K Jeter - Infernal Devices

A petty annoyance welled up in me. "I cannot calculate the number of times that has been said to me. "Everything will be explained." And every time I do what's asked of me, based on that promise, I end up being chased by packs of bloodthirsty maniacs. I find it tiresome in the extreme."

"My word I give," said the Brown Leather Man. "As we speak further, the precious moments flee. Only this one thing more, this one task, and all mysteries will be dispelled. But if what I bid you is not done – if to Bendray Hall you do not go – then great misfortune to all of us will come. Any harm to you will be the least of the consequences."

The fervour of his speech dispelled my objections. "Very well, then – how do you propose I should leave this island?"

"Come – to the water's edge we must go."

He led me down the rocky path to the shore. The ocean, faintly luminous under the moon's glow, splashed against the rounded stones. "You I will carry," said the Brown Leather Man. "In my arms, through the waves. My native element is the sea; you will be safe."

I looked dubiously at the ocean, the chill spray dampening my face. "Isn't it quite a ways? And… somewhat cold?"

"Have no fear. In the sea, I have no need of this-" His hands traced the scar-like stitching across his chest. "The outer covering which on the land enables me to walk about. You I will wrap in it; such it is that it will protect you from the harshness of the sea."

"Hmm…"

"No other way is there. Your very life, and much else, on doing this depends."

The life of which he spoke had been in his hands more than once; what trust was possible, if not in one who had already preserved me from death? "Very well," I said, steeling my nerve. "Proceed."

Certain of the stitching eased and opened under his fingers. After a few minutes, the leathery covering wrinkled away from whatever nature of flesh lay beneath. As a snake sheds its skin, only in this instance standing upright, the Brown Leather Man slid the artificial epidermis from his frame.

His own, more pallid skin shone wetly in the moonlight. A slit-like mouth, and eyes of perfect circularity, only marginally comparable to the fish-like denizens of Wetwick and Dampford, were revealed when his head was bared. Released from the confines of the covering, a pinkish frill swelled about his throat. "Hurry," he said. "In the air, as this I may stay only a little while."

I let myself be draped with the garment he had discarded. As I was of considerably smaller stature, the thin "leather" hung loosely about me, with no need to exert any force to slide my limbs into the appropriate places. It hung in overlapping folds over my legs, as though I were a child appropriating his father's trousers for play.

The Brown Leather Man – brown no longer, but rather shining in the manner of a sea creature catching the faint light – gathered the loose cloak tighter about my chest, fastening it into this position by a twisted knot at my shoulder. He led me into the waves; when the water came surging up to my chin, he reached down and easily lifted me from the sea floor, my weight distributed between his own inordinate strength and the buoyancy imparted by the salt ocean.

The assurances made as to my comfort turned out to be well founded: the garment kept me reasonably dry, only my face catching the salt spray as the Brown Leather Man bore me above the waves, and provided sufficient insulation to retain the warmth of my own body. After my initial apprehensions had passed, I endeavoured to relax as much as possible, as though I were lying on the bottom of a secure boat instead of being lifted across the surging water by the other's arm clasped tightly about my waist. His powerful strokes with his free arm, and the easeful motions of his lower body, cleaved through the waves with a rhythmic grace, proving his natural adaptation to the element.

Against the splash of water, I suddenly heard a distant cry. I tilted my head back to look. The morning sun was just breaking across the cliffs; a figure stood at their crest, having spotted us in the waves below. It was Scape; from this distance I could not see the expression on his face, but his fist shaking in air was clearly visible.

"You sonuvabitch!" came his howl. "Running out on us – you'll see! You bet your sweet ass…" The sound of his voice faded as I was carried farther away from the island.

The singular voyage lasted more than an hour, despite the Brown Leather Man's speed of progress through the water. Only once, when a particularly high wave washed over us, had I experienced any degree of discomfort, and then only a mouthful of salt water that left me sputtering for breath. When we waded ashore on the Scottish mainland, the sun was well lifted above the horizon. Its rays brought an additional urgency to my companion's request for the return of his garment. I hastily stripped the dark skin off; finding my own clothes somewhat damp underneath.

"Extraordinary," I said, brushing my sodden hair away from my face. The island of Groughay was visible only as the smallest speck on the horizon. I turned to look at the heather-covered hills at my back. As I did so, a rifleshot rang out, sending up a puff of sand at my feet.

"Quickly!" The Brown Leather Man pushed me towards the shelter of an outcropping of rocks. "Run!" He was unable to follow me, the skin-like covering that would have protected him on the land still wadded up in his arms. He dived back into the sea and disappeared.

Another shot sounded before I reached the outcropping's safety. The marksman was evidently some distance away, by the faint sound of the report; no doubt I had been spotted from some high vantage point in the surrounding hills. With my heart pounding in my chest, I circled around the rocks and began climbing up the slope on the opposite side, screened from view by the brushy foliage…

I soon gained the top of the small hill. As I crouched down, the shore was down below at my left hand. In front of me, across the valley at the hill's foot, was the confirmation of my first guess as to what person might have directed the shot at me. I could recognize, even at this distance, the figure of Sir Charles Wroth, dressed in hunting tweed, his rifle cradled in the crook of his arm. He commanded a party of considerable size, tramping through the countryside's thick heather: on either side of him, more men, undoubtedly of the Godly Army, were arrayed in line, each similarly armed. Before them, several score of the local men, unarmed save for their keen knowledge of the terrain, swept ahead in the nature of grouse-beaters in search of game to flush for the hunting party's pleasure. It was easy enough to conjecture how they had been enlisted in this cause: the Highlanders' lack of education and sternly Calvinist religion would make them enthusiastic pursuers of anyone accused of deviltry and various other blasphemous acts. I could expect much the same fate from their bare hands as from the bullets of the Godly Army.

No doubt, this force had been assembling here, the nearest point of land to Groughay, waiting for the eventual arrival of myself and the others. With the numbers of men available for the purpose here, it had very likely seemed a strategy preferable to chancing a further expedition to Groughay itself.

As I watched, Sir Charles listened to the news of my having been sighted and shot at, brought to him by one of his men come running from the end of the line closest to the sea. He quickly gave out his orders, dispatching the line of beaters around the base of the hill at the top of which I knelt.

Few avenues of escape were left to me. Directly facing me were the guns of the Godly Army, working their way across the valley; I was cut off as well to my left by the shoreline, on the sands of which I would be an easy target for my pursuers. The beaters would soon have me encircled, trapped on top of the hill, if I did not hasten away. I scrambled over the ridge and through the brush on the other side.