Read Online The Drowned Tomb (The Changeling Series Book 2) by James Fahy - Free Book Online
Authors: James Fahy
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stunts to pull, you could have been killed! I’ve seen ships attacked by kraken on the great river of Dis! Have you no common sense whatsoever?!”
Robin, letting his mana stone drop to his chest, was too relieved to see the small boy unharmed to add to the fury. “What were you doing?” he breathed.
Woad stood, a little wobbly, and the three companions saw he was clutching something to his bare chest. It looked like a small Greek urn.
“Well,” the faun grinned. “Getting the kraken of course.”
They made their way around the water’s edge to his side, their dropped flashlights forgotten. The only illumination came from Woad’s floating light, which still hovered around up in the roof space, like an errant will o’ the wisp.
“Henryboy told us, kraken don’t stop growing,” the faun said, holding out the urn. “Well the room wasn’t full of squishy fish-beast when we came in here, and the pool wasn’t a tentacle-fest either. Turns out there’s all sorts of junk down there at the bottom of the water. That’s where I found it.”
They peered inside the urn, which Woad held out proudly in his sharp-clawed hands.
Deep within, wedged firmly in the bottom of the watery terracotta pot, and looking up at them with baleful, rage-filled eyes, was a slithering tentacled mass about the size of a small hamster.
“The mighty kraken?” Henry mused.
Robin stared at the tiny squid-like beast. It must have been stuck in there, he reasoned. It had grown to fill the pot, and then couldn’t grow anymore. By the light of the floating charm, he could just make out what looked like a very old, weathered collar below its eyes and tiny beak, which might conceivably once have been a powder pink, studded with glass jewels.
“Inky?” Karya whispered in disbelief. “Woad, you mad little psychopath. You’ve captured the mighty kraken of Erlking.”
“That’s…” Robin faltered. The kraken was fixing him with the stare of death with its milky eyes. Its maw opened as it gave a shuddering hiss. It was more of a mewl. He took the pot gingerly from the faun’s slimy arms. “That’s just … bloody adorable,” he finished.
Woad swelled with pride, and then, to a chorus of complaints, shook himself like a wet dog, drenching his companions in pond slime and sludge.
ROBIN’S FOLLY
Robin hadn’t slept well. For one thing it was hot and humid and there hadn’t been a breath of fresh air in his room, despite all four of the compass-point windows being flung wide. For another, it had been rather a traumatic experience, once they had sneaked the tiny kraken back through the house in the dead of night to Robin’s bedroom, to try to ‘extract’, as Karya clinically termed it, the bile.
This had consisted, it turned out, of alternately poking the tiny creature with a stick and trying to tickle its tentacles, until it basically threw up in aquatic excitement. It had been, as Henry succinctly observed, the single grossest thing any of them had ever done. Even Woad. They all agreed never to speak of it again.
And after Henry, Woad and Karya had finally disappeared to their own quarters in Erlking, Woad insisting on looking after the tiny kraken for the night. Robin, too nervous to run a bath or shower for fear of waking the household, had been forced to clean up as much pond slime as possible using a dry facecloth, before falling asleep.
So it was with tired eyes and a lingering aroma of pond scum, that he found himself early next morning, wandering down to the lake for his first lesson in the Tower of Water.
It was early, but summer was relentless, and already breathlessly warm and sticky. The thought of the cool water was actually quite welcoming, nervous though he was. Under his arm he carried a rolled up beach towel and swim shorts. He had valiantly resisted asking Aunt Irene if there were any inflatable arm-bands in the house. Sweat trickled down his spine in the humid woodland air, and around his neck
Robin, letting his mana stone drop to his chest, was too relieved to see the small boy unharmed to add to the fury. “What were you doing?” he breathed.
Woad stood, a little wobbly, and the three companions saw he was clutching something to his bare chest. It looked like a small Greek urn.
“Well,” the faun grinned. “Getting the kraken of course.”
They made their way around the water’s edge to his side, their dropped flashlights forgotten. The only illumination came from Woad’s floating light, which still hovered around up in the roof space, like an errant will o’ the wisp.
“Henryboy told us, kraken don’t stop growing,” the faun said, holding out the urn. “Well the room wasn’t full of squishy fish-beast when we came in here, and the pool wasn’t a tentacle-fest either. Turns out there’s all sorts of junk down there at the bottom of the water. That’s where I found it.”
They peered inside the urn, which Woad held out proudly in his sharp-clawed hands.
Deep within, wedged firmly in the bottom of the watery terracotta pot, and looking up at them with baleful, rage-filled eyes, was a slithering tentacled mass about the size of a small hamster.
“The mighty kraken?” Henry mused.
Robin stared at the tiny squid-like beast. It must have been stuck in there, he reasoned. It had grown to fill the pot, and then couldn’t grow anymore. By the light of the floating charm, he could just make out what looked like a very old, weathered collar below its eyes and tiny beak, which might conceivably once have been a powder pink, studded with glass jewels.
“Inky?” Karya whispered in disbelief. “Woad, you mad little psychopath. You’ve captured the mighty kraken of Erlking.”
“That’s…” Robin faltered. The kraken was fixing him with the stare of death with its milky eyes. Its maw opened as it gave a shuddering hiss. It was more of a mewl. He took the pot gingerly from the faun’s slimy arms. “That’s just … bloody adorable,” he finished.
Woad swelled with pride, and then, to a chorus of complaints, shook himself like a wet dog, drenching his companions in pond slime and sludge.
ROBIN’S FOLLY
Robin hadn’t slept well. For one thing it was hot and humid and there hadn’t been a breath of fresh air in his room, despite all four of the compass-point windows being flung wide. For another, it had been rather a traumatic experience, once they had sneaked the tiny kraken back through the house in the dead of night to Robin’s bedroom, to try to ‘extract’, as Karya clinically termed it, the bile.
This had consisted, it turned out, of alternately poking the tiny creature with a stick and trying to tickle its tentacles, until it basically threw up in aquatic excitement. It had been, as Henry succinctly observed, the single grossest thing any of them had ever done. Even Woad. They all agreed never to speak of it again.
And after Henry, Woad and Karya had finally disappeared to their own quarters in Erlking, Woad insisting on looking after the tiny kraken for the night. Robin, too nervous to run a bath or shower for fear of waking the household, had been forced to clean up as much pond slime as possible using a dry facecloth, before falling asleep.
So it was with tired eyes and a lingering aroma of pond scum, that he found himself early next morning, wandering down to the lake for his first lesson in the Tower of Water.
It was early, but summer was relentless, and already breathlessly warm and sticky. The thought of the cool water was actually quite welcoming, nervous though he was. Under his arm he carried a rolled up beach towel and swim shorts. He had valiantly resisted asking Aunt Irene if there were any inflatable arm-bands in the house. Sweat trickled down his spine in the humid woodland air, and around his neck
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