Sea of gold, p.17
Sea of Gold, page 17
Yet the person wasn’t moving.
His victim pulled free of his grip, then grabbed Fish around the ankle and yanked him down. Fish tried to kick free. He used his other foot to strike down at his attacker, but it was no use. Whoever was grabbing him was small but incredibly strong. There was no chance of Fish fighting his way free of their grip. So he stopped resisting. He relaxed. He let his mystery assailant pull him deeper, and when he finally felt that grip relaxing in response, he kicked down and pulled up the knee of his opposite leg just as quickly.
His foot was free. He raced for the surface, broke through, and breathed in the smoky air.
Two swimmers emerged nearby from the water. A man and a dark-haired girl whose wrists were covered with bracelets. Fish treaded water, watching them. Neither looked close to drowning; they seemed perfectly comfortable in the water. Suddenly the man dove. Fish felt movement below him, and then a long and hairy arm wrapped over his shoulder and chest and pinned him tight. Fish gasped and tried again to wrestle himself free. Yet he couldn’t escape the man’s grip. The man loosened but didn’t release his hold, and the girl, treading water, stared back at them. She’d pretended to drown to draw him out there. But why? She couldn’t have been much older than Fish himself. Her skin was pale, her hair black and short. Turning, she waved to someone in the distance. Again he tried to escape the grip of the man holding him across the chest, but the effort was wasted. Fish was on his back as the man churned ahead through the water, pulling Fish with him, and the girl trailed close behind.
“Don’t bother fighting him,” she warned. “He can out grapple a shark.”
The remark was meant to be a warning, Fish realized, yet it didn’t so much intimidate as confuse him. Why would anyone wrestle a shark? And how? He’d never seen one of the notorious beasts himself, but he was fairly certain they didn’t have arms. Or legs, for that matter. His mind briefly wandered, imagining what a match between a swimming pirate and a shark would look like, when he heard what sounded like . . . applause.
His captor slowed. Before them rose the ship. Someone was definitely clapping on the deck above them, and as the man released Fish, he was almost too frightened to look up. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in deep, and stared up toward the railing of the ship. There, leaning out over the water, with fires raging behind and all around him, stood Scab. The pirate’s squat, scarred face and ringed lips twisted into a terrifying smile, and he didn’t so much speak as growl, “Welcome home, Fish.”
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Gregory Mone, Sea of Gold
