Bloodline (Whyborne & Griffin Book 5) (15 page)

“What on earth do you mean, man?” Christine prompted.

Griffin took a slow sip of his coffee before answering. “Miss
Emily’s diary was missing, and none of the other servants seemed to have any
idea where it might have gone. According to Niles, her possessions will be
delivered to her daughter—the woman hasn’t been allowed in to take or see
them.”

“Oh.” I’d almost forgotten Miss Emily’s daughter would
naturally want her things. Had Father kept them for Griffin to look through, or
simply because he refused to let anything out of the house if he could at all
help it?

“Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary in her room,”
Griffin said. “Save for one thing. She had a chest where she kept her personal
items and keepsakes, such as they were. A pair of baby shoes—perhaps her
daughter’s. The mourning card for your twin sister. A small lock of blond hair,
knotted around a shark’s tooth.”

It felt odd to say, but… “I think the hair might have been
mine? My hair was much lighter when I was a small child. What the shark’s tooth
means, I can’t imagine.”

Griffin’s ankle pressed comfortingly against mine. “She had
the Christmas cards you’d sent her as well.”

“What so odd about all that?” Christine asked around a
mouthful of fish sandwich. “The woman helped raise Whyborne—of course
she’d keep mementos of him.”

“It isn’t odd at all,” Griffin agreed. “What was strange were
the words painted on the inside of the trunk’s lid. Someone put a lot of time
and care into the decoration—the script was fine and decorated with
flowers and fish.”

“Out with it,” Christine prodded. “What did it say?”

“One for the land, and one for the sea.”

I felt as if a cold hand had brushed the nape of my neck. “No.
You’re just-just joking at my expense.”

“I’m afraid not, my dear. It seems Miss Emily knew of this
prophecy, even if she wasn’t a native of Widdershins. Whether she was the one
to tell Guinevere, or what they believed it meant, I can’t say.”

“So it seems Miss Emily was more deeply involved in things
than merely procuring a disguise for Guinevere.” Christine gave me a
sympathetic look.

I stared down at my half-eaten fish, all my appetite gone.
The woman I’d thought of as a second mother had kept whatever she knew about
Guinevere’s death to herself, without telling anyone, even Mother. More, she’d
kept some kind of secret for years, it seemed.

But what?

“Did Father know what it meant?” I asked.

“No. Nor did any of the other servants admit to knowing.”
Griffin turned his coffee cup around and around in his fingers. “I received the
impression Miss Emily’s closeness with your mother put something of a barrier
between her and the other servants. No one admitted to ever even seeing her
chest unlocked, let alone what she kept inside, and my instincts say they
weren’t lying.”

Why did I eat so much? Acid clawed at the back of my throat,
as if the fish tried to swim back up. I thought I’d known Miss Emily. Had I
been deluded all along?

“Persephone,” I said. “That was the other thing Guinevere
said. “Persephone. One for the sea.”

“Persephone,” Christine mused. She scowled down at the
crumbs on her plate. “Hmm. That seems to suggest the Lesters were involved.”

Griffin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“They run a funeral business, don’t they? Persephone is the queen
of the underworld. Wife to the god of the dead.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. How could I not have seen it
earlier? “The Lesters must surely be guilty.”

Griffin looked less than convinced. “Why wouldn’t she simply
name the Lesters, then? Guinevere was dying. Speaking the prophecy I can
understand, but why give Whyborne an obscure clue to who had killed her, rather
than just telling him? Could she have even come up with such a thing, in the
condition she was in?”

“Oh.” Christine frowned in disappointment. “I suppose you’re
right.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I countered. “Perhaps it’s a-a code name
the Lesters used to cover their tracks.”

“Perhaps,” Griffin said skeptically. “But I’ve not uncovered
any evidence they have financial ties to shipping, fishing, or anything else that
might explain the ship disappearances. The Waites have been harmed by the loss
of cargo and equipment for their cannery, so I don’t imagine them to be
involved.”

“Thomas Abbott was at the party the other night.” My heart
beat faster. “Griffin, you overheard—Guinevere was trying to keep away
from him. Thanks to her remark I thought he might be paying her unwanted
attentions based on their old association, but perhaps there was more to it?”

“Perhaps.”

“And Abbott’s father was a member of the Brotherhood.”

“According to your father, that would argue against him
being a hybrid,” Christine pointed out.

“Father is hardly omniscient. Perhaps he didn’t know.”

“Mr. Abbott seems the most likely candidate at the moment,”
Griffin agreed slowly. “But we need more proof of his involvement. I’ll look
into his finances further tomorrow. And I’ll see if I can get samples of his
handwriting to compare the note you found in Guinevere’s room. With luck, I can
do so legally instead of by tampering with the mail.”

I poked at my fish. “What is the connection with Miss Emily?
The myth of Persephone? This idiotic prophecy? The bracelet, the stone—we
have a towering pile of clues, but none of them connect with each other. What
the devil does any of it
mean?”

Griffin rubbed his ankle against mine soothingly. “I don’t
know, my dear, but I intend to find out. Now finish your dinner and let’s join
your cousins at the docks.”

~ * ~

As the steam launch the Endicotts had rented left the bay,
the first tatters of fog rolled in.

Fiona steered the vessel. Christine, who wished to learn the
operation of the small craft, sat in the seat directly behind her. Theo,
Griffin, and I took the seats behind the boiler, which were sheltered by a
canopy to keep off the worst of the soot. The moon had not yet risen, and the
waves heaved beneath the craft. Thank heavens none of us were prone to seasickness.

Even so, I selected a seat as far away from the gunwales as
possible. The waves surged all too close to the rail, in my opinion. Every bump
and dip sent my heart to racing, some blind, animal part of me convinced we’d
go over and drown.

The moon had yet to rise, and as the fog closed in, the only
light came from the ship’s lanterns. Bits of mist blew past, like the shrouds
of dead men, thickening slowly as we drew further out to sea. The damp seemed
to multiply the chill of the air, and I tugged my scarf closer to keep the wind
off my neck. The scarf was one of those Miss Emily had knitted for me, though
after learning of her involvement in Guinevere’s death, I didn’t know if I
cherished the thing or hated it.

I half listened while Griffin told Theo of our discoveries.
At least he had the tact not to bring up his horrid accusations about the
Whyborne side of the family. I handed Theo the poem, which he read carefully.

“If you’ll let me, I’ll make a transcription and send it to
England,” he said. “Perhaps someone there will make heads of tails of it. Prophecies
are always a nasty business, though—half the time they turn out to be the
ranting of lunatics, and the other half their only purpose is to drive one
insane worrying what
might
happen.”

“You aren’t concerned, then?” Griffin asked.

“Oh, I’m concerned, old chap.” Theo met my gaze. “But I fear
our Percival’s friend was correct—the bloody things only make sense once
they’ve come to fruition. Even so, we’ll contribute whatever we can to
deciphering the meaning.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully. At least we had sorcerers
with experience in the matter aiding us, rather than floundering about in the
dark.

“We have news ourselves,” Theo went on, leaning back in his
seat and perilously close to the rail. He looked as at home on the boat as he
did in the drawing room. “Uncle Ned sent us more information on the ketoi.”

I tried not to look at the waves just behind him. “What did
he have to say?”

“A good deal, and all of it ghastly.” The fog flattened
sound, made Theo’s voice almost eerie even though he sat but inches away. “He
believes they account for legends of selkies and sirens.”

“I know sirens supposedly lure sailors to their doom,” I
said. “But I’m not familiar with selkies.”

“Irish legend,” Griffin supplied unexpectedly. When I
glanced at him in surprise, he shrugged. “I may remember nothing of my mother
tongue, let alone the Emerald Isle itself, but I’ve had occasion to pass myself
off as a tried-and-true Irishman. I’ve spent more than a few nights listening
to stories over a bottle of whiskey.”

“It sounds as though you’ve had an interesting life, Mr.
Flaherty,” Theo said with a raised brow.

“Interesting enough,” Griffin replied noncommittally. “At
any rate, the selkies are seals who transform into men. Women who want a lover
summon them onto land with seven tears.”

“According to Uncle Ned, the ketoi are summoned by certain
enchanted stones,” Theo said. “Perhaps the ‘tears’ part isn’t literal.”

A little shiver went through me. “Enchanted stones? Do you
think the one we found in Guinevere’s possession could be such a thing?”

“I think it very likely.”

Surely Guinevere had received the stone here in America,
along with the bracelet. True, she had asked her husband’s forgiveness before
she died, but it could have been in reference to anything. And yes, she’d been
married for many years before conceiving, but there was no reason to cast
aspersions on her character. No reason to question the parentage of her son.

God, how could I even consider such a thing? The ketoi were
monstrous. Guinevere would never allow such a creature in her sight, let alone
touch her. Shame burned me, for the thought to have even crossed my mind for an
instant.

Theo stared out into the ever-thickening fog, his mouth
drawn in a pensive line. “The ketoi want to spread onto land, and rutting with the
occasional human is one method to accomplish it. But sometimes, they make a
more determined attempt. Apparently, in the thirteenth century, the ketoi all
but overran a seaport in Suffolk called Dunwich. Our ancestors had to destroy a
great deal of the town and drop some of it into the sea to stop them.”

Griffin frowned. “What about the innocents living there?”

Theo’s smile was thin. “I assure you, there were no
innocents left in the town.”

“You can’t know that,” Griffin challenged.

“Even if there were, we saved far more lives than we took.”
The wind ruffled Theo’s hair, and the muted light bleached color from his skin.
“These creatures drown sailors and drag ships down into the depths. Can you
imagine the ruin their abominable offspring could wreak upon the land?”

Griffin looked troubled, but before he could answer, the
boat slowed. A thick veil of fog surrounded us. In the distance, the Daboll
trumpet began to sound, warning ships of the shallower water at our backs.

“Your show now, Theo,” Fiona called.

“What do you intend?” Griffin asked.

“The area of disappearances is far too large for a single
ship to hope to survey,” Theo replied. “So we need a method of narrowing it
down. Percival, did you bring the bracelet?”

I removed it from my pocket and displayed it silently. Theo
took out a small bag he’d stowed earlier, along with a nautical chart, which
had the sites of the ship disappearances marked on it. Taking the bracelet from
me, he positioned it in the center of the cluster.

From his pocket he pulled an iron pendulum on a small chain.
I leaned in closer, glad to have something to distract me from the rolling
waves and heavy fog. Theo held the pendulum above the map and began to murmur
softly. My skin prickled, and the scars on my arm tingled in response to the
arcane forces gathering around him.

The pendulum swung, a deliberate movement unconnected with
the motion of the launch. “Twelve degrees to starboard,” he called above the
chug of the engine.

The boat’s direction altered in response. Theo continued to
murmur his spell, occasionally pausing to call out adjustments to our heading.
At last, the pendulum pointed straight down.

Into the depths.

“This must be it,” he murmured. “Fiona! Hold steady! Mr.
Flaherty, fetch the sounding line, and—”

There came an odd creak through the fog. Theo fell silent,
and we all stared in the direction of the sound. Had it been some trick of the
waves? An echo from our own hull?

The fog thinned directly ahead of us. No—it didn’t
thin. Something dark emerged from within it, bearing down on us.

“Fiona! Hard to port!” Theo shouted. I had just enough time
to glimpse an iron prow cutting through the fog, before the sudden tilt of the
launch flung me from my seat.

Sharp cries from my companions pierced the fog, accompanied
by a horrible grating sound as steel scraped against our hull. The larger
ship’s wake shoved against our little launch, tilting us further to port.
Surely we would go over—

The boat righted abruptly, slid across the water, and
rebounded from the hull of the other ship. Griffin’s hand closed on mine, and I
clutched at him. God, that was far too close. My heart pounded, and a cold
sweat soaked my shirt.

“Nice spot of water magic there, Fiona!” Theo called. “Is
everyone all right?”

“Y-yes.” I swallowed and let Griffin haul me to my feet. His
eyes were wide with concern, so I dredged up a small, shaky smile. “I’m quite
all right.”

“I’m glad.” Griffin released me with some reluctance.

My legs remained shaky enough to make the short walk to the
prow more of a challenge than it should have been. “Thank you, Fiona,” I said,
leaning heavily against her seat.

She nodded. “Any time, old chap. Of course, I shouldn’t have
had to, if the bloody fool steering the ship hadn’t tried to run us down! No
lights and in the fog? Sodding idiot.”

I stared up at the black bulk above us. As Fiona had said,
no light showed. Nor did I hear the groan of engines. The ship’s name showed on
the prow:
Oarfish.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted. “Ahoy!
Oarfish!
”

Silence. No light, no movement. No answering voices. At the
very least, the glancing blow they’d given our boat should have alerted someone
to our presence. I might not be a sailor, but I’d grown up in a port town. There
should be hands on deck already, calling down to us to make certain we didn’t
need assistance.

Griffin’s lantern cut through the gloom as he came to join
me. “Abandoned,” he said, shining the light through the fog. “Look—the
lifeboats are still in place, at least on this side.”

“Just like the
Norfolk Siren,”
I said. God. The
previous ship had been bad enough, in dock weeks after she’d been found adrift.
But here, in the fog, so close to Widdershins… “Whatever happened must have
occurred tonight.”

Griffin shivered. “Yes.”

“What are we to do?”

“Only one thing we can do, old boy,” Theo said as he joined
us at the front of the launch. “Go aboard.”

~ * ~

Griffin’s carpetbag contained a grapple, which we’d used on
at least one occasion to scale a wall. Fiona maneuvered the tug to the leeward
side of the ship. Once in position, I stood well back while Griffin swung the
grapple, then sent it whistling through the fog at the rail of the
Oarfish
high
above
.
The first throw tumbled free into the water, drawing a short
curse from him. The next throw caught and held.

“I’ll climb up,” Griffin said. He began to strip off his
coat. “There should be a pilot ladder aboard. I’ll lower some lines to secure
the launch and then let the ladder down.”

I took the coat from him. My throat ached—what if
horrors still lurked aboard? What if the ketoi were there, just waiting for
anyone foolish enough to set foot on deck? I’d be down here, unable to protect
him.

But the truth was, I had no hope of dragging myself up a
rope. So I could only say, “Be careful.”

He cast me a lopsided smile. “I’m always careful.”

He caught the rope and hauled himself up, wrapping his legs
about it for grip and pulling himself higher with his arms. The sight left me
torn between admiration and fear. It was an appealing display of strength, but
what if he fell? What if something above bit through the rope with sharp teeth?
What if—

None of those things happened. A faint light appeared. “I’m
aboard!” he called down. “Give me a moment and I’ll throw down some lines.”

A short time later, the launch was secured to the side of
the ship. Griffin located the pilot ladder and dropped it over the side. I
climbed up first, and Griffin helped me over the rail, clapping me on the arm
as he did so.

“What now?” I asked, when the rest had boarded behind me.

Griffin picked up his salvaged lantern. “Look,” he said.

A long smear of blood wended its way down the deck, as if
some dying man had dragged himself along. The smear ended abruptly in a large
puddle, but there was no trace of a body.

“Thrown into the depths,” Theo said. “Food for the fish and
sharks—if nothing worse. Poor bloke.”

Christine muttered an oath. “I doubt we’ll find any
survivors. Still, a quick search may turn up some clue.”

I stared at the bloody streak. The man who’d dragged himself
along the deck, clinging to some vain hope of escape…who did he leave behind?
Who did he think of in his last moments? A lover, a child, a parent?

What had Miss Emily thought while dying? Had she regretted
her silence? Thought of her daughter? Of Mother? Of me?

“We must put an end to this,” I said. My voice shook with
emotion: rage or grief or horror, even I wasn’t certain.

“We will.” Griffin’s hand rested lightly against the small
of my back. “We should split up. It will make the search go faster. Mr.
Endicott, Miss Endicott, would you take the upper deck and cabins? We’ll see to
below decks.”

Wonderful. I hadn’t the slightest desire to go down into
dank holds infested with rats. Or ketoi. But we didn’t have much choice.

Griffin was probably even less happy about it than I, having
an aversion to dark, enclosed spaces. Although perhaps the motion of the sea
would be enough to keep his phobia back. But if he was willing to go below
decks, I could hardly complain about doing so.

Christine and I followed him to the hatch. Steep stairs led
down into utter darkness, broken only by the shaft of light from his lantern.
The rusty tang of blood mingled with the dank scent of the holds, and smears of
red decorated the steel risers, as if bodies had been dragged up them. The steps
rang beneath our shoes as we descended, and I winced at the sound. If anything
lurked below, it would surely know we were coming.

At the foot of the stair, Griffin bent and picked something
up. “Look,” he said, holding it out for inspection. It was a simple knife, of
the sort carried by sailors the world over. Blood coated the edge of its blade.

“Someone managed a good hit against the bastards,” Christine
said with satisfaction.

“To no avail.” Griffin’s lantern picked out a great deal of
blood on the floor, as well as smears on the wall.

I shuddered. “Why do you think they remove the bodies? Do
they…eat them?”

“God, I hope not.” Griffin led the way down the narrow
passage. “I wondered myself. The earlier ships vanished altogether, but first
the
Norfolk Siren
and now this vessel have been left afloat with signs
of catastrophe. It occurs to me perhaps whoever is directing the ketoi may have
decided to spread fear, along with whatever else he’s gaining from these
attacks.”

“Spreading fear—that sounds like something the
Brotherhood would do,” I said. “Abbott probably learned it from his father.”

“We don’t know he’s the one behind this,” Griffin reminded
me. “Come. Let’s take a look at the engine room.”

We traversed the passage slowly. Pipes on the walls threw
strange shadows, and open doors swung slowly to and fro along with the rocking
of the ship. The air was close and damp, and reeked of fresh death.

A series of loud knocks sounded, echoing throughout the
ship.

The fine hairs on the back of my neck prickled. “Something
loose, swinging about with the motion of the ship?” Christine suggested.

“Then why did it stop?” I asked.

“Blast.”

“I think it came from this direction,” Griffin murmured, and
started forward.

More knocking. The last in line, I glanced nervously back
over my shoulder. Only blackness met my gaze.

The knocks came again, louder this time. Griffin cautiously
pushed open a door. Beyond lay one of the coal storage rooms, immediately
adjacent to the hull.

The knocks sounded once more, and there could be no mistake.
They were coming from outside the ship.

“Griffin,” I began, taking an uneasy step back.

Something struck me hard from behind, sending me into the
wall.

~ * ~

“Ival!” Griffin leapt forward, the sailor’s knife he yet
carried flashing out. Something let out a hiss, like an angry cat, and the
weight vanished from my back.

I pushed myself from the wall, just in time to see the light
fall across the creature that had attacked me. Although I’d seen drawings and
sculptures of the ketoi, and half glimpsed one in the cemetery, beholding one
in the flesh was profoundly different.

Its slender, sexless form seemed honed to move through sleek
water. Low fins rose from its calves and elbows, and its feet were long and
webbed as a frog’s. Although the skin of its face, throat, and belly was
largely dead white, its back was dark gray, and spots and swirls of darker
color decorated its face, arms, and legs.

Its hair, if it could be called such, was a nauseating mass
of squirming tentacles like those of a sea anemone. The slits of its gills
clamped tight to its neck, protecting them from the air. Jewelry of the strange
gold alloy encircled its upper arms and forehead and formed a sparking
loincloth across its hips.

But its eyes…its dark eyes were disturbingly, horribly,
human.

The scent of the ocean flooded the passageway, as if a clean
breeze had blown in with the creature. It hissed again, its mouth opening far
wider than it should have, revealing row upon row of serrated teeth.

Griffin lunged at it, knife flashing. It snapped at him with
its awful maw; at the same instant, I seized the back of Griffin’s coat,
pulling him away from its jaws. The scars on my arm tingled, and I fixed all my
concentration on the steel decking beneath the ketoi’s batrachian feet as I
spoke the secret name of fire.

Had it been wearing shoes, the heat wouldn’t have been
enough to do it real harm. But the delicate webbing between its toes proved
sensitive. A smell disturbingly similar to seared tuna filled the air. It let
out a snarl of pain and sprang back from the suddenly hot metal. Then, with a
final hiss, it turned and ran.

I gave chase.

Griffin and Christine both pounded after me—a good
thing, since I had no lantern. I could just make out the figure fleeing in
front of me. Even with wounded feet, it moved fast.

It made the stair leading back to the deck. As I raced up
after it, I felt the currents of magic in the air and heard shouts and the
chanting of Aklo from the deck above.

The twins were under attack.

I all but sprang from the hatch onto the deck. Fiona stood
near the bow of the ship, hatless, her skirts blowing in a wild wind as she
spread frost across the deck. The ketoi racing toward her slipped in it. She
drove a cargo hook into the thrashing mass of tentacles on its head.

Theo wasn’t far from her. He’d found a can of lamp oil
somewhere, and splashed its contents on any ketoi who drew near, before setting
them alight with a word. The Endicotts held their own, but another half-dozen
ketoi climbed over the iron rail onto the deck.

I fixed all my concentration on the iron rail and called
down lightning from the sky.

“Good show!” Theo shouted, as the aberrations dropped from
the rail, dead or dying or burned. Then two more charged him, and he turned his
concentration to them.

I fought beside the twins, dimly aware of Griffin and
Christine at my back, holding off more ketoi with revolver, knife, and pistol.
I pulled wind from the sky to fling monsters from the rigging, drew down
lightning, and aimed fire. My blood roared in my ears, and those who would harm
us fell away before me, before Theo and Fiona, before a great swirl of magic
nothing could stand against.

My scars stung, a sweet burn, as I reached for wind and sky
and felt them obey. The ship began to roll as the swells grew stronger, and the
rigging sang in the sudden gale that shredded the fog into nothing.

In that moment, I felt only elation. All the doubts that
plagued me the rest of my life fell away. There was no fear, no right or wrong,
no constant questioning of every decision.

Just this. Just the power of my will, reshaping the world.

Some instinct caused me to turn. I beheld one of the ketoi,
hanging from the lines, its eyes narrowed in rage and its shark teeth bared.
Was it the one whose feet I had burned earlier?

No matter. I would deal with it.

The ship heaved suddenly, a wave raised by our spells
striking it broadside. At the same instant, the ketoi launched at me.

Its sleek body slammed into mine, even as the deck tilted
violently. My feet went out from under me, and I fell, until my back fetched
sharply against the rail. Even then, I might have been spared, except for the
weight of the ketoi coming down on me. For an instant, we hung poised. I thrust
out a hand to keep back its snapping jaws, felt a sudden blaze of agony on my
hand as its tentacle hair stung me like an enraged jellyfish.

Then the ship leaned just a degree further, and we toppled
over backwards, plunging down, down toward the heaving ocean below.

~ * ~

Hitting the water felt like slamming into a wall. It drove
all the air out of my lungs, and my entire body went rigid, pain and lack of
breath overriding every other instinct. My thoughts scrambled, trying to
understand what had happened.

The water closed over my head.

No! I flailed madly, as if I could claw my way to the surface.
Which way was up? There was no light, no sensation except roiling water
pressing in on me, my clothes dragging heavily at my limbs. What had happened
to the ketoi who had knocked me overboard?

A hand closed around my ankle, claws biting into my flesh.