The Call of the Wild: Klondike Cannibals, Vol. 2 (8 page)

*  *  *  *  *

His plan was simple: try to spot Dr. Fiddler, Indian Jack, or any of the shills he remembered from the gaming table the day before, and follow them back to wherever the gang was.

He didn’t know what he would do when he found them, but he was sure he would figure something out.

The trick was to keep moving.

He figured he had to spot one of the gang passing through the dockyard square sooner or later, right? After all, this was their turf, and there seemed to be even more people around than the day before. More fools to be fleeced.

How could they resist?

After scouting out a number of possible vantage points, Jack chose the roof of a large wooden warehouse across the square from the Alaska Trade & Transportation Company.

He climbed a
wooden pole in the back alley behind it, and climbed across onto the roof without too much trouble.

After a brief scout, he
found a good location for a perch, near the corner. It was a perfect spot: he could lie down in the shade of the warehouse’s façade, and have a bird’s-eye-view of the dockland road, where it opened onto the expanse of the square, and see the faces both coming and going.

*  *  *  *  *

Just after noon, Jack spotted Dr. Fiddler.

Jack
held his breath for a moment, squinting a little, concentrating all his powers of perception upon the single-horse, open-top Hansom cab rolling slowly through heavy traffic along the dockland road below him, towards the square...

Yes!
Now he was sure: it was Dr. Fiddler, sitting next to a man wearing a fashionable burgundy suit and matching bowler hat.

For a moment Jack
was torn with indecision: what should he do?

Try to wat
ch the carriage from up here and risk the chance that it left the square? Or risk losing sight of it as he climbed back down the pole in the back alley? Or—

He briefly visualized jumping into the open cab below
, grabbing Dr. Fiddler, wrestling him into submission… But that would be suicidal.

He made a snap decision.

He took one last look at the cab, burning the details into his memory: its direction, speed, the look of its horse, and driver… then he was off, racing across the long roof towards the back of the warehouse, and the wooden pole he’d climbed. He shimmied down it as fast as he could, dropping the last four feet to the ground, feeling a dull ache shoot through the balls of his feet as he hit the ground running.

*  *  *  *  *

Jack was breathing hard by the time he burst into the square.

H
e spotted the cab immediately, heading along the waterfront in the general direction of the pier where the
Umatilla
was being loaded with last-minute supplies.

For a moment, Jack wondered if Dr. Fiddler was about to board the
Umatilla
in his place, using his ticket… He sped up a little, a storm of rage building inside him.

Jack c
ut diagonally across the square, walking briskly, not wanting to attract attention.

He passed the spot where, the day before—it seemed a century ago—
Annie had fallen into his arms. And just beyond it was where he’d haggled with Joe over Captain Shepard’s ticket and outfit. So much history in the square already…

Suddenly finding a break in the traffic, t
he driver of Fiddler’s carriage cracked a long whip over the horse’s head. Jack watched the cab surge forward along the remaining portion of the road, and disappear behind the warehouse on the far corner of the square.

He
broke into a run.

*  *  *  *  *

Rounding the corner at a full sprint, Jack saw the cab, stopped no more than twenty yards away from him, on the side of the road in front of a mid-sized steamship.

T
he name
Argo
was written in large white block letters upon the steamship’s lime-green hull.

Dr. Fiddler and the man in the burgundy bowler
hat were making their way up the gangplank, towards a pair of hulking billiard-hall bruisers who guarded the entrance to the ship.

Having heard him round the corner, the
Hansom cab driver turned to stare at Jack.

Jack
immediately slowed down, and began walking along the other side of the road, nonchalantly, trying not to arouse any suspicion. The last thing he needed was for Dr. Fiddler to look back and notice him skulking about.

Thankfully, t
he cab driver quickly lost interest, turning back around and cracking his whip. The Hansom clattered up the road, then turned a corner up ahead, and was gone.

All at once,
Jack could feel the suspicious eyes of the bruisers on him.

He continued walking down the street, looking down at the ground
, trying to think of his next move. He spotted a narrow gap between two brick warehouses nearby, and figured that if he could get into that space from the other side, he would probably be able to stay hidden while watching the ship.

So h
e circled around the block, found the far entrance to the gap between the buildings, and slipped inside.

*  *  *  *  *

Jack
waited there until nightfall, watching the ship.

He knew an approach from the water was his best bet for getting on board the
Argo
without raising the alarm. He’d learned during his oyster pirate days that it was almost impossible to spot a swimmer at night, particularly if he was near docks or boats.

A lantern slowly moved about on the
ship’s deck, temporarily illuminating stacks of crates, and casting long shadows. Jack figured it must be a guard, out patrolling.

He waited a few minutes
more, until he was certain he wouldn’t be noticed, then stood up and slipped out of the gap.
After sitting cramped for most of the afternoon in the narrow crawlspace it felt wonderful to be moving again.
His stiff leg muscles throbbed as he made his way over to a small wooden jetty he’d noticed earlier, located about halfway between the
Umatilla
and the
Argo.

Once there, he stripped down to his underwear,
and placed his clothes and shoes in a neat folded pile—just a young man out for a late-night swim down by the docks.

He
walked to the end of the jetty and dove into the black water.

There was a moment of cool plunging
and arcing through darkness and bubbles before his head resurfaced. He swam out a little, wanting to put some distance between himself and the shore, so he would be harder to spot.

T
hen he turned around, and casually studied the
Argo
while treading water. It looked a lot like a smaller version of the
Umatilla
: it too was overloaded, and sitting low in the water.

Through the darkness, Jack
thought he spotted a ladder running up the side of the ship.

He s
wam a little closer. It was indeed a ladder: the first few rungs were encrusted with barnacles and dripping with slime, but he knew he should be able to reach up and pull himself up out of the water without too much trouble.

From there it would be a quick c
limb up to the deck.

Energized by his plan of action,
Jack swam back to the jetty, and climbed out of the water. Dripping, he walked quickly over to his clothes. He placed his shoes inside the legs of his pants, and then wrapped his shirt around both, tying everything up into a tight little bundle.

Then he snuck
closer to the rear of the
Argo.

Jack
swung the bundle once, twice, then tossed it into the air.

As soon as it
was out of his hands, his stomach clenched tight. He hadn’t thrown it right: it wouldn’t make it over the side of the
Argo,
it would fall into the water between the ship and the pier, it would somehow make noise, and attract attention…

But the bundle
disappeared silently over the side of the ship. Success! He breathed a sigh of relief.

Now all he had
to do was get on board and find his dry clothes again.

*  *  *  *  *

Jack slipped back into the water, which now felt very warm to him, and swam back around the side of the
Argo
to the ladder.

He
managed to climb out with ease, as he’d expected. The iron rungs were cool in his hands and sharp against the sensitive bottoms of his feet. He was halfway up the ladder when he suddenly saw lantern light flashing over his head.

He
froze.

Now he coul
d hear footsteps on the deck above him, coming closer. Of course the guard would periodically check this ladder, wouldn’t he, while making his rounds? That’s what Jack would do, in his position.

The guard set his
lantern down on the edge of the railing, just ten feet or so above Jack’s head.

“Hey! You there!” The guard called out, waving his lantern in a broad arc over his head.
“I can see you.”

Jack peered up at him.
To his horror, he saw the guard raise a rifle.

A cold shot of a
drenalin coated his stomach. He half-expected a gunshot to ring out at any moment. He tensed his muscles, readying to hurl himself backwards off the ladder.

But, for some strange reason, he hesitated.

It was a lucky thing too, because a
moment later, Jack realized the guard was not shouting at him at all, but rather at a small rowboat that had been slowly making its way towards the
Argo
.

Jack turned
around to look at it. There were a couple of men aboard, although in the darkness it was hard to tell exactly how many. As soon as the guard shouted they began rowing away. Jack figured they must be thieves, looking to sneak aboard and steal grubstaking supplies, or anything else they could get their hands on.

But the guard—and his rifle—seemed to have scared them off.

Somehow the guard did not see Jack, hanging there on the ladder right below him. After a few moments more, the lantern light moved off, and the guard walked away.

Jack
forced himself to wait, perfectly still, for a minute or two.

Then he
continued up the ladder.

*  *  *  *  *

Once Jack was on deck he crouched low, so that his silhouette couldn’t be spotted above the railing.

The good news was that there were a hundred places to hide:
there were stacks of boxes and crates everywhere, wrapped in tarps, chained and locked with iron padlocks.

He waited
, watching until the guard’s lantern drew close to the bow of the ship. Then he began moving swiftly in the other direction, towards the stern, where he’d tossed his bundle of clothes.

But his mind was already running ahead of itself. Once dressed, h
ow exactly he was going to get below decks and find Dr. Fiddler? And what on Earth would he do when he found him?

H
e heard something, close by, so h
e froze in his steps.

He ducked and crept
behind a stack of crates labelled “Tinned Beef.” He listened hard for a minute. He could hear waves gently lapping against the side of the boat, and the pounding of his heart in his ears.

N
othing else.

After a few
moments, he decided that his mind was playing tricks on him. He was about to start moving when he heard the sound again.

Footsteps.
Real close.

The night was dark: the thin cre
scent moon cast a ghostly light.
He squinted,
but saw nothing except the dim forms of the stacks…

Then Jack spotted
a
figure, just a couple of feet away.
It was a small Asian boy. About thirteen or fourteen, at most.

Who is that? Jack
wondered. A passenger? A stowaway? He didn’t look like a member of the gang—

Acting on a sudden impulse, Jack reached
out and grabbed the boy’s wrist as he passed by. Who knew? he might provide Jack with invaluable information about the gang or the ship.

But Jack’s impulsive move proved to be a mistake. As soon as the boy felt Jack’s
hand touch him, he shrieked in terror, and leapt backwards, falling over in the process.

“
Shhh!” Jack hissed, scrambling forward. He covered the boy’s mouth with his hand. “I’m not gonna—”

R
ed-hot agony shot through his fingers.

Jack jerked his hand away
instinctively. Suddenly the boy managed to twist out of his grip, and dive into a small gap between some nearby crates, disappearing.

Jack stared down as his bleeding fingers
in disbelief. The boy had bitten him!

In the distance, a dog began barking
.

He
clenched his hand into a fist, and felt a wet squishing between his knuckles. The boy’s teeth had broken through his skin in a number of places.

He
stayed where he was, crouching and listening. The boy hadn’t begun yelling or making any noise. From this, Jack figured he wasn’t with the gang after all, or he would be calling out for help. Not that it really mattered, now that the general alarm had been raised.

Jack
hurried on towards the stern.

He
wouldn’t be able to hide anywhere on deck for long, not with a dog sniffing him out. As soon as he found his clothes he’d try to head below deck. Perhaps in the confusion—

He
spotted the bundle next to some crates. It was wedged between them and the inner side of the ship’s hull. He crouched down beside it, and had just begun unwrapping it when
he felt the cold press of steel against his throat.

He froze.

“Stand up,” a voice hissed. “Slowly.”

The tip of the blade dug, ever so slightly, into the tender skin of his throat. One push, and his windpipe would split
right open.

He straightened up, very carefully,
and turned around.

“What are
you doing here?” the voice asked.

It was Annie.