Dark Life: Rip Tide (8 page)

On either side of the pool, Shade and Gabion climbed into small boats.

As the two boxers were rowed toward the raft, Eel pointed at the spectators. “They’re hoping for blood and gore. Betting on it. And as you heard, Fife likes to give the tourists what they want.”

Shade and Gabion stepped onto the raft in unison, yet it still tipped wildly. Clearly the barrels that kept it afloat were positioned under the middle of the raft, leaving the sides seesawing. This would be less of a boxing match, I decided, than a contest of balance.

With their eyes pinned on each other, Shade and Gabion found their footing. As soon as their movements stilled, a gong signaled the start of the match.

“Here we go,” Hatchet said with a grin that exposed his disturbing-looking teeth.

Shade and his opponent squared off while trying to stay balanced. It looked hard, and I’d have bet doing it was even harder.

Gabion took the first swing, which Shade dodged easily while rippling with intense color—red to neon white, just like a diablo rojo squid. The crowd went wild over his trick. Even Gabion seemed surprised, and he dropped his fists for a moment. That’s when I noticed his hands. Leaning over the railing, I tried to get a better look.

“What’s wrong with his knuckles?” I asked, which had the outlaws’ attention instantly. Gabion’s knuckles weren’t just enlarged; they bulged as if he’d pushed five small rocks under his skin.

“Would you look at that,” Eel said with disgust. “He’s injected them.”

“With what?” Gemma asked.

Kale frowned, majorly put out. “Carbonate.”

“The stuff barnacles make their shells out of?” I asked.

Eel nodded. “Makes the skin over your knuckles pop out and delivers a punch that feels like you got blackjacked with a sack of ball bearings.”

“Well, that’s not fair,” Gemma said angrily. “Where’s Mayor Fife? We have to tell him.”

“Anything goes,” I reminded her.

“Whatever draws the tourists and their money,”
Pretty quoted with disgust.

Just then Gabion’s fist connected with Shade’s face, slicing open his cheek like ribbon. Eel hissed in air while Gemma jerked back and clamped her hand over her mouth.

Shouts of “first blood” whipped through the decks above, and money changed hands. I saw Tupper fork over a wad of cash to Fife. My heart sank as I realized there was a very real chance that Shade wouldn’t win this match. Which meant that Levee wouldn’t tell me what he knew about Drift and I’d be as stymied as ever on how to track down my parents.

“Why is he doing this?” Gemma demanded. “For the prize money?”

“Why else?” Eel asked.

“There are better ways to make money,” she replied. “Safer ways.”

“Not when there’s a bounty out on you,” Hatchet said.

“And bounty hunters who only back off if they get paid off,” Kale added evenly.

“Told him not to turn twenty-one,” Eel said, returning to the railing.

“You don’t have to watch,” I whispered to Gemma, who was looking like she might pass out. She shook her head and kept her eyes pinned on Shade as if she could protect him through sheer force of will.

The fighters regained their balance and straightened. There was no fancy footwork in this match. No dancing around. One wrong step could send either one tumbling into the water. Shade’s skin darkened as if he were being charred over coals, until he was pitch-black and difficult to see.

When Gabion’s fist shot out again, Shade sidestepped it and landed a punch to Gabion’s kidney. Gabion let out a bark of pain, and I caught a glimpse of his tongue. Not only was it blanched whiter than white, it appeared swollen to three times its natural size. No wonder he couldn’t talk.

Shade jackhammered both fists into Gabion’s gut and then tried heaving him into the water, but Gabion grabbed him around the legs and brought them both down in the center of the raft.

Suddenly boots pounded through the crowd, accompanied by shouts of “Move!”

On the raft, Shade and Gabion continued to grapple though neither could get a firm grip on the other because of the oil slicking their skin.

“Freeze!” a voice rang out. Across the pool, Captain Revas put a foot on the railing. “This match is over.”

As soon as Shade spotted her, his skin paled. Redoubling his efforts, he pried himself out of Gabion’s grip and got to his feet. Revas snatched a crossbow from one of her troopers. As Shade dove for the pool, she took aim and fired. The thin spear sliced through Shade’s right thigh, its point splitting into a double barb.

Jamming back a lever, Revas switched on the crossbow’s automated spool. With a hiss, the line pulled taut while its barbed tip kept the spear embedded in the outlaw’s leg. Revas gripped the crossbow tight as the line retracted, dragging Shade across the water in a geyser of spray as if he were a thrashing swordfish.

Fife watched with stunned fury as two troopers climbed to the other side of the railing and hung off, hands outstretched, waiting for their catch to arrive.

“You did this, didn’t you?” Pretty hissed. “Called the Seaguard.”

I realized his ice blue eyes were on me and my pulse quickened. “Why would I?”

The crowd roared its indignation as Shade was hauled onto the deck. He collapsed, holding his thigh, grimacing in pain. Food and cups rained down on the pool, flung by angry spectators.

Pretty angled closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife. “To collect the bounty.”

I refused to back up. “Money is about the last thing on my mind right now.”

Gemma stepped between us. “Ty would never do that.”

“Ease up,” Eel said, beckoning Pretty back. “Those flyers went out all over. Anyone could have recognized him.”

Hand still on his blade, Pretty eyed me as if unconvinced.

Suddenly I remembered telling Levee and Krait about Shade before the match, and guilt stabbed through me. I’d told them that he was the leader of the Seablite Gang. What if they had called it in to collect the bounty?

On the other side of the drill well a trooper tended to the spear in Shade’s leg. After slicing open the outlaw’s pant leg, he snapped the hinged barb back into the spearhead and yanked the shaft from Shade’s thigh. Blood welled from the wound until the trooper sprayed it with artificial skin—a temporary fix, which would do nothing for the pain.

Jaw clenched, Shade heaved himself to his knees and then stood, leaning against the railing. The crowd shouted its approval, but he didn’t respond. As the troopers handcuffed him, Shade’s eyes scanned the crowd, his expression furious. Clearly he, too, thought someone had turned him in.

Suddenly Fife sparked to life, shouting, “There is no ordinance against bare-knuckle fights on the ocean.” He stormed toward the troopers. “Rip Tide might be stationary, but it is off coast. As in surrounded by water. Officially.”

Captain Revas met him halfway. “Federal law applies everywhere, Mayor. This isn’t about an ordinance. It’s about harboring a fugitive. Now I suppose you’re going to tell me that you didn’t know there’s a bounty out on him.”

In a blink, Fife turned conciliatory. “Shocked to hear it.” He slipped his hand inside his cassock. “But I ask you, Captain, what’s the difference between arresting him now versus after the match?”

I was standing close enough to see Fife offer her a thick stack of bills.

With a flick of her fingers, Revas called two troopers forward. “Arrest him”—she turned her gesture to Fife—“for the attempted bribery of a Seaguard officer.”

“What … this?” Fife waved the money at himself. “Just using it to cool myself down. But I’ll put it away
since it’s obviously given you the wrong impression, Captain.”

Revas said nothing until Fife tucked the money back into his cassock. Then she spoke. “Rip Tide has a jail cell.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Bottom deck. But why not just take him with you now?”

“Because we’re here for the night.” She held Fife in a steady gaze, daring him to argue.

“Glad to have you. Though you should know we only rent out rooms on deck four, and they’re all taken.”

“I’m not here to sleep.”

With a shrug, Fife drew a key ring from his pocket. “You’re not planning to put the kibosh on all of our fun, are you, Captain?” Freeing a key, he tossed it to Revas.

“Confine yourself to legal activities, and you don’t have to ask.”

As soon as she headed back to the troopers holding Shade, Fife’s pleasant expression hardened. “And I thought
I
put on a good show.”

Pushing Shade in front of her, Captain Revas disappeared down the last stairwell.

“Except for the uniform,” Eel said, watching them go, “she’s adorable.”

“Tell me you’re kidding,” Kale snapped. “She just arrested Shade!”

Eel shrugged. “Didn’t say she was perfect.”

“All that lost revenue,” Fife murmured while gazing at the decks above.

A voice cut through the silence. “The rules say a second can fight in his stead.”

I looked over to see that Representative Tupper had offered up that little fact. Now he ducked his slathered white head as if wishing he hadn’t called attention to himself.

Clapping with gusto, Fife said, “Now, that’s some polished thinking.” He stepped onto the announcer’s platform and picked up the microphone. “This match isn’t over,” he told the crowd. “Shade’s second will replace him as the challenger.” Joining the Seablite Gang on the deck, he asked, “Okay, who’s going in for Shade?”

I held my breath. One of them had to volunteer to be the challenger. Even more important, whoever it was had to win. The only way Levee would tell me what he knew about Drift was if he collected on his bet.

“Come on, boys,” Fife prompted. “I know Shade needs the money.”

“He only needed it to keep the law off his back.” Eel lounged defiantly. “Not much point in earning it now, is there?”

I looked from outlaw to outlaw, took in their truculent expressions, and my hope faded.

Fife was slower to catch on. “Hatchet, I’ve seen you in plenty of brawls.”

“That’s for fun,” he scoffed. “Not pay.” As if that was something to be proud of.

“Pretty, what about it?” Fife asked. One glance at Pretty’s very unpretty expression had him turning back to the rest of the gang. “Guys, help a fellow out.”

What had Levee said? That only surfs were desperate enough to end up in that ring. But he was wrong.

“Come on,” Fife cajoled. “Who’s it going to be?”

I stepped forward, before the insanity of it could sink in. “Me.”

“The people want to see boxing, not murder,” Fife said, looking me over. “Well, not in the first minute anyway. I need someone who can land a punch or two before going into the drink.”

“I’m not going to end up in the drink,” I said firmly. “I’m going to win.” Or die trying. I needed a lead if I was going to find Ma and Pa.

Fife faced the Seablite Gang again, but no one stepped forward. “Okay,” he said crisply. “You’re in.”

I nodded, though the truth was that I was close to puking from fear. Without another word, Fife headed for the announcer’s platform that jutted a few feet over the drill well.

“No!” Gemma cried.

As if he hadn’t heard her, Fife picked up the microphone and told the crowd that as Shade’s second, I was now the official challenger and all wagers would be honored as such.

“Ty, what are you doing?” Gemma pointed at Gabion,
who lounged on the raft, eating a mango that someone had tossed him. “He will pulverize you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“She’s right,” Kale said. “Gabion’s reach is twice as long as yours. You’ll never get in a punch.”

Eel stopped cleaning his teeth with a crab claw and grinned. “And even if you do, Gabion is used to worse than anything a sea squirt like you can muster.”

He had nerve calling me a squirt; he wasn’t that much bigger than me—and Gabion dwarfed us both. “I don’t have to get in a punch. I just have to stay on the raft while spilling him off.”

“How?” Gemma demanded, hysteria tingeing her words. “He’s got a hundred pounds on you. Maybe more. All muscle.”

“That’s to my advantage.” At least I hoped so. “He’s heavier, so his side will drop closer to the water.”

“Not if he stands in the middle and throws you in headfirst,” Trilo pointed out.

Hatchet laughed. “And when the lampreys get done sucking on you, you’ll weigh nothing at all.”

As he stepped off the platform, Fife gestured to me. “You’ve got five minutes to wash off that zinc and get greased.”

Moving fast to keep myself from thinking, I scrubbed off the blue zinc-paste with handfuls of wet sea salt. Now the surfs would know I was a pioneer. But if they made
money off their bets, maybe they wouldn’t care. Maybe I could still get the answers I needed from them. All I had to do was win. No small order, that. I tried to come up with a strategy, but all my brain could conjure was Gabion’s fist colliding with my face.

As I drizzled fish oil down my arms and across my chest, a stark white head glided through the crowd toward me. Representative Tupper in all his zinced-out glory. “I had a thought,” he said while beckoning Fife over. “You grew up subsea.”

“So?” I said defensively.

“So …” Tupper paused until Fife had joined us. “You have some secret ability, yes? Like the outlaw. What you settlers call a Dark Gift.”

Fife’s eyes widened with delight. “Now we’re talking.”

“I’m not asking so that you can turn the boy into a sideshow,” Tupper snapped. “I’m trying to help him.”

He swung his attention back to me. But when I kept my mouth shut, he
tsk
ed with impatience. “Now is not the time to be coy, Ty. If you can do anything that could give you an advantage in that ring, tell us and let’s think of how you can use it.”

I didn’t hide my Dark Gift anymore. Or deny it. But I wasn’t keen on showing it to the world, either.

I glanced at my opponent and that decided me. “Biosonar.”

“Which means what?”

“I can see using echolocation.”

His brows rose in surprise. “All right, then,” he mused. “That would give you an advantage in the dark….”

“Yeah.” But with spotlights trained on the raft, I didn’t see what difference it made.

Fife shot Tupper a reproachful look. “I know where you’re going with this, but these people paid good money to
see
a fight.”

“They won’t see anything if it’s over in two seconds,” Tupper retorted.

“Point taken.” Fife sighed heavily. “I’ll tell them to dial down the lights.”

I watched him hurry off, knowing that dimming the lights wouldn’t make much difference. The drill well was too loud to hear my own clicks or echoes and the fight would probably move too fast for my sonar to be of any use. Still, I didn’t want to rule it out.

I realized that Tupper was studying me and stiffened.
Here it comes,
I thought. Some slam against my parents for raising me subsea.

His eyes flicked over the people around us. “Can you use it as a weapon?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“What?”

“Your sonar. Ever tried directing it at a person and, you know, amping it up a bit?”

Amping it up?
“What would that do?”

“I’m thinking of those crowd-control guns that the
Seaguard uses. They shoot sound waves or some such thing. Send people running.” He shook his head as if dismissing the thought. “Never mind. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Good luck out there,” he said, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

He headed back to his seat while I let his question sink in. Use my Dark Gift as a weapon? I’d never tried, though I’d seen dolphins and whales stun fish with bursts of sonar plenty of times. But those noises were rapid low-frequency bangs, not the clicks used in echolocation.

Could I make such an intense burst of sound? “Amp it up” enough to disorient a fish? I’d give it a try the next time I was in the ocean, I promised myself. But not now. No matter how scary Gabion was, I wouldn’t try it on a human.

Suddenly, lights cut out all over Rip Tide and the applause started up. I could even hear cheering coming from the distant shore.

“Everyone, back to your seats,” Fife said into the microphone. “Let’s get this show on the raft.” He waved to the guy in the rowboat.

Gemma looked a hundred times more worried now than she had while watching Shade’s match, which I both liked and found a little insulting.

“Don’t die,” she instructed, giving me a quick hug.

With a nod, I climbed over the railing and dropped into the waiting rowboat. When I tossed my towel up to Eel, his eyes widened.

“Oh, chum,” he said. “Not your best move.”

“What?” I asked, but the boatman began to row me toward the raft. As I settled onto the bench, I saw what had startled him.

My shine.

I liked to think I didn’t glow. Or kid myself that it was just a faint shimmer. But in some instances, it was impossible to deny. In the dark, I glowed. As bright as the full moon on a summer night. As if to prove it beyond a doubt, when I leapt from the boat to the raft, a gasp went up in the crowd, which then turned to one long collective, “Ohhh.”

“Why did we dim the lights?” I heard Fife ask. “How does that help him?”

It didn’t.

As the evil grin on Gabion’s face could attest. Seeing that he had my attention, he opened his mouth wide. I stumbled back in horror. Instead of a tongue, a swollen white parasite lived inside of his mouth. I’d seen it in fish … but how had a human not noticed that a parasite had taken up residence in his mouth, feasting on his tongue as it grew, finally attaching itself to the bloody stump?

Before I could stop myself, I heaved the contents of my stomach onto the raft. The conch fritters that Eel had pushed on me tasted even worse the second time around. Gabion roared with laughter as I wiped my mouth on my arm. Hate surged through me. Hate for the lowlifes on
Drift who’d taken Ma and Pa and for surfs in general, including the ugly one in front of me.

“Ty,” Fife shouted from the announcer’s platform, “do you need some time?”

“No,” I said hoarsely, and then raised my voice. “I’m fine.”

Before I had a chance to talk myself into that lie, the gong reverberated across the water and Gabion’s fist shot forward. I ducked, moving faster than I have ever moved in my life, and felt a whoosh of air ruffle my hair. As I scrambled back, he opened his mouth wide and waggled the parasite at me as if it were his tongue. I dodged around him as much to avoid looking into his mouth as to avoid his punch.

Twilight turned the spectators into a haze of color. Which is why the sleek blue jumpsuit caught my eye as it cut through the delicate clouds of clothing. Nudging the tourists aside, Revas stepped up to the railing. Upon spotting me, she froze.

When a slash of movement blocked my view, I dropped into a crouch. Gabion’s fist sailed over my head, his height working against him. If I kept low, made him lean down to get me, he’d have a harder time staying balanced. I shot another look at the railing but Revas was gone.

When I spotted her again, she had a handful of the front of Fife’s cassock and a finger jabbing in my direction.
Even though I couldn’t hear her words, her meaning was clear—
“Stop the fight!”

Gabion roared with frustration when I rolled under another jab. On the deck, Revas rounded on her troopers and sent them running for the crank that pulled in the raft.

Knowing I had just seconds to bring in a win before the match was closed down, I stayed crouched and let Gabion close in. Clearly, he was done throwing punches. Knuckles bulging, he reached for me, intending to hurl me into the pool. I hunkered even lower, forcing him to bend. Then I shot upward, cracked my skull into his chin, and sent him staggering backward.

Like a flying fish, I leapt into the air and landed hard on his side of the raft, crouching fast to grab on to the edge. Our combined weight sent his side plummeting into the water. The raft went vertical. I held on, while Gabion crashed into the pool. As the raft flipped over completely, I never lost my grip. Making sure that my fingers showed every inch of the way, I dragged myself hand over hand along the side. The splashdown had cleared away the eels momentarily. But they were back just as I reached the center of the raft. I felt them winnowing between my legs, trying to find flesh. Hoisting myself out of the water, I sprawled alongside the barrels that ran down the middle of the raft.

I spit salt water, shook an eel out of my pant leg, and got to my feet. A spotlight lit up with a pop, blinding me.
Then noise filled the drill well. Hollering and cheering loud enough to wake the comatose.

With a jerk, the raft was cranked in. A hand reached from the shadows—Fife’s—as he offered to help me onto the deck. He kept my arm aloft as waves of cheers engulfed us and hats flew into the air. I blinked against the lights, wishing I could shoot sonar at Levee up on the sundeck—see if he seemed satisfied. But I’d never hear the echo from my clicks in this mayhem.

Guiding me onto the announcer’s platform, Fife gestured to Ratter to hand him the microphone. Below us, men clambered onto the upside-down raft and hauled Gabion out of the pool. The water sluiced from his body but the slick gray eels remained, a dozen at least, wriggling wherever they’d latched.

Ratter offered Fife the microphone, but Captain Revas snagged it. Expression steely, she said, “Well done, Ty. Too bad you can’t collect the prize.”

Panic gripped me. She couldn’t be serious. I lowered my arm, pulling Fife’s down, too.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, pushing past me to step off the announcer’s platform. “The boy won. Fair and square.”

“The
boy
shouldn’t have been in the ring,” Revas snapped. “Tell me you don’t know about the law against using minors in commercial sports.”

“Nobody planned this, you hauling off Shade. This
was a onetime circumstance. So have a heart. Let me declare Ty the winner. He earned it.”

“He’s underage. You’re going to declare this match invalid.” She thrust the microphone into Fife’s hands. “Now.”

“No!” I stepped off the platform. But when I saw her expression harden, I amended my tone. “Don’t give me the prize money. That’s fine. But at least let Fife declare me the winner so the surfs can collect on their bets.”

“Sorry, kid. The law doesn’t make exceptions.” She lifted her gaze to Fife. “For anyone.”

Fife opened his mouth to reply, but Revas cut him off. “Another word out of you, Mayor Fife, and I’ll charge you with child exploitation.” She pointed at the announcer’s platform. “Now tell the crowd there’s no winner and return their bets and entry fees.” She stood back, fully expecting to be obeyed.

Seething, Fife stepped onto the platform and instantly the crowd quieted. He motioned to someone above and lights all over Rip Tide came on, signaling that the event was over. All eyes were on him. “Unfortunately, due to a technicality, I have to disqualify the challenger and declare this match invalid.”

Groans, complaints, and boos echoed through the drill well.

“The bookies will return your bets. And you’ll get your entry fee back as you depart Rip Tide.” Fife turned
to Ratter. “Finish pulling eels off him”—he pointed at Gabion—“then get the strongbox and return their money.”

“That’s the government for ya,” Ratter said bitterly. “Always meddling in people’s business.”

“Just take care of it.” Fife glared at Captain Revas’s retreating back. “And I don’t want to hear about how much we lost.” Wincing at the thought, he sat down hard on the edge of the platform.

“I know, boss. No details,” Ratter assured him, and bent over Gabion to pry off another eel.

Leaning over the railing, I scanned the sundeck. I hoped Levee would talk to me anyway. With the town lights blazing, I quickly spotted the surf I’d made the deal with. The one who knew something about Drift. Who had information that might help me find my mother and father. Or give me a clue as to how to save them.

Levee stared down at me impassively, tore up his betting stub, and tossed the pieces over the railing. His message was clear; he’d tell me nothing now.

As I watched the bits of paper float down to the pool, my hope sank with them.