He stripped off and changed into a pair of black trousers that were easily a size too big, as well as a plain white t-shirt that was slightly more snug. Even so, when he looked in the mirror he tamped down a sigh. Almost everyone on board was used to some kind of manual labour, had muscles. Francis wasn’t much different than Celeste’s initial assessment—“He looks like he weighs all of one-fifty soaking wet.”
He belted up the trousers and tucked the shirt in, but didn’t look much better. For a while he fussed, wondered about just wearing his regular clothes again, but finally decided against it. His stomach was complaining noisily, and now he’d decided to eat, he realised just how hungry he was.
Leaving the room, he met Trove several metres down the corridor, where he stood poring over a sheet on that ever-present clipboard.
“Aha,” he said, tucking it back under his arm as Francis approached. “You look like one of the team now.”
If Trove was expecting a smile or something, he didn’t get one. But it didn’t matter, as he said, “This way,” and headed up the corridor, Francis keeping pace in silence beside him.
The canteen was one of the larger rooms on the middle deck. Francis had been shown it during his tour yesterday, but then it was empty. Now it looked practically heaving: there were at least a dozen people here—how many people were aboard this ship? Seventeen, had Trove said?—most of them at square tables (bolted down, of course, along with the chairs), the rest queuing at the serving station by the near wall.
“I’m afraid our stocks are rather low at present,” said Trove as he ushered Francis into the queue and handed over a tray from the nearby stack. He placed a bowl and spoon down for him, then assembled his own. “We’re due to arrive at the next port in a few days, but until then pickings are slim.”
He was right: all that was on offer was a somewhat grey vat of porridge. Standing over it, clutching a spattered ladle, was one of the biggest men Francis had ever seen. An apron was tied about his enormous frame, dwarfed in comparison to the man. And his face … well. There was no polite way about it: this man looked slow.
“Good morning, Samuel,” Trove said when he and Francis reached the front of the queue.
The cook grunted. He gestured at Francis, who hesitated a moment and then extended his tray. Samuel dunked the ladle, then tipped it unceremoniously into Francis’s bowl, before waving him aside to do the same for Trove.
“Don’t mind him,” Trove said as they moved for the nearest empty table. “Perfectly friendly man.”
“Mm,” was all Francis replied with.
Sitting down, Francis considered the porridge. He’d been hungry not minutes ago, but now, faced with this stodgy mess …
Then his stomach rumbled again, and he thought he’d better tuck in regardless.
He took a taste—
“Yes,” Trove said with a knowing look. “Leaves a little to be desired, doesn’t it?”
Francis chewed, slow, and then swallowed. Maybe he wasn’t hungry after all.
“Is this all you have?”
“For now, I regret. I’m not particularly enamoured by it either.” Trove gave his bowl a distasteful look. “Normally breakfast would be a little more colourful; beans, scrambled eggs, toast. A little more flavoursome, too.” He spooned a bite into his mouth, considered, swallowed and then added, “Marginally.”
They ate in relative quiet. Now and again someone would pass and say a hello to Trove or Francis, and after they were gone Trove would remind Francis of whether or not he’d met them, and who they were: “That’s Mikhail; he’s a general workhand. Usually on weapons, but since picking you up he’s been repairing the decking.” Or: “Sia Cowell; she’s one of our technicians; spends most of her time in the control centre.” Or: “Vala and Stefan. They’re the Pantheon’s resident couple.”
By the time they were almost finished, the canteen was only half as full as it had been when they entered. Francis glanced about, trying to find the few faces he might recognise. No sign of that Benjamin fellow, and Natasha had already left.
There was no sign of Celeste, either.
“Morning, troops.”
— never mind.
Ruby sat down with a tray of her own, smiling brightly. Francis gave her a cursory glance, then resumed fiddling with his spoon and the last dregs of his lukewarm breakfast. Probably for the best; glaring this early was surely considered impolite.
“Any news?” Ruby asked.
“Nothing particularly noteworthy,” said Trove, checklist already in front of him. “We’re flying a little low this morning, through a cloud formation, though Miss Brady assures me we should be clear shortly. And a power surge disrupted one of the condensers last night, but Peters corrected the fault and everything continues to run smoothly.”
Ruby tutted. “Same battery?”
“That’s right.”
“We really ought to get that replaced.”
“We had hoped to schedule maintenance at the Eden if we had time—but we didn’t.”
Ruby paused, spoon midway to her lips. She frowned. “No, we didn’t.” She chewed slowly, then turned to Francis. “And are you settling in?”
He glanced at her and shrugged before returning to his bowl.
“I expect those clothes aren’t quite a perfect fit,” Ruby continued. “Trove, would you see if you can free up some time in Vala’s schedule?” To Francis she said, “Vala is the ship’s seamstress, among other things. If you give her your measurements, she’ll be able to take those clothes in for you properly.”
Francis shrugged again. “Okay.”
There was a moment of awkward silence.
An alarm’s wail broke it, and a fraction of a second later—
Francis was tossed forward into the table as something boomed against the ship. Bowls and trays scattered, painting wet grey streaks across the table, floor—clothes—
Two more explosions juddered the ship.
The chatter in the canteen had dissipated. The world spun, then Francis was being pulled to his feet. Men and women were quickly moving into action, Ruby at the fore, issuing commands as the room emptied. It was she who had hold of Francis now, dragging him up by the wrist. Above everything, that alarm still sounded.
“Are you okay?” Ruby asked.
“I—”
They were moving now, out through the door, and Francis had to concentrate to get his feet to keep up. On Ruby’s other side, Trove looked just as harried as he half-ran to keep pace, one hand plastered to the top of his head.
“What’s happening?” Francis gasped.
Ruby glanced at him sidelong. Her mouth was set into a hard line. “We’re under attack.”
2
Every workstation in the control room was manned. Ruby released Francis by the door, then strode to the main display. Chatter filled the room as technicians gave reports.
“What happened?” Ruby asked.
“Not sure,” said Sia. “Cameras four through six are all down for the count; damaged in the attack.” She brought up the displays and cycled through, but there was nothing: not even static.
“What about before they were taken offline?”
“Camera five caught something black; a cannonball, I’d guess.” A blurry still cycled onto her display, a black streak cut in a sea of white. “It only lasted a moment, and cloud cover is too dense to see anything else.”
Fantastic; so now they were operating half-blind.
Another boom rocked the ship. Ruby clutched the back of Sia’s chair, rooting herself to her feet until the vibration passed.
“Natasha,” Ruby said, moving to the navigation leader, who was perched on a station of her own.
“Aye, Captain,” she answered without looking up.
“I need the ship spun around. Direct all thrust into the spin, and then begin to climb. They’re firing into our blind spot; I want cameras one through three focussed on the direction their shots are coming from.”
“Got it.”
“What if we lose those cameras too?” Sia asked.
Ruby didn’t answer. Instead she returned to the door, and Francis, where he stood gripping the frame, eyes wide and panicked.
“You’re going to want to hold tight.”
Francis opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t get a chance. The ship lurched around in a tight half-circle. His stomach felt like it might break through one side of his ribcage—
Then it was over and the ship began to rise.
Ruby shot Francis a glance. He looked positively green. Trove didn’t look much better.
She strode back to the main console.
“Cameras one through three; on screen.”
The main display flipped from diagnostics to the camera feeds. Right now there was nothing but white on each, swirling in the Pantheon’s wake.
Ruby waited, watching.
Something streaked out of the abyss on camera three. It was visible for half an instant, and then two things happened: the ship rocked from the booming impact, on the other side now, and the feed went black.
“Cut it loose,” Ruby instructed. A moment later, only cameras one and two remained on display. Toward the back of the room, she said, “Stefan, status on the portside cannons.”
“Loaded and operational.”
“Fire a volley of shots on my mark. Mark.”
Thunder rumbled, and six cannons unloaded into the cloud.
“Mark.”
Again.
“Mark.”
And again.
“Cannons empty,” Stefan said.
“Radio Mikhail and the others; I want them reloaded post-haste.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Turning back to the main console, Ruby said, “Diagnostic report.”
This time the camera feeds remained, but Sia’s display cycled through to a schematic of the entire ship. A number of sections were marked in amber, and text scrolled madly along the right-hand side of the screen.
“Battery One has failed; condensers have lost power. Re-route?”
“Not yet.”
Another explosion rocked the ship, same direction as before. Static flickered on camera two, but its image held.
One of the amber lights on Sia’s display blinked to red. “Hull has been split,” she said.
Shit. Ruby spun. “Stefan: mark.”
The cannons rumbled again.
Ruby opened her mouth to say something else, but Sia cried, “Captain!”
The feeds on the screen had changed: swirls of white parted, and through the gulf surged a black ship, half the Pantheon’s size, twisting as it came. One of its fins was missing entirely, and great holes were torn in its wooden exterior, revealing blackened steel beneath, and in one place a great maw-like tear. A name was printed along the side in fat white letters: MODICUM, the bottom of the last M missing.
The cameras went dark. A shearing noise filled the air.
The room exploded into more chatter than ever: instructions and reports and radioed commands.
“We’re being boarded!” someone shouted.
Ruby was already moving. “Natasha, cease all movement. I don’t want to risk further damage to the ship if we’re pushing in opposite directions.”
“On it.”
“Stefan, radio Mikhail. Inform his team of what’s happening and get them up on deck.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Sia, Amelie, put as much of the ship into lockdown as you can, leaving clear routes for us to get topside.”
Two voices chorused: “Aye.”
Ruby strode across the room.
“Awaiting orders,” Trove said.
“Ensure things move smoothly,” Ruby instructed.
Trove nodded, saluted, and was out the door.
That just left one person: Francis, whose terrified eyes roved the chaotic room. He still clung to the door frame as if expecting another explosion to rock the ship at any moment.
“Francis,” Ruby said. His eyes fixed onto her, all whites. “You’re coming with me.”
3
“Where are we going?”
They were moving up the stairs to the upper deck, Ruby at a march, Francis hurrying along behind. Not that he had much choice in the matter: once again his wrist found itself clamped in her hand.
“You’re about to get a real taste of what being a part of my crew is like,” she said. And was that brightness in her voice? Apparently they were about to be boarded, and she was cheerful?
“I don’t—” Francis started, but didn’t finish; Ruby jerked him around a corner. Before he could catch his breath, they forked again into a room Trove had pointed out yesterday; storage.
Ruby deposited Francis by the door. Rubbing his wrist, Francis huffed for breath and took the place in. Greenish-grey metal lockers of various sizes filled the small space. A thin bench split it into two aisles.
“What’s—”
“Aha!” Ruby withdrew something long from the locker she’d been sifting through. Beaming, she returned to Francis and swung it around his waist before he could shift.
“Hey!”
“Hold still,” she cajoled.
“What are you doing?”
Evidently the thing she’d removed was attached to a belt, as she buckled it up as tight as it would go, then shuffled it from side to side with her hands. “Is that comfortable?”
Taking a backward step, she sized him up and grinned again. “Perfect. Your sword, Francis.”
If his mouth could drop any further, it did then. “What?” Staring down, he saw it: the belt, and affixed on his left, a sheath from which protruded the handle of a fucking sword! “No!” His fingers pried at the buckle.
Ruby caught him. “Come on, we had to kit you out sometime.” His wrist back in her hand, she exited the room, dragging him along behind.
“Stop!” Francis shouted. He pulled back, free hand desperately fiddling with the belt. “Wait, stop!”
Ruby paused. “What?”
Before he could speak, a voice shouted from up ahead: “Captain?”
Ruby pivoted, and Francis stared behind her. The ladder topside stood maybe half a dozen metres ahead, an uneven circle of light cast about its foot. Through the open porthole in the ceiling a head was visible.
“Mikhail?”
“There’s something you need to see.”
Ruby stepped forward, and Francis thought about just darting back—but she had his wrist, of course she did, and he was jerked along next to her, feet protesting before turning the stumble into the best walk he could manage.
“What is it?” Ruby asked. “How many are there?”
Mikhail pulled a face. “Nothing like that. It’s … kind of hard to explain.”
“Well, do your best.”
“It’s the ship itself. Huge parts of it—they’re missing.”
4
Ruby stared. For a long time, she wasn’t really sure what she was looking at, because she had never seen anything quite like this.
The Modicum was a wreck. No, worse. The full front third of the topside deck was gone. Not just the wooden decking itself, but the steel beneath. Around the edges of the great, uneven hole she could just see it peering out in places, edges like frayed paper.
The Modicum’s first level was visible underneath, but that was also incomplete. Rooms were sliced open, the ceiling and some of the walls missing, and the floor itself had been split apart, so that extra holes stared down into a blacker abyss below. Somewhere a light flickered, but its glow was brief and feeble.
“What happened here?” Ruby asked, but no one answered.
A crowd had gathered upon the Pantheon, by the rails, staring. They had expected the Modicum’s crew to surge onto their ship, but so far no one had come. Were it not for the shots fired, this might have been a ghost ship.
After all, who let their ship degenerate into this?
Ruby allowed herself to take it in a moment longer, then gave a resolute nod. Turning to h
er crew, she said, “Right, people. No one has boarded us, so we’re boarding them. Two teams; half with me, the rest led by Mikhail.” He nodded at that. “This is SkyHugger-class, but it’s small: two decks at most. We’ll take the upper level; Mikhail, you take lower. Encounter any resistance, you know what to do.
“Take care. Whatever happened here, this ship is clearly unstable. Be careful with your footing, and above all, remain aware at all times. Someone is on board, and I’m not about to fall into any traps.”
A chorus: “Aye, Captain.”
As the groups arranged themselves, Ruby stepped around the cluster. Francis was sat against the Pantheon’s closest fin. His eyes were closed, and he cradled his legs. He looked pale.
“You’re with me,” Ruby said, crouching beside him. When he didn’t look up, she continued, “We’re going to look around, maybe salvage some supplies.”
Still he didn’t answer. Ruby waited, her lips pressing into a thin frown, before—
“Hey!” Francis cried, as she grabbed his wrists and jerked him to his feet.
“Relax,” she simply said, and then turned and pulled him across the deck.
The crew had split into two teams now. Ruby’s comprised Evans and Natasha. She gave them both a nod as they stood at attention.
“I want this to be a clean sweep,” said Ruby. “Check every door, every corner. Deal with resistance as and when.
“Stick by me,” she said to Francis. The only response he gave was a panicked look. “You’re safe with us,” she reminded him. Not that he looked convinced.
Mikhail took his team over the edge first, walking carefully across the small amount of decking the Modicum still possessed. Ruby watched as they moved, searching for the best point of entry; then Mikhail ordered them in one by one as they dropped down, first to one level, then to the level below.
Ruby listened. If anyone was hidden in wait, there would surely be a noise, a cry—but no sounds of battle came, and after a minute she gave her group a nod. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Evans climbed over first. Natasha gave Francis a curious look, then nodded at her captain and was over a moment later.
The Ruby Celeste Series - Box Set, books 1 - 3: Ghost Armada, Dire Kraken, and Church of Ife Page 5