The Island of Wolves

by Elizabeth Avery

  “Let’s see what I can do with that,” he said, sitting down on the raised, rocky edge of the spring.

  The box he’d brought with him turned out to be a first aid kit he’d taken from the ship’s supplies. He beckoned me over, and encouraged me to lift my legs out of the water so he could check them over. His fingers were feather light as they ghosted over my skin, handling my feet so carefully you would think I was wearing glass slippers.

  “Make sure you wash them thoroughly. Your arms as well,” he instructed. “Don’t be afraid to break the scabs either, you want to get them cleaned out. I’ll wrap them with some salve once you’re dry.”

  He left me alone to wash, and I melted into the steaming water. It felt like an eternity ago I’d last been able to have a hot bath. I knew well enough that this trip around the world would involve a certain amount of roughing it, but I hadn’t been prepared for this much in such a short amount of time. And after everything I’d been through, something as simple as just being clean was something I felt I’d never be again.

  The water around me turned dark with blood and muck as I scrubbed, though thankfully, the current of the spring quickly drew it away again. It hurt to rub my arms, but I did so anyway, reopening the claw-wounds and making sure they were free of anything unpleasant. When I dunked myself under the water to wet my hair, though, I came back up quickly, crying out as pain exploded in the side of my head.

  Conon was at my side in an instant. He inhaled through clenched teeth and my heart was suddenly in my throat. I had felt the blood on my fingers when I’d woken at the base of the tree, but I’d not been able to inspect my injury. Was it really that bad?

  With both hands, Conon gently parted my matted hair, to find the wound. When he did, he held my hair against my skull with one hand, and used the other to carefully scoop some clean water. He let it trickle over my head and help clean the injury. But it didn’t seem to matter how gentle he was, as every movement, no matter how slight, pulled and pressed in the wrong way, sending fresh agony rippling through my skull.

  “Is it bad?”

  “Could have been worse,” he replied, pressing gently. “Nothing’s broken, but the cut is pretty deep.”

  “Do I need stiches?”

  “It would help.” He paused. “But if you’d rather not have me do it, I can just wrap it tightly.”

  “Why would I mind you doing it? I think it would be clear by now that I trust you.”

  The fingers froze in my hair, and the silence that followed was suffocating. Eventually, two large hands dropped to my shoulders. They were trembling slightly, fingers digging into me, like their owner was trying to ground themselves with my presence.

  “I thought I was never going to see you again…”

  His voice was shaking, and I wondered if he was trying to hold back tears.

  “How long was I gone?” I asked hesitantly. “I thought, maybe a few hours?”

  “More than a day,” he said. “When you didn’t come back the first night… we were sure… ” he trailed off. Voicing the worst case scenario, of what could have been, seemed to be too difficult for him.

  “You really thought I was dead?”

  “What else was I supposed to think?” he said, averting his gaze. “I was just starting to accept it, trying to figure out how I was going to tell that bodyguard of yours when you just wandered back in.” He grunted and shook his head. “I was so happy to see you.”

  To think he’d been, not just worried about my safety, but hurt at the idea that I wouldn’t come back. Surely he didn’t feel this way about every random girl he met?

  “There were a few times when I thought I wouldn’t get out of it,” I said, looking down at my lap. “I’ve never felt that close to death, even with all that happened on the ship. I suppose it’s because everyone else was around me. I trusted you guys to be the experienced ones. Then suddenly, I was alone and I kept thinking: what if I’m not strong enough to save myself?”

  “I’ve dealt with kids like you before,” said Conon. “Wealthy, maybe, or at least a bit sheltered. The second they’re under any kind of pressure, they just break. They can’t handle any kind of real hardship. But you have the resilience a lot of them don’t.” He chuckled and gave me a smile. “You’re plenty strong enough.”

  My cheeks burned and, I looked away, embarrassed. It felt strange to hear a compliment like that from Conon, from a minotaur, with all his strength and ferocity. But at the same time, the thought that he saw me as a strong person in my own right. That I wasn’t just some woman, like everyone else seemed to think. It made me feel warm. Before I knew it, I was laughing.

  “Did I say something funny?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Thank you. I mean it.”

  He shifted to embrace me properly, then yelped when his tail slipped into the hot water. He snatched it back, and sighed with relief, before clearing his throat in embarrassment. “The water’s hot.”

  “No, really? Do tell me more.”

  “I want to kiss that grin off your face,” he said with an exasperated shake of his head.

  Maybe it was the steam getting to me, but I found myself smiling up at him through my lashes in response. “Then do.”

  Conon smiled and leaned in again.

  I felt so much better after my bath. My head still ached but I felt clean and fresh in new clothes. There had been no salvaging the nightgown. Conon suggested giving it to the laundry crew to see if it could be washed and mended, but I turned him down. I wouldn’t wish that job on anyone and who was I to ask them to fix it? I wasn’t part of the crew.

  Later on, we walked slowly back down the beach, hand in hand, enjoying the sun and the view of the sea. It really was a beautiful island, if you got past the giant murderous fauna. If it wasn’t for that, I would have loved to have a holiday house here.

  Chapter 11:

  The Brig

  It was nearing lunch time when we returned to the camp, and Conon took me over to the mess tent to eat. We were almost there when a long, winged shadow passed overhead. I looked up. All around me, people were looking as well, pointing at it and shouting.

  “It’s a Post Master!”

  The flying creature circled the camp, dipping lower and lower, before landing with a soft thump in the sand. The Post Master was nearly seven feet tall, and dressed in a long ankle-length black robe, into which its massive oily wings folded as it straightened up. It shook a head hidden by a long-beaked plague-style bird mask, and when it started walking towards us, I could see its scaly, taloned, three-toed feet peeking out from beneath the hem of its robe.

  It stopped in front of me, and a feathered arm extended from between the folds of its robe. Its hand was thin, almost skeletal, scaly like its feet, and jet black. Between two long, bony fingers, it held a letter with my name written neatly across the envelope’s front.

  I took the letter and turned it over. On the back, there was a red stamp that read: ‘Urgent Response Needed.’ I looked back up at the Post Master, who hadn’t moved. I knew it wouldn’t leave until I gave it a reply to deliver. I broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

  Dear Nina,

  According to the port registry, you were due in Nyuesi this morning. I don’t mean to nag, but I need your updates as soon as you arrive at each location. Even if you don’t have any reports to send me, just a quick note to let me know you’ve arrived safely. Please get back to me ASAP.

  Professor Winston Linesley

  Director of Sociocultural Xenthropology

  Pherasian Museum of Natural History

  I suppose I should have expected this. I had promised the professor I’d send him a letter the moment we had arrived safely in Nyuesi.

  “Stop right there!”

  I turned to see the captain walking towards us, flanked on one side by Skeever, who was looking twitchier than ever, and on the other, Theron, who just looked tired. I felt Conon tense at my side.

  “Captain,” he acknowledged warily.


  “Give me the letter,” the captain said immediately, his gaze fixed on me.

  “What for?” Conon asked defensively.

  “What does it matter?” the captain asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “Its fine,” I said quickly, cutting in before Conon could answer, and handed the letter over.

  The captain read the letter through several times, his mouth twisting in thought. After a moment, he folded it and jabbed it in my direction.

  “Alright, you’re going to write back to him,” the bear ordered. “You’re going to tell him you and that bodyguard of yours are fine. And you’re going to make it convincing.”

  There was a very clearly implied or else! at the end of that sentence.

  I swallowed nervously. From the beginning, the captain had been unpredictable. Even so, I knew what he was capable of. Unlike Conon, my safety was of no interest to him, and he was more than willing to do whatever he felt he needed to do, to get what he wanted from me. At the same time, this moment felt like an opportunity.

  “I’ll tell him whatever you want,” I said readily, then hesitated, wondering if I had the nerve to continue. “…In exchange, I was wondering if it might ask for a small boon?”

  “Yeah?” asked the captain, raising an eyebrow. “And what do you want?”

  “If it’s possible, I’d very much like to see Risk.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed angrily. “And why…” he asked, deadly slow, “would you want to do that?”

  “It’s just, I feel bad for him,” I said, speaking fast, my words tumbling over each other. “I still don’t really understand everything that’s going on, but he still tried to keep me safe on the ship. I don’t think he meant to use me, or at least I don’t think he meant for it to go this far. I just want to know… what on Alvis he was thinking with all this.”

  “Not much to explain there,” said Skeever with a ratty bark of laughter. “He was a spy for the Authority. Wanted to know what we was carrying. Bet he wishes he hadn’t asked now, eh?”

  “I know, I’m just worried about him,” I said sadly, looking down at my fidgeting hands. “He is still alive isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he’s still kicking,” said Skeever. “Got pretty good aim as well, from what I’ve heard.”

  “If, and that’s a big IF, I was to allow this,” said the captain slowly. “You would not be meeting with him alone, understand?”

  “Of course,” I agreed readily.

  “I’ll go with her,” said Conon.

  “You!” snarled the captain, rounding on him. “You should be happy you’re not already in the brig yourself!”

  Conon flinched. I glanced between them. It was obvious something major had changed while I’d been down in the monster’s cave. I wanted to ask, but it was clearly not the time.

  “I could always take her,” said Skeever suddenly, forcing both men’s attention away from each other and onto him. “I’m due to check on the prisoner tonight anyway. Another person in the boat isn’t going to cause any trouble.”

  The captain took a long, calming breath through his nose. “Fine. At least I know I can trust someone around here,” he muttered.

  “You flatter me,” said Skeever, as oily as ever.

  “Captain, please, I’d really rather she not—” Conon began to protest…

  The captain glared at him. “I have given you every chance,” he began, slowly. “Every chance! But again and again, you let your fucking dick do your thinking. I told you not to let yourself get distracted. If you can’t control yourself, I will get rid of her myself!”

  “It’s fine,” I assured him quickly, putting myself between them, my eyes stayed locked on Conon’s. “I don’t mind if Mr Skeever goes with me.”

  “You should—” the bull started again, but this time it was me who cut him off.

  “You should obey your captain,” I said firmly.

  The captain gave a growl of laughter from behind me. “Even your woman has better sense than you.”

  The captain had Skeever produce some pen and paper, so I could write the reply to the professor. While looking over my shoulder to make sure I did it properly, he practically dictated the letter for me, one which emphasised my safety and apologised for my late reply.

  When I was done, I held the finished letter up for the Post Master to take and there was a tense moment when it didn’t immediately do so. The Post Masters took their jobs very seriously, allowing for no tampering with the mail. They’d even been known to get violent with those who would attempt to do so. Would it refuse to deliver a letter whose contents had been coerced?

  “Its fine,” I assured it. “This is the letter I want sent.”

  A second later, it held out its thin hand and took the letter from me, its wings slowly re-emerging from beneath its robe. They flapped once, and the Post Master shot into the air like a cork from a bottle, so fast it kicked up the sand around where it had been standing. It hovered above us for a moment, suspended nearly fifty feet in the air then, vanished, as though it had never been there in the first place.

  “What if he doesn’t believe me?” I asked hesitantly, once the Post Master was gone.

  “For your sake, you better hope he does,” the captain growled, dismissing me with a wave of his paw.

  That night was when everything started to go wrong. It began with my trip back out to the crippled ship. The boat ride was awkward, to say the least. After several minutes of tense silence, I nervously cleared my throat.

  “Umm,” I hesitated.

  Skeever glanced sideways at me and nodded, encouraging me to continue.

  “Is Conon really in trouble because of me?”

  “Yep.”

  “How badly?”

  “Pretty badly.”

  “Why?”

  “When you got eaten, he came storming back into camp to round up a group of the boys to hunt that thing down and find you,” he explained. “The captain told him to leave it. Said you weren’t worth getting anyone else eaten. Your boyo went out anyway with as many as he could convince. Captain was less than pleased, to put it lightly.”

  I was silent the rest of the way to the ship, mulling over what Skeever had told me. Conon had been very casual about the search parties he’d sent out to find me. He’d never said anything to suggest he’d done so without, or even against, the captain’s permission. And while Skeever was certainly one of the nastiest little toads I’d ever had the misfortune of meeting, so far at least, he’d never outright lied to my face. As far as I knew anyway.

  “Ladies first,” he said when we arrived at the ship, gesturing to the rope ladder that hung off the side.

  I eyed it sceptically. It wasn’t the problem of climbing though that made me pause. I looked back at the rat in the boat, noting the tell-tale crinkle around his eyes that told me he was grinning beneath his scarf.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go first?”

  “Oh no, I insist,” he said, his grin widening.

  I pulled myself onto the ladder and slowly started to climb up the side of the ship.

  “Lacy!” I heard from behind me and a blush rose to my cheeks in response.

  Enjoy the view, you pervert, I thought bitterly.

  Up on deck, repairs had already begun. All the broken planks had been pulled up and stacked to the side, leaving gaping holes all over the deck. The remains of the mast had been removed as well, and piles of rigging and sail cloth were lying around. Four members of the crew were sitting in a circle, huge needles in their hands, and a large sheet of cloth between them. They chatted as they stitched, and even though each one was a burly sea-farer, I couldn’t help but envision a lady’s crocheting circle. I had to stifle a giggle. When one of them looked up at the sound, I flushed in embarrassment and gave them a wave.

  Spanning the holes in the deck, a few more rope ladders had been strung up as bridges. Skeever walked forward, his small bare feet moving over the thin rungs with ease. I hesitated.

 
“Something wrong?” the rat asked, turning back to look at me. “The ropes are sturdy. They’ll hold your weight. Or do you need a hand?” Without waiting for an answer, he returned to my side and held out a hand for me to take. I took it, taking note of the little claws on the tips of each of his fingers. “Don’t look down.”

  With him supporting me, I staggered onto the rope bridge, surprised when it barely swayed. About half-way across, I found myself ignoring his instruction and glancing down between my feet into the void below. I froze, staring into the darkness of the ship’s storage hold. I could see the faint outlines of crates, large and small, and various other indistinct shapes.

  “Looking for something?” Skeever asked suddenly, making me look up.

  “I didn’t realise it was so far down,” I replied in awe. “How far is it?”

  “Want to find out?” he asked, a nasty grin audible in his voice.

  “No, thank you.”

  When we reached the other side, Skeever held my hand a little longer than was strictly necessary, before finally releasing me and leading me below deck. The last two times I’d been on the ship, the deck where my cabin was had been the only one I’d seen. This time, Skeever led me further down the central staircase, heading deeper into the bowels of the ship.

  “Suppose you’ve never been down this far, have you?” he spoke up as we descended the stairs, though he continued without giving me a chance to respond. “Suppose it makes sense. The brig is at the bottom of the ship. Better security that way, though we’ve only got one prisoner left now.”

  “You had others?”

  “Before the attack, yeah.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Well, have you ever put something soft or fragile in a small metal box then shaken it vigorously?” he asked. “It took a while to clean up, but the sharks got a good feed afterwards.”

  There was a delighted edge to his voice that made me wince, trying to imagine such a scenario and the aftermath.

  The prison deck was cramped and dark, with only a few candles burning in some scattered holders. There were no port holes because we were far below the waterline, and the scent of damp and mould permeated the air. The cells that lined the walls were made of a grid of heavy flat iron, with barely enough room between the bars to squeeze your hand.