Hidden Island Chapter 30, part 1 of 3

Hidden Island
Chapter 30, part 1 of 3

A loop of rope dropped around a pale neck. The screaming head attached to it didn't seem to notice. The makeshift noose went taught. A pale, rag-clad body was yanked, thrashing into the air.

Lace Webber swung down like a boom, counterbalancing the weight of the creature she'd just lassoed against her own. She crashed into another grindylow with both feet, feeling a satisfying crack and sending the clumsy creature sprawling across the deck. Another crewman quickly took advantage of the opening, bringing his club down into the creature's skull as the pale body crashed down in front of him.

Lace landed like an acrobat, planting both feet, then both hands, and springing back to standing again. She took a half-second to twist the rope into a knot in her hands and slipped it around one of the line anchor hooks attached to the mast. The grindylow hanging by its neck flailed uselessly. Its legs split into six disgusting tentacles that writhed and undulated as it tried to free itself from Lace's noose. She moved towards the thick of the fight as her riggers began dropping to the deck behind her, arming themselves as they landed. She drew her square-headed cane knife and moved in near Reeve. Her giant, mottled relative gave her a nod before shouting orders to his crew. "Swabs! Man, the hooks! North, the boys are yours!" he bellowed. Then he gave Lace a sharp-toothed grin. “Head and legs."

She nodded, expecting Reeve to retreat with his swabs. He didn't. The big man was practically covered in splattered blood and gore. She could see a half dozen wounds on him, so she knew some of it was his, but he didn't seem to mind.

The swabs had been hard-pressed by the grindylows invasion. The monsters had caught defenders off guard over and over again. They were painlessly ignoring wounds. Inhuman strength. Those damned tongue-spikes. The tripping, choking tendrils their legs split into. The swabs had caught the brunt of every surprise. They were shaken, tired, and very happy to have reinforcements to see a breath. The swabs had no luck holding a line formation against the grindylow. The riggers, in contrast, didn't bother trying to keep a formation. They were generally lighter than the swabs, faster, and better at fighting up close. The short blades they carried were excellent weapons against these strange foes. What had been one big losing battle quickly became a cluster of skirmishes, overlapping and bumping into each other.

It would have been a disaster against organized, clever opponents. Against the nearly mindless grindylows, it worked.

Lace dodged a barbed tongue and quick-stepped in, slashing her cane knife across a pale neck. The grindylow gurgled out a cry for help and lunged at her. She moved like a prizefighter, staying just out of reach, her blade intercepting one of its arms to slash at the insides of the elbows. The grindylow's arm went limp as she severed its tendons, but it didn't slow its assault. It swung from the shoulder, using its useless limb like a flail, catching her off guard. If it had still been able to close its hand, it would have had her, but she got away with only a heavy blow to her forearm. She felt like she'd been clubbed.

With a snarl, she ducked underneath its next swing and brought her blade into its neck again with a heavy chop. The grindylow recoiled and screeched. Lace was surprised, and she hadn't expected a reaction. Something dark bulged inside the wound, bleeding and folding out from the gash.

She'd seen gut wounds before, intestines spilling out like bloody ropes, but she'd never seen anything like that from a neck wound. Regardless, she knew she'd hurt it. She pounced, evading its flailing arms, sidestepping its barbed tongue, stepping around the eruption of tentacles that reached for her as its legs collapsed and it dropped to the deck. Every time she closed in, she slashed at its neck. The creature did not regard its safety, so hitting it wasn't hard. The trick was getting past all the flailing limbs. Sometimes, it didn't react. Sometimes it did. She didn't understand what she was doing that hurt it, but it was the best result she'd seen so far. Blood was everywhere, but the damn thing just refused to die.

She circled like she was dancing with it, continually moving. By the fourth time she'd hit it, she'd done enough damage that it could no longer turn its head to the left. It had to try to twist its torso to keep her in its vision, but it couldn't turn around fast enough on its slithering tentacles. She managed to slip behind it and grab it by its greasy hair. Hauling its head back, she brought her knife down in three quick chops, folding and dragging its neck back further with every cut. Cane knives were designed to make short work of fibrous stalks of sugar cane.

Against meat, they were similar to a cleaver. The creature's whole head folded back, barely supported by the flap of viscera on the back side of its neck. It writhed in agony as something inside its neck pushed upward, bleeding from where Lace's blade had gone through the meat of the neck and into whatever was hiding inside.

It looked like the middle section of a reddish-purple eel. It did not like being exposed and wounded. It was trying to pull the head up but lacked the strength. All it managed to do was wriggle and pull itself free. With a squelching gurgle, a fist-sized knot of wet flesh squirmed out of the nearly severed head. It looked like a sea anemone stuck on the end of an eel: the color and texture of fresh liver covered in short tendrils that waved frantically through the air. Lace's stomach turned, but instead of retching, she brought her knife down one last time, right through the thing. The grindylow shuddered and went limp.

"What the fuck was that?" she muttered to herself, staring at what was left of the thing that had looked so much like a man at first. She decided not to think about it. Scanning the deck, she spotted her next target as it grappled an unlucky rigger. She circled behind it and moved in.

"Jack!" Will burst into the captain's quarters and right into a bloodbath. The wounded crew was everywhere, moaning and gritting their teeth against the pain. On the bed, a man was screaming as Quinn held him down, and Doctor Kalfou did something to his abdomen. Jack and Bella were working together to stitch up a puncture wound in another man's leg.

"I'm a little busy, Will!" Jack snapped without looking up. "What is it?"

"I need explosives," Will said quickly.

Jack held the wound in her hands closed and steady, letting Bella stitch, but she looked up to meet Will's eyes. A flicker of thoughts and emotions flashed behind her eyes, but a moment later, she said, "Let me finish this up."

Once Bella finished the last stitch, Jack touched the witch's. "Are you going to be alright?"

Bella nodded but didn't say anything. Jack looked worried but gave her a reassuring smile and followed Will out the door.

"What's the plan?" Jack asked as they headed down into the hold.

"Depth charges," Will took the steps two at a time.

"To blow us free of the reef? How is that going to work without blasting holes in the hull?" Jack balked.

"They aren't for us, they're for them," Will said. When they got to the hold, they found Morant's men engaged at the door; Will had nailed shut. The Grindylows had forced the door open again, giving Morant's soldiers hell. The men hadn't been on the deck, so everything about the Grindylows had caught them off guard. It looked like three of their number were already down, two others were struggling against the grip of the inhuman things, and their formation was beginning to break. Still, their swords and armor helped, and there were enough of them to blockade the doorway effectively. Their leader turned as he heard Will and Jack come down the stairs. "Help!"

"Not our orders," Will snapped coldly. He tried to open Jack's door, found it locked, and stood aside to let her work the key.

"We're going to die!" the soldier yelled.

"If you live through this, I'm going to see if the captain wants to keelhaul you," Will snarled.

"Maybe if you hold the line down here, she'll be lenient."

"You asshole!" the soldier barked.

"Good luck," Will waved, then vanished into Jack's room.

"You want to tell me what that was about?" Jack asked, kneeling to unlock her large footlocker.

"Morant told them not to help repel boarders. They've been down here guarding his room instead," Will sneered. "The only ones on the ship with actual arms and armor, and they're hiding, letting other people die for them."

Jack made an unhappy noise and tossed Will an empty duffel bag. "Morant sent Lynch up top.

He's helping, at least."

"I'm sure that will matter to someone who isn't me," Will said, shaking the bag to unfold it and open it up. He dropped it and caught the first of the cloth-wrapped charges Jack tossed him.

"You're a lot more ruthless than you used to be," Jack said.

"You used to tell me I wasn't ruthless enough," Will reminded her. "Be careful what you wish for."

Jack's hands paused mid-toss, almost dropping the bundle. She jolted in surprise, then looked frustrated and nodded. "Yeah. No kidding."

Will didn't notice. He was busy checking the bundles."How many of these do you have?" he asked.

"Twenty," Jack said.

As Jack pulled out bundle after bundle of cloth-wrapped explosives, Will opened them up partially to look at their fuses and casings. Each cloth wrap contained a cluster of red cylinders, each with a fuse that came out of it and wrapped with the others. He set them into two piles: ones with broken fuses and those ready to go. Jack did an excellent job with the upkeep of her equipment. Only two bundles needed to be set aside. As Will worked, Jack pulled free a large spool of fuse and started pulling and cutting lengths. As they worked, they talked, barely letting each other finish before they were responding.

"How long?" Jack asked, measuring out her cord.

"Ten to twelve seconds. Err toward twelve."

"Seems short."

"Gotta give them time to sink, but not to get carried away by the current."

"How many are we making?"

"Two."

"Payload?"

"Depends on how much you have here?"

"They're mining charges, in case we need to clear a collapse. I have twenty. Each one is seven sticks."

"That's a lot of boom. I think we'll end up using about half. Waterproof fuses?"

"Of course."

"They have to sink. We need something heavy to put them in."

"Pots? Tie the lids down?"

"Fuse holes?"

"The handles all screw on, right?"

"So, pliers."

"I have a pair."

"Might need two for leverage. I'll check the Quartermaster's hold."

"I'll head to the galley."

With a duffle full of mining charges, Will headed towards the hold. Jack was right on his heels, but he stopped. "Trade me your machete," he said, unbuckling his belt. Jack looked at him oddly but unclipped her blade from her wide weapon belt. Will passed her his sword.

"I have no idea how to use this," she said incredulously.

"Stick them with the pointy end," Will said, belting on her heavier blade.

"How about I just shoot them?" Jack asked sarcastically.

"That works, too," Will smirked. The shouts of Morant's men filled their ears again. Jack's eyes hardened. Will gave her a pleading look, but he knew it was too late. He sighed as she turned around and headed into the hold towards the fight. After a moment's hesitation, he walked after her.

She jogged behind the formation, where two men were trying to pull a grindylow off a third soldier. She was starting to go purple from a lack of air.

"Duck," she ordered, leveling her tri-barreled gun at the struggling man's head. His eyes widened, and he pulled himself down as tightly as possible.

The gunshot was like a thundercrack right on top of them. It blasted open a fist-sized hole right between the grindylow's collar bones.

She stepped forward, barging right into the soldier and the thrashing grindylow before either one fell entirely and let loose with another blast at the monster behind the first. She caught it in the shoulder, leaving a ragged, bloody stump where its arm had been. The heavy slug continued, slapping into the chest of the next one in line, tearing a bloody hole in it and knocking it back into the water. The flooded room beyond had four more of the pale, shrieking creatures in it, all pushing and piling towards the doorway, trying to get at the soldiers beyond.

The three in the lead were suddenly bloody messes, and the others wasted no time screaming and rushing to fill the gap.

They were met with a blast of flame. Jack's underslung third barrel erupted with a cone of fire that blistered and cooked the pale, exposed flesh of the writhing monsters. The armless one and the one pushing past it both screeched and flailed as their faces melted and their eyes boiled and burst.

Whatever Jack had packed into that blast sprayed the creatures with tiny shards of something that didn't stop burning when it hit flesh or water.

The room erupted with steam, and the cluster of grindylows all threw themselves into the water to try to put themselves out. It didn't help. Jack's fire didn't last very long, but water didn't stop it. Only one of the pale monsters escaped unscathed. It surged forward mindlessly, ignoring the plight of its fellows.

Jack stepped back, cracking open her weapon and freeing the spent shells. The soldiers were dumbfounded but quickly closed ranks to fend off the last Grindylow. Jack reloaded as she addressed the leader of Morant's soldiers. "When you're done here, barricade this door and get your asses up top to repel boarders."

"Those aren't our-" The soldier cut himself off as Jack snapped her terrifying gun closed, and he suddenly found himself staring down the still-smoking barrels.

"You were saying?" Jack asked.

"Nothing," the soldier said.

"See you on deck," Jack said flatly. Then she turned and headed back to the stairs.

Tonya could not get comfortable. She played on her back in Bella's bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to disturb Janie.

The idea of sharing a room had been fun at first. Tonya stayed in one of the group rooms with six other working girls. There weren't very many people at Merry Mary's who had rooms to themselves. Renting personal rooms from Chance wasn't cheap. Bella wanted to ensure she kept her room, so she paid in advance for six months and gave Tonya the key. Bella's bed was pretty big, so sharing it wasn't usually an issue. Right now, though, it was driving Tonya mad.

Janie was already asleep. She was one of those people who looked serene and perfect when she slept and barely moved. Whatever Cerise had given her had knocked her out, so she hadn't noticed Tonya tossing and turning yet.

Tonya realized she could faintly see Janie's sleeping face, the ceiling, and most of the room.

That wasn't abnormal.

They usually left a tapir burning on the nightstand in case they needed to get up at night, but tonight, after all the chaos, they'd forgotten to light it. It was pitch black, or rather, it should have been.

Tonya carefully looked herself over. She'd taken the time to scrub off the sigils she'd drawn on herself. She thought she'd waited until the glow had faded and gotten it all. She couldn't see anything glowing on her body. So, where was the light coming from? It was light, right?

Did whatever happened let her see in the dark? She moved her hand around in the air. No, there was actual light. She could see the shadow of her hand on the ceiling. But that would mean... She moved her hand further away, then closer, using the shadows to find the source of the light.

It was her face. Her eyes. "What the hell?" she muttered. She waved her hand back and forth in front of her face, watching the shadows on the ceiling move.

She knew it was possible to retain enough magical energy to cause the physical body to glow.

Every living thing was a vessel for energy. When any ship became overly saturated, the magic converted to other forms of energy. The light was usually the first and the safest. That's why sigils and circles usually glowed during rituals. After that was sound or heat, Bella told her that during complicated rituals, a person could become so saturated with energy that their skin could glow. She'd also been unequivocal that gathering energy into yourself was extremely dangerous outside of a properly made ritual circle.

No one else had mentioned her eyes were glowing. It must have been very faint. She might not have noticed if it hadn't been dark. Now, she was worried, though. Magical energy usually dissipated if something wasn't done with it. A glow meant a significant amount of it had been gathered. Why was it staying inside her?

Aside from not being able to sleep, she felt fine. Well, that wasn't entirely true. She was horny.

She was interrupted before she and Caine could finish, which made her feel unsatisfied. Her clients didn't always care if she got off, so she was used to feeling this way, but it never interfered with her sleep. She'd grown up on the streets. She'd learned to take sleep where she could get it. She could fall asleep anytime, anywhere. Something was off.

Between Janie and the blankets, she was too warm. She stuck one of her legs into the cool night air and fidgeted, trying to figure out if anything else was different.



To be continued