Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  Some time later, Avery didn’t know how long, the hourly patrol found him. As fate would have it, it was Privates Barris and Wathin, the same pair who had found Paul’s body, who came upon him.

  “Why’re you out here, Doctor?” said Barris.

  Avery, still sitting propped up against the gunwale, wanted to tell the men the truth, but paused. The fact was that he had killed a man, and there was no evidence Avery knew of to prove that Hambry had been a spy or murderer. The only such evidence, the tube, was lost to the sea.

  “I tried to stop him,” Avery said. “I tried ...”

  “Stop who, sir?”

  “Hambry. I went out looking for him after he disappeared. Someone told me he’d come outside, and so ... but I was too late. He fell before I could stop him.”

  Wathin crouched down next to him. The young man wore a look of perplexity and horror, but not suspicion. “The X.O... fell?”

  Avery couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “He leaned out over the gunwale—he didn’t have a safety line attached—lost his footing and went over.” Everyone knew such a thing was a death sentence. “Gods know what he was doing out here.”

  “Come on, Doctor,” Barris said. “Let’s get you indoors. It’s a nasty night.”

  It was only then, as the two privates helped him inside, that Avery remembered the last thing Hambry had said to him. Hambry had used the word we. If Avery had understood him correctly, there was another spy aboard the Maul.

  4

  The sun shone bright overhead, turning the fog a dazzling white. It gleamed dully off the huge ships that loomed in all directions. Sailors, only half visible in the white-gray roils, stood on their decks staring across at the Maul and its sisters, some waving, some calling out. The remains of the whaling fleet had just reached the supply convoy, and jubilation rang from ship to ship.

  The convoy cruised east, toward Ghenisa. Sheridan had led the Maul and its two surviving sisters through the place where the Octunggen blockade was supposed to have been, but there had been no sign of the enemy. Many speculated that they had broken up due to the proximity of the convoy, frightened off like birds at the approach of a dog, just as Sheridan had said they would.

  Avery knew differently.

  It had been three days since he’d killed Commander Hambry. He’d thought his sense of guilt would have faded by now, but instead it seemed to increase every day, so much that he hadn’t even partaken of the last cigar Paul had given him. He’d thought avenging the sergeant would bring about some sense of closure, but instead he felt worse, plagued by nightmares. He kept seeing the commander, hearing his voice. Sometimes he feared he was going mad. He’d begun drinking even more heavily. He didn’t know what else to do. Alcohol seemed to be the only thing keeping his mind dull enough to stay sane, and it was certainly his only recourse to sleep.

  If only Hambry hadn’t actually done what he’d claimed.

  If only he hadn’t saved them all.

  Staring up at the ships of the convoy, some of which were much larger than the Maul, Avery tried for the thousandth time to tell himself it was a coincidence. But for the thousandth time he knew better. Hambry had indeed been a spy, and he had indeed delivered a message to the Octunggen, but, inexplicably, that message had been to spare the Maul and the whaling fleet. It was the only explanation for the sudden break-up of the Octunggen blockade. It made no sense, but there it was.

  Wind stirred over the deck, unexpectedly strong, and Avery leaned against it. He longed to feel the touch of naked sunlight on his skin, to feel the wind through what remained of his hair, but it would have to wait. He fidgeted with his gloves, tugging at the fingers as he mulled things over.

  Who can the other spy be? He eyed the sailors around him. There was Maslyn, the slim, swarthy whaler with the tattoo of a dragon coiling around his neck, invisible under the suit. There was Lt. Bithelhaut, handsome but always ill at ease. Or maybe it was Second Lieutenant Sulley, the plain, freckled young woman with the too-bright eyes.

  And then there was Sheridan.

  Around Avery the men and women of the Maul hallooed the ships of the convoy, who offered them protection and safe passage to Ghenisa. It would take another three weeks to reach home, allowing for the brief stop along the way at Es’hem, an island nation that was said to be beautiful and was one of the last vestiges of the Imperial Republic of L’oh. Avery, a lover of history and in particular of L’oh, pictured Es’hem with magnificent towers and white marble domes. He looked forward to shore leave.

  A large hand clapped him on the shoulder. Coughing, he stared up into the face-plate of Janx, and the nose-less whaler grinned down at him.

  “You’ve looked better,” Janx said.

  “I’ve felt better. I ... miss fresh air.”

  Janx inclined his head. “Took me awhile to get used to it, too, years ago. Now if I breathe in and the air don’t taste of metal, I get anxious.”

  It was hard to imagine the big man anxious. The picture amused Avery. “So you wouldn’t be looking forward to land, then.”

  “I’d be happier if we still had a whale.”

  “Perhaps now that we’re safe ...”

  Janx shook his head. “The Maul’s in no condition to hunt, and this bunch o’ ships’d just scare off the levvies. Ain’t why I stopped by.”

  Avery raised an eyebrow. “No?”

  “Me and some’a the boys’re havin’ another game’a cards tonight, now things’re lookin’ up a bit.”

  “Is that why there have been no games recently? I’d begun to think I wasn’t invited.”

  Janx barked a laugh. “Games were canceled because everyone thought they were ‘bout to fuckin’ die, Doc. Bets got kinda hinky. After Bonner bet his peg and then Mare and Hath had to haul his ass around till Strop gave it back ... well, we had to re-think the whole thing.”

  “But it’s back on.”

  “It’s back on.”

  “I’ll see you there,” Avery said.

  Janx gave a hard grin. “Bring your money, Doc. I’m feelin’ lucky tonight, and your bluffs ain’t gonna stop me this time.” Whistling, Janx turned about and strode off, likely to recruit more suckers for the game.

  Strangely, the idea of poker put a jounce in Avery’s step, and he was tempted to whistle himself as he continued his walk around the deck. The surface heaved gently, and even the Atomic Sea seemed mellow. Only the occasional burst of lightning flared up from the waves, and some winged clam-things skimmed the sea to port, their wing-flaps sounding wet and meaty and rapid, wack-wack-wack. A haze hung over the water through which the many ships drifted like vast ghosts. The calling of the men and the slap of the waves on hulls sounded muted and eerie, lending even this joyous day a repellent quality.

  Nevertheless, Avery felt of lighter heart when the Maul drew abreast to the flagship of the convoy, the GS Indomitable. Boarding ramps were thrown across and Avery watched from afar as Sheridan and half a dozen of her surviving officers, to the blare of distant fanfare, marched onto the Indomitable to meet its captain, Admiral Jons. Avery wished their meeting well. As he passed, he could see the lowered heads and shuffling gaits of the Maulers as they gazed upon the shining, intact ships of the convoy. To be aboard the beaten wreck of the Maul and the others would be humbling and humiliating to career sailors. Avery felt no such humility, however, only relief. At long last, they were safe.

  Tired and sweaty, he retreated indoors. It had seemed like a good idea to take a walk outside and enjoy the sights of the convoy, but wearing the suit had tired him out too soon, and he was hot and stank like metal, canvas, and other men’s sweat as he trudged toward the medical bay. He took a quick shower in the patients’ washing area, then donned fresh garb and performed a round of check-ups.

  Patient X was stable if slightly feverish, but still unconscious. Frustration mounted in Avery. If she were really on a mission to stop Octung, whatever that meant, Avery could not risk it by telling anyone about her—she’d been right about
that—yet if she remained asleep she would be cut open by Navy scientists. If Avery couldn’t rouse her before they reached the mainland ...

  Bootsteps thundered outside the bay. The wheel spun, and the door flew open, framing Captain Sheridan and a crowd of officers.

  “Captain, I didn’t expect—”

  Ignoring Avery, she stepped inside. Behind her followed several of her company. One particularly tall old man boasted a short silver beard and a tanned, leathery face. Hooded eyes stared out of that mask of leather.

  “Admiral Jons, meet our chief surgeon, Dr. Francis Avery. Dr. Avery, Fleet Admiral Jons.”

  Avery straightened. Jons peered at him shortly, but his eyes—which were, as the shadows shifted, revealed as a startling blue—quickly roved to the woman on the table. Her looks seemed to have increased with her health. Blond hair pillowed her head, and her full lips continued to expel deep, even breaths.

  With practiced ease, the Admiral grabbed the clipboard at the base of the bed and scanned through it. “Amazing,” he said. “It’s just as you described, Captain. And you think she could be an asset?”

  “Yes, Admiral,” Sheridan said. “With her remarkable abilities, frankly she shouldn’t exist. She’s clearly braindead, or close enough that it doesn’t matter. However, I fully expect that when she can be transported to our main lab at Fort Brunt that the doctors there will be able to solve her mysteries.”

  Jons rubbed his chin. “Yes. If we could achieve immunity from the Sea ...”

  Avery cleared his throat. “She’s not braindead, Captain, Admiral. I’ve, ah, witnessed her dream. She will toss and turn. Mutter things in her sleep.”

  Jons raised his eyebrows. “In what language does she mutter?”

  “I don’t know. She mumbles too low for me to hear.”

  “She must be examined,” Jons said. “If the doctors at Brunt find it necessary to dissect her, then she will be. Either way we must have whatever abilities she does. The Octunggen wish to drive us into the sea, Doctor. If we were able to survive the journey ...” He turned to Sheridan. “You did well bringing this woman to my attention. All and all, you’ve handled your stint as admiral skillfully. Sacrificing that whale was a big risk, and powering through the blockage took balls.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.”

  “I think it may be possible to make your promotion permanent.”

  He swept from the room, taking his retainers with him. A very pleased Sheridan paused beside Avery.

  “Don’t chastise me, Doctor. I do what I must.”

  “But, Captain—”

  “Join me tonight. I’m hosting a skeet shoot. The captains of several ships are coming aboard to celebrate—my way of thanking the convoy.”

  “And you want me there? Why, in case someone’s shot?”

  She laughed, then followed the Admiral, leaving Avery staring after her. With a sigh, he turned back to the woman from the sea.

  “Wake up soon,” he said.

  “I haven’t seen so much loot since my thievin’ days,” Janx said. Grinning around his cigar, he dragged in his gleaming winnings from the middle of the table. A haze of smoke hung overhead. Sheep-oil candles stuck out from candelabras on the walls, contributing their slightly musky odor to the proceedings. Whitish wax pooled in the brass bases and spilled over, hardening as they did and creating little stalactites. The candlelight threw slow shadows across the walls.

  “When were you a thief?” asked Avery.

  There was a chorus of groans from the others.

  “Don’t get him started,” said Sydney, who was shuffling the cards with his seven remaining fingers and doing a better job of it than Avery could with his ten.

  “He’ll be tellin’ lies all night if you let him,” agreed Salussa, the only female whaler aboard. Nearly as large as Janx, she was big-boned and blunt-featured, but her eyes shone with intelligence. A ragged scar ran from the right corner of her mouth to her ear, and she was so proud of it that she had decorated it with a line of gold piercings that glittered in the candlelight.

  Ignoring the others, Janx said, “What, Doc, ya thought I was born a-ship?”

  Avery shrugged. Smiled. “More or less.”

  “Ha! I had a life, shit, maybe a dozen lives, afore I come a-courtin’ the sea. I was a sacker, a fighter, a pimp, a bodyguard, a smuggler—”

  “I told you,” muttered Salussa.

  “—and yeah, a thief,” finished Janx, shooting her a glare. “An’ some other things mixed in. But it was thievin’ what brought me to the sea. Oh, I remember it well. I’d just stolen the treasure of Lord Baracus of Helinmnot—”

  Salussa sighed.

  “—when I met the beautiful Lady Clara. How was I to know she was the Lord’s daughter?”

  Avery half-smiled as he listened. He figured he could do with some entertainment.

  “Well, after scrapin’ the walrus for the tenth or eleventh times, I forget, she betrays me, steals back the treasure, and leaves me tied to the bed for her assassins to kill. Well, naturally, I break free, kill them all, and this is me naked and with me bare hands, mind. I actually used one poor bastard’s guts as a whip, and—” At Salussa’s scowl, Janx cleared his throat. “Well, I escape out the window and steal the lady’s suit and yacht—this was at her winter palace, y’know, an island—then sail away into the night, clean as a ten-dollar whore. I saw Clara on the docks, cryin’ because I was still alive and cryin’ to see me go.” He grinned broadly, showing three silver teeth and one gold.

  Avery eyed his cards as Sydney passed them around. “There are no lords anymore, Janx. Not for fifty years. Not since the Revolution.”

  “He’s got you, Janx,” Salussa laughed.

  Janx grunted. “This wasn’t Ghenisa. This was in the Ysstrals.”

  “Bullshit. Since when did you speak Ysstran?”

  Janx replied nonchalantly as he anted up. “A mazen ed cun bizt.”

  Avery, who spoke a smattering of Ysstran, was impressed. And mildly offended.

  Salussa’s eyes narrowed. “You better be lucky I don’t know what that means, you son of a bitch.”

  “Probably for the best,” Avery agreed.

  Janx gave a lazy smile, then shifted his gaze to his cards.

  “A fivepenny,” Millen said, throwing in his bet.

  “Match,” said Cudreq, throwing his coin in.

  “Match,” Avery said. “And up another five.”

  “Anyway, so the Count puts out a bounty on me head,” Janx said, tossing out a coin. “Tweren’t safe for me in the whole Empire, so I lit out, joined a merchant vessel, hopped ship in the Jade Isles, joined a mercenary fleet and, well, one thing led to another ...”

  “Don’t give us your pirate crap again,” Salussa said.

  “What can I say, I was a restless youth.” The betting continued, as did Janx. In time, he said, “Anyway, my days as a pirate captain came to an end when Segrul the Gray took over the fleet. He was a mutie, y’know, and he started purgin’ the fleet o’ true-bloods. Wanted to create a mutant navy, scour the seas. He’d slit men’s throats and perform weird rituals at night when only one moon was high. Said there were things in the deep, things what he worshipped. Once I saw him row a boat out, all alone, some distance away, and this weird, white thing, maybe some great albino squid, I dunno, come right under him. They stayed that way fer hours, those white tentacles flailin’ around the boat, Segrul with his hand on the kraken’s huge head. Well, I figured twas time to look fer a safer gig.”

  “So you chose whaling,” Avery said. “Sensible.”

  Janx shook his head. “No, that came later. See, for a while I was king of the Othric Islands. Oh, it’s a great story. Lissen well ...”

  Janx rambled on, and the night grew blacker outside the portholes. The candles burned low, and so did Avery’s cash. Janx hadn’t been lying. He’d been feeling lucky. Finally Avery stood and said, “That’s it for me, lads. I know when to quit. Sadly, I should have quit then.”

 
Some chuckling.

  “Ya can’t go,” said Janx. “I was just gettin’ to the good part. After getting bombed out of me castle and havin’ to flee the Othrics, the Ysstrals right on my heels, me and Count Baracus, we got swallowed by the same whale, see, a monster he was ...”

  Avery grinned tiredly. “I’ll have to hear it some other time.” Besides, he had an appointment with the captain to keep.

  He returned to his suite, donned his official clothes—not that anyone would be able to see them—then ventured to an airlock and pulled on an environment suit. The Atomic Sea roiled and heaved as he stepped outside, and the skeet shoot had already begun. A dozen captains and their retainers had gathered on the bow, and one at a time the captains fired at skeet launched overhead. Avery arrived to find Sheridan flushed and smiling. Perhaps the officers had had a few drinks before the shoot.

  “Doctor!” she said. “What took you so long?”

  “I had things to do,” he said. “I’m a busy man.”

  That amused her. She turned as a chuckling captain, who shook his head ruefully at his poor marksmanship, marched up to her and held out a shotgun.

  “May you have better luck than me,” he said.

  “We’ll see. It’s been a windy night.”

  She stepped to the gunwale, where the captains cleared a space for her. The deck pitched gently underfoot, and lightning flickered up from the sea to the stern. The skeet was launched, and Sheridan’s gun cracked once, twice, then she reached for a fresh gun and fired again. Shattered pieces of skeet sailed over the sea, and the captains clapped their hands and whistled. Several patted Sheridan on the back.

  “I got lucky,” she said, and Avery was surprised at her graciousness.

  After handing over the shotgun to the next captain, she stepped back beside Avery and looked at him with unexpected warmth.

  “You seem in an awfully good mood,” he commented.

  “Why shouldn’t I be? We’re safe and Admiral Jons is talking about promoting me.”

  He took a breath and asked the question that he’d been dreading: “Any news on the war?” He hadn’t heard anything since the beginning of the submarine gauntlet and was starved for news.