Lost at Sea Bk. 02 Ch. 16

"We're not going to make it if we head to those stairs," Lace said. From where they were they could only see Quinn's head, his topknot bobbing amid a sea of pale, screaming faces. Bleach white limbs and tentacles flew everywhere Quinn lunged.

"Good thing you brought us a rope, then," Will said with exaggerated cheer.

They put the pots on the ground side by side, held the fuses next to each other, and brought the torch to them. Sparks flared. They grabbed the side handles of the pots, hefted them up, and shoved them away from themselves as hard as they could. They didn't wait to watch the rest. Will slipped his hand around Lace's waist again and half-dragged her towards the stairs. Her limping was almost skipping as she swung herself along propelled by Will's long legs. "Quinn, we're leaving!" he shouted as they ran.

Behind them, the bombs sailed down into the churning black waters and disappeared with a splash, trailing sparking fuses.

"I've always wanted to do this," Will said as they reached the broken stairs. He tossed his torch as far down the deck as he could, lighting up the mid deck. Then he grabbed the rope, stuck his foot into the eyelet at the end of it, and pulled Lace in close. She rolled her eyes, but wrapped her arms around his neck. He stepped off the shattered top step and swung down over the deck.

This time the swing felt like it should. Controlled. Fun. Heroic. Going from the aftcastle to the middeck was only about forty feet, with a ten foot drop. "Wait for it," Lace said as they reached the bottom of their arc. The momentum changed. They'd just barely started to rise when Lace said "Now!"

Will let go. Lace didn't. Instead she held on a moment longer letting the rope slide through her fingers, then threw the rope away from them to the side. The metal eyelet whipped past Will's head. He realized in that split second that she'd saved him from broken teeth, or a crash like what had happened to Quinn. Then his feet hit the deck. It wasn't a bad landing, but having another person hanging on him made him a lot less graceful. He ended up falling, half-rolling, half-sliding on his shoulder. Lace hit the deck next to him , but managed to turn herself sideways and roll. She came to her feet awkwardly, grimacing in pain. "Ow," she muttered, holding out a hand to help Will to his feet. "You are a huge pain in my ass."

"This storybook pirate stuff is a lot harder than it looks," Will said, tucking his feet and letting Lace haul him up.

"Maybe next time, don't decide to start with swinging from the top beam, onto a rotten ship covered in monsters, in a storm, in the dark," Lace griped as Will helped support her again and they limped toward the foremast.

"Noted," Will said as he untied the ropes from the mast.

"Just drop straight down," Lace said, "Swing as little as possible.

"Got it. Quinn, it's time to-" He held out the third rope but didn't have time to finish his sentence. The big green warrior rushed out of the night, grabbing the rope on the way. He didn't slow as he reached the prow. He just leapt off the edge, dropping down out of sight.

"That man is very impressive," Will said.

"Fawn over him later, we have company," Lace said, whacking his shoulder. Will looked over his shoulder. Pale forms were lurching quickly out of the dark.

The two of them moved to the prow as fast as they could, but before they could jump the whole ship lurched. The noise hit them right as they were tossed off the prow by the shockwave. The waves behind the black ship erupted like a geyser. A hollow sounding shriek, like a particularly horrific whale call, echoed through the waters beneath them.

The black ship rose, lifted by the blast, and shoved the Kestrel backwards, which sent the falling pair into a wild swing. They crashed together and became tangled. Their ropes started wrapping around each other. They managed to steady themselves, hanging about ten feet above the Kestrel's deck, twisting in a slow circle. The ship jerked again, even harder than the first time. The black ship pulled away, ripping itself off the Kestrel's bowsprit and rushing straight backwards. In moments, it disappeared into the black, leaving a frothing, bloody wake behind it.

The Kestrel bobbed and swayed as it righted itself causing Lace and Will swing gently back and forth.

"What just happened?" Lace asked.

"It worked," Will grinned.

_____________________

Beneath the waves, the broodmother was confused, angry, and in pain. Her prey should have been an easy capture. Instead, she'd found herself in the shallows, stretched as far as she could to hold onto her lure, her prey just out of reach. She could feel them, impaled on her lure, stuck, easy pickings, but the sharp reef kept her from moving any further forward or pulling her prey in.

She'd sent her children after them. So many. She was swollen with them now. It had been an excellent hunting season. She'd eaten well, and bred with many. She'd taken many hosts for her young. The entire expanse of her broad back was covered with her children's chrysalises. She could feel them in every divot, growing and changing as they suckled her blood through their feeding-tongues. She hated having to use them like this. It interrupted their development. Still, it was necessary. The bait only worked when her children were on it to lure her prey closer. Usually only a few was enough. Every one of them that fell was painful to her, but it was a necessary risk.

This time was different. With the prey out of reach, she'd sent more of her children. Then more again. They tore themselves free of the egg-sacks on her back and swarmed up her tongue to the lure she held. She felt them die. So many. Her children, broken. Their hosts mangled. She could only hope that they had managed to spread their gift to others before they fell.

The blast had hurt so very, very badly. She didn't understand what had happened with that either. All she knew was pain. For the first time in her long life, she'd abandoned her prey. She slunk along the ocean floor, dragging her lure her, trailing blood into the waters.

She did not understand what had gone wrong. She was not clever enough to realize what a curse was. In the dimness of her oldest memories she might have recognized the host-word "witch," but it wasn't a useful word for hunting so she would not care. She could not see or feel what had been done to her. All she knew was that nothing had gone right.

Nothing would ever go right for her again.