Kraken Read Online Free PDF

He shook it, then flipped it over again, leaving behind a pile of damp detritus.
     
    “She doesn’t get much use,” said Cyrus, as stowed the knapsack in the tip of the bow, and checked the bung. Will handed the oars back to Cyrus, then rolled his trousers up to his knees, and toed his shoes off, throwing them up onto the shingle. Cyrus gestured with his head for Will to take the other side, and the two of them lifted the dinghy and carried it the ten feet to the water’s edge, pushing it out until she floated freely. The water was cool as it caressed Will’s calves and feet.
     
    “Hop in,” said Cyrus.
     
    “No, I told you. I can’t get in.”
     
    “Will, you have two options. Option number one is to get into the dinghy. Now. Option number two is I will pick you up and put you in the dinghy. Which one would you prefer?”
     
    Will stiffened. ”You can’t put me in a dinghy!”
     
    Cyrus moved an inch towards him, and Will broke, letting go of the boat and making a splashing run for the beach. Cyrus was faster, impossibly faster, grabbing Will around the waist and swinging him over his shoulder. Cyrus waded out to where the dinghy bobbed freely and dumped Will over the gunwales. He landed half on the seat, and all his breath was forced out in a painful grunt. Will slid off the seat into the damp bottom of the boat. Before he could move Cyrus threw his shoes in beside him, then jumped into the stern, as the dinghy drifted out into the bay.
     
    The oars were resting length-ways on the seats, and before Will had his breath back Cyrus had the row-locks fitted and had started stroking confidently.
     
    “No outboard?” panted Will, as he lay curled up, looking up at the sky, his face flaming and heartbeat thundering like a cascade in his chest.
     
    “Nah, I don’t like the noise.”
     
    Will nodded. He noticed red leaves floating in a little pool of water next to his head, drifting back and forth with each of Cyrus’s strokes. When they got to this shop he was never getting back on this dinghy or near this man again. He had his wallet— fuck, no he didn’t. His wallet was back up in his pants pocket in the cottage. Fine, he’d just throw himself on the mercy of a friendly yachtie. He hadn’t been this humiliated in . . . ever.
     
    Cyrus pointed the boat north, and as they headed around the point Will craned his neck to spot Cyrus’s house in the trees: anything but to acknowledge the water all around him. The cottage was set low to the ground, a long porch wrapped around three sides. It was painted to blend in with the pines growing closely around it but the glint of sunlight on the windows stood out in the dark gloom of the trees.
     
    When they rounded Cyrus’s point a little cuddy runabout, sleek and streamlined, rolled languorously in the water. Stylized waves were painted on the bow. A boy, only six or seven, was fishing from the stern with his father, and Cyrus called out a greeting. Will cringed at what they thought of him, inexplicably lying in the bottom of the boat. Thank the gods they didn’t know who he was. On the starboard side a skein of gulls lined the bulwarks, padding uneasily from foot to foot and watching as Will and Cyrus rowed past. Their droppings marred the clean lines of the paintwork down the hull towards the waterline.
     
    “Just visitors,” noted Cyrus. “Found the island by good luck, I think. Always something to catch, here.”
     
    The rhythmic hollow slapping of water on the metal hull lulled Will. The voices of the father and son lingered in the air long after they’d passed them. Voices carry over water , he remembered. His heartbeat eased, and he felt almost calm again.
     
    He raised his head a fraction to catch his bearings. A long, solid wharf lay to the north, a small building on the end. Yachts and launches circled around it, briefly hovering, then pulling away, like oversize hummingbirds.
     
    He sat up unsteadily, shifting himself onto the seat. He’d