“Because,” he croaked, “you’re proud of the brilliance of your creation. You long to watch my face when I learn of the impossible terms to my release.”
A victorious smirk morphed her enchanting features into a mask of wicked glee. “Of that, you are absolutely correct.”
Fingers curling into the dirt, Harwood’s head sagged to his chest. “Go on, then. Drive the nails farther into my coffin.”
Reaching over, the girl pinched his chin roughly between her thumb and forefinger and forced his gaze to meet hers. “There is a mirror buried in a cave at the base of the Mytikas Peak. This mirror is said to hold the answers to all. But … in order to access such pivotal information, you must rely on that which you stole from me. The pure and innocent heart of a child. Only one fitting that description can access the mirror’s truths. Even so, getting a young one to agree will become increasingly difficult as your appearance becomes more frightening. How can a child be expected to care for a creature contrived from their nightmares?”
Leaning in, at a proximity reserved solely for the most intimate acts of love or war, the girl peered not in to Harwood’s eyes, but through them. Her chin tipped one way, then the other in search of … something.
“Shhh, shhh, shhh,” she soothed the reptile within. “I can hear the flutter of your rapid heartbeat. Follow the sound of my voice, my son. Show your majestic face to me.” In a sing song melody, she trilled, “The hands of the clock have slowed to a stop, calling forth my tic-toc croc.”
I witnessed the captain’s transformation once before. That experience could not compare to the virgin transformation. Harwood’s scalp split down the center, ripping away to allow forth an eruption of emerald scales. Anguished screams tearing from his throat, Harwood’s flesh shredded from his bones, allowing the crocodile to swell and surge to full towering height. Massive chest rising and falling, the croc blinked hollow black eyes down at his creator.
Hair sweeping over the small of her back, she tipped her head with maternal pride. Closing the distance between them, she pressed one palm to his cheek and smiled as the croc leaned in to her tender touch.
“My darling boy,” she cooed. “You are the good in him. Give no quarter. Break him … if you must.”
Chapter Nineteen
“Can you see anything?” Captain Harwood asked, eagerly perched on the edge of his seat.
The sound of his voice yanked me from the mirror, the world within the looking glass soaring past my ears in a deafening scream. Jarred back into reality, I blinked his way in my struggle to make sense of it all. “I was starting to.”
Sucking air through his yellow-stained teeth, Harwood raised his shoulders to his ears, playing the part of a naughty little boy. “Apologies, friend. I’m merely an anxious old man.”
Moments ago, I would have believed him. Now, I could see the darkness lurking behind his eyes. This was the same black-hearted man who treated himself to a drink while surrounded by the bodies of his victims.
“Can I get back to it, then?” was the closest I could manage to a cordial response.
“Aye, of course! Have at it.” Waving me back toward the mirror, his shirt sleeve drifted up to reveal a glimpse of the scaled flesh scarring his forearm.
Filling my lungs, I peered into the glass once more.
Slightly more prepared for the punch of vertigo, this voyage landed me on the quarterdeck of the Jolly Roger. Midday sun beating down, the ship bobbed with the rolls of the current.
On deck below, a younger version of Potchis tended to his duties as a deck-hand by giving the floor a good mopping. Seeing him hard at work, the two lads who were supposed to be acting as lookouts in the crow’s nest climbed down, determined to poke a bit of fun. One snatched the mop from his grasp. The other knocked him to the ground. Palms scrapped bloody by the deck boards, Potchis rolled onto his hip with his face blooming a bright carnation pink. Laughing until their sides ached, his tormentors plopped the wet mop onto his head. With the braided ropes dripping filthy water down his face and neck, they made kissy noises and told the mortified child-giant what a pretty girl he was.
Harwood watched all of this from his perch beside the mast, his lips curled in disgust at the weakling he had allowed aboard his ship. Clear as my own thoughts, I knew what he was thinking, and it twisted my stomach. Harwood toyed with the idea of tossing the boy overboard with a ball and chain clamped on his ankle. His sick rationalization? To spare the ship from having one more useless mouth to feed. No sooner did he entertain the revolting thought than a guttural growl of warning rumbled from his chest … the crocodile making its presence known.
Face falling slack, Harwood rolled his shoulders to shake off the onslaught. Even so, the warning did not go unheeded. Slapping his hands to the railing, he bellowed to the tyrants, “Leave him be! Part of the crew, he is!”
Begrudgingly, the men obeyed. Openly sneering in his direction, they tossed the mop at Potchis as he scrambled to get his feet under him.
The young lad was not familiar with such acts of kindness. No one had ever even cared enough to give him a proper name, or identity. Peering up at Captain Harwood, light haloing his formidable frame, the lad believed him to be a hero and thought himself most fortunate to serve under him. “Part of the crew, he is,” he appreciatively parroted, and bowed his head to his captain.
Only I saw the cringe of distaste that stole across Harwood’s face to have to address the boy. Or, heard the lone pop of flesh that straightened his spine and forced the captain to offer the lad a forced smile of acceptance.
A show of kindness … demanded by a monster.
Yet again, the mirror transported me in a blur. This time, I settled in the captain’s quarters I had been pulled from. In brain-aching confusion, I watched myself arguing with Harwood. No such argument had happened. Yet, there Sterling was seizing my arm and tugging me away from the looming figures growing from the shadows to seize us both. A scream tearing from his narrow chest, Phin sprinted for the door. Moving with shocking agility, Harwood grabbed the dagger from my hip and lunged for Phin, catching him by the wrist. Before the crocodile had time to appear, Harwood carved into Phin from throat to sternum and ripped the still beating heart from his chest.
I came to in a blink, staring at nothing more than my own reflection in the surface of the gilded mirror.
“What did you see?” Harwood pressed in breathless anticipation.
Having crept up beside me somewhere along my journey, Sterling jabbed me in the ribs with his elbow. “Nothing except our own debonair reflections, aye?” Blinding terror drained his complexion waxen, his glowing jade eyes bulging. It seemed I wasn’t the only one the mirror showed truth to. Whether it was the same grisly scenes or not, I could only hope to live long enough to inquire.
Placing my hand over his, I dipped my head in a nod of understanding, then turned my focus to the captain. “What you are plotting will not work. Even if the pure heart dies, your curse will hold.” I could hardly recognize the voice that slipped from my lips. The velvet eloquence of its absolute certainty was foreign to my own ears.
A cloak of deathly silence descended.
Casting his gaze to the floorboards, Harwood’s lips parted with a smack. “There’s no denying reality sways in fickle ways here on Marooner’s Rock. The improbable can be manipulated to bend the boundaries of the imagination. Even our own shadows can turn against … or become our strongest ally.”
Light shifted behind me, the darkened corner suddenly coiling to life. Called forth from the flickering lantern overhead, Harwood’s shadow stretched and grew toward the ceiling in an ominous black fog. Roiling and churning, it doubled in width then split down the middle into two faceless apparitions equally matched in size and intimidation.
Pressing both fists to his mouth, Sterling muffled a whimper. “I’ve often seen a man without a shadow. But never a shadow without a man. That may be the most curious thing I have ever seen, and I once beheld the brilling and slithy toves
of a Jabberwock.”
Arms raised defensively, as if I had the slightest notion how to fight what wasn’t there, I grumbled under my breath, “I pray those aren’t the last words I ever hear.”
Bounding off the floor, one of the shadows flew straight for me. The misty wall of its influence slammed into my gut before I could swing to stop it, forcing the air from my lungs in a huff of pain. Driving me back, the faceless black mass cracked my head against the wall and pinned me there. I flailed against it, yet found myself no match for its strength. The dark nothingness of its forearm pressed to my throat, dragging me up the wall until the toes of my boots scuffed the floor. Eyes watering while I kicked for freedom, I saw out of the corner of my eye that Sterling was fairing no better than myself. He was bent in half and gasping for air, the other shadow holding him in an unyielding chokehold.
Heart thudding against my ribs, I cast my desperate stare to Phin. The lad clutched his flute tight to his chest, inching toward the door. Malyn and Potchis hovered behind him, yet neither moved to stop him. The mirror had not showed me where their allegiance would fall in the life of an innocent child, and the gamble of their favor was not one I was prepared to risk.
“Run.” Choking on the word, I pulled back from the shadow as far as its grip would allow. Ignoring the pain crushing against my windpipe, I gulped in what little air I could and screamed, “Now, Phin, run!”
Finally spurred to action, he pivoted on the ball of his foot and bolted for the door.
Despite elements changing, so much of the scene was playing out just the same. The world slowing to a crawl, I turned my head in Harwood’s direction, knowing full well I would see him shove his chair back with surprising might and lunge for the boy with his scaled hand outstretched.
Catching Phin’s collar, Harwood spun him around.
A flash of silver.
A forceful grunt.
An echoing scream.
Mouth falling slack, Phin dropped his chin to his chest to gape at the sword run through his middle. Blood dribbling from his lips, a crimson bloom of gore sprouted on the front of his shirt.
“Captain, what have you done?” Potchis fell out of form to rush for the lad, only to be halted by Malyn’s hand slamming against his chest.
“Stand down, Soldier!” Bellowing the command, Sergeant E’toil’s voice betrayed her by cracking.
While the two scuffled, I was struck by a jolt of revelation. Letting one hand fall to my side, I slapped at my hip to confirm it. Yes! Harwood had stabbed Phin with his sword, meaning my dagger was still in my possession. Snagging it in an overhand grip, I brought my hand up fast and hard, driving the blade into the shadow’s arm. The moment the steel made contact, his limb evaporated to a stump. Recoiling, the creature pushed back, sending me slumping to the ground and wheezing.
Gulping down a crucial breath, I utilized the blessing gifted by the mirror. “The hands of the clock have slowed to a stop, calling forth my tic-toc croc!”
Head whipping my way, Harwood’s lip retracted into a snarl. “No! How could you know tha—”
Before the captain could finish his outraged revolt, the croc rolled his neck to shed the skin of his captor. In a grisly chorus of sight and sound, the beast molted as far as his shoulders. It was then he noticed his own hand piercing the chest of a child. Aghast at the sight, an anguished yelp escaped him. Offering the only solution the primal functions of his brain would allow, his lips curled from his lengthening fangs. Bone-crushing jaws parted, saliva dripping from each razor-sharp point. Arching back, he drove his head down, sinking his teeth into the wrist of his own offending limb. Blood sprayed, splattering the wall in heavy droplets. Eyes rolling back, the croc thrashed his head from side to side. Hard clamped teeth sliced through flesh and tendons. Tissue shredded to bone. A gruesome thunk and his amputated hand fell to the ground … the fingers still twitching.
Head thrown back in a roar, the croc rescinded. Harwood came shrieking back into reality. Choking on his own tongue, he clamped his wrist to his chest while blood gushed from the severed stump.
Chapter Twenty
The captain’s grasp being all that had held him up, Phin’s knees buckled beneath him. A silent scream frozen on his lips, the boy crumbled to the ground in a heap.
Scrambling to my feet, I shoved the reeling captain aside. I slid on my knees, catching Phin a second before his head could slam against the floor. A rush of air warned of the shadow’s counter attack. Gritting my teeth, I curled my upper body around Phin, prepared to endure any onslaught to keep him safe. Eyes squeezed shut, I braced for a strike that never came. My lids popped open at the sounds of a scuffle. Potchis had shoved his way past Malyn and was wrestling the ominous void of a beast back. Weaving between the fracas, I rounded the table to where the mirror now lay across the remnants of the lunch spread. I pressed one elbow to its gold-leaf frame, shifted Phin’s weight into one arm, and reached for Sterling with the other.
“Get us out of here!” I boomed, hoping the slight contact with the mirror would be enough to transport it along with us.
Crouching beside her captain, Malyn quickly wrapped his wrist with table linens to stop the bleeding. One wrong move struck an exposed nerve, earning an ear-piercing scream from Harwood. Good hand shooting out, he shoved Malyn back hard enough to send her tumbling. Her back swept the legs out from under the shadow holding Sterling, dissipating them into writhing black tendrils.
The apparition’s grip loosened for a beat, and Sterling threw himself at the opportunity. Flinging all his weight forward, he grappled his way free and seized my outstretched hand.
The world beginning to strobe around us in a deafening pulse, Potchis’ fray pitched him in our direction. Strength waning, Phin’s limp hanging hand rolled back to catch hold of the gentle giant’s shirt sleeve.
The nauseating pull of Sterling’s “jump” matched that of a riptide. Unlike a vengeful current, this journey had little chance of ending in the jaws of a carnivorous sea monster, but a slightly elevated risk of winding up with my own head stuffed up my tail.
The earth rose to greet us in a merciless punch, hammering the breath from my lungs. Phin’s shoulder bounced against my chest. Head lolling to the side, his eyes rolled back. A vise grip of fear closed around my heart at the blue tinge stealing over his lips. A flump beside me, and the mirror settled into the tall grass.
Our location? That part remained a mystery.
“You need to get the thorn out and stop the rushing waters,” a strained voice offered from above. Tilting my head, I jerked to find Sterling dangling by his leg—his boot firmly lodged in the Y of two splitting branches. If I was deciphering his ramblings correctly, he was looking past his own unpleasant predicament out of concern for Phin.
Gently rolling on to my side, I eased the lad into the grass to evaluate his wounds. Harwood’s sword jutted from his gut, his teeth chattering with the chill of blood loss.
“Where’s the big guy? I could use another pair of hands.” Fingers trembling over the polished silver hilt, I tried to recall my emergency training under the Royal Guard. Soldiers taking a sting-ray barb to the chest wasn’t unheard of, I had seen it before and had even aided in the treatment. Even so, that was injury in the sea. There, bubbling blood evaporated in an instant, staining the current with a tang of rust that was quickly washed away. Here, it covered everything with sticky gore, its coppery stench gagging me.
Face reddening, Sterling turned his head in one direction then the other, searching the landscape for Potchis. “I don’t see him. He may not have made the trip with us.”
Tugging my shirt over my head, I balled the fabric into one fist. The other closed around the cold metal of the hilt. Filling my lungs, I exhaled through pursed lips. One steady yank. That’s all I had to do. Pull the blade, then mash the fabric into the wound, and apply pressure to slow the bleeding. It sounded simple—a clear indicator it was not.
“Run! You have to run!” The shriek sliced through the mo
ment like a scythe.
Hand jerking from the sword as if it had scalded me, my head snapped in the direction of the rustling brush and heavy footfalls.
Veins at his temples bulging, Sterling jabbed a finger to the north of us. “The big guy is coming in hot!”
Potchis crashed into view, waving his arms over his head. “The captain! He’s coming!”
No sooner did his shout reach us than the Jolly Roger swelled over the valley. The entire massive ship was airborne, and sailing straight for us. Chains rolled and clinked, the menacing barrels of their weapons trained on us.
Arms falling limp, Sterling let them swing over his head. “I am really starting to hate this place.”
At the first cannon blast, I dove for Phin. Mindful of the sword, I shielded his body. The ground shook, earth and rock showering us.
Thrown forward by the impact, Potchis crawled the remaining distance between us on his knees and elbows. “Is he okay?” he yelled to be heard over the ringing in his ears.
Two more blasts screeched through the air. One smashed through a tree in a spray of kindling, the other exploding a crater in the dirt.
“He won’t be if your captain keeps shooting at us! We need to move!” Scooping Phin in my arms, I swiveled us out of the way as another blast caused the earth to buck in the space we vacated.
With a heave, Sterling folded himself in two and seized his pant leg. Frantically, he tugged for freedom. “Let go, let go, let go!”
Smoke and dust filled the air, each breath burning more than the last. Covering my mouth with the crook of my arm, I sought relief from the tainted air.
The sun disappeared overhead, blocked out by the bulkhead shadow of the Jolly Roger. Positioned at the helm, blood-soaked bandages wrapped the stump of Harwood’s wrist. His remaining hand guided the vessel onward, hate radiating from his glare. Malyn lingered behind him, holding up a ticking clock to keep the croc at bay. Even then, minding the duties of her station, regret and concern crumpled her features. Harwood was the first person to ever show her kindness, even if it was all a ruse. I understood the loyalty she felt to him, and held no doubts she would question it from that day forward. Regardless, if I could find a way to blast him from the sky, I couldn’t let myself hesitate simply because she was aboard.
Entombed in Glass (Unfortunate Soul Chronicles Book 2) Page 13