by D. P. Prior
‘Ah, my friend,’ Podesta put an arm around his shoulder and led him towards the galley, ‘this is why you’re not a sailor. You don’t understand these things. What did you do wrong for Hagalle to send you to sea?’
Benson chuckled. ‘If he builds any more ships I reckon we’ll all be sailors. Someone needs to crew them.’
The two passed from sight into the galley. Sabas’s booming voice sounded in greeting. Clearly Podesta wasn’t the only one who knew the officer. Benson’s guards visibly relaxed and the Aura Placida’s crew stepped forward to greet them. The crossbowmen stood down and muffled voices came from the galleon to mingle with the lapping of the waves.
***
Prayer was getting tough again.
Shader shut the Liber and threw it on top of his folded coat. His knees hurt from sitting cross-legged on the deck, and his eyes were sore from reading in the dim lamplight.
Podesta had worked his magic with Benson and the Aura Placida was granted passage unhampered as she rode the waves towards the Anglesh Isles. It had taken Benson’s men over an hour to load all the food, wine, and tobacco Podesta had gifted him. Shader shook his head and let the tiniest curl of a smile touch his lips. Podesta must have been playing both sides for years: smuggling for the Templum and supplying what the Sahulian navy lacked. It was a dangerous game; everybody apparently knew what was going on, but nobody cared. It reminded Shader of what they used to say in Gallia when he was on campaign: cheating on your wife was OK, providing you didn’t get caught. He’d not seen the funny side at the time, but travelling with Podesta was giving him a whole new perspective.
Shader sighed and pulled the knotted prayer cord over his head. His own problem was fidelity to rules, not people. He wasn’t so much concerned with others finding out; he was more worried about his own reaction. No matter how he justified it, he still couldn’t quite see himself as holy unless he followed the Templum’s moral code. Most of the other knights he’d known mitigated the Rule. It was common knowledge that even the priests took lovers, but Shader wasn’t that kind of man. And that was a bloody nuisance as far as he was concerned.
It had been difficult seeing Rhiannon again at the templum. The white robes hadn’t quite suited her. It was like covering a beautiful painting with an old sheet. He was sure it wouldn’t last. Rhiannon was as much suited to the life of a priest as he was. The difference was that she already had a natural goodness, an easy way of being simply whatever it was Ain had made her. Shader knew he had to work at it, just as he’d had to work at everything else—all the philosophy with Aristodeus, the conduct becoming to an Elect knight, and especially unquestioning obedience to his superiors. The only thing that came naturally to him was killing, but that was perhaps to be expected, being raised by one of the hardest men in Britannia.
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 wi
ll 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 the 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 snapp
ed 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.’