The Raven (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) (6 page)

“Really big,” I say. “Two thousand passengers, five hundred crew. The ship left Ireland, destined for Nuuk, and wasn’t heard from again. It just disappeared without a Mayday, GPS locator, or any other call for help.”

“Got it!” Klein says, hunched over his laptop. “The
Poseidon Adventure
.” He reads the text on the screen. “This just says what she told us.” His fingers work over the keyboard. Websites come and go. Then he pauses. “The plotted course for the ship had them traveling not far from where the
Arctic Rainbow
is now.”

“Can’t be a coincidence,” Talbot says, stroking his mustache.

“But there is nothing to be done about it right now,” Jakob says calmly. “I’ll add its course to the last known coordinates we have for the other missing ships.”

Jakob lets go of the wheel, and it moves back and forth slowly, under the control of the ship’s automated systems. When the storm hits, Jakob or Willem will likely take manual control to more quickly adjust to the waves, but most of the time, ships can pilot themselves on the open seas.

Klein scribbles some notes on a sheet of paper and hands it off to Jakob as he walks past. On his way to the chart room, Jakob passes me and says, “Come.”

Five pairs of eyes look at me like I’ve just been called to the principal’s office. I ignore them and follow Jakob to the chart room. As we walk, I notice he still has a limp from the injuries he received three months ago. I close the door behind me, sensing I might want at least part of this conversation to be private.

Jakob leans over a large map that now covers the table at the center of the room. I recognize the southern tip of Greenland near the top of the map, but the majority of it is open ocean crisscrossed with latitude and longitude lines. A cluster of colored tacks has been pinned between the southern coast and the bottom of the map.

“What are those?” I ask as Jakob pins the end of a spool of red yarn on the left side of the map.

“The last known coordinates of the missing ships,” he says while looking at Klein’s handwritten notes.

I look more closely. While the tacks look close together, I know that there is actually at least a hundred miles between some of them. The total area covered by the pins is probably something close to the size of Massachusetts. Not exactly small, but a much tighter space than, say, the Bermuda Triangle.

Jakob stretches the yarn out and pins a portion to the map. He repeats the process five more times, never saying a word. When he’s done, he steps back to reveal an arc of red, cutting through the middle of the cluster before turning toward Greenland’s southern coast.

“Is that—”

“The plotted course for the
Poseidon Adventure
,” he finishes. “Yes.”

I lean over the map, looking at all the tacks and the handwritten notes next to them detailing the ship name, size, destination, and home port. “Geez. Where is the
Arctic Rainbow
?”

He points to the tack nearest Greenland and farthest from the cluster. “Here.”

“Do you think they’re outside the range of attacks?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t attempt to predict anything.”

As I stare at the map, Jakob sits down. “Jane,” he says. His use of my first name is so uncommon that he immediately has my
attention. “I understand why you’re upset about what we did, but I’m not sorry for it.”

Nothing like a good ol’ Norse apology.

“And I know you understand,” he adds.

I start to disagree, but he cuts me off.

“Had you not understood, I would have already heard about it. Yes?”

I don’t reply. We both know he’s right. As much as I loathe the idea, I should be here, not because this is my fight, not because I survived the Draugar once before, but because it’s the right thing to do.

“But there is another reason I couldn’t leave you behind,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on knees. “More than anyone—more than my son—you have proven yourself to me. Despite your size, you possess the heart and spirit of a Viking. Not only would my ancestors respect your courage, but they would also honor you for your role in defeating the Draugar. Torstein, Áshildr, and the others have found peace thanks to you. This is why I call you Raven. You have earned your place in my family.”

I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say. This isn’t the chewing out I was expecting. After a moment, I manage, “Thank you.” Embarrassment creeps up on me. I try to change the subject. “I know there isn’t a place for me on the bridge, but I can make myself useful somewhere else. Swab the decks. Something.”

Jakob chuckles.

“What?” I say, getting a little defensive. “I’ve served on my fair share of ships, you know. I’m good for
something
.”

“You misunderstand my intentions,” he says. “The bridge is occupied at the moment, but I’m human. And an old man. I can’t always be present.”

I’m not sure what he’s trying to tell me.

He laughs at my confusion. “Raven, I would like you to fill my position when I’m not on the bridge.”

“Wait, what?” My confusion mushroom-clouds up my neck and fills my skull. “What are you saying?”

Jakob leans back with a satisfied grin. He plants his hands on his belly and says, “What I’m saying, Raven, is that you are my first mate.”

I lean against the map table.
Holy shit.
“Do the others know? Does Willem?”

“He does, and they do,” he says. “Not everyone was pleased, but no one will question my decision or your orders, unless they are contrary to mine. And right now, your orders are to get some rest. The storm will not be kind to you.”

He’s right about that. The first few days at sea can make some people queasy, even if they’re accustomed to life at sea. But a storm on the first day is basically a guaranteed puke-fest.

I step toward the door and pause with my hand on the knob. “Thank you, Jakob—er, Captain.”

He tilts his head forward, and I feel a new kinship with the man. More than ever before, I feel respected. That’s one trick the Colonel never pulled off.

“Have Talbot or Klein ridden out a storm before?”

He just smiles.

“Right,” I say and open the door. I step back onto the bridge and decide to test my newfound position. “Klein, Talbot, come with me.” After just a moment’s pause, both men gather their things and stand. I share a glance with Willem and find his expression impossible to read. I’d like to talk to him. About everything. And the blond she-Hulk. But now’s not the time.

“Where are we going?” Klein asks.

“The head,” I say. “It’s going to be a
long
night.”

I
wake to a knock on my door. For a moment I forget where I am, but then I recognize the braided rug beneath my toes. “Coming,” I say, but I don’t need to get dressed. I never undressed. I just want a moment to wake up.

The storm was merciful. I had spent just ten minutes in the head, and that was a false alarm, more nerves than seasickness. It had only been three months since I’d been at sea for more than a month and weathered a fair share of storms, and my body had little trouble readjusting. Talbot never even showed a moment of discomfort. Said the storm was “akin to breaking in a rowdy stallion.” Klein, on the other hand, spent the first half hour heaving up his supper and the following three hours dry-heaving. He eventually fell asleep clutching the toilet bowl with his head leaned on the seat.

My hands feel cool on my eyes as I rub them, so I linger a moment longer.

“Jane?” Willem says from the other side of the door.

I cringe, feeling unprepared for this conversation. Do I apologize? Do I go on the attack? Do I bring up the Viking princess? I quickly grow annoyed with myself and sigh.
I’ll apologize
, I decide. My feet pad across the cold floor beyond the rug. I’m moving fast by the time I pull open the door. “Good morning, my Norse—”

She’s standing with him.

Right behind him.

Smiling at me.

“What do you want?” I say, all of the peace, love, and harmony gone from my voice. I’d have made a shitty hippie. Too much of the Colonel in my blood and not enough LSD.

Willem seems bewildered by my rapid-fire manic depression. He glances back at Helena, seems to think nothing of her presence, and then turns back to me. “We’re almost there.”

I close the door in their faces, eager to get dressed and head to the bridge. Then I remember I’m already dressed.

Damnit.

I open the door again, just seconds after I closed it. “Ready,” I say.

“Are you…feeling okay?” Willem asks.

“Fine.” I push past him and head for the stairs.

I step onto the bridge feeling refreshed and find Jakob, Talbot, and Malik already present. Willem and Helena enter behind me, followed by a deflated-looking Klein.

“You’re going to hate me for saying this,” I say to Klein, “but you need to go eat something. And drink. You’re not going to be any good to anyone if you don’t.”

He nods and continues toward his workstation. I take hold of his shoulder. “Now, Klein.”

He looks back at me, lacking the energy to argue, even if he wants to. “Fine.”

As Klein shuffles back out of the bridge, Jakob gives me a wink.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“We’re at the last known coordinates of the
Arctic Rainbow
,” Willem says.

“Last
known
coordinates?” I ask.

“The GPS coordinates stopped updating last night,” Jakob says.

I scan the horizon, which is about three miles out. I see nothing.

“We’ve been looking for a while,” Talbot says. “She ain’t out there.”

I put my hands on the sides of the window and stare at the endless ocean. “Radar?”

“Nothing,” Helena answers. “There isn’t another ship within eleven miles.”

The news is disconcerting, but there are a number of possible explanations, the first being that Klein’s breach of the Greenpeace network was discovered or severed somehow. Could be as simple as the storm knocking out the satellite connection. Of course, it’s also possible that we’re floating over a ship full of whale-loving corpses.

But none of that interests me as much as the object I see about a mile out.

I reach my hand out to no one in particular. “Binoculars.”

I close my hand when I feel the cool metal of the binoculars on my finger.

“I’m telling you,” Talbot says, right next to me. “She ain’t out there.”

The binoculars magnify everything so much that I’m immediately lost. Can’t do anything about the bend of the earth, so three miles is still the limit. But it feels like I can reach out and touch the distant waves. I scan back and forth, looking for the aberration.

“What do you want to do?” Willem asks.

I nearly shush him, but then Jakob replies, “Course-correct twenty degrees to port. Let’s find those—”

“Actually,” I say, “take us ten degrees starboard.” I lower the binoculars and look back. Helena looks ready to tear my head off. Jakob doesn’t look too pleased, either. “Oh, right,” I add, then point in the direction I’d like us to go. “Thar she blows. Or doesn’t blow, in this case.”

Talbot takes the binoculars. “Give me those.” He looks through the lenses, adjusting the focus. “Well, there’s something out there.”

“It’s a whale,” I assure him.

“How can you tell from here?” he asks.

“I’ve seen a lot of whales,” I say. “Dead and alive.” I motion to Willem, who’s looking through his own pair of binoculars. “Just ask him.”

Willem lowers the binoculars. “It’s a whale.”

The ship tilts as Jakob quickly changes course and throttles forward. It’s been two months since anyone has seen a whale off Greenland, and Jakob pursues the prize as though he means to harpoon the beast and bring its corpse to the fish market. Of course, he’s after so much more. If there is any evidence to be found on this specimen, our journey might end here today. And if that’s the case, there might yet be hope.

We close the distance quickly. Five hundred feet from the flat gray bulge in the water, Jakob throttles back. “Willem, Helena, man the forward and starboard harpoons. Talbot, help them load. Be ready to reload if necessary.”

The trio exits quickly, heading for the forward deck.

Klein reenters the bridge at that moment, a mostly eaten granola bar clutched in his hand. “Why are we slowing?”

“Get both cameras,” Jakob says to the man. “Get on deck with yours. Give the submersible to Raven.”

Klein grips the granola bar between his teeth and rushes into the chart room.

The captain—unusually for him—is speaking so fast and animated that I nearly miss a key word.

Submersible.

“Did you just say ‘submersible’?” I ask. “Why do I need a submersible camera?”

Jakob turns to Malik. “Get the wet suit, air tanks, and collection kit. We’ll meet you at the stern.”

Malik looks from Jakob to me, then disappears into the bowels of the ship.

“Jakob,” I say, putting every ounce of my inherited Harper hellfire into his name. “What the hell do you think I’m going to do?”

He looks apologetic for just a moment, but then he says, “We need to collect samples. We can’t do that from the ship. Someone has to get in the water.”

“We’re in a whaling ship,” I point out. “Can’t we just drag the thing back to port?”

“Not only would we risk infecting the mainland—”

“The mainland is already at risk,” I say.

“—but we could also be wrong. If we return to port with a whale in tow, every news reporter in Greenland will be there to greet us. And if this is just a dead whale, how long do you think it will be before all of us are in jail?”

“Okay. Fine. But why
me
? And don’t you dare give me any chest-thumping ‘you’re the Raven’ bullcrap.”

“You’re the only one on board with dive experience,” he says.

I look to the ceiling. Of course I am. “Was that in my dossier, too?”

“Sorry,” Klein says from the chart room.

“You know, if I become a Draugr,” I say to Jakob. “I’m coming for you first.”

“And I’ll do what needs to be done when you do,” he says.

A thousand different sarcastic remarks flit through my mind, but his comment sinks in and sobers me. “I know you will.”