Harrison Squared Page 21

  I shouted, “Mr. Hallgrimsson! We need your help!”

  “Get off my boat!” Erik Hallgrimsson yelled above the wind. He looked up to see Lydia climbing down after me. “All you kids.”

  I pointed toward the back of the Albatross. “They’re taking my mom. Trying to finish the job.”

  He glanced toward the departing ship, then turned back. “I can’t help you. You’re the worst kind of bad luck, kid.”

  “That’s the boat that rammed the Huginn!” I yelled. “Those are the people who killed your father!”

  He stared at me.

  “Hal Jonsson was your father, wasn’t he?” I hadn’t figured this out until I’d seen Hal’s true name in the newspaper in the library. Icelandic names are patronymic—so the son of Hallgrim Jonsson would have the last name of Hallgrimsson—and Erik’s son, if he had one, would be named Eriksson. I stepped closer to him. “Are you telling me you’re going to let them get away with it?”

  He looked again at the Albatross. Its lights were barely visible through the rain. The ship looked like it had almost reached the mouth of the bay.

  “You know this?” he said. “For a fact?”

  “Guaranteed.”

  * * *

  By the time Hallgrimsson cast off and we’d turned the Muninn toward the mouth of the bay, the Albatross had disappeared into the rain and fog.

  “She could be two hundred yards in front of us,” the lobsterman said. “Can’t see a thing.”

  “You’ve got to go faster,” Lydia said.

  “If she gets to open water, we’re not going to catch her,” he said. “She’s bigger and faster than us.”

  “Then go faster now,” Lydia said.

  As far as I could tell, most of our motion was vertical. The waves threw the nose of the boat up and slammed it down. The pilothouse was a small space, and smelled of lobster and diesel. I could barely stand to look out the small rectangular windows, preferring to concentrate on a patch of wall that wasn’t moving, relatively speaking.

  “Don’t you hurl on my deck,” Hallgrimsson said to me. With his foot he nudged a plastic bucket toward me. “Or on my life jacket.” He’d insisted that Lydia and I both put on life preservers.

  “I didn’t think it would be like this,” I said.

  “This ain’t nothing,” Hallgrimsson said. “Wait till we get out of the bay.”

  Perhaps I moaned. He definitely laughed.

  “Do you know where they’re heading?” he asked.

  I took a breath. “Back to where my mom was setting out the buoys on the second day.”

  “That’s a pretty wide area.”

  “I can give you coordinates.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Then punch ’em into the machine.” He nodded at the GPS to the left of the wheel. It looked just like the car models, though the screen was bigger than usual. I detached myself from the wall and managed to make it the two steps to the machine without losing my dinner.

  “Lights!” Lydia said. She pointed out the window. I could see nothing but the smear of rain across the glass.

  From a rack above his head, Hallgrimsson took down a gigantic pair of binoculars—much bigger than the pair I’d bought in the mall. “They’ve stopped just outside the mouth of the bay, near the shore.” He lowered the glasses. “I thought you said they were heading out to sea.”

  On the GPS screen, the crocodile mouth of Dunnsmouth Bay was easy to see. The Albatross was right up against the lower jaw. I zoomed out the map another level. “Lydia, the school’s right about there, right?”

  She came over to the GPS. Five or six hundred yards of rock separated the Albatross from the school.

  “Okay, but—” Then she got it. “The Scrimshander’s cave.”

  “We never searched out that far, because there’s no beach,” I said. “Now.” A hundred and fifty years ago, Tobias Glück had walked to the cave from the docks. We’d assumed he’d gone to the north-side cliffs, because those were the only caves we could get to. But who knows how much the coastline had been reshaped by surf and storms and rising water levels?

  “Global warming,” I said.

  Lydia said, “The tunnels could run right to the school.”

  I was such an idiot. Lub had told me that his people lived a ten-minute swim from the tip of the bay. It would make sense for the Scrimshander and the Toadmother to have made their tunnels there.

  “What are you two talking about?” Hallgrimsson said.

  “I may have lied to you,” I said. “My mom’s not on that boat—yet. I think they’re stopping to load her onboard.”

  “That means we can still catch them,” Lydia said.

  “And what do we do when we do that?” he asked. “Board them like pirates?”

  “As soon as we know she’s on their ship, that’s kidnapping,” Lydia said. “We radio the authorities.”

  “Do you have an answer for everything?” Hallgrimsson said.

  “For questions that dumb, I do,” she said.

  Hallgrimsson steered so that we’d skirt the cliffs. Finally I could see the lights of the Albatross and little else but a shadow that suggested the bulk of the ship. Hallgrimsson could see more with the binoculars. “There’s a dinghy tied up to the back of the Albatross,” he said. “And they’ve got something … What in the world are they doing?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “It looks like they’ve captured a whale or something. It’s a big one. They’ve got a net over the side, and they’re hoisting it up onto the deck.”

  Lydia and I exchanged a look. That was no whale.

  “Just try to get close,” I said.

  The Albatross was hugging the shore, so Hallgrimsson aimed for the bay side of the ship. That way, he said, we wouldn’t risk being pushed into the rocks, and if we got in front of them we might be able to stop them from getting to the sea.

  We’d pulled within perhaps a hundred yards, and finally I could see the ship through the rain. “They’ve got her onboard,” I said.

  “Who, your mother?” Hallgrimsson asked.

  “He means the whale,” Lydia said. “The net’s empty.”

  “I can see that,” he said, looking through the glasses. “Must be heavy too; they’re listing to one side.”

  “Pull up alongside,” Lydia commanded.

  “What do you think I’m trying to do?” He jammed the throttle forward, and the lobster boat roared up the next wave. When we came down, my stomach was a dozen yards back. But suddenly the Albatross seemed much closer. I could see the lights of the cabin windows now.

  “What now?” Hallgrimsson said. “Some idiot is climbing up the back of the ship.”

  The nose of the Muninn rose up, blocking my sight. When it came down I could make out a dark shape pulling itself up the rope that connected the dinghy to the Albatross. There was something long and pointy strapped to its back.

  “Is that a trident?” Hallgrimsson said.

  I thought it was the Scrimshander, now outfitted with a longer weapon. Then I realized that the climber was naked except for some kind of satchel—and a pair of skater shorts.

  “It’s Lub!” I said.

  “You know this guy?” Hallgrimsson said. We were within fifty feet of the rear deck now, and Hallgrimsson was trying to aim us to the left of the ship. Then the Albatross surged forward, and Lub slid down the rope.

  “They’re moving,” Hallgrimsson said.

  The ship’s props churned the water beneath Lub’s big webbed feet. He heaved on the rope, and regained some of the distance he’d lost. A moment later he lunged, and his hand fastened on the lower railing.

  “Yes!” I shouted.

  “No,” Lydia said.

  Another person had appeared on the rear deck. A tall man, dressed in black.

  I looked at Lydia. “What’s Montooth doing on there?”

  The principal had seen Lub. He seemed shocked for a moment. Then he crouched, and when he rose again he was holding a wooden oar. He extended it t
oward the fish boy. Lub kept one hand on the railing, released the rope, and reached for the oar.

  Then Montooth jerked the oar back, and slammed it into Lub’s face. Lub tumbled back into the water.

  * * *

  “Stop the boat!” I yelled. I may have yelled that several times.

  “We’ll lose the Albatross,” Hallgrimsson said.

  I froze for a moment. My mother was on that boat, only fifty feet away.

  “We know where they’re going,” I said. “Save Lub.”

  The lobsterman swore, but he cut the throttle and started yelling directions: “Outside to the side deck. Unfasten the life preserver from the rail. Don’t throw until you see him!”

  The rain hit us full on, and I had to hold on to the rail myself to avoid being thrown off. Lydia said something, but the roar of the wind tore her words away. “Do you see him?” she shouted, louder.

  Hallgrimsson switched on a bank of lights that lit up the water around us. Whitecaps intersected in crazy patterns; this close to the cliffs the waves were crossing each other. I leaned over the rail, feeling a sick fear in my stomach. I was going to fall in, and I was going to die.

  “I can’t see him!” Lydia yelled.

  “Me neither!”

  I moved to the back of the boat, between the stacks of metal lobster cages. Had we already passed him? He’d been hit in the face. Was he unconscious? Cut by the props of the Albatross? The water behind the boat was a white froth.

  Someone grabbed my shoulder and I spun around. Lub grinned at me.

  “Did you see me?” he said. He wore a canvas satchel like a newspaper delivery boy, one strap over his neck. He was holding the trident in one hand; or rather, the trident was holding him. He was leaning on it hard. A gash was open on his forehead. “Total Aqua—”

  His knees buckled, and I jumped forward and caught him before he fell. The trident clattered to the deck. Lydia appeared a moment later.

  “I don’t feel so good,” Lub said.

  I picked up the trident, and then Lydia and I got our arms under his and dragged him toward the pilothouse. Hallgrimsson, keeping one hand on the wheel, reached over and yanked open the door for us. We pulled Lub inside, and Hallgrimsson swore in surprise.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He’s a Dweller.”

  Lub lifted a webbed hand. “Be ye not afraid,” he said weakly. His eyes were drooping.

  Lydia bent over him and touched the edge of the wound on his forehead. Now that we were out of the rain, I could see that he was bleeding. Bleeding a lot. Lydia said to Hallgrimsson, “Do you have a first aid kit?”

  Hallgrimsson stared at Lub.

  “First aid kit,” Lydia said. “Now, please.”

  “In there,” Hallgrimsson said, and nodded to a cabinet next to me. I set the trident on the floor, then slid back the cabinet door and pulled out a big red tackle box. Lydia asked for gauze and bandages, then told me to cut tape into three-inch strips.

  “You’ve done this before,” I said.

  “Once or twice,” she said. She took off her jacket and dried his face with the fleece lining. Then she began to dress the wound.

  Hallgrimsson increased throttle and powered us away from the cliffs.

  “Just follow the GPS,” I said.

  He nodded. I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. We might have pushed him one step too far, from Previously Understood Reality to Crazy Town, Massachusetts. I could guess how he felt.

  The waves grew steeper when we left the bay. Every time the ship nosed up into the air, or slid down into a long trough, I knew—knew—that in the next moment the boat would flip over, and I’d be thrown into the water, where, despite this bulky life vest, I’d sink into the dark.

  A particularly steep wave hit us, and the trident slid forward and nearly impaled Hallgrimsson’s foot.

  “Would you stow that?” the lobsterman said.

  I picked up the weapon. It was heavy, but well-balanced. Both staff and tip were made from iron, and every inch of it was engraved with strange symbols. Just holding it made you want to stab something.

  “Where’d you get this thing?” I asked.

  Lub smiled. “I saw it and I just couldn’t pass it up.” He winced as Lydia wrapped another layer of bandage around his head. I tucked the trident into the corner, behind the fire extinguisher. “It was in the Scrimshander’s cave,” he said.

  “You found the cave!”

  “Pretty much right where you said. In the deep end of the pool I found a huge tunnel entrance. I figure, this way to the Toadmother! That tunnel kept branching, but the main way was obvious—it was the only passage big enough for her. I was feeling pretty good until it ended in a big iron door. No way I could get through that. So I backtracked, and started following side tunnels. I eventually popped up into an air tunnel. From there I just followed the smell of old food. And … bongo.”

  He sat up to reach into his canvas bag. “Nobody was there,” he said. “But I knew it was his place, because of what was on the walls. One thing in particular.” He held out a length of white bone as big as an oval serving plate. “That’s her, right?”

  Mom.

  The portrait was beautiful and terrible. With the minimum number of delicate lines the Scrimshander had captured the determined set of her mouth, the way she pursed her lips when someone was trying to bully her—or me. But her eyes … Her eyes were so sad. The overall effect was of a woman braced for a fight that she knew she’d already lost.

  “It’s … warm,” I said. I turned it in my hands. “It’s like a living thing.” I could almost feel it breathing. No, not it. Her. Mom.

  “Can I see that?” Lydia asked. She took the scrimshaw carefully. After a moment she said, “I don’t feel anything.”

  I shrugged. She said to Lub, “Were there more down there? More portraits?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “Lots.”

  “We’ll have to go back there,” she said. “Rescue them all.”

  “How did you get to the Albatross?” I asked.

  “I just followed the tunnel. Eventually I heard the ocean, and I saw that little wooden boat—the Scrimshander and another man were rowing for the Albatross.”

  “Montooth?”

  “If that’s the big guy who walloped me—yeah, him.”

  I was still mad at myself for thinking Montooth wasn’t involved. We’d focused all our attention on Waughm.

  “When they got to the ship,” Lub continued, “the Scrimshander threw your mother over his shoulder—she was lying in the bottom of the boat, it turned out—and carried her onboard. I started swimming, and that’s when I nearly ran into the Toadmother.”

  “She was in the water?”

  “Oh yeah. Swimming like a natural-born First. She didn’t see me, though. I held back while she climbed into the net and they winched her up to the deck. Then I—well, you saw the rest. Is he going to stop staring at me?”

  Hallgrimsson looked back at the window.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “He’s on our side.”

  The lobsterman grunted.

  “Can we catch the Albatross again?” Lydia asked.

  “Not unless she pulls over and waits for us.”

  “How long till we get to the GPS coordinates?” I said.

  “In this sea? Another forty-five, fifty minutes at least.”

  “And how long will it take them?”

  “A lot less.”

  Great. Very helpful.

  Hallgrimsson got on the radio and tried to raise the Coast Guard, authorities on the land, other boats … anybody. All we heard back was static, so there was no way to know if we were getting through. “The storm’s interfering,” Hallgrimsson said. “Never seen anything like it.” He kept trying for another ten minutes, and finally tossed aside the microphone.

  Lub got to his feet. Hallgrimsson glanced at him but didn’t say anything. He was still in the Reality Adjustment Period. But then, after a few minutes of silence, the lobsterman surprised me.
r />   “My pa said he seen you people,” Hallgrimsson said. “Nobody believed him.”

  “We don’t usually show ourselves,” Lub said. “Humans might whack us in the face or something.”

  “It wasn’t good luck for him, either.”

  That was the second time Hallgrimsson had brought up luck. I said, “Your dad took my parents out, didn’t he?”

  Hallgrimsson’s gaze remained fixed on the windshield.

  “Thirteen years ago,” I said. “My dad, my mom, and me.”

  “It was supposed to be a three-hour tour,” he said. “Your dad wanted to see a certain spot, way out on the water. In the middle of the night. Made no sense, but he convinced my pa to take you. A storm came up out of nowhere. A storm like this. That’s when he saw them. Hundreds of ’em, he said, their heads poking up out of the water like seals.”

  “Hey,” Lub said. “We’re not as ugly as seals.”

  “That would have been enough to convince everyone Pa was crazy. But then he said that a sea monster flipped his boat.”

  A memory flashed into my head: a huge shape underwater. Tentacles. Tentacles and teeth.

  “They wanted to blame Pa for the accident. Tourist drowned, little kid almost dead. Your mother said he had nothing to do with it, that it was all the storm. But Pa … he wouldn’t stop talking about those fish people and that damned monster. The more he talked, the less people believed him. Just another crazy old sailor. He started drinking hard. I used to have to go pick him up and drag him home.” He shook his head. “He never recovered from that trip.”

  “Yeah, neither did mine.”

  Hallgrimsson looked at me, and his face clouded. “Tragedy all around. That’s where it all should have ended between your family and mine. And then your mom called out of the blue.”

  “She needed to charter a boat,” I said. “It made sense to call Hal. She wanted him to be the one to take her out.”

  “And that fool wanted to go. Said he wanted to track down that monster. But I wasn’t about to let him go out like that. I told her I’d take her out, for one day. One day. That was it.”

  “She was pretty mad at you when you wouldn’t go back out.”

  “Oh, I know. Marched down there to yell at me. I left her shouting on the dock.”