Worlds Unseen - Rachel Starr Thomson (beach books .txt) 📗

ground and she clung to him for an instant, terrified. He pulled away from her, pulled at her.

They ran.

Through the streets, as the city blurred past them, they ran. Behind them came howling, smoke, glowing eyes and the smell of death.

They ran toward the sea, Nicolas in the lead, pulling at Maggie’s hand and yelling at her to run faster. She clung to his hand as if it was life itself. To let go meant death. At least if she held on she would not die alone.

Their feet barely touched the cobblestones that glared red with lamplight before them. They seemed to fly like the gulls overhead. The smell of salt filled the damp air as they ran to the nets and docks and black water of the harbour.

Nicolas dashed over the docks. He heard the gulls overhead, crying, calling to him. It is close. Run. Run, Boy. Run. Seek safety in the sails.

Nicolas ran to the end of a wooden dock and jumped into the icy water, pulling Maggie after him. She clutched the edge of the dock and watched him with eyes wide with terror, waiting for him. Cold water soaked her skirts and pulled at her. What next?

“Can you swim?” he asked. She nodded and began to pull her skirts up to free her legs. “Then come,” he said.

They let go of the dock and struck out for a small ship that floated silently in the ocean a short way out. The water grew colder as it deepened, and Nicolas heard Maggie gasp for air behind him.

He heard howling. And the gulls.

Swim, Boy. Swim.

He reached the anchor rope and began to pull himself up. He stopped and reached back for Maggie. She took his hand and he pulled her up onto the rope. It was slippery in his hands, but he climbed with all of the strength he could muster. The rope shook with the effort.

In minutes the two spilled over the rail onto the deck of the ship. For a moment they simply lay there, letting the wood absorb some of the water from their clothes and hair, panting for breath. Nicolas rolled over on his hands and knees as a low, mournful howl made his hair stand on end. He heard water churning.

It was coming.

There was a skittering noise, a scratching and chirping and squeaking. Mice and rats exploded out of the doors and hatches on the deck and ran down the sides of the ship to the water. A large mouse stopped and stared at Nicolas, whiskers twitching.

In the hold. Burning in the hold. Burn it, Boy. Burn the Hound-thing. Burn the Death-thing.

Nicolas grabbed Maggie’s hand and hauled her to her feet. They stumbled toward the door of the hold. It was dark as pitch below, and Nicolas ran his hands over crates and netting, searching desperately. The ship began to rock as something pulled at the anchor rope.

He found a box of matches and muttered a blessing on the mice. He lit one, his hands trembling. It illuminated a hold full of dry wooden crates. The floor was littered with rope and straw. In the match light he could see Maggie’s face, drawn and lined with fear. Her eyes burned big and green, and her hair hung in wet strands. Her cap had been lost in the ocean, though the coat still clung to her.

The boat tipped wildly to starboard as something came up the anchor rope.

“Girl,” Nicolas whispered hoarsely.

“My name is Maggie,” she interrupted.

“Maggie. Go find the lifeboat. Get it into the water and row as fast and as far as you can. If the hound is too close, just jump. Get in the water, understand?”

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’ll follow you,” he said. “Just do as I say. Go! Now!”

She gave him one last, torn glance and disappeared up the ladder onto the deck. He watched her go, imagery of the hound on deck filling him with dread. Tendrils of green smoke were working their way through the floor into the hold.

Nicolas made a bag with his shirt and stuffed the matchbox into it. Inside an open crate he found six or seven more boxes of matches, all of them full and dry. He added them to the collection and climbed the ladder just as heavy footfalls began to thud across the deck.

He emerged from the door to see the hound staring at him, moving slowly forward. It seemed unsteady on the rolling deck. Nicolas resisted the urge to look back and make sure Maggie was safe. He was sure that if he took his eyes from the beast, it would be on him in a second.

It was less a thing of the shadows here and more solid, more real. Green smoke still played around its face, and the stench of death still desecrated the air around it. Its eyes narrowed as Nicolas stood tall before it. A low growl emerged from the thing, and the deck shuddered underfoot.

Nicolas backed away slowly. The growl rose into the howl of a beast about to finish its hunt. Nicolas turned and ran for the rigging. The beast’s crashing footsteps followed.

He threw himself up into the ropes, climbing like a madman. Clawed feet tore at the rigging below him. He swayed wildly in the air, still moving upward. Teeth tore at the rigging on deck, and the ropes Nicolas clung to were severed. He swung through the air, releasing the ropes and flying toward the mast.

He caught hold of the mast and clung to it tightly. Wrapping his legs around the swaying wood, he reached into his shirt and pulled out a box of matches. He struck one furiously, again and again, willing it to ignite. Frustrated, he threw the match away and reached for another. Below, the hound threw its weight against the mast. The whole ship rolled in the waves.

Another two boxes of matches slipped from Nicolas’s shirt and spun wildly down toward the beast. He held on desperately with his legs, striking a match again and again.

It lit.

He threw the match back into the box from whence it had come and watched the whole thing blaze to life. The heat in his hand threatened to burn him, and he threw it at the nearby sail.

The white cloth burst into flames.

Still he struck at the matches. The sickening sound of wood splintering filled his ears. In slow motion the mast began to fall, hindered by the rigging all around it.

He threw another blazing missile as the mast gave way. The matchbox landed on a pile of nets near the hound, and they too flared up. Nicolas reached for a rope as the mast fell, catching it with not a second to spare. He hung by the rope, looking down at the glowing-eyed hound and the blazing nets. The fire was spreading along the deck.

The flames from the sail ate away at the ropes. A heavy piece of cloth suddenly came down, straight at the hound. In an instant the ship underneath the creature’s black feet was ablaze, its whole world a sudden flaming hell.

It screamed.

Out on the water, Maggie heard the scream. She clutched the oars of the lifeboat and watched as the blazing ship collapsed on itself. Gulls swirled overhead like vultures around a dying beast. Their calls sounded the word of victory.

The ship exploded.

She buried her face in her sleeve as the waves rocked and tumbled around her. Burning brands landed everywhere around the little boat.

I’ll follow you, he had said. Just go.

The gulls were calling again, strange cries. Eight or nine of the birds glided in the air over Maggie’s head, and she lifted a tear stained face in wonder. What were they…?

“Maggie…”

The voice was weak, but definitely there. Maggie jumped to her feet, ignoring the precarious swaying of the boat, and rushed to the side. Nicolas was there, reaching out a shaking hand. His face was streaked with soot and sweat, and a burn glowed on his cheek. Maggie grasped his hand and pulled him toward the boat.

Just before he climbed in, he grinned.

“We did it,” he said hoarsely as he slid to the bottom of the boat. Maggie threw her coat around him, and he laid his head back and listened to the gulls.

Won, Boy. You won.