The Unwanted Brothers

by Aaron Galvin

  Whatever that means. Garrett thought as he reached for his flagon to wash down more of the foul soup. He hesitated even as he brought the cup to his lips, seeing the rubies embedded in it. He also caught August watching him rather than listening to his son. Not wishing to offend, Garrett drank down the sour liquid.

  A servant took the cup and filled it before Garrett had a chance to place it on the table.

  He continued picking at the food as Oscar droned on and noticed August slumping in his chair, one thrice the size of the others ringed round the table. Only when Oscar mentioned the Nomad at the Indianapolis Zoo did Garrett see a flicker of life return to August’s previously gay demeanor.

  “A Nomad, you say?”

  “Aye, father. A Great Hammer.”

  August stroked his jowls. “Curious. But how did a Nomad end up so far inland? Garrett, did you see him too?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did he speak to you? Say anything at all?”

  Garrett shook his head.

  “Most curious indeed.” August’s gaze wandered, lost in his own thoughts. He came round again when an attendant rushed the table suddenly, her seashell-shaped earrings shimmering as she whispered.

  August’s eyes went wide when the attendant finished her whispering. “Hide them both.” He ordered the others. “My son and Garrett too! Quickly!”

  Servants descended on Garrett, ushering him to stand. What’s going on?

  Oscar cried out. “Take your hands off me, filth! Father!”

  “No time, son,” said August. “We’ve no time. Hurry!”

  A servant forcefully led Garrett around the table, toward a tapestry that took up nearly half the wall. Garrett noted the seaside setting, mermaids lain out upon the rocks with scaly tails, though he saw people too. Most dressed in hooded suits. Selkies. Garrett recognized the varied designs of their clothing.

  Oscar whined as August dragged him toward the drapery. “Father, let go!”

  A servant was already reaching behind the tapestry. Seeing both August and Oscar approach, the servant’s hands flew over a dangling rope, tugging it down, hand over hand. The tapestry rolled upward on squeaking wheels, revealing a pair of doublewide doors.

  Garrett straightened. Whoa! A hidden entrance!

  August flung the doublewide doors open, revealing a steep, spiraled staircase of stone.

  Garrett snorted. Augh. What is that smell? It hinted of gym locker room and rotted fruit. He also knew he would not risk descending the steps to find out. Garrett was wondering how deep the stairwell went when the dining hall doors reopened with an echoed groan.

  Garrett glanced back to see who came to join them.

  A pair of strangers stood at the end of the table, watching them. Their lean bodies, fierce demeanor, and tribal tattoos conjured Native American pictures Garrett had often looked at in history class. Still, though both had raven hair, black as pitch, their skin seemed too pale for Garrett to believe them Natives.

  The old Selkie overseer, Fenton, stood behind them. To Garrett’s mind, Fenton seemed winded and haggard. Leaning on his razor-shell cane, Fenton hobbled toward his master and offered some whispered words for August’s ears alone.

  The taller of the two strangers spoke up. “Do you see what I do, Watawa? It seems to me our host was about to run off before we could reach him. Perhaps our presence here is unwanted.”

  Garrett looked to August for a response, but it was Oscar who spoke up instead, his voice full of wonder. “You’re Nomads . . .” he said to the strangers.

  “Only half, Orc,” said the taller of the two. “But enough to suffice.”

  The Nomad with a lone eye cocked his head upon seeing Garrett. Muttered in a language Garrett didn’t recognize. When he had finished, the other stranger looked to August. “My brother, Watawa, asks why the Crayfish would wish to hide such a prize as this boy away?” His gaze shifted to Garrett. “Our greetings to you, Orc.”

  Garrett’s cheeks flushed. “My name’s Garrett.”

  The Nomad grinned, revealing a pair of dimples previously hidden. “And I am called Quill. Tell me, how is it you came to sup with a Selkie slaver?”

  “Slaver?” Garrett asked.

  “No, no,” August said merrily. “He’s our guest. Only a guest.”

  Quill frowned. “And like to be a permanent one, if the tales I’ve heard of you are true, Crayfish.”

  Garrett stood, frozen, as Quill paced toward him, then circled round. Eyed him up and down. “What do you think, Watawa?” Quill asked his brother. “Is this Orc the treasure we’ve come for?”

  August spoke up before Watawa could answer. “He’s not for sale.”

  “Sale?” Garrett asked. “Wh-what do you mean? What’s for sale?”

  Quill smirked. “You have no idea where you are, do you, Orc?”

  Garrett took a step back, disliking the way Quill repeatedly denied using his name. What’s his problem? He wondered, looking to August for aid and clarification.

  The master of Crayfish Cavern seemed as befuddled as Garrett was at the brothers’ intrusion. “Pardon me,” said August. “Uh, what did you say your name was again?”

  The one-eyed brother spoke up again, mumbling a response in his native tongue.

  “Peace, brother,” said Quill. “Let the Crayfish finish. Surely he is not so foolish as to insult his honored guests. Especially emissaries sent by No Boundaries.”

  August swallowed hard. His hand reached for a chair to lean upon. “No Boundaries, you say?”

  Quill chuckled. “You’ve heard of our chief then, I take it.”

  August quivered. “What fool has not?”

  “Indeed,” said Quill. “Then you will know he is quick to reward those generous to him. Faster still to punish those defiant of his wants.”

  August’s eyes flitted between Garrett and Quill. “I-I can only give you what I own.”

  Quill laughed.

  “What?” Garrett heard himself ask. “What’s so funny? What is he talking about?”

  Quill looked to August once more. “The Lord Crayfish thinks we’ve come to take you from him, Orc.” His eyes glinted. “But that would only bring the Painted Guard or worse upon us . . .”

  Painted Guard? Garrett wondered. What the heck is that?

  Watawa was mumbling anew . . . and his brother listening. When the one-eye had finished, Quill spoke up again. “But my brother says you’ve already sent for the Orcs, Crayfish. Are you so desperate to be rid of your new, young friend? Hmm? Or some other reason, perhaps? To avoid an incident?”

  August blinked. “Aye. The moment I heard the news of his being brought here, I sent word to the capital. I-I want no trouble with my business.”

  Quill was smiling again. “What you want and the trouble you find is of little consequence to us. It will be the same with the Painted Guard . . . assuming it is they who come here first and not the Blackfin and his ilk. It seems the Violovar are everywhere of late.”

  Garrett spoke up when he saw that August frozen with fear. “Wait,” he said to Quill. “What’s this . . . Painted Guard . . . thing. Who is the Blackfin and the Violovar?”

  Quill’s gaze fell on him. “Which of the five oceans are you from, Orc?”

  “Five?”

  “Aye. Which?”

  Garrett looked to both August and Oscar for the answer. Neither took notice of him. Oscar seemed as mesmerized by the Nomad brothers as Garrett was, and August still paralyzed by the news received. Garrett looked back to the brothers and found Quill staring at him, his eyes like piercing daggers.

  “Which of the five oceans, Orc?” Quill repeated his question. “Tell us.”

  Oscar found his voice then. “He’s not from the Salt. My crew and I found Garrett ashore. We rescued him.”

  Quill’s gaze narrowed on Oscar. “Did you? Found him where? Rescued him from whom, I wonder?”

  Oscar looked about to speak further on his discovering Garrett when a girl in a cream-colored and hooded Silkie s
uit burst through the doors. I know her. Garrett thought. But how? Where have I seen her before?

  A trio of hooded guards came through the doors after her.

  The girl nimbly dodged them, and ran for Fenton. “Please, sir!” She fell at Fenton’s feet, panting for air. “You must come quick.”

  Oscar waltzed around the table. “Chidi!” he cried. “How did you get here? Where’s Henry?”

  Garrett thought the girl must have felt him staring. She glanced away the moment she saw his face, like one ashamed. Garrett remembered her then. School! She was in the front office! She was there when Sheriff Hullinger led me out. His brow furrowed. But what was she doing at my school?

  Chidi would not look at him again, already refocused on Fenton. “Please, sir,” she panted. “There’s been a fight. Henry bids you come down . . . to the docks.”

  Oscar perked. “A fight? Well, I’ll come with you. I’d love to watch Henry beat the blubber out of someone.” His eagerness died as if he remembered an old score to be settled. “Hmm. Though I do expect to have some harsh words with Henry myself after, of course. He ought to have known better than abandon me in the middle of nowhere when I might have needed him most.”

  Garrett ignored them. The one-eyed brother, Watawa, was mumbling again and had been since the girl, Chidi, had burst into the room. Quill’s demeanor too had changed. All hint of his former play had gone with his brother’s continued mumblings. Quill stepped past him, closer to Chidi. What’s he doing? Garrett wondered as Quill knelt beside her and placed his fingers under her quivering chin, bidding her to look up that he might better study her face.

  Again, Watawa muttered foreign words, yet this time Garrett swore his tone sounded different. Quieter. Thoughtful.

  Quill’s head cocked to the side as he stood before Chidi. “Who are you, child?” he asked her.

  Oscar sneered. “She’s Henry’s whore . . . and a stupid runaway.”

  “Watawa,” Quill said softly. “If that whelp speaks again . . . take his tongue.”

  Garrett heard a blade drawn from its sheathe. He nervously glanced at Watawa, saw the one-eyed Nomad pointed a long knife in Oscar’s direction.

  Oscar shrunk behind his massive father and did not speak again.

  “Now,” said Quill to the girl. “Who are you?”

  “Ch-Chidi, my lord.”

  “I am no lord, sweet girl,” said Quill. “Only an Unwanted. Like you . . .”

  Garrett trembled when the Nomad looked back at him.

  “Aye, and you also, Orc.”

  Stop calling me that. Garrett thought to say. Seeing Watawa and his long knife made him question speaking up.

  Quill looked away from Chidi, glancing at August. “Master Crayfish . . . you own this girl?”

  August vehemently shook his head. “I hired her master to protect my son. He insisted she be allowed to accompany him.”

  “Why?”

  “To keep his bed warm, I shouldn’t wonder,” said August. “Look at her. Beautiful and dark. I should welcome her into my own bed if Henry would allow it. And I did inquire on it, believe me.”

  Garrett grimaced. Dude. She’s standing right there. He searched the faces of those around him. None seemed as disgusted as he at the way August spoke of Chidi.

  The Nomad brothers exchanged a knowing glance before Quill spoke up again. “And this . . . Henry fellow . . .” he said to August. “He would not allow it? Not share this girl with you, or sell her to you?”

  “Wouldn’t hear of it,” said August. “No matter how much I offered for the girl.”

  Watawa mumbled again.

  Quill nodded. “I should like to meet this girl’s owner, Master Crayfish.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said August. “I’m throwing a dinner party tonight. Henry will be invited of course, as will all the buyers for tomorrow’s auction.” He hesitated. “Am I right in assuming you and, uh—”

  Garrett watched August lick his lips as he glanced to the other brother.

  “Ah, um,” August wrung his hands. “Will you both do me the honor of attending also?”

  “Aye,” said Quill, helping Chidi to stand. “We should like that. I can hardly remember the last time my brother and I were hosted by a crayfish.”

  Watawa chuckled.

  August wasn’t laughing. “Fenton,” he said, going on when the grim-faced Selkie stepped forward. “Escort Chidi down to the dock to deal with the situation there and . . . uh . . .” August reached behind him. “Take my son with you.”

  “As you wish, master.” Fenton bowed away.

  The gazes of both Nomads lingered on Chidi as Fenton escorted her and Oscar out. Only when the doors had closed did they share another look before facing the Crayfish.

  What do they want with her? Garrett wondered. What’re they doing here?

  August made a weak gesture toward the table. “Might, uh, might I offer you both some refreshment?” he asked the brothers. “Some clam cakes? Perhaps a spot of grog?”

  “No,” said Quill. “But we should like to spend some time alone with your Orc.”

  It took Garrett a moment to realize they talked about him. “Me?”

  Quill nodded. “My brother and I remain curious how an Orc calf came to this cavern. Especially one who can’t seem to recall which of the five oceans he hails from.” He glanced at August. “Of course, you don’t mind if we tour your home? Perhaps have a room to speak with him in . . . alone.”

  August’s triple chin wiggled as he shook his head. “Not at all. I should warn you, however, the Painted Guard—”

  “I assure you my brother and I will be gone before they reach your cavern.”

  Garrett looked to August for help and saw in the Crayfish’s face he would find none. Garrett glanced at where the hidden door lay. Wondered if he might reach it in time and slip through the doors, find a way to lock the brothers from following.

  “Fond of tapestries, Orc?” Quill asked.

  Garrett shook his head. He’s messing with me. Knows what I’m thinking.

  “Uh,” August cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would all be comfortable in the library. There’s a great hearth.”

  “My blood runs warm enough, Crayfish,” said Quill. “I have little need for your fires. But a library . . . that I have always enjoyed. It will suffice our needs.”

  “Very well.”

  Garrett thought August clapped at the servants in such a manner to signal he would do anything to rid himself of the Nomads’ company.

  “Shall we, Orc?” Quill asked.

  Like I’ve got a choice. Garrett thought. He followed Quill and one of August’s servants out of the dining hall. When he glanced back, he glimpsed August still wringing his hands. Then Watawa stepped in Garrett’s line of sight. The one-eyed Nomad’s stern expression warned that Garrett should follow his brother’s lead.

  Garrett did.

  The servant led them through a series of stone corridors. Trickles of water ran down the walls, almost like the cavern was alive and the trickles its lifeblood. More paintings hung on the walls, all of them picturing marine life and mythological sea creatures. Garrett scarcely had time to look at them with Watawa bringing up the rear, matching him step for step.

  A pair of heavy oaken doors loomed at the end of the hall. Garrett gasped as the servant opened them both and led the group into the library.

  “Quite the collection,” said Quill, stepping into the room.

  Garrett followed, his head swiveling at the sheer number of books, scrolls, and other treasures hoarded by August Collins. Model ships tucked inside glass bottles, their sails proudly displaying their colors. Garrett took one of the smaller bottles in hand, marveled at the detail with which the ship inside had been constructed. How do they get these things in there?

  A fire crackled in a hearth taking up near half the wall. A driftwood log popped as it burned and shot sparks of red.

  Garrett replaced the bottle on the shelf. He noticed Watawa at the far en
d of the room, fingering the book covers, head tilted to the side to better read the title works. His brother seemed to have already found a large tome he might enjoy.

  Quill threw regal quilted pillows off an equally regal, cushioned couch that looked like it too belonged in a museum. He opened the tome, leaned forward to smell the pages. “Do you like books, Orc?”

  “Yeah,” Garrett answered. “Comics mostly . . . superheroes and stuff.”

  “I know nothing of superheroes,” said Quill. “What are their stories?”

  Garrett shrugged. “All kinds, I guess. My mom thinks they’re just about fighting and cool weapons, but a lot more than that happens in them.”

  “What more?”

  “Lotsa stuff. Standing up for what’s right. Choosing whether to use their power for good or not. My favorite’s Batman.” Garrett looked at Quill. “You’d probably like Aquaman.”

  Watawa muttered gibberish as he resumed his search.

  Quill’s cheeks clenched. “My brother says you jest with me, Orc.”

  “No.” Garrett put his hands in front of him. “Sorry. It-it was only a joke. Honest. I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”

  Quill licked his finger then turned the page of the tome in front of him. “The Crayfish’s son said he found you ashore.” He glanced up. “What were you doing there? And alone at that?”

  “I live there,” said Garrett. “I-I’m not from here.”

  “Clearly,” said Quill. “Had you been, my brother and I might have killed you by now.”

  Garrett’s laugh died in his throat. “What? Why?”

  “You’re an Orc,” said Quill. “And we are sworn to kill them.”

  “But I haven’t done anything to you . . .”

  “You haven’t.” Quill’s eyes flashed. “Your kind has.”

  Garrett backed into a bookshelf. “Please . . . please don’t hurt me. Whatever my . . . kind . . . did. I’m sorry for it.”

  “Calm yourself. If we wished you dead, you would be.” Quill considered him again. “Can it be you know nothing of your kind? Truly? Nothing of the realm beneath the waves?”

  Garrett shook his head. “Only what the dolphin-lady told me at the zoo.”