Aquifer

by Jonathan Friesen

  “Luca, lad, I don’t have words …”

  I peek up. Seward faces the last glow of the orb, and in that light I see a tear.

  Seward cries.

  We float silent and motionless with our sadness. The night falls, and my sobs choke back to whimpers and finally sniffs.

  “Please,” I say. “Can we get him off that hook?”

  Seward gentles my father into the boat. He removes a blowtorch from beneath his seat and carefully burns off the shackles.

  “Cursed things,” he says, and kneels down beside Father.

  “He looks so different.” I scoot up on the opposite side. “His face —”

  “Water does strange things to a man. Strange things. It twists the flesh, distorts the mouth, bends the nose —”

  “Removes scars?”

  Seward glances up, his eyes large. “No, lad, it leaves the evil acts done above intact.” He slowly rolls the body onto its front, lifts the light orb, and we both lean over the back to peer between the shoulder blades.

  I fall to my haunches. “It’s not there. He had a scar, jagged and ugly. That’s not something that can be wiped away, is it?”

  Seward rubs his stubble. “That one would be there. It was too large, too deep.”

  “How do you know it?”

  He climbs to his feet, and his words come slow. “I gave it.”

  I scurry backward. “You stabbed my father?”

  “No,” he says quietly. “I knifed my brother.”

  I blink. Brother? Seward?

  Uncle?

  Seward shakes his head, and his gaze clears. “The reasons will not be discussed now, as we have bigger problems.” Seward hauls the body into a bag, zips it tightly inside. “This is not Massa. So why go to great lengths to hide the fact? To produce a body? To convince everyone he’s gone?”

  A deceit like this makes no sense. “It would be a day of wrinkles, for sure. The entire world would mourn. If everyone knew I alone held the route, they couldn’t endure it.” Especially not Lendi.

  “No, they couldn’t.” Seward paces and mumbles. “What does the Council gain? What do they want? What does everyone want?”

  I think of Wren. “The Aquifer?”

  Seward turns to me and smiles. “Yes, Luca. I see it now.” He slaps his thigh. “They thought they’d extract the route to reach it from weak Massa. Instead, they received the alternate, and you can be sure they tried that path many a time. By now, they know they be fooled. But there is one other who holds the key that lived in his mind.”

  I face his gaze. “But I could be brave. If they ever ask me, I could give the alternate, like Father.”

  “You be brave, lad. No doubting it. But for them, there be a far easier, and quicker, way to get what they’re after. Especially since your alternate matches Massa’s.”

  He points to me and then over the edge of the boat.

  “What would happen if you too be undone?” Seward scratches his stubble.

  “Me?”

  “With no Deliverer, the people would demand action from the Council. They would rise up until the Aquifer was taken by force.”

  “But,” I say, “they don’t know the way down.”

  “No, not yet.” Seward squeezes his forehead between thumb and forefinger. “But if Massa believed you had met your end, that you could not make the exchange, he would be forced to reveal the true route to his captors. His heart be too big to watch millions thirst. The Age of Deliverers would be over. The Council’s Amongus would follow the route, take control of the Aquifer. The Nine would finally control the earth.”

  My head swims.

  “So why fake Father’s undoing?”

  “People fear change, unless there is no other way. My guess be the Council will show this body, and your body, as proof that a new course must be charted, and once the Aquifer is taken, the Nine will emerge as saviors of the world.”

  I should be following Seward’s reasoning, but my mind is stuck on one question. “So Father’s alive?”

  “Are you listening to nothing, boy? I guarantee, he’ll stay alive as long as you do. If you be gone, and he shares this route, he’s no longer needed.” Seward starts the motor. “I fear they mean to undo you, Luca. You can’t go back home.”

  “What’s wrong with home? I have to go home. To Old Rub and my books and paintings —”

  “Even now, Mape waits for me at Freemanl.” Seward rubs his hand over his face and stares off. “If I turn this body in, I give you my word, you’re next to be taken.”

  I jump to his side and clutch his sleeve. “Then don’t turn it in!”

  He glances at me. “We make another deal, eh, pirate?” Seward exhales. “Of course I will not be turnin’ this body in, though I forfeit a fortune. I’ll report the body washed, lost in the current to parts unknown — that is, if you swear not to stay on the Shallows.”

  “But Seward … where should I go?”

  He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. A touch, strong and sure. “We pick up what you need tonight. Then we leave the same hour. All sign of you must be gone by morning. We take only what fits in the boat.”

  “But we can’t float around our whole lives.”

  “We.” He laughs. “You speak as if we be in this together.”

  “You said if I ever needed a new job, I had one. Well, I need one now.”

  Seward falls silent and shakes his head. “A mate. My blood and my mate.” He breathes deeply. “Ah, so it comes to me. It won’t be comfortable, but I know your new home. It will be safe.” He pauses. “My nephew once showed it to me.”

  I slump down to the deck. I know he means Glaugood. I know that’s his plan, but my mind fills with another.

  I need to reach Wren.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Seward quiets the engine and rounds the wharf. Soon I’ll see the Shallows and the shanty, maybe for the last time.

  Right now, I see the spire.

  It rises black on black into the night — a star-eating billowing plume — and with it Seward plunks down to the deck.

  “Lad, I think we’re late. The shanty burns.” He pauses. “Their plan be underway.”

  “Then move faster! I need to get things out!”

  Seward shakes his head. “You talk foolishness, boy. Only this trip kept you from fuelin’ that fire.”

  I jump up and jam forward the throttle.

  We power ahead. Seward tumbles onto his back and curses, and we round the bend. Flames leap into the sky.

  The paintings. The books!

  Seward scrambles to his feet, clutches my waist, and throws me to the deck. He lunges for the wheel, but it’s too late and we crash into the dock. I tumble, my ribs smashing against the winch. I groan, push to my feet, and roll over the bow. I’m off and staggering into the blaze.

  “Luca!” Seward’s words fight through the hunger of the fire that bites and gnaws the dry timbers of the shanty. “You must stay alive. For Massa!”

  I pause, then crash through the door. Smoke overpowers my eyes and thoughts, and I drop to my knees and crawl to the corner where I can see the laundry pile’s silhouette topped by Father’s new coat. I throw it aside, grab a balled-up shirt, and breathe through the fabric. My lungs still burn, but I breathe deep and throw myself down the stairs, landing with a thud on a stack of books.

  Where are you? Where are you? I rifle through the piles. There! I find my two prized volumes — Father’s and the skeleton-guarded book from the cave. Above me I hear a sharp crack, and the ceiling gives way. Sparks and timbers crash all around me.

  Get out now, Luca.

  The voice from the cave is faint, but clear.

  Father? Who are you?

  I cannot wait for an answer. I jump up, books tightly pressed to my chest, and stumble upward. Heat overpowers, and I close my eyes, picture the floor plan of the home I know so well, and hurtle in the direction of the door. I strike mesh, and burst through the screen and onto the porch, followed by a bill
owing belch of smoke. Gasping, lumbering, I limp toward the boat.

  Seward curses and grabs me.

  “That be all you’re taking. The fire spreads fast. I will allow no other run.” He stares at the sky. “They will produce Massa’s body — real or substitute, it won’t matter. The world will believe you undone in this horrific ‘accident.’ If Massa believes the tales, the Council will get the route they crave. To that end, they will be looking for your remains to convince him. Let’s see to it they find none.”

  I push against Seward but cannot pry free from his arms. So much beauty, burning. So much in those books I’ll never learn.

  Two books were all I could save.

  Seward throws the boat in reverse, and we churn backward.

  “Here.”

  He slaps a paper against my chest. “Nailed to the dock, it was. Scratching, if you ask me.”

  I grab the light orb and hold it close.

  Not safe. Time to go down. Meet you there. Wren

  “Must have fallen out of one of them books,” he says.

  “‘Not safe. Time to go down.’”I squint at the message. “Not safe. That’s what it says. I know it’s not safe — I get that part. It’s the down part.”

  Seward winces and groans. “Nephew. Who’s it from?”

  “A lady I know at the museum. She works there.”

  “Only one lady works at the museum.”

  “Are you familiar with her?”

  He grins. “More than you know. We be making a change, of course.” The prow of his ship swings violently.

  I rest beneath the moonlight, Wren’s letter clutched in my hand. Behind me, my house — my world — burns. In front of me, a pirate who happens to be my uncle. And between us, a corpse I don’t know and the hope of a father alive.

  How peaceful it had been today at the museum. Tea. We sipped tea, and Wren spoke musical words. Soothing words.

  Her words on the page do not soothe.

  The boat swings again, this time toward the north and west, away from the mainland. Away, out to sea, farther out than I’ve ever been.

  My life’s in a pirate’s hands, one who stabbed my father but who is also my uncle. He now looks at me, his eyes soft.

  “You wonder about the knifin’.”

  “And many other things.” Salt water sprays over the rails, and I feel a chill. I pull my arms inside my shirt sleeves and shiver.

  “Do you wonder enough to ask?” Seward says.

  “I’m scared.”

  Seward looks off. “Fool raised you right. But in this matter, anxious thoughts play no purpose. Massa turned out fine. As always.”

  I frown.

  “A short story, for a long trip. Nestle down.” He reaches into a basket and pulls out an apple. I extract one of my arms, and he tosses it to me. “Hear of your uncle’s misfortune.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  A pirate I am, and no denyin’ the claim. But it be truth that Massa and I came from the same womb. Has he told you about your second father?”

  “Not even a name. He didn’t … well, doesn’t … like to speak of family.”

  “Good reason for that.” Seward suddenly stands and cocks his head, listening. “Others have been out here this night.” He lowers himself back down. “Let’s float in the black.” He switches off his floodlight. “Where was I?”

  “My second father.”

  “Aye. His name was Janus — my father, Massa’s father, and the Deliverer for sixty years. Fennel, that’s your second mother, and Janus’s wife.”

  “Janus and Fennel,” I repeat. “Somewhere I’ve heard the names.”

  “Surely it be true, and you’ll feel much more truth as I relay the tale. Two children they had, taken, as is custom, developed well, and returned. Seward, yours truly” — he bows — “came first. A year later, Massa was born. Your shanty was our home. My childhood home.”

  I prop myself up on an elbow. “You just watched your old house burn to the ground.”

  “I did.”

  “I had … I had no idea.”

  Seward stretches. “You’re a good lad. So, custom is, as you know, for the first child to be named Job Successor, and in our family, a mighty big job it be. The Deliverer. It was assumed that the privilege, the honored life, the freedom, would be mine.” In the light of the orb, Seward’s eyes glaze. “It should have been mine.

  “But even at five, it was clear. Massa would grow to a giant of a man. He was strong and fast, sharp of mind. I … I was slow of foot, of thought. And then came the dream.”

  I lean forward.

  “Do you believe in the Fates?” he asks. “In dreams? Do you believe they hold the future, seeping glimpses into the mind in sleep?”

  “Like a prophecy?” I shrug. “Father always said the Wishers believed in dreams and prayers and voices. Now I’ve seen it for myself. I know it’s lunacy, but I think … I think I’d like to believe. That there’s more than life in the shadow of the Amongus. That there’s hope from somewhere else.” I drop my gaze and my apple core into the hold.

  “Hmm.” Seward smirks and falls silent. When next he speaks, his voice is soft. “Janus believed that we were guided from beyond. And so when Fennel dreamt of Massa holding rods in his hands, when she dreamt of Massa emerging from the Birthing tunnel, when she dreamt of … Massa leadin’ his son to a chair in a marble hall filled with light, well, Janus felt it a sign, and passed the future of the world to the younger, to your father. And to me, to me …”

  “You received nothing.”

  “Ah, the life of a pirate isn’t nothing.” Seward forces a grin, but it can’t stay. “Days before Massa became a Sixteen, a rage consumed me. I waited on the rocks, waited for my brother to paddle near, and when he turned, I flung the knife. True it is that I wished him dead. And that was the last day I saw my father or mother. I left, and when the story rounded, there was a simple choice. A debriefing or a hideous job —”

  “For the Amongus.”

  Seward raises his eyebrows. “My brother and I tried to mend it, but always my hot head or his stubborn pride snapped us short. I don’t blame Massa. He wasn’t the one with the dreams, and the violence be on my head — no fault lies with him. But Mother and Father, they should have come after me …” Seward quiets, and then speaks with words meant, I think, as much for his own ears as for mine. “It is a hard thing to play the second, seeing that I arrived first.”

  I think of Walery, and the talk he had with Father while I almost sacrificed Old Rub. I think of all the nights I lay ten feet from Father wishing only that he would call my name and say … anything. I know exactly what Seward means.

  “But!” Seward speaks so loud I jump. “Watching him from afar, I wonder if perhaps I was the lucky one loosed from his burdened life.”

  “Piracy ever since,” I say.

  “Ever since.” He slaps his leg. “But sleep now. The hours will soon tell if my gut spoke wisdom or doom. And if doom, we’ll need all of our strength.”

  Strength. Oh, to be as strong as Lendi. I sigh at the thought. He’ll live a normal life. Even the tedium of tanning seems pretty great about now.

  I lie back in a pile of netting, and miss my mate. And the drift and the stars soon steal my thoughts.

  “Luca.”

  I wake to a hand on my shoulder. “Speak softly, listen now. We be near your dropping point.”

  I feel my heart quicken as I raise myself from the makeshift bed. “What? Huh? How could you do this to me?”

  Seward slaps his hand over my mouth. “I’ll try again.” He slowly releases my lips. “Not an undoing dropping point. Your and Massa’s dropping point, the beginning of the route to the Rats. Massa starts his descent from a point on this isle. Surely he briefed you on the precise location.”

  My eyes widen, and I shake my head.

  “Right. Then this be a futile attempt.” Seward douses his orb. “But an attempt nonetheless. Peek over the edge, starboard side.”

 
An island, cloaked with trees swaying dark on dark, stretches like a ribbon across the sea. Between the shore and us, hulking shapes dot the water.

  “Amongus boats,” Seward whispers. “Massa’s isle be well known, but without the dropping point, I don’t know what they’re here for … Perhaps they be searching for the way down.”

  He places a hand on my shaking head. “Ease, mate. They’re surely not here for you, who should be crisping well right now, so this fact works in our favor.”

  “Explain how bringing me here can be described as a favor!” I hiss, and press into the bottom of the boat. “Why did you do this?”

  “There’s no place on this earth you can hide from them. They will scour the shanty, and when you aren’t found they will search for you without end. Only with both you and Massa undone can they prove the Deliverer line is ended, dash all hope, and wrest control. But there is a place only you know how to find. One place, I think, that they cannot yet follow.”

  It becomes clear. Wren’s message is clear; she wants me to descend. I think of the grotesque museum display: the teeth and claws and hunched-over form. I can’t descend to that! I turn and vomit onto the deck.

  “No bloke I’ve hauled in this boat has ever done that — of course, you are my first breathing passenger.” He rests his hands on my shoulders and forces my eyes to meet his. “Do you trust me, Luca?”

  “It depends.” I wipe off my mouth. “Are you the man who helped me, or are you the man who knifed Father?”

  “I be both.”

  I think on this. I have no choice. “What do we do?”

  “Stay low, crawl to the back, and bring me three body bags.”

  I do the deed, and a light, strong and penetrating, lights up Seward’s hull. I drop to my stomach.

  “Identify!”

  Seward pops up, hands outstretched. “It’s your Seward! I wish an audience with Mr. Mape, if he be here.” He lowers his voice. “Lay two bags open in the bottom of the boat and crawl inside the third.”

  “You do want me undone,” I whisper.

  “If that’s what it takes to keep you alive. Crawl in!”

  “Seward.” Mape’s deep voice chills me. “What brings you here? Was I not clear about your responsibility?”