The Sea Wolves (17 page)

“Louis!” Jack shouted, wondering how it had come to this, with him staring down the barrel of a revolver and asking a werewolf to save his life. The man would die one way or another, of that he was certain. But Jack had no wish to go with him. Not with Sabine still in this hell ship's grasp. Sweet, tortured Sabine.

But Louis could not help. Dead or not, he had fallen to the deck and lay still, blood pooling on the planks around him.

Jack threw himself aside, rolling across the deck, sliding beneath one of the secured skiffs. The man from the steamship fired, but the shot went wide.

A shape leaped from the
Weyden
and knocked the man aside. He flew into the mainmast, his head connecting with a terrible
thunk
, and then Johansen picked him up and swung him, bashing him against the mast again and again. Jack would never forget the sound that man's body made striking solid wood. He hoped death came quickly.

Another shape dropped down from the
Weyden
. It was Finn. He moved silently, crouched low as he watched Johansen battering the man to death. He glanced right at Louis, who lay still, blood running in rivulets across the deck. Then Finn looked left, and from his hiding place, Jack saw the sailor's eyes. There was murder in them, but murder of a different kind. This was not bloodlust; this was revenge.

He didn't see me
, Jack thought. The sea roared, hulls bumped and grated, Johansen swung the man against the mast one more time, and another voice screamed somewhere on the steamship. But right then Jack was sure that the loudest noise was his heart.

From beneath the skiff he watched Finn take five quick, silent steps across the deck to Johansen. Just as the first mate dropped the leaking bag of broken bones and ruptured flesh that had once been a man, Finn threw his arm around Johansen's face, pulled his head back, and slit his throat with a knife that glinted silver in the sunlight.

Johansen struggled and thrashed, and Finn slashed again and again. Then he started stabbing the silver blade into the first mate's heart.

Jack closed his eyes, but he could not shut his ears against the terrible sound. There was hissing and gurgling, and then grunting as Finn dragged the bleeding man across the deck. He heaved Johansen over the rail, and the first mate hung on for a few moments. Jack saw him staring up into his murderer's eyes, and then Finn sliced his knife across the rail's upper surface and Johansen's fingers, and he fell between the ships.

The
Weyden
rose, the
Larsen
fell, and hulls ground together as the vessels danced close.

Finn glanced around again, guilt and delight drawing his grin, and there was something else about him … something terrible. His face began to distort, his jaw widening and his nose lengthening. His hands turned to claws, teeth growing thick and long, and there was a sheen of fine brown hair sprouting across his face, following the contours of his ugliness. He still stood upright, but his legs changed shape, forcing him to hunch down. He laughed, and it sounded more like an animal than a man.

Blooded
, Jack thought, and actually seeing what these things might be brought the true terror home.

Finn froze in place, sniffing at the salt air, alert and searching, and Jack realized that the monster had somehow sensed his presence. Was it his scent, or had he made some noise? Jack didn't know—perhaps Finn simply smelled his fear, which grew as he watched the way the monster's head twitched. A low growl issued from Finn's throat.

No
, Jack thought. If Finn saw him, he would not escape. But there were ways for him to remain unseen. In the frozen north he had learned a subtle sort of magic from the forest spirit Lesya. Now he had to put that knowledge to use. He closed his eyes tightly, clearing his thoughts and exhaling as he reached out with his own spirit. When he sensed the voracious beast at the core of the werewolf, it was all he could do not to recoil. Instead, he touched Finn's essence, bared his own teeth, and let himself feel the bloodlust and the violence that boiled inside the monster. Finn's heart beat wildly, and Jack matched his own pulse to that rhythm, felt the growl building in his own chest.

If Finn sensed anything now, it would be another wolf, another monster, but Jack hoped he would sense only his own wildness. He had merged his presence with Finn's, become a mirror of the beast.

Finn breathed deeply, grunting decisively as his concern abated. He was convinced his crime had no witness.

Someone shouted, and it was a voice of authority. Ghost. Finn darted away, snuffling heavily as he flitted past the small boat and disappeared forward. Jack exhaled, shaking with revulsion as he let the persona of the wolf wash from him. He was grateful for the gift Lesya had given him, that small talent she had taught him, but also disgusted. It might have saved his life, but the idea that he could so easily match his spirit with that of a monster disturbed him deeply.

His heart still racing, he pushed himself out from his hiding place just in time to see Finn leaping ten feet across and up onto the
Weyden
's stern deck. Smoke and flames rose there, and the larger vessel was canted at an unnatural angle away from the
Larsen
.

“Back to the
Larsen
!” Ghost's voice called. “Hole the lifeboats, and leave the rest to their fate.”

Finn had returned to the sinking ship just in time to be ordered back to his own—so that no one would ever know he had been apart from the boarding party.

Jack stood and ran to the stern, where Louis was slowly hauling himself upright by the steering wheel. He had been shot at least four times, and his gold tooth glittered in his grimace.

Behind Jack, there were thuds as the pirates started leaping back onto their ship. He closed his eyes, thinking about what he had seen. And dwelling also on how he might turn knowledge of such brutal murder to his advantage.

J
ust as he was about to go below, Jack saw Sabine at the aft railing, watching the
Weyden
slide into the sea, a plume of smoke rising from the stricken steamship. Demetrius was at the wheel, but the keg-bellied pirate barely glanced at either of them as Jack approached. With the wind gusting and clouds gathering overhead, there was a stillness to the sea in the aftermath of the wolves' violence, and for a moment Jack could imagine that he and Sabine were alone.

Watching Sabine, he could feel the weight of her guilt, even worse than his own. As the steamship's bow slipped beneath the waves—sea boiling with bubbles and steam—there were people still dying on board. With each step he took, and each breath she took, innocents were drowning or burning, being crushed or suffocated. Jack wanted to scream, to storm across the deck and tear the
Larsen
down around him. They should all be dying now. They deserved nothing less.

Instead, he reached for Sabine, his fingers resting lightly on her arm. They could comfort each other, at least.

She turned to look at him, pain glistening in her eyes, but then her gaze shifted and Jack saw the ice forming inside her. And he knew the only thing that could freeze her heart.

“Where the hell is Johansen?” Ghost roared.

Jack spun and saw the captain gripping Demetrius by the throat, the fat man's feet dangling beneath him, the captain strong enough to hold him aloft despite his weight. Other sailors had gathered round. Maurilio looked down from the crow's nest. Vukovich and Tree had ceased their work with the lines. Finn hung in the rigging, paused halfway up to where the halyards had become tangled.

How could I have felt we were alone?
Jack thought.
We're in the lair of killers
.

“Damn your eyes, all of you!” Ghost raged, hurling Demetrius aside. “How could this happen? Is he back there now, dying with the cattle?”

Nobody spoke. No one dared.

“I have prowled every godforsaken corner of this ship, and Johansen is not on board!” Ghost continued, turning round and round, glaring at his crew. He looked up at the crow's nest and shouted. “What of you, Maurilio? If you're so blind, perhaps you don't need your eyes, and I ought to have them fried with my bacon in the morning?”

But Maurilio said nothing. Jack thought he must have been a part of the assault on the
Weyden
, not even in the crow's nest at the time of Johansen's murder. But did any of them know what Finn had done? He thought not. And Finn was as silent as the others.

Ghost fumed, his chest spattered with blood he had spilled during the attack. He glanced around in frustration, nostrils flaring, trying to catch a scent—Johansen's? A killer's? A liar's? But Jack knew it was useless. Johansen's corpse had been dropped overboard, and they were all killers, all liars.

“Damn it!” the captain snapped. With a snarl he gestured to the crew to return to work. “Sail on, you dogs.”

Demetrius looked at Ghost warily and then retook the wheel. The captain glared at him, then at the others, and finally his gaze came to rest on Jack and Sabine.

“Mr. London!” Ghost snapped.

Jack frowned.
Not “young Jack”
?

Summoned, Jack gave a quiet nod to Sabine and crossed the deck to where the captain stood.

“Louis and Kelly are laid out below. Both have some lead in them. It won't kill 'em, but they could use some help digging it out. I nominate you ship's doctor, at least for the moment. Go and take care of it.”

His tone brooked no argument, but that was all right with Jack. With the ferocity of his rage, and the uncertainty of the violence that seemed to simmer beneath every moment on the ship now, he would be better off below. And yet…

“Glad to be of service,” Jack said, loud enough for others to hear. But then he narrowed his eyes and, quieter, said, “We need to talk about Johansen.”

Ghost seemed almost to grow larger, filling his lungs with a breath of rage, so that Jack thought he would erupt again. But that dark intelligence glittered in his eyes, and the captain nodded once, grabbed his arm, and gave him a shove that sent him stumbling forward.

“Get to it.”

As Jack dug the bullet out of Kelly's chest, the wounded pirate mocked him, calling him Ghost's dog, the captain's pet. Kelly grunted in pain several times, his fingers hooking into claws and fur sprouting from his hands and arms. Jack knew he ought to be offended by the insults and afraid of the transformation that threatened any moment, but he could not find either emotion within himself. He had gone cold inside. Numbness spread through him, the only way for him to combat the guilt of knowing that he still lived while so many had died.

He had believed himself in hell before, but that had been purely metaphor. Now he had been made to salt and cure human flesh, to be a servant of monsters, and to be a spectator of mass murder. And the beast in him raged for justice.

And yet…

If it had been only his own life, he would gladly have given it. But there was Sabine to think of. He would not put her at risk, particularly after the secret she had shared. He shuddered to think how many thousands more might die if Ghost had the witch's gifts in his own hands, his own
blood
. And she had hinted at other, greater powers, abilities of which Ghost was as yet unaware.