“And there,” Gravel pointed. “Been watching us.”
Violet squinted, knowing what to look for. It would have been hard to make out without knowing. The streaked grey of the hull blended in with the mist above to her eyes. Even with her eyesight as it was it was the first proper look she’d had at the Fata Morgana from outside. It was hard to focus on, wispy and transparent.
“Not there,” Kaspar put his hand on her shoulder and adjusted her sight. “There.”
He was right. The ship she’d been looking at wasn’t the real Morgana, it was a mirage, somehow cast from the ship itself onto the mist. The real ship was directly below the imposter, inverted and buried deeper in the banks of mist. The twin hulls and double prows were just starting to break through.
“What are they doing?” Violet asked, watching the marines escort the Night Cricket and a handful of others towards the bodies. The bodies hanging from trees. The examples.
“Making a point,” Gravel told her. “We don’t need to watch this.”
“Yes,” Kaspar said. “We do.”
Aristeia’s eyes were on them. Watching. Judging. The first rope was placed around the first neck. The Night Cricket. No waiting around and no build-up. The woman’s face was set, resigned. But showed no fear.
The intent was clear. Port Autarch was now part of the Alliance.
An example had to be made.
THERE WAS A handful of bottles in the captain’s chest, underneath the bed. The chest had been locked but that wasn’t hard to deal to. More logbooks. A hat, like Horatio had used to wear. Silk underclothes. Nel ignored everything else inside but for the hard liquor, one of rum and two of brandy. She sat them on the chart table, staring at them. All three were dusty, probably well aged. Unlikely to have gone foul—that was a criminal waste on a ship where favours were traded in sips and rations. None had been opened, the rum was still corked and the brandy was wax-sealed with the maker’s mark. Not only pristine but of high quality.
No sense over-thinking it.
She tucked a bottle under one arm and held the other two by the neck. It was a short walk to Jack’s new galley. He looked up at her. The room was still neat and tidy, not much sign he had taken to rearranging his new domain yet. Most of the cupboard doors and drawers were in some state of open, so he’d at least taken stock.
“Not right.”
“What’s not right, Jack?” Nel asked. The galley was smaller than she was used to. Smaller than the Tantamount which was in itself smaller than most of the fleet ships she’d served on. And galleys were small to begin with.
Going backwards in my career. Probably finish up stuck in a rowboat with just myself and Jack again by the end of it.
Not a pleasant thought.
“This ship. Ain’t right. Not enough crew.”
“Sailed with less before, Jack.”
“Was different. Just had to keep going till we got back to the crew. Came back to them with a whole mess more than we left.”
Nel shrugged. Can’t argue with the man when he’s right.
“Missing some crew,” Jack went on. “Important ones. Ship needs them.”
“I know, Jack. Don’t need to remind me. But they’re gone. I can’t change that. I can’t—”
“Don’t mean that,” Jack interrupted her gruffly. Quickly.
Almost too quickly.
Almost. Ain’t no almost about it.
“Don’t got a cook,” Jack said, looking around himself. “Ship . . . needs a cook.”
“Fine. You’re the cook. You was the assistant cook, I just promoted you to cook. Java’s your assistant, when she’s not busy with other stuff. You get to tell her.”
Jack scowled. “No doctor.”
“Still you, Jack. But you’re still an assistant. No promotion.”
“Need a captain.”
Those words stumped her. She turned away, looking out through the open doorway at the waves and foam over the gunwales. A little longer to the falls yet. They could take flight if they needed but Quill preferred the less taxing route. And he still needed some time to finish plotting their course.
“We don’t need a captain.”
“Ships need a captain.”
“Well, we ain’t got one.”
“So who’s in charge?”
“Me.”
“So you’re the captain, Skipper?”
“No. Don’t call me that.”
“Skipper?”
“Captain.”
“Ain’t calling you Captain. You don’t listen when I calls you anyway.”
“Good. What?”
Jack stared at her. “Night in the square. Called to you.”
“When?”
“Few nights ago.”
“When we found you?”
“Before.”
Nel struggled with it. The square? Hells, I barely remember the night before last. Too drunk to . . . aww . . .
“You called.”
“Yeah.”
“I was . . . Jack, I’m sorry.”
Jack blinked. “Yeah, well, you did.”
“And I’m sorry.”
“Fine,” Jack grunted. “Just . . . yeah. That.”
“Jack,” Nel asked. “That why you didn’t want to come? You thought we forgot about you? I forgot?”
“No.”
“Part of my crew, Jack,” Nel told him. “Don’t want to explain to the captain where my crew went.”
“What captain?”
“Figure that out later, Jack.”
“Just don’t go letting the Kelpie think it’s him,” Jack told her.
Captain Loveland. Nel snorted at the idea. That’ll be the day.
“Here,” she handed over the liquor, remembering why she’d come in the first place.
“What’s this?” Jack asked.
“Rum and brandy for your stocks, Cook.”
“Where from?”
“Captain’s chest. Private reserve.”
“Ah, emergency supplies then. This all of it?”
“All I’ve found so far. If there’s more I’ll bring it around when it shows itself.”
Jack unceremoniously pulled the cork from the rum bottle. He took a sniff, his expression turning into one of appreciation.
“Good stuff,” he said. “Strong. Put hairs on your chest.”
Nel snorted.
“Not keeping none for yourself, Skipper?”
“No. Make me some coffee though when you find the stocks, black as you can.”
“Haven’t found none yet so it’ll be black, for sure,” Jack shrugged. “Keep the brandy for the patients. This can go in the grog cage. When I find it.” He set the rum aside and replaced the cork. The smell of it wafted over, pungent and strong. The sort of wet that would still burn.
“At this point, I’d settle for some of your special blend even,” Nel sighed.
Jack grinned at her, showing off an impressive collection of discoloured ivory. Impressive that someone who ate like he did still had teeth to show for it.
“You got a real thing for punishing yourself, Skipper,” he told her.
“Still hauling your sorry hide from brig to port, aren’t I?” Nel told him right back. “Gods, Jack, do us both a favour, I’m telling you this, as your skipper and your friend, eat a damned vegetable. Something green, leafy. Don’t even wash it, just put it in your mouth and chew. As a friend, Jack.”
“You don’t make friends with salad,” Jack said stubbornly. “Now get out, got coffee to find.”
THEY’D KILLED ANOTHER ray this morning. Two watches ago—night and day had no real meaning aboard the ship, only the turning of the glass and the tolling of the bells. But it had been a while ago now. Days since they’d set up shop in this strange place. Taken over the whole world. Just like that. As easy as that. All because there was something here they wanted.
Something Raines wants.
But what do the rays want with us?
A lone male, if Violet remembered the mar
kings correctly. A third to a half the size of the Fata Morgana. It was hard to judge size in the black when the horizon was so much mist and more black. Mors had shot it at the outer edge of the gunnery range, at the first opportunity. It had become standard practice to eliminate anything of a large enough size to physically threaten the ship but rays specifically seemed drawn to her. Her unique design; perhaps from a distance it looked like a ray, as well as sounding like one.
It was the third time it had happened. The third time since the first time, when she’d run out onto the hull. She felt numb to it now. Feeling numb was worse than feeling nothing, because Violet knew she should feel something.
“Is that how you started out?” Violet asked, looking up at the golem, standing still as the statue it resembled. “You start out with blood and fleshy, all feelings and tears? Then you turned to stone, bit by bit, piece by piece? That what’s happening to me, crag face?”
Onyx didn’t answer her. It never did.
Violet shifted, finding her whole body had stiffened and locked. She sat on the floor, knees pulled up and arms wrapped around. Maybe she would turn to stone herself staying here. She went to say to Bandit, “I wonder what turns first,” and found he was gone.
Violet listened and heard the faint scrabblings and scratchings; Bandit was chasing prey. Even aboard this ship there were rats, perhaps even more than on others with the pipes and recessed places for them to sneak aboard and hide in. It amazed her that no one else ever heard Bandit, he was too big and too loud to be mistaken for a rat.
But then I didn’t hear him till I knew to listen. There’s that.
Mors would kill him if he heard him. Aristeia too. The captain . . . Raines would cut him open. See what makes him work.
Rats. Rats make him work.
Violet laughed, surprising herself. The sound echoing off the walls made her do it again.
What would I find in you? she wondered, eyeballing her rocky foe. There was no eyes where there should be eyes. Just blank holes. She’d even tried sticking her fingers in there once. Nothing. She remembered them being red. Red eyes. Now nothing.
What makes you work? What is inside of you?
The golem hadn’t moved, not since that one time. Except it had. Its hand was no longer raised, finger wrenched open. It was back hanging down by its side.
But why did you move that one time? Because of me, but why?
Do you remember me?
Do you know who I am?
A chirp beside her. The loompa, standing up on back legs. Freshly caught rat hanging from his mouth. Two more black eyes watching her.
“Come on,” she said to Bandit. “Visiting hours are almost over.”
“YOU EVER WRITE poetry?”
“Not that I recall.”
Violet turned over the paper in her hand. Not paper though, sail cloth. Cotton or linen, she couldn’t say, but marked with what looked like charcoal. Big letters, all curvy and linked up. She had no idea if the words were any good but it looked pretty.
“Could start, pass the time.”
“Be asking for a quill and parchment next visit then.”
Violet chuckled. Quill. Ha.
That thought was pushed aside quickly.
“Don’t need parchment, got walls.”
There was a grunt in response to that idea.
“You need to get away.”
Violet made a face. “I said no.”
“You’re allowed to say no. That’s fine. Voice your opinion and that. Just do what you’re told. And get.”
Violet frowned, turning around to show her displeasure. The steel-lined and riveted door she had her back to didn’t care. Cold and unyielding as before. Sharpe’s voice carried through just fine but nothing else got through.
“I said I’m not going and I meant it,” Violet said. “Not until I can get you out. We’ll go together. You, me, Bandit.”
She still had no idea how to go about that. There was no way into Sharpe’s cell, not that she’d found. No key she could steal. And no way off the ship after that. She’d looked while they’d been on Autarch but hadn’t found anything promising. Certainly no ship the two of them were capable of managing by themselves.
“Sounds nice, lass. But you should still go, while you can.”
Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.
“Where would I go?” Violet leaned her head back. She folded the love letter up, tucking it inside her shirt. Fingers brushed the other thing in there, the captain’s sphere. It felt sharp today, a brief shock, a tingling. She wrapped her fingers around it and the feeling faded. Like everything faded. “I didn’t have anywhere to be before the Tantamount. Was just me on my own. Drifting.”
“Kind of the point of you, isn’t it?” Sharpe said through the door. “Go out on your own till you’re all growed up. Then head home and start pretending you know how the worlds work and what your place in them is.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Raines,” Sharpe said. “He talked about it a lot. Still does. Hated the whole system. Limiting, restrictive, archaic. A template for oppression designed to snuff out new thinking and reinforce the status quo.”
“He said this to you?” Violet asked.
“Around me. In front of me. He never really talked to me. Never even used my name.”
Violet shifted around. It was cold in this part of the ship. Her limbs would stiffen up if she didn’t move around some. Felt like the cold was colder than it had been in the past. Maybe from being in the black so long? “How do you mean? He the one integrating you?”
“Interrogating?”
“Yeah, that.”
“No.”
“What then? Sounds like he did.”
“Violet,” the sound of his voice shifted. He was facing the door now. “He made me.”
Violet swallowed a lump in her throat. Which was hard, her throat had gone dry. “Made you how?”
“I don’t know how, Violet, but like you would a Draugr or a golem. Like that. Not like a real person.”
Raines told you.
“Shut up,” Violet twisted, facing the door, hand on the cold metal. “You are real. Real to me. You were real to the captain and the skipper and . . . you are real, hells damnit!”
She smacked the door with the flat of her hand. Made a noise, reverberating in the air. Covered up the sound of what she didn’t want him to hear.
“You miss ’em, don’t you?”
“No.”
They’re all dead.
And they left you to die.
Both of you.
“Doesn’t matter.” She put her back to the door again.
“Violet,” Sharpe’s voice sounded right in her ear. Must have been pressed right up against the door, talking into the cracks. “When you met me, when you found me . . .”
“In the black,” Violet heard herself say.
“I was running. I ran as far and as fast as I could. To get away from him. From Raines. I ended up on Marching, caught up in all that happened there. And I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t not . . .”
Violet heard him slump down on the floor. “I couldn’t leave. Like you were saying. But I think maybe I should I have. I think I made things worse by not leaving. And I don’t want that for you.”
“Why were you running?” she asked him.
“For the same reasons I want you to. And don’t be stupid like I was. Don’t get caught up in nothing. Or they’ll find you and drag you back, just another thing in Raines’ lab to prod and poke at.”
Sharpe chuckled, bitterly, Violet thought.
Experiments. What experiments? What’s he even want with me?
What would anyone want with you?
She studied her hand, clasped around Horatio’s sphere. The ship inside moved about, occasional flickers of lightning flashing out, striking where her fingertips grazed. She’d tried, numerous times, to do what she’d seen Gabbi and Quill and others do without effort. But she couldn’t move so much as a
feather. Not without something else. Someone else. Now that she’d thought about it, every time she’d convinced herself she was getting powers, wizard powers like Piper had been wont to say, it had turned out to be someone else. Must have been the same that time in Raines’ workshop. Him, not her.
If you’re an experiment then you’re a failed one.
She could hear Sharpe moving on the other side. “Does he talk about . . .”
“Who?”
Me?
“Scarlett.”
“No,” Violet said. “Why would he?”
“They knew each other,” Sharpe said. “She used to visit his lab. When I saw her on Cauldron I thought for sure she’d recognise me. But she didn’t. Didn’t know me at all. But she knows who I am now.”
“No,” Violet shook her head. “She’s dead.”
“She’s not.”
“I saw her,” Violet whispered harshly. “I saw her out there, in the black. She was dead.”
Cold. Frozen. Falling.
Just like you.
“Raines told me she’s looking forward to seeing me again,” Sharpe said. “That she’s coming here. To the Morgana.”
“He’s lying,” Violet insisted. “She’s dead.”
Because you saw her die?
Like you did?
“He’s not,” Sharpe replied. “That’s why you need to leave. And soon.”
“And go where?” Violet asked, hearing the bitterness in her own voice.
“The Free Lanes.”
The Free Lanes. A few hours ago this was the Free Lanes. You just helped bring the Alliance into a small corner of what used to be pirate sovereignty. Now you want to run there?
“Ain’t gonna be no Free,” Violet muttered. “Just the High. Eventually.”
“Maybe. But not now. Not yet.”
“You know what they did, below, on this planet we’re circling?” Violet asked him. “They marched in and took it. The whole planet. Because there was something there they wanted. Not because of what was going on or how folk were being treated. The High Lanes, it’s not a place. It’s a thing, a thing what’s coming for all of us. People are running below already. Only there’s not gonna be anywhere left to run from it.”
“The High isn’t what’s coming, Vi. It’s just one more reason to go while there still is somewhere to go.”
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