Darkfall: Shadows of the Deep, page 8
Tom pulled back his sleeve to look at the wound once more. The skin around the edges was an angry red, but the skin up the inside of his forearm was discoloured as well, a mix of purples and yellows. There still wasn’t any scab—just a gooey lining of yellow and red pus. Tom briefly wondered if he would lose his arm. If the injury was left untreated, he could even lose his life. Tom poured some of the rum over the wound and let out a groan of pain through gritted teeth.
Fuck!
He clenched and unclenched his hand repeatedly, trying to ride through the pain, which took far too long to subside. When it finally did settle, he took another drink and lay back onto the rock.
‘There ya are, ya cunt!’ a familiar voice shouted.
Tom quickly lifted his head and saw the fisherman at the side of the cave entrance, using one hand against the wall for support. He stepped inside to the rocky floor.
Shit. Should have seen that coming.
Tom was annoyed with himself. He’d mentioned the caves to the fisherman, yet had come out here anyway. He was a fool. He shook his head and heaved himself up to his feet.
‘Look,’ Tom began, ‘I’m sorry for hitting you. I thought you were going to attack me.’
‘Attack you?’ the man spat back, incredulous. He seemed to have lost his drunken slur. Guess a rum bottle to the head is a good way to sober someone up. ‘I shared my booze with you. Even gave you food. Then you clout me with the bottle and make off with my rum. Yer a fuckin’ thief!’ The fisherman kept advancing towards Tom, climbing over the rocks. His fists were clenched, and he wore a snarl. He hadn’t just come looking for his alcohol—he wanted a fight.
Tom wasn’t sure he had the strength for a brawl, and all he felt at that moment was a sinking feeling in his gut.
‘Just take your booze,’ Tom said as he held up the bottle. ‘I don’t want any trouble.’
‘Should have thought of that before you gave me this.’ The fisherman pointed to the side of his head, where Tom could see an impressive raised egg. ‘Now I’m gonna give you the same back fifty times over. That bottle is going to end up lodged in yer arsehole, lad. Fat end first!’
Fuck.
When he was close enough, the fisherman lunged forward. Tom reacted instinctively and swung the bottle again, aiming for the same spot as before. The glass connected, and Tom’s attacker let out a grunt as he stumbled backwards. The fisherman’s hands came up quickly to cradle his head.
‘Fucker!’ he seethed. He shook his head and began to advance once more.
Adrenaline started to surge through Tom again. A thought then came to him: I could break the bottle on the rocks. Maybe that would scare him off.
The base of the bottle shattered on the first try. As he’d hoped, he was left with two long, jagged lengths of glass.
Holding the bottle by the neck, Tom raised it and bared his teeth. ‘I’m warning you, old man, do yourself a favour and leave me be.’
The fisherman paused, and Tom saw the look of hesitation on the older man’s face. However, it was short lived, soon replaced by an expression of determination.
‘Ya don’t have the stomach for it, lad,’ the fisherman said. ‘I know your type. Soft. Softer than a fish’s belly.’ The fisherman came forward again, quicker this time, and reached for Tom.
In response, Tom swung the pointed end of the bottle upwards, catching the fisherman on the back of his hand and slicing through his exposed skin. The attacking man withdrew his hand and clutched it with his other one.
‘You bastard!’ he shouted.
Tom hoped the man had had enough. His legs felt weak.
‘I’m gonna take that bottle and stick it in your neck!’ the old man said.
Fuck!
The crazy old bastard just would not see sense. Right as he was about to respond, Tom picked up the scent of something sharp and coppery. His eyes were drawn to the fisherman’s hands, where blood was seeping out from between his fingers.
Tom’s mouth instantly flooded with saliva. The crimson liquid seemed to pop in his vision, standing out against everything else. Tom took a step back and shook his head. His stomach lurched and grumbled—the need to eat was becoming overwhelming.
What the hell is wrong with me?
‘Nowhere to run down here, boy,’ the fisherman said as he let go of his bleeding hand.
But Tom didn’t want to run. Not anymore. He wanted to give in to the cravings. The more he thought about succumbing to the urges, the more energy seemed to course through him. No longer did he feel weak and heavy. Now, he felt like he could take on the entire world. A smile drew over his lips.
‘You know, fisherman,’ he said. ‘It ain’t me that should run.’
A brief look of hesitation and confusion drew over his attacker, and Tom chose that moment to give in. He leapt forward with a howl of anger, thrusting out his weapon. The shards plunged into the soft flesh of the man’s neck, greeted by a wet, squelching sound.
The fisherman’s eyes widened in shock. His hand came up as he tried to grab Tom by the jaw, but Tom simply wiggled the bottle up and down and side to side. A jet of blood escaped from the wound, coating Tom’s face in the warm, crimson liquid. The sweet, coppery smell intensified, along with Tom’s urges.
There was no more holding back.
With another lunge forward, Tom was able to topple the fisherman easily, forcing him to his back on the boulders. Tom was quickly down on top of him, then pulled the end of the bottle free, causing another spurt of blood to shoot upwards. He then threw the weapon aside.
The fisherman’s hands fought against Tom, clawing at his face, but Tom easily batted them away and lowered his head right to the man’s open throat. Tom took a bite, sinking his teeth into the side of the large gash. Blood filled his mouth, pouring from the wound in waves while the man gargled out a scream. The more blood that pumped, the more Tom gladly slurped up. He clamped his teeth down once again and pulled. The tough skin resisted, and Tom felt his teeth were lacking—that didn’t stop him, however, and he thrust his fingers into the man’s open neck and yanked. With feverish excitement, Tom bit down again, managing to take hold of some of the stringy flesh beneath the skin. A chunk came free. Tom chewed it briefly and swallowed.
Ohhh… God!
The sense of euphoria that exploded within him was overwhelming. Tom needed more.
Much more.
He yanked at his victim’s throat again, pulling the wound open even farther. The fisherman’s arms fell to his side and his body grew still.
Tom continued to feed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Assandra stood before the window in her room and peered out over the settlement around her.
Regardless of it being dark outside, there still wasn’t much to see. There were a few oil streetlamps dotted around, but they cast little in the way of light. The hamlet itself was small, consisting of only a few rows of terraced housing built from brick and stone, and a small church. The building she was in was large—perhaps it had been a school at one time. However, it was now the primary residence of the man who owned everything she could see.
Webster Skivington.
She hadn’t yet met him, but would soon.
It was late, and she’d been in the village for a few hours now. Her father, who she still couldn’t believe was alive, had guided her through the small hamlet. They had passed a number of men as they walked, all of whom stared at Assandra as she passed. There had certainly been a lustful longing in many of the stares, though no one said anything—Assandra knew that was because Vern was with her. The men kept a respectful distance, and it was obvious he was held in some regard there.
Vern had led Assandra to the largest building, which was made of a dull brown brick and had a pitched, tiled roof with multiple chimneys stacks. The main body of the building was two storeys high, with smaller, single-storey sections at each end. The timber windows all had arched heads, and there was a large, open, grassy area to the rear, surrounded by a stone wall, and containing a small outbuilding.
After tethering her horse, Assandra had been brought to a bedroom that contained a large, four-poster bed, dressing table, ornate wardrobes, and a plush carpet. Far more comfort than she was used to. There, they had talked a little while, and her father had told Assandra the men in the hamlet worked for a local fishing company. The company was seemingly important to Vern as it gave him access to the sea.
Some attendants had brought food up, and they’d eaten. Then, Vern had insisted on Assandra getting some sleep. She did, and he’d woken her only a short while ago, telling Assandra that it was time for her to meet a man named Webster Skivington, whom he then went to fetch.
Now she waited. It didn’t take long before there was a knock at the door.
‘May we enter?’ she heard Vern call. The show of respect caught her off guard.
‘Come in,’ she said.
The heavy, oak-panelled door swung inward. Her father entered first, still wearing the dark red cloak—though the hood was now lowered—and he was followed in by who Assandra presumed was Webster Skivington.
He was well-dressed in a dark three-piece suit beneath a long coat. A red slip cravat was wrapped into the high collar of his white shirt. The man was just removing a top hat as he entered, revealing black hair that was slightly wavy and swept over to one side in a side-parting. He had sculpted sideburns that framed a chiseled jaw. Standing around five-foot-nine, and of a slim build, Webster carried himself with the poise of someone wealthy. Assandra guessed he was in his mid-thirties. When he smiled, Assandra saw he had good teeth, a nice smile, and dark, intense eyes.
‘Miss Freyer,’ he said, giving a slight bow. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’
She didn’t return the gesture. ‘Forgive me,’ she said, ‘but I’m not sure I share that pleasure. What is this place? Why am I here?’
‘Kettleness?’ Webster asked. ‘It’s just a small hamlet.’
‘That you own?’
He shrugged. ‘I own the buildings here, yes. I managed to get them at a good price. It benefits my business to have the workers stay here.’
‘Must have been good fortune that all the previous owners were looking to sell at the same time.’ She gave him a questioning look.
He laughed. ‘Yes, well, something happened that made people here eager to leave. I was able to capitalise on that, offering to take everything off their hands.’
‘So you bullied people into leaving their homes so you could get what you wanted.’
He lifted a hand to his chest and feigned offence. ‘I’m hurt at the accusation, Miss Freyer.’ He looked anything but, and continued holding his smile. ‘Like I said, I just capitalised on a situation. What went on before that is irrelevant.’
‘What about the church? And this building? They can’t have been privately owned.’
‘Well, when a village no longer has any residents, the public buildings soon become obsolete, don’t they? Therefore, they have a price—and a low one.’
The self-gratifying grin annoyed Assandra. This was the kind of man her father had aligned himself with? She wasn’t impressed at all.
‘Why not buy up property in Whitby?’ Assandra asked. ‘I’ve seen your warehouse in town. It would make sense to have everything in one location.’
Skivington’s smile widened. ‘Privacy.’
‘You have something to hide?’
He nodded. ‘Of course. Who doesn’t?’
‘While you slept,’ Vern interrupted, ‘I updated Webster on what happened out at Dalby.’
‘A shame, to be sure,’ Webster said. ‘I’m sorry about your sister.’ Assandra couldn’t tell if his words were genuine.
‘Did you know her?’ Assandra asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not personally, no,’ he replied. ‘I never had the pleasure. Everything was done through your father.’
She turned to Vern and raised an eyebrow. ‘It seems strange you’re keeping your associate here at arm’s length.’
Her father frowned. ‘It was a necessity. Everything was in hand in Dalby… so I thought. Webster had things to handle here.’ Assandra noticed Skivington shoot her father a quick, sceptical glare. It quickly vanished. Vern went on: ‘Also… Cora didn’t wish to interact with anyone else. As you can imagine, she wasn’t very sociable. Especially towards the end, when her appearance had changed so much.’
‘So why are you working together?’ she asked. ‘I’m struggling to see what common goal you could have.’
‘Actually, it was your father who brought a proposal to me,’ Webster responded. ‘In doing so, he made me aware of certain things that completely changed my outlook on… well… everything. Vern offered me much, and in return he wanted access to my business. I tell people we have a strong presence off these shores. But in truth, we own the waters here. We can therefore keep other vessels away from certain areas, if we deem it necessary.’
‘You mean to say bully your way to getting what you want.’
Webster shrugged. ‘Bully, coerce, threaten, bribe… whatever it takes. Let’s not stand here and pretend any of us are beyond reproach. I’m perfectly aware you’ve killed people, Assandra, and I do not fault you. You did what you had to.’
Assandra clenched her teeth together. ‘Only when attacked and backed into a corner.’
‘And I choose to act first, so that no one is ever able to back me into a corner. Either way, both of us look out for our own self interests.’
Webster’s unshakable confidence reminded Assandra of Theodore—that vile man had made her life miserable for the last few days. However, she couldn’t entirely disagree with Skivington’s sentiment. The way she was feeling now, she could certainly understand acting first if it meant protecting herself. Living a life of isolation, just wanting to be left alone, had failed her.
Maybe I should be a bit more selfish. A bit more aggressive.
‘So,’ she began, ‘what areas of the sea do you need to protect? Is there something out there?’ Something then struck her. ‘It’s the spawn, isn’t it?’
‘The spawn are only one aspect,’ Vern said. ‘There’s much more to it.’
‘Then tell me.’
‘Very well,’ Vern said. ‘But you may want to sit down.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jack was shaken awake. Images of Samuel and Rose dying again quickly dissipated as he opened his eyes in confusion. He looked upwards. A dull morning light spilt into the attic from the hole in the roof. Max stood above him, looking down, already fully dressed.
‘Get up and get ready,’ the Shadowhand ordered.
Jack nodded and heaved himself out of bed before getting ready.
‘Where are we going this time?’ Jack asked. He again looked to the hole in the roof. The sky above was cloudy, not yet completely free from the dark of the night.
‘To walk around town,’ Max replied. ‘I want to see what we can find. If possible, I’d like to get inside the Skivington warehouse at some point.’
‘What about the place those fishermen mentioned yesterday… Kettleness? Are we going to pay it a visit?’
‘At some point,’ Max replied with a nod. ‘But I want to mine what we can from Whitby first.’
When Jack was ready, the two left their room and headed down to the level below, where Jack stopped off at one of the free, cramped toilets. After emptying his bladder, he used a little of the salt and charcoal from one the sashes he carried to clean his teeth. Jack didn’t have much left in the world, though he tried to always make sure he carried enough to keep his teeth relatively healthy. It was a lesson he’d always impressed on Samuel as well. A nice, healthy smile will set you apart from the rest. Especially when fighting for the attention of someone you like.
That had always made Samuel wrinkle his nose in response. He was far too young for romantic interests. And now… he’ll never be old enough.
There were still people milling around the corridors and stairwell of the doss house, with workers getting ready for the day. Jack and Max squeezed out into the street, and once they were on the road Jack rubbed at his eyes, getting the last of the sleep out of them. Compared to the previous day, the air had a colder bite to it. It was far from freezing, but it certainly made Jack thankful for his jacket. After moving along the harbour, Max led them to a ladder, which led down to a small build up of rocks that protruded from the water. Once they had descended, the two men knelt down and washed their faces in the river. Jack noticed some small crabs on the rocks scurrying around, one of them stopping close and raising its claws at Jack. He batted it backwards, though it managed to nip him. After climbing back up to the harbour, they walked north. While walking, Jack and Max passed a group of three workmen who were standing in a huddle, talking in hushed whispers. Jack couldn’t help but overhear the conversation.
‘You saw it, then, Pete?’
‘No, heard about it, though. Fella I know was walking along the beach this morning and he seen for himself.’
‘Any idea who it was? The dead bloke?’
‘No. Not a lot left of him, by all accounts. A right mess. Whoever he was, though, he’s all ripped up. Looks like some kind of animal has been at him.’
‘But what kind of animal could do that? There aren’t any beasts around town.’
‘God alone knows.’
Max cast Jack a look, and Jack knew exactly where they would be headed next. The two men continued quickly up through town, then made their way over to the beach. The sound of the sea was louder there as the tide washed up against the pebbles and sand. The smell of saltwater filled the air, and the ever-present sound of seagulls squawking came from above.
Up ahead, Jack saw a large group of people gathered on the beach, all of whom were looking back at the cliff face. As the two men got closer, the cliff pulled back to reveal a large cave cut into the surface of the wall. There was a striking smear of red mush across one of the large rocks inside, along with what remained of a ruined body. A few of the braver townsfolk had ventured inside the cave to look at the fresh remains. Most people, however, left a healthy distance.
