Against the Unweaving

by D. P. Prior

  That was the only similarity between Shader and his father, though. If it hadn’t been for their shared excellence with the sword, no one would have guessed they were related. Jarl was as straight as they came, an uncompromising man of action. In his way, he was as natural and earthy as Rhiannon. Shader, however, was too much of a thinker, a trait that often led to long spells of melancholy and self-doubt.

  He stretched out his legs and tried to rub some feeling back into them. Taking up the prayer cord, he started working on the first knot whilst conjugating the Aeternam verb for “love”—amare. He’d simplified the practice from the endless litanies he’d been taught as a novice, whittled it down to one word that captured the essence of Ain. At least it would if he could focus.

  ‘Thought you could use a whiskey.’

  Shader was startled by the grating voice. He half expected to feel a knife at his throat, but instead Cleto crouched down beside him and held out a bottle. Shader took it without letting his eyes drop from the sailor’s stubbly face. Cleto had clearly been in the wars and had probably survived his fair share of pestilence judging by the craters marking his skin.

  ‘Peace offering,’ Cleto said. ‘For what I done last time. Got to thinking about it. Reckon it’s about as low as a man can get, stealing from his shipmates.’

  Shader took the bottle and drank deeply. ‘You asking for forgiveness?’ he said, passing the whiskey back to Cleto.

  ‘Nah. Shog that Nousian shit, excuse my Gallic. What’s done can’t be undone. Just want you to know I got your back now. You’re one of us.’

  Shader put the prayer cord back around his neck and blew the air through his lips. ‘Don’t know about that, Cleto. I’m a passenger, not a crewman.’

  ‘Captain says otherwise, and I’m inclined to take what he says a wee bit seriously.’

  Shader nodded and looked down at the deck.

  ‘You don’t want to be sitting there too long,’ Cleto said. ‘You’ll get piles.’

  With that he was gone, back into the darkness. Shader suspected he was always there, always watching and waiting for his moment. At least this time he might be watching for less nefarious reasons. Assuming his word was as good as his liquor.

  ***

  The sun came up behind the Aura Placida, casting a red swathe over the sea that set Shader thinking about the battle he’d left behind. The smell of bacon and strong coffee wafted up from the galley where Sabas was singing a sea shanty in a rumbling bass.

  Shader ached all over from spending the night on the deck with only his coat as a pillow.

  Elpidio passed him on his way to the crow’s nest and stopped to hand him a tin mug full to the brim with black coffee. ‘Sabas said you’d need it,’ the lad said, with a wrinkling of his nose. ‘Can’t see why people drink the stuff.’

  Shader smiled his thanks and took the cup, sipping the steaming contents.

  ‘On lookout again?’ he asked.

  ‘Got the best eyes,’ Elpidio said, ‘and by the looks of it Travid’s fallen asleep.’ His eyes turned to the crow’s nest where there was a decided lack of activity.

  Elpidio hurried away and started to climb the mainmast as the others emerged on deck. Captain Podesta staggered past and stood at the rail to relieve himself. He shook off the drops and gave a shudder, then turned to Shader as he fastened his trousers.

  ‘By the gods of the Great Green I need a coffee,’ he croaked before stumbling off towards the galley.

  A slovenly looking youth came down from the mainmast like a sack of potatoes being lowered. It was a wonder he didn’t fall, the way he swung from limp arms without any care for where he put his feet. Shader supposed this must be Travid, and judging by the gaping yawns he made no effort to suppress, it seemed unlikely that he’d seen anything during his watch besides his own dreams.

  ‘Morning,’ he groaned as he passed Shader and stumbled in the direction of the cabins.

  ‘Ship ahoy!’ Elpidio hollered from the crow’s nest.

  Travid stopped in his tracks and raised his palms. ‘Weren’t nothing there a moment ago. I swear.’

  The galley door swung open and Podesta strode out, fully alert, with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

  ‘Captain,’ Elpidio called. ‘Two ships off the bow. One of them’s a reaver.’

  Grim murmurs sounded amongst the crew and men swarmed to the prow to look out over the bowsprit. Podesta swilled his coffee overboard and handed the empty cup to Travid. As the lad took it, Podesta cuffed him on the ear, eliciting a loud squeal.

  ‘You know what that’s for, boy,’ the Captain said, hopping to the base of the mainmast and pulling a spyglass from his jacket.

  ‘That’s a reaver all right. Looks like they’ve caught themselves a Sahulian merchantman.’ He handed Shader the spyglass. ‘Just there, to the right of the bowsprit. You see, eh?’

  Shader squinted and then the ships came into focus. One was a caravel, not dissimilar to the Dolphin, but the markings were different and it flew the Sahulian flag—a flightless bird set against the backdrop of a clenched fist.

  ‘Reckon we’ve found our Ghost, eh?’ Podesta said. ‘Back home in Sahulian waters. Seems some people will take any job.’

  The second ship was large—a galleon by the looks of it. The hull was dark as pitch and there were four masts, each rigged with billowing black sails.

  ‘Good boy, Elpidio,’ Podesta called up to the crow’s nest. ‘All hands on deck!’

  Shader handed the spyglass back. ‘Is it mawgs?’

  Podesta locked his eyes to Shader’s. There was a grim set to his jaw. ‘Aye. And not a few of them either. Ship that size will be packed with hundreds of the shoggers. Every man grab a weapon!’ he yelled.

  Sailors ran for the cabins and came back with cutlasses, knives, and hatchets. A few had crossbows. None of it reassured Shader that they’d have a chance against a horde of mawgs. If they didn’t turn about and flee back to Port Sarum the mawgs would swarm over them like a plague of locusts, picking the bones of every crewman clean and disgorging the remains overboard for the sharks to finish.

  ‘Are we running? Shader asked.

  ‘That’s exactly what they’d want. After finishing off the merchantman they’d catch us in open water. The Aura Placida’s a good ship,’ Podesta slapped the mast, ‘but she’s not as fast as a galleon.’

  ‘But if they board us…’

  Podesta leaned in close, the blood draining from his face. ‘I know. You forget, I’ve seen what the bastards can do. But the crew doesn’t need to know, eh?’ Podesta raised the spyglass again. ‘They’re pulling away from the other ship. They must think this is their lucky day, uh?’

  Shader drew the gladius and ran his thumb along the edge of the blade. He’d neglected it somewhat, hadn’t even taken a whetstone to it, but it never seemed to blunt.

  ‘Someone’s crossing over to the reaver,’ Elpidio shouted.

  Podesta took a look through the spyglass and then passed it to Shader. ‘Fit the description?’

  Shader could see a small figure in a hooded cloak swinging from the doomed merchantman to the deck of the galleon. He landed nimbly as a mass of mawgs rushed towards him. The little man’s skin was pale, his short hair white. As the mawgs surrounded him, he held up an object and they moved back. Without a doubt, it was the serpent statue.

  ‘Shadrak,’ Shader said, handing the spyglass back to Podesta.

  ‘They’re coming about,’ someone called from the prow.

  ‘Steady!’ bellowed Podesta, drawing his cutlass. ‘Cleto!’

  Cleto’s head popped up through a trap in the deck. Nods passed between him and Podesta and then Cleto vanished back into the hold.

  ‘Crossbows on the foredeck!’ Podesta shouted. ‘The rest of you, defensive positions on the aftcastle. I want barricades up there—chests, tables, beds—anything you can find. You two!’ He called over a couple of petrified sailors. ‘Bring up every last flask of oil. If they look like boarding, drench th
e quarterdeck and then join us on the aftcastle.’

  The sailors scurried off below. Shader frowned at Podesta.

  ‘They’re not eating my crew,’ the Captain said. ‘Just a precaution. You can never have too many plans, eh?’

  The Aura Placida continued to sail closer to the reaver and its victim. The merchantman was floundering and there was no sign of activity on deck. The galleon, however, began to turn its port side towards them. Podesta pushed his way to the front of the ship, Shader following him.

  ‘What are they playing at?’ the Captain said. ‘They should be coming at us head on.’

  He had a point. Shader could now see that the prow of the galleon was fitted with a heavy metal ram. One hit from that and the Aura Placida’s hull would be breached. That would be the end of them. The two ships were now a few hundred yards apart and Shader could see the massed furry bodies lining the rails of the reaver. A chilling roar went up from the mawgs, who began to jump and prowl about in barely suppressed frenzy.

  ‘Look!’ Shader said as slats on the side of the galleon’s hull slid open and metal tubes popped out.

  ‘What the Abyss?’ Podesta said, leaning forward to get a better view.

  He leapt backwards as a wave of explosions sounded and smoke erupted from the bank of tubes. A shout of horror went up from the crew and then there was a series of splashes as heavy objects hit the water in front of the ship. Another roar went up from the mawgs as the Aura Placida continued to drift towards them.

  ‘Bring us about!’ Podesta shouted. He turned to Shader. ‘What was that?’

  Shader had seen nothing like it before, but Aristodeus had once told him about thunderous weapons from a bygone era. ‘Aeterna-tech?’ he wondered out loud.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Podesta said. ‘But I think we can do better than that. Cleto!’

  Cleto was there in an instant. Slung over his shoulder was a long cylinder made of a dull metal Shader didn’t recognize. Cleto had hold of some kind of grip with one hand, and with the other he steadied the cylinder and rested his thumb above a red circular protrusion.

  ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ Podesta asked with a look of mild trepidation.

  ‘Not a fucking clue,’ Cleto said. ‘But there were pictures in the box. I reckon it’s a simple matter of pointing and pressing the trigger.’ He tapped his thumb against the button.

  Podesta winced and gave him some room.

  The bank of tubes on the galleon withdrew and then reappeared after a few moments.

  ‘Whatever you’ve got planned,’ Shader said, ‘now would be a good time.’

  Cleto rested the cylinder on the forward rail and knelt down with his head beside it. He closed one eye, took aim, and pressed the button.

  There was a deafening roar and Shader and Podesta hit the deck. Cleto was thrown back against the foremast as fire and smoke streaked from the strange weapon. Shader rolled to his feet in time to see something strike the mainsail of the galleon and erupt in flame. The top of the mast fell away and dropped towards the stunned mawgs beneath. The reaver banked and the tubes sticking from the hull drooped.

  Shader ran to Cleto’s side and helped him to stand. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Fuck, yeah!’ Cleto said with a wide grin spreading across his pockmarked face. ‘Did I get ’em?’

  ‘They lost a sail,’ Shader said, ‘but I think that’s your only shot.’ He indicated the smoking cylinder that now had a split running down its length. ‘Unless you’ve got any more of those things down below.’

  Podesta called out over his shoulder. ‘Only one we had, eh, Cleto? Now answer me this.’ He shot a look at Shader. ‘What the shog did Jarmin the Anchorite of Gladelvi want with one of those, uh?’

  Shader left Cleto to dust himself down and rejoined Podesta at the prow. ‘They’re turning away,’ he said as the galleon increased the distance between them. ‘It’s not like mawgs to run from a fight.’

  Podesta was biting hard on his knuckles. ‘Maybe they’ve got more important things to do, eh?’ He pointed at the stern of the retreating ship where a white face was staring at them from beneath a black hood.

  ‘We must give chase,’ Shader said. ‘We need to get the statue back.’

  Podesta’s gaze switched to the floundering merchantman. ‘All in good time, my friend. Rules of the sea. Search for survivors first, eh?’

  Shader opened his mouth to protest, but could see from the Captain’s face that he’d be wasting his time.

  ***

  The waters were red around the merchantman as the longboat came alongside. Dorsal fins broke the surface, sending ripples through the blood, and here and there huge jaws burst above the waves to tear at the disgorged contents of mawgish stomachs. Shader kept as close to the centre of the boat as possible, scarcely daring to move in case he was pitched into the water amongst the sharks.

  ‘Hundreds of them,’ Podesta said, peering over the side. ‘No chance of survivors there.’

  Shader half expected a shark to leap from the water and drag the Captain face first overboard, but Podesta seemed unperturbed.

  Cleto swung a grapple up top and the three climbed aboard.

  The Sahulian flag snapped and fluttered above them, but other than that there was no sign of movement. The decks were slick with gore— half-eaten limbs and regurgitated bones. Shader stepped over the torso of a man whose hands still held fast to the railing, but whose legs had been ripped away at the hips. The three trod a path between chewed-up heads and strewn entrails, holding their noses against the stench of blood, piss, and excrement. Cleto retched and then bent double as his stomach emptied. He wiped the sick from his face with the back of his sleeve.

  ‘Wait for us in the boat, my friend,’ Podesta said, to Cleto’s obvious relief.

  Shader pressed on to the quarterdeck, a discomforting feeling growing all the while. The ship certainly matched the description of the Ghost they’d been given in Rujala, but there was something about it that unsettled him.

  He started as a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

  ‘You feel it too, eh?’ Podesta said, his breath heavy in Shader’s ear. ‘Something very familiar about this ship. Look.’

  A corpse held onto the wheel in a death-grip, its clothes shredded, the flesh of one half of its body stripped to the bone. The head hung to one side, attached only by the slenderest thread of sinew. The eyes were white and frozen wide, the teeth bared in a silent scream that seemed to stretch to eternity.

  ‘Ain,’ Shader muttered as he recognized what was left of the face. ‘Captain Diaz.’

  Podesta was ashen, a single tear rolling down his cheek. ‘The Dolphin was the Ghost all along.’ He fell to his knees and let his head drop.

  It looked to Shader like a gesture of prayer. He’d always thought Diaz was Podesta’s bitter enemy, but clearly the manner of Diaz’s death had touched a nerve. Then Shader recalled the Captain’s story aboard the Aura Placida on their way to Sahul.

  Shader knelt beside Podesta and put an arm around his shoulders. ‘Come, my friend,’ he said. ‘Time to leave.’

  Podesta shook him off and stood. ‘No!’ he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘You’re wrong. Go if you like, but I’m staying. Someone must have survived.’

  Shader felt his cheeks flush with shame. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Podesta held his gaze, the tears spilling freely now. He gave a curt nod and then they both turned back to the blood-spattered decks and began their search. True to his word, Podesta left no stone unturned. He scoured every cabin, searched under tables, in cupboards, growing more frantic and enraged every step. Shader followed him, but kept his distance. They searched for over an hour and Shader felt they could do no more when Podesta’s eyes turned to a loose plank in the hold.

  ‘Help me,’ he barked, drawing a dagger and using it to pry the board free.

  Shader lifted it clear and started as something rushed past below. Podesta dropped to his front and reached in
to the gap.

  ‘Got you,’ he cried.

  There was an answering yelp and then Podesta drew a young boy to the opening. The child was biting and scratching, but the Captain ignored the pain and uttered soothing words. Shader pulled the neighbouring plank away and then reached down to help Podesta lift the boy up. He was a scrawny lad, no more than nine or ten. His face was streaked with dirt, his clothes soiled with dried blood. He started to shake as he looked from Shader to Podesta, his mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out. Podesta drew the lad into an embrace and stroked the back of his head.

  ‘There, there,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘You’re safe now.’

  Podesta raised his eyes to Shader’s. They were bloodshot and brim ming with tears.

  ‘Told you,’ he said with no sense of triumph. ‘Told you I’d find one.’

  THE BATTLE OF SARUM

  The streets were deserted, but if you looked close enough you could catch people peering through cracks in the curtains. Whatever might have befallen the centre of Sarum, the suburbs had so far been spared.

  General Starn pressed his back to the wall and stole a quick glance down the alleyway, holding up a hand to halt the men behind. The sun was high in the sky and his blooming breastplate was growing more and more of a nuisance. He dug in between its bottom edge and his sore belly with the tips of his fingers. Sweat was streaming down his face and plastering his moustache over his lips. He blew to dislodge it before the tickling drove him stark raving mad. Once they were done and dusted here he’d have Mrs Starn trim it for him and put him back on a diet of herrings and oatmeal. Shed a few pounds and the armour would fit as well as it had years ago, when he’d won it at the tournament in New Ithaka— back when Troy Jance was still on speaking terms with the Emperor.