The Wooden Prince (29 page)

They all took hold of the chain and, hand over hand, grunting with the effort, hauled down the doge's ship until the hull reached Lazuli's luminous gaze. Pinocchio's heart raced with the hope that he was going to find Geppetto aboard.

“Hook the chain onto the spire of the anchor,” Captain Toro grunted.

They managed to attach the chain so that the ship floated just above their heads. Captain Toro threw out his wings and with a single swoop flew onto the deck. Lazuli scampered up the chain effortlessly. Pinocchio and Sop managed to climb up, but not nearly as easily as the other two.

When Pinocchio was over the rail, Lazuli said, “It's abandoned.”

Pinocchio frowned. “Where did they all go?”

Captain Toro emerged from below deck. “It's only been a few days. They had barrels of gunpowder, caskets of water, tons of food stores, but now everything's gone. Even the bunks are missing. Entire bunks. There's no way they could have carried all that. And why would they even leave the ship?”

“To search for a way out of the Deep One?” Pinocchio mused.

Captain Toro shook his head. “The doge might send out a patrol. But he'd never leave his ship.”

“Unless they were in some sort of danger,” Lazuli said.

“From what?” Maestro peeped.

The faintest scattering of movement sounded from out in the dark. Pinocchio gripped his sword tighter.

“What was that?”

“Someone looted the ship,” Captain Toro suggested. “Maybe it's them?”

Lazuli leaned over the railing. The light from her eyes didn't reach far and certainly didn't illuminate anything lurking in the blackness that Pinocchio could see.

“What's down there, Sop?” she asked, a nervous edge to her voice.

“I can't tell,” Sop said. “It's all black—No! Eyes. I see eyes!”

Captain Toro barked, “Give me a weapon.”

“You should do a better job keeping up with your stuff, Captain,” Sop said, giving Toro a shove. “Come on. Let's pry up some boards and get them back to Cinnabar.”

“I said you could use the bunks,” Toro said. “I won't have you tearing apart the doge's ship!”

“The bunks are gone,” Pinocchio said. “We need wood.”

Sop gave his sword a playful twirl. “If you want our protection, you'll help us out. You scratch my back or I'll scratch yours.”

“Besides,” Pinocchio added, “the doge abandoned the ship. It's not doing him a lot of good down here anyway. A few timbers are all we need.”

Toro grumbled but helped them pry up a section of the decking.

As they climbed down from the ship and set off back to Cinnabar, Pinocchio thought he saw eyes blinking out at him. They were faint and disappeared quickly, but he grew certain he was not imagining them. “Whatever is out there,” he whispered, “seems to be following us.”

“I wish they'd quit skulking and show themselves,” Sop said.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Captain Toro said. “There's no telling what they are. Or what they eat. Anything that lives down here can't be too picky about its meals.”

“I bet they'd have no qualms about eating crickets,” Maestro whimpered.

“Cricket eaters are the least of my worries,” Captain Toro said.

Pinocchio heard whispers of movement, something slipping easily across the soggy patches of algae. He picked up his pace. When they reached Mezmer crouching over Cinnabar, he said, “We're not alone.”

“I know,” Mezmer said. “Any idea what they are?”

“No,” Lazuli answered. “But hopefully a good fire will keep them at bay.”

They stacked the wood in a pyre and placed Cinnabar on top. Captain Toro opened a sachet of gunpowder and poured a line around the boards. From his belt he removed a flint striker; then he looked at the others and said, “Ready?”

Mezmer nodded. “Light it.”

Captain Toro snapped the flint striker, scattering sparks across the powder. With a startling brightness, the gunpowder ignited. Pinocchio had to cover his eyes, but by the time they adjusted, the boards had caught fire and Cinnabar was engulfed in smoke and dancing tongues of flame.

Pinocchio sighed. He was going to be one angry djinni when he woke.

A low groan echoed and the ground shuddered.

“What was that?” Maestro chirped.

Sop fanned his hands at the flames. “Hurry and wake up, you stupid djinni, before the Deep One gets indigestion!”

Faint flickers of movement appeared in the dark, accompanied by little shrieks of distress. Whatever was lurking out beyond the perimeter of the fire's light seemed upset.

Captain Toro chuckled. “That'll send them scurrying back to their holes.” He cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, “This is called fire, you beasties! We only mastered it millennia ago.”

A dark clod splattered against Captain Toro's face.

Sop laughed. “I guess they've mastered flinging slime.”

Captain Toro gave a disgusted groan as he scraped the tangled seaweed and muck from his face. “Give me your sword. I'll find the creepy that threw that!”

Already more clods were raining down on them. Pinocchio turned his back to the incoming missiles. “What are they doing? These don't even hurt.”

“Annoying us into surrender?” Sop guessed. Dripping seaweed covered his arms as he tried to shield himself.

“They're putting out the fire!” Mezmer cried.

She was right. Hissing cakes of muck were already half covering Cinnabar. The fire was dying. Plumes of smoke filled the air.

“Protect him!” Lazuli shouted.

The back of Pinocchio's chameleon cloak was already so covered that he felt like a knight half dressed in a slimy suit of muck armor. But try as they might, the five of them couldn't shield Cinnabar from the filthy volley coming from all sides.

“How many of them are there?” Pinocchio said.

“I think we're about to find out,” Captain Toro growled.

The fire sputtered out. In the light of the dying embers, shadowy figures closed in on all sides.

T
hrough the smoke, Pinocchio couldn't yet make out what the creatures looked like, but some carried crude spears. Mezmer directed her troop into positions surrounding Cinnabar, their scanty weapons outstretched. But they were completely surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered.

“Hold steady, darlings,” Mezmer growled, her spear raised.

As the mob of creatures crept closer, one by one, dim green lights began to glow from their heads. What at first sounded like monstrous mutterings seemed to form words.

“What are they saying?” Pinocchio asked.

Captain Toro shook his head. “Gibberish. They're just beasts.”

“No, I hear them too,” Lazuli said. “It's sounds like they're saying, ‘Mother.'”

At that moment, the nearest creatures came into view. They weren't human, but they were humanoid in shape, and covered in barnacles, crustaceans, and seaweed. The green lights were shining from open shells atop their heads.

“Mother,” they said. “Mother.”

Sop shook his sword at them. “We're not your mommies, barnacle faces!”

“No fire,” they murmured. “Mother hates fire. No fire.”

Pinocchio noticed that the Deep One had become still again. “Mother must be—” he began, but his wrists were suddenly locked in a strong grasp. It wasn't by one of the creatures. It was Captain Toro.

The airman snatched the sword from Pinocchio's hand and charged toward the nearest of the creatures. Pinocchio could barely tell what happened next. The captain threw out his wings, scattering smoke and bits of muck. And then he had one of the barnacle creatures by the tangle of seaweed attached to the creature's head.

He held out his sword and shouted, “Get back, you savages! Get back or I'll kill him.”

The little creature in his grasp squealed, wriggling to get free. The others of its kind broke into terrible cries, scurrying around in such a dark mass that Pinocchio knew there must be many more then he had imagined before.

“Back!” Captain Toro shouted.

They didn't flee. In fact, more of the lights appeared, shining unexpectedly bright in their faces. A mass of spears took aim at Captain Toro. “No! Free her! Let her go!” the creatures squeaked.

“I'll kill your companion if you don't get back,” the captain warned.

Pinocchio rushed forward. “What are you doing, Toro?”

“Saving our hides,” he snarled.

“You're scaring her.”

“Who?” Captain Toro said.

“Her,” Pinocchio said, gesturing to the creature in his grasp. “They've done us no harm.”

“Are you insane, Pinocchio?” Sop called. “Have you not seen the horde of things surrounding us? Not to mention all the spears pointing at you.”

“They attacked first,” Captain Toro said.

The little creature in Captain Toro's grasp kicked helplessly. “We didn't harm you. Just protecting Mother. Mother doesn't like fire. Fire hurts Mother.”

In the dim light, Pinocchio could see the little creature's blinking black eyes peering out from a gap in the barnacles encasing her face. There was a bright intelligence in her eyes—kindness, even.

“See,” Pinocchio said. “They were just trying to put out the fire. If they had wanted to harm us, they would have. They have weapons. And sufficient numbers.”

“Let Gragl go!” the creatures squealed at Captain Toro.

The Captain snarled at Pinocchio. “How can you trust these things? Just look at them. As soon as I let her go, they'll kill us.”

“No we won't,” Gragl said, wriggling in Toro's grasp.

Lazuli drew her sword and aimed it at Captain Toro. “Pinocchio's right. You heard her, Captain Toro. Let her go.”

Mezmer came on the other side of Captain Toro and leveled her spear at him.

Captain Toro spat angrily at Mezmer and Lazuli. Then he lowered his sword and released the creature. When she scuttled off, others of her kind rushed forward to surround her.

Gragl flipped open a clamshell attached to her forehead. Inside was a little luminescent mussel. Not much light on its own. But combined with the hundreds of other glowing mussels on the foreheads of the rest of the barnacle people, the light was plenty.

Gragl glared up at Captain Toro. “Your sword could have done nothing to me anyway.”

She tapped her knuckles against the side of her face and then against her shoulder. It gave the dry sound of stones crunching against stones, shells rubbing against shells.

Pinocchio grinned as he snatched his sword back from Captain Toro. These barnacle people had natural armor in addition to their built-in lanterns. Fascinating.

“So if your new friends are so harmless, what happened to everyone from the doge's ship?” Captain Toro growled. “The ship was looted. Everyone aboard is gone without a trace. See if your little clam-faced friends can explain what they did to them.”

Captain Toro might have been a brute, but he did have a point. Pinocchio turned to the barnacle people. “Where's my father? Where is Prester John?”

The barnacle people broke into whispered mutterings.

Pinocchio exchanged a concerned look with the others before saying again, “We're looking for—”

Gragl looked up at Pinocchio with unmistakable amazement sparkling in her eyes. “Your father is His Immortal Lordship?” The other creatures fell into expectant silence.

Pinocchio realized their mistake, but before he could explain, Gragl added, “Sadly, His Lordship is no longer immortal. Your father is dying.” She gulped miserably.

“Quiet, Gragl,” another scolded. “You'll upset the boy.”

“Actually, my father is—” Pinocchio began, but Lazuli cut him off.

“Your father is in need of our help, Pinocchio.” She gave him a meaningful frown. “Right? You need to be with your father.”

“Oh, of course I do,” Pinocchio said. “Can you take us to him?”

The barnacle people whispered to one another.

“What's the problem?” Mezmer asked.

Gragl looked at Mezmer and Sop in turn before saying to Pinocchio, “My people fear that you will eat them.”

Several of the nearest began scuttling back nervously.

“Eat them!” Sop said. “Trust me. That's about the last thing you have to fear from us.”

“Why would you think that?” Pinocchio asked.

Gragl pointed to Cinnabar. “Were you not trying to cook your companion?”

“Oh, ha!” Pinocchio said, chuckling with the others as the barnacle people stared with dark, worried eyes. “No, we weren't cooking him.”

“He's a djinni,” Lazuli explained. “An elemental being of fire.”

“Then what's he doing here?” Gragl asked.

“I'm sure he's going to be wondering the same thing when he wakes,” Pinocchio said, not looking forward to explaining this to Cinnabar. “He needs help.”

“He needs fire,” Mezmer added from where she was removing the soggy mound off Cinnabar. “And soon, or he might die.”