White Fangs by Tim Lebbon, Christopher Golden Read Free Book Online Page A

eggs in the morning. The other members of their pack were used to bunking together, so the four former pirates shared a cabin with upper berths that pulled down like those Jack had once observed in a train compartment.
    They saw very little of Ghost. He seemed barely there, as if he had become his namesake, haunting the corners of rooms and the far ends of gangways, until Jack came to believe that he was doing them the courtesy of avoiding them. In the time he had known Ghost, he had never before associated the word courtesy with him. The idea of a polite or respectful Ghost would take some getting used to.
    Though there were several dozen passengers, Jack and his companions kept mostly to themselves. Some of the men on board were businessmen. Others were merely thrill-seekers with enough money that they hoped they could keep the dangers of the northlands at arm's length, and return home with stories of their courage in the face of the wild. After all he had seen, such men were absurd creatures to Jack, but he found them harmless enough. They did him the favor of ignoring him as thoroughly as he did them, and that was fine.
    Jack's interest was piqued by the crew, however. It had become obvious within hours of boarding that something troubled them. A low current of unease seemed to run beneath every interaction he witnessed amongst the steamship's stewards and officers. Even the cook seemed agitated when Jack caught sight of him early on the morning after they'd departed.
    Late in the afternoon of their second full day on the river, Jack and Sabine stood on the starboard side of the upper deck, watching a trio of hawks up ahead, beyond a curve in the river. The hawks were circling, and Jack imagined they must be intent upon some prey that hid in the woods along the riverbank.
    "They're afraid," Sabine whispered.
    For a moment Jack thought she meant the hawks, until he saw that her eyes were closed, and realized that she referred to the crew of the Fort McGurry .
    "I wish we knew what of," Jack said.
    Sabine let out a breath and opened her eyes, turning toward him with a gaze full of regret. "I'm sorry. At sea, I can see more deeply into hearts and minds, but on the river it's all quite muddled."
    "Nothing to be sorry about," Jack reassured her, taking her hand. "Whatever it is, it may not concern us at all."
    And yet he was concerned. Most ordinary men would never allow themselves to believe that werewolves existed, but Jack wondered if someone one board had realized that there were monsters steaming up the Yukon with them. Ghost and his crew had robbed and murdered up and down the Pacific for years. It wasn't impossible that someone had survived and recounted the tale. He had tried to put himself in a position to eavesdrop on some of the whispers among the crew, but thus far had been unsuccessful. And if it wasn't the wolves they feared, then the question remained: what had spooked them so badly?
    "Try not to worry," Sabine said, now trying to reassure him. Her smile reached all the way to her copper eyes. "You said Dawson wasn't much further."
    Jack nodded. "Forty miles or so, if I've gauged it right."
    "Good. Then whatever is bothering them isn't ours to worry over anymore."
    He knew she was right, yet he could not fight the uneasiness he felt, as if the crew's agitation was contagious. An ominous weight hung in the air.
    As the steamer followed the bend in the river, black smoke pluming from the stacks and the paddle wheel slowly turning, Jack watched the circling hawks ahead and exhaled slowly, trying to clear his mind. The sky had turned a dusky blue, headed toward the indigo of evening. Night would be falling in minutes. He extended his senses, feeling for the birds. Closing his eyes, he focused on one of them, easing himself into its awareness, matching his pulse as best he could to the rapid thrumming of its tiny heart. He could feel the air around him as the hawk's wings sliced the wind, and the sensation of flying