Free The White Oak by Kim White Page B

boatswain pauses to look at me closely. I wait for him to scan the coin and let me through, but he is studying me instead.
    “What have we here?” he says, drawing out his words. “Pretty little lady in white? Let’s see your face, sweetheart.”
    He smells of rotten eggs and whiskey. I keep my head down, and I stay silent. He leans in close and whispers, “Unfriendly, eh? What did you do to get down here?” He puts his finger under my chin and tips my head up. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” he says, snickering.
    Just then the air crackles and the ferryman’s whip connects with the boatswain’s body, cutting a deep gash in his shoulder. He screams and jumps back.
    “Keep the line moving,” the ferryman growls.
    The boatswain takes a moment to recover. He grabs my chin and tips my head up to scan the coin, but in spite of the ferryman’s rebuke, he won’t let go of me. He forces me to look into his eyes, then laughs wickedly. “Amazing! Never thought I’d see this. Ferryman!” he yells. “I think we’ve got a live one!”
    The ferryman looks genuinely surprised. Using his whip like a lasso, he grabs me around the waist and lifts me up like he did the shade. But instead of tossing me into the river, he pulls me to him and grabs me in one of his massive hands.
    “Look me in the eye,” he commands. I silently refuse, keeping my eyes downcast. “Look at me or be torn to shreds!” he threatens, raising the whip above his head. I have no choice. My gaze travels up, along his massive body, blackened with soot and stinking of tar and sulfur, the same stench that emanates from the river. His face is as square as his body. His mouth turns down at the edges, locked in a grimace. A low growling sound escapes from between his teeth as he studies me for several moments, finally recognizing that aspect of me that he can’t abide.
    “You are still among the living,” he says, flinging me to the ground. “I cannot take you across.”
    “But you must!” I yell back, filled with panic at the thought of being left on the chilly plains of Asphodel to die and spend eternity as a cold flame. The ferryman turns on me, his eyes burning red.
    “I could kill you right now.” He lifts his massive foot and presses it against my chest.
    “Please,” I cry. “Please, Charon.”
    At the mention of his name, he ceases his assault, and with visible disgust he picks me up by the neck. Holding me close to his face, he growls, “Who told you my name?” I don’t answer, but I have the sinking feeling that I’ve gotten myself into even more trouble. It’s probably not a good idea to mention Minotaur, and I’m very sure I should keep my connection with Sybil a secret. If he finds out I’m being helped by those two, he’ll quickly figure out that my coin is stolen.
    The ferryman squeezes my neck and repeats his question. “Who told you my name?” he demands. His fingers crush my windpipe—I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. My vision begins to blur. I’m about to lose consciousness when I hear a sudden ziing . A stone whizzes past my head and hits the ferryman. He grunts but doesn’t let go of me. Three more rocks hit him, one squarely in the eye. He roars with pain and drops me to the ground. I gasp for air, clutching at my bruised neck with one hand.
    Charon turns to look for the rock thrower, and I struggle to my feet to run away. Quick as lightning, the whip coils around my waist and pulls me back to him. He’s going to kill me; I can see murder in his squinty red eyes. I open my mouth to plead for my life, and as I do, the golden twig unfurls, flickering in my mouth like a snake’s tongue. When Charon catches sight of the twig, a look of shock and fear passes over his face and he recoils, dropping me and stepping backward. I shut my mouth and the twig flattens itself against my tooth once again. If Minotaur is still around, I hope he assumes that the flash of gold is the coin under my tongue.
    “I have to