Infernal Devices - KW Jeter [99]
"It's been a gas," said Scape. "See ya in the funny pages."
Even though a product of dementia, his brashness under the circumstances provoked my admiration. "Maybe sometime in the future," I answered, biting my lower lip to suppress its trembling.
The soldiers of the Godly Army raised their weapons at Lieutenant Brattle's command. The salt tang of the ocean filled my nostrils, and a gull cried overhead; all I could see were the dark holes of the rifle barrels trained upon us. The argument about poor Abel's complicity in the evil acts of which we stood accused, had been apparently resolved against him: a pair of the soldiers lowered their sights towards the dog. He thought it a game, and barked cheerfully at them.
Before Lieutenant Brattle could order them to fire, however, the line of soldiers was knocked askew by a sudden lurch of the ship beneath their feet. Scape, Miss McThane, and myself were likewise thrown, forced to grab the rail behind ourselves to maintain our balance.
With a grinding howl, the ship rocked again, seeming to rise nearly out of the water. Several of the Godly Army panicked, shouting and breaking ranks; they ran to the opposite rail and peered over. From where I stood, I could see great shapes moving beneath the waves, tangled with dark wreaths of seaweed.
"Demons!" shouted one of the soldiers, pointing a quavering finger at us. "They've called 'em – come to rescue 'em!"
This hypothesis met with a hurried acceptance among their number, as the ship wallowed about, the grating noises sounding even louder through the hull. They had convinced themselves of our being in league with satanic forces; the consequence of this was the sudden upsurge of unreasoning fear in their own breasts. Even their commanding officer, Lieutenant Brattle, lost his self-control; he joined his men in their flight towards the pair of small boats on the ship's deck.
They were soon launched, some of the men being forced to leap from the railing into the churning ocean; they swam to the side of the boats and fought their way aboard. In their panic, no thought – other than the brief accusation – had been given to the three of us. Gripping the rail, I watched as the boats' oars splashed and drove our captors as quickly away as was possible.
"Jesus jumping Christ," said Scape. The ship lurched again, knocking him heavily into me. "Now what?"
He was answered by a furious volley of barking from Abel. He had stood up with his paws on the opposite rail, and was yapping at the island of Groughay as though it were some particularly noxious pest.
"Good God," I said. I could see what had captured the dog's attention; the island's coast was clearly discernible, the sound of the waves battering it even louder. "We're going into the rocks."
Scape and Miss McThane scrabbled across the sloping deck to where I stood. "Hey – you're right." The ship gave another lurch, and was drawn several yards closer to the shore; whatever was grating against the hull was also responsible for our motion landwards.
"This doesn't look too good," said Miss McThane. "Maybe we'd better abandon ship."
"With what?" Scape pointed over his shoulder to the receding figures of the Godly Army. "Those chickenshits took the boats."
We could only watch helplessly as the jagged rocks loomed nearer. Our approach accelerated, a crest of water surging up the hull towards the rail. The grating noise of the objects below the surface was drowned by the sharper noise of the timbers splintering into pieces.
Billowing canvas and slack lines came tangling about us as the masts swayed and toppled. The deck split open, casting Scape and Miss McThane away from me. I grabbed for Abel, but missed as my own feet were yanked out from under me by the buckling wood. For a moment, I heard the clog's barking somewhere above me as my back struck the rail; it splintered in two, and I was falling towards the white lace dashing against the rocks. The great bulk of the Virtuous Persistence lifted into