Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  The great crustacean that had been advancing on him had stopped. The stalks on its head stood still.

  Three of the lobsters had fallen under the barrage of gunfire, and their dying bodies floundered horrifically on the beach. The rest that had been sweeping the men’s positions halted, seeming to hesitate. The sound bothered them, possibly, or else the noise was simply a by-product of the machines’ true purpose. Either way, the lobsters ceased their advance.

  Then, gradually, as the humming grew in intensity, one of the crustaceans turned back. It clacked across the beach and slipped beneath the surface of the sea. Moments later four others followed. Then more. And more. At last, the lobster towering over Avery turned about and retreated. Avery trembled in relief.

  Encouraged, some of the men and women that could still bring themselves to function trained their weapons on the remaining decapods, who were evidently unsure what to do, and opened fire. That broke the creatures’ indecision. Hailed by heavy gunfire, they turned around and slipped beneath the waves.

  The soldiers hurrahed. Even Avery hurrahed, screaming into the buzzing hum of the machines, though he could barely hear his own voice.

  The machines continued sounding for some time after the retreat of the crustaceans, then began to taper off, finally ceasing altogether, though Avery’s head still rang. He realized he’d been holding his breath and took a deep one. All up and down the beach soldiers were looking at each other strangely, relief mixed with confusion and fear. Many spontaneously embraced and clapped each other on the back. Others fingered their ears and shook their heads. Many retched. Avery almost did. A few who had received their earplugs in time to use them—this had not been so unexpected, after all—merely removed the plugs and looked around, dazed but sensible.

  Yawning to pop his ears, Avery stared at the giant crustacean carcasses, one of which still clutched dead men and women in its claws. Bodies littered the beach around them. Avery wondered if what was left of Lt. Hinis’s body could be identified. If so, at least her ashes could be returned to her family.

  He heard a laugh and turned to see none other than Jessryl Sheridan.

  “Impressive, aren’t they?” she said. “The machines, I mean. When I heard the sonar readings, I had to see them in action.”

  “Captain—I mean, Admiral—”

  “Come to me in an hour.” From the tone of her voice, she did not have to say for what. It was the first time she’d requested his attentions since they’d reached Hissig. Evidently battle got her blood going.

  Not waiting for a reply, she walked down the steps toward the recovering soldiers, leaving Avery popping his ears and staring after her. His heart still beat rapidly, and his limbs still trembled. How could she possibly be in the mood after what had just happened? Then he realized it.

  This is it, he thought. This is my chance.

  He dusted himself off and made his way down the beach to help the injured.

  “That was quite something,” Avery said, pouring himself a glass of brandy. He’d recovered (somewhat) from the shock of battle, though he was certain he’d be dreaming of giant crustaceans for some time to come. He and Sheridan stood on a high terrace of Fort Brunt, staring out over the sea. The terrace jutted from Sheridan’s apartment, which was wide and luxurious compared to the simple quarters occupied by most soldiers. All admirals based out of Hissig lived at Fort Brunt, and Avery understood that Sheridan’s quarters were nothing compared to the high admirals who lived on the top level. Still, they were impressive. As was the view.

  The dark waters of the harbor frothed below, and electricity flared up from the waves. No sign of another attack.

  “You mean, the repellers?” Sheridan stretched herself out on a chair. She wore only a towel wrapped around her middle, and her skin still glowed from sex and shower. “Yes, they worked sensationally.”

  “Is that what they’re called? Repellers?”

  She lit one of her thin black cigars. “Developed among other things to break Octunggen hold of their pet monsters. They breed them on the Vursulan coast, near the seat of their navy.” Octung was a landlocked country, Avery knew, but it had essentially purchased the government of the poor, corrupt Vursul decades ago—Vursul being a relatively large country occupying an entire peninsula unto itself—and Octung’s navy had grown into a mighty armada. “Our agents reported that the Octunggen were finally prepared to use them, so we made provisions to defend ourselves. Sadly, the repellers drain our stores of lard quite rapidly.”

  “And we had to let the one whale go ...”

  “You still hold that against me?”

  Avery leaned against the wrought-iron railing and stared out over the harbor. “We need the lard. We can’t have much left in our stores.”

  Her cigar crackled. “No. And Octung knows it. It doesn’t have to succeed in its attacks, merely drain our stores until we’re vulnerable enough, then deliver the killing blow.”

  Which you’re helping it deliver. “Surely there’s something we can do.”

  “It’s not for us to decide.” Ice clinked in her glass. “Yet.”

  “You still plan on climbing the ladder, then?”

  “And why not? War makes for rapid promotion. And, I think, with the war headed the way it is, people will grow tired of the Prime Minister’s handling of things.”

  That caught him by surprise. “You can’t mean ...”

  She chuckled. “Surely you’re not that loyal to Denaris. You, whose own wife had to live on the run for so many years, whose family was hounded by the government.”

  “That was different. What you’re talking about ... a military coup ...”

  “Obviously I wasn’t talking about a coup. That would be idiotic. I just think the people will tire of Denaris’s bungling.”

  “Some say she’s all that’s holding the country together.”

  “No, that would be the military, and that is run by our own Admiral Haggarty.”

  Avery raised his eyebrows. He knew there was a very public rift between the Admiral and the Prime Minister. The Admiral supported sealing off the borders, admitting no refugees, ousting those already here, and declaring neutrality in the war.

  Sheridan seemed to see his understanding. “The people will soon see that the war cannot be won,” she said. “Not by us. They’ll gravitate toward Haggarty, I’m sure of it. And here I am in the perfect position to achieve influence.”

  Ah. It began to make sense, her plan. She wanted Ghenisa to back out of the war, to make it easier on Octung. When Octung had defeated the surrounding countries, it could come back and subdue Ghenisa at its leisure. Clever. But he didn’t have to make it easy on her.

  “To what end?” he said. “Neutrality will only delay the inevitable, and it’ll mean we stop aiding our allies. Then they’ll fall, and we’ll be picked off all the sooner.”

  “So what do you advocate?”

  It was time for it, he supposed. He made his voice uncertain. “We must fight. It’s just that ...”

  “Yes?”

  “What can we do against them? We’re nearly out of hot lard, our navy’s broken, our army’s outmatched, our allies are falling one by one, and the only thing saving us from total destruction is the fact that the mountains block the Octunggen off on two sides, and Cumnal blocks them to the south. But they’re coming through the Pass soon, and Cumnal can’t last forever ...” He made a noise of frustration, then gestured toward the right, to the dark shore beyond. “We’re teeming with refugees we can’t feed. Soon we won’t even be able to supply them with pollution pills, and what then? The very air will kill or change them. And meanwhile they’re succumbing to the temptations of the black market, diseased food and the like. I’ve heard some are even selling themselves into slavery overseas, giving their families the money and letting criminals take them away, to who knows where?”

  She nodded, eyeing him with interest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so animated, Doctor. I think this battle’s brought you ou
t of your shell. If you’ll forgive my choice of words.”

  He leaned against the railing. “It all just seems so ... pointless.”

  Something passed across her face. “And yet you would defend the government that’s led you here?”

  He glanced up at her, careful to keep his expression impartial, curious. This is what he’d wanted, for her to reveal herself to him, to try to seduce him into her games.

  “Do you know of an alternative?”

  She stared at him for a long moment, weighing, judging. At last she looked away and inhaled on her cigar.

  “I’ll think on it,” she said.

  He let out a breath. Nodded. It wouldn’t do to appear overeager. “I think it’s time for me to go.” It was three in the morning, and he needed to get what sleep he could.

  “It’s a long trip back to the Drake,” she commented, seemingly off-hand.

  “Are you ... are you offering me a bed for the night?”

  He couldn’t read the expression in her eyes as she said, “Captain Marsh just died today, melted by one of the crustaceans. His room’s on the next level down. Just say the word and ... it’s yours.”

  He rubbed his head. Her offer was tempting, certainly, and it revealed something in her that almost smacked of tenderness. On the other hand, he did not want to be her pet lover, living just a beck and call away, under her constant supervision and sufferance.

  “Thank you. But no. I need the comforts of home to get to sleep these days, now that I’m back on land. Suppose I’m getting old.”

  She shrugged, but—and he might be imagining this—he thought he saw something sad rise behind her eyes, then quickly be dragged away.

  “Very well,” she said.

  He dressed in the living room. Clothes were strewn everywhere, draped over plush couches, sprawled at the roots of antique chairs. Candlelight glimmered on the brass fixtures of the marble fireplace.

  Sheridan’s bagrith chittered at him, and he tried to hide his shudder. He’d always hated batkin. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want one as a pet, though he knew it had pained Sheridan to leave the thing behind while at sea.

  Criggred was the size of a dog, but he still possessed the nightmarish form and face of a bat. His front claws, trailing their vestigial wings, scraped at the ground.

  The vile thing hissed at him, then, wanting to gain some height, climbed one of the ornate pillars monkey-like and lifted its lips at him, affording Avery a good glimpse of needle teeth. He had heard there were batkin that lived in the Borghese that had grown to the size of men and drank blood, but he suspected these were just rumors.

  He buttoned the last button on his shirt, snapped his pants up, and left Sheridan’s apartment. She remained on the balcony, smoking and staring out into the night. He wondered if he could really convince her to trust him, to take him into her confidence and engage him in her espionage. Part of him still hoped he might be wrong about her, that Hambry’s letters had been the ravings of a lunatic. If only she would just smile, he thought. A real, human smile.

  He descended the many levels of the fortress, eschewing the sometimes-functioning lifts that had been installed some thirty years ago. He wanted to walk. He wanted to sweat. Making whatever he had been making with Sheridan had not been enough. His knees protested after a few levels, his heart pounded, and before long he was sweaty and laboring for breath—his body reminding him of his age. The pleasant buzz the brandy had given him began to recede.

  Down a hallway, he heard the crackle and hiss of a radio. Some announcer rattled off a series of casualty figures, detailing the costs of a recent battle. Octung was advancing through the mountains. Nothing surprising there. One interesting item caught Avery’s ears, though, and he paused in the hallway to listen: “... and our agents report conflict in Lusterqal tonight. That’s right, violence erupts in the capital of Octung. What is the cause? We can’t know for sure, but sources tell us that the mysterious Black Sect have struck again, this time against the priests of the Collossum. The backlash has locked the city down. What the Black Sect is still remains a mystery, but at this juncture ...”

  Avery moved on. A few dead priests weren’t going to help anything. Still, it was reassuring to know there were saboteurs working the other side.

  When he reached the ground level, he hesitated. Sheridan had been right. It was too far to the Headless Drake and there were only a few hours before he was due to report in for the morning shift at any rate.

  He descended into the subbasements. Night guards scanned his ID as he passed through the various checkpoints.

  “Late night, Doc?” one asked.

  He nodded tiredly. “Or an early day.”

  In Laboratory Eleven he found to his mild surprise the gargantuan corpse of one of the lobsters. It towered in the center of the room, rust-colored, barnacle-encrusted, massive claws draped across the floor. It still stank of the sea, accented with the strange mineral odor he had noticed before and a lingering trace of ozone.

  Dr. Wasnair and a team of scientists stood near its head, just beyond its thick, bump-covered stalks. A clutch of black, unblinking eyes stared at them, glassy in the artificial lights that flickered overhead. The men and women poked and prodded at it, occasionally snapping pictures or writing things down in notebooks.

  Dr. Wasnair smiled in delight as he saw Avery approach. “Doctor, you simply must come here. Isn’t it fabulous?”

  Avery reached them and stared at the huge blunt head, the inhuman eyes, the complicated mouthparts.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  Wasnair laughed, clapping his hands in glee. “Yes, isn’t it? The Octunggen produce them, you know, but I can’t help but wonder if they grow naturally or if the Octunggen have found ways to manipulate their maturation, or some combination of the two. In any case, they’re lovely.”

  “They’d make great pets.”

  “Just think of the possibilities. This amazing creature can melt people with a sound. What if we could discover the apparatus that allows that? What if we could amplify it, melt entire Octunggen legions with a device modeled after it? Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

  Avery nodded guardedly. “Yes.” It sounded very much like an Octunggen weapon, he thought—very much, in fact, like the one that had killed his wife and child, even if the effects were different. “But what if you happen upon its electrical organs instead and end up frying yourself?” He laughed. “I’d let the junior doctors handle it.”

  Wasnair relaxed a bit and chuckled. “But then who would get the glory?” He seemed to really notice Avery for the first time. “What are you doing here at this hour, anyway?”

  Avery didn’t want to say he’d come to find a corner to curl up in. “I wanted to check on Patient X before retiring.”

  Wasnair nodded doubtfully, obviously curious about where Avery had been for the last two hours. “You never did report back to us after the battle.”

  Avery kicked at a huge, barnacle-encrusted claw. “It seems you found out what you needed to.”

  He turned away, and Wasnair and the others returned their attention to the lobster. For the sake of appearances, Avery strode toward the curtained-off quarter of the room where the mystery woman slumbered. He grabbed a chart and pretended to review it as he slipped behind the curtain. The curtains were only drawn at night, as during the daytime when the investigative committee was on duty she had to be viewable.

  Yawning, Avery sat the notebook down and collapsed in the hard metal chair near the woman’s bed. Now, finally, he could get some rest. Wasnair and the others would be so consumed with their new find that they wouldn’t even notice his absence.

  Before he closed his eyes, his gaze drifted toward the mystery patient, as it had a thousand times before.

  She stared back at him.

  7

  Once again, Avery was struck by how blue her eyes were, like the sea after a storm. Slowly, tiredly, they blinked. She shifted and stirred, turning her gaze from him to the
drapes, the ceiling, taking it all in. She didn’t seem surprised by her surroundings. Perhaps she had been awake for some time, or at least in the process of waking.

  He sat there, riveted. His breath came fast and shallow, and he felt all traces of sleep evaporate.

  “Damn,” he whispered, unable to help himself.

  The woman’s eyes returned to him. She was more beautiful than he had remembered. Then again, he had only once before seen her with her eyes open. The difference it made was incalculable. She was lovely.

  “Gedden es unkul rae?”

  The Octunggen chilled his blood, as it had the first time. “You are in a hospital,” he replied in the same language, though not with the same fluidity. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Some time. I did not like the look of the others. I hoped you would come.”

  “You did? Why?”

  “You did not betray me last time.” Her words came out slightly slurred. She was still weak.

  “How do you know?”

  “I still live.” She let him process that, then said, “I should not have confided in you then, but I was weak. I needed someone. This ... it does not look like ... a hospital.” Her eyes dared him to lie.

  He nodded slowly. “It’s a military hospital.”

  “You are ... a soldier?”

  He tried on a smile. It felt false. “I’m a doctor, as you know. You ... you’ve been sick. For a long time.”

  Suddenly she looked uneasy. “For how long?”

  “Months. You’ve been in a coma. We found you ...” He sucked in a breath. Now, finally, he would get the answers he had waited so long for. Sudden anticipation made him sit up straighter, made him lick his lips and straighten his jacket. “We found you at sea. In the belly ... in the belly of a great whale.” He could hardly contain himself. “Could you please tell me how you arrived there, if you know? How you survived the sea in the first place? You were naked, without protection.”