Free PathFinder by Angie Sage Page B

opened their mouths to show a row of flat, white teeth and two long, tubular fangs from which thick spittle was dropping in a shining thread. One of them flicked out a lengthy, flat, forked black tongue.
    Clicker-click-click. Click-click.
    “C’mon,” whispered Oskar.
    Tod and Oskar dropped down the hatchway into the lowest cargo hold. There were no portholes here, and all Tod could see was the sheen of Oskar’s hair. She took a light stick from her pocket and bent it. Its soft green light showed many more cages lining the sides of the hold.
    “They’re empty,” whispered Oskar, who could see much better in the dark than Tod. “And they don’t smell of Garmin.”
    A horrible thought struck Tod. “You don’t think they keep people in these?” she whispered.
    “I dunno,” Oskar said miserably. He couldn’t bear to think of Ferdie imprisoned like a dog. “Ferdie,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Ferdie.”
    A faint rustle of straw from somewhere in the darkness set Oskar’s heart pounding. “Ferdie?”
    There was no response. “Did you hear that?” Oskar whispered to Tod.
    Tod nodded. They crept slowly along the dark, silent row. At every cage they stopped, and the eerie green light from Tod’s light stick lit up no more than rough wood and straw. They headed forward towards the prow of the ship and at the very last cage, by the forward bulkhead, a voice said, “Hish!”
    “Who’s there?” whispered Oskar.
    “Hish. Hish. Water. Water .” The voice was harsh and parched and Oskar knew there was no way it belonged to Ferdie. Tod’s light showed a man sitting cross-legged on the straw, a thin hand gripping the bars. He stared at them, sizing them up. “Water,” he whispered.
    From his backpack, Oskar took his precious bottle of lemon­­ade and handed it to the man. The man fumbled awkwardly with the top and Oskar realised with a shock that he had only one arm. Oskar reached in and flipped the top open. The man drank greedily, gulping down the liquid while Oskar and Tod exchanged glances, both imagining Ferdie in the same condition. The man finished drinking and handed the empty bottle back to Oskar.
    “I thank you. I thank you.”
    “Can we help you – can we get you out?” asked Tod.
    “Out?” The man’s wide eyes stared at them, shining in the dim green light. As the water and salts from the lemonade spread to his parched brain he began to think once again. And he realised that the two children in front of him were not the regular crew. And they were as desperate as he was.
    “Aye, ye can. Bolt at the side. Simple mechanism. Release it and the front slides up.”
    The front of the cage slid open easily and the man crawled out. He stood up slowly and painfully – he had not stretched out straight for many days. He looked at Tod and Oskar. “My heartfelt thanks to ye,” he said. “Samuel Starr, at your service.” He bowed his head.
    “Are you the only one here?” asked Tod.
    “In these pernicious cages, I am the only one left,” he said, running his hand along the bulkhead, searching for something. He grinned. “No use to them with but one arm.”
    “Oh, Oskie,” Tod whispered miserably. “I was so sure we’d find her.”
    Oskar was too desolate to speak.
    Clink . Something metallic fell to the floor. Samuel swore.
    “I beg your forgiveness for my foul words,” he said. “Please, I was trying to discover a key they keep hanging here on a hook. But it has fallen. Can you see it with your light?”
    With the glow of her light stick, Tod found a large iron key lying on the floor. She handed it to the man, but he waved it away. “I pray you do it, for my hand is shaking still. Place it in the lock there.” He pointed a trembling finger to what Tod and Oskar could now see was a small door in the bulkhead – the entrance to the chain locker, the place deep in the prow of a ship where the anchor and its chain were normally kept. In the right-hand side of the door was the dark