Midnight on the manatee, p.1
Midnight on the Manatee, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Shard and Brianna
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
END NOTES
Midnight
on the
Manatee
D. H. Willison
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, harpies, or mermaids, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No humans were harmed in the making of this novel.
Copyright © 2022 D. H. Willison
All rights reserved.
Artwork by Papaya
ISBN: 9798823112536
Edition 1.0a
To Claudia and Aunt Nan. Support, patience, and a high tolerance for my quirky humor.
What more could one ask for?
CHAPTER ONE
I’ve always struggled picking out clothes. It doesn’t matter if it’s for travel, work, or a special event, I seem to hit a point where I regret my choices.
Like today.
Late afternoon sun glared in my eyes, the wide brim of my slouch hat unable to shield me. Mostly because it was on the ground a dozen paces distant. It was hot, and this close to the marsh, humid too. My linen blouse was drenched in sweat, though a breeze provided a modicum of relief from the heat—that part, I’d gotten right. The leather traveling vest was well-vented, my padded breeches also a good compromise between comfort and protection. But my boots were clearly wrong. Light beige leather with flexible soles prioritizing comfort over armor seemed a good idea for the long trek between Halamar and Barricayde.
But the bog toad with its jaws locked around my right ankle seemed intent on demonstrating the error of my ways.
It was half the size of a coach, with an underbite and stubby tusks thick as my legs. I kicked it with my free foot as it shambled backwards, dragging me toward the marsh. Vision blurry from sweat streaming into my eyes, I squinted, trying to sight along the barrel of my single shot pistol.
One shot. At this range I can’t miss.
I fired, the pistol belching gray smoke and a dull wumm.
The toad lurched back, blood oozing from an apparently non-critical wound. It blinked a pair of fist-sized ruby eyes, lunged at me again, this time snapping both legs up to my knees in a maw as broad as my arm span.
How did I let a minor predator ambush me? Along a marked path! Big city’s making me soft.
No! I will not die to an oversized frog. I shoved the pistol in its holster, unfolded my collapsible spear with a metallic klink, jabbed it at the creature’s head. A head which seemed to comprise half its mass. The third strike to its thick hide found a sensitive spot: it spat out my legs, sneezed a blob of mucus and blood on me, and shambled back into the marsh.
“Oww. Filthy beast. That hurt.”
I stood, yelped in pain, collapsing to my knees again.
Those critters might not have sharp teeth, but they bite hard.
First things first: I reloaded my pistol. It may have been as effective as poking a troll with a toothpick, but it was my toothpick, and it was gonna be loaded.
I pulled off boots caked with blood and saliva to reveal a souvenir of the encounter: bruises from ankle to mid thigh.
Should have worn armored boots. Blood- or mucus-colored armored boots would have been ideal. But on the bright side, none of the blood was mine.
“It’s a well-traveled path. You can wear comfortable traveling clothes, no need for armor. Owww. You’re an idiot, Brianna,” I muttered, managing to stay up on the next attempt. “Hope they have a decent healer in Barricayde. Not to mention a laundry.”
Several minutes of painful limping transitioned to several more of uncomfortable walking. Sprinting or ballet would probably be quite a ways in the future.
An odd structure caught my eye half an hour later: a circular house with a shaded veranda perched a good thirty meters above ground on stilts. The weedy ground directly underneath it was dry, but a glance at the surrounding terrain revealed twisted, gnarled live-oaks, clusters of reeds, thorny shrubs with drooping tankard-sized purple flowers… I forget the name, but they’re carnivorous, and great for keeping insects and small rodents under control, while never getting large enough to devour children.
But not a hint of the sea. Barricayde—my new home, a city I traveled a week to reach—was supposed to be a seaside town.
A nekojin woman sat on the veranda, her legs dangling over the side. I’d seen the feline folk in my home city of Ashryn. Most were taller and slimmer than humans, with curious eyes, fur and skin in all manner of colors and patterns. But I’d never known one personally, didn’t know their customs, and wasn’t even sure if they preferred the term nekojin or neko. This woman watched me bemusedly, feline tail twitching idly.
“Hello there!” I called to her.
Her tall ears perked up. “May I help you?”
“Is this Barricayde?” Please let the answer be no, please let the answer be no.
“No.”
Thank the gods.
“Well, sort of.”
Arrrrgh!
As I took a few more steps toward the odd structure, I caught sight of a similar, smaller version behind it, connected by a rope bridge.
I craned my neck to gaze up at her, flashing my ‘pleasant but confused’ smile.
“We’re technically part of the city, even though we’re outside the main walls.” She motioned to her right. “’Bout a quarter of an hour walk that way.”
“Thanks.”
I continued along the path, catching a whiff of salt air as I crested a low rise and the sound of sea birds a few minutes after that.
A low stone wall—not more than a dozen meters tall, barely enough to keep out an ogre—came into view within the promised quarter hour. After exchanging pleasantries, my introductory letter, and an alarmingly steep entry fee with the city watch, I strode up to my future employer: Fisher Fritz. It looked more barn than workshop, a run-down plank building with a few dingy plate glass windows. But it was close enough to the harbor to smell of seaweed and salt, and the whimsical smiling fish on the sign lifted my spirits a tad.
I gave up a lot to move here. My home city of Ashryn was well known for its grand harbor with an ivory spire of a lighthouse. Majestic boulevards lined with fountains and public gardens served as backdrop for cosmopolitan festivals, while shops abounded with goods from all over the region.
But some things come with a price.
A tall woman with waist-length silver hair in a braid down her back answered my knock. “We’re just about to close, you’ll have to come back tomorrow.” She polished a hook-shaped bronze tool as she spoke. “Unless it’s a simple repair. Remko is working late tonight—go around to the side door.”
“Nope. I’m here to work. Not right now of course, I’d like to find lodging first, but tomorrow I’ll be ready to go. I’m Brianna, by the way.” I extended a hand.
Weary lines across her face disappeared. “That’s great. You’ve come to the right place, we’ve got plenty of work, especially repairs. Sea perch season’s starting, a lot of fishermen switch to a different type of net. My name’s Mayke. Are you with the cordage or netting guild?”
“Neither.” It felt good to say that aloud, like putting a period at the end of a long-winded sentence I didn’t want to write in the first place. “I exchanged letters with Eline. She said guild membership wasn’t necessary.”
The pleasant smile across Mayke’s face melted like a candle set a little too close to the hearth. “Oh, did she?”
Why did I get the impression that nearly being devoured by a toad would turn out to be the good part of the day?
She ducked back inside, calling, “Hey Remko, can you close up, got a new worker to take care of.”
Mayke pointed out a few of the city’s shops on the ten-minute walk, before pushing open the heavy timber door of the Careless Kraken tavern. We strode up to the counter. “Good evening, Jan. Two bowls of stew, two ales—” she turned to face me. “I assume you’re hungry after a day on the road?”
“Starving, in fact.”
“Great. And she’ll need lodging for a night or two. Until she finds someplace more permanent. By the way, this is Brianna. She’ll be working at the net workshop starting tomorrow.”
The slender, curly-haired man flashed a friendly smile, a pleasant salutation, and dug under the counter for a notebook. “Great. We’ve got an ocean view room on the third story vacant at the moment.”
I blew out a deep breath. Finally, things were going my way again.
“I’ll just need your name and guild affiliation.”
I winced.
Mayke stepped in. “She hasn’t completed her guild paperwork just yet. Could you… leave that part blank?”
Mayke and I sat at a square table next to an open window. The pleasant scent of geraniums from the window box outside lifted my mood for the moment. We toasted, I took a hearty bite of stew, picking up the flavor of pumpkin, crimson tubers, and flounder. Good food and pleasant ambiance.
Why can’t I just enjoy them?
“So, neither the cordage nor the netting guilds has an office in town. And you don’t technically need to belong, but it’s encouraged.”
The tone of her voice indicated that it was encouraged in the sense that one might say, ‘the constable would like to encourage you to confess to the crime,’ while smiling amicably and brandishing a red-hot fire poker.
“Encouraged, huh?” Please no fire pokers tonight.
“Yes.” She stared at the head of foam atop her tankard. “But don’t worry, just pick which one you want, and I can fill out the application paperwork at the workshop. We send it back to Halamar and should have preliminary papers back in a couple weeks.”
I felt a sinking sensation, a hollowing out of my very soul. I took a long draught of ale while I contemplated my next words. A slice of lemon helped hide the fact that it was thin and bitter. The ale, not my soul.
Actually, at the moment, both.
“I certainly could do that. But I had the impression it was a small shop in a small town. People jump from task to task, help out where they’re most needed.” I was sick of being a cog in a machine. A machine that ground down people’s souls. And often their bodies.
“Well yes.” She drummed her fingers on the little table. “But also no.”
Why did I leave the much larger—and from the looks of it, more civilized—city of Ashryn?
“We need people. And when Eline put out that notice in the Halamar newspaper, I suppose she didn’t specifically say it was a requirement.” A painfully forced smile spread across her face… “Which it’s not. But you may find it difficult to do things around town—buying food, clothing, and lodging—without a guild affiliation. But don’t worry, apprenticeship conditions for both the cordage and netting guilds are very lenient.”
I nodded, the most pleasant smile I could muster painted across my face. “Right. It’s a big decision, I’ll have to sleep on it.”
She glanced up at me. “So how was the trip from Halamar? Anything interesting happen?”
“Nah, it was a pretty uneventful walk.”
CHAPTER TWO
Murky water burned my eyes as my feet sank into the mud. The caprid in my arms flailed and kicked, I could feel its chest heave in panicked breaths. “Juro, a little help?” I called.
“I am helping. I’m watching out for predators.” Juro crouched atop a low branch of a live oak tree, gaze darting between trees and clumps of reeds. He grinned. “None here. You’re welcome.”
“I meant, could you grab the other two trapped caprids.”
“Theoretically, I could.”
Wading ashore, I set the waist-high, hoofed creature next to its flockmates, hoping the presence of the herd would calm it.
“At least keep the flock from panicking while I get the other two.”
Juro bounded from branch to branch, finally settling on the ground beside me. He had auburn fur and stood a tad shorter than I, his tail shorter as well, and lacking the white puffy tip he made fun of when we were growing up.
“If we leave them out here,” he said, “our neighbors might learn a valuable lesson about the merits of proper animal husbandry.”
“The creatures horns are blunted, they cannot defend themselves against predators and would most likely be devoured by bog toads before the humans were able to recover them all.”
“Which would certainly be a valuable lesson, Shard. Hurt what they value most.”
Juro didn’t need to complete the thought. We all knew what that was. “It would indeed hurt their coin purse, but caprids shouldn’t pay the price to do so. The creatures are innocent.”
“Didn’t you want to visit the bookseller this afternoon? New volume of that pirate series you’re always talking about.”
I dove back into the stagnant green-brown murk at the edge of the marsh, swam around the last two stragglers, and managed to shoo them toward the herd without having to carry them.
I spat, trying to clear the taste of marsh water from my mouth. Mud, slimy strands of algae, and decaying vegetation plugged my nose, clung to my ears, obscured my normally keen senses. But I wasn’t worried, Juro was a rascal, but he’d have my back at the first hint of danger.
“Yes. It’s supposed to be out today. But after all that effort, we can’t leave the task unfinished.”
Juro shrugged, but helped guide the flock toward the shepherd’s day shed.
We encountered the herder’s daughter a few minutes later, sprinting toward us, a wooden crook in her hands, single shot rifle slung across her back.
“You’ve found them, thank you!” She huffed heavily, her armor and gear sized more for an adult human than an early teen.
“That’s the third time this month,” said Juro.
She mumbled, pointed at the creatures with an index finger as she counted. “All here. My stupid little brother needed help with…” She shook her head. “It’s not important. I’d like to thank you, but I don’t have my coin purse with me. Come with me to the day shed, maybe there’s something there.”
“It’s OK,” I said. “I’m still hoping to make it to the bookseller today.”
Juro snorked. “Looking like that? The humans won’t even let you through the city gate! You’ll be lucky if they don’t mistake you for a swamp monster and hunt you.”
“Good point.” I turned to the girl. “How about a few buckets of fresh water, some rags, and a brush?”
She smiled. “Deal.” She moved to clap me on the shoulder, hesitated, backed off half a step. “Maybe after a bath.”
◊ ◊ ◊
We arrived at the bookseller in time to see him turn the sign to ‘closed.’
“And there’s your reward,” said Juro. “Remember this next time you see a stray caprid.”
I sighed. “We could drop by the harbor… see what the fishmongers have today.”
Juro licked his lips instinctively but shook his head half a second later. “Not this again. You want to watch ships, don’t you.”
“There’s no harm in it.”
“It’s not healthy. The humans may be lousy hunters, but they make up for it in audacity. The city is bad enough, but nobody should want to go to sea.”
“Many of our brothers and sisters live in the city. And some have ventured to sea.”
“If our brothers and sisters doused themselves in caprid blood and pranced naked in front of a basilisk would you do it too?”
“Depends how warm it was.” I grinned, poking the tip of my tongue between my front fangs. Nice to be on the giving end of a joke for once.
He clapped his hand over his face. “Sometimes I wonder about you. In the wilderness we may encounter the lindworm, the basilisk, the sabertooth: mythic creatures large and powerful enough to devour us in a single bite. But we can see them, hear them, smell them. At sea? Something could be a few arms length away and you’d never know. Imagine that! A huge monster—perhaps even a mermaid or leviathan—could be as close to you as I am now, and you wouldn’t know it. Until they decided to devour your entire boat.”
“Humans build much larger boats than we do.”
Juro shook his head. “My cousin took a ferry once. It was no adventure on the high seas, just a lot of seasickness and misery.”
“Perhaps I won’t get seasick.”
“The sea is no place for a neko.”
I snorted. “Yet it is curious how much we enjoy the taste of fish.” I set off toward the harbor.
The harbor was a wonderful, terrifying place. Full of life, full of energy, yet so different from my home in the forest. Gently swaying live oak trees, with their stout trunks and thick branches, cradle us, give us shelter, give us cover. Yet here, ships’ masts—the thin bleached bones of the living trees they once were—are alive too, whipping and swaying as boats bob in the chop and swell of the harbor. From rakish fishing dories, wooden hulls painted in oranges and reds, to the dark-hulled trade schooners, they are as colorful as the people swarming over boats and docks. Most are human, here and there a gnome, an elf, even a few nekos. Some are clad in simple tunics, others bare-chested in bright impractical pantaloons. And many—too many—wearing hats. How can they be so nonchalant? So intent on their day-to-day business that they would wish to obscure their view of aerial predators?
