Remy sniffed rain.

  He returned his fishing rod onto his workbench, and walked outside onto the pier. There was a distinct humidity in the air that reminded him of the sensation before a storm. The skies were darkening. The winds whistled as they travelled the lake.

  It comes with the storm, the Waveseer, Madame Ruspoli had told him. Remy was not intimidated. He walked to the very edge of the pier, until the toes of his sandals were hanging over the water. He stared out across the trembling lake, the smell of rain becoming more intense. A nauseating, headache-inducing smell.

  “Well, what are you waiting for!” he yelled across the lake. He could have sworn he saw a shadow in the distance, awaiting beneath the waves. “I am not afraid!” he shouted at it.

  The shadow dipped back underneath.

  Just before midday, there was a meeting at the docks. It was a substantial crowd who attended. Dockworkers, sailors, fishermen, cargo crew. Remy climbed onto a wooden box and told them of what he had seen in the lake, of Julius and his story (of which Julius corroborated, though he was not as comfortable speaking in front of the crowd), and finally, of what the Waveseer had said to him. “She hears its calling! A great, tormented monster, which follows the storm!” And a drop of rain spat on Bonpoi, hitting his forehead.

  The crowd of workers bustled.

  “What does it want?” asked a burly, tattooed boatman.

  “I believe it seeks to destroy our town,” said Remy. “It is upset. It has been upset.” He recalled what the Waveseer had said to him. You have upset it.

  “We can’t just wait forever!” one called.

  “Not forever!” Remy replied. “As the Waveseer said herself, it is already near. Within days, she said, the monster will make its attack. Look to the skies, and feel it in the air! The storm approaches. When it does, we must be ready for it!”

  Bonpoi had a stockpile of weapons left over from when it was a military vanguard. Remy saw to it that they had cannons hauled over to the docks for the defence. They utilised their supplies of spearguns and fishing rifles, collecting them by the barrel. Remy spent a portion of the day checking the weapons for malfunctions, and with Max’s assistance (who had fought during wartime and knew of such things), made sure they were fit for battle.

  Every now and then, Remy looked towards the lake, and he could swear that the shadow was out there. He sure hoped, then, that it really would move soon.

  That afternoon, he ate dinner with Max and Jane. They sat around the dinner table in their small house within Bonpoi town. The house was warm and comfortable, which was rare in Bonpoi. But then, Max was wealthy after the war. Remy did not have much, himself. He was a simple man, and simple men did not seek many things.

  Jane had prepared them a hearty stew that filled the house with the homely aroma of meats and slow-cooked vegetables. Remy delighted in it, savouring every single mouthful. He knew that Jane would make a beautiful, loving wife to his good friend.

  After dinner, the three of them played cards together, and reminisced on old times. Eventually, as the night grew long, Jane retired to bed, and Max briefly disappeared into another room, returning soon after with a bottle of rum.

  “My friend,” said Max as he poured two large tankards for them. “To slaying beasts together in Bonpoi.” He handed one drink to Remy, and they knocked them together. “And,” he added, “to our long and ever-enduring friendship.”

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  They both drank.

  “Oh, Max, I have not been truthful with you,” said Remy as he set down his tankard and wiped the remainder against the back of his arm.

  Max sat down next to Remy, shoving aside some of their loose playing cards to make space for his drink. He leaned in close, putting on a tense expression. “You can tell me.”

  “Well, it’s a little embarrassing.”

  “I’ve heard it all, my friend! Speak!”

  “You recall me mentioning somebody I used to write to?” Remy said. “He was a scribe in Bellvoir. We exchanged letters for a long period of time.”

  “Yes. Jacques, was it?”

  Oh, but hearing the man’s name instilled great grief in Remy. He held a breath, noticing how his body went rigid. Then, closing his eyes, he let the feeling pass.

  “Yes, Max,” Remy said. “An old friend of mine. I might have even called him one of my closest friends, though we never really met. And that was, of course, before I met you!”

  They shared a laugh, clinking their drinks together.

  “Anyway,” Remy continued. “He would send me these little stories, which he wrote. Utterly depraved things, they were. Things that people do in the dark when nobody’s looking. Oh, dastardly affairs, of made-up kings and beautiful women. Just depraved. Though, I secretly enjoyed reading them. I began to send requests. ‘Say, write me a tale of myself with just the most unusual man you can think of. Just a wicked scenario.’ And, Max, he wrote these things for me. I won’t lie, he was good. You know of what I speak of. Maybe you’ve read such stories, yourself. You dirty, secretly-depraved man.” He nudged Max, and the larger man looked at him humorously as he downed a very long gulp of his drink.

  “Good grief, my friend. My only question is how dare you have kept these from me for so long,” said Max with a cheeky smile and a glint in his eyes.

  “I will have to show them to you some day.”

  “You still keep them?”

  “Why, of course! They are like water to me. Without these, I surely would go insane. As you may know, my love life is not fruitful like yours!”

  “You must have been very close,” Max said.

  “Yes.” The answer came immediately and naturally to him; though, he had not admitted it so readily in all the time they had not spoken.

  “My friend.” Max reached across the table and gripped Remy’s hand. His hand was large and warm, rough with the years of using heavy equipment. Remy looked into his friend’s dark eyes, seeing inside them a kindness that was hard to find around Bonpoi. Max gently squeezed his hand. “It is not a weakness to be hurt, nor is it foolish to open yourself to it. I know you don’t need advice from me, but enough with this stone heart. Thinking that you cannot be loved, or that you cannot love. It is so untrue. That is the untruthfulness you speak of. It is not to me, not about some smut you read. It is to yourself.”

  Max released his grip on Remy’s hand and took another drink of rum. Remy stared at his good friend, then down at his hand. He had not been touched like that in a long time. Well, to be honest, he could not remember ever being touched like that.

  At the conclusion of their dinner, Remy walked home alone through the dark town. However, when he arrived back at the docks, something had changed. The lake had been upended, water shimmering on the roads and boardwalks. Wooden posts that once divided the lake and shore had been torn from their roots, now laying hundreds of feet away. Lanterns shone from the hands of dockworkers who were observing the damages. Somebody was injured, his wounds being tended to. All of this went through Remy’s head at the same time.

  Drops of rain fell from the sky.

  He reached out his hand, palm facing up. It was teasing. Teasing drops of rain falling over Bonpoi. Mist shrouded the lake, no light passing through it. He walked into the docklands until he was standing against a gate overlooking the water, and stared.

  “Remy!” A dockworker ran up to him. “It came.”

  Remy did not need the confirmation. He could see, clear enough, that the beast had struck while he was with Max and his soon-to-be-wife. The dockworker continued to inform him. That it lashed out, destroying several boats and toppling supplies of fish—weeks’ worth of food and export. That they had managed to repel it using a single speargun.

  “It was just playing with us,” the dockworker told him. Remy grabbed the man by the shoulder and looked down into his frightened eyes.

  “Where is it now?”

  “Gone. I don’t know. It’s so dark in these waters.”

  Remy grunted. “You’d better get some rest then. I’d imagine we have quite the day ahead of us.”

  The dockworker nodded, and left.

  Remy held his breath, watching across the lake through the rolling fog, as raindrops continued to fall around him, uncertain, speaking to him: the monster is coming.