Ghost Sea: A Novel (Dugger/Nello Series) (21 page)

I heard an aberrant sound in the distance: like anchor chain clicking when it’s fed out with care over a roller. Then it was gone.

All was still.

T
he floor was empty, the house nearly dark. There was no movement and no sound but for a wet log hissing in the smoldering fire, when, from far away, over the still waters of the cove, the ship’s clock chimed eight times.

It was midnight.

A cool draft passed through and an ash cloud drifted low over the floor. A faint call, like a mother beckoning a child, came from a distance but not clear like the chimes—muffled—as if coming from the bottom of a well. It came again, not through the door or through the walls, but from right below us, near the fire—from underground. The draft strengthened and the ash clouds stirred in eddies. As the voices neared, a spot of ground before us swelled, cracked, and then a hand burst through, turning and reaching out as if waiting to be held. Beyond the fire, the earth now bulged and, with a sudden thrust, the top of a skull popped through, then the forehead, then the eyes: dark holes, and a long crimson tear on an ashen cheek. It looked around. All around the fire, the earth heaved and buckled, and a knee burst through or a leg kicked out, then an arm, a face; and they clawed their way out of the suffocating ground.

Four naked bodies, as gray as ghosts, erupted but remained hunched, unsure of the place. They turned a hand, raised a shoulder, twisted at the hips, as if they hadn’t made these movements for a long time. They went to the fire and pushed coals with their hands, feeling, trying to remember, then they fanned the flames until a column of smoke spiraled up. Something stirred in the middle of the flames. Amid the smoke, an enormous form emerged from the ground; its great arms held out a naked woman, her head and frail limbs dangling lifeless. She was well off the ground when the smoke parted and a flame flared and lit her face,
her
tall forehead,
her
cheeks,
her
stubborn chin: Kate.

I started to get up but Nello pulled me down.

The ghosts walked through the flames, lifted her off gently as if afraid she’d fall apart, and, making sounds like killer whales’ cries, brought her out and laid her on the ground.

Lightning flashed through the holes in the roof, then a sound like thunder, and a sinewy woman, naked except for a patch of cedar apron, landed in the doorway. She stood, knees bent, arms cocked—all angles—with a kelp tube over her shoulders crisscrossing between her breasts. As she came down the steps, the people drew back. Nello buried Charlie’s face in his shoulder.

The woman danced, uttering sharp sounds. “Tuxwidl,” Nello whispered. “She says she cannot be killed. In that tube is the water of life.” Some people began audibly to cry.

Kate didn’t stir.

It was either the draft or a wind change, but the smoke no longer rose in a column but swirled to the side, circled the walls, and shrouded over us, darkening the gloom. The woman neared Kate. She knelt, laid her palm flat on Kate’s stomach, then her chest, put her head between her breasts, listening to her heart. She took the bulbous end of the kelp tube, untied the stopper that plugged it, and, with utmost care, dipped her fingers in and rubbed the moisture onto Kate’s brow. She was carefully sprinkling Kate’s chest with the water when, behind her, the ground violently ruptured and a powerfully-built man burst through, sword in hand, and pointed it at her head. She turned “Wina’lag,” Nello said. “Warrior of the World.” The ghosts scattered. Still down, the Tuxwidl plugged the kelp tube, slipped it from her body, and shielded it behind her back. The sword shone like a rigid flame in the firelight.

She half rose, backed away circling the fire, her left hand out searching, grasping air, then slapping it on her heart, her head, her belly. She stopped defiant before him, arm to one side, her body unprotected. He held the blade parallel with the ground and she lowered her hand, palm up, to her side, when he struck. The blade went straight at her chest, but in the last moment, as if hit by some enormous blast of air, it flew aside and the man lunged, stumbling, into the emptiness beside her.

He struck and missed again. Then, with a quick jab, he shoved the blade into the fire. When he pulled it out, its tip flamed. She watched the flame. He lunged. The blade plunged deep above her apron. She grabbed it. When he pulled it out, blood fountained. She stared at the blood gushing down her thighs and spreading in the ashes. She fell to her knees. With her last strength she nudged the kelp tube to her mouth and bit it. The man yanked it away. Her head fell forward and her hair hid her face, then she folded onto herself until she was no larger than a seal. People shrieked. Women came down and crowded around her and covered her with a bright-striped blanket. The man slipped the coil of kelp over his head, clutched the sword with both hands, then raised it high over his head. The women scattered. Then such stillness. With a glitter, the sword sliced the air and landed with a thud. He sliced again. Under the blanket something fell to the ground. He leaned down and reached under and pulled out her severed head. He walked with it around the fire then lobbed it in the flames. Clutching the kelp tube, he took two steps back and was swallowed by the ground.

Red spread on the blanket like on a blotter. Women wailed. Two men brought a big wooden box, lifted the Tuxwidl into it, closed the lid, struggled to haul it near the flames, and flung it into the middle of the fire. The bears threw buckets of oil, and the flames roared so high they set the roof ablaze, and men had to clamber out the corner holes and pull the burning boards apart to douse them in the snow. When the flames ebbed, the box still burned, then its sides crumbled and the striped blanket smoldered. There was a sound like hot oil sizzling until the blanket fell to ashes and only a heap of bones now glowed in the dark.

K
ATE DIDN’T STIR.

The floor was empty.

I had pulled out of Nello’s grip and started down when, with a cry, a naked form shot from the flames, all angles. The Tuxwidl. She raised her bloodied head, threw back her hair, and her eyes shone with a weak smile. With the blood caked on her belly and thighs, she struggled back to Kate. She felt the earth where the man had vanished with her kelp and, with the sword, jabbed the earth. She dug a shallow hole, then, dissatisfied, she dug another. After a few tries she stopped and fell to her knees. Lifting her apron, she leaned back, arched her spine, and her stomach rippled in contractions. She thrust her pelvis forward and gave birth to a frog.

Sensing the fire, the frog stood still, then leapt from one hole to another, until, close to Kate, it stopped and burrowed. The woman helped it dig. When a good depth down, she reached in, searched, and pulled out the kelp tube. She was backing away when a hand shot up and grabbed her ankle. She thrust the sword with ferocity into the ground. The hand let go.

She untied the kelp and sloshed water on herself, rose stronger, then sloshed water onto Kate. Kate trembled. The woman knelt astride her, took a deep breath, and held her mouth to Kate’s until Kate’s chest heaved, then with a cry and an arching bound, she vanished in the flames.

Kate sat up—all angles.

That’s when I heard the first click of a rifle bolt above.

K
ate stood mesmerized by the flames. Another rifle gave a sharp, hard click, this time close by, then another and another from every corner of the roof.

The first worn boots came down through a roof hole, awkwardly, searching for a foothold, then the rest of them dropped in through every corner: rag tag, scruffy white men holding guns. They spread out slow and silent on the catwalks that swung and swayed, dangling from the ropes.

I clambered down the ramps onto the floor. Nello, rifle in hand, headed for the door, but too late, because two more men burst in, leaving the door ajar. They nervously raised their guns but, seemingly unable to make out anything past the firelight, leveled them at Kate.

From the darkness above, and in a near deadfall, the Kwakiutl flew down. The twigs no longer tied, he let go of the rope.

He kept looking at the gun barrels while circling around Kate as if trying to anticipate the first shot, or trying to shield her on all sides. But they were everywhere now: on the steps, up behind the great house-poles by the door, some kneeling, some sitting on the swaying catwalk, their rifles pointing indifferently down. When the Kwakiutl saw me approach, he stopped and, with those piercing eyes leveled at me, tried to guess my intent; then he moved to Kate’s far side, leaving me this side to defend. Her face was calm, the eyes alert as when I had taught her to sail.

Into the darkness of the doorway stepped an impeccable uniform, so white against the night that it seemed to glow—the captain of the yacht. He looked about, must have judged things safe, because he leaned out the door and said in a respectful voice, “All clear, sir.” And stepped aside to make way. A tall, heavy man stepped in. He seemed embarrassed but his eyes hardened when his glance fell on Kate. I remembered the head, the breadth of his shoulders; it was Hay.

Sayami made his way through the mountains of gifts and went and spoke respectfully to him. They exchanged some words, then Hay took a step down. The rest of the house was motionless; watching. Somebody sneezed loudly and kids snickered.

Hay, reassured, began to descend. The Kwakiutl moved closer to shelter Kate and instantly there was movement on the catwalks up above. Hay shot out his right arm, palm down, calling for calm, and the movement above stopped. The Kwakiutl moved so close to Kate they touched, and Hay’s hand trembled, then—as the Kwakiutl pushed her down to the ground—with a move as quick as the striking of a snake, Hay dropped his hand. Two quick shots rang out. The Kwakiutl’s head fell forward as if in deep thought, he fought to keep his feet but his legs no longer held, and he went down on both knees, one arm holding him off the ground. He clawed the ashes. No one moved.

Hay’s voice rang out, self-assured and loud, “Thank you, Captain Dugger, for a job well done.”

I looked at Kate. She was still on the ground beside him and I couldn’t see all her face, but I was sure I saw disappointment. Hay took another step and talked on but my head swam and I only heard how, “you more than earned your wages.” Kate tightened. I took a step toward her, and, as my shadow fell on her, she grabbed the shard of mirror the Hamatsa had left behind. At the same moment there was shifting on the catwalk, but Hay’s arm shot out and the shifting ceased. Hay, with his arm extended, walked down and talked on, about how not only had he taken the liberty of paying off all my debts, but he thought “a further ten thousand is in order.”

He was talking to me but glaring at Kate, who now looked up at me, not reprimanding, not questioning—just waiting to see. And I watched her for a sign, a spark, a softening around the eyes; but she gave nothing. She rose. She looked back down at the Kwakiutl still braced on his arm, then she made a small move—toward Hay. I blocked her path. Hay began to lower his arm and I braced myself for the bullets, but he held his arm steady and said softly, “Twenty thousand, Captain Dugger. In Tahiti that will last you twenty years.”

Without looking up, Kate started to walk. I stepped out of her way. She walked toward him, getting smaller and smaller as she had in my dream, and Hay, smiling, reached out his other arm in welcome. She was near him, so near I had to take two steps to the side as I pulled out my gun and fired. Hay staggered; his hand went down. Shots rang out, the ash blistered around me, and something slammed my leg and threw me forward, then I felt a hammer hit my shoulder and I slumped down near the flames.

Kate looked back but seemed to have trouble remembering. She looked down at her own reflection in the shard of mirror in her hand. Hay, clutching his arm, laughed out loud, then he called to Sayami, who helped him off with his coat and looked at his bleeding arm. Kate walked steadily now, and Hay, with his good arm, reached out and laid the coat on her bare shoulders. But she let it fall; then turned away, leaving the shard of mirror in his heart.

Hay teetered; the red spread on his shirt. Sayami raised his rifle toward me, but hesitated and yelled out, “Nello! The door!” He pushed Kate down between towering piles of blankets, leapt clear, dropped to one knee, and fired and fired up into every corner of the darkness.

As the unarmed captain hid, Nello ran among the sacks, his rifle blasting at the gunmen at the door.

The catwalk erupted in gunfire, but Hay’s men had to fire from the swinging boards and they shot wild, hitting the ash around us.

“Idiots!” Sayami roared. “Round-eyed morons!” And he timed the catwalk’s swing and shot a man, who fell into the sails and brought them billowing down.

We edged toward the door. Nello hit a man who—now bent over—ran up a mound of pots, but the more he climbed, the more the pots slid down.

Hay had slumped to his knees. Sayami pulled him onto his haunches and used him for cover. A man on the catwalk steadied his aim by wrapping his arm around a rope, but Sayami shot first and the man flew off and, with his arm trapped, swung in lazy figure eights over the flames.

One was shooting through the smoke-hole in the roof but he was shooting almost straight down at Sayami and managed only to pump bullets into Hay. I emptied my gun into him, and he plummeted into the fire, sending a burst of sparks into the gloom. And under the shower of sparks the Indians sat astonished. The chief clutched his carved stick and watched in open admiration the spectacle of the white men falling—like dead birds—from the sky. They fell from the smoky darkness into the ashes; onto mounds of splintering boxes; onto exploding sacks of flour; and onto a row of mirrors, launching shards of glass glistening through the flames. And a twinge of jealousy seemed to glaze his eyes, perhaps envy for their performance, forgetting for the moment that they wouldn’t rise at midnight.

But we were still pinned down. Two men behind the tops of the house posts were well hidden. Then Sayami cried out, “Nello,” and, while Nello gave covering fire, he dashed into the open and shot one, who tumbled down and clattered among the pots. But shots came back and Sayami’s coat rippled. Nello bounded up the sacks and fired along the wall. Black boots slipped out of the bear’s mouth, but the big teeth held the rest.

The great house fell silent.

I pushed myself up but the house started spinning. Then everything went dark.