Fear the Drowning Deep(66)
Sweat beaded on my neck and trickled into the collar of my dress as the minutes wore on. Mr. Gill couldn’t expect us to sit here patiently for hours, waiting for a better explanation than the one he’d barked at our doorsteps.
Someone shook my shoulder, startling me from my thoughts.
“Do you think old man Gill will be here soon?” Lugh leaned around his da, studying me, his brow furrowed.
“You have a really strong grip.” I rubbed my shoulder. “And I certainly hope so.” I scooted across a few feet of rug, claiming the small space between Lugh and the Gills’ firewood basket.
Lugh touched my shoulder again, lighter this time. “How’s your arm?” Before I could respond, he added, “I heard the whole story from Cat’s mam this morning in the market.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “My da’s been sending me for Samson almost every day lately. Says it calms his nerves.”
I glanced at my bandaged arm. “It feels like Mr. Watterson’s dog gnawed on my arm. But I’ll mend. Cat’s safe, and that’s what matters.”
“Still.” He touched his forehead to mine. “I hate seeing you in pain.” My breath hitched. Deep in my chest, something twinged, a duller ache than the one in my arm. Then I thought of Fynn, at home trying to make Grayse forget her worries for a little while, and the ache faded.
“Where is Cat, anyway?” I peered at the newest arrivals tramping through the door.
Lugh frowned. “I haven’t seen her or her mam yet. They probably stayed home. They’re sick of hearing about death and disappearances.”
“Who isn’t? But it’s better to know what’s happening than to sit home and wonder. The things I imagine are usually worse than the truth.” I sighed. “Even if the truth is horrible.”
The Stowells weren’t the only people missing the gathering. Thomase and his mam were absent, as were Ina Cretney and her brood. Lugh, Liss, and I were the youngest people in attendance. Parents must have been trying to conceal the grisly details of this latest tragedy from their children.
The buzz filling the house suddenly faded to whispers, as if I’d plunged my head underwater. Everyone looked toward the foyer where Mr. Gill and his wife appeared.
Mr. Gill squared his shoulders and began in a weary voice, “Thank you all for your patience. I’ve been struggling to find the right words, but we have little time to waste. The bodies of Nessa Daley, Eveleen Kinry, Alis Stowell, Nanse Doughtery, Austeyn Boyd, and Brice Nelson were found in the harbor late this morning.”
Lugh tensed beside me, sucking in a sharp breath. I put my hand over his and tried to disguise my exhale of relief as a cough. There was no new murderous sea beast. Just the fossegrim’s victims washing ashore at last.
Mr. Gill raised his voice as cries of shock and horror burst from many mouths. “Adam Radcliff and his brothers made the discovery when they went to check their traps just before noon. There’s no doubt they were murdered.”
The murmurs grew louder, making it nearly impossible to hear Mr. Gill above the din. “Not Brice,” a man groaned. “Not my oldest friend.”
“Murders in the harbor?” a woman shrilled. “I think it’s time we gather our things and leave this town before we’re murdered, too.” She paused for a moment, then snapped, “I don’t care if we go to the poorhouse! Poor is still better than dead, last I checked.”
“What if it’s me, next? I have to protect my baby.” An older girl with dark hair clutched her belly, her face pale as a gull’s wing. Lugh looked like he might be sick. Not only had he lost his mam, but Mr. Nelson had been a great friend to his family.
“Do you need some air?” I asked Lugh. He didn’t seem to hear me.
The conversations had become a shouting match.
“Would everyone just be quiet!” Da was on his feet, shoulders shaking. Silence descended on the house. “Better,” he grunted. “Now, let Danell finish.” Da sat again, folding his hands in his lap, and nodded at Mr. Gill.
“Yes. Well.” Mr. Gill coughed. “Thank you, Peddyr.” His expression darkened as he surveyed the crowd. “As I was saying, seven deaths on our shores in one summer is the greatest tragedy in the history of Port Coire.” He eyed each of us as sternly as though we’d confessed to the murders. “Someone in our fair town has developed a thirst for blood, and we need to decide how we’re going to stop the offender before he strikes again.”
I shook my head, filled with unease at the thought of a hunt for the murderer. Now that I’d slain the fossegrim, there was no culprit for Mr. Gill to condemn.
“How were they killed?” Da demanded.
Mr. Gill mopped his brow with a handkerchief and sighed. “We aren’t certain. Their bodies were in a terrible condition, made worse by time and the water. We’ll share full details with the authorities so they can determine the cause of death, but the reason I’ve called you all here is to discuss how we can keep our community safe in the meantime.”
Adam Radcliff stood, arms folded across his barrel chest. “It looked like something—or someone—ate them.” He swallowed. “Well, ate parts of them, anyway.”
“That’s enough!” Mr. Gill snapped. “You’ll frighten the women and—”
“Whoever it was left their heads, and a few fingers behind. And several of these.” Adam locked eyes with Mr. Gill as he held up what looked like a long, red-stained piece of bone. “I apologize if I’ve upset anyone. But sharing these details may help us find the killer.”