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On paper, the Farm lay less than 5 miles away from the chapter, on the other side of the Cape Fear River. Since the Memorial Bridge was no more, the best and fastest way across the river was the ferry, which ran continuously during the daylight. If things went according to plan, we would get there in under an hour. Even in half an hour, if Thomas’ horse could keep up with Cuddles, who for unknown and probably abnormal reasons, had the gait of a Tennessee Walker and the speed of one, too.
Things didn’t go to plan.
Thomas squinted at the shady-looking captain standing by a small workboat. “What do you mean, the ferry isn’t running?”
The captain spat to the side. He wore a grimy gray sweatshirt, equally grimy khaki work pants, and old boots. A beige baseball cap with an embroidered American flag in a shape of a bass covered his hair, and a pair of ancient shades hid his eyes. He hadn’t shaved in about a week, and the dark stubble sheathing his narrow chin clearly had beard ambitions.
The workboat behind him looked about as worn and gritty as he did. A flat-bottom aluminum barge, it was about 30 feet long, with a sturdy railing along the flat deck and a narrow rectangular cabin at the stern, just big enough for the captain and maybe a couple of people. Pre-Shift, it would’ve likely hauled small cargo loads and would easily fit an average-sized truck. Today it was hauling passengers, and the deck had smears of horse manure on it.
We were on the dock, with the stubby remnants of the Memorial Bridge jutting over the river to the left of us. In front of us Cape Fear flowed, its blackwater the color of greenish pewter. A handful of boats braved the crossing, crawling to and from the other bank.
“See the purple?” The captain pointed at the purple flag flying off a mast on the remains of the Memorial bridge. “Dangerous marine life, hazardous conditions. The name’s Scully. I’ll take you across for $200.”
“That’s robbery,” Thomas ground out. “The ferry is $20.”
“Well, the ferry ain’t running, and purple flag means hazard pay. I’m takin’ a personal risk.”
“We can wait for one of those.” Thomas nodded at the boats making their way toward us.
“It ain’t gonna be cheaper,” Scully said. “Besides, I don’t see a lot there that can take on two horses.”
Cuddles wasn’t a horse, but it was beside the point. There was an edge to Thomas’ stare. He’d gotten up this morning with a definite plan: either he would get enough money together and buy his son back or he wouldn’t. He was afraid to hope for Column A and almost certain he would end up with Column B, and he had put his emotions into a steel-hard grip to cope with it. Instead, he got Column C. We were making unexpected progress toward finding Darin, and he was seeing the first glimmers of light at the end of the tunnel. His control was slipping.
Some part of Thomas still expected that he would have to pay for his son, and he was carrying his life savings on him. He was acutely aware that every dollar he spent was one dollar less for Darin’s ransom. Right now, Scully was standing between Thomas and his son, impeding our progress, and he was shaking us down. It was a very dangerous place to be.
The captain was about as trustworthy as an unpiloted vampire. The will-o’-wisp’s cage didn’t fully fit into the saddlebag, so I had settled for kind of strapping it in, and he’d glanced at it four times since we’d started talking. He was a sailor, and will-o’-wisps loved marshes. Scully would’ve seen hundreds of them in his time on the water and would know that they went for about $50K apiece. I could see the butt of a crossbow laying on the passenger bench in the boat cabin. He probably had a shotgun or a rifle in there as well.
“Make up your mind,” Scully drawled. “You want across or not?”
Any other time I would’ve waited for a safer option since I had Thomas and two mounts to guard. But we had no time. If the Red Horn had warned Onyx and he warned his buyer, our chances of finding Darin would plummet. There was a fifteen-year-old kid out there held against his will by some asshole, and gods alone knew what was happening to him while we stood on this shore.
Thomas unclenched his jaw.
I tossed a chunk of silver to the captain. Scully snapped it out of the air. Paper money was fragile, but silver was expensive and much more durable. And I’d given him about $50 more than he’d asked.
“Take us across. That’s all. Don’t get fancy. Keep the bird in hand, and your head attached to your neck.”
