Alliance of the Sunken (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 3)

by Samuel Gately

  “No doubt,” Cal replied, picking up a card. He glanced up at Nalani, who hadn’t moved. If she left, he’d follow her. But he thought she wouldn’t. “And I could use some time between the sheets if you know what I mean. Been a long time traveling. But I heard the real prize in Camron is the Queen’s daughters.”

  The card game halted, even the dealer pausing. The man across the table broke the tension by laughing. “Son! Who told you that?” he asked.

  Cal forced himself to flush in embarrassment. “What? Some guy at the bar last night said they were beauties, and twins. I don’t know about you, but I’m taken with the idea of twins.”

  The man laughed louder. “Son, those girls are young, children really. I think he was pulling your leg.” He grew more somber for a moment. “Or a sick fuck. Anyway, they were twins, but one of them is gone now.”

  “Gone where?” Cal asked.

  The game resumed, no one responding. Cal let a hand pass, then spoke again. “Well, I have to apologize. I think I’ve made a fool of myself and seems like I spoiled some of our fun. Let me get a round for the table.”

  The men around him cheered up a bit, more at the gesture than its cost. There was already enough on the table to buy a mansion. The talker across from Cal leaned in. “Thing is, it’s not really a great topic for a gathering like this. But Queen Olmont’s daughter was murdered three years ago. It drove the King mad. Or maybe the Queen harping on it did. She’s a fierce one. They call her the Ghost Queen up at the Palace, say she tries to talk to dead people. Has a spirit guide and such.”

  Cal feigned confusion, thinking on how to draw the conversation forward and deeper, as he reached down to pick up the hand laid in front of him. He recoiled as he felt that the cards were wet. The water was cold and somehow slimy, startling. “What the hell?” he said, dropping them onto the table. Sensing a presence at his shoulder, he turned to see Nalani, but she was frozen stiff, staring at something across the room. He followed her gaze.

  A single scream rang through the suddenly quieted parlor. Four creatures were making their way to the table. They wore old rags, dripping onto the floors, the smell of dirty water spreading as they moved across the room. Their skin was a sickly pale green, and they had patterns of deep green coral on their skin. Each bore what Cal might call a sail on their back, a long protrusion of coral branches curling off the center of their heads and backs. There were more of the intruders behind them. They walked in crooked strides and held grim expressions. Sunken.

  They were heavily armed. From the blood on their blades, it looked as though any security the club had in place was already disabled. No one was challenging them as they rounded up the other tables. Taking prisoners.

  Cal cursed his lack of a sword, though the numbers were not favorable anyway, more Sunken arriving to fill the doorways. He rose from his chair and stood next to Nalani. “I think you waited a bit too long for us to have a good conversation.”

  She swallowed hard, no snappy rejoinder ready. She shook her head. “I’m not getting paid enough for this.”

  And then the Sunken arrived at their table. They began barking out orders in voices both human and harsh, a gurgling tone of depth to them. In short order, all the guests were lying bound on the floor.

  Chapter 10. Restless in its Prison

  Aaron swam through the tunnel. He forced his eyes open, at first seeing little through the gloom. As he drew himself deeper, ignoring the pain from his hooked calf, Aaron could make out a glow below him, roughly in the shape of a circle. The light was green and brightest at the edges of the gate where it touched the clean white coral of the Plate. The hole was a little wider than his shoulders, uncomfortably narrow but little chance of getting stuck.

  Aaron wasted no time admiring the gate, his breath already running short. He grasped its rough edges and pulled his body through. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted Shay and Jon’s historian had been incorrect. There was a way through the Plate, and where there was one there could be more. That changed the game.

  The glow outlining the gate was coming from some kind of luminous fungus which lined its edges. There was little else visible on the underside of the Plate. The white of the Plate itself was not visible, covered in layers of rocky green coral. Aaron could not see how deep the water went for the dark. He had no time to study the view. He began swimming into the black, back in the direction he’d come.

  His lungs were now screaming, but he could see another faint green glow beginning ahead of him, this one far larger than the one around the gate. It looked almost like a shimmering lake, but above instead of below him. As he neared it, he could make out the edges. He swam faster. Finally, he reached it, putting a hand up. He sensed air the moment before he scraped his knuckles bloody on the underside of the harsh coral above him. He felt around to ensure his head would fit, then he pushed above the water.

  Aaron quietly gasped, filling his lungs as he looked around. He was at the edge of a vast space, lit by the same green glow that had surrounded the gate. The ceiling curved steadily upwards, creating a large chamber. The impression of a lake stuck with him. A lake of air.

  He could see as far as the other end, where the water began again. There was a sort of a shore near that end, what looked like a silty, black sand. On the shore was a table. Three men, or rather Sunken, as he looked more closely, sat around it. There was a fourth chair, open. A pile of broken crates in the corner. Nothing else. Aaron went back under, turning around to see if he could find his way back. The glow of the gate was faint, but he could see it in the distance. He pushed his head back up and began swimming towards the Sunken.

  None of them turned as he approached, occupied with an activity on the table. Even as he found his feet on the beachy shelf, they continued to ignore him. The ceiling above was not much higher than Aaron’s head once he stood, and he could see more closely the source of the light. It looked as though the glowing fungus had been arranged deliberately, given there was a large cluster over the table where the Sunken sat, bathing them in green light. Aaron walked over to the table.

  They were playing cards. All three were focused on the game. There was a pile of fishhooks in the center and in front of each of the Sunken, apparently their version of chips or coins. The cards were oversized, painted slivers of wood, old and cracked. Each of the Sunken had lines and patches of the green coral growing on them, which made their movements stiff and unnatural as they reached for their cards. They had wooden cups before them, filled with a sharp smelling liquid they sipped as they played. Aaron recognized Locke from the night before, his bloodshot eyes now focused on his cards, but with the unmistakable jaw of coral, giving him a strange bearded look. The chair across from Locke was open. Aaron sat.

  They continued ignoring him, intensely focused on the cards. Aaron watched two hands before figuring out they were playing some version of Bastard Brag where the lowest hand was the winner. The ante was two fishhooks so, on the third hand, Aaron placed the two from his belt onto the table in front of him. There was a slight pause, for the first time the Sunken looking at him directly. After a pause and a glance at Locke, the dealer gave him three of the wooden cards.

  The third Sunken, glaring at Aaron, immediately raised the bet, looking to force him out. Aaron put the bottle of wine up on the table, hoping it matched the pot. From the greedy look the dealer couldn’t hide, it did.

  This hand was played with more intensity than the others. Locke was staring at Aaron more than the cards, leaned back where the other Sunken were leaned in. Aaron was forced to break up his hand and landed a pair, costing him the round as the glaring Sunken knocked. The Sunken greedily seized the wine, ignoring the rest of the pot.

  Locke watched the other study the bottle, then he picked up his cup and tossed the contents off to the side. He held the empty cup towards the Sunken with the bottle. That Sunken gave him a look of annoyance, but pulled the cork out of the bottle with his teeth. He emptied his own cup and poured wine into it.
Then he poured into Locke’s, then the third Sunken’s, who had also emptied his cup once he realized what was happening. The winning Sunken looked at Aaron, almost awkwardly, then Locke leaned down and opened a bag at his feet. The bag was made of fishnet, and several objects clanked around inside it as he drew out another cup. He wiped it with his hand, then put it on the table in front of Aaron. The Sunken with the bottle gave Aaron a pour, then quickly corked the wine bottle and placed it behind his back. They all took a drink, the Sunken clearly savoring the wine. The dealer picked up the cards again. When Locke signaled to deal him out, the two Sunken continued playing while Locke looked at Aaron, cup of wine held to his lips. Aaron could see a sharpness to his expression that the others lacked.

  “You are not of the Plate. Who are you?” Locke asked, his voice loud in the quiet space. There was both a rumble and a sort of fishy wetness to his speech, an odd contrast that made Aaron think of snakes wriggling on the sand.

  “Aaron Lorne.”

  “I am Locke Ungale. How did you come to be on the dark paths, watching the taking?”

  “A seer showed me. A woman named Madame Jane. Do you know her?”

  “I do not.”

  “Well, she showed me the way. She died doing so.”

  “The dark paths are not to be swum lightly. Especially not with the moon so high.” He looked at his companions. “That is Fennet Ungale. The one with the wine is Cornett Ungale.”

  “You are brothers?” Aaron asked.

  “No,” replied Locke. “There are only two surnames under the Plate. Ungale and Gale.”

  “Gale as in House Gale?”

  “The same. Is the name well remembered above the Plate?”

  “Among some.” There was a pause. “I was under the impression that there were no ways through the Plate,” Aaron said.

  “There are gates. The survival of the Sunken depend on them.”

  “How many?”

  “You ask many questions, Aaron Lorne. Why were you watching the taking?”

  “To learn how the princess was kidnapped, and who was involved.” He looked at Locke for a long time. “I’m trying to stop it from happening again.”

  “Why should it happen again? Lord Gale has what he wanted.”

  The wording seemed to indicate the daughter was alive. A good sign. “There were footprints in the Palace, same as the last time. The Queen thinks they are coming back for her other daughter.”

  Locke looked off into the distance. “I cannot pretend to understand every will of Lord Gale or of his servant Odell.”

  “What can you tell me of them?”

  Locke looked at Aaron, picking up and rubbing one of the wooden cards between his powerful fingers. “How closely did you see the Sunken who took the princess? Did you see the carved coral?” He gestured towards his jaw. “The coral grows on all of us. It cannot be stopped. But the Gale, they shape theirs. It is called a darkine. They sculpt their darkines over long and weary years. They measure their deeds in the coral. The longer and more elaborate the darkine, the higher their status among the House Gale. We of the Ungale are permitted no such luxury. Ungale discovered with sculpted coral are slain or have it stripped. It conveys rank. Ungale are not permitted rank.

  “It was those of the House Gale who took the princess. If they plan to take the other child, it is again House Gale. The Ungale are not your enemies. House Gale is. If you should see them, above or below the Plate, their death is warranted.

  “We wage a war down here. The Ungale fight for survival. The Gale fight to subjugate us, along with everything above and below.”

  “Can you not leave?”

  “To what end? To be hunted by the men above? To be enslaved by them up there as surely as House Gale would enslave us down here? This is our fate. We have food, water, light.” He gestured towards the ceiling above them. “Any escape would be temporary. The threshers guard the edges. The gates are nearly all held by the Gale. My small group of Ungale has survived thanks to the one gate. For now. One day the gate will be discovered and sealed. Or Odell will find us. The tides turn and bury us in green. It is our fate.”

  “It is our fate,” the other two Sunken said at the same time without breaking the rhythm of their game.

  “Who is Odell?” Aaron asked.

  “He is our great evil. A setter of traps. He holds Lord Gale’s ear. The Gale Lords have done little for generations aside from live in what splendor they can, a shadow of their former glory above. It is Odell who has given them imagination. He whispers to Lord Gale of a return to the topside of the Plate. He gives the dark creature imagination and now it grows restless in its prison. Soon the threshers will not hold back House Gale. They will come up through the gates and by way of the harbor. They will attempt to seize the Plate. Win or fail, it will spell the doom of the Ungale. Our life is fragile.” Locke looked around angrily. “I share too much. I hunger for news of change and have yearned for wine too long. Tell me of your tattoos.”

  Aaron looked at his chest and arms, where the marks cascaded along his body. The eastern system of marking deeds. The key to unlocking the loyalties of the creatures who had upset the balance of power across the kingdoms. “The marks are earned through deeds. Enemies bested. Are you aware of the return of dragons?”

  “The beasts of the sky. I have seen one once.”

  “They can read marks like these. It purchases their loyalty, in a way.”

  “I do not like the marks. They are too similar to the shaping of the coral. Odell should not be shown them. If they unlock a power, he will find a way to claim it. If there were footprints in the Palace, it means Odell has been there. It was he who scouted and brokered the last deal. You saw him at the boat.”

  Aaron had a suspicion that he’d also seen Odell in the first vision, the vision of the Sunken staring up covetously at a dragon. Madame Jane had said it was also important.

  “Can the Sunken surface along the harbor whenever they want?” Aaron asked.

  “No,” Locke replied, “only when the tide is right. When the moon is full, the threshers hide below. It is only at great risk we can surface. Unless a gate is held. But all but one are in the hands of Lord Gale.”

  “Where are the other gates?”

  “You ask for valuable information. I would not share it if I did know. But I do not. Maps are forbidden. To possess one is death. Odell has taken them all. You see what little we have. The Gale have held the underside since the Purge. They rounded up the survivors. Forced them into loyalty oaths. Brought their tyranny from above down below. We suffer and the tides turn and bury us in green. It is our fate.”

  “It is our fate,” the others repeated.

  Locke turned back to the game and indicated for another hand to be dealt. Without looking at Aaron, he said, “Go back above, Aaron Lorne. Do not return. Above, perhaps you can thwart the plans of Lord Gale. Down here you are powerless. You will be turned into a tool for Odell. You will shift the balance of the war farther against us. Leave now. The tides turn and bury us in green. It is our fate.”

  “It is our fate,” again echoed the other two Sunken.

  There was no more conversation for a long period, before Aaron rose from his chair and made his way to the water’s edge. He looked back, studying the strange scene, then slid into the water and swam away.

  Locke watched as the curious updweller’s head went below the water. He turned to Cornett, raising his empty cup and glowering until Cornett filled it with more wine. He sipped, staring in the direction of Aaron Lorne’s leaving long after the last ripples had calmed.

  “Bring me a message carrier. I must speak with Lord Gale.”

  …

  Aaron made his way back through the gate and surfaced in the middle of the dark pool.

  “Well,” said a loud voice, “that is one strange looking fish.” Laughter followed.

  The room was lit with several lamps. The gatekeeper was back in a corner. The speaker stood closest to the pool, a large man weari
ng a long grey coat and a matching brimmed hat. There were five other men standing around, all heavily armed. Aaron realized he recognized one of them, the man Jarmis whom they’d thrown in the canal the other night. The one who’d been following them. The one who worked for Jon’s rival on the contract with the Queen.

  The man in front knelt down close to the pool. “Aaron Lorne, welcome to the Plate. Do you know who I am?”

  Aaron wiped the cold water from his face. “Lorimer. I was wondering when you would show up.”

  Lorimer smiled, his hat low over his eyes. “I’ve been just dying for a chat.” He stood and turned to the others. “Pull him out of there, get his clothes on him, and throw a bag over his head. We’re going for a little ride.”

  Chapter 11. Through the Gate

  Cal counted eighty-eight captives. The Sunken had seized the few visible weapons among the crowd but hadn’t searched individuals. Which spared Cal the feel of their foul hands and left him the knife he wore near his ribs. They’d been ushered to a place deep within the Club Diamond, into the dark and moldy recesses of its subbasements, where there was a hole in one of the walls. The hostages had been led through a long tunnel, echoing with the cries and complaints of Surdoore’s wealthy, all poorly dressed for and unprepared in any way for the abduction. The Sunken had already collected any visible gold or other metals, which seemed to make the situation far more real for the guests of the Club Diamond.

  Cal had tried to keep close to Nalani, but she didn’t seem to share his desire. She moved fast, keeping a cool head as she weaved through the stumbling group towards the front of the pack, avoiding the attention of the Sunken guards who prodded them forward. Cal soon gave up and fell back, doing his best to observe their captors. He’d left several marks on the wall for Aaron or Jon to follow.

  The Sunken pushing them forward had a cruel gaze. The sharp and shapely ridged sails on their backs gave them a look more reptilian than fishy. Several had scarred or missing limbs, giving them a warlike appearance. Cal could feel their contempt for the prisoners.