White Fangs (5 page)

"They're afraid," Sabine whispered.

For a moment Jack thought she meant the hawks, until he saw that her eyes were closed, and realized that she referred to the crew of the
Fort McGurry
.

"I wish we knew what of," Jack said.

Sabine let out a breath and opened her eyes, turning toward him with a gaze full of regret. "I'm sorry. At sea, I can see more deeply into hearts and minds, but on the river it's all quite muddled."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Jack reassured her, taking her hand. "Whatever it is, it may not concern us at all."

And yet he
was
concerned. Most ordinary men would never allow themselves to believe that werewolves existed, but Jack wondered if someone one board had realized that there were monsters steaming up the Yukon with them. Ghost and his crew had robbed and murdered up and down the Pacific for years. It wasn't impossible that someone had survived and recounted the tale. He had tried to put himself in a position to eavesdrop on some of the whispers among the crew, but thus far had been unsuccessful. And if it wasn't the wolves they feared, then the question remained: what had spooked them so badly?

"Try not to worry," Sabine said, now trying to reassure him. Her smile reached all the way to her copper eyes. "You said Dawson wasn't much further."

Jack nodded. "Forty miles or so, if I've gauged it right."

"Good. Then whatever is bothering them isn't ours to worry over anymore."

He knew she was right, yet he could not fight the uneasiness he felt, as if the crew's agitation was contagious. An ominous weight hung in the air.

As the steamer followed the bend in the river, black smoke pluming from the stacks and the paddle wheel slowly turning, Jack watched the circling hawks ahead and exhaled slowly, trying to clear his mind. The sky had turned a dusky blue, headed toward the indigo of evening. Night would be falling in minutes. He extended his senses, feeling for the birds. Closing his eyes, he focused on one of them, easing himself into its awareness, matching his pulse as best he could to the rapid thrumming of its tiny heart. He could feel the air around him as the hawk's wings sliced the wind, and the sensation of flying helped ease tension from his body.

"Jack?" a voice said, and it was not Sabine's.

Though Jack opened his eyes, he maintained his connection with the hawk, his senses open wide.

The Reverend stood in front of him, brow knitted in consternation as he stroked a hand over his unruly beard. Vukovich accompanied him. Jack had been reaching his senses toward the river bank, but now that he allowed himself to feel the men's presence as well, he understood how close to the surface their lupine nature had risen. The men fairly bristled with agitation.

"What is it?" Sabine asked.

The Reverend glanced at her. "Just wondering what the hell Jack's gotten us into."

"Meaning what?" Jack asked. "You knew what the terrain was going to be like up here. I warned you how remote it was. I thought you'd like the hunting."

Vukovich glanced over his shoulder at a member of the crew hurrying by in the fading light. The sun had already set, and all that remained were the hints of it over the horizon.

"That's not it," he said, his accent thicker than usual. "We talked to the cook. He likes his sherry this time of day and it loosened his tongue. We know what's got the crew spooked. They don't like making the run to Dawson these days."

"Why not?" Sabine asked.

"Rumors are flying from Dawson, up and down the river," the Reverend explained. "The word is that people have vanished."

Jack frowned. "People uproot and abandon Dawson every day. They come for gold and find only hardship. Some turn into drunks and others die, but a lot of them head for home. The life they've got here . . . why would they tell anyone they were leaving?"

"Don't you think people know that?" Vukovich asked. "There's got to be more to it. The cook says a preacher's wife was taken from her bedroom, and a half dozen men working a big claim disappeared from their camp. One man went to wash the dinner plates in the river and when he came back, they were gone."

"I've heard many such stories," Sabine said. "Most of it is superstitious nonsense, fearful gibberish attempting to explain oddities that have perfectly ordinary explanations."

"Yes," the Reverend agreed, giving her and Jack a steely look. "But you're a witch, Miss Sabine. And we . . ." he said, indicating himself and Vukovich, ". . . we are monsters. Jack fought the Wendigo."

"Said he killed the Wendigo," Vukovich muttered, glancing away.

"Is that what this is about?" Jack asked, looking about to make sure they weren't overheard. "You think this is the Wendigo?"

"The way I understand the legend, any man can carry the curse of the Wendigo," the Reverend said. "Maybe you killed one, but that doesn't mean there isn't another."

Jack shook his head. "Not this soon. What are the odds of that? The same curse falling on another man in the same place only a year later? And even if there were another Wendigo roaming the Yukon, there's no way it would have the stealth or intelligence required to sneak into some woman's boudoir and abduct her. If such a thing happened, it would have crashed through a window and eaten her, not to mention everyone else in the building, and kept eating until the folks in Dawson killed it, or there wasn't anyone left to eat. So no, not the Wendigo. Slavers, perhaps, more active than they were before. Bastards took me and my friends, and killed one of them. They're ruthless."
I hope the bastards haven't touched Hal
, he thought. But his young friend in Dawson was wise to the slavers' ways now, and Jack hoped he would be safe.

Silence fell amongst them. Jack breathed evenly, still touching the hawks, although they were a ways back along the river now. He felt rodents returning to their warrens and birds seeking their nests.

"Well," Vukovich said after a moment. "Something's got the crew spooked."

"The cook heard that a man was attacked by a polar bear," the Reverend said. "There's some talk about a killer — "

"A polar bear?" Jack interrupted. "This far south, and this time of year? That's ridiculous."

"We're only repeating what the cook told us," the Reverend snapped, bristling a bit.

"The last bit's the most important," Vukovich added. "A few days ago, one of the steamships nearly collided with a smaller boat that was adrift on the river. They found blood, but no one on board."

Jack glanced at Sabine. He felt sure from the look in her eyes that they were thinking the same thing.

"Pirates?" he asked.

"You have to wonder," Sabine agreed. "Men are sailing downriver with whatever gold they may have found."

Jack looked at Vukovich and the Reverend. Amazingly, particularly as they had been pirates themselves, it appeared that they had been so taken with tales of mysteries and monsters that it had never occurred to them that the most human of all explanations — greed — might be at the bottom of all of this rumor and superstition. Jack might have suspected Ghost's involvement — some new way to harry them — but he had been pursuing and then traveling with them, and could not have had a hand in this.

"Could be, I suppose," Vukovich allowed.

After another moment, Jack nodded. "All right. Well, let's just keep our eyes open. We don't have much longer until we reach . . ." Something hit him, a hollowness inside that bore terrible gravity, and he whispered his final word. ". . .
Dawson
. . ."

Alarm lit the Reverend's eyes and Vukovich crouched, looking around in search of some kind of threat. Sabine grabbed Jack's arm, squeezing his bicep.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Jack, what's the matter with you?"

Words had failed him, his thoughts devolving into a soft moan. He blinked and reached up to massage his temple, but his hands shook as he reached out further with his mind. Lesya had unlocked a wild magic inside him, or given him a sliver of her own that allowed him to make such intimate contact with the creatures of the wild lands. It alternately soothed and thrilled him whenever he was able to match his spirit with the spirits of the beasts around him. But this time, he'd touched something terrible and tainted. He'd been carrying on his conversation with Sabine and the two men while also letting his senses drift through the wild around them. And he'd encountered something . . .
other.

"Jack, you're scaring me," Sabine whispered, clutching his arm even more tightly.

"Don't you feel it?" he asked her. "Down in the water?"

Sabine frowned, shaking her head. "I don't know what you mean. Other than the people on this ship and the fish in the river . . ." Her frown deepened and she turned to look over the railing into the dark water. "The fish."

"What about the fish?" the Reverend asked.

"The fish are gone," Sabine said.

The wolves began to change. They did not transform into werewolves, but anyone watching would have seen the subtle shift in their features. Their lips tugged up to show lengthening teeth and they both began to sniff the air, trying to find the scent of some enemy. Their eyes were cold and feral.

"Calm down," Jack said quickly. "The crew is skittish enough. If you give them a scare it'll be you they start shooting at."

The Reverend looked dubious, but Vukovich took a deep breath and nodded.

"Jack," Sabine said. "What is it, down there? What's scared off the fish?"

"I don't know," Jack said. "All I can feel is a kind of . . . void. But touching it gives me the chills." He reached back down and let his mind brush against the cold, hollow place that seemed to be moving back and forth beneath the steamer. Instead of the vitality he felt when he touched the spirit of an animal, this seemed like a hole in the world — a hole in the fabric of life itself, leeching any other vitality into it. His stomach twisted with a sudden nausea and he shook himself to clear his head, breaking contact.

"Try again," he said to Sabine. "I know your magic is different here, away from the sea, but this thing . . . Instead of life, feel for a place without it. An emptiness."

Sabine held his hands and nodded, closing her eyes. Jack glanced around to find that several passengers had gathered further along the railing and were watching them with wary curiosity. He ignored them.

"It's so . . . cold," Sabine whispered, her lips pressing together in a thin white line.

"You feel it?" Jack asked, glancing at Vukovich and the Reverend.

A small sound escaped Sabine's lips and then her head snapped back, her body jerking as her hands gripped Jack's painfully tight. Her eyes flew open wide and she began to shake.

"Sabine!" Jack shouted as her legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed to the deck, sliding partway beneath the railing so that her left arm dangled out over the churning river.

"It's . . ." she mumbled.

Jack knelt by her and pushed the hair away from her face, his heart racing with worry and fear, but all for her. "It's what, my love?"

Her eyes had been wide and unfocused. Now, though her body continued to be wracked with the spasms of seizure, she locked gazes with him.

"Hungry," she whispered.

Jack twisted around to shoot a hard look at Vukovich and the Reverend. "Go. Find Maurilio and Louis and get back here! Something terrible is going to — "

With a loud thump, something struck the hull of the
Fort McGurry
hard enough to rock the steamship in the water. Whatever was down there, filling that dark, lifeless void, it was strong.

And ravenous.

Jack had never been afraid of water. He had lived close to it all his life, and it had always been a part of his world, whether sailing on it, fishing it, or using it as a means to travel. But now, looking down into that dark, fast-flowing river, with something below the surface that was darker than night, he was chilled to the core.

We need to keep out of the water
, he thought.
Whatever happens, we have to
—

Another impact, and this one sent Jack and Sabine staggering against the bulkhead. Passengers were shouting and crying out in alarm. The Reverend and Vukovich were crouched down against the vessel's movements. Jack could see their confusion — they were ready for a battle, but there was nothing for them to fight.

"A sandbank," the Reverend called out. "Submerged logs. A sunken boat."

"I don't think so," Jack replied.

"Why not?" Vukovich asked.

"Because if it was something immobile, we wouldn't have hit it twice," Sabine said, climbing to her feet. As if in response there was another impact, but this was different. Jack felt the shock through his legs, and heard the unmistakable sound of splintering timbers.

"Both sides that time," he said. "The boat's being struck beneath the waterline."
But by what?
He was glad that no one asked, because there was no sane answer.

Maurilio and Louis burst through a bulkhead door and onto the deck, looking around frantically until they spied Jack and the others. Joined again, the men and Sabine seemed to take some comfort from being together. Jack realized that they had properly become a crew, and he felt a tinge of pride.

"Panic down below," Louis informed them. "Crew are running like rats."

"There's something in the water," the Reverend said. "Jack and Sabine sensed it, and then — "

"What is it?" Louis asked.

"I don't know," Jack said, "but we stay together."

"I agree," the Reverend said. "On deck. Ready to fight if we need to. Or jump."

No way I'm jumping in there
, Jack thought, and as he shared a look with Sabine, he knew that she was of like mind. They had both touched on the alienness of the thing beneath the surface, and they had no desire to enter the water with it.

There came another impact from the stern, and a slapping, snapping sound. In the half-light Jack could see broken timber boards powering skyward, scattering across the rear half of the ship and splashing into the water.

"Paddle's gone," Vukovich said. "Now we're helpless."

The steamer started drifting. People were gathering on deck, some of them forming short lines as some half-hearted safety drills were implemented by the crew.

"We should get up to the wheelhouse," Jack said. He was thinking quickly, considering and discounting options, and the moves left open to them were depressingly few.

"Why?" Vukovich asked. "The boat's drifting."

"In case something comes out of the water —" Louis explained.

"If something comes out, we kill it," Vukovich stated firmly.

"While we don't know what it is, it's best to avoid a fight." Jack grabbed Sabine's hand and headed forward toward one of the narrow staircases that climbed the superstructure, and the others followed.

They passed a group of confused, frightened people, that Jack realized were three men and the three prostitutes Jack and the others had shared a carriage with on the train journey here. The madam was talking sternly, quietly, to her two employees.

"Stay away from the water," Jack said as they passed. The madam just glared back at him with a hard expression.

The drifting steamer had turned sideways on to the river's flow, and something struck it hard below decks once again, rapidly halting its progress down the river. The deck tilted to port, and Jack pulled Sabine down to the deck, scrabbling for purchase. The madam and one of the men fell against the wooden railing and flipped over, out of Jack's view. There were two splashes, and the sounds of them both surfacing and spitting water.

And then came more terrible sounds. Still out of sight, the man cried out once, then his voice drowned out as he was quickly pulled under. The woman screamed. She was dragged into view across the river's surface, and Jack could see water foaming around her, her arms waving uselessly.

She was pulled under suddenly, and the foaming water changed color. In the dusk, that color was dark. Jack had seen enough blood by moonlight to recognize its awful hue.

The two remaining women were crying, trying to pull themselves up the sloping deck away from the edge, when the vessel tilted even further. Jack grabbed one woman's hand, and she grabbed her friend's, and he didn't release her until she had a good hold on a doorway.

"Here, Jack!" Louis called. He'd smashed a window and was gripping the frame. Jack lunged for his outstretch hand and grabbed on, his finger's curling around the man's wrist, and Louise's long-nailed fingers fixing tight around his. Jack resisted the urge to wince at the grip — Louis was saving his life.

Sabine clasped his other arm with both of hers.

"Climb across me," Jack told her urgently. "Don't trust your feet. The deck is tilting more than you think." She did as he suggested, moving nimbly across his shoulders and reaching for the Reverend, where the tall man was holding onto a door frame. She held on behind him, looking across and down at Jack, and beyond him to the waters that held such mysterious danger.

"We need to get to starboard!" Jack said. "Up and over, or through the ship. Whatever way, we can't stay here."

"You don't think they can capsize the whole steamer?" Maurilio called back. He was further along the deck behind the Revered, he and Vukovich clinging to the deck with long claws sprouting from their tattered boots.
You'll get noticed
, Jack thought, but the idea was ridiculous.

"They?" Vukovich asked. "Who the hell
are
they?"

"That doesn't matter," Jack said. "They're strong, and seem pretty focused on killing everyone on board." He locked eyes with Louis, suddenly and uncomfortably aware of what he was describing. An ambush, a slaughter. These men with him — these
more-
than-men — were dreadfully familiar with such a thing. He glanced up at Vukovich and saw the big man's legs lengthened, his shoulders broadening, and his leathery face had deformed into a more exaggerated version of himself.

"Vukovich," Jack tried to warn him, but his words were stolen by the night.

"We can go this way," the Reverend called, indicating the doorway.

The sounds of chaos continued and increased all around them. The ship tilted even more, timbers straining and splintering and splitting, hull vibrating with forces it was never designed to withstand. A whistle sounded somewhere and was quickly cut off. Worried voices turned into startled cries as people slipped and plunged into the water, and then there were the screams, the splashes, and drowned cries as those who entered the river were quickly tugged beneath its surface.
The river runs red
, Jack thought, and though he could not see the blood in the poor light, he could surely smell it. Amidst all this chaos, he suddenly became certain of what would happen.

The tang of blood. The lure of meat. Others would smell it, too.

"Vukovich,"
he said again, louder. The big pirate looked at him, and the others looked at Vukovich. Jack sensed the precariousness of that moment, as unsettled as the perches they all held on to. Things could swing. The men who made his crew could revert, fall, plunge back into the dark seas of their past where meat was everything and the hunt was the life.

Vukovich quivered, his clothing bulging into unnatural shapes around his chest and limbs. "I smell . . . ." he began.

"You smell damnation," Sabine said.

Vukovich blinked, frowned, and with another slow blink he reverted back to being a man. Jack had often wondered at his history before Ghost had bitten and changed him. Now, when they were out of this he resolved to ask. He would ask all of them, because he realized now that though the future was theirs to mold, the past
was
important. It left a mark, and whether they wore that mark with pride or carried the stain of guilt could dictate how rich their futures might be.

"I'm fine," Vukovich stated. "Let's go. Follow me!" He leapt through the doorway past the Reverend, then reached out his big hand for Sabine take. She did so without hesitation, and he pulled her inside.

The skinny form of Maurilio went next, then the Reverend. Louis pulled Jack up to him, and the two men clung together for a moment, understanding that they should take this moment to pause. They looked into the river, then along the leaning deck at several other people attempting to hold on for their lives. Someone screamed. From elsewhere, a few hesitant gunshots.

"What are we up against here,
mon ami?"
Louis asked.

"I have no idea," Jack said. "What I sensed felt so . . . malignant and yet so
lifeless
."

"Something lifeless has no such hunger," Louis said. "I should know."

"Whatever is in there is nothing like you," Jack said.

"Nothing like I
was,"
Louis corrected. "Although the urge . . . I cannot condemn Vukovich. I still carry the taint myself, and such smells . . ."

"If he can fight it, so can you," Jack said. "And if something emerges, we might
all
have to fight." Jack heaved himself through the doorway, and Louis followed.

The vessel was leaning at about thirty degrees, and they walked along the junction between the gangway floor and wall. The Reverend quickly kicked open another door in the wall above them, his natural understanding of vessels showing through as he followed his instincts. This gangway led across the ship, now sloping upward, and they climbed using the handholds of doorways and warped boards. The boat was under immense stresses. As Jack hauled himself up after the others, he could feel a thrumming through any timbers he touched. A more sustained volley of gunshots sounded from back the way they had come. Someone screamed. There were more splashes, and several hard, rapid impacts against the hull below the waterline. The air was split by a sound that made Jack's blood run cold — a terrible, rage-filled roar.

The memory of the Wendigo flashed through him, with its slavering teeth and inhuman build as he and it clashed in their final, momentous combat. But though that beast had also roared, its cursed voice had sounded wretched. The cry that rang through the boat now was of something reveling in what it did.

The bloodshed . . . the murder . . . .

Maurilio looked back at him, eyes wide. Jack almost smiled. A werewolf afraid? The smile never quite reached his mouth, because Jack could see that the others were not unsettled, but alert. The widening of their eyes was the first subtle blooming of their animal side.

"They'll take the whole boat," Vukovich said grimly. He was changing again, deep-buried urges flexing his muscles, shifting his bones. His grimace was one of pain, but Jack could also see that he was keen to let the animal take over.

And why not?
Jack thought for a moment.
If we need that, why not let it happen?

"Vukovich!" Jack yelled. They all turned to look at him. "You have control, as long as you're a man. If you let the beast back out, you lose that control. You might be able to fight whatever it is that's ambushed us, but when you come across a group of frightened people huddled in a cabin or you find a wounded man leaking blood, what then?"

For a moment, Vukovich's eyes were more animal than Jack had seen them for some time. Then he calmed himself again, nodding.

"But being a man feels so weak," he growled.

"Then you're doing it wrong," Jack said. "Reverend, is that the door onto the starboard deck?" He nodded ahead of them, up the still-sloping gangway.

The Reverend unlatched the door, let it swing inward, down toward them, and they all saw treetops and stars. Moonlight smeared inside, supplementing the weak lantern light.

"Won't we be safer here?" Maurilio asked.

"No." Sabine was already starting forward again. "In here we're trapped."

"And out there we're closer to the water," Maurilio said.

"We're assuming they can't leave the water?" Sabine asked. She was the first outside. The Reverend followed, then the others, Jack bringing up the rear, grasping the door's jambs and pulled himself up and out.

The steamer let out a tremendous groan. The whole vessel vibrated, boards popped, windows shattered with the strain, and then it fell back, smacking down onto the river and sending a huge wash across the rapid current. Jack held on tight, the shifting weight threatening to throw him across the narrow deck and over the starboard railing. As he checked that the others were safe — their shoes shredded, claws scoring across timbers as they struggled to defy the momentum — he heard and saw Sabine.

"Jack!" she cried, even though he was farthest from her. She stumbled backward across the deck, green dress billowing about her as she struggled to regain her balance. Her right hip struck the low railing, and The Revered leapt for her, his big hand barely brushing hers as she tilted overboard.

"No!" Jack screamed, and he let himself go, kicking across the deck toward the railing. He would go into the water after her, he knew. He would dive into that raging, blood-filled, horror-stricken torrent, draw his knife and fight whatever might be down there before he let anything hurt Sabine.

But before he reached the railing something dashed past him, pushing him sprawling across the deck and sending The Reverend staggering sideways. The shadow struck the railing and seemed to flow overboard, silent and graceful.

Jack reached for his knife, fearing that the things in the water were now boarding. That having disabled the vessel they had come on board to take their pick . . . and their fill. He had seen this before with the pirates, and he had fought back. He would do so again.

Even as Jack recognized Ghost's distinctive odor, the pirate captain swung back up on deck with Sabine grasped tightly to his side. He was sweating, his hair and beard disheveled, and his right hand clasped the railing so tightly that it had crumpled and splintered in his grip. He glanced around, eyes settling on Jack for only a moment. As the vessel settled in the water, he released Sabine beside him.