“Captain, there are other places we could go.”
Drucilla looked at Mr. Pit. She figured he had come with her father at least once to do business here.
“Pit.” The tone of her voice was enough. Mr. Pit raised his hand in surrender and gestured for the Captain to proceed.
Drucilla went to open the door but found it was locked. She rapped her knuckles on the ancient wood and listened. Where moments before they could hear the banter of patrons within, they now listened to the sudden hush of silence extinguish all voices inside. Drucilla knocked once more. Mr. Pit exchanged glances with her as they heard tables scraping and the movements often accompanying concealment.
The third time Drucilla raised her fist to knock, the door flew open before she could touch the door.
“What the hell do you want at this hour?”
The man who opened the door looked at her with a critical eye. He squinted as if he couldn’t see her well, and she knew that in his old age he did not recognize her. He had a bulbous, veined nose marking him as an alcoholic. The hair on his head appeared to be falling out. His frame curled with the weight of gravity on an old structure.
“Well, spit it out young lady, none of us are getting any younger.”
“It’s Drucilla.”
He looked at her a while but said nothing.
She repeated herself, this time louder. “Drucilla, daughter of Raj.”
The old man tried to close the door in her face. Drucilla’s hand snapped out and caught the door, causing it to rattle in its frame. The old man let out a heavy sigh.
“Look, little lady, I know Raj,” his face fell, and he rubbed the white hair twisting from his brows, “I knew Raj, and he’s dead. Down to the depths with that Mega he speared. His daughter, I knew her too, and she’s only yay high,” he gestured with the flat of his palm parallel to his chest.
Drucilla didn’t say anything. She reached down the front of her blouse. The old man’s brows shot up in bewilderment as he watched her hand dive into her bosom. Captain Dru withdrew an old metal talisman attached to a worn leather cord. She presented it to him.
The man took the antique trinket into his hand and rolled it over, inspecting it carefully. He looked back up at Drucilla, and then back down at the small hunk of twisted metal.
“Where did you get this?” His features were cross.
“I told you, I am Drucilla, daughter of Raj.”
She could tell he still wasn’t convinced. His memory was slipping worse than she thought possible. She knew he was older than the amulet he held, but she did not expect his mind to be so gone as to only remember her as a child. He stepped closer to her, so close that Mr. Pit lurched to put space between them. Drucilla laid a gentle hand on the inside of his arm to stop him. The trade shop owner was practically nose to nose with the Captain, studying her eyes.
“Where have the years gone, darlin’?” He cupped her face gently before opening the door for the two of them to enter.
The shop was large. Men and women were standing around, waiting for the owner to give them the okay to continue their business. Once the front door closed, every person within sprawled their items back over the tables and continued their arguments regarding the goods they had to offer. A group of five occupied a back corner. They circled in close over a game composed of small carved stones. The shop owner restored the pot of cash in the middle before he turned back to Drucilla and Mr. Pit.
“What are you here for?”
“I need a deep dive apparatus with individual tanks. Something that can go unattached to the ship and stay beneath the water for at least three hours.” Drucilla told him.
He rubbed his chin, turned away from her for a moment, seemed to lose his train of thought, turned back to her. “How much are you willing to spend?”
“As little as possible.”
He laughed, “Good luck. You need to talk to that gentleman over there.” He pointed to a scrawny man with weathered, leathery skin and one un-patched dry eye socket.
The old man did not introduce Drucilla to the man. The man stood staring out and observing the crowd, waiting for someone to approach. His working eye tended to bounce back and forth with the speed of a lizard paying close attention to the constant movements of a trading house roaring with various bargaining and illegal dealings. The gambling tables near him were within earshot. Drucilla noticed the way he leaned in to keep a close ear on their transactions as he watched the rest of the room.
Drucilla stood up tall. Mr. Pit gave her space yet kept within reach in case he was needed to step in. His presence was foreboding behind the intense air Drucilla walked with as she approached the one-eyed man. He did not look at her as he approached, yet Dru could tell she was in his peripherals and did not go unnoticed.
“I heard you have a deep dive apparatus with individual tanks,” Drucilla said when she was close enough for him to hear without needing to shout over the sounds of the trading shop.
“I can get one, yeah,” he avoided eye contact and swiped his thumb across his nose.
“How much?”
“Three gallons of whale oil,” his eyes darted back and forth again. He licked his lips.
“Absolutely not!” Drucilla’s voice was loud enough to attract the attention of two players at the table next to them.
The one-eyed man trained his shifty eye on Drucilla’s. They darted back and forth between her and the gaming tables. “Keep your voice down. Three gallons of whale oil is my price.”
“That’s complete bullshit, and you know it,” Drucilla’s tone maintained its intensity, but the decibels lowered to just above a whisper. “Half a gallon.”
He looked at her for another moment, and then shifted his body away, returning his gaze to the room, “I know for a fact I am the only person who can obtain what you want on this Atoll. If you can’t afford to pay for it, another whaler will.”
Drucilla scowled, “One gallon of oil. Whale oil becomes rarer by each day. There is no one who can pay the price you are asking.”
He looked at her once more, “You can. Three gallons is my price.”
Mr. Pit’s deep, coarse voice chimed in, “Listen here, you can’t play funny buggers with my Captain. You think yer going to get anythin’ more than a gallon you’re climbing the wall.”
“You have the only diving apparatus, I have the only oil,” Drucilla reinstated, “One gallon is my final offer.”
“Two gallons.”
Drucilla sighed, “Look we both know the equipment is stolen. I know I could get you pinched the second I leave this trading house.”
At this point, the man returned eye contact. “Chip would kick you out for talking like that.”
Drucilla let a malicious smile snake across her face, “I don’t think you understand my relationship with Chip. I will forgive the indiscretion. One and a half gallons is my final offer. If I walk, I will make sure your operation is shut down.” Her lips pressed into a hard line.
The weasel-like man looked around as if trying to find a way out. He mumbled a few things under his breath and looked over at Chip.
Chip sat at a table. He was watching their transaction take place with a fixed gaze. The old, red-faced man nodded at Drucilla when she looked over her shoulder to follow the gaze of the trader.
“One and three-quarters a gallon,” the man finally spat out.
“Deal,” Drucilla jutted her hand forward before the man had the opportunity to re-negotiate. He spit in the palm of his hand before shaking Dru’s. “Payment will take place upon delivery. I want it here within an hour, or the price drops to one and a quarter gallons.”
The man pulled his hood up over his head. He cursed under his breath as he left the small shop to fetch the diving apparatus. With nothing left to do except wait, Drucilla and Mr. Pit sat down next to Chip to chat until the man returned.
16.
Back on the Penny Dreadful, Vladimir and Riddle sat within Vlad’s workshop. They had drunk half a bottle of V
lad’s potato spirits. Riddle’s eyes swam as she tried to concentrate on the intricate parts of her mechanical arm.
“An’ you know what’s really fucked up?” She continued ranting.
“Hm?” Vladimir was enjoying seeing her get fired up in the privacy of his company.
“There’s never going to be a man who thinks I’m beautiful.” Her face fell allowing her long red tresses to conceal the majority of her upper torso.
Vladimir shot up from his seat and grabbed her head with both hands. “Never say that, little girl.”
Riddle tried to break free from his grasp, but his hands were strong from years of hard work. She tried to avoid eye contact, but couldn’t help looking up at him as he towered high above her.
“You ARE beautiful. Your spirit is like fire,” he pulled one hand away and curled it into a fist for emphasis. “They do not know because they are little boys. Little boys scared of a girl vit big gun.”
Vladimir ran his hand over the frizzy disarray of ringlets and planted a kiss on her forehead. “You vill find right man. Do not worry vit such dark thoughts.” He poked her forehead before releasing her. “Now, tell me something else. You are boring. Tell me vere you will retire?”
“I won’t.”
“Hush that noise. Vere vould you go if you could go anyvere.”
Riddle looked back down at her arm. She was too drunk to do any real work, but she tried her best to pretend she was making progress. Her face flushed red with anger as she thought about life, her situation, and all the hopes she used to have.
“Tell me, and I vill tell you.” Vladimir poured two more shots, set one next to her and then slumped back into his work seat.
She opened her mouth to speak, but she felt the air on her tongue tremble like her thoughts. Riddle knocked back the last shot, trying her best not to gag on the sharp liquor as it ran down her already drowned throat.
“I would go home.” Her face twisted. “I would go home if it was still there.”
Vladimir had only heard pieces of Riddle’s story from Raj. He remembered the day Riddle came aboard. She still had part of her arm, down to the elbow, riddled with infection. The nub Raj presented to Vladimir to fix was swimming with maggots, eating away at the dead flesh. She was malnourished and delirious from fever. Bruises, burns, and abrasions covered her body. Raj knew from the locals around the settlement where he’d found Riddle, that her whole village had been lost to raiders along with her arm.
It was Vladimir who amputated her properly. He still remembered how the child’s eyes zoned out as it happened. There was nothing to numb the pain, and yet she didn’t cry. The worst she did was grit her teeth and squeeze her eyes during certain moments, but the majority of the surgery she stared out past everything around her in a daze of emotional numbness. He knew whatever she endured was unfortunate enough to outweigh the physical pain of what he did to her then.
That was the first moment Vlad knew he loved her. It was different than when she was a child. Not like how he felt now as he looked at her, all grown up and holding her new arm in her hand, somber and distressed by emotions crossing her position in life.
“You are home, Riddle,” Vlad lifted the arm from her lap and set it on the work table beside her. His strong hands lifted her chin, “Those you love live vit your memory. Your home is vit those loyal to you.”
Riddle pulled away and scoffed, “It’s easy for you. You’re the only one loyal to me on this cursed planet.” She kicked the leg of one of the other tables.
“Then I am home is vaht you say, no? You can live whole life in self-pity, little girl, but you are who you are. You do vaht you do, as ve all do. This moment,” he gestured around him, “is all ve have. Do not vaste it.”
His hand lay tenderly on her wild ringlets. Without thinking, Riddle’s eyes closed and she melted into the palm of his hand, enjoying the warmth of vodka and comfort of existing in the single moment.
“Ve all die child, do not give up before it is your time,” Vladimir said softly.
Riddle opened her eyes.
Vladimir could see the spark, the fire, ignite within her irises. He brushed his finger against her cheek and over her full bottom lip. She leaned forward to kiss him, and for once he did not try to stop her.
Before their lips could touch, Vladimir’s door flew open. Riddle startled and jerked away from his embrace.
“VAHT IS IT!!!?” Vladimir roared, turning to tower above the cowering seaman who had dared interrupt such a tender moment. “NO ONE!” Vladimir jabbed his finger into the other man’s face. “NO ONE opens door vitout permission!”
“I’m s-sorry, Vladimir, but the kraken,” the man stuttered, “She’s been spotted heading this way.” The man gave a curt bow before abandoning the room.
Riddle’s arm was strapped to her shoulder mount before Vladimir could turn around to her. Before she booked it from the table to the upper decks, he placed a hand on her healthy arm and looked her in the eyes, “You will always be loved and remembered, everything else is wind and salt.”
Riddle reached her soft hand to his face and said all there was to with the way she looked into his eyes. With the parting moment, she disappeared from his presence to coordinate an attack.
Vladimir turned to his workshop to organize his most recent inventions, drowning his emotions in the task at hand.
17.
“I don’t see her,” Riddle held a spyglass up to her eye. The night was clear. The stars spread out in concentric patterns cut by the perfect, straight line of horizon dividing the black of sky from the black of starless sea.
The deckhand opened his mouth to protest to her when an elongated pillar rose from the water, blotting out the cosmos above Atoll Sparta in the distance. Riddle watched in horror as the mighty arm crashed down, on the main stretch furthest from where they docked. The screams of the townspeople echoed off the waves. A fire started somewhere in the rubble, sending up a grey wisp of smoke. It would not be long before visibility dropped.
Riddle turned around and nearly ran into Vladimir who stood only inches behind her in silence, watching the attack take place. “Ve do not move ship until Captain and crew are aboard.”
Riddle looked up at him, “We don’t know if they even made it.”
“It does not matter. Ve do not leave vitout them,” Vladimir turned around sharply and addressed the nearest crew members. “I need two fast runners.”
One of the men standing by pushed another on the shoulder. “Go get Johnny,” when the other crew member stalled, he was yelled at, “Now!”
It was a matter of moments before two members stood in front of Vladimir. “You vill take those carts,” he pointed to wheeled sleds loaded up with long-range weapons covered in canvas, “to the nearest ships heading to fight the sea vitch.”
The men nodded and left with the carts wheeling behind them down the gangplank. Riddle watched the men to ensure they distributed the weapons correctly. The ships closest to them waited, prepared for departure by the time the carts wheeled aboard.
“You!” Riddle hollered, voice thick with alcohol, at someone idly watching the kraken’s destruction in the distance, “Get six archers with the other ships to fight the kraken now. The rest of us will finish preparations until our crew members return to the Penny.”
The woman startled from her daze and set immediately to recruiting volunteers before all the other ships left. Riddle watched as the majority of the crew disappeared to throw themselves into the heat of battle. Riddle looked up at Atoll Sparta, the fog of the vodka thick in her skull, and yet she did not regret a moment of what had transpired below or almost had. She watched as the runners pushed carts of equipment across the docks and loaded the smaller, faster ships already moored, and soon there was a small force pulling through the waves towards the kraken.
The kraken’s tentacles smashed and tore apart buildings. Walls of water burst up and flooded the parts of Sparta still untainted. One ship approached the kraken’s left flank. Sh
e turned her full fury. Riddle recognized it as one of the boats that took on Vladimir’s experimental weapons. A fiery blast exploded at the kraken.
The kraken’s fury trained on the ship. Another approached the right flank. Riddle watched with bated breath as the target of the monster’s anger homed in on its attacker. All eight of her tentacles wrapped themselves around the hull of the ship, suffocating the bullets as if they were nothing. The sound of the boards cracking resonated like the back of a giant breaking over the ocean waves, one vertebra snapping at a time.
Riddle couldn’t watch any longer. She swept the spyglass over the floating settlement in hopes of spotting their men. There was too much commotion in the darkness to locate anything. They could be on the docks in front of the Penny, and Riddle doubted she would be able to identify them with the masses of people running about, trying to escape, attack, or prepare.
Riddle distracted herself with the work at hand. “Check all lines! Make sure everyone is secured to the ship via lifelines! Get those catapults to the bow!” Immediate action met each command.
“Captain!” Vladimir’s voice boomed out greetings as Drucilla and Mr. Pit hurried up the gangplank with the diving apparatus in hand.
Drucilla’s face was solemn and pale. “We made it out of the trade shop maybe ten minutes before she took it down into the ocean.”
They could see the sorrow drawn on her face, but they did not know about Chip or the memories of haggling with her father. Captain Drucilla pushed the thoughts from her mind and focused on saving her people and her ship.
Drucilla looked around, “The rest of the crew have not returned yet?”
“Only a few Captain,” Riddle shook her head.
“Damn it. I should have never let them leave the ship!” She kicked an empty crate sending it flying into the mast where is cracked and fell into a pile. The crew was silent around her. They had never seen her lose her temper in such an uncontrolled display of emotion.
“Vladimir, what weapons do we have?”
Blackwater Kraken (The Dystopian Sea Book 3) Page 7