by Aaron Galvin
Yes! Chidi thought as Declan caught Henry’s wrist, twisted, and forced the larger man to take a knee. In one swift movement, Declan pried the dagger free and caught the hilt of it under Henry’s chin.
The crowd roared approval as Declan drove his knee into Henry’s ribs, eliciting a gasp from his opponent, and dumping him over. With a flick of his wrist, Declan flipped the blade and had its tip hovering over Henry’s throat.
Kill him, Chidi prayed of Declan. Please, kill him!
“Pipe down!” Declan addressed the crowd.
Chidi gasped when they obeyed. He commands so much respect. She thought, gazing past the two fighters and noticing the tiny captive, made safe by the protection of his father. To her mind, Lenny seemed as shocked as she at how the events had unfolded. But when their eyes connect, Chidi saw defeat in Lenny Dolan’s eyes.
Henry coughed, drawing her attention. He seethed as he glared up at Declan. “Will you kill a free man, slave?” He leaned his head to the side and spat blood. “I think not. Else your owner would kill you and your fool son.”
Declan’s face gave nothing away. “You plan on murdering my boy?”
“No,” said Henry. “I would skin him first.”
Declan chuckled. “He’s not worth the trouble it’d bring ya.” He stepped back, but remained positioned between Henry and Lenny. “Ringed suits sell cheap in the capital. Guarantee you’d find a better deal there if that’s the type a suit you’re looking for.”
Henry’s thin lips pulled tighter. “I don’t want a Ringed suit. I want his.” He pointed at Lenny.
Declan shrugged. “That’s too bad, pal. Don’t think Master Collins would be too happy finding out some two-bit owner came into his cavern and skinned one of his slaves,” said Declan. “‘Specially a captain from one of his catcher crews. But, like I said, Ringed suits go cheap in New Pearlaya. Leper suits like yours though, Henry.” Declan tsked. “Pricey. They get more expensive all the way out here in the shallows too, right, fellas?”
Chidi saw understanding dawn in her owner’s eyes as the elder Dolan paraded around, drawing Henry’s attention to the surrounding ring of hooded taskmasters.
“Yeah,” said Declan. “I hear buyers all the time asking Master Collins if he’s got any Leper suits he’s willing to sell off. Bet ya some buyers would pay double for one too, if only to save them a trip to the capital. Now, if only Master Collins knew where to get a Leper suit like that around here . . .”
Greed oozed around Chidi as the taskmasters, all bearing shoddy and worn Common Seal suits, eyed Henry’s silvery and black-spotted hood.
Declan stopped his march, feigning ignorance. “Anyone know you’re down here, Henry? Cause with that accent ya got, I’d guess you’re a long way from home.” Declan knelt and placed Henry’s coral dagger on the stone floor, then kicked it over. “Still wanna talk about skinning my pup? Or ya wanna test your luck with me again?”
The elation Chidi had felt melted as Henry picked his dagger up and pointed its tip at Lenny. “He will pay for what he did.”
“Aye, he will,” said Declan. “If he’s done anything wrong, that is.”
Henry’s lip curled. “He freed my Chidi. Punish him.”
Declan shook his head. “Don’t work like that. We got rules here and Boss Fenton’s the head overseer. Up to him what punishment—”
“Now,” Henry demanded. “I will see him pay for what he did!”
Declan was unmoved. “Boss Fenton will decide.”
“Then send someone to fetch him,” said Henry. “I will not leave until I see that nipperkin pay for his crime.”
Declan folded his arms across his chest. “You want Boss Fenton so bad? Go get him yourself. He’s on his way up to Master Collins mansion right now with a couple half-bred Nomads.”
Chidi marveled at Declan’s defiance. She had yet to meet an overseer who took kindly to an outsider’s demands. Those she’d witnessed give such ultimatums often ended up with the opposite reaction they originally intended.
Henry called for her. “Chidi . . .”
Her legs compelled her to step forward.
“Go. Find Fenton,” said Henry dryly. “And if you fail to bring him, the skin I would flay from the nipperkin’s back . . . then I will it take from yours instead.”
Chidi felt the others watching her. She focused on Lenny most. The iron shackles around his wrists. Placed upon him, she guessed, for his part in helping her and Racer escape.
Refuse, a tiny, brave voice whispered inside her. Stand your ground and take the beating Henry promises in Lenny’s stead.
Henry vanquished the voice with a single word. “Go.”
Chidi looked once more upon Lenny Dolan. His mop of curly hair, the stern demeanor he tried so hard to maintain. She honed on the sadness in his eyes most of all, the pair of them narrowed in regret at her. I’m sorry, Lenny. She wished she could tell him.
But Henry was still watching her and his threat remained.
Chidi sprinted away along the sandstone path through the small commerce square, past the storehouses and the oyster farms.
Slaves in cages beside the auction block stood up as she angled northward, bound for the mansion atop the hill. A group had already begun the ascent.
Chidi stopped beside a whitewashed guesthouse. Squinting, she noted the pair of bare-skinned backs distinguished from the mass of grey Common suits surrounding them. Those look like Nomads . . .
She near jumped when hearing the slap of footfalls across the driftwood porch behind her.
“Well, well, well. Look who found me after all . . .”
Chidi turned.
The broad-shouldered beast of a Salt Child leaned against the porch’s frame. He had shed his trench coat for a long-sleeved shirt, sewn of violet sea-grass. The seeming tights he wore resembled chaps; white along his inner thighs and crotch, grey overtaking everywhere else.
Ishmael unhooked the shells used to keep his shirt closed. “Come to learn what these marks mean, girl?” The chest of his shirt pulled open, revealing innumerable scars lining his pectorals. Ishmael grinned. “Come inside with me. I’ll tell you all about them.”
Chidi shook her head. “My master sent me to—”
“Did he?” Ishmael hopped off the porch and reached Chidi before she thought to move. “How kind of him to send me such a beautiful gift. Remind me to thank him later.”
Chidi shivered as Ishmael ran his fingers along her shoulders and up the back of her neck.
“You know, I don’t normally lay with Silkies,” he whispered. “They bore me. Oh, but when I saw you on that pier . . .” He sighed as he stepped back to look her full in the face. “I knew then that I must have you.”
Chidi flinched when he reached out to stroke her cheek.
Ishmael chuckled. “You’re right to fear me, girl. Only fools do not.” He dropped his hand from her face. “So . . . you’ve tracked me down to learn how I earned these scars, have you? Curiosity finally got the better of you?”
Chidi shook her head. “Please, sir. My master sent me to fetch the Crayfish’s overseer. He’ll beat me if I don’t return.”
“And how would you like it if I beat him instead?” Ishmael grinned broadly to show Chidi his pointed, razor-sharp teeth. “Perhaps I would eat him after.”
“You’re a Nomad?”
“Half,” said Ishmael. “Else how would I breathe your air? Let others tell you what they will about the ignorance of savages. I found them wise enough to recognize me as one of their own, despite my Merrow mother’s blood. They even granted me a name. I am Red Water of the Bull nation.”
Chidi’s eyes widened in recognition.
Ishmael laughed. “Ah. That’s more like it. You’ve heard of me then?”
“Aye,” said Chidi, bowing her head.
“And your master? Has he heard of my Nomad name?”
“Everyone has heard of your name . . .” Chidi shivered.
Ishmael placed his finger under her chin, gently l
ifted it, forcing her to look into greenish-gold eyes. “Good,” he said quietly. “Then your master will know I’m always given what I want . . . or else I take it.” He glanced away, toward the mansion. “ But I suppose it would be rude of me to take you here and now. So go . . . carry out the errand your master sent you on. Then give him a message from me upon your return.”
“Aye, sir.” Chidi stammered. “What message?”
“Tell him Red Water will have you. One way or the other.”
Chidi trembled in Ishmael’s grip as he placed his free hand roughly over her mouth.
“And the next time we meet, you will belong to me,” said Ishmael. Then, he shoved her away. “Now go. Deliver my words to your master.”
Chidi ran.
3
KELLEN
Kellen brushed away the water droplets falling from the old marshal’s beard. Though the ceiling glittered with the promise of enchantment, the illusion vanished the moment Kellen sat up. A ring of hooded men guarded the perimeter, many of them bearing lit torches that danced shadows on the stony cavern walls.
Edmund slapped Kellen’s cheeks. “Kid, listen to me. We don’t have much time. Remember what I told you up top about fighting?”
“I remember.”
“Good,” said Edmund. “Because it’s the only chance you’ve got of escape. You have to earn a suit . . . and you’ll have to fight to get it.”
“I’m not afraid of fighting,” said Kellen.
“Probably cause you’ve never fought to the death before,” said Edmund, going on when Kellen looked at him with questions in his eyes. “Down here, it’s live or die. Never forget that.”
Kellen pinched his nostrils to shut them of the scent of muck and vomit, only to discover the odor clung to his own skin. Kellen threw up at the realization.
“It’s all right, kid,” said Edmund. “You’ll get used to the slave stink.”
Kellen dry heaved as Edmund patted him on the back. He swooned, but caught himself. Forced his eyes to remain open and stare at the cracks in the cavern floor until the world stopped spinning. Shivering, Kellen rubbed his shoulders to warm them. “Wh-where’s my friends.”
Edmund shook his head. “Can’t worry about them right now. Listen—”
“Where’s my friends?”
Edmund hung his head. “Haven’t seen them.”
Kellen climbed to his feet. He surveyed the rocky area as a seal surfaced in the small inlet pool Edmund had dragged him from. The other marshal, Bryant, surfaced behind the animal, gasping for air.
Kellen continued his search as Edmund waded in to retrieve his partner. Where are you guys? He wondered after his classmates and friends.
A handful of people lay on their backs, chests heaving as they caught their breath. Others puked seawater. A few meandered toward the hooded men, begging in languages Kellen had never heard. The hooded men turned them all back, some with words, others with a strike of a baton.
Kellen continued searching until he found one of his friends across the pool. Marrero was sitting on his knees, giving CPR to a seeming corpse laid in front of him. Kellen’s gut panged with recognition when Marrero came away from the body. Tardiff . . .
Kellen was running over then, slipping on the wet rocks at the last. He fell beside Marrero.
Tardiff didn’t move.
“Wh-what happened?” Kellen asked.
“I don’t know, man,” said Marrero. “He wasn’t breathing when they brought him up. I tried giving him CPR, but . . . he just . . . I don’t know, man. I don’t know!”
Kellen shoved Marrero away. He gently tilted Tardiff’s head back to clear his airway, bent to breathe life back into his friend’s mouth. Tardiff’s lips felt cold and slimy as Kellen gave him quick, short breaths. Come on, Tardiff . . . come on . . .
Marrero was choking up beside him. “They left him, man. I saw one of those hooded guys bring him up out of the water, but Tardiff . . . he just . . . just hung there . . . Ah, man, Kell, I think he’s dead.”
Kellen pulled away, put all his weight into pumping Tardiff’s chest. Come on . . .
Tardiff’s unblinking stare continued up at the cavern’s ceiling. He never batted an eye. Never coughed. Never took another breath.
“No!” Kellen lost himself raining fists on his friend’s chest to no result. His strength drained from the Gasping Hole, Kellen tired quickly. He fell back, staring at Tardiff’s corpse, tears welling.
A shade of his father’s voice haunted him. What’s wrong, Kelly? Need to cry, little girl?
Kellen closed his eyes. Steeled himself against the fear and sadness.
Marrero panted beside him. “He’s dead . . . isn’t he?” He wept when Kellen didn’t reply. “I knew it. He’s dead. Oh my God, Tardiff’s dead! Just like Bennett and Boone, man. Th-they’re gonna kill us too, Kell. We’re gonna die down here.”
Kellen shuddered. “No . . .” he whispered, then repeated it over and again, drawing strength from the words. Kellen pulled away, forced himself to gaze on Tardiff’s body a final time, hammered the image of his friend into his mind.
Marrero nudged him. “Kell . . . that guy’s coming back.”
Kellen glared up. Tieran . . . He thought, his knuckles whitening at the sight of the weasel-faced taskmaster who had brought him down the Gasping Hole.
Tieran gave a lazy wave to Tardiff’s body. “Looks like your mate didn’t listen, special boy.”
Kellen leapt up swinging.
But Tieran was ready. He stepped away and caught Kellen upside the head with the butt of his whip. Tieran unraveled it with a flick of his hand and cracked the whip for good measure.
Kellen winced at the loud snap.
“Have your attention now, do I?” Tieran addressed him and then the crowd. “Listen up, all of you! I’ve my eye on each and every one of you lot. You step out of line, look at me in a way I don’t like?” He cracked the whip again. “That’s when you’ll get a lil’ kiss from ol’ Tieran.”
Kellen inched backward with Marrero, both of them joining Edmund and Bryant.
Tieran continued. “I don’t care where you’re from, or who you were before, this is your home now. You don’t like it? Try to run?” He cracked the whip.
The beefy, gas station attendant stood. “You can’t get away with this. It ain’t—”
Kellen barely saw Tieran flick his wrist. The end of the whip flew and then snapped, its end drawing a thin line of red across the beefy man’s cheek.
As the big man fell to his knees, holding his cheek, Tieran held the whip aloft. “This is the only language you know from now on. You’ll obey me and my lot, or we’ll have the skin off your backs. Hear? You don’t speak. You don’t go nowhere. You don’t even die unless I give my leave!” Tieran lowered his whip. “Order up in two lines, now. Gents on the one side. Ladies on the other. Step lively!” Tieran flicked his wrist, cracking the whip anew.
Kellen surprised himself with how fast he and the others obeyed.
“Right,” Tieran cried out. “Now follow the leader!”
Kellen traipsed after the beefy man in front of him, following the stuttering torchlight near the front.
Hooded taskmasters marched alongside them. All wore one-piece clothing that resembled threadbare snowsuits. A few kept careful watch, the others seemed to him as dispirited as the ones they guarded.
Now away from the Gasping Hole, the scent sweetened, albeit still foul and fishy. To Kellen’s left, there was only cavern walls. On his right were large pools of water with people hip-deep, shoulders hunched, as they raked in nets hand over hand. High atop a stone hill, Kellen saw a small castle, carved from the cavern walls. What is this place? He wondered with every step.
Tieran halted the lines not much later.
Kellen saw no reason why. He glanced over his shoulder. Marrero stood behind him with Bryant and Edmund in line after them.
Marrero hissed at him. “Kell . . . what’s going on? Why’ve we stopped?”
K
ellen shook his head in an attempt to tell his friend to shut up. Get your mind right, Marrero, or else you’ll end up like Tardiff. Kellen thought as Tieran paraded down the line.
“Bend your ears, you sea-rats!” He called to each and all. “As lord dockmaster and auctioneer, it’s my lot to sort you in the way I see fit. Some of you’ll stay with us, others moving on directly. If I tell you the block, step to the right. Those bound for the pits to the left.”
Kellen shivered as Tieran barked out orders.
“Block,” he said of a woman and a girl Kellen assumed to be her daughter.
Next, he looked to a man with dark hair and heavy eyebrows. “Pits.”
Down the line Tieran went with his orders. Kellen found himself guessing which would be sorted where. He deciphered Tieran sent the hardiest amongst them to the pits, those with children, elderly, or otherwise weak, went to the block.
Kellen’s legs shook at each sorting called out, watching Tieran draw closer to him. His teeth chattered by the time Tieran reached the beefy, gas station attendant who’d been brought in with Marrero and Tardiff.
“Hello, big boy,” said Tieran, clapping the beefy man under the chin with the butt of his whip. “You belong to me, thanks to my pal, Henry. The Crayfish means to throw some games for his company soon. Best find out how much fight there is in you beforehand, eh? Pits!”
Tieran grinned as the beefy man stepped to the left. It faded when he looked on Kellen.
“Ah, if it’s not the bravest amongst the lot.” His gaze wandered across Kellen’s face and body. “Handsome and fit too. Whether the fields or the brothels, you’d fetch a pretty price at market, special boy, but I’ll warrant you earn Master August more another way. Pits!”
Kellen stepped to the left as Tieran moved on to inspect Marrero.
Tieran clucked his tongue, then gave his orders to a nearby hooded taskmaster. “Right, it’s the pits for this one, but see that he don’t get tossed in willy-nilly with the rest. He still belongs to Henry until he’s sold, he does. Man’s already lost one to the Gasping Hole today. You can bet he’ll blame me for it too. Best make sure this one sees the games or else.”