Drown Another Day

by F. A. Bentley

  “I don’t blame them. You guys have a carrier fleet.”

  Ashwell smiled crookedly. “Among other things.”

  “Where do you get your intel from exactly? Or is that classified?” I asked.

  “Would you believe that some Olympians are sympathetic to our cause?” he replied.

  I opened my mouth to retort something quick and harsh but I stopped myself at the last second. The Olympians have always been rather rag tag. They were run by three brothers. Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto. One brother’s warmongering might very well be frowned upon by the others.

  Possibly.

  “Let’s say I believe you at face value,” I said. “Why the canned sardines?”

  Couldn’t help myself.

  “Smash and grab,” Alexander replied. “Book is objective absolute. Without it this will all have been for nothing.”

  “The book.” I echoed. My back pocket suddenly grew damp in anticipation. The occult text within perking up at the mention of its other half.

  “With the book here and yours put together we’ll have all that we need for the next step in our operation. If these precious books were to fall into enemy hands, the Olympians would destroy them without a second thought,” Alexander said, before adding in a dark voice, “Out of sheer spite.”

  “Tell me what the books are for. Sell this to me and I’ll help. Otherwise, Nine Towers will fall on you like the sword of Damocles for upsetting the balance.”

  Ashwell narrowed his eyes. George grumbled ominously. “Balance. I like that word. That’s a very good word for this. The world below the surface hasn’t been in balance for a long time, Charles. Do you know how many times we tried to solve this peaceably?”

  “What are the books for, Ashwell?” I pressed.

  “Memoirs. They’re just the diary of an early diver who stumbled upon something he should not have. With both halves we will be able to figure out the location of what he was referring to.”

  “And what’s there? Blackbeard’s sunken treasure?” I asked.

  The edge dissipated from Ashwell’s voice. He smiled crookedly and said, “In a sense. Should we succeed, an ancient wrong will be righted. Charles, Nine Towers will have its balance.”

  To ask a mortal enemy for help like this was another level of audacity. Everybody feared and reviled the Dagonians, yet wherever a poisoning, or an assassination, or a demolition of a building was concerned, they were not there attacking.

  Hell, the only circumstantial evidence I’d seen was of them trying their best to help by disarming bombs and setting things straight with me.

  Ashwell might look like a dried out husk of a man, but in his voice I heard sincerity. The Dagonians had not come to Venice as conquerors. Could they have come as liberators instead?

  “Alright. I’ll trust you. Lead the way,” I said.

  Alexander’s eyebrows shot up. George’s gurgling stopped.

  “You will? Really?” Ashwell asked.

  “Yes. Why so surprised?” I replied.

  His recovery was smooth. “Never mind my surprise. Charles Locke, you’ll be with me for this. While the others get into position and prepare a defensive curtain should words turn to swords, we’ll be hitting the library. Ah, and here. Take anything you need. You’re with us now.”

  He offered me a belt of nifty tools. A gun sat in its holster, glass cutters, lockpicks and vials lined the back. I held up a hand and almost said ‘no thanks’ when my eye caught the label on one of the vials. A sudden idea formed in my head.

  “I just need this one,” I said. I picked up the vial labeled ‘Chloro’ and jammed it into my coat pocket. Insurance for a worst case scenario.

  “All set then?” Alexander asked.

  I nodded. “After you.”

  Chapter 29

  Empty halls and shut doors as far as the eye could see. Ashwell, myself, and a couple of others wound our way around to the far end of the university quickly and quietly.

  It wasn’t until one of the black clad Hybrids unlocked the back door leading into the main library that it occurred to me that there were no late night professors or students loitering about.

  The Scylla attack must have scared the Mundanes into staying in their homes. Or at least clocking out of work early and going out for a drink.

  Past an ‘Employees Only’ door, and down an extremely cramped iron stairwell, we found ourselves on stone flooring deep beneath the university.

  “We should be safe to speak in here,” Ashwell said, walking along two large and ornate bookshelves. “Only sloped walls and the unsettling caches of forbidden literature to hear our whispers.”

  Impressive. Saying creepy things like that without any effort requires real talent.

  “Good. I have a question,” I replied. “What’s a Scylla?”

  “A Scylla?” Alexander asked.

  “I was attacked by one. Very nearly died. I’d like to know it’s number so that I can go and sort it out later. You Dagonians live underwater mostly, right? Maybe you know things landlubbers like me don’t.”

  “Forgive me Charles, but I’m not Dagonian. Not even a Hybrid,” Alexander replied.

  A normal Human teaming up with Dagonians? Not that ‘normal’ was the first adjective that came to mind when trying to describe Ashwell.

  “What the hell are you then?” I asked.

  Alexander grinned. “A secret.”

  He cut past a row of books and dove into a box of scrolls. He checked a few of them before making a small ‘aha’.

  “Scylla. Six headed sea serpent,” he said, opening the scroll he found to reveal a depiction of the beast.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Well you’re in luck, my friend. The scroll says that it was born from Olympian magic. A punishment on a girl. All modern Scyllas are descended from that one and they’re--”

  “All best buddies and heavy hitters for the God of the Sea,” I said. “Neptune. Also known as the middle brother of the three big chiefs of the Olympian pantheon. In other words…”

  “Your assassins were Olympian. Correct,” Ashwell finished for me.

  “You knew all along,” I accused.

  “I did indeed.”

  “But you knew I wouldn’t believe you. So you let me figure it out on my own.”

  Ashwell blinked. “Yes. That’s exactly right. You came to terms with that surprisingly quickly.”

  “Where’s your book?” I asked.

  Alexander shook his head. “It’s not here. They must have gotten to it first.”

  I’d opened my mouth to reply before one of the sardines came and tapped on Ashwell’s shoulder. A garbled whisper from the Hybrid drew a curse from Ashwell.

  “We’ve located them. We’re closing the net. If they have the book, we must retrieve it before they destroy it,” Alexander said.

  “Where are they?” I asked.

  The locksmith sardine unlocked a broad wooden door hidden behind a pack of moldering boxes. The door lead to a balcony high above a carved floor. Books lines the walls on both the top and the bottom levels as far as the eye could see, and the stone work appeared to be carved directly into basalt.

  Just how far down were we?

  As we piled into the subterranean library’s upper balconies, the doors on the bottom floor opened wide.

  “That’s our man. A son of Neptune named Hector,” Ashwell whispered. “And that one beside him seems to be Pluto, their Death God.”

  My heartbeat quickened. My mouth became dry and my forehead beaded with sweat.

  “That’s not Pluto,” I replied, gripping my wand in my hand so hard I thought it’d snap in half.

  Unearthly tall. Baleful. Robes as black as sin billowed behind him. On his back I could just make out the handle of his dreadful sword. Instinctual fear, hatred and revulsion nearly overcame me. Itabimori’s murderer. He’s here. It only made sense after all. He’d impersonated a Death God last time I saw him too.

  The Angel of Death. At long last.r />
  Chapter 30

  “Two birds with one stone,” crackled a voice over one of the sardines’ comm systems.

  “Positions,” came the reply.

  Perhaps if my heart hadn’t skipped a beat, or if I’d not been so consumed with vengeance, I’d have had the presence of mind to warn them. Then again, maybe they’d succeed where I had failed.

  The ambush came like a lightning strike. Where once empty doors and lonely corridors stood, a plethora of Dagonians suddenly erupted. The first battle of a secret war began.

  Fancy modern tracer rounds flew through the air, mixing with the wails of Hector’s entourage. Robes and hoods were torn to reveal scaly flesh and awkward feet. They almost looked a little like…

  “Mermen?” I whispered.

  “Probably the ones that attacked you,” Alexander said. His voice was calm, but George fluttered restlessly. “They’re Neptune’s rank and file.”

  As suddenly as it began, silence fell upon the subterranean library. Too much dust had been kicked up to see.

  “All contacts? Good,” replied the locksmith Hybrid next to me. “Visual on the codex.”

  My worst fears were quickly realized when the first gurgled scream pierced the air. The sound of heavy metal piercing wet flesh was enough to make my skin crawl.

  Small fries like Mermen weren’t much stronger than Humans. The real trouble was going to be defeating the bosses, and as the dust settled I saw the long black blade of the dread Angel slashing effortlessly through the air, cutting down Dagonians like they were made of wet paper.

  “That’s not Pluto. That’s an Angel of Death. Tell your men to pull back,” I said to Alexander.

  To my surprise, the man calmly shook his head. “We’re committed. The book is of the utmost priority.”

  “Goddammit Ashwell,” I swore. “They don’t stand a chance! ”

  Comms crackled back to frantic life. “Codex visual. The Son has it. Fleeing East--” the message was quickly cut off by the sound of a cut flesh.

  “Move out or all will be lost. Charles?” Ashwell called out, but I barely heard him.

  I was already halfway down the Eastern walkway and at the far doors leading deeper into the complex. If I get those damn goldfish their books, then they’d have no reason to commit suicide by Angel.

  Admittedly, every fiber of my body roared with outrage at my decision to put any amount of distance between me and Itabimori’s killer. But I couldn’t just sit there and watch them die, damn it.

  Up ahead I could make out the rhythmic clunk of heavy steps striking stone. A muscular man with bronze flesh ran with athletic poise down the halls.

  Hector. So that’s how he survived the bullet storm. He must have used magic to turn his flesh into bronze.

  It must be nice being able to turn yourself invulnerable on a whim. But the problem with those sorts of spells is that more often than not, you’re trading an advantage for a disadvantage. For example, I’m sure it would have been hard to outrun him if he hadn’t turned himself into heavy bronze.

  Pushing myself into a final burst of speed, I overtook him, then jumped the balcony rail, plummeting down on a collision course with the Son of Neptune. Wand drawn, I focused my mind and poured my will into the wand’s tip.

  Just a moment before I’d have hit the ground and likely broken both my legs, I released the magic spell.

  Force magic. Elementary, my dear Watson, like all of my spells. Useless to those who lack imagination. Surprisingly full of utility for me. Instead of merely pushing away an enemy or using it to nudge heavy objects, I’d focused it ahead of me to break my fall.

  Instead of hitting basalt stone, I hit a cloud that jumped me up a foot and made the landing feel like a stepping down from sidewalk to asphalt.

  Of course, that wouldn’t work so well against the bronze fleshed man that hurtled towards me like a Mack truck. Narrowly sidestepping the charge, I caught sight of the booklet. The sardines were right.

  As I’ve said, flesh altering magic was extremely valuable to have. Great way to increase longevity in the face of bullets and bazookas. Loss of speed was an unfortunate side effect of the spell.

  Loss of grip strength was another.

  Slipping the book out of Hector’s grip as he hurdled past me was no harder than slipping the book out of a tight place on a library shelf. The moment Hector noticed his book was gone, he slammed himself into a carved pillar, to break off his momentum. With stiff, clunky limbs, he turned his eyes to me.

  “You,” he said.

  I grinned in reply. “Me.”

  “Nine Towers is in allegiance with us. Give me the book or I swear by my Father I will--”

  “Oh, we’re allies? I didn’t realize orchestrating two separate attempts upon my life was considered friendly in this part of the world,” I replied before adding, “Then again, this is Italy.”

  Hector’s face slowly wrinkled into a look of dismay as he realized I wasn’t falling for it.

  “Fine,” he said. “Have it your way, then.”

  Grasping a block of the marble column he’d smashed into, he tore the hunk of rock free and tossed it at my head like a baseball.

  A quick duck saw it soar over my head. A leap to the side saw the next hunk smash fruitlessly into the tile floor behind me. That’s when Hector upped his game.

  Powerful defensive magics seemed to be his gimmick. Mixed in with some good old fashioned super strength. I could tell, because he crushed the next chunk of rock into gravel bare handed. With a fist full of rocky shrapnel, he wound back and tossed the shot gun blast of deadly pebbles at me full force.

  I was done with playing around too. My blade could easily cut bronze. At least enough to pierce Hector’s throat. Ducking behind the pillar closest to me, I let the stately column take the blast of gravel for me before charging out blade poised. With the book tucked beneath my arm, I reached the statuesque man and slashed my blade into his neck.

  “Nice try,” he said, “But just because it looks like bronze, doesn’t mean it’s bronze all the way through.”

  The cut I dealt him sliced through the bronze alright. However, just beneath the surface of the notch, I could make out a stark white texture that my blade could not cut.

  Bronze covered marble? That not fair at all!

  Hector’s fist slammed into my stomach, knocking the air out of me and sending me crashing into the pillar I’d hidden behind. The book flew out of my grasp and far out of my reach.

  “You had me worried for a moment there. But then I remembered just how worthless Nine Towers warlocks are,” Hector boasted. “Now, where did the book fly off to?”

  He looked around him. Then behind the pillars. Then beneath the stray shrapnel and dust, worry seeped back onto Hector’s grinning face.

  “Where’d it go? Where’s the book?” he roared.

  I felt something wrap around my waist. Gravity gave way. I thought I was passing out from a concussion until I was set down high up on the balcony ringing the under-library.

  “Just in time. Consider yourself in luck, Charles,” spoke a refined voice.

  Ashwell. and with him George. His tentacles had gently lifted me up and left Hector totally stranded.

  “The codex--” I almost managed to say, before Ashwell handed me the book.

  “George picked it up first,” Alexander informed me.

  “Thanks for prioritizing it over me, you bastard,” I replied.

  A deafening crash cut our reunion short. Hector used his squatting power to jump twenty damn feet into the air while still covered in layers of marble and bronze flesh.

  He should skip leg day more often.

  “Leave him to me,” Alexander said. “Go, Charles. I’ll entrust our future to you.”

  Chapter 31

  Running isn’t my style. Have I mentioned that? My feet felt heavy and there was nothing I wanted more than to shove my wand-sword way up Hector’s ass. Or more importantly, make the Angel pay for all the lives he’d ta
ken.

  However, I was now carrying the hopes and dreams of the Dagonians. All conveniently contained in a pair of matching books small enough to fit in my pocket.

  The Ca’ Foscari university had winding halls deep down, a stark contrast to the big clear halls and classrooms up above. I was about halfway up an iron stairwell when I suddenly realized that I was bleeding.

  “Just what I needed,” I said.

  A once over found the root of the problem. A hefty pebble hard found its way into my upper thigh. I can’t believe I hadn’t felt the pain before hand, because the cut was anything but smooth and clean. With a grunt I dug the rock out of my wound.

  No veins hit. Great. That meant that I wouldn’t be killed by anything as peaceful as blood loss. I grit my teeth and pushed on.

  Somehow, I forced my way to the top of the stairs and into the above ground library. The silence was reassuring, and the still night air was refreshingly cool. Just a bit more and I’d be free to lay low and figure out what the books were really about.

  For once, I thought I’d ended up with quite a fortunate ending to my evening. I should have known better. Looking forward to a relaxed evening is a guaranteed jinx for me.

  As I cut into the entrance hall, I was frozen stiff. Mermen, in robes and hoods, gathered around the central fountain armed with knives and spears and guns. Finned arms and vaguely Human faces with unblinking eyes leered from behind their deep blue cowls.

  “Ah, Charles Locke,” called out a voice from among the Olympians. “Glad to see you here, after you missed a few calls from me, I’d thought that, Neptune forbid, the Dagonians had gotten you.”

  The sound of her voice made my skin crawl and my pants tighten. I couldn’t refuse or turn my head away. Even though I knew I was about to run my ship against jagged rocks.

  “Nerine,” I greeted.

  The fountain she sat by was the centerpiece of the University’s entrance hall. Lavish and painstakingly carved, the fountain featured the statues of a trio of fish impaled upon a trident. The water came spouting out of the fish’s wounds. Not their mouths.