The Ruby Celeste Series - Box Set, books 1 - 3: Ghost Armada, Dire Kraken, and Church of Ife

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  2

  Francis stared, dumbfounded, at Ruby’s blazing eyes.

  “I—what—”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m saying,” Ruby growled. She took a step closer and jabbed Francis in the chest. She was shorter than him by an inch, but that jab packed a lot of punch. “All this started after we picked up you from the Eden.”

  “Whoa, whoa!” That was Natasha. She hurried across the room. “Don’t start attacking Francis! This isn’t his fault!”

  “No, of course not!” Ruby whirled, threw her arms in the air. “Because you vouched for him. And that means he’s okay, right? That means he’s not some kind of spy dumped here by that fucking Rhod Stein—”

  If it could fall any further, Francis’s mouth did then. “That’s what you think?”

  “Yes, that’s what I think!” Ruby roared. “I’ve captained this ship for years, and in the couple of weeks since we picked up you, we’ve come under attack three times. Funny, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “And then you start crawling around the ship all the time. I saw you the other morning, in the pantry.”

  “Getting supplies for breakfast!”

  “Or poking around. Maybe you were learning more about the ship and its ins and outs after your first attempt on my life failed!”

  “No!”

  “And now you’ve gathered your information, we’re under attack again! Or is that just a convenient coincidence?”

  “Yes!”

  Ruby looked ready to scream. “Don’t you give me that—”

  Natasha pushed between them. “Leave him alone!” She faced Ruby’s crimson face. “Francis did not do this!”

  “And how do you know? How can you profess to know his character so damn well?”

  “Because I talked to him!” Natasha shouted. “I spent time with him! I tried to be there for him! I empathised with him, instead of thrusting a sword upon him and telling him to board a ship! Because unlike you, Ruby, I tried my best to understand what he was going through and his feelings, instead of trying to push him into the kinds of things you find exciting but he doesn’t!”

  There was silence. Real silence, Francis realised: everyone was listening. No hands on keyboards. Even the alarms had been quieted. Workstations sat forgotten as their technicians watched the drama unfolding by the open doorway.

  “That’s bullshit,” Ruby said at last.

  “No, it’s not,” said Natasha. “I may not have known him long, but I do know that this—these attacks—are not something Francis is capable of. He’s a good person. Like us.”

  If Ruby had a retort to that, it didn’t come. Her radio clicked. With a begrudging look at Natasha and then Francis, she turned toward the centre of the room and lifted the communicator to her lips.

  “Yes, Mikhail.”

  His voice came back, very slightly tinny: “We’re in the corridor now, Captain.”

  “Anything?”

  “Looks like they blew a pretty big hole in the roof. Porthole’s gone, and the top of the ladder is a mess. But it’s clear, and—wait—shit, guys, move!”

  Cracks echoed over the link. Even over the communicator they were clear: gunshots.

  “What’s happening?”

  Mikhail’s voice was pocked by more gunshots. “Three of them! Just dropped down the—” Four fast shots, louder than the others, and then Mikhail was back. “Just took out one, but—”

  Someone screamed in the background.

  “Reuben!” Mikhail yelled.

  “What happened?” Ruby shouted.

  “Bullet to the leg—”

  CRACK!

  “They’re pushing forward—”

  CRACK!

  “Don’t know—”

  There was a scuffle, a heavy sound very close by—then silence.

  Ruby stared at her communicator in horror. All the colour drained from her face. “Mikhail?”

  A voice answered, but it wasn’t Mikhail’s. Wasn’t the voice of anyone on the ship at all.

  “Hello, Ruby Celeste.” A man: silky and dangerous. Like the one who’d held Francis at gunpoint. “I hoped I’d get to speak to you.”

  3

  Tracking down the Pantheon had taken days.

  The first time had been relatively simple. But after Miles had got himself killed, the Pantheon had fled and changed course. So what could have been a quick search had stretched into almost a week.

  A week to mull things over.

  Four men made up Imelda’s collection of assassins. They were good—very good. Most of the operations were simple affairs; the men and women with money—the men and women whose last moments these four men all watched—were also men and women without any kind of ability when it came to self-defense. A few punches, maybe a fractured rib, but never anything that took too long to mend.

  And then this Ruby Celeste woman. Another job from Rhod Stein, which was handed to Miles. Miles had tracked the ship, boarded, and then promptly vanished. Had to be dead. His Pod was abandoned, drifting.

  Leon had found it.

  Found his brother’s empty ship.

  He’d wailed at first. One hour, maybe two, just sat in that tiny craft, bawling to himself. His brain went through memories, tiny things he’d forgotten until now, like the time their parents had brought them to an arcade and Leon had run out of money. Always the same; the neon colours and jingling sounds unleashed the reckless gambler inside him, and before fifteen minutes had passed he’d cycled through as many machines as his allowance would permit. Then, near the back, he’d spied a grabber machine, and inside, at the very top, was a plush toy of his favourite comic book character. Leon just had to have it. But when he reached for a coin, he came up empty. The last had gone into a shoot-em-up game he’d barely lasted more than a minute at.

  Faced with this object of his dreams (temporarily, anyway; before this morning it hadn’t crossed his mind, and by next week would be forgotten) and no way of retrieving it, Leon did the only thing his young mind could think of: he began to cry.

  Miles had heard. Miles was always more careful with money—with everything, really—and headed over, his pockets still jangling, to see what his younger brother was sobbing about. And then he popped one of his own coins into the machine, expertly (for an eight-year-old) worked the joystick, and ten seconds later out popped the plushie.

  Memories like that. Little things that hadn’t entered Leon’s mind for years. Now they came back in a flood, each one bringing a stab of pain worse than the last.

  Once his tears eventually petered out, he called Imelda. Like him, she was upset, though in perhaps a different way. Leon felt like he’d been gutted; Imelda was simply angry. Leon wasn’t angry yet, but would be.

  For now Imelda told him to leave things with her, and to tether the pod back. Later she would give instructions; just had to speak to Rhod first.

  After she’d spoken to Stein, Imelda called her other two men back: Karl, built thick with a buzz cut, and a short, lithe fellow who had been introduced as Zed. Leon had a feeling that wasn’t his real name, but the man was good—even more so considering he was approaching middle age—and thus he’d never questioned it.

  The remaining trio were sent in search of the Pantheon. The assassination of this woman was in their hands now; it was just a matter of finding her.

  A week of inaction was enough for Leon to grow inward. At first he’d simply been sad that his brother had been taken from him. But then, as the days lengthened and the Pantheon remained elusive, that sadness shifted into hate. Because she had done this: that woman on the ship they were searching for. Ruby Celeste had killed Miles.

  So it would be Leon that killed Ruby. And he would enjoy it, too.

  Zed had finally found the Pantheon, late last night. He had radioed Imelda, and then Leon and Karl; the three had returned to base, where they swapped their Pods for a sleek black craft. Long, it housed a lone cannon. Like the Pods, it also was home to
a Volum, as well as eight supercharged batteries to deliver terrific speed. Still, those batteries wouldn’t last: they’d catch up to the Pantheon, take her out, and have just enough juice left to get home before they were down to the Volum alone.

  “Do not open fire,” Imelda had warned as the men boarded. “Treat this as a normal operation. The cannon is only an option if she spots you first.”

  Leon planned to take that advice. But then, as they caught up with the ship this evening and radioed Imelda, he changed his mind.

  “She’s in our sights,” he said.

  “Good,” was Imelda’s answer. For all the distance, it was practically as though she was in the room. Expensive stuff, this tech, but Imelda was connected.

  “Hanging pretty low.”

  “Just get above her and board. You know what to do after that.”

  Leon nodded. He was about to agree, but … something in him flexed. That woman in there had killed his brother. She was obviously cunning. And Leon wanted to make her hurt before he struck the head from her shoulders and torched the ship.

  But boarding? Sneaking in and killing her, then setting the ship ablaze? That wasn’t nearly good enough vengeance.

  So he said, “No.”

  Karl and Zed looked around.

  Imelda: “What?”

  “I’m opening fire.”

  “No! That’ll warn her!”

  “Then it’ll make it more fun.”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  But Imelda’s words were lost as Leon cut the connection.

  Karl and Zed looked at him expectantly. He gave them little more than a glance before cycling through to the cannon controls and getting a lock on the ship.

  Everything after that had been a blur. Instead of heading down and opening the porthole from the outside, Leon had smashed it open. For the best, really: some of these ships were outfitted with automated locking sequences that started up in case of attack. Now they’d bypassed that entirely.

  All three had dropped in, and immediately met four men armed with pistols. A firefight erupted in the corridor. Quarters were tight; Karl took a bullet to the head and went down. Then Zed hit one of the Pantheon’s men in the leg and knocked him out too. A few more shots had been squeezed off from either side, but the injured man had the crew’s attention, and Leon had been able to stride over and knock out the big, black-haired fellow talking on his communicator. Zed had already dropped the other two.

  And now here they were: stood inside this woman’s ship, this murderer’s ship, in a corridor pocked with bullet holes. And Leon was speaking to Celeste herself on this communicator.

  “Who are you?” she demanded. There was ice in her voice, and she sounded young. Or maybe that was fear. An undercurrent, masked, but there. Celeste was scared. Good.

  “That’s irrelevant. For now. We’ve knocked out your men and confiscated their weapons. One of them has been shot, but I think he’ll survive. Maybe.”

  “If you—”

  “They’re safe,” said Leon. These situations were always the same. People were so predictable. “For now. But they won’t be unless you come to us—alone.”

  Silence. Leon waited, exchanging a look with Zed, and then pressed down on the communicator again. “I’ll give you two minutes. If you don’t show up alone, and unarmed, I will shoot one of these men. Every sixty seconds that pass, another will die. And once all four are gone, I’m coming for you. Understand me?”

  Celeste’s voice came back, flat. “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll start counting, then.”

  Leon switched off the communicator, dropped it to the floor. It had been handy, if a little rusted.

  Now it was just a question of waiting.

  4

  All eyes were on Ruby. Ten seconds passed as she stood silently, eyes boring somewhere through the floor.

  “Ruby,” Natasha started.

  The Pantheon’s captain turned and headed for the door. Natasha stepped into her path and grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You heard the man,” Ruby said. “I’ve got two minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds. Probably about ninety now. I need to go.”

  “But they’ll kill you—”

  “And they’ll kill four of my crew if I don’t.” Ruby inhaled. “Natasha Brady, I am ordering you to stand aside. Same for the rest of you by the door. Trove. And you, Francis.”

  “Ruby—”

  “That’s an order, Natasha. I am your captain. Now move.”

  Francis thought she wouldn’t, wished she wouldn’t. But Natasha did step aside, as did Trove, and Ruby strode toward the door.

  “Your sword,” Natasha called as Ruby passed over the threshold. “They want you to go unarmed.”

  “That’s correct; they do.”

  And then Ruby was gone.

  5

  Exactly twenty seconds remained when a woman appeared at the end of the corridor. A short woman with crimson curls underneath a ridiculous tricorne hat.

  “So,” Leon said. “You must be Ruby Celeste.”

  She waited. Her at one end, the two men at the other, a bundle of four unconscious bodies behind. There was blood, too, smeared across the floor where someone had been dragged. That was Evans. Ruby assessed without even looking at it. Scarlet and unsightly, but not too much. He wasn’t bleeding out. That was good. Stitches. If he got out of this.

  Ruby said, “I am. And would you care to explain who you are?”

  6

  “No,” Zed answered, but Leon stepped in front of him at the same moment and said, “You killed my brother.” He levelled his gun at Ruby’s head. One shot. One squeeze of the trigger. It was so tempting now they were face to face.

  Ruby looked from Leon to Zed and back again. “Sounds like that one speaks for you,” she said. Her tone was cold, unflinching.

  Leon took another step, jabbed at the air. Four metres of clearance between them, easy. But still she wasn’t threatened. Or if she was, she wasn’t showing it.

  “Maybe you should be quiet and let him do the talking,” Ruby said. “You’re clearly agitated.”

  “You killed my brother!”

  “Did I.” It wasn’t a question. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of interest to her voice. Celeste just sounded bored.

  Heat rose in Leon’s stomach. Another step. Behind him, Zed warned, “Leon.”

  “Yes, Ruby Celeste, you did. So now I’m going to kill you. But I’m going to make it hurt. Do you understand that?” She didn’t answer, so Leon jabbed the gun again. Maybe even shortened their gap further. He wasn’t sure. “I said, do you understand that?”

  “I’ll tell you what I understand,” said Ruby. Now she moved forward. It was small, a half-step, but enough for Zed to say something. Some warning, some word; yet it was lost. “You opened fire on my ship. Destroyed our navigational control, took out our cameras. Blew a hole in it. Shot at my men—injured one of them.

  “Yes, I did kill your brother. The guy that appeared last week, right? I know the one. Blew his brains out myself. Splattered them over the wall. He tried to get a shot off, but clearly I’m just too quick.”

  Boiling blood coursed Leon’s veins. His hand shook. Ruby was closer now, had inched further up the corridor, he was sure. Almost close enough to reach out and grab, to wrap his hands around, to scream in her face as it went crimson, then purple, then blue …

  “You’re wrong,” Ruby continued in a low, dangerous voice. Her eyes flashed. “You will not hurt me; not you, nor the man behind you.”

  “And why’s that?” Leon hissed.

  “Because you don’t have a gun.”

  And before another word could leave Leon’s throat, or before the warning escaped Zed’s, she reached for the sword sheathed at her waist, drew it, and sliced Leon’s arm off at the wrist in one smooth, clean motion.

  7

  A bullet whizzed up the corridor and embedded itself in the wall where Ruby had been
standing a moment ago. But she was safe: she’d positioned herself just enough behind this angry man that the other assailant couldn’t get a killing shot off if he tried. Not unless he wanted to kill the person he’d come here with.

  The man was screaming even before his severed forearm hit the ground. The gun went off, blowing up splinters inches from Ruby’s feet. Blood pounded out in a hot river. He clutched the stump, but his fingers did nothing to stem the flow.

  Another gunshot, and this time Ruby felt the fabric of her jacket rip.

  Quickly, she thought. This guy was out of action, but the other was too far away. She couldn’t get to him without making herself a perfect target. Even if she didn’t move, he only needed to straighten his aim just a little more …

  She stooped, snatched the gun up in her left hand.

  Springing to one side, she took aim. Another gun pointed back at her.

  She fired.

  The bullet struck him in the stomach. He fell backward, squeezing his own trigger, burying a bullet in the ceiling. Clattering; the gun fell from his hand.

  “Now,” Ruby said. She tossed her pistol away and rounded on the first man. He was pressed up against the wall, burbling incoherently. His face was papery and white. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here …”

  “Please,” he wheezed. “Pl-please …”

  “But you attacked my ship, and my people. And you will never—” she swung the sword up high; he screamed “—do—” down it sailed, embedding deep into his neck; the wail turned into a gurgle; his eyes bulged “—that—” another swing, another strike; claret sailed “—AGAIN!”

  The final blow split him right down the middle. His husk slumped sideways. Panting, Ruby yanked the sword free. The blade was slick, coated in maroon. As was the hallway. As was Ruby.

  Her chest heaved.

  Then there was a gunshot, and wood exploded behind her. She yelped, stumbled backward. The sword fell from her grasp.

  The other man: leaned back against the wall, clothes rapidly soaking in his own blood. But he was alive, and he stared at Ruby down the barrel of his reclaimed pistol. Empty space between them: no cover, and with her gun and sword lost, no weapons, either.