Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
T he cabin door was thick and locked with a heavy bar. While he waited for Max and Beau to return, Quiggs kept a spear from Max’s arsenal within reach. Unless the assassin—or assassins—ran straight into the spear, the weapon was as harmless as a puff of air in Quiggs’s hands.
The crew periodically stopped by a port hole to tell him the latest news. Rosamunde’s orchard had been raided. The ferals took the goats and killed the men. A second raid was reported at Milepost Eighteen, with six young men taken along with their herd. Both raids appeared coordinated by separate bands of ferals.
Port Paducah was in a panic at the proximity of the second raid. Max was tracking the first raiding party and was unaware of the second. Until he returned, the Herders Guild banned grazing between Port Memphis and Port Paducah.
Throughout the morning Quiggs listened to hails at passing craft to hug the inner bank for safety. He could pace the cabin drenched in sweat from worrying Max would suffer his first defeat, or he could park his butt in a chair and focus on giving Max a new weapon when he returned safely with Beau. Because Max would return safely. He had to!
Quiggs parked his butt in a chair, propped his feet on the table, and focused.
These raids comprised dozens of ferals. Successful hand-to-hand combat against ferals drawn into a baited trap depended upon trained soldiers outnumbering a small band, but Max lacked enough soldiers to cover the perimeter if these coordinated raids continued. The death toll would be heavy for soldiers, ferals, goats.
The vines would win unless Quiggs came up with a badass weapon of destruction.
He already knew how to modify his fuel paste to create a staggering explosion. Since his abilities worried the extremists, he’d withheld the information.
Blowing up an acre around a baited trap was simple. Setting up a chain of explosions to level miles was simple. Luring ferals into a baited trap was simple.
Igniting the device from a safe distance stumped him.
Shooting a flaming arrow from a watchtower in the vines into an explosive trap wouldn’t work. The ferals skirted unnatural structures. Meanwhile, the vines swiftly climbed any tower and filled in the cleared area around a trap, making a clean shot impossible. Taking out the entire raiding party required baiting traps deeper in the vines, where the band felt safer.
The only failsafe way to detonate his explosive was by hand, inside the trap. A brawny, young volunteer would need to sit inside a sturdy trap baited by Max or Beau and wait until the excited females surrounded and appraised him. When the time was right, he would trigger the explosion. The heat would set off the rest of the explosives scattered over the area, and the combined explosions would wipe out everything within miles.
Including the volunteers in the traps.
Beau returned in the afternoon.
Quiggs removed the bar and opened the door, anxious because it should have been Max pounding the door. Purple sap and dried blood clung to Beau’s clothes and skin, and sticky leaves matted his hair. Before Quiggs could speak, Beau leaped past him and slid beneath the table where he squatted and rocked at a feverish pace.
Quiggs’s gut clenched. An icy wave rolled over him, numbing him to the bone. He forced himself to go to Beau and kneel by the table, gripping the edge for support. His voice cracked as he asked, “Is Max… was he…?”
Beau stopped whimpering. “We were attacked. He is safe, but many good soldiers died.”
Quiggs sank back on his heels. Max was alive. When the ice thawed and blood flowed through his heart once again, he asked, “Are you injured?”
“I saw many bad things. I am ashamed of my blood. My good friend Quiggs will hate me.” He wrapped his arms around his head as he rocked to shut out the hurt.
“Tell me what happened.”
“No.” The word was a soft whimper.
“Come out and let me pet you.”
Beau shrank away when Quiggs tried to stroke his back. “You pet animals. I want to be human.” He spat the words. Then the low keening began. If Quiggs couldn’t soothe him, the yowling would follow.
Beau had to be hungry. Rather than cajole him with words, Quiggs heaped a plate with food, then sat on the floor with his back to Beau and the plate on his lap. He bit into a spicy sausage and smacked his lips. He popped a small handful of roasted nuts in his mouth, crunching loudly.
The keening slowed as Beau scooted closer, closer. When Quiggs offered to hand-feed him, he scampered back, and the anguished keening resumed. He did not want to be fed like a pet.
Quiggs set the plate on the floor and took a seat in the chair. The keening stopped. Beau snatched the plate and shoveled down the food. Quiggs silently refilled the plate twice, adding a gift of small ripe oranges from Stefan’s balcony garden.
Eventually, Beau crawled out and hunkered on the floor beside Quiggs’s chair. He drank the pitcher of water Quiggs handed him without stopping for breath, then laid his exhausted head on Quiggs’s thigh. When Quiggs honored his feelings by not petting him, Beau reached for his hand and placed it on his dirty head.
Smiling, Quiggs petted his six-foot-ten friend, picking out leaves from his short white-blond hair. Beau’s thick hair had double rows of longer tawny hairs around the hairline, more than Max. As Quiggs petted him, the hairs curled. No unpleasant shocks, just a sensation like a hum on Quiggs’s fingers. Quiet minutes passed with the water slapping the hull.
“I smelled family,” Beau whispered.
Quiggs kept silent, sensing Beau would stop if interrupted. Family meant the band of related females Beau was born into. Cousins, siblings, aunts, mother, grandmother.
Barely audible, Beau whispered, “They kill unworthy men and eat them. They do not waste meat.”
Quiggs understood long buried memories had surfaced. “You aren’t responsible for what you… ate before you were abandoned. What’s important is you’re human now.”
Beau whimpered and nuzzled his friend’s thigh for comfort.
“Look at me, Beau.”
Beau lifted his head, his gaze fearful of finding contempt.
Quiggs poured unadulterated affection into his smile. “What I see is my good friend Beau who is in dire need of a bath.”
Beau scurried out of reach under the table, his mind off his past and into the perilous bath time of the present.
“My Quiggs is mean!” Beau’s voice reverted to the lopsided little runt he was before the transition.
“Don’t make me chase you down. This is a small cabin, and I have a spear.”