CHAPTER
12
Maroto hadn’t got a good look at the thing that was chasing him through the dark jungle, and he preferred it that way. The mango-sized eggs he and Bang had stolen from a nest in the sea-caves had been way too weird-looking for him to want any glimpse of their parents. While the small party was initially pleased with the haul, they had suspected supper was off as soon as they’d heard the echoing shrieks from the direction of the cliffs, and drawn straws accordingly. Once the inevitable fix was in, Bang, Dong-won, and Niki-hyun took to the upper branches of the banyan tree with spears, Maroto waiting with a torch by the sizzling frying pan Dong-won had fashioned out of a washed-up greave. He knew the smell of cooking eggs would lure the vengeful creature in, whereupon they could overwhelm it with their numbers… but then he promptly turned and fled when he saw its silvery carapace careening out of the jungle at him. No way a pointed stick was getting past that shell, and Maroto had been disinclined to see if one quick jab of a borrowed dagger would’ve done the trick. And so here he was, half sliding and half falling down the sheer slope, sling-bag bouncing in his face, nooses of vines trying to catch his throat, snares of roots grabbing at his feet, fallen trees out to bash his knees, wet leaves doing their damnedest to extinguish his torch, and an insectoid fiend crashing through the trees after him.
Which was to say, the Mighty Maroto was back in his element. His Gate-scarred knee was feeling more and more normal every day, but wasn’t all the way there yet, and nearly buckled as he dropped the last few feet down the slope. But then he hit the straightaway through the underbrush and it was back on the job, propelling him through the final push. The enraged egg layer was almost on top of him, bringing with it the fishy stench of its stagnant cave, and since it had ceased its shrill screaming as it closed in on its quarry, Maroto started shouting in its stead. Fast as he was moving, the torch was actually an impediment, preventing his eyes from adjusting to the night and only illuminating trees and other arboreal obstacles when it was too late for him to fully avoid them, but he clung to it all the same, hoping he’d aimed true…
The sea foam cresting the waves glowed in the moonlight as Maroto blasted out from the jungle, weaving between the palms as he raced for the shimmering black beach. One of the trees splintered behind him, and Maroto stumbled as slippery undergrowth and muddy earth gave way to loose sand. It was dodgy as all devils for a few frantic seconds, and then he reached the firmer sand at the shoreline, strafing to the side and running parallel to the water. Waving the torch over his head and howling in a manner fit to wake any and all sea gods, Maroto tore arse along the moonlit beach, racing the shadow he threw out onto the waves… and seeing a far larger, pointier shadow come up behind it, the monster almost upon him.
Still waving the torch but barely able to draw air into his burning lungs, say fuck-all of expelling it at volume, he wrestled the bouncing sling-bag back to his chest. He couldn’t get it open, the obstinate satchel staying upright and shut like it was supposed to, and with the bright sky offering no salvation he knew it was all over, another brilliant scheme gone the way of the Sunken Isle. Except you couldn’t really say that anymore, because Jex Toth was back and badder than ever, and as he felt the icy spray of the creature’s breath on his back he upended the tangled bag. Success!
Except the cargo had broken during the chase, and instead of three round eggs rolling out for the monstrous parent to stop and retrieve, a rich, runny yolk poured out all over his pumping thighs, scraps of shell sticking to his leg. It would have been a hilarious turn of events if it had been Hoartrap or Zosia out here instead of Maroto, but it wasn’t, and so it wasn’t. Before his dread-stunned brain could concoct a backup plan, something that felt remarkably like a tavern bench covered in scratchy spider hair clobbered his legs out from under him. Maroto ate wet sand.
It rolled him over with distressing delicacy, and in the fading light of the torch that had landed on the beach a few paces away he saw far more of the angry mother than he had ever wanted; that his plan had failed and he was about to be eaten alive was bad enough, but being forced to watch the meal take place seemed a bit much. Yet he couldn’t look away, his damnably curious eyes refusing to stop taking in the monster that towered over him, its mandibles tugging at the soggy satchel on his chest.
Except they weren’t mandibles, but silver-furred hands that were all the more repellent for their similarity to a human’s. Had those long arms been the only concession to humanity it would have been bad enough, but they protruded from the sides of an enormous, pale face of disturbing normalcy. If that face had been half as big it would have looked perfectly fine attached to a human neck, but between the scale of the features and their placement in the torso of a gigantic chitinous horror, the effect was nauseating.
As was the smell, the creature’s enormous mouth panting its marine stench in Maroto’s face as it gingerly opened the slimy sling-bag that lay limply on his chest, the man beneath it seemingly forgotten. Fat globs of grey ooze ran down its plump cheeks as its teary eyes inspected the satchel, but even if the bag hadn’t been tied around his shoulder there was no way Maroto could have escaped—the creature loomed over him, its four thick, crab-like legs trapping him beneath it.
The torch sputtered and sizzled just like the monster’s eggs in the frying pan as the damp sand slowly extinguished the brand, and then the weeping horror’s soft black eyes grew wide, and it let out a soft hoot. Maroto was witness to a miracle, one of the horror’s hands tenderly rising from the satchel, a bright blue crab resting in its palm. The small crustacean slowly raised a goo-dripping claw, and Maroto realized that not all of the eggs had busted open from jostling around during his flight; this one must have hatched as nature intended. He also recognized the luminous blue of the newborn’s shell from the crabs they had eaten his first night here on the beach, and as the thing’s giant, loving eyes rose from its innocent progeny to the egg thief she had pinned between her spidery limbs, Maroto supposed he kind of had this coming.
Still, deserving a fate and welcoming it are two entirely different devils, and Maroto tensed up to make his move. Before he could even figure out what exactly this move was going to be, however, the monster’s heavy underside flopped down upon him, the all-too-believable weight of the thing crushing his legs and midsection, its mandible-arms shooting out and seizing his elbows. The infant crab scuttled up one of the hairy arms and disappeared into a fold of its carapace, and the huge face slowly came down to meet his, as if her tumescent lips fancied a smooch. She smiled, and he saw that the human resemblance ended at the teeth, her needle-toothed grin falling into shadow as the torch died, and his hope died along with it. As he locked his eyes shut and gave himself over to his fate, his last silent wish to any devils that might be listening was not for some impossible salvation or even a quick and painless end, but that he should see Purna on the other side, so that he might beg her forgiveness for failing to avenge her.
Instead of chewing his face off, the monster started grinding into him, screaming into his face as its arms slapped at him, and unable to help himself, Maroto screamed back. It was so much worse than he had imagined. Instead of simply eating him alive it intended to mate with him, so that he might help restore the chain of life that he had so egregiously sundered with his egg-stealing. Maroto was a consummate professional when it came to lovemaking, having earned more coin with his cock than he’d ever spent on the thing, but even still, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pay this particular debt. He’d pleasured his share of questionable partners before, sure, but never a creature so hideous, and certainly not without a few rounds of drinks to break the ice.
As if sensing his reluctance it raised its girth off of him, giving him the space he needed… but then slammed back down again, even harder than before. It was the worst dryhump in a long life overfull of bad dryhumps, each new blow of its shell-ensconced body feeling less like coitus and more like it was being hoisted into the air only to drop back down. I
t was even worse than the time he’d allowed a wealthy client at the bordello in Vuyvr to rig up that pulley system and—holy mother of fucks, it had worked! His plan had actually worked!
The torch hadn’t gone out, and it wasn’t actually humping him—now that the crab-mother was wrenched up into the air again, he saw the ivory edges of a second monster’s fleshy wings protruding out from either side of the first one’s shell. The egg layer’s long, spider-like front legs were thrusting up at its attacker, and before it could pull itself free from the flying horror’s grasp and slam down on Maroto again he rolled away, into the encroaching surf. It must have been a sight to see, an amphibious titan of the sea-caves battling a great hunter of the skies, but Maroto didn’t stick around to watch. He crawled through the shallows until he could stagger, and then he staggered until he could sprint, and only when he reached the cover of the treeline did he collapse back into the sand. Finally turning for a look, he saw they had undone each other, both the silver-shelled behemoth and the gelatinous, winged predator lying beside one another, their great bulks shuddering with death throes. Maroto honestly couldn’t remember the last time one of his plans had actually come together, and he looked all around for his audience… but he was alone on the beach, and even after he cautiously called their names into the night none of the three pirates materialized from the darkness. It figured.
“He’s alive!” Bang called from the upper branches of the banyan tree when Maroto finally lurched back into camp, too bushed to have even stopped off for a wash at the nearby waterfall. He missed being able to just flop out of the pool onto the moss and pass out, but agreed with Bang that the spot was too exposed to the sky and diligently carried out her order to find a more suitable camp. He’d done a bang-up job, if he did say so himself; here where the canopy was thickest overhead they could safely keep a night fire burning without alerting anything that might be flying far above to their presence. Said fire was now nothing more than coals, the frying pan smoking with blackened egg yolk. “Is it safe to come down?”
“Nah,” said Maroto, plopping down on a soft log and blowing on the coals. “Might be more, you’d better stay up there till dawn.”
“We would have followed,” said Dong-won as he descended, “but it looks like you had it in hand.”
“I’ll say he did,” said Bang, swinging down as deftly as one of those fucking monkey-men Maroto had met his first morning on the island. “Take a look at his skirts—you stop to polish your privates on the way back?”
Looking down at the creamy yolk drying all over his crotch and legs, Maroto nodded. “Usually it’s a more impressive load, but your mom’s been keeping me so busy I barely had anything left over for myself.”
“What a strange thing to say,” said Niki-hyun as she dropped down after the others. “Do Flintlanders think it’s insulting to imply one’s parents enjoy the act of lovemaking?”
“Not at all,” said Maroto, taking up one of the coconuts filled with the wine they’d made out of fermented palm sap and cinchona bark. Oh, how he’d wished when he’d laid this stuff away that they’d find a way off the island long before it became ripe—which went to show how well Maroto and wishes got along. He drained the whole syrupy draught in a series of noisy gulps. Wiping his mouth, he explained, “Just reminding Bang that she may be my captain but I’m still her father, and she should show me some damn respect after I saved all your arses.”
“Does that mean old man Useful will put me over his knee if I don’t toe the line?” asked Bang, using a stick to nudge the hot fry pan off the coals and into the sandy soil.
“I don’t hand out charity lightly,” said Maroto, and almost elaborated but caught himself in time—flirting with comely smart-mouths came as naturally as breathing to Maroto, but that was another thing Zosia had taken away from him. Ever since he’d learned how offensive she’d found all his clever lines and well-intentioned compliments he’d tried to keep that part of his nature in check lest he repeat the mistakes of his youth. He’d rather deprive the cute pirate of his substantial wit altogether than risk rubbing her wrong or making her feel self-conscious with an ill-timed ribald remark.
“Here,” said Bang, passing him another booze-filled coconut. They had a limited supply since it took forever to tap the sap and weeks to get it strong enough to even deliver a gnat-sized buzz, so he hadn’t planned on requesting more than his ration, but he damn sure wasn’t going to refuse it, either. “Did you give the beast the slip, or strike it dead?”
“Led it down to the beach, and that flying fucker what almost got us the first night finished it for me,” said Maroto between gulps.
Dong-won whistled as he scraped the charred eggs off the frying pan with a stick. “Next you’ll be telling us that luring it to the squid-dragon was by design.”
“No, Dong-won, it was a happy accident I took along a few eggs as bait, and a torch to attract the squid-dragon, as you say, and ran straight down to the beach we know it likes to patrol,” said Maroto, his legs starting to shake uncontrollably now that his body had decided he was out of immediate danger.
“I think we should start calling you Madman instead of Useful,” said Niki-hyun, building the coals back up with scraps of driftwood.
“Two of the same,” said Bang, pouring the rest of her tubāq pouch into her pipe. “Nothing’s more useful than a madman. You’ve earned yourself a smoke, old timer, and you’ll sit out the next three draws of the straw.”
“You honor me, Cap’n Bang.” Taking the offered pipe, Maroto tried not to let himself feel as happy as he did. A belly full of sweet palmwine and an appealing lass offering him first draw on her pipe was far more than he deserved, what with Purna’s corpse barely cold. For all his talk of avenging her, had he promptly found a way to sail back to the Star, or had he whiled away the days and weeks playing castaway with his new friends? Granted, he didn’t know the first thing about raft making, and they hadn’t discovered any sign that the Unsunk Kingdom actually housed a harbor or even people who might build one, just thick jungle and treacherous swamps, precarious headlands on both sides and steep mountains behind them, so getting off the place was easier wished than done… but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy himself during his exile. All the more reason not to let himself slip into his bad old ways and start hitting on his captain.
But really now, beyond his commitment to be a better bloke he must finally be settling down in his dotage, because even though Bang was undeniably his type, usually in a state of partial undress due to the heat and their lack of a change of clothes, and prone to making bawdy comments herself, his mind wouldn’t give up the ghost of Choi. It was getting so he couldn’t doze off without bumping into her, and her bumping into him, and yet he could never remember a damn thing about the particulars, other than he’d seen her on the other side of his eyelids. And more than just seen, of course, a whole lot more, but even though the details eluded him he knew they hadn’t just been sexy dreams, they’d also been sweet, as if he were finally getting to know her in all the ways he’d meant to, before they’d been separated. And maybe that had something to do with his not rushing the others to leave the Unsunk Kingdom as fast as possible and by any means necessary, because as long as he stayed here, cut off from any news from the Cobalt Company, Choi was still alive, she had definitely survived the Battle of the Lark’s Tongue, no question, and he could cling to the hope of one day seeing her again. More than he could say for other friends who had relied on him.
“Do you really think more might come?” Niki-hyun asked nervously as Maroto got the pipe lit on a blazing palm frond.
“I hope not,” he said through a mouthful of sour tubāq. “I’ve stolen a lot of eggs in my day, and only ever had whatever laid ’em come after me for it. We’ll keep the usual watches, but I don’t think we’re in for more trouble.”
“The last words of many a better man,” said Bang, taking her pipe back when Maroto had just barely got it good and lit.
“Guess you didn
’t think to bring back any of the meat?” said Dong-won hopefully as he put the pan back on the fire and reached for their pyramid of piled eggs.
“Slipped my mind,” said Maroto, begging for another hit off the pipe with his eyes. Just thinking about the monster made him smell it anew, and there was nothing better for curing a lingering odor than some nostril fumigation. “And you know, I think I’m good on eggs, too.”
“There something else you have a taste for, Useful?” Bang asked, holding the pipe out so he could lean in and take a smoky sip off the stem.
“Yeah,” said Maroto, meeting her eyes as he pulled on the pipe. Letting it out through his nose, he said, “Normally I’d say vengeance against those what wronged me, but tonight I’ll settle for another few hits on this sweet lat, and last watch if pleases my Cap’n.”
“Nothing makes me happier than being able to grant an old man’s wish,” said Bang with a wink so big they must’ve been able to see it clear back on the Star. Maroto rolled his eyes in response, wondering if he had some kind of sign stuck to his back that made flirtatious novice adventurers want to party up with him and come on like they were in heat despite having no intention whatsoever of bedding him.
Worse fates, he supposed, but still, hardly the role he’d seen for himself back when he’d decided to forgo the acting life and seek his fortune as a wandering hero.
Then again, who can really plan on being stranded on a monster-riddled desert island at the ends of the earth? If anyone could’ve, it would’ve been Maroto, but like his dad always said, he didn’t have much foresight. Returning to his seat on the far side of the fire, he wondered for the first time in weeks how the old codger and wee Sullen were getting on—they were probably plenty miffed that he’d gone missing after the battle, and the thought of his dad waving his arms around and ranting about his escape-artist son brought a smile to Maroto’s face. It had been good to see the both of them, and he wished there’d been time to actually set things right with his family, or try, anyway… but there’d be time enough in Old Black’s Meadhall if not before, and until then Maroto would do his best to prove himself worthy of those who wanted him to lead a better life or, failing that, earn a noble death.
A Blade of Black Steel Page 37