Read Online Prospero Regained by L. Jagi Lamplighter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: L. Jagi Lamplighter
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Gregor frowned, looking from the monster to the golden ring on his hand. “I don’t believe the Seal of Solomon is of any use against living monsters.”
“Here it comes!” Erasmus shouted.
It was upon us.
We all leapt backward. The sea monster’s jaws closed on the gondola, just missing Erasmus. As it clenched its teeth, the high, curved bow iron broke with a resounding crack. The jagged broken tip drove into the top of the creature’s mouth like a spike, forcing its jaws open. This saved our boat from being snapped in half but did not protect us from the beast’s fetid stifling breath.
Shouting some ancient war cry, Erasmus swung at the creature’s head. He was not the swordsman that Mephisto and Theo were; his first blow bounced off the creature’s tough scales.
“Damn!” Erasmus exclaimed, adding as he swung again, “or should I be saying the opposite? Is there a verb form for being sent to heaven?”
“Redeem!” Gregor shouted, a priestlike gleam shining in his eyes. He hit the creature with the Staff of Darkness. A crunch of cartilage followed the whack of his blow.
Fan in hand, I lunged forward and swiped at the monstrous head. The fan sliced through the monster’s nose as if it were a well-roasted turkey. The fore part of the nostril fell away revealing pale reptilian flesh. This infuriated the beast but did little serious damage.
It roared and yanked its head free of the gondola, shaking us all. Pale ichor dripped from the wound in the roof of its mouth and from its severed nose.
Mab leapt across the boat, his trench coat whipping about him. Landing on the monster’s head, he hit it repeatedly with his lead pipe. The pipe bounced off the thick scales. Scowling, Mab leaned forward precariously and thrust his pipe into the soft tissue of the beast’s eye.
The monster bellowed in pain, throwing its head this way and that. Mab slid backward and grabbed hold of the pointy green frills behind the creature’s head. Below, its thrashings exposed the creature’s throat. Erasmus took advantage of this and struck again.
This time his blow was true. Durandel sunk deeply into the soft neck. Flailing, the beast knocked the gondola into a spin. Gregor and I were thrown forward.
I came to rest across the side of the gondola, the wooden forcola digging into my ribs. The creature loomed over me like a great green and yellow wall, my nose pushed up against its leathery scales. I had landed hard with my fan arm pinned beneath me and the wind knocked from my lungs. When I could breathe again, the monster’s hot, lizardy odor caused me to cough. It was like being trapped in the reptile house at the zoo.
Beside me, Gregor had regained his feet. He hefted the Staff of Darkness, blocking the monster’s arm as it reached for us. While he struggled with it, I climbed to my knees. My fan had become embedded in the gondola. I struggled to pull it free.
The boat rocked, and Gregor was thrown backward. The sea monster took a swipe at me. Helplessly, I watched as the fistful of razorlike claws came at my face. Just as the shiny black tips drew near my eye, I yanked free my fan and swung.
The silvery fan of the Japanese forge god sliced through the wrist of the ketos. Its webbed hand flew free of its arm. I ducked to one side, but a claw raked my cheek as it fell. My face stung, but I had done the thing some serious damage. With some relief, I noted that it was not regenerating. You can never tell ahead of time with sea monsters.
In the center of the boat, Malagigi knelt in prayer, the silver star resting upon his palm. For an instant, I felt angry that this magician, who had been such a terror on the battlefield when he fought us in Milan, now chose to sit by doing nothing. But, of course, none of his tricks—wise horses and illusionary shades of the dead—would have been of any use here, even if he could have performed them. Most likely, we were better served by his prayers.
The monstrous reptile screamed in
“Here it comes!” Erasmus shouted.
It was upon us.
We all leapt backward. The sea monster’s jaws closed on the gondola, just missing Erasmus. As it clenched its teeth, the high, curved bow iron broke with a resounding crack. The jagged broken tip drove into the top of the creature’s mouth like a spike, forcing its jaws open. This saved our boat from being snapped in half but did not protect us from the beast’s fetid stifling breath.
Shouting some ancient war cry, Erasmus swung at the creature’s head. He was not the swordsman that Mephisto and Theo were; his first blow bounced off the creature’s tough scales.
“Damn!” Erasmus exclaimed, adding as he swung again, “or should I be saying the opposite? Is there a verb form for being sent to heaven?”
“Redeem!” Gregor shouted, a priestlike gleam shining in his eyes. He hit the creature with the Staff of Darkness. A crunch of cartilage followed the whack of his blow.
Fan in hand, I lunged forward and swiped at the monstrous head. The fan sliced through the monster’s nose as if it were a well-roasted turkey. The fore part of the nostril fell away revealing pale reptilian flesh. This infuriated the beast but did little serious damage.
It roared and yanked its head free of the gondola, shaking us all. Pale ichor dripped from the wound in the roof of its mouth and from its severed nose.
Mab leapt across the boat, his trench coat whipping about him. Landing on the monster’s head, he hit it repeatedly with his lead pipe. The pipe bounced off the thick scales. Scowling, Mab leaned forward precariously and thrust his pipe into the soft tissue of the beast’s eye.
The monster bellowed in pain, throwing its head this way and that. Mab slid backward and grabbed hold of the pointy green frills behind the creature’s head. Below, its thrashings exposed the creature’s throat. Erasmus took advantage of this and struck again.
This time his blow was true. Durandel sunk deeply into the soft neck. Flailing, the beast knocked the gondola into a spin. Gregor and I were thrown forward.
I came to rest across the side of the gondola, the wooden forcola digging into my ribs. The creature loomed over me like a great green and yellow wall, my nose pushed up against its leathery scales. I had landed hard with my fan arm pinned beneath me and the wind knocked from my lungs. When I could breathe again, the monster’s hot, lizardy odor caused me to cough. It was like being trapped in the reptile house at the zoo.
Beside me, Gregor had regained his feet. He hefted the Staff of Darkness, blocking the monster’s arm as it reached for us. While he struggled with it, I climbed to my knees. My fan had become embedded in the gondola. I struggled to pull it free.
The boat rocked, and Gregor was thrown backward. The sea monster took a swipe at me. Helplessly, I watched as the fistful of razorlike claws came at my face. Just as the shiny black tips drew near my eye, I yanked free my fan and swung.
The silvery fan of the Japanese forge god sliced through the wrist of the ketos. Its webbed hand flew free of its arm. I ducked to one side, but a claw raked my cheek as it fell. My face stung, but I had done the thing some serious damage. With some relief, I noted that it was not regenerating. You can never tell ahead of time with sea monsters.
In the center of the boat, Malagigi knelt in prayer, the silver star resting upon his palm. For an instant, I felt angry that this magician, who had been such a terror on the battlefield when he fought us in Milan, now chose to sit by doing nothing. But, of course, none of his tricks—wise horses and illusionary shades of the dead—would have been of any use here, even if he could have performed them. Most likely, we were better served by his prayers.
The monstrous reptile screamed in
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