Undertow (Whyborne & Griffin #8.5)(22)
“Pirates did much the same—do much the same,” I said. “Should all of humanity be wiped out for their crimes?”
Oliver sat back, pulling his hand away. “You can’t truly be that ignorant. Don’t you understand? The ketoi aren’t human. Our nature might vary, but theirs does not. They’re like a mass of schooling fish, without individuality. That’s why the bone mask works on them. And that’s how we destroy them.”
Fear made my mouth dry. “Persephone said you killed a god.”
The cold edge to his smile chilled me. “We did. A madhouse doctor—from this very town, in fact—uncovered an ancient spell to summon them. We were able to adapt his work, using the bodies and life energy of the god’s own subjects to fuel the magic. Until at last it rose. Men died, a fleet of ships gone to the bottom. Their sacrifice hidden, lied about, so it will never appear in a newspaper, and no one will ever know the truth of their heroism. But it was all worth it, because now wiping the ketoi out will be so much easier.”
“No,” I whispered. “No, Oliver, please.”
“You still try to defend them?” His hand shot out, catching me by the chin. I yelped, and he shoved me back against the couch. Pain flared through my skull again, his fingers tight enough to leave bruises. “Even after all I’ve told you? Have you no loyalty to your father, that you would side with the very animals that killed him? How could you betray his memory like this?”
“Oliver, please, you’re hurting me!”
“Perhaps I ought to. You are either with us or against us,” he said in a low, ugly voice. “I thought you were still the girl I knew in New Bedford. But you aren’t, are you? You’re corrupted.”
My breath refused to come. My head ached, and my muscles felt locked into place. If I fought him now, was there any hope of escape? He was a sorcerer. He’d kill me.
He might have killed Persephone.
I let my fear show, whimpering as I said, “No, I’m not, I’m just confused. This is all so much.”
It was difficult to speak, with his hand clamped to my jaw. For a long moment, he merely stared down at me, as though asking himself whether or not he believed my pathetic protest.
There came a knock on the door. “Mr. Young?” called a muffled voice. “The ship is ready.”
Oliver released me and stepped back. “I’ll be right there,” he called. Then he turned back to me. “I have matters to attend to. I’ll take revenge for us both, whether you wish it or not. Until then, I think you should remain here. Consider everything I’ve told you.”
He left, and I heard the key turn in the lock once again. A part of me wanted nothing better than to slump down on the couch and weep. I wasn’t even certain whom my tears burned for: Papa, or Persephone, or all of us together.
All of my memories of Papa seemed to come rushing back. His strong voice, singing of mermaids and shipwrecks. The warm glow of his pipe as he drew on it. Lifting me up when I was little, tossing me in the air and laughing.
Why hadn’t he listened to Martinez? Why hadn’t he taken the lesson of the ballads and returned the “mermaid” to the sea? Mr. Young’s diary had spoken of greed, of dreams of fame and fortune beyond what an ordinary whaler might hope for.
“Why, Papa?” I whispered. “Why couldn’t you have just let her go?”
The tears broke free, spilling down my cheeks. Oliver had accused me of betrayal, but I couldn’t help but feel they’d betrayed me: Papa by killing the ketoi and setting events in motion, Oliver by shooting Persephone…
Oh God, Persephone. Why hadn’t I just taken the initiative once in my life and told her how I felt? That I’d fallen in love with her.
And maybe she would have laughed, but at least I wouldn’t be sitting here with regret like a stone in my chest, crushing the breath out of me.
I dashed the tears impatiently away. Now wasn’t the time to crumble. If the worst had happened, if Persephone hadn’t made it, then the ketoi would have no idea of the plot against them. Which meant I had to get out of here and find help.
I forced myself to my feet and crossed the room. Pressing my ear to the door, I listened intently for any sound of voices or movement.
Nothing. The other man had mentioned a ship. And Oliver meant to destroy the ketoi.
Whatever they were going to do, it would happen tonight. Ayers had said as much last night. Depending on how long I’d been kept here, there might not be much time left.
I gathered up the rags of my courage and pulled a pin from my hair. Crouching down on the floor, I set myself to picking the lock.
*
I made my way to the Ladysmith, because I didn’t know what else to do.
Twilight had swept its purple cloak over Widdershins by the time I let myself out the side door of the Undertow, shaking with fear of discovery. If any guard had been left behind, though, I hadn’t encountered him. Clearly Oliver believed me contained.
I briefly considered returning to the boardinghouse for a change of clothing. But I wasn’t certain Mrs. Yagoda would let me in. Vanishing for a night without explanation wasn’t the sort of behavior she expected from young ladies, and there was a good chance I’d find all of my possessions either sold off or thrown out. Either way, I didn’t have time to argue with her.
Had Dr. Whyborne not left town with his friend, I would have gone straight to Mr. Flaherty. He would have known what to do. But if that had been the case, I wouldn’t be in this situation to start with—they would have been with Persephone last night, not me.