Fata Morgana

by Thomas J. Radford

“You need to eat,” Kaspar told her. “Still healing.”

  She just shrugged.

  “Here, Miss Violet,” Gravel reached to help her up. “Let’s get you—” He gave a yelp and snatched his hand back, shaking it frantically. Violet flinched away too, a sharp snap on her shoulder where he’d touched her. There was a round of snickering from the other crew.

  “The hells?” Violet grabbed at her shoulder, glaring at an abashed Gravel.

  “Static charge,” Kaspar said quickly. “Builds up from all the dry air. Metal makes it snap like that.”

  “Aye, that,” Gravel muttered, looking down at his front. He’d spilled the bowl. “Was my clean shirt too. Damnit.”

  “Wasn’t that clean,” Kaspar said. “Let’s go.”

  They steered Violet out, out of the eating area and away from the Fata Morgana’s crew. All of them just sat there, like it was nothing. Enjoying their meal. But they could though, they were still alive to do it.

  The first mate’s words started echoing, like the sound in that room. Noises, repeated, echoing, buzzing in her ears.

  All hands aboard her.

  No survivors.

  The words kept running through her head. She saw the faces of the crew of the Tantamount. They passed in front of her, one by one, again and again. Smiling, laughing . . . crying . . . screaming. She could hear them screaming. That was all she could hear. It filled the ship, filled her head. She wanted to scream to drown the noise out.

  Violet grabbed at her head, wrapping fingers through her hair until it hurt, but it didn’t stop the noise. She stumbled and fell, colliding with the narrow corridor, except she wasn’t the only one. Kaspar and Gravel were both thrown violently from their feet, the ship rolling onto its side and taking them all with it. Kaspar cried out but Gravel went strangely limp, curling up into a foetal position and clutching weakly at his head. Kaspar went to his friend’s side as the ship righted itself. Watching them, Violet realised she could still hear the scream, a cry, and that she recognised it.

  Different as the Fata Morgana was there was still a method to its mad layout. So while her escort was distracted, Violet ran. She ran down the corridor, expecting the shouting to begin and follow her any second now. But so far nothing. She ran to the end of the corridor. Then a staircase, spiral and headed upwards. Then so was she. A wheeled door like one would find on a bubble. She spun the wheel and pushed against the fitted door. It swung open reluctantly with a sucking sound. And beyond that lay a hatch, opening, as best she could tell, onto the outer deck. And what would the outer deck of this strange ship look like? She was about to find out.

  Flat. Featureless.

  The outer deck was a smooth and flattened plane, broken only by the harsh angle of what on another ship would have been the bridge or the wheel house. There were canopies of curved, hammered metal but for the most part there was nothing. Everywhere she turned, nothing. She stood alone on an empty metal plane against a starlit background.

  Stars, she thought. Which stars are they? Where are we? Where am I?

  She ran out onto the centre of the deck, looking up and around, turning all the while, trying to see anything familiar. The stars were bright, as bright as anything she could remember. And there was hardly any mist to obscure them. And the wailing cry she’d been hearing rocked the ship again.

  Something white and massive filled her vision, looming up over the Fata Morgana. A ray, not a school like she’d seen before from the Tantamount, but a single, solitary ray. And it was well matched in size for the Fata Morgana. She couldn’t tell how big the ship she had her feet planted on was but it felt bigger than the Tantamount.

  Than it was, girl. The Tantamount is gone.

  The lone ray circled the ship, rolling and looping. Its cry, its song made the metal under her feet vibrate and rattle. So much so that she didn’t hear Niko Kaspar behind her.

  “You need to come back inside!” He grabbed her wrist and spun her around, pulling her eyes away from the spectacle.

  Kaspar’s eyes were wide. He was breathing like he’d run hard after her. Some distance behind him she saw Gravel, tottering on unsteady feet. The side of his head was lit by a trickle of blood, almost the only colour to be seen and vividly red for that. Everything else was shades of black and grey.

  “Come inside,” Kaspar pulled on her arm. “The captain doesn’t need to know, not about this, but you need to come inside now!”

  Violet planted her feet stubbornly. “The ray,” she twisted and pointed with her free arm. “What’s it doing?”

  “We don’t have time for—” The ship twisted under them again, and Violet would have fallen if Kaspar hadn’t been holding her arm. Gravel did fall to the deck, cursing, but got back up again. The ray disappeared from sight but the song continued.

  “If it doesn’t stop they’re going to open fire on it.” Kaspar grabbed her around the shoulders and started moving her in the direction of the hatch. “You don’t want to be out here, you don’t want to see.”

  “Why?” Violet twisted and struggled but found herself held firm. She was still weak, she knew. “Why would they open fire on it? Why?” The last word was practically a scream. They passed Gravel, and he waved them on groggily, falling into step. He pulled the hatch shut and sealed it behind them.

  “Why?” Violet shook her head, leaning back against the corridor wall. “Why?”

  She wasn’t even sure what she was asking. Kaspar held her by the shoulders. She heard gunfire, deep and throbbing. With each salvo she felt a hum and a vibration in the ship’s bones. A tingling in her feet, distracting her from the ray’s cry.

  “Why?” she repeated, clutching at Kaspar’s wrist.

  “It keeps happening,” he said. “Rays follow the ship. We try and avoid them but if they get too close, if they endanger the ship . . .” His words were punctuated by another salvo.

  Violet looked away from him, and she felt herself sliding down the wall. Kaspar knelt with her.

  “Please believe me,” he told her, “when I tell you I am only trying to protect you. My orders are to protect you. You didn’t need to see what’s happening out there.”

  You? Protect me?

  “Don’t need you to protect me,” Violet whispered. “Don’t need anyone to.”

  “You’ve got someone all the same. Brandon, give me a hand here. We’re taking her back to her room.”

  The cry had stopped. So had the guns of the Fata Morgana. There was only silence outside now.

  Chapter 6

  NEL REMEMBERED THE last time she’d been to the Draugr pens on Vice. Crowded and dirty, with customers and stock. The word sat uncomfortably with her. But it was hard to think of a better one; the rows of silent, listless Draugr seemed barely aware of their presence. But what if they were? Not something she wanted to think about.

  It hadn’t been an enjoyable experience last time. This time she’d come with a mind to buy, only the kind of buying that didn’t pass with coin.

  “All right, where are they at?” she asked.

  “No idea,” Sharpe said. “Quill?”

  “They are with the new arrivals,” Quill told them.

  “Take us to them,” Nel said.

  Quill pulled his hood across his face, stepping through the mud that made up the paths between stalls and pens. In no way was he trying to conceal his identity, only to keep out the worst of the stench.

  “Here,” he said after minutes of trudging. It was a roped off section of the markets, Draugr of different shapes and sizes standing idle in rows, swaying and, in at least one case, sinking. Nel didn’t recognise any of them immediately, certainly not Stoker, but they were dressed like sailors. At least two had tattoos she would have associated with that life. All of them looked rough, the falling-apart-might-have-been-dug-up kind of rough. Greying skin that didn’t move the way healthy flesh should, eyes liked smoked glass, clouded and unerring. And blackened extremities, the tips of his fingers and the point of his nose, the signs of congeale
d blood. They shouldn’t be alive.

  But then they hadn’t been for a long time now.

  “Help you folks?” the attendant asked them. A Vodyanoi, bringing a flicker of distaste to Nel that she tried to hide. Didn’t have good experiences with their kind, nor was she in the charitable mood.

  Especially seeing as I intend on robbing you blind.

  “Looking for labour,” Nel said. “Of the pretty kind. Heard ships in the High have been running with these for a while now.”

  “Aye,” the attendant said. “Some do, merchantmen mostly, though the Fleet runs with them too. Hard to find what you’re looking for out here though. Most of these are tagged to ship back into the High anyway. Big demand at auctions there.”

  “What about these?” Nel pointed. None of the Draugr had reacted to them yet, but she’d made Sharpe keep well back and behind her and Quill. No sense tipping their hand if they could avoid it.

  “Ship out the day after tomorrow, headed for Castle. Big Fleet station out that way, plenty of trade lanes besides. Should fetch a premium.”

  “This one is prettier than the last one we looked at,” Quill pointed to the closest Draugr. Nel had to concede that one had an impressive blonde beard, even braided down the middle.

  “The facial markings,” Quill went on, “they are your kind’s mating plumage, yes?”

  “I’ll give you some mating plumage, Kelpie,” Nel warned him. “The black and blue kind. Really attractive amongst your kind, ain’t it?”

  “I do not care for the other markings,” Quill pronounced, ignoring her. “So drab. Boring. I am bored. Come, we should go.”

  With that the Kelpie turned on his taloned heels, stepping back through the muddy trail as delicately as he could, holding the hem of his cloak up. Sharpe did a take at Quill’s disappearing act but followed him, leaving Nel and the attendant alone.

  “Bloody factors,” Nel said to him. “Always looking at the wrong parts of the deal.”

  The attendant nodded sympathetically.

  Nel hefted a purse, weighted with coins, in one hand. It was almost all of Quill’s dock wages. His ill-temperament was in no way acting. He did draw attention to himself on the way out, mostly the attendant’s but some of the Draugr eyes too, eyes that weren’t meant to be curious. One in particular stood out. Nel finally spotted Stoker at the back of the mob. That was all she needed. Almost.

  “Do me a favour,” she said as she bounced the bag. “Want to bring my captain through, see if there’s merit in taking on some of this lot. Can you see it that these ones in particular don’t get loaded until then? Not asking for special reserve or nothing, just a hold off on your duties.”

  “Seems acceptable,” the attendant said, eyes moving up and down with the bag. “Can’t make any promises on sale though. Have to make the purchase worth more than the run to Castle. But I can make sure they’re loaded up last—maybe your captain can talk my factor’s language. Best I can do.”

  “Captain’s got deep pockets when he wants something,” Nel assured him. “Likes to play the long game too. Just need a day or so to sort business and bring him around here.”

  “Think that can be arranged, then.”

  “Good man,” Nel flicked the bag his way. “Watch for us tomorrow. Plan to be back.”

  “Aye, I’ll do that. A pleasure, Miss.”

  Nel joined Quill and Sharpe outside. The Kelpie was still simmering.

  “Whatever your plan I hope it does not involve coin,” he said to her. “Because we have none. At all.”

  “Calm your scales, Quill,” Nel said. “We got what we needed.”

  “That was them,” Sharpe told her. “All of them. We’re lucky.”

  “I know, saw Stoker. Was keeping to the back.”

  “Yarn was up front. The pretty one with the beard. That Quill liked.”

  Nel smirked. “Don’t have long. So this is going to have to happen fast. Tonight even.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Enough of one. Going to need a few things though.”

  “Such as what?” Quill asked.

  “A ship would be helpful. All well and good breaking a crew out of lockup, wouldn’t be the first nor the last to do that. Don’t do much good if when the chasing starts we have nowhere to run.

  “So,” she opened the floor to them, “who’s got ideas on where we can liberate ourselves a ship?”

  Not surprisingly, it was Quill who spoke up. “I may have something.”

  FLYING. NO, FALLING. Cold. So cold. She couldn’t move. Trapped in ice, limbs frozen solid. And always falling; she never stopped. Frozen and falling, and she couldn’t even scream.

  Violet jerked upright, that scream choking her. She gasped, drawing deep and desperate mouthfuls of air. Her throat burned, the memory of ice so sharp and contrasting.

  “Violet?”

  The voice came from outside her door. She didn’t have a door. There were no doors on the Tantamount. Removed, the captain said. Years ago.

  Violet drew another breath, raising a hand to her chest. Heart hammering, hand shaking. She couldn’t steady either one. That made her angry.

  The door creaked open, dark hair, tied back. All slick and shiny with grease. To keep it from getting caught in the machines, a voice in her head told her.

  She tried to place the face, the grey touching off an ugly thought, something she didn’t want to think about. Her eyes were getting worse. The voice wasn’t helping much with the face. She tried for the name.

  Kaspar. Niko Kaspar.

  “Bad dreams?”

  She nodded mutely.

  “May I?” He gestured to the edge of the bed. Violet nodded again, pulling up her knees and hugging them to her chest under the blanket. Kaspar took a seat by her feet, legs hanging off the bed.

  “They call it the Falling. The Falling Sickness, Frozen Falls, Winter’s Kiss, but usually just Falling. Lots of people get it, sailors often. The ones that fall overboard and live through it.”

  “I know what they call it, and I didn’t fall overboard,” Violet glared.

  “No, you didn’t,” Kaspar’s voice was calm.

  Probably meant to be reassuring. Condescending prat.

  “Sometimes it helps to talk,” Kaspar suggested.

  Violet hugged her legs closer, resting her chin on her knees.

  “It happened to me,” he said at length.

  Violet turned her head to face more in his direction.

  “I don’t like talking about it either.”

  She snorted. “Prat.”

  “You can do better than that.”

  “Alliance monkey,” she whispered, so softly he wouldn’t hear. She heard though. Heard the words spoken in a dead Kelpie’s voice.

  “I remember reaching,” Kaspar said, his eyes distant. “Trying to grab hold, hold fast. Anything. There wasn’t anything. It’s the first thing I do now. Hold onto something. Make myself open my eyes. See all the colours. See the things you don’t see in the mist. I call them, name them, until I convince myself I’m not falling.”

  “Does that work?”

  Kaspar shrugged. “If it doesn’t I start screaming.”

  Violet laughed, weakly.

  Kaspar studied her now. “The captain . . . Raines, vouched for you. More so, the first mate agreed to it. Why?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Do you know him? He seems to know you. From back home, maybe?”

  “Home isn’t like that.”

  “What is it like?”

  Violet studied the tops of her knees. “Where do I come from?” she said at length.

  Kaspar frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Shouldn’t I be asking that?”

  “Not me, stupid.” She looked up at him. “Kitsune, where do we come from?”

  More frowning. “Never thought about it. I just assumed . . .”

  “We never tell,” Violet told him. “Never.”

  “Never?” Kaspar smiled.

  “Ne
ver,” Violet said. “We’re mysterious. All . . . mysterious-like.”

  Kaspar’s eyes narrowed. “Are you baiting me, Kitsune girl?”

  “Maybe. How many of us have you seen? Ever?”

  “Not many,” Kaspar admitted.

  “How many?”

  “A handful, a dozen, maybe less.”

  “We never grow old,” Violet said. “Never get sick, neither. You ever see an old Kitsune, Kaspar? Ever?”

  “Haven’t seen enough to be sure. But none older than Raines, for certain.”

  Raines, Violet thought. He ought not be here still. He’s seven-tailed and too long from home. Powerful old. Powerful friend to have, if he was your friend.

  “You’re teasing me, Kitsune girl,” Kaspar smiled at her. “Don’t think I don’t see you doing it.”

  She shrugged shoulders still stiff from the cold. Or maybe just the memory.

  “You’re an easy to one to tease. All stiff and formal-like. All Alliance-like.”

  “That a bad thing?”

  “Could be worse. Known some Alliance folk.”

  “Good folk?”

  “Might have been. All dead now.”

  Kaspar appeared taken aback for a moment but it didn’t take him long to regain his composure. He took another moment to look around the room.

  Yes, we’re alone. Door’s shut even.

  “You remember how we meet, Kitsune girl? Back on Border, during the riots.”

  Oh, I remember you.

  Violet nodded.

  “That doesn’t seem strange to you, us meeting back there and then you ending up here, after being pulled out of the black?”

  “Except we didn’t meet,” Violet said, smiling at the immediate frown that marred the ensign’s brow. “Gravel and I were doing the meeting. You were doing the interrupting.”

  Kaspar laughed. “I’m so sorry. But I remember your Kelpie friend doing the interrupting. Now he was a mean-looking sailor.”

  “Quill,” Violet said. She felt her lip quiver. “He’s dead now. Like all of them.”

  Kaspar sighed, running both hands through his hair, pushing it back in a nervous habit. “Aw, hells, I’m sorry, Violet. Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”