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    The Whalefall
    The Whalefall
    The Whalefall
    Ebook74 pages50 minutes

    The Whalefall

    By Sean Monaghan

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    About this ebook

    Gemma's father has gone missing, somewhere out on Stinngaser's wide, deep oceans. She knows he's always careful, but maybe this time his findings have angered the wrong people. Even though she's terrified of the water, she's going to find him. Whatever it takes. Originally published in The Colored Lens, and from the author of Arlchip Burnout.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTriple V Publishing
    Release dateMay 13, 2015
    ISBN9781311150943
    The Whalefall
    Author

    Sean Monaghan

    Award-winning author, Sean Monaghan has published more than one hundred stories in the U.S., the U.K., Australia, and in New Zealand, where he makes his home. A regular contributor to Asimov’s, his story “Crimson Birds of Small Miracles”, set in the art world of Shilinka Switalla, won both the Sir Julius Vogel Award, and the Asimov’s Readers Poll Award, for best short story. He is a past winner of the Jim Baen Memorial Award, and the Amazing Stories Award. Sean writes from a nook in a corner of his 110 year old home, usually listening to eighties music. Award-winning author, Sean Monaghan has published more than one hundred stories in the U.S., the U.K., Australia, and in New Zealand, where he makes his home. A regular contributor to Asimov’s, his story “Crimson Birds of Small Miracles”, set in the art world of Shilinka Switalla, won both the Sir Julius Vogel Award, and the Asimov’s Readers Poll Award, for best short story. He is a past winner of the Jim Baen Memorial Award, and the Amazing Stories Award. Sean writes from a nook in a corner of his 110 year old home, usually listening to eighties music.

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      Book preview

      The Whalefall - Sean Monaghan

      CHAPTER ONE

      With a stutter the little black Hyundai's engine gave out. Gemma fought the wheel as the traveler dropped back over loose rock on the steep driveway. Gemma cursed. Why did her grandmother have to live all the way out here anyway? Without even a decent spotline or phone.

      Gemma had been up here so many times with her father at the wheel. He'd never liked her driving, had told her never to attempt the hill on her own. But here she was. Instead of being able to say to him Take that, you it looked like he'd been right.

      Gemma ratcheted on the brake and got out of the traveler.

      To her right, across the dark ocean, gray-black clouds rose in rows like a set of gravestones. She saw a squawk of lightning, didn't need to count the seconds. The storm would arrive before nightfall anyway. The normally rich blue, almost transparent sea became an oily deep green, like dying moss, under the storm front.

      The stormy sea reminded her that it might have been an accident. There might not have been anyone else involved. She wanted to believe that, wanted to think it had all been innocent, but part of her hung on, imagining skullduggery. Was that the word?

      The wind rolled in and from the trunk Gemma retrieved her sou'wester, the yellow fabric smelling of new polyethylene. The jacket's inner was soft pelted fabric and it slipped on easily over her old tee-shirt.

      Abandoning the unco-operative vehicle, Gemma started walking up the rocky drive.

      CHAPTER TWO

      By the time Gemma reached Grandma Masie's place the storm's leading edge was already sending its tendrils high overhead. She wondered if she might have to stay the night. Perhaps, given circumstances, she should stay the night anyway.

      A plane buzzed low--lower even than her grandmother's house--out over the bay, crossing the headland: racing the storm. Gemma watched, guessing it was Mack, who ran three of the six planes out of Cedar Bay, and owned shares in the other three. He always seemed to be taking someone up sightseeing, or training. Gemma waved, knowing she would be too tiny to see from this far off. The plane continued on in the direction of Cedar Falls, engine thrumming.

      Hi Gran, Gemma said, coming around the side of the house, seeing Masie sitting on the verandah. She had a webtrace loom in her gnarled hands, weaving something conical. A lampshade? How antiquely cute.

      Gemma, Masie said, setting the loom aside and standing. The loom slipped off the polished wooden table and fell to the decking. Oh, clumsy! Masie said. She bent and retrieved it as Gemma stepped up.

      Grandma? Are you all right?

      Masie laughed. Eyesight and fingers, she said, putting the loom firmly in the middle of the table and wriggling her fingers at Gemma. Hips, knees. And hair. At least this thing's still nimble. She tapped her temple.

      Gemma smiled and hugged her grandmother, taking in her scent of roses and linen and skin cream.

      There were flowers in the garden along the front of the porch. Among roses and glenbrooks from Earth, there were tall Vega lilies that beaded with crystals along their petal rims, and puffy deep crimson and skin-pink haritoshan pansies. You're going to get yourself in trouble with all these off-world imports, Grandma.

      Masie nodded. The constabulary has far better things to do than chase up an old woman with a few illegal plants.

      It was almost a tradition between them, for Gemma to point that out. She'd been doing it since she was six, learning to be a good girl.

      Now it felt more like another way of avoiding the topic.

      Coffee? Masie said. Almost black, one malitol, right?

      Grandma, I've got something to tell you. You should sit down.

      Masie blinked, her dark eyes glistening. She glanced down at the loom, then back at Gemma. I'll flick the machine, Masie said. You can tell me over coffee. And cookies. It was almost as if the old woman knew it was bad news coming.

      Grandma. Gemma didn't want to wait, it was hard enough dealing with it herself. Grandma, your son is dead. My father.

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