by Ally Blue
He levered himself carefully to his feet. The dizziness immediately returned, accompanied by a throbbing headache and nausea. Concussion, Carson realized. He took a moment to take stock of his body. He was in pain and felt vaguely ill, but the vertigo was already fading. Deciding he wasn’t injured badly enough to remove himself from duty, Carson dismissed it from his mind.
Looking around, he didn’t see Hector anywhere. He grabbed the first person to pass. “What in the name of all the gods is happening here?” he demanded. “Why is my crew behaving in such an unseemly manner?”
The young man ‑‑ hardly more than a child ‑‑ blanched, dark eyes wide and glazed with panic. “Sorry sir,” he gasped. “The dive team, they say demons of the sea attack them, sir, they say we must leave this place at once!”
Furious, Carson slapped the boy across the face. “Get hold of yourself!”
The young man whimpered, but calmed. Carson grabbed both his shoulders. “What is your name, boy?”
“Khali,” the boy said, pressing a shaking hand to his reddening cheek.
“Khali. Where is Dr. Solari?”
“S-sorry, sir, but, but he, h-he i ... Khali swallowed and cut his eyes to the side, toward the tarp-covered bodies.
For a second, Carson was frozen. Then he shoved Khali away and lunged toward the two plastic-shrouded forms.
Uncovering the first body, Carson recognized the guard who’d sounded the alarm when the octopi attacked. He covered the man again and grasped the corner of the second tarp. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled it back.
Hector’s sightless eyes stared at the sky, the corneas bright red with ruptured blood vessels. A livid purple mark circled his throat. In it were the clear imprints of suction cups.
Carson sat there on his knees, staring at the dead man who’d been his lifelong friend. An unfamiliar feeling welled up inside him. A lesser man might have called it guilt. However, Carson was not a lesser man, and he would not label it as such.
Gently covering Hector’s face, Carson rose to his feet and whispered a prayer for his friend’s soul. Then he turned to the task of reigning in his crew and making plans. Hector would be avenged, and Carson would have the treasure he sought.
* * * * *
At oh-three-thirty the next morning, Carson stood on the port bow with a group of five men. They’d been hand picked to accompany him to the mysterious island. The group stood in a grim-faced semicircle, listening as he reviewed the night’s plan.
“Octopi are normally nocturnal,” Carson said. “They should still be out hunting at this hour. By going in now and using oars instead of the motor, we can approach the island unnoticed, slip in and plant the explosives, and be gone before the creatures return. And when the explosives go off just after dawn, the things will have returned and should be sleeping.”
The men all nodded. Carson noticed the furrowed brows and confused looks they gave each other, but paid no heed. They’d been told that the huge, intelligent octopi used the water around the island’s rocky shore as a daytime resting place. Most of them, Carson could tell, found this explanation lacking. But they didn’t question it, because Carson had promised them revenge against the things that had killed their comrade. For men like these, such a promise was enough.
They didn’t need to know the truth. Carson didn’t think they’d believe it anyway.
Carson clasped his hands behind his back and gave the men a stern glare. “Everyone must be absolutely clear on what we’re doing. We must work quickly. Once the timers are set, we have a limited amount of time to get El Cazador to a safe distance. If anyone has questions, ask them now.”
Silence. Carson hadn’t expected anything else. He smiled. “Very well. Let’s go.”
One by one, Carson and his team slipped over the side of the ship and into the dinghy. Carson squinted out over the slow swells at the faint shape of the island to the east, a deeper black against the black of the night sky, blotting out the stars just above the horizon.
He fingered the butt of his pistol as the dinghy slipped silently through the water. In spite of the need for secrecy, a part of Carson yearned to meet one of his foes in human form. To look into human eyes as he pulled the trigger, and know that his enemy understood why he had to die.
Fifteen minutes of rowing brought the bow of the dinghy scraping the sand of a shallow bay on the western shore of the island. All but one of the men flowed out of the small boat and melted into the darkness, heading for the spots Carson had determined were best to plant the explosives. Carson himself hefted his backpack and started across the low hump of land to the opposite shore, the one he hadn’t been able to see through his binoculars.
Once he entered the stand of bushes beyond the beach, he looked back. The man left with the boat was well-hidden, ready to take down anyone ‑‑ human or otherwise ‑‑ who discovered the dingy and attempted to raise the alarm. Nodding in satisfaction, Carson turned and began his trek to the other side.
The trip passed without incident. On the opposite shore, Carson checked his watch. He still had a few minutes to find a spot for the explosives and set the timer. The team’s watches were synchronized, and every man was to start his timer at oh-four-thirty.
A quick survey of the terrain revealed a crack in the rocks that made up the eastern shoreline. Perfect. Looping his flashlight lanyard firmly around his wrist, Carson squirmed inside the opening and switched on the tiny light. And gasped.
The thin beam of light revealed a narrow cavern twisting into the interior of the island. The ocean whispered against the rock, the rush of the waves magnified in the confined space. A thin lip of stone ran alongside the water.
Carson could just make out a sharp turn in the path about ten meters along. A quick glance at his watch told him that he still had enough time to explore. Besides, the interior of the cave would be the perfect place to plant the explosives.
The rock path turned out to be uneven, slippery and extremely treacherous. Carson edged along with single-minded determination. He reached the bend in the path with five minutes left to set the explosives. Working quickly, he wedged the bundle of dynamite into a crack in the wall, away from the water. As he set the timer, his eyes darted between his work and the tantalizing length of path which continued past the bend, winding into the darkness.
He didn’t notice the steps until he was turning to leave. Shallow stone steps, leading from the rock ledge into the water. He knew he had only minutes to cross the island and meet the rest of the team at the dinghy. But the steps called to him, whispering promises of discoveries beyond imagination in the black depths under the island.
For a second, Carson was torn. Then he remembered the diamonds, and Hector’s dead face, and his decision was made. Turning his back on the potential mysteries of the cavern, he hurried along the ledge and out into the night air. He didn’t look back.
* * * * *
The next morning, Carson took every experienced diver on board down to Lady Death with him. The team was nervous still, but none of them dared to protest. Carson thought it wise of them to fear him more than anything they might encounter in the sea.
As Carson expected, there were no further attacks. Lady Death’s hull was breached and the diamonds recovered without further incident. The sight of the gems sparkling in the glow of their flashlights quelled any remaining protest from the men.
Carson and two of his team were halfway to the surface with the last of the treasure when Carson spotted furtive movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing toward the motion, he was surprised to see three small blue-gray octopi hanging in the water, tentacles undulating. Their coloring, their stillness, and especially the quick minds behind those black eyes, marked them as the same type of beings that had attacked Carson’s dive team before. Judging by their size, they were quite young.
Signaling the men to continue to the surface, Carson turned and swam slowly toward the creatures. He wasn’t entirely sure why. Something about them stirred his curiosi
ty. He’d most likely exterminated all but these few, and he felt a strong urge to learn what he could about the ones that were left.
Predictably, all three of the small octopi rocketed away into the depths the moment he started to move toward them. One, he noticed, lagged behind the others. It seemed slow and sluggish, as if injured. Moved by a sudden impulse, Carson followed. Before long, he’d caught up to the little thing. The creature was clearly struggling now, its companions long vanished into the blue. Marveling at how easy it was, Carson reached out and grabbed one slender tentacle.
Having seen the same thing on the island through his binoculars less than a week before, Carson was ready when the creature shifted and he found himself holding a bare human leg. In spite of his readiness, though, it was a shock to see the octopus gone and a small, naked boy in its place.
The child looked to be about three or four years old. His skin was pearly white, as was the long hair floating like a gossamer halo around his face. He looked like any other small child, other than his unnatural pallor and the gray-blue, octopus shaped birthmark on the inside of his right thigh. Only the eyes gave a hint of the creature Carson knew was still in there somewhere. Huge, solid black eyes, wide and bright and brimming with intelligence.
With no idea how long the child would remain in human form, Carson knew he had to act quickly. Yanking an empty gear bag free of his weight belt, Carson slipped the bag swiftly over the boy’s body. The child fit neatly inside. He didn’t even struggle, and Carson wondered what was wrong with him. He hadn’t seen any obvious injuries.
Floating slowly to the surface with his latest treasure in tow, Carson hoped that the boy would live long enough to be useful. He had plans for the child.
The second his head broke the surface, Carson found himself surrounded by chaos. Voices shouted from the dive boat, hands reached over the side to take the bag. Carson held onto it as he climbed the boat’s ladder, not wanting the little creature inside to be damaged.
He’d planned to keep this particular find secret, for the time being. However, no sooner had he laid the bag on the floor of the boat than it began to move. Soft keening cries sounded from inside, followed by distinct words in a language Carson didn’t understand.
Every man on board went still and silent. Twenty pairs of eyes fixed on Carson’s face. He clasped his hands tightly together, trying to resist the urge to kick the child into silence.
The ship’s doctor came forward and opened the gear bag without a word. The boy inside sat up, looked around, and promptly curled into a ball with his knees folded against his chest and both arms wrapped around his head. Carson could just see the child’s face scrunched up in fear, tears leaking from the big black eyes and rolling down the ghostly pale cheeks.
Gasps and murmurs broke out amongst the crew. Dr. Malaga rounded on Carson with a thunderous frown. “A child, Señor Cordova? Stuffed into a bag, like so much trash? Explain yourself.”
Carson forced a smile through gritted teeth. If he didn’t need the doctor’s skills, he would’ve thrown the man overboard for his insolence. “I am very glad that you came today, Dr. Malaga. I found the boy floating in the water. He is exhausted, and quite possibly injured, though I saw no marks on him. I rescued him and brought him on board. He needs medical attention, food and water, and then we must find his parents. They must be frantic.”
Dr. Malaga narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Carson schooled his face into a concerned, sincere expression. He may not be able to keep his little captive a secret, but he’d die before letting anyone else find out what the boy truly was. Not yet. Not until the time was ripe.
Finally, the doctor nodded. “Very well. I will examine him back on board El Cazador. In the meantime, I will speak with the child and attempt to find out where he came from, and where his parents are.”
Carson raised his eyebrows, surprised. “So you speak the language the boy used a moment ago? I didn’t recognize it.”
“It’s a very ancient form of Egyptian,” Dr. Malaga said, crouching beside the child. “It’s quite odd that this young boy speaks it, actually. I myself learned it from the only living master of the language, and I am not fluent. I may not be able to learn anything.”
“Do your best.” Carson managed to keep his sudden nervousness from showing. If the boy remembered what had happened, the explosion that had rocked the island at dawn, sending dirt and bits of wood and rock into the air and octopus parts into the water, the consequences didn’t bear thinking of.
Putting the worry to the back of his mind, Carson focused all his attention on the doctor and the child. Dr. Malaga gave the boy a friendly smile and said something in the same language the youngster had used before. The boy still looked frightened, but he sat up and listened.
The old man spoke slowly, hesitating at times, but his patient seemed to understand him well enough. The child answered with a rapid-fire string of words. His musical voice shook and his lower lip trembled as he spoke. His eyes still shone with tears, the lashes dark and wet. When he stopped speaking at last and curled up into a sobbing heap again, Dr. Malaga sat back on his heels, shaking his head.
“His name is Luke, I think,” the doctor said. “It was difficult to understand him. He says that he was out swimming at daybreak and felt his mother and father die. He says their death made him weak. At least I believe that’s what he said. I may be mistaken. It doesn’t make much sense.”
Carson kept his face carefully blank. “We should take him to Zanzibar, to the authorities there.”
Holding his breath, Carson waited for the doctor to speak to Luke again. He was taking a huge risk, but it had to be done. If he didn’t offer to turn the child over to the local authorities, even the crew’s fear of him wouldn’t save him from their suspicions. Languishing in a Zanzibar prison was a much worse fate than losing a potential key to previously inaccessible treasures.
Relief flooded through him at the unmistakable panic in Luke’s voice when he answered Dr. Malaga’s question. Some sixth sense had told him that the boy wouldn’t want to go to the police, and apparently he’d been right.
The child took several minutes to wind down. By the time he stopped talking, he was sobbing again and Carson had no more doubts about the outcome of his impulsive kidnapping.
“Luke begs us not to take him to Zanzibar,” Dr. Malaga said, looking grim. “He claims that the Zanzibar police fear his people. That if we take him to them, they will hurt him.”
Keeping the gleeful laughter at bay with an effort, Carson put as much outrage into his voice as he could. “He’s only a child! We cannot allow him to come to harm! There’s only one thing to do. We must take him with us.”
Dr. Malaga eyed him warily. “I am not sure that’s a good idea. He’s only a child, after all. Perhaps he’s mistaken. Surely the police wouldn’t hurt a helpless child.”
“And you would take that chance?” Carson knelt beside Luke and laid a hand on his white-blond head. The boy whimpered, but didn’t draw away. “I am not willing to risk it, doctor. I have always wanted a son. I will take this child with me, and raise him as my own.”
The doctor opened his mouth as if to protest. Carson silenced him with a look. The man heaved a resigned sigh. “Very well. I only hope that you do not come to regret this one day.”
“I certainly shall not.” Smiling at the child, Carson patted his fine, silky hair. “Hello, Luke. You have lost your parents, I hear. Well, now you have a new father. I will take care of you, little one.”
Luke regarded him with wide, curious eyes. Tilting his head to the side, he let loose what was clearly a story or explanation of some sort, though Carson couldn’t understand a word of it.
“What is he saying, doctor?” Carson asked, chucking the boy under the chin. “We really must teach him English and Spanish.”
“Hm, yes.” Dr. Malaga frowned, bushy brows knitting in concentration. “Again, sir, I’m not certain that I’m understanding him correctly. He said ‑‑ I think ‑‑ t
hat his people guard a great treasure. An idol made of lovely clear crystal, he says, that grants wishes. He says that they have guarded it for thousands of years. They’ve taken it away, to a new place, and he wonders if you will take him there. He says that his people will take care of him, if we can find them. He can’t feel them like he could feel his mother and father, because he’s still small and hasn’t learned how yet.” The doctor clucked his tongue sadly. “Clearly he’s imagined the whole thing. The poor boy.”
It certainly sounded like a young child’s overactive imagination. Yet something about the story resonated in Carson’s mind. The fierceness of the attack by the octopi, the way they moved in perfect synchronization. As if they could read each other’s minds.
It wasn’t much, but it fit the facts. Moreover, the child was undoubtedly of the same race as the strange shapeshifters who’d attacked the dive team. If Luke was correct about the psychic abilities of his people, perhaps he was correct about the idol as well. Carson had assumed they were guarding Lady Death’s diamonds, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps they were guarding this mysterious idol all along. If so, it must be priceless. Surely, the creatures wouldn’t have protected it with their very lives if it didn’t hold immense value.
Carson almost laughed aloud at himself, considering with absolute seriousness the idea of people who could shift into octopus form and ancient idols that granted wishes. However, if it were true, it was worth pursuing. Even if it wasn’t true, he still had in his possession a child who could shift at will into a sea creature. A boy still young enough to be molded into what Carson needed ‑‑ the perfect way to find and retrieve treasures beyond the range of diving equipment. Treasures no one else could find.
“Yes, the poor boy.” Carson touched the little boy’s downy cheek. “Such fun we shall have, you and I, young Luke. Such fun.”
Luke blinked up at him. The little face broke into a tentative smile. In that face, Carson saw not an innocent child, but wealth beyond measure. He smiled back and patted the boy’s blond head.