The Leveller - Julia Durango Page 0,38

I start, but just then something lurches beneath my feet and I nearly fall into Wyn. The stone seawall begins to buck and tremble like we’ve been hit by a magnitude seven earthquake. Wyn grabs my arms and tries to steady me, though it doesn’t do much good. We’re both flailing around like first-timers trying to couples skate at the roller rink.

“Don’t be—” Wyn yells, but he’s cut off by a deafening roar.

“BRRRAAAAAOOOKKKK!”

A piercing squawk bellows from the sea. A huge, slimy, saucer-eyed head emerges from the water, its gaping beak lined with a thousand dagger-like teeth. The beast rises higher and higher, lifting four huge flailing tentacles out of the water. It doesn’t take a genius to know it’s got four more where those came from. A freaking kraken has just come to call on Havana.

“BRRRAAAAAOOOKKKK!” it screams again, then charges the seawall.

“Nixy—” Wyn yells, but before he can go on, the kraken extends a hoary purple tentacle and snatches Wyn right off the wall.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, is all that goes through my head.

Finally, I snap my gaping mouth shut and yell, “Inventory!” I have no idea what to use against a kraken. Laser gun? Crossbow? The monster’s skin looks to be made of hard scales, completely impenetrable.

Wyn is still screaming at me, though I can’t make out the words. The kraken starts to bring Wyn toward its toothy beak. “Fy fæn,” I mutter, then load the crossbow and take aim. I try to zero in on one of its milky eyes, though the beast keeps moving, making it nearly impossible to target. “Steady,” I tell myself, finger on the trigger. My crosshatch finds a big liquid pupil, and I start to squeeze.

“Nooooooo,” yells Wyn.

No what? I’ve lost the shot now. What is he screaming about?

“Nixy, don’t shoot,” he yells again.

What? I lower the crossbow in disbelief. It looks like the kraken is . . . hugging Wyn to his cheek? Wyn strokes him and says something over and over again . . . something that sounds suspiciously like “Good boy. There’s a good boy.”

Finally, the kraken paddles over to where I’m standing and gently replaces Wyn on the seawall. Wyn gives me a goofy grin.

I am not amused.

“What the hell is that?” I ask, pointing my loaded crossbow at the kraken. The beast is now bobbing in the water next to us, waving its tentacles around like it wants to play.

“That’s Larry. Watch this,” he says, summoning a nearby fruit vendor with a whistle. Wyn quickly buys a bunch of bananas, then winds up and starts pitching them one by one at the kraken.

I have to admit, Larry’s a pretty good outfielder. When he’s caught a banana in each tentacle, he does what can only be described as a little happy dance—a few giddy spins, a couple of head bobs—then waves to us in farewell before sinking back into the deep.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I say. “And here I’ve been admiring your devotion to historical accuracy, when all this time you’ve had a pet kraken floating around?”

Wyn laughs. “Sorry I forgot to warn you about him. Every now and then I get a bit bored trying to re-create the real Havana, so I throw in a few extras to amuse myself.”

“I see. Any other . . . extras I should know about before I kill them by mistake?”

Wyn grins. “None as alarming as Larry. I’ll try to give you a heads-up next time.”

“I would appreciate that. Now let’s figure out a way to ambush those intruders. I have a few tricks up my sleeve that may help.”

“Tricks up your sleeve? Oh, don’t you sound like Nancy Drew,” Wyn teases, his eyes twinkling.

I resist the urge to swat his arm again. “Just take me somewhere we can make a plan—someplace we won’t find any Meeple, or hideous sea monsters who think they’re golden retrievers.”

“I know just the place. This way,” he says, and holds out his hand to me.

The hand flusters me. I want to take it, but I’m also embarrassed by it. He’s already saved me from careening off the seawall during the Larry episode. I don’t want him to think I’m some little girl who can’t take care of herself.

I fought sharks to get here, dammit. I’m the rescuer, not him.

I pretend I don’t notice the hand. “Lead on,” I say.

He quickly drops his hand and turns his head. He shoves his fists into his pockets and starts walking briskly