The bell-bottom clanged over the stony patch they'd crossed some short time before and approached with a demeanor even darker than Thomas had previously noted. He'd been amiable previously, but in a slightly psychotic way. Now, despite the refreshing bath, he seemed to have sunken into an anger and depression from which he might never recover. It was as though he were seething, burning, a bomb instead of a bell. Ready to explode.
It worried Thomas greatly, even having him along. Tinklebum's behavior from here on out would be impossible to predict.
As he looked over at Brownie and heard the snuffling chuckle that came from deep in the grizzly's belly as he too watched Tinklebum's approach, Thomas became uneasy at the realization that the bear didn't see it. Brownie was his ally, yes. They were comrades-at-arms. And Tinklebum was supposed to be his ally as well. But the horrors he had experienced served to make him more of a liability than anything.
Before they reached the Jackal Lantern's fortress, he would have to determine if it was even safe to have Tinklebum along. And if he could count on Brownie’s allegiance should he try to send the bell-bottom away.
Still, in spite of Tinklebum's tenuous sanity, a certain fellowship had begun to form. Though only a child when he'd first visited the wood, Thomas had always been the decision maker, the only one among them mature enough to give voice to reason. There was a power in that, but he'd always felt something of a loss from being placed in that position. As if something, somehow, had been taken from him.
This was something altogether new. This joint purpose they now shared made all the frivolous years before seem to dissipate. As a writer, Thomas had felt quite alone at various times over the years. It was a solitary profession. But aside from the tenderest moments with Emily, he had never felt a more intimate bond than this.
Despite his doubts about Tinklebum, he knew that for the life of his son and the future of Strangewood, they would stand or fall, live or die, together. It was like a dream. A form of companionship so pure that he would previously have doubted its existence. But here it was.
And, just as this thought was completing itself in his mind, the sand began to shift beneath his toes. He stared down at the surface of the river as it rushed past his bare legs — the rolled up cuffs of his pants had been twice submerged an inch or so, and lay heavily on his skin — but nothing moved under the water.
The sand and soil of the riverbed buckled suddenly, roiling beneath him so that Thomas lost his balance. Over he went, arms flailing as he fell backward, away from the shore and into the deeper water, with just enough time to see the look of pure astonishment on Brownie's face as he splashed into the cold river.
The river closed around him. Thankfully, he'd managed to hold his breath. But the water had made Thomas deaf and the pressure on his eardrums was eerie. He was comfortable, as some people were not, with opening his eyes under water, but he was angry and embarrassed and frustrated by his fall.
As Thomas struggled to get his feet under him, he looked back under the water toward the riverbank. The sun cut the water enough to cause a certain amount of glittering glare beneath the surface, and his fumbling feet had stirred up some of the silt so he could not see much. But he could see that there was something coming up out of the sand. It had thick claws and a hard blue shell.
In a voice that, underwater, could have been an anchor striking stone, Thomas said, "Shit."
With a single thrust, he propelled himself to the surface and found that, on tiptoe, he could put his face out of the water.
"Sand crabs!" he screamed.
He'd forgotten all about the things. From the look on Brownie's face — amusement turning swiftly to alarm — he wondered if the bear had ever even heard of the creatures. Tinklebum was running along the shore toward where Thomas had fallen in — where the sand crab was emerging — and it was decidedly surreal. Thomas's ears were still underwater, so while he could see the bell-bottom waddling quickly along, there was no sound to accompany him. It made the shore seem that much farther away.
A flash of blue beneath the water, and Thomas knew the sand crab was coming for him. Brownie roared and leaped into the water behind the thing, and Thomas turned and dove into the current. As he did, he felt something try to grip his leg and spun in the water to see that another of the sand crabs had come up behind him when he was not paying attention.
That was two.
There would be more.
Brownie ducked his entire upper body into the water, head, shoulders, and arms disappearing into the river. With a splash, he pulled backward, hauling from the water the snapping, hissing crab who had first unbalanced Thomas. Its trio of dark blue claws clicked together with dangerous precision and one of them closed on Brownie's right arm, not far from the shoulder. The bear growled.
Quickly he turned, stomped two large steps to the shore, and tore the sand crab's grip away. He held it over his head and beat it mercilessly against the ground, shell cracking, small eyes popping, claws shattering, until only green and red entrails and shards of blue shell were left.
By then, Thomas had scrabbled up the stony portion of the riverbank, where he saw not a single claw erupting from the ground. The stony portion of the shore must be safe, he guessed. At least from attack from below.
"Tinklebum! Brownie! Here!" he cried loudly, even as the sand crab he'd managed to swim past poked its stalk eyes out of the water along with its two foreclaws and began snapping at him.
Moving closer.
"Brownie!" Thomas shouted again.
But the grizzly had other troubles. The sand just at the edge of the water had begun to churn as though the earth were about to split. Several sets of claws emerged along the shore, and Thomas could see at least two other sand crabs moving up out of the water toward the riverbank. The current didn't seem to be bothering the crabs at all.
Lucky them, Thomas thought. This was what they were made for.
Without another moment's hesitation, Thomas glanced around and found the largest stone he thought he could lift. He gripped it with two hands, hefted it, and under its burden, he stomped along the stony shore to where the sand began.
Tinklebum was going a little berserk. He stood still, screaming at the crabs, his whole body shaking so much that his clapper bonged against his insides loud enough to make Thomas wince in pain. But it kept the crabs at bay for a brief moment. Long enough for Thomas to come up behind the nearest one and drop the rock.
It crushed the crab's shell, pinning it to the sand. But even as Tinklebum saw Thomas and decided it was time to move, the crab reached a quivering claw out to clamp down on the bell-bottom's leg. Whatever Tinklebum was made of, however — porcelain or steel, Thomas didn't have a clue — the claw did no real damage save a minor scratch. Then it fell away as the crab at last died.
The others were moving in.
The river burbled by at what seemed a quickened pace. The clouds were uncaring wisps above as the breeze caressed both innocent and vicious alike. It was a beautiful day to die. But Thomas was determined not to oblige.
"Brownie, come on!" he shouted at the bear, who even now was bleeding from several minor wounds as he used one flailing crab to batter another. "We've got to get out of here or we're fucking dead!"
The grizzly winced, turned his attention from the crabs for a moment, and then tossed two of them aside. With the lumbering stride of a furry freight train, he pounded along the sand toward them. In seconds, he stood at their side, bleeding and sweating, despite the chilly wind. And the crabs moved in from sand and water alike.
"Please try not to be profane," Brownie asked Thomas. "It doesn't become you."