The Seadragon's Daughter

by Alan F. Troop

  Gritting my teeth at the pain in my shoulder, I cut off my lights and steer a course toward the channel to Gables on the Bay.

  “Good show,” Chloe says as she comes up from the cabin.

  Frowning, shaking my head, I say, “Hardly. It was supposed to go a lot smoother. I just hope Pepe buys it.”

  “Can’t think of why he wouldn’t,” Chloe says.

  I go over it in my mind and nod. “Anyway, if he has any confusion, Toba will straighten him out. The girl’s a trooper. Everything changed and she still went along with it.”

  The boat slaps across a small wave, sending a new jolt of pain through my damaged shoulder. “Oh, man,” I groan. “Who would think that a .25-caliber bullet would hurt this bad? Take the wheel, please. I need to heal this up.”

  As arranged, we find Claudia’s speedboat and her men’s inflatable bobbing in the water near Gables on the Bay’s last channel marker—both boats dark, showing neither running lights nor anchor lights.

  My body healed, back in my own human form, dressed in my own clothes, I say, “Quick,” as Chloe brings us alongside Claudia’s boat. “Get Davidson up here.”

  He moans, but offers no resistance as Claudia’s men manhandle him onto the Robalo and force him into his pants and shoes. I have them put him in the boat’s helm seat. “Listen to me,” I say.

  Davidson looks at my face, his skin drained of all color, his shirt soaked with his blood. “The police will be coming for you soon,” I say. “You’ve tried to kill two people—Pepe Santos and his girlfriend.”

  “Pepe? Why would I do that?” Davidson says.

  “Because you’re a sick fuck. You shot Pepe three times—twice in one leg and once in the other—with your SigSauer. You would have killed them both if the girl hadn’t shot you. Her bullet is still in your shoulder. . . .”

  “But that’s not what happened,” he mutters. “You shot me.”

  I smile. “They’ll testify that you attacked them. Your gun, with your fingerprints, was dropped in their boat. Ballistics and fingerprints will support their testimony. When they test your hand they’ll find you recently fired your gun.”

  “No.” Shaking his head, Davidson says, “Pepe won’t lie against me . . . especially for you. He hates you.”

  “Pepe won’t be lying. As far as he knows you attacked him.”

  “But you did it! With them!” He points toward Chloe and Claudia.

  “Tell the police that. They won’t believe you. They’ll tell you I was in jail all night. The women will swear that they spent the evening together at my house. Pepe and his girlfriend will testify that you tried to kill them. You tell the police whatever you want. But later, when the district attorney comes to you and offers you a very soft plea arrangement if you admit you’re the Nautical Killer, I suggest you forget your story and accept it.”

  “My mother won’t let this happen. My paper will fight this!”

  “Your mother will be heartbroken,” I say. “But my bet is, without you there, she’ll sell the paper for the first good offer. I think one will be made within the next few days.”

  Davidson stares at me. “What type of monster are you?”

  Grinning, I shrug. “Just being human,” I say.

  We leave him on his boat. Claudia’s two men head north toward Dinner Key in their inflatable. The three of us speed toward my island in Claudia’s boat, our lights off. “Look!” Chloe says, pointing to the boat lights racing south and the others rushing north—all the patrol boats on the bay headed for the area where we left Toba and Pepe.

  “It won’t be long before they come after Mr. Davidson,” Claudia says.

  “Good riddance,” Chloe says.

  Knowing even Claudia would struggle navigating it without lights, I take the wheel when we get to my channel. It takes me only a few minutes to negotiate its hidden twists and turns. Entering the harbor I find the dog pack nowhere in view, but smile when their barks, yips and growls sound in the distance as we pull up to the dock.

  Chloe and I step off the boat. “Thanks,” I say to Claudia. “You can use your lights now. If anyone stops you, you’re just heading home after spending the evening with Chloe.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to stay for a while?”

  “Just come out in the morning. All we want now is something to eat, and then sleep,” Chloe says, putting her hand on my shoulder.

  We stand, our bodies touching, and watch her motor away.

  “So?” Chloe says, bumping her hip against mine. “You think this ends it?”

  Something splashes in the harbor and I stare out at the dark water. “Some of it,” I say, wondering why no dogs have come to the dock yet, why even Max hasn’t padded up to greet us.

  I whistle for him. He answers with a short bark, followed by a low, rumbling growl. Looking toward the sound, I finally make out his black form lying crouched in the dark shadows near the far end of the dock, staring at the bushes, ready to attack.

  The bushes rustle. I grin, turning toward Chloe, and say, “He must smell a raccoon or a possum in there.”

  She stares at the bushes, her eyes growing wide, and points. “No, Peter, look!”

  I spin around, gasp as a Pelk warrior, his trident held in front of him, crashes through the greenery and rushes toward me. A second Pelk follows and Chloe yells, “They’re everywhere!”

  41

  “Run for the door to the treasure room!” I shout, and Chloe dashes for the door hidden in the bushes behind us. My eyes on the lead Pelk, I shift my position to block any possibility that he might follow her. Bracing for his attack, I try to shift into my natural form before he reaches me, my clothes ripping from my body as it grows and changes.

  But he’s on me before my change finishes, his trident arcing toward me, slicing a deep gash across my cheek. Half screaming and half roaring at the pain and at the shock of smelling my own blood, I back up, trying to concentrate on speeding my change. The Pelk warrior follows me, repositioning his trident so he can thrust forward, waiting for the right moment to come in for the kill.

  His muscles tense and I suck in a breath, expecting his attack. But just as he lunges forward, a black form flies through the air between us. Teeth bared, hackles raised, Max crashes into the warrior, knocking him down.

  Hissing, rolling away from the dog’s attack, the Pelk scrambles to his feet and thrusts his trident toward me. Max catches him in mid-thrust, the dog chomping his massive jaws down on the Pelk’s forearm, biting through it. The Pelk warrior yowls and drops his trident.

  Max drops back and darts forward, biting him again. Two other dogs charge onto the dock and rush at the second Pelk, and suddenly the night erupts with the barks and growls of the whole pack. Dog after dog, they stream onto the dock, their clawed feet skittering on the wood as they rush to engage each Pelk who reaches the dock.

  I finish changing shape, grab the trident and join Max’s attack on the lead Pelk warrior, plunging the trident into the creature’s chest. As soon as he falls, I yank the trident out and whirl around, attacking the nearest Pelk. Max stays close, fighting beside me, biting limbs and tails, jumping and tearing at throats.

  Around us, Pelk roar and howl. Dogs yelp as they’re speared or gouged. The air thickens with the sweet smell of fresh blood. But even with Max’s and the other dogs’ help, I know I’m too exposed. I block lunging tridents with mine, slash and kick and bite my way toward the wall, so at least my back will be protected. When I get there, I glance toward the water, see more Pelk swimming toward us, their tridents ready, and groan.

  {Chloe?} I mindspeak, masked.

  {I’m inside, almost at Henri’s room.}

  {I need your help. Quick!} I mindspeak. { Use the Uzis first!}

  Three Pelk rush me at once. I bury my trident into one, pull his trident from his hands and use it to ward off the second Pelk. The third one attacks from my side, slicing my left thigh open. Max chomps down on his tail, shaking his head as he digs his teeth deep into the creatur
e’s flesh.

  Hissing, the Pelk swivels, swinging his trident around, ripping through the dog’s coat just above his right front leg. Max whimpers, but continues to bite down, blood pouring from his wound, soaking his dark fur.

  I refuse to see my dog killed for defending me. Growling, holding my trident as I had with Jessai, I batter the second Pelk with a flurry of blows, driving him back, knocking his trident from his claws.

  Wheeling around, I swing my trident in an arc, slicing the throat of Max’s attacker. My return swing severs his neck and he collapses. Pivoting back, I find the second Pelk rearmed. Before I can react, he darts forward and plunges his trident into my chest, just above my heart.

  Pain shoots through me. I stare at the Pelk. He stares back, waiting for me to fall. I recognize him as one of Mowdar’s more junior warriors and slowly shake my head. Maybe Mowdar or one of his lieutenants can best me, but I will not be beaten by this insignificant creature.

  My anger brings on a new surge of adrenaline. It rushes through me, temporarily overwhelming my pain and erasing my exhaustion. A growl rumbles up from deep inside me. If I am to die soon, I want no more of distant combat. I want to feel my claws rip through Pelk flesh. I want to taste Pelk blood.

  Dropping my trident, I grab the shaft of his with my right foreclaw. The Pelk’s eyes grow wide. He tries to yank the trident out of me. It resists and he pulls harder, tearing the flesh inside me as the trident starts to pull free. Howling from the pain, I tug along with him, helping him tear the trident from my chest with my right foreclaw—slashing out at the same time with my left, ripping a gouge from the Pelk’s stomach to under his jaw.

  Blood pouring from his massive wound, he sways in place. I lunge at him, catch his throat in my jaws and rip a huge chunk from it as he falls. Ordinarily I would spit it out. Except to honor a valiant foe, my kind does not feed upon itself. But pain racks my body and exhaustion threatens to overwhelm it. I need food. My empty stomach convulses at the taste and smell of the Pelk’s fresh meat and blood.

  Swallowing it, I let out a roar. I attack his body again, howling as I tear chunk after chunk from the Pelk’s carcass, gulping each down for my body to use.

  “Since when does our kind feed on each other?” Mowdar mindspeaks.

  I look up and find the remaining Pelk have stopped advancing. I see no sign of their leader among them and mindspeak, “Since when does Mowdar hide from sight?”

  “I have no need to show myself—not yet.”

  The Pelk warriors begin to back away, leaving six of their own and four dogs lying dead on the deck behind them. My remaining dogs slink after them, crouched and prepared to spring, rumbling low growls.

  “Undrae, enough! I’ve called my men back for a moment. Call your beasts off.”

  I whistle and the dogs stop. One by one, they slip back, settling on the dock in front of me, licking their wounds. “So?” I mindspeak.

  “I had not expected to meet you here. . . .”

  “I didn’t expect you to go after my wife.”

  “Undrae,” Mowdar mindspeaks. “I do what I must to protect my people.”

  “As do I—to protect my family.”

  “I admire your bravery, but not your intelligence. It would have been better for you to stay in my daughter’s bed.”

  “But it would not have been better for my wife,” I mindspeak.

  “Undrae, you are a difficult creature. Your wife is going to die. There is time yet for you to choose to live. Stop opposing us. Go back to the srrynn. Let Lorrel comfort you. Let Malka’s antidote tend to your poison. Be a father to my unborn grandson.”

  “Malka is dead. I killed her,” I mindspeak. “Now, why don’t you go home? I’m willing to promise I won’t attack you.”

  “Withdraw on your promise? I am afraid not,” Mowdar mindspeaks. “I cannot chance it. I fear we will have to kill you both.”

  Responding no doubt to Mowdar’s masked mindthoughts, the Pelk warriors mass at the end of the dock, ready their tridents and prepare to rush at me again. I face them, trying to will my body to heal, Max and the remainder of the dogs getting up, gathering around me, teeth bared, snarling. “Try it,” I mindspeak. “But please show yourself and give this Undrae the pleasure of killing you.”

  {Peter,} Chloe mindspeaks, masked. {The switches. Now. Behind you.}

  I wonder how she knows, but glance back and see the two fuel pump switches and flick them on. Grinning at the twin drone that follows and the smell of gasoline that begins to rise into the air, I look down and try to locate one of the lighters Derek and I left on the deck.

  Max growls and I glance up. On the dock, the Pelk have already begun to advance, moving slowly, their tridents held out in front of them. I sigh. I may have enough strength left to defeat two or three of them, but I doubt whether I can handle any more.

  {Peter!} Chloe mindspeaks. {Up here!}

  I look up at the veranda, behind the Pelk, and smile. Chloe, now in her natural form, stands at the top of the steps, watching the Pelk too, an Uzi held in each foreclaw.

  She mindspeaks, {Now?}

  {Please.}

  Both barrels spit fire at once, the noise shattering the night, nine-millimeter bullets thudding into the Pelk, tearing through them. A third of the warriors fall. The rest scatter, some running up onto the island, dogs in pursuit, and the others diving into the water.

  Looking down again, I finally spot a lighter. Scooping it up, I hobble toward the steps, each movement sending jolts of agony through my body. Whining, Max limps after me. Chloe throws down the Uzis when I reach the veranda. {They’re empty,} she mindspeaks. {You’re bleeding!}

  {I know. I haven’t had enough time to heal,} I mindspeak. {Get the shotguns.}

  She nods and rushes toward the house, mindspeaking, {I did good, right?}

  {You did good.}

  Yanking a torch from the wall, I light it with the Zippo, staring at it as it begins to burn bright.

  “Undrae! There are too many of us for you to resist, even with your guns,” Mowdar mindspeaks.

  I stare at the harbor, the water rippling as Pelk warriors swim through it. “Perhaps,” I mindspeak. “And then again, maybe not.” I grunt as I throw the torch as hard as I can.

  What a pretty sight it makes, arcing through the air, its light sparkling on the dark water as it falls. It splashes down, and for a moment I worry that it’s gone out. Then everything turns bright with a sudden woosh.

  Fire engulfs the harbor. Its light exposes other Pelk making their way toward the veranda by land. Chloe rejoins me with both loaded shotguns and I point to the Pelk. {Shoot as many as you can,} I mindspeak, masked.

  She lays one shotgun down on the deck and aims at the Pelk with the other. Her shotgun booms, one round after another, until it clicks empty. Discarding it, she picks up the other shotgun and begins to fire again.

  Ignoring my pain, I light another torch and limp from cannon to cannon, setting each one off, fire and lead belching from their barrels, each blast shaking the deck. I turn to the rail guns next, ignoring the incredible heat of the fire, firing into the water at anything that moves.

  Max barks and I whirl around to see four Pelk climbing over the veranda wall. They rush me. Grabbing the shaft of the leading one’s trident, I yank it from his grasp and turn it on him, ripping him open. But the other three get behind me, each one plunging his trident deep into my back.

  Pain overwhelms me. I howl into the night and collapse.

  {Peter!} Chloe mindspeaks. {What have they done to you?} She rushes toward me, her shotgun at ready.

  The Pelk yank their tridents from my body and turn toward her. She aims her shotgun, pulls the trigger and the hammer clicks on an empty chamber. Dropping the shotgun, baring her teeth, unfolding her claws, Chloe braces for their assault.

  An enormous explosion roars up from the dock, a fireball shooting into the sky as the two fuel tanks finally overheat and explode. The shock wave blasts across the veranda, knocking down Chlo
e and all the Pelk.

  By the time the warriors regain their feet, Chloe has disappeared from sight. She emerges from Henri’s room a moment later, the last loaded Uzi in her foreclaws. Roaring, she fires into them, emptying the clip, replacing it with another and firing again until the last Pelk falls. She reloads again and fires until her gun clicks on its empty chamber.

  None of them yet dead, all three Pelk writhe on the deck, moaning. {I was afraid of that,} I mindspeak. {If you shoot enough nine-millimeter bullets, you can stop them—but the bullets aren’t always powerful enough to kill them the way the shotgun slugs can.}

  Chloe shrugs. {Then I’ll do it the old-fashioned way.} She walks over to the closest Pelk and rips his throat open with her claws.

  {No! We don’t have time!} Groaning, I try to stand, but as soon as I put weight on my legs, they buckle. {You need to reload the shotguns now. The Pelk may attack again any moment. } I sigh and begin pulling myself toward the Pelk I killed. {Right now you can’t count on me. Until I take some time to eat and heal, I won’t be able to help at all.}

  A small explosion rocks the air. Everything brightens for a moment. Chloe turns toward the dock. {That was my Donzi’s gas tank. All the boats are on fire, the dock too. Peter, I don’t think we have to worry about any of the Pelk left on the dock or in the water.}

  She bends down by the next Pelk and rips him open too. {I don’t know if there’s going to be another attack, Peter. They may all be dead.}

  The smell of Pelk blood, even intermixed as it is with the foul aromas of burnt fuel and singed vegetation, makes my stomach tighten with hunger. {And they may not be,} I mindspeak. {I didn’t see Mowdar and his lieutenants anywhere.}

  “Mowdar!” I mindspeak. “You’ve been beaten. Come show yourself! Call out to me!”