by O. J. Lowe
“We’re in the drains,” Nick replied. “I think you should get a team down here to look at this. Something really strange is going on.”
“He’s right. He’s going about it in a really understated way, but he’s right,” Wilsin added.
They’d been given the order to wait; Brendan King had been on the line a few minutes later and told them to do so. It sounded like King was coming down himself, Wilsin had decided to run up and guide them down to the cavern while Nick waited with the remnants of the battle.
He yawned, tried to wipe some of the gunk off his clothes. His body ached where that tentacle had grabbed him. This day was already turning into a disaster, all he needed was Brendan to walk in and strip everything they’d done down. The chances were that he would as well, the whole thing just sounded so incredible. At least they still had the tentacle; it’d sound even more unfeasible if they didn’t have that. Either way, he still wasn’t looking forward to filing his report on the whole thing.
Wilsin turned, saw a door they’d not noticed earlier. He could smell blood again, horrible thick gore and lots of it. He glanced down, saw the puddle and stopped. Uh oh… Wilsin reached for the door handle, turned and…
He stepped into the room and stopped short as the stench hit him full on like a punch to the gut, the odour enough to send him dropping to his knees and upchuck his last meal. Still even that was almost pleasant compared to the sights he saw as he looked up, mounds on mounds of half-naked dark-skinned bodies piled high and lifeless, eyes blank and decomposing. Some of them still bore body paint on the exposed parts of rotting skin, dull and tarnished.
“My gods…” he whispered, not able to look away despite the horrific scenes in front of him. “Fucking hells.”
It looked like he’d found the missing natives of the island.
Chapter Eighteen. Recovery.
“The one thing the Vazaran National Tourism board never advertises to you, huh? Come to Vazara, birthplace of the genocide. More people killed brutally than anywhere else in the five kingdoms.”
A brutally flippant Christian Fagan to Alvin Noorland shortly after their examination of the native corpses.
The twenty sixth day of Summerdawn.
It didn’t take long for the cavern to become a hive of activity, as Brendan King showed up with Fank Aldiss and Vassily Derenko in tow, both looking decidedly grumpy at being brought up at the early hour. King, rather annoyingly Nick thought, looked gregarious enough for being gotten out of bed. A mood that had changed when he’d had the chance to take in what he and Wilsin had discovered. Privately Nick was glad Wilsin had found the natives the way he had. It added a little more credibility to the shaky argument that something fishy had been going on down here.
That phrase… he grimaced as he glanced over at the statue in the shadows. He hadn’t noticed it before during the firefight but with the lights all set up now to illuminate every corner of the area, it was something he wondered how he’d managed to miss. Something fishy. The statue was maybe about ten feet tall and cut out of rust coloured bronze, a giant squid-like being with a multitude of tentacles that looked all too horribly familiar. Just as he couldn’t help noticing the statue was almost on a parallel with where the portal had been. It would have been about level with the middle of it as well. A disc of smooth dark stone lay out in front of it, entirely unremarkable in its presence.
“Kalqus,” Brendan King had remarked on glancing at it, a remark that had surprised Nick as he’d heard it.
“Kalqus? The Divine?” He was a little surprise, not least because in his experience Kalqus, the divine of water, nourishment and fishing, was often depicted as a great whale. Though she was only a minor god, it felt like enough of difference to bring it up.
“That’d be right,” he said. “Kalqus’ depiction does change from culture to culture. You view her as a whale, it’s the way I see her. The squid approach is mainly a Burykian view but there have been some known instances of it in Vazara. Nobody has ever seen a god, Agent Roper, therefore it is rare that two people view them the same way.”
“Yeah but…” He cut himself off, letting his brain kick into gear rather than arguing the point, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “The way we view them gives shape? That theory?”
King nodded. “That’s correct. If enough people start to view a divine in a certain way, their conviction as to the nature of that appearance could invariably bring about changes in the being.”
“All of it theoretical, of course,” Aldiss offered. They’d already called in for more backup to help deal with what had been found down here. Already, Chris Fagan, Anne Sullivan and Alvin Noorland were wandering in, Anne looking a little nauseated. Noorland looked like there was a dozen other places he’d rather be.
“Let me guess,” Derenko said, glancing at her. “Saw the bodies?” She nodded, didn’t say anything. “Not pleasant, right?”
“Can they really keep the tournament going in light of this?” Fagan asked, his voice deep and accented with the high lilt of the islands he came from to the west of Canterage. “I mean, there’s something messed up with that.”
It was a question Nick had already considered and chosen not to voice. Considering the killing that had gone on here, it felt a very trivial thing to bring up.
“So much pain,” Anne said weakly. “Those people. They didn’t fear anything until this. They lived under the sun and the stars and they were herded down here like cattle and killed one at a time. And they never knew why. Those that were taken never came back alive.” She didn’t look well, like she wanted to vomit. Nick couldn’t blame her. Still, she hadn’t yet. More than could be said for Dave Wilsin. He’d already been read the riot act for contaminating a crime scene by chucking up in the vicinity.
“Nice,” Aldiss muttered. Derenko shook his head at him in disgust. Apparently, they were back to that debate over whether Sullivan possessed empathic abilities or not. Aldiss had always been in the camp that she didn’t; doubtless he was thinking she was playing the odds right now. If people had been locked up down here and murdered, it wouldn’t be hard to guess at their emotions during the whole ordeal.
Noorland, meanwhile had wandered over to the statue for a look, examining it with an appraising eye until finally he knelt at the disc of stone at the base of it, running a hand over it. He glanced at his palm, let out a sound of surprise as it came back covered in sticky dark residue. Residue that looked almost red. He sighed, leaned in and traced a finger through the stuff, feeling little grooves beneath the above layer of… Well that was it, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to think about how many people had been killed here to produce this much blood. Yet he couldn’t help but think the number in question might well tally up with those who’d been found upstairs.
“So,” he said, standing up and wiping his palm on one of the pillars, leaving a dirty great red smear down it. “Human sacrifice. Not something you see every day, right? Even if you’re us.”
“We don’t know that’s exactly what they were doing,” Brendan said quickly. “But either way, it doesn’t look good. We’ve got numerous dead bodies, several armed men also deceased, one big unidentified tentacle and two agents spinning a tale about squid monsters from another dimension.”
“I never mentioned other dimensions,” Wilsin offered. “But…”
“We also got a mad doctor,” Nick interrupted. “Jeremiah Blut. And there’s an awful lot of coincidence to explain away.”
“Such as why you felt the need to murder him?”
“There’s no evidence he’s dead,” Nick said quickly. As comebacks went, it felt decidedly hollow. “All I did was toss him through that thing. That portal you seem so intent on dismissing as a tale. And the timing is suspect at least. Almost to the second, he goes through that, it closes and the storm stops, we get Okocha on the comms in touch with us. Make of that what you will.”
“Both of you haven’t heard the last of any of this, keep that in mind,” Brendan said finally. “I
find some of this hard to believe.”
“Brendan,” Noorland said sketchily from across the room. “I don’t think any of us have heard the last of this. Take away the fantastical aspects of the story…”
“Let’s not forget the triplets either,” Wilsin said. “Why were they hanging outside the ICCC building yesterday?”
Noorland glared at him for the interruption and then carried on. “Take away the fantastical aspects of the story and the actual hard evidence is that there is something worrying going on here. Those people weren’t killed by accident.”
“Yeah,” Derenko offered. “And remember how they said the natives were going to be a problem when they first offered Carcaradis Island as a place for the tournament?”
“I do,” Fagan said. “I remember our director being asked for his opinion, as a city champion, and he said it’d be irresponsible to hold it here while there were dangerous natives in the vicinity.” He did such a good impression of Arnholt, it was uncanny.
“And those championing the bid said that it wouldn’t be a problem,” Anne remarked. “Guess they knew something we didn’t.”
“Come off it,” Aldiss scoffed. “You really think Reims, a big faceless corporation would stoop to hiring people to sacrifice the local natives one after another down in a cavern that as far as we know, nobody else knew about?”
“That’s true,” Noorland conceded. “I had Will call up the plans of the drainage system earlier before we came out here. This is not on them. Whole area is just unmarked. So, either someone did a shit job with the drainage or someone altered them.”
“I could see Reims arranging for the natives to be killed,” Nick said. “But why the sacrifice?” He jerked his head over towards the statue and the plinth. “That’s the definition of sacrifice, right? An offering before a deity.”
“Pretty much,” Brendan said. “I wouldn’t advise you to repeat that in public. Not in front of the media. Same goes for all of you.”
“Just thinking out loud, Chief King,” Nick shrugged. “Just as I’m thinking maybe Will should look see if there’s any connection between Reims and Jeremiah Blut. Or if he can identify those three men. Or see if he can pick anyone out of a crowd they contacted on the island while here. That’s what I’d suggest doing.”
“He has a point,” Noorland said. “We’re not going to get the answers stood around here all day.” He yawned as he said it, the hint being that he wanted to go back to bed. Nick could empathise with him on that one. The adrenaline was starting to wear off from the firefight and he could do with the rest.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Brendan nodded. “Okay, Noorland, go back to base and help Will out with all that. Derenko, you, Aldiss and Fagan stay here, run the entire scene and get everything we need. Leave no stone unturned, I want every detail catalogued and reported on. The rest of you, head back to the surface and go about your business as normal. Wilsin and Roper, I want your reports on this whole sorry mess by this time tomorrow. Dismissed.”
The sun had returned that morning, stronger than ever. It had beamed down hot enough to evaporate most of the remnant flood water in hours; the forecasters had found themselves predicting record high temperatures even for Vazara at that time of year. Most of the hotels had found themselves unscathed relatively from the damage. The architect had found himself involved in media work for various organisations for the next several days afterwards, trumpeting his own foresight about building them all atop slopes so they’d been spared the worst of the damage.
The stores and shacks that had been at the base of those slopes however had come off less well in the oncoming chaos, some very disgruntled owners had been forced to close, less than impressed with the architect. The owner of Birik’s Salves and Sedatives had been seen in a bar later that day hurling a glass at the viewing screen when the architect, Timo Berthold had been applauding his own ingenuity. Nobody had blamed him. Even the local law enforcement had refrained from charging him with the crime.
Again, the stadiums had fared slightly better, some external damage to the seating areas, some flooding on the battlefields but most had been declared fit to be used by ICCC officials following inspection.
The tournament resumed less than a day later…
Mia had looked better; Matt had to admit as he wandered into the hotel room. She lay in a bed, her body covered with one of those crappy hospital gowns and looked thoroughly miserable at being here. Although he did see her face light up a little as he walked in, which he had to admit made him feel slightly better. She didn’t like hospitals, she never had.
“Hey, bro,” she said, her voice a little hoarse. “How’s it going?”
“Better than you,” he grinned, holding up the balloon. It was a shiny black colour with the words ‘Get Well Soon’ written on it in silver writing, he let it go and it hit the ceiling. “Brought you something to cheer you up and make the place look brighter.” He looked around and rolled his eyes. “Something to break up the white on white look.”
She managed a larger smile than she had before. “Bless you, Matt.”
“It’s the least I could do for you,” he said, unable to hide his grin. “How often do I get the chance to tell people my sister got hypothermia in the middle of Vazara? Epic fail, right?”
Her eyes narrowed and if she’d had something to hand, she might have thrown something at him. Instead she descended into a coughing fit that immediately made him regret his joke.
“Glad you’re better, Mia.”
“Yeah, be out of here soon,” she said. “I hope.”
That was when the door burst open and a man, strange to Matt but someone Mia looked to recognise by the glass eyed look she took on immediately, entered the room with what he could only be described as a flounce. He carried three bouquets of brightly coloured Vazaran wildflowers, reds and purples and yellows all blended together in perfect harmony, as well as a box of chocolates in a pink heart shaped box. His hair was long and his suit an acid green, his shirt a vivid shade of violet. He gave the impression of filling the room, it wasn’t just the way his suit struggled to contain his bulk, but the force of will he left trailing behind him, an exuberant sense of something Matt couldn’t quite describe.
“Mia, honey,” he said, barrelling past Matt and straight to his sister. “I heard you were in here and never did my heart twist more. Here, have these, a token of my appreciation.” He dropped everything on the bed around her and bent down, taking her two small hands in his great pudgy paws.
“Harv,” she said. “Hey!” The glass eyed looked had been replaced with something else, Matt noticed, an open sense of gratitude as she reached up and hugged him. He hugged back, Matt narrowed his eyes to try and see better. Did he really clench his fists tight together as she did? Surely that was his imagination. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Well I didn’t mean to be,” Harv said. “But spirit dancing season is over, right? And I got a neat new job to tie me over for the summer. Ma’s treatments aren’t going to pay for themselves. Which by felicitous circumstances means I’m here. What an amazing coincidence, right?”
“I know,” Mia replied, glancing past him to her brother. “Harvey, this is my brother, Matthew Arnholt.” Matt wasn’t prepared to have his offered hand suddenly snatched from him and kissed, Harvey giving him a wink as he pressed lips to skin. He fought down the urge to pull it away. Somehow, he got the impression that’d do more harm than good. “Matt, this is Harvey Rocastle. He’s a spirit dancer like me.”
“Mia m’dear, there are no spirit dancers like you,” Harvey trilled. Mia went red and giggled slightly, a small grin on her face. “You’re one of a kind.”
“Just like everyone else,” Matt muttered. If Harvey heard him, he didn’t give any sign of it, instead focusing all his attention on Mia.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked urgently. “It’s not fatal, is it?” She shook her head. “Oh, thank the gods, my prayers will be extra-long and hard tonight. You’ll ha
ve a special place in them, Mia.”
“Errr… Thanks, Harv. I’m fine. Should be out before long. But thanks for the concern.” She sounded almost sincere, Matt had to note, as she said it.
“Hey, I can’t be getting rusty because my main rival is in the hospital,” Harvey giggled, patting aside some of the flowers and sitting down on the bed next to her. “Hey, speaking of, I see Ulikku is kicking ass here. Go dancers!” He did such an exaggerated twist of the shoulders and arms Mia burst out laughing. Matt fought the urge to roll his eyes. Oh brother…
“So, tell me about your new job,” Mia said. “What brings you out here?”
“Ah my favourite subject,” he replied. “Me! Me, me, me and more me just for a bit extra me. Anyway honey, you know about sponsorships, right?”
Matt perked up at the mention at that. It wasn’t uncommon for new callers from families that didn’t have the credits to buy the equipment to seek out someone wealthier to finance them for all the basic starter supplies on the proviso that once their career took off, they would pay them back with their winnings over time.
“Yeah,” Mia said. The two of them had been party to a sort of sponsorship arrangement with their father. Although he was wealthy enough not to have needed it, Terrence Arnholt had told both his children that they were going to pay him back for the starter equipment. They’d both long since done so. Mia had resented it at the time, Matt remembered but by the time she had enough credits to pay him back, she’d done so in double quick time.
“Well I’m here on a scouting mission for a company who are looking for those to sponsor,” Harvey said excitedly. “I’m to find those that we can take to the next level.”
“So, you came to an elite tournament to do that?” Matt asked, a little surprised at the revelation. It felt like someone possibly hadn’t thought that one through. “The two hundred statistically best callers in the five kingdoms, give or take, and you came here to look for sponsorship chances?”