Darkmouth (8 page)

F
inn's father squinted into the lens and then beckoned Finn over so that he too could peer in. Deep within the crystal, Finn could see strands of a pure white light dashing gracefully across the lens. It was quite beautiful.

“I don't know for sure what it is, but it's new to Darkmouth,” said Mr. Glad.

“New?” said Hugo as if the word tasted bad. “When it comes to Legends, new is never good.”

“Never. Most of the time,” said Mr. Glad.

Finn looked down at his feet, thinking about the first crystal he had found, the one that was currently tucked away in his underpants drawer.

“Is this the only one that's come through, Hugo?” Mr. Glad asked as Finn's father took another look.

“Yes.”

“You sure?” Mr. Glad was looking at Finn, who felt a
flush of guilt. Mr. Glad's eyes were like a microscope on his conscience.

“Yes,” Finn answered, trying not to let his voice squeak in betrayal.

“Well then,” Mr. Glad said, slowly breaking eye contact with Finn, “I'll hold on to it, if that's okay with you, Hugo, and run a few tests.”

“Fine with me,” Finn's dad answered, his fist pressed into his chin as he thought through this unwelcome twist in what should have been a standard hunt. “There was something else too. Another gateway.”

“What do you mean?” asked Mr. Glad.

“A second gateway while we were dealing with the Hogboon. It was just a small one, judging by the scanner, and wasn't open for more than a few seconds. No Legend could have come through.”

Mr. Glad rubbed the wisp of his beard with the back of his hand. “They might have been trying to get in another way, but something went wrong. We haven't seen too much of that recently, but it isn't unheard of for more than one gateway to open at the same time. Remember that plague year we had?”

“Of course. I'm still getting the stains out of my fighting suit,” said Hugo. “But it's been years since that
kind of thing happened in Darkmouth.”

A hush fell over the room, broken only by the clang of swaying implements hanging in the shop out front.

“Oh, one other thing, Glad,” said Finn's father, seeming to suddenly remember something of importance. “There are a few bits and pieces I need to get from you for a project I've been meaning to talk to you about. Finn, you have a look around. I'll just be a minute.”

Finn wandered the room while his father and Mr. Glad got on with their business. He pretended not to be interested in what they were talking about, but kept an ear on the conversation. Unfortunately, he could only hear snatches.

“. . . progress . . . ,” he heard his father say.

“. . . energy source . . . ,” he heard Mr. Glad say.

“. . . close it permanently . . .”

“. . . highly dangerous . . .”

“. . . donkey cabbages . . .”

Finn wondered if he might have misheard that last one.

He continued to explore the room. In the corner were a couple of long spears that he recognized from the more faded paintings in the Long Hall at home. At the foot of the wall, peeking out from behind the spears, Finn
noticed a framed wooden certificate on which he could only make out the words “of the Hidden Realm.”

Finn ran his hands over a long countertop that was busy with objects he didn't recognize. He picked up a green metallic one shaped like an egg and gave it a bit of a shake.

“Look but don't touch,” cautioned Mr. Glad, suddenly appearing beside him and grabbing the object from Finn's hand. “You don't want to leave here with fewer fingers than you arrived with, and I don't want to have to clean up the mess after you. This is called a Fingerless Grenade.”

He gave it a squeeze and rows of small, jagged blades popped out of either end, one of them pushing a pin out of the top. “It's called that because you're the one who ends up fingerless if you hold it wrong. Give that about ten seconds and it will explode too.” He pushed the pin back in before it did. “Maybe your parents will get you one for Christmas. How is your mother anyway?”

“Clara's fine, thanks for asking,” interrupted Finn's dad.

“We go way back too, young man,” Mr. Glad told Finn, then winked. “Further back than your father.”

Finn wanted to go home now.

They left, with Finn's father holding a couple of
machine parts. He threw them in the back of the car alongside the desiccated Legend.

“Shouldn't we just ask the Hogboon what the diamond is for?” asked Finn.

“It's not a diamond and he's not to be trusted.”

Finn felt jittery. The Hogboon's apparent recognition of him still nagged, but he also felt a growing sense of obligation to tell his father that there was another crystal—presumably with the same curious properties as the Hogboon's—currently sitting in his bedroom.

“What do you think of Mr. Glad?” his father asked him as they drove home.

Finn grimaced. “I think I'll be feeling his thick fingers on the back of my head for another week.”

“He's a good man, something of a legend in his own right. Did you see that plaque in his room? That's the Honorary Sub-Knight of the Hidden Realm, the highest honor a civilian can be given by the Council of Twelve. He didn't get that for a lifelong dedication to fixing Legend Hunters' toasters. He earned it, just like he earned that scar.”

They pulled onto their street as his father continued.

“When you need something, he always has it or knows how to get it. And you'll
always
need something, Finn.”

The car approached their house and, as they got closer, they both saw the writing at the same time. There had been visitors while they were out. And they'd delivered a message.

Finn's dad slowed the car and slid down its window so they could examine it.

On the wall directly across the road from their front door, under the orange illumination of the streetlight, was a line of six-foot-high graffiti. It was fresh enough that its letters still dripped slowly down the concrete. It read:

They got out of the car and stood in front of the house, hands on hips. Finn saw that his father's gaze wasn't on the graffiti, but somewhere above the wall and beyond.

“Finn, do you ever get the feeling . . . ?”

He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he took the Desiccator canister and his newly acquired spare parts into the house, then returned with a can of white paint and two brushes. He handed one to Finn, and they got to work covering over the graffiti.

 

From
A Concise Guide to the
Legend Hunter World, vol. 3:
Blighted Villages, Known and
Unknown
, 16th Edition

 

F
inn woke, blinking against the sunlight that pierced a gap in his bedroom curtains and fell directly on his eyes. From way down in the house, he could hear drilling again.
Skreeeump.
A pulse. Then another. Then quiet.

Sticking his feet into a pair of oversize slippers shaped like grizzly bears, he shuffled downstairs, meeting his mother on her way out to her Saturday-morning dental clinic.

“Good morning, Mam,” he said, stifling a yawn.

“I wish it was, Finn,” she said. “I'm tired, and that racket your dad's making woke me early. Thankfully, a busy morning of staring into people's rotting dental cavities will be just the thing to perk me up.”

She grabbed her keys and left. A moment later, the doorbell rang. “What did you forget, Mam?” Finn asked as he opened the door.

“Nice slippers,” said Emmie. “Did you kill those in a hunt?”

Finn half hid behind the door, while Emmie waited outside, jumping around to keep warm in the crisp morning. Eventually, she gave him a look that said, “Aren't you going to let me in?”

He let her in. Then he darted upstairs to get some proper clothes on. He reopened his bedroom door to find her standing right outside it.

“What's your bedroom like, Finn?” she asked, walking straight past him to have a look for herself. “Whoa, I thought
my
bedroom was messy.”

She spotted the goldfish and gave its glass a tap. “What's his name?”

“Bubbles,” Finn answered. “I was younger when I got him,” he added in response to Emmie's giggle.

“What are you reading? Is this
The Most Great Lives
?” Needing two hands, she picked up the large book, only for the other, smaller book hidden inside to fall from between its pages.

Before Finn could get to it, she had already grabbed it.

“
So You Want to Be a Veterinarian,
” she read. “You want to be a vet?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.”

“Aren't you supposed to be, I don't know,
killing
creatures rather than wrapping them in bandages?” She handed the book back to him. “Like, I didn't see too many stethoscopes in those portraits downstairs,” she said, now nosily scanning the things on his windowsill.

“Maybe I won't be like all the others on that wall,” said Finn.

“Really? Thought you had no choice. You know, only son of the only Legend Hunter and all that.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it's because—” Finn was struggling to find the words to explain himself. He hadn't talked about it before.

“What?” Emmie prompted him.

“Sometimes it feels like maybe I could be a different sort of Legend Hunter. Like, I'm learning all about these incredible creatures, but the only thing I'm supposed to do is fight one when I see it. There could be another way to deal with them that doesn't mean hurting them. Like my mam does for people. She helps them with their teeth, I mean. Same sort of thing really, just different animals.”

“A Legend Hunter
and
a vet,” said Emmie. “What does your dad think about that? From what you've told me about him, I can't imagine he's too happy.”

Finn's silence gave her the answer.

“Sorry,” she said, then changed the subject by grabbing the eight-limbed stuffed animal off his windowsill. “That looks pretty dangerous. He's got cute little fangs and all.”

Finn needed to rescue his pride, so he blurted out, “I have something better than that.” He slid open the drawer, shielding his underpants as best he could, unwrapped the crystal, and held it out to her. Low morning sun reflected off it in a dozen directions. Emmie's eyes widened.

“Let me hold it.”

He passed it to her and she turned it in her hands, running her finger across its edges and feeling its surprising lightness.

“It came from a Legend,” said Finn. “You're holding a part of another world.” She gasped just a little at that, and the approval gave Finn a shot of confidence.

“How did it get here?” she asked.

“It was in a Minotaur's nose.”

“Gross!” she exclaimed, dropping it on his bed.

From somewhere in the house, Finn heard heavy steps. He grabbed the crystal back and threw it into the drawer.

“Nice underpants,” exclaimed Emmie.

And, just like that, Finn's moment of triumph was lost once more.

“Come on,” he said, ushering her out again. “I'd better
eat. I only just got up.”

As they came downstairs, the panels on the narrow door to the Long Hall flashed simultaneously and, with a
clunk
, it opened. Finn's father emerged, carrying what appeared to be half a vacuum cleaner in his arms, exposed wires trailing past his waist.

“Hello,” he said, stopping in the doorway, clearly surprised to see a stranger there.

“Dad, this is Emmie, a new girl . . . a new, er, friend, from school.”

“A girlfriend?”

“No,” Finn shot back. “A friend.”

“Don't mind him,” said Finn's dad. “He's very grouchy in the mornings. Nice to meet you, Emmie.”

“Hello, Mr. . . .” She seemed to be struggling to think how to address him, as if “Mr. The Great” didn't sound quite right. Finally, she settled on: “Hello, Finn's dad.”

“Hugo will be cool.”

Cool?
thought Finn.

“So, what are you kids up to then?” his dad asked.

Kids?
Finn would have been happy if the whole world left him alone this morning, but his dad's disappearance would be a fine start.

“Come on, Emmie, let's go,” Finn said, starting for the
kitchen in the futile hope that he could cut short this conversation.

“What brought your family to Darkmouth, Emmie?” Finn's dad asked, readjusting his hold on the machine part so that he cradled it like a baby.

“Work. My dad's work. It's just me and him.”

“What does he do?”

“He's a consultant. Techy things,” she said, pulling her bangs forward with one hand. “I don't really understand it.”

“Techy things? Like computers?”

“Phone lines, I think.”

Finn's dad nodded. “Sounds fascinating. Did Finn tell you what we do?”

Finn's brain was screaming at him to
stop talking right now, this very instant.

“I'm in what you might call pest control.”

Enough, Dad!

“Yeah,” said Emmie, energized again. “I know all about it.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, from books and stuff.”

“Books?” asked Finn's father, curious.

“Well, Finn's book. Upstairs. And from Finn too. He's
told me so much.”

Finn wondered if he looked as embarrassed as he felt.

“Anyway, welcome to Darkmouth, Emmie,” said Finn's father. “Don't let the bedbugs bite.”

Bedbugs, oh God.

“Finn, I've got to go out and get something looked at. You okay on your own?”

To show just how excruciating this was for all of them, Finn rolled his eyes so far he could almost see the inside of his skull.

His dad finally headed outside, and Finn gave an overblown sigh of relief. But, just when he thought it was safe, his dad popped his head back in the house. “Finn, give your fighting suit a wipe, will you? It's beginning to smell like a family of cats lives in it.”

Emmie laughed.

Finn's mouth opened in silent frustration. He needed to find something to rescue this situation, and quickly.

Suddenly, he knew what it was.

“Do you want to see something?” he asked. “Something really good.” Emmie didn't have time to answer before he pressed the panels on the door to the Long Hall. She followed as he quickly dashed down the corridor, ignoring the long line of portraits and heading straight for the
door at the very end, only hesitating when he reached his destination.

“I'm not really supposed to go in here,” he said, pointing to the door marked “Library.”

“Oh, all right then,” she said, then screwed her foot into the floor a bit. “I mean, if you're scared of your dad, I understand. . . .”

That was all it took to persuade Finn. He opened the door.

Beyond it was a space unlike any library anyone could have imagined. The round room was massive, stretching high into the pitch of the roof, crowded shelves covering almost every bit of the walls.

At points along the edges of the floor, full suits of armor stood at attention, complete with spears and swords and shields.

At the center were a couple of large, cluttered desks and near these were two domed cages, one about Emmie's height and another big enough to fit several adults inside, including some on each other's shoulders. Looming over both was a wide object covered with sheets.

Finn stood back, letting her take it all in. She moved toward the desks, one of which had a computer on
it with a screensaver scrolling through a selection of images.

A horned skull.

An illustration of an old woman with leather wings.

A photo of Finn as a toddler, grinning and holding an oversize sword while his father, laughing, waved some fierce little creature in his direction.

She moved to the covered object. It was about the height of a grown man and as wide as two. Scattered on the floor around it were various tools, batteries, an electrical fan, the drum of a washing machine, a kettle, what looked like the blade from a blender, and other bits and pieces. As they got closer to it, Finn could feel a low electric hum radiating through the floor and tingling his toes.

“What's this?” Emmie asked.

This, presumably, was the thing Finn's dad had been working on all hours of the night. Finn had no idea what it was, but didn't want to admit that. So he rummaged through his mind for something that would make it sound like he knew what he was talking about. It just came out as a bit of a gurgle.

Finn wasn't sure if Emmie was just being polite, but she ignored his meek response and instead began to lift the sheet for a look. Before she got too far, though, her attention was caught by something else on the shelves: a collection of glass jars of various sizes and shapes.

She reached out and lifted one with a hard ball rattling around inside. She read the handwritten label aloud:

“‘Gargoyle. Adult. Approx. 5ft. Darkmouth. 13.02. 1963.'”

She picked up another. It too contained a hard ball, and its label read
Griffin. Height 4ft, span 6ft. Darkmouth. 01.05.1946.

She checked another. A Grendel. Then another. A Gogmagog. She looked up and around. Shelves were lined with jar after jar, of various sizes and shapes, stretching high to the ceiling and halfway around the room. Each contained a hard ball, sometimes leathery, sometimes furry or feathered or hairy, but almost always perfectly spherical.

“They're Legends,” said Finn. At last, this was something he knew all about. “Decades', maybe centuries' worth of Legends. They're trapped, collected, and stored here.” Emmie picked up one jar from a small table beside
the shelves, not yet filed away. Finn could see one word on it:
Hogboon.

“Are they alive?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Dormant really.”

“There must be hundreds here,” said Emmie.

“Three thousand and twenty-nine to be accurate,” said Finn's father from right behind her. “And we wouldn't want you to be number three thousand and thirty, would we?”