The Abyss Surrounds Us (The Abyss Surrounds Us #1)(9)
But the five to the captain’s right are different. They’re all kind of young-looking compared to most of the crew, and unlike some of the crowd, their eyes never leave Santa Elena. Something sets them apart—some favor of the captain has elevated them to this position.
It seems like they’re her protégées. It’d explain why Swift is such a showoff.
“You’re quiet,” Santa Elena purrs. She hauls herself upright and stands, the dress falling elegantly around her ankles as she steps from the dais and approaches me. “I’d imagine you’re bursting with questions. Can’t hurt to ask them.”
I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of my curiosity. I wonder why I’m here, why the Reckoner trainer was the only one worth kidnapping on a ship that carried so many wealthy tourists, but the first words that leave my mouth are “What happened to the Nereid ?”
“Depends. If someone responded to the distress call, there’s a very large chance that the passengers will be rescued before the ship sinks. If not … ” She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. The devilish smile that spreads across her face tells me everything I need to know. “And we killed the crew that resisted, of course. We have to be efficient about these things.”
“What did you take?”
I catch the slight twitch of her upper lip, see her resist the urge to sneer at me. “You. Cash, and a few finer goods. Food, to replenish our stock. No electronics—we don’t want anything that could be sending out a signal. The dress is new. Do you like it?”
I draw my lips tight. My wetsuit is drying out and starting to itch, and I have to fight to keep myself standing as still as possible.
“When I ask a question, I’d like you to answer, Cassandra.” She lashes out and grabs the collar of my wetsuit, dragging me toward her until I’m staring up into her deep brown eyes.
I can’t blink. Not now. “It’s beautiful,” I tell her flatly, and it isn’t a lie.
Her fingers go slack, and as she draws back, I notice a tattoo of a small fish over her heart. Santa Elena doesn’t miss the way my eyes travel. This time she really does smirk. “Like it? Every loyal member of my crew has the ship’s namesake inked on their body somewhere important. See, for me this ship is my life, my beating heart. So my Minnow is right here.” She folds a hand over her breast. Her smile turns goading. “Maybe you’ll earn yours someday.”
I don’t have the words nor the courage to tell her that’s never going to happen. I grit my teeth and stand a little straighter, fighting to keep down the question that’s burning inside me. She wants me to say it, wants me to cave to her will, and I can’t let her have her way. I’ve got to show her that no matter how long she keeps me on this ship, she’s never going to get me to bend to her.
One of her lackeys on the dais, a skinny white boy with jet-black hair, relieves me of my burden. “You gonna keep playing with her or let her know why she’s here, Captain?” he asks, and several people in the crowd hiss with surprise.
Santa Elena grins wickedly, and for a second I worry that she’ll pull out a gun and shoot the boy right here to make an example out of him. “Points for bravery, Code,” she says, stepping back up on the dais and settling primly on her throne. “Johan, Yue, bring it on out. Let’s shed some light for our guest.”
Two of the pirates push through the crowd into a back room and return moments later, hauling a cylindrical object the size of a refrigerator. It’s mounted on wheels and covered with a black cloth that sways ominously as it trundles forward. They push it in front of the dais, and Santa Elena leans forward, grabbing the hem of its cover.
She yanks it off with a flourish, and I want to sink to the bottom of the ocean in that instant.
Floating in the tank, lit by warming lamps that cast a brilliant red glow around the room, is a leathery purse, and inside that purse is an unborn Reckoner pup.
6
“We have a proposition,” Santa Elena starts. “Wait, not necessarily a proposition—strike that. ‘Proposition’ implies that you can either accept or decline, and I’m really not giving you a choice here. We have … an arrangement.”
I can’t focus on anything but the pup, the happy, warm baby Reckoner curled in its sac. It’s nearly ready to hatch, the swell of its body pressing against the membranes that hold it. Its head is nearly tucked into itself, the droll reptilian beak flush against the sac walls. It’s a terrapoid.
Just like Durga.
I can’t think straight, can’t even begin to piece together what’s happening. Reckoner production is highly regulated. It needs to happen in a controlled environment like Mom’s lab, where every stage of growth can be monitored and any embryos with defects can quickly be eliminated. It shouldn’t be possible for pirates to create a Reckoner without that kind of equipment. It shouldn’t even be possible for them to obtain one.
But here lies proof to the contrary.
“We’re a little tired of going up against beasts like your Reckoners,” Santa Elena continues. “We think it’s time to even up the playing field, and thanks to a fortuitous set of circumstances and some careful planning, we’ve finally got our chance. You have a very particular set of skills and the convenience of being presumed dead, and we’ve got a long winter ahead of us. While the ocean traffic slows and thins in the cold months, you’re going to hatch our little monster, raise it up right, and put it to work for us come next summer’s hunting season.”