Library of Souls (Miss Peregrine’s Peculiar Children #3)(12)

“This will never do,” Emma grumbled. “These boats are too large and crowded. We need a small one—something we can pilot ourselves.”

“Wait a moment,” said Addison, his snout twitching. He trotted away, nose to the wooden boards. We followed him across the jetty and down a little unmarked ramp that was ignored by the tourists. It led to a lower dock, below the street, just at water level. There was no one around; it was deserted.

Here Addison stopped, wearing a look of deep concentration. “Peculiars have come this way.”

“Our peculiars?” Emma said.

He sniffed the dock again and shook his head. “Not ours. But there are many trails here, new and old, strong and faded, all mixed together. This is an oft-used pathway.”

Ahead of us, the dock narrowed and disappeared beneath the main jetty, where it was swallowed in shadows.

“Oft used by whom?” Emma said, peering anxiously into the dark. “I’ve never heard of any loop entrance underneath a dock in Wapping.”

Addison had no answer. There was nothing to do but forge on and explore, so we did, passing nervously into the shadows. As our eyes adjusted, another jetty resolved into view—one altogether different from the sunny, pleasant one above us. The boards down here were green and rotting, broken in places. A scrum of squeaking rats scampered through a mound of discarded cans, then leapt a short distance from the dock into an ancient-looking skiff, bobbing in the dark water between wooden pylons slimed with moss.

“Well,” Emma said, “I guess that would do in a pinch …”

“But it’s filled with rats!” said Addison, aghast.

“It won’t be for long,” Emma said, igniting a small flame in her hand. “Rats don’t much care for my company.”

Since there didn’t seem to be anyone to stop us, we crossed to the boat, hopscotching around the weakest-looking boards, and began to untie it from the dock.

“STOP!” came a booming voice from inside the boat.

Emma squealed, Addison yelped, and I nearly leapt out of my skin. A man who’d been sitting in the boat—how had we not seen him until now?!—rose slowly to his feet, straightening himself inch by inch until he towered over us. He was seven feet tall at least, his massive frame draped in a cloak and his face hidden beneath a dark hood.

“I’m—I’m so sorry!” Emma stammered. “It’s—we thought this boat was—”

“Many have tried to steal from Sharon!” the man thundered. “Now their skulls make homes for sea creatures!”

“I swear we weren’t trying to—”

“We’ll just be going,” squeaked Addison, backing away, “so sorry to bother you, milord.”

“SILENCE!” the boatman roared, stepping onto the creaking dock with one enormous stride. “Anyone who comes for my boat must PAY THE PRICE!”

I was completely terrified, and when Emma shouted “RUN!” I was already turning to go. We’d only gotten a few paces, though, when my foot crashed through a rotting board and I pitched face-first onto the dock. I tried to scramble up but my leg was thigh deep in the hole. I was stuck, and by the time Emma and Addison circled back to help me, it was too late. The boatman was upon us, looming overhead and laughing, his cavernous guffaws booming around us. It might have been a trick of the darkness, but I could’ve sworn I saw a rat tumble from the hood of his cloak, and another slip from his sleeve as he slowly raised his arm toward us.

“Get away from us, you maniac!” Emma shouted, clapping her hands to light a flame. Though the light she made did nothing to chase away the dark inside the boatman’s hood—I suspected not even the sun could do that—it showed us what he held in his outstretched hand, which wasn’t a knife, nor any weapon. It was a piece of paper, pinched between his thumb and a long, white forefinger.

He was offering it to me, bending low so I could reach it.

“Please,” he said calmly. “Read it.”

I hesitated. “What is it?”

“The price. And some other information regarding my services.”

Quaking with fear, I reached up and took the paper. We all leaned in to read by the light of Emma’s flame.



I looked up at the giant boatman. “So this is you?” I said uncertainly. “You’re … Sharon?”

“In the flesh,” he replied, his voice an oily slither that made my neck hairs stand on end.

“Good bird, man, you scared us half to death!” said Addison. “Was all that bluster and cackling really necessary?”

“My apologies. I was napping and you startled me.”

“We startled you?”

“For a moment I thought you really were trying to steal my boat,” he chuckled.

“Ha-ha!” Emma said, forcing a laugh. “No, we were just … making sure it was moored properly.”

Sharon turned to examine the skiff, which was simply roped to one of the wooden pylons.

“And how do you find it?” he asked, the dull white crescent of a grin spreading beneath his hood.

“Totally … ship-shape,” I said, finally jimmying my leg free from the hole. “Really good, um, mooring.”

“Couldn’t have tied a better knot myself,” said Emma, helping me to my feet.