of goggles over his eyes. His nose was overly large and red and made him look a bit clownish. But he carried a long whaler’s harpoon in his hands with the confidence of someone who knew how to use it.
With a series of nearly gleeful whistles, Merlin landed on the man’s shoulder. He gave the bird a smile and a playful scratch under its chin.
“Nice to see you, Herodotus,” he said. He had the crisp accent of a Londoner, but it sounded posh and well-to-do, not like the cockney seamen and deckhands I’d encountered before.
He turned to me. “So you’re the one to thank for getting our little friend back, eh? Quite a feat, stealing him right out from under the nose of the Gentleman himself!”
I managed to pry my frozen fingers from the hull of the ship, for apparently that’s what the thing was—a kind of ship that traveled
under
the water—and stood up. The slick footing wasuneven at best and I was afraid I’d tumble back into the river, plus it looked a lot more inviting inside that hatchway, certainly more inviting than my alternatives. I decided to be on my best behavior.
“Uh, yes sir. I suppose so, sir,” I said, assuming he meant the dead man in the carriage, though
how
he knew about that was a mystery. “Though I wouldn’t call that fiend a gentleman.”
He gave a sour laugh. “Yes, you’re right. It’s a name he hardly deserves, but the Dead Gentleman didn’t earn the name; he
took
it.”
Merlin, or Herodotus, or whatever the bird’s name was, sang a little song and the man paused. He seemed to be listening to the bird, though it was all chimes and tin whistles to my ear.
“Herodotus tells me you’ve got a special gift for getting out of danger. That you’re fast on your feet as well as with your wits.”
“Oh, well, that’s kind of him, sir,” I lied. I didn’t believe that this man could somehow understand all that ruckus.
“He also tells me that you’re an untrustworthy thief and a sewer rat, and you’d partner up with the devil himself if you thought you could make a profit.”
Blast! He could understand it!
“Well, we’ll have to work on smoothing out those rougher edges, won’t we?”
I blinked, not sure what he was getting at.
“My name’s Jonathan Scott,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m a Captain First Rank in the Explorers’ Society. And I’m offering you a job.”
I blinked again. My mouth moved but nothing came out. A job? Aboard a ship that sailed under the water? Things were moving far too fast, and I felt like I was behind the conversation.
“B-but, the Duke …,” I stammered uselessly, pointing back to the shore. I saw the retreating shapes of the bridge folk as they stomped out their campfires and broke down their lean-tos. In the face of a giant underwater ship they were, wisely, striking camp. The Duke was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, that. He was just your run-of-the-mill bridge troll. Usually they stick to creek bridges, abandoned roads, that sort of thing. Every now and then, a particularly big specimen gets a mite full of himself and tries to lay claim to something more impressive. Like we have here. I reckon that now that he’s seen the
Nautilus
here, he’ll move on. In a hurry.”
A troll? Trolls were the stuff of children’s rhymes. And yet, I’d seen the Duke with my own eyes. And Merlin. And the Dead Gentleman. I’d seen a lot over the last few weeks, enough that I would never be the same.
Again the man, Scott, chuckled warmly. “No time for sorting it out in your head, my boy. Right now, you’ve got to make a choice. You can go back to the city, but you’ll still be hunted by the Gentleman’s cronies. I can’t help you there. Or you can come with me and learn to be an Explorer. You’ve got the makings of a darn fine one, unless I miss my mark. But you’ve got to choose—time’s wasting and we are needed elsewhere.”
“Where?” I asked. “The bottom of the sea?”
“No, my boy,” said Scott with a wink.
With a series of nearly gleeful whistles, Merlin landed on the man’s shoulder. He gave the bird a smile and a playful scratch under its chin.
“Nice to see you, Herodotus,” he said. He had the crisp accent of a Londoner, but it sounded posh and well-to-do, not like the cockney seamen and deckhands I’d encountered before.
He turned to me. “So you’re the one to thank for getting our little friend back, eh? Quite a feat, stealing him right out from under the nose of the Gentleman himself!”
I managed to pry my frozen fingers from the hull of the ship, for apparently that’s what the thing was—a kind of ship that traveled
under
the water—and stood up. The slick footing wasuneven at best and I was afraid I’d tumble back into the river, plus it looked a lot more inviting inside that hatchway, certainly more inviting than my alternatives. I decided to be on my best behavior.
“Uh, yes sir. I suppose so, sir,” I said, assuming he meant the dead man in the carriage, though
how
he knew about that was a mystery. “Though I wouldn’t call that fiend a gentleman.”
He gave a sour laugh. “Yes, you’re right. It’s a name he hardly deserves, but the Dead Gentleman didn’t earn the name; he
took
it.”
Merlin, or Herodotus, or whatever the bird’s name was, sang a little song and the man paused. He seemed to be listening to the bird, though it was all chimes and tin whistles to my ear.
“Herodotus tells me you’ve got a special gift for getting out of danger. That you’re fast on your feet as well as with your wits.”
“Oh, well, that’s kind of him, sir,” I lied. I didn’t believe that this man could somehow understand all that ruckus.
“He also tells me that you’re an untrustworthy thief and a sewer rat, and you’d partner up with the devil himself if you thought you could make a profit.”
Blast! He could understand it!
“Well, we’ll have to work on smoothing out those rougher edges, won’t we?”
I blinked, not sure what he was getting at.
“My name’s Jonathan Scott,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m a Captain First Rank in the Explorers’ Society. And I’m offering you a job.”
I blinked again. My mouth moved but nothing came out. A job? Aboard a ship that sailed under the water? Things were moving far too fast, and I felt like I was behind the conversation.
“B-but, the Duke …,” I stammered uselessly, pointing back to the shore. I saw the retreating shapes of the bridge folk as they stomped out their campfires and broke down their lean-tos. In the face of a giant underwater ship they were, wisely, striking camp. The Duke was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, that. He was just your run-of-the-mill bridge troll. Usually they stick to creek bridges, abandoned roads, that sort of thing. Every now and then, a particularly big specimen gets a mite full of himself and tries to lay claim to something more impressive. Like we have here. I reckon that now that he’s seen the
Nautilus
here, he’ll move on. In a hurry.”
A troll? Trolls were the stuff of children’s rhymes. And yet, I’d seen the Duke with my own eyes. And Merlin. And the Dead Gentleman. I’d seen a lot over the last few weeks, enough that I would never be the same.
Again the man, Scott, chuckled warmly. “No time for sorting it out in your head, my boy. Right now, you’ve got to make a choice. You can go back to the city, but you’ll still be hunted by the Gentleman’s cronies. I can’t help you there. Or you can come with me and learn to be an Explorer. You’ve got the makings of a darn fine one, unless I miss my mark. But you’ve got to choose—time’s wasting and we are needed elsewhere.”
“Where?” I asked. “The bottom of the sea?”
“No, my boy,” said Scott with a wink.
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