“By offering my blood in exchange,” Jeb guesses.
This can’t be happening. I don’t care how many fights he’s been in at home. Even with a Swiss Army knife, he doesn’t stand a chance against a five-hundred-pound sea monster.
“He’s not a jeweled elf!” I shout from behind Jeb. “He’s human. Look at his ears.”
Jeb squeezes my fingers—a plea to keep quiet.
“Doesn’t matter either way. Jewels and riches mean nothing to the Wise One. But you, little cabbage, he’s desperate for your help. Oh, yes. He’s been waiting years for you to find your way here.”
The statement churns in my head. The flowers said the Wise One is the Caterpillar. So … he’s been waiting for me? Maybe the Caterpillar sent the moth and my dark guide to find me and bring me here.
Our captor’s tentacles writhe along the boat’s edges like giant pythons, and the wood creaks. “With you as hostage, I can barter for the flute. He will lay it at my feet for your safe deliverance.”
“You’ll have to kill me to get to her,” Jeb says.
I jerk on his wrist but he ignores me.
The octobenus kneads his flipper-hands. “Ah, a loyal friend. I had one of those, many years ago. He was an artisan. He carved my tusks and crafted a beautiful trunk to hold my reserve of clams. Then I learned he was pilfering my supply. So one night as he slept, I captured him”—the tentacles curl around the boat in demonstration—“and locked him in the trunk with the empty shells. I cast the lot into the ocean to muffle his screams. His bones are fish bait now.”
I bite my lip to keep from screaming.
Our captor laughs. “Dismal, isn’t it? You see, if I would be so callous with a friend, what’s to stop me from killing you? Nothing gets in the way of my belly’s needs.” He runs the thin, pointed end of a tentacle down to the tips of his slobbery tusks. “I will have the girl!”
He thrashes his tentacles and snags Jeb around the waist.
“No!” My arms dart out to hold him. The tentacles rip him away and lift him into the air.
“There’s land … to your left!” Jeb shouts as he wrestles with the creature, barely missing the deadly tip of a tusk. The struggle jostles the boat.
Choking on more screams, I hold on to the seat to keep from falling. Jeb’s right. There’s something on the horizon. It glitters like black sequins. It could be the island the flowers told us about.
“Go!” Jeb yells. “I’ll hold him off as long as I can!”
He grabs the chain around the monster’s neck. With quick thrusts, he wraps up some tentacles so I can make my escape. One of the tusks slices through the knee of his pants. The sound of tearing fabric reminds me of the clam’s horrible death. I can’t let that happen to Jeb.
We’ll never escape the octobenus in the water. How do we fight back? He has no obvious weakness … only a raging appetite.
“Wait!” I drop to my knees in front of him, acting on a sudden idea, hoping it works. “Please, free my friend, and I’ll help you willingly.”
“Al!” Jeb shouts.
“Give your word, nether-girl,” our captor says, his face a blubbery sneer. “You know the rules … an oath from our kind cannot be broken, else your power will be lost.”
I don’t know why he’s calling me nether-girl, but I’m willing to use it to my advantage. “I promise to help you.”
“Not good enough,” he says, winding Jeb’s ribs tighter in his tentacles until Jeb groans. “Do it properly. Cover your heart … swear on your life-magic. And be very specific.”
I hold my gaze on Jeb’s bluing lips and slap my shaking palm to my chest. “I swear on my life-magic to help tame your appetite.”
With a snarling turn of whiskers, he unwinds his tentacles and releases Jeb so he flops upright into the hull.
I throw my arms around Jeb’s slimy clothes. He keeps me balanced in the boat as we stand together. He’s coughing so hard, I can hardly hear his voice. “You should’ve … bailed.”
“No,” I whisper. “We stick together, remember?” Then I turn to our captor. “Mr. Octobenus, I know how to fill your belly. We can give cake to your clams.”
Jeb frowns at me, finally catching his breath.
The creature eases back to his seat on a nest of tentacles, panting and snuffling from the exertion of the fight. “Do you mean you’re offering me some clam cake?”
“No. The cake is for the clams,” I answer. “To stretch your supply until we get you the flute. We have just the thing to grow your clams to the size of dinner plates.” I turn my face to Jeb and mouth the words Eater becoming the eaten.
His face lights with understanding. He drags the backpack toward us. It’s incredible how composed he is after almost getting impaled, crushed, and devoured.
The mutant walrus watches, curious.