cave. Above me I hear a sharp crack, and the ceiling gives way. Sparks and timbers crash all around me.

Get out now, Luca
.

The voice from the cave is faint, but clear.

Father? Who are you?

I cannot wait for an answer. I jump up, books tightly pressed to my chest, and stumble upward. Heat overpowers, and I close my eyes, picture the floor plan of the home I know so well, and hurtle in the direction of the door. I strike mesh, and burst through the screen and onto the porch, followed by a billowing belch of smoke. Gasping, lumbering, I limp toward the boat.

Seward curses and grabs me.

“That be all you’re taking. The fire spreads fast. I will allow no other run.” He stares at the sky. “They will produce Massa’s body — real or substitute, it won’t matter. The world will believe you undone in this horrific ‘accident.’ If Massa believes the
tales, the Council will get the route they crave. To that end, they will be looking for your remains to convince him. Let’s see to it they find none.”

I push against Seward but cannot pry free from his arms. So much beauty, burning. So much in those books I’ll never learn.

Two books were all I could save.

Seward throws the boat in reverse, and we churn backward.

“Here.”

He slaps a paper against my chest. “Nailed to the dock, it was. Scratching, if you ask me.”

I grab the light orb and hold it close.

Not safe. Time to go down. Meet you there. Wren

“Must have fallen out of one of them books,” he says.

“‘Not safe. Time to go down.’”I squint at the message. “Not safe. That’s what it says. I know it’s not safe — I get that part. It’s the down part.”

Seward winces and groans. “Nephew. Who’s it from?”

“A lady I know at the museum. She works there.”

“Only one lady works at the museum.”

“Are you familiar with her?”

He grins. “More than you know. We be making a change, of course.” The prow of his ship swings violently.

I rest beneath the moonlight, Wren’s letter clutched in my hand. Behind me, my house — my world — burns. In front of me, a pirate who happens to be my uncle. And between us, a corpse I don’t know and the hope of a father alive.

How peaceful it had been today at the museum. Tea. We sipped tea, and Wren spoke musical words. Soothing words.

Her words on the page do not soothe.

The boat swings again, this time toward the north and west,
away from the mainland. Away, out to sea, farther out than I’ve ever been.

My life’s in a pirate’s hands, one who stabbed my father but who is also my uncle. He now looks at me, his eyes soft.

“You wonder about the knifin’.”

“And many other things.” Salt water sprays over the rails, and I feel a chill. I pull my arms inside my shirt sleeves and shiver.

“Do you wonder enough to ask?” Seward says.

“I’m scared.”

Seward looks off. “Fool raised you right. But in this matter, anxious thoughts play no purpose. Massa turned out fine. As always.”

I frown.

“A short story, for a long trip. Nestle down.” He reaches into a basket and pulls out an apple. I extract one of my arms, and he tosses it to me. “Hear of your uncle’s misfortune.”

A
pirate I am, and no denyin’ the claim. But it be truth that Massa and I came from the same womb. Has he told you about your second father?”

“Not even a name. He didn’t … well, doesn’t … like to speak of family.”

“Good reason for that.” Seward suddenly stands and cocks his head, listening. “Others have been out here this night.” He lowers himself back down. “Let’s float in the black.” He switches off his floodlight. “Where was I?”

“My second father.”

“Aye. His name was Janus — my father, Massa’s father, and the Deliverer for sixty years. Fennel, that’s your second mother, and Janus’s wife.”

“Janus and Fennel,” I repeat. “Somewhere I’ve heard the names.”

“Surely it be true, and you’ll feel much more truth as I relay the tale. Two children they had, taken, as is custom, developed
well, and returned. Seward, yours truly” — he bows — “came first. A year later, Massa was born. Your shanty was our home. My childhood home.”

I prop myself up on an elbow. “You just watched your old house burn to the ground.”

“I did.”

“I had … I had no idea.”

Seward stretches. “You’re a good lad. So, custom is, as you know, for the first child to be named Job Successor, and in our family, a mighty big job it be. The Deliverer. It was assumed that the privilege, the honored life, the freedom, would be mine.” In the light of the orb, Seward’s eyes glaze. “It should have been mine.

“But even at five, it was clear. Massa would grow to a giant of a man. He was strong and fast, sharp of mind. I … I was slow of foot, of thought. And then came the dream.”

I lean forward.

“Do you believe in the Fates?” he asks. “In dreams? Do you believe they hold the future, seeping glimpses into the mind in sleep?”

“Like a prophecy?” I shrug. “Father always said the Wishers believed in dreams and prayers and voices. Now I’ve seen it for myself. I know it’s lunacy, but I think … I think I’d like to believe. That there’s more than life in the shadow of the Amongus. That there’s hope from somewhere else.” I drop my gaze and my apple core into the hold.

“Hmm.” Seward smirks and falls silent. When next he speaks, his voice is soft. “Janus believed that we were guided from beyond. And so when Fennel dreamt of Massa holding rods in his hands, when she dreamt of Massa emerging from the Birthing tunnel, when she dreamt of … Massa leadin’ his
son to a chair in a marble hall filled with light, well, Janus felt it a sign, and passed the future of the world to the younger, to your father. And to me, to me …”

“You received nothing.”

“Ah, the life of a pirate isn’t nothing.” Seward forces a grin, but it can’t stay. “Days before Massa became a Sixteen, a rage consumed me. I waited on the rocks, waited for my brother to paddle near, and when he turned, I flung the knife. True it is that I wished him dead. And that was the last day I saw my father or mother. I left, and when the story rounded, there was a simple choice. A debriefing or a hideous job —”

“For the Amongus.”

Seward raises his eyebrows. “My brother and I tried to mend it, but always my hot head or his stubborn pride snapped us short. I don’t blame Massa. He wasn’t the one with the dreams, and the violence be on my head — no fault lies with him. But Mother and Father, they should have come after me …” Seward quiets, and then speaks with words meant, I think, as much for his own ears as for mine. “It is a hard thing to play the second, seeing that I arrived first.”

I think of Walery, and the talk he had with Father while I almost sacrificed Old Rub. I think of all the nights I lay ten feet from Father wishing only that he would call my name and say … anything. I know exactly what Seward means.

“But!” Seward speaks so loud I jump. “Watching him from afar, I wonder if perhaps I was the lucky one loosed from his burdened life.”

“Piracy ever since,” I say.

“Ever since.” He slaps his leg. “But sleep now. The hours will soon tell if my gut spoke wisdom or doom. And if doom, we’ll need all of our strength.”

Strength. Oh, to be as strong as Lendi
. I sigh at the thought.
He’ll live a normal life. Even the tedium of tanning seems pretty great about now
.

I lie back in a pile of netting, and miss my mate. And the drift and the stars soon steal my thoughts.

“Luca.”

I wake to a hand on my shoulder. “Speak softly, listen now. We be near your dropping point.”

I feel my heart quicken as I raise myself from the makeshift bed. “What? Huh? How could you do this to me?”

Seward slaps his hand over my mouth. “I’ll try again.” He slowly releases my lips. “Not an undoing dropping point. Your and Massa’s dropping point, the beginning of the route to the Rats. Massa starts his descent from a point on this isle. Surely he briefed you on the precise location.”

My eyes widen, and I shake my head.

“Right. Then this be a futile attempt.” Seward douses his orb. “But an attempt nonetheless. Peek over the edge, starboard side.”

An island, cloaked with trees swaying dark on dark, stretches like a ribbon across the sea. Between the shore and us, hulking shapes dot the water.

“Amongus boats,” Seward whispers. “Massa’s isle be well known, but without the dropping point, I don’t know what they’re here for … Perhaps they be searching for the way down.”

He places a hand on my shaking head. “Ease, mate. They’re surely not here for you, who should be crisping well right now, so this fact works in our favor.”

“Explain how bringing me here can be described as a favor!”
I hiss, and press into the bottom of the boat. “Why did you do this?”

“There’s no place on this earth you can hide from them. They will scour the shanty, and when you aren’t found they will search for you without end. Only with both you and Massa undone can they prove the Deliverer line is ended, dash all hope, and wrest control. But there is a place only you know how to find. One place, I think, that they cannot yet follow.”

It becomes clear. Wren’s message is clear; she wants me to descend. I think of the grotesque museum display: the teeth and claws and hunched-over form. I can’t descend to that! I turn and vomit onto the deck.

“No bloke I’ve hauled in this boat has ever done that — of course, you are my first breathing passenger.” He rests his hands on my shoulders and forces my eyes to meet his. “Do you trust me, Luca?”

“It depends.” I wipe off my mouth. “Are you the man who helped me, or are you the man who knifed Father?”

“I be both.”

I think on this. I have no choice. “What do we do?”

“Stay low, crawl to the back, and bring me three body bags.”

I do the deed, and a light, strong and penetrating, lights up Seward’s hull. I drop to my stomach.

“Identify!”

Seward pops up, hands outstretched. “It’s your Seward! I wish an audience with Mr. Mape, if he be here.” He lowers his voice. “Lay two bags open in the bottom of the boat and crawl inside the third.”

“You do want me undone,” I whisper.

“If that’s what it takes to keep you alive. Crawl in!”

“Seward.” Mape’s deep voice chills me. “What brings you here? Was I not clear about your responsibility?”

“Yes, yes, as always, clear.” Seward shields his eyes. “And as always, I let no detail fall. But unlike always, when I went to meet you at the wharf, you were not there. We had a deal, Mr. Mape. A thirty-spot and year’s bonus for an important haul. I have him here.”

Seward bends down and muscles the stranger’s body into a waiting bag. He zips it shut, and then crawls to the magnetic claw, grabs the blowtorch, and quickly burns through an iron finger.

“What are you doing?” I start to sit up from inside my bag. “Now’s not the time to destroy your equipment. I’m in a bit of a situation —”

“Silence. Your mouth be undone!”

I lay back down.

“Very well,” Mape calls. “So how did you find me?”

Seward winces, and with his torch, burns a second magnetic pincher off the claw. A five-foot finger of iron rattles against the decking. “Ah, Mr. Mape.” He peeks above railing. “You know the history between this undone and me. I went to Massa’s home. Perhaps, I think, finally something might fall to me, something that should always have been mine. But the shanty be burned, torched, and Luca be crumpled on the dock.”

“Still alive?”

“I did not stop to ask.”

Mape hollers. “You told me Luca sleeps soundly, on his cot. That tonight of all nights, he would be there.” The sound of hand slapping face snaps the air, and a boy cries out.

“I told you his pattern. I cannot account for anomalies!”

“Walery,” I whisper.

“Hush.” Seward grunts the metal pinchers into the third bag and seals it. He crawls over the undone and zips me up to the waist. “With fortune, I will see you soon. Without it, the pleasure to meet you has been mine … Nephew.”

“Wait.” I grab my two books and pull them into the bag.

“You are insane, lad.” Then, with one final zip, the world goes black.

“Bring the body to me.” Mape’s voice sounds muffled, and I reach up, find the underside of the zipper, and scratch it down a centimeter. Through the tiny opening, I see one bright star.

I see you, Luca
.

The strange thought comforts, and my body relaxes. Our boat inches forward, and I rearrange the books, squeezing them against my gut. Moments later, strong fingers tap my head.

Be still. I get it, Seward
.

“Why are there three bodies?” Mape stands directly above me, blocking out my star, and I hear his dial whizzing. My heart pounds.
Great, he got a new dial
. “Your emotions are causing quite a wrinkle, Seward. Unusual for you. What do you have to fear?”

“You. This is not the usual exchange. Not the usual place.” Seward clears his throat. “The middle one is Massa. Would you take him?”

“With pleasure.” Mape snaps, “I warned him that punishment would fall.” Feet shuffle beside me. A stray boot catches my gut, and I suck in the gasp.

“And what of the other two?” The voice of Mape’s companion.

“Ancient undones, no means to identify. Their bones came up attached to my claw. I call’m collateral bycatch, those done
in before Mape and his efficiency took over. I’ll carry this heavy one, if you would like to carry the other.”

“Hardly worth the effort,” an Amongus scoffs. “Tiny little bag-o-bones.”

Hands slip beneath my back and lift. For a moment I’m weightless, then I land with a crack, my gut draped over an Amongus shoulder. I’ve been undone.

Seward knifed Father, now he’s destroyed me
.

Minutes later, I thud facedown onto the sand.

“Yes, Massa is the prize, but you’ll all want to see the one I carried.” Seward’s voice nears and my bag rolls over, the zipper lowering halfway. I look up into the face of my sweating uncle. He calls back to the group. “Yeah, that one. The heavy beastie. You’ll want a close look. Shackles of solid gold, it has.” He winks and places my books firmly into my hands, then whispers, “Get ready to run. No stopping for books that fall.”

I nod.

A distant zipper.

Thunk!
The Amongus yell and groan.

“Hold on to your dials!” Mape’s voice sounds pained.

Seward throws open my bag, I jump to my feet, and together we dash for the jungle. Ten steps, fifteen steps. I hear nothing but grunting, and glance over my shoulder. Ten Amongus are on their knees around the bag, the metal dials in their chest pockets stuck fast to the powerful magnetic fingers of Seward’s claws. A rip of fabric. Mape breaks free.

“Leave the dials! Slide them out of your pockets! Luca is here!”

We reach the first row of palms. “From here, I have no plan.” Seward huffs. “But if one of those books be scratched by Massa, best ditch them all.”

I fall to my knees, brush sand over the covers, and pull palm branches over the stash. Seward hauls me upright the second my books are concealed, and we race forward, the shouts of men trailing in the distance, our feet stumbling over branch and root.

There are no sounds but the puff of my breath, the pound of my heart. Seward grabs my shoulder and we veer left. Down, down a slope. We run blind, the saline-tree canopy swallowing the stars above. At last he pulls me close and we collapse in a heap behind a fallen trunk.

“We hide here,” he whispers. “They can’t track us without the dials. But they’ll soon catch up if we run.”

I press my body into the bark and think. Were there any clues? Any words dropped by Father that would guide me to the entrance point? Seward must be thinking the same.

“He said nothing? Why would my brother keep it from you?” He grabs my arm. “You do remember the directions.”

A moment of panic, and I close my eyes.
Left, slight jog right …

“It’s still there. I remem —”

“They ran this way.” Mape’s voice cuts thick through the night. “They’re close. Very close. Spread out.”

“They’ll find us, mate,” Seward whispers. “When I tap your back, we run. I toward the beach and you deeper in.” He sighs. “I won’t be seeing you again. Keep yourself alive — for you, for my brother. You’re family.”

He peeks over the log, gathers his breath, and taps.

“Mape! Amongus, follow me, you pack of vermin!” He’s gone, and I hear steps pounding after.

No, Seward!

He’s lost everything for me; I will not let him go. The thought of his pirate’s smirk drowning in shackles is too much
to endure. I leap up and give chase. I silently slip through the trees, the shouts of Amongus all around me.

“Oof.” I collide with a chest.

Seward.

“Luca, you fooo —”

Up we sail, bound in a coarse net. We swing helpless thirty feet above the forest floor.

“This is not an Amongus weave,” Seward hisses. “No, it is quality work. Someone else be on the island.”

I raise my finger to my lips and point down.

Beneath us, a cluster of searchers circle. “Mape, we need the dials. Their fear wrinkles will flush them.”

“We have no time. If Luca disappears below, we’ll have to stand before the Nine. Do you feel like enduring that?” Mape kicks at the ground. “I do not want to struggle with Massa’s mind again!”