For the briefest of moments, Sharkey thought that the trees themselves had spoken. But Rain’s wide eyes told him that trees, like seaweed and coral, weren’t supposed to talk.
“Who’s there?” he whispered, trying to see past the twigs and branches.
“A friend, shipmate,” replied the voice, “with a friendly warning. There’s men hidin’ over yonder. Got ’ere a couple of hours before you. You show yourself, you’ll get an arrow in the guts. I’d creep away if I was you, quiet as a shrimp.”
“Quick as a shrimp,” said a second voice, more precise than the first.
“No,” whispered Rain, grabbing Sharkey’s arm. “You have to swap me! You said you would swap me!”
Sharkey glared at her. “Don’t you make a sound!” he hissed. “Or I’ll—I’ll kill you. Just like I killed that Massy shark!”
He pulled her deeper into the thicket, searching for the source of the two voices. He thought he saw a patch of fur, as small and gray as a rabbit.
Can’t have been rabbits that warned me, though. I don’t reckon rabbits can talk, any more than turtles can.
But if it wasn’t rabbits, who was it? Why had they warned him? And most important of all, were they telling the truth?
He lifted the telling-scope and peered back at the group around the mon-u-ment. His mind raced. Surely, if the Ghosts had set a trap, Admiral Deeps would’ve given him a sign of some sort? All she had to do was shake her head, or—
Unless there was a reason why she couldn’t, a reason why she stood so tight and stiff, as if she didn’t want to be part of what was happening.
Sharkey shifted the telling-scope to the cart, trying to see past its wooden sides. Why hadn’t the fourth Ghost climbed down? Why was he still sitting there, with his knife in his hand and his eyes fixed on something at his feet?
Something or someone?
A shiver ran down Sharkey’s spine. “There’s someone else hidden in that cart,” he whispered. “Another Sunker, I bet, held at knifepoint so the adm’ral won’t shout a warning.”
He shifted the telling-scope again and scanned the bushes along the side of the road. He knew what he was looking for now, and it wasn’t long before he saw it. A twitch of leaves. The curve of a shoulder, half-hidden by a branch.
The mysterious voices were right. It was a trap.
It crossed his mind then that Rain might be part of it, that this might’ve been what she had wanted from the very start. To make her way onto the Claw and bring him here, where he could be killed.
But they weren’t going to kill Sharkey, not if he could help it! He was as sorry as he could be for Admiral Deeps, stuck in the Up Above. But he wasn’t going to risk his life to save her.
He grabbed Rain’s arm, tight as a lobster claw. “You’re going to get me back to the skiff,” he hissed in her ear, “and no nasty tricks. You hear me?”
The girl looked at him sadly. “Will you not let me go?”
Sharkey shook his head, impatient. He wasn’t sure if he could find the skiff without her. And if things got bad, at least he’d have his own hostage.
“No tricks!” he said again.
They crept back the way they had come. The going was too slow for Sharkey’s liking—he wanted to be back home right now, with the Undersea closing around him and the familiar stink of the Claw calming his nerves. But he couldn’t go faster. Tree branches threatened to snap in his face or poke out his good eye, and he had to push them aside with one hand while hanging on to Rain with the other.
And then they came to bare ground. They must have crossed it earlier, but Sharkey hadn’t noticed, not in the dark.
He noticed it now. No cover, not for a hundred yards or so. Just earth and rock. And back down the road, the Ghosts waiting for him.
If we run, he thought, they’ll see us.
Which meant they should crawl and hope not to be spotted. But the thought of crawling across that wide-open space, with no kelp beds to hide in, gave Sharkey the horrors.
“We’re going to run,” he said. “Straight across to that next lot of trees.”
“Please let me go,” said Rain. “I will not tell them anything about the Claw. I promise I will not.”
“Now!” said Sharkey. And he dashed out into the open, dragging the girl by her arm.
The light of the sun hit him like a hammer. It was so bright that Sharkey’s good eye started watering again, and he could hardly see the ground in front of him. On his port side, he thought he glimpsed a flurry of gray fur.
They were no more than halfway across the bare ground when Sharkey heard a shout. “There! Brother Thrawn was right—there are more of them! Shoot! Shoot!”
And arrows began to fall about their ears.
Rain yelled with fright. Sharkey forgot about the rabbit, forgot about everything except the arrows. He wasn’t used to running, but he was strong and lean from swimming long distances, and his body did what he asked of it. He let go of the girl’s arm and dodged this way and that like a school of fish, all the while heading for the cover of the trees and fearing that he wasn’t going to make it.
Something whacked into his starboard shoulder. He cried out and stumbled. To his surprise, Rain grabbed his hand and pulled him upright.
“Nearly there!” she panted. “Come on!”
It seemed to Sharkey that they ran and ran, and the arrows fell and the trees came no closer. His shoulder was starting to hurt now, and he wanted to cry out again but didn’t have the wind for it.
And then, to his relief, the trees were right there in front of him, and he was slipping between them.
The arrows stopped, and so did Sharkey and Rain. But only for a moment. Rain shook her head as if to clear it. “They could have killed me, shooting like that! They did not care!”
Sharkey put his hand to his shoulder and felt something poking through it. His clothes were sticky with blood.
Speared like a tunnyfish, he thought. I never knew it’d hurt so much.
He didn’t feel like running any more. But Rain looked back again and said, “They are coming after us!”
They set off between the trees, and this time it was Rain who held Sharkey’s arm, instead of the other way round. Sharkey didn’t think he could’ve made it by himself. His shoulder felt as if it had been rammed up against a hot engine. He wanted to groan, but he jammed his mouth shut and gnawed his lip instead.
Every step hurt. But Rain wouldn’t let him slow down. She kept looking over her shoulder, and once or twice she squeaked with fright. Sharkey stumbled along, half running, half walking. He had lost all sense of direction, and for all he knew, the Ghost girl was taking him in circles. There was no sign of the rabbit.
When they came to the rocks, Rain pulled him out into the open, shouting in his ear, “Keep going! We are nearly there!”
Sharkey didn’t believe a word of it. I’m going to get eaten, he thought dizzily. I’ll never see the Claw again. I’ll never be adm’ral.
Behind them, someone shouted, “There they are!”
Sharkey gathered what little strength he had left and stumbled over the rocks, hanging on to Rain for dear life. Arrows hissed past them, sharp as knives.
If I live, I’ll never spear another tunnyfish, thought Sharkey.
He was so close to the Undersea by now that he could almost taste it. It helped drag him forward when his shoulder was trying to stop him in his tracks. The rabbit was back, though now there seemed to be two of them. Or maybe it was just a couple of mud crabs, scuttling away from intruders.
Sharkey didn’t care. He left a spatter of blood on every rock he passed, and he didn’t care about that either. The strength was draining out of him, and all that mattered was getting back to the Claw.
“Where’s the boat?” cried Rain.
“Boat?” Sharkey raised his numb head, wondering what she was talking about.
“The one you hid!”
She means the skiff, thought Sharkey, and he rubbed his eye and tried to remember what he’d done with it.
“Over there,” he mumbled, pointing with his chin. “I think.”
Rain dragged him towards a heap of kelp, and there was the skiff. Sharkey stood, swaying from side to side, while the girl pushed it into the water. Then he climbed in and picked up the paddle, wondering how on earth he was going to get them back to the Claw.
He dug the paddle into the water and almost blacked out with the pain. “Can’t—do it!” he gasped. Except he was a Sunker, and Sunkers never gave up, not till they breathed their last. So he dug the paddle in again—
Rain scooted forward and knelt in front of him. She put her hands around his, and when the paddle went back into the water, she pushed at it with all her strength, so that Sharkey just had to guide it.
It still hurt. He couldn’t hold the groans back now, no matter how hard he tried. But at least they were moving.
Rain was singing in a halting, breathless voice:
“Run run—run,
Do not stumble—or fall,
The race—is not done
Till you hear—the call…”
Her shoulders were up around her ears, and her eyes had that telltale whiteness about them. But her hands kept pushing at the paddle, one side, then the other.
Sharkey heard a thunk as an arrow hit the seat behind him.
Rain squeaked, “Where is the Claw?”
“Don’t know.” Sharkey was so full of pain that he couldn’t see anything except a red blur, but he waved his hand vaguely. “Periscope depth. They’ll be watching for us.”
“Well, they had better hurry up,” cried Rain as half a dozen arrows hissed past her. “Or they will be too late.”
Sharkey thought he saw a swirling in the water, twenty or so yards to port. Fish, he thought. A big one, going down.
But it wasn’t a fish, and it wasn’t going down; it was coming up. The water churned and swirled as a gray conning tower poked out of the depths. The skiff rocked from side to side. The top of the conning tower flew open, and Gilly stuck her head out.
“There!” cried Rain, and she tried to make Sharkey paddle towards the tower, but his arms wouldn’t do a thing and they spun in circles, around and around, while the arrows came closer and closer.
Sharkey thought Gilly threw something, and maybe Rain caught hold of it. Whatever it was, they started to move, even though his arms were hanging by his sides.
And then Cuttle was lying on the deck, clinging to the bow of the skiff while Rain and Gilly grabbed hold of Sharkey, and Gilly said, “Come on, sir!”
He staggered along the slippery deck, with the arrows still falling and Gilly shouting over her shoulder, “Leave it, Cuttle!”
Then somehow they were all scrambling down the ladder, with Rain in front of him and Gilly yelling, “Fasten the hatches! Open main vents! Dive! Dive!” and Sharkey hoping it wasn’t him who was supposed to get the hatches or the vents, ’cos right now he wasn’t even sure where they were.
His foot slipped on a rung. Air roared out of the ballast tanks. The Claw began to sink.
Somewhere nearby, Gilly shouted wordlessly, and Sharkey heard a clunk as the hatches were locked. The portholes darkened. He stood at the bottom of the ladder, swaying.
Then the last bit of strength drained out of him, and the lights were going … going … gone.