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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  “With a knife?” Ruby grimaced—the best smile she could pull. “I’m impressed. Most folk use guns. Then again, that knife’s awful sharp. Perhaps there’s a first time for everything.”

  Rhod glared. He pushed the knife in harder; Ruby twitched beneath him, and the rivulet of crimson thickened. “You know nothing.”

  “I know I blew a hole in your SkyPort and made off with the man you kidnapped to try to sell to me. You won’t find him, by the way,” she added. When she spoke, her teeth were red, and blood trickled over the edges of her lips. “I told him to escape. No sense both of us dying. He’s probably gone already.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one I want.” Rhod grinned. “And now I have you.”

  “Took you four men and almost two weeks of searching. The mighty Rhod Stein. Bested by a girl.” Ruby smirked. “Shameful.”

  The blood boiled in Rhod’s cheeks. “Don’t you dare—”

  “Too late.”

  They stared at each other for a second, Rhod’s face a contorted mask of utter loathing, Ruby’s face squeezed under his grip but smug nonetheless—so damn smug.

  And right then, Rhod knew he was going to make this quick.

  “Fuck you!”

  He released the woman, swung the dagger up in the air, and brought it down.

  14

  This was Ruby’s one chance. She wanted to survive this, of course she did, unlikely though the odds were. And she would fight.

  So as Rhod swung, Ruby used all the strength she had left in her body to do the thing she was best at: she drew her sword with a glorious shick, arcing it up and in front of her body—

  Metal clanged on metal as dagger and sword hit.

  The dagger flew backward, skittering out of Rhod’s grasp and out of sight.

  The sword also flew from Ruby’s hands.

  “No!” she yelled.

  But too late—it pirouetted to the edge of the SkyPort, bounced precariously at the precipice, and then disappeared.

  “My sword—”

  Rhod’s hands found her neck.

  Her eyes bulged. She turned to look into his blazing face, tried to gasp for air, and couldn’t.

  “Move,” Rhod instructed.

  She didn’t.

  “Move,” he repeated. “To the edge. Now.”

  She tried to choke out a ‘no’, but nothing came.

  Rhod growled, “Then I’ll do it.”

  And he did.

  15

  From his vantage point, Francis watched in terror. His view was half obscured by leathery leaves, but he witnessed enough: saw Rhod approaching Ruby; saw their exchange as he pressed the dagger into her neck; saw Rhod swing it at her, and saw Ruby’s defense, before both sword and dagger flew in opposite directions. Where the sword went, he wasn’t sure—that was just out of view—but the dagger; he could see that. It had come to a stop barely a metre from him. Francis had frozen, terrified that Rhod would come for it to finish the job.

  But he hadn’t. Instead he’d gripped Ruby by the neck, and was now—walking her to the edge of the SkyPort!

  Francis peered out. Rhod’s back was to him; Ruby, dwarfed, was behind, out of view. They were just steps from the edge now.

  Was he going to make her step off? Just like that? Or would he throttle her, squeeze until she was almost gone, and then throw her over so she had the barest wits about her as she plummeted to her death?

  He’s killing her. You’ve got to do something.

  But what? Ruby had summed it up perfectly the first time they met: Francis weighed all of one-fifty soaking wet. What could he do?

  She’s going to die, and you’re the only one that can help. You’ve got to do something!

  He looked around desperately. But what could he do up against the giant man?

  And then his eyes landed on it: the dagger.

  16

  They were at the edge of the port. One step and they would be right at the terminus, and an inch more and they would be over.

  Ruby would be over. Because she couldn’t fight Rhod. Her whole body screamed, the wound in her side most of all. It had taken all the energy she had to stop him from stabbing her, and for what? So he could toss her overboard instead.

  “No one gets one over on Rhod Stein,” he breathed. “No one. Not you, not anyone else. Sometimes people think they do, but they always pay the price. Always. And now it’s your turn, Celeste. You’ve evaded me for a long time, been a real thorn in my side. But not anymore.”

  His grip tightened, harder, harder. Ruby tried to gasp, tried to breathe, but he was too powerful. Her eyes bulged; her cheeks reddened as blood rushed to her face.

  Her lungs first groaned, then screamed in desperation. She tried to suck, to take even the tiniest gasp of air—but nothing would come.

  All she could do was wait to die, knowing the last thing she ever saw would be Rhod Stein’s great, ugly, leering face. And that horrible grin, knowing that he had, at last, won.

  17

  “You’ve evaded me for a long time, been a real thorn in my side. But not anymore.”

  Francis snuck from his cover. He was sure Rhod would turn, see him. His hands shook. But Rhod didn’t move, and Francis slid the dagger into his grip carefully, weighing it in his hand.

  He stared at the behemoth’s back. His heart thrummed.

  I can’t, part of him whispered.

  But another said, You have to!

  He was still, frozen.

  And then: Go! Now!

  Gripping the dagger tight, Francis swallowed hard. He straightened, prayed to whatever god might be out there that he could do this.

  And then, with a last deep breath, he sprang.

  18

  Francis hurtled forward, crossing the distance in four long strides. He let out a battle cry as he leapt, drew the dagger up—

  Rhod, at the sound of the footsteps, started to turn—

  And then the dagger plunged into his neck.

  19

  Rhod roared. He released Ruby, pushed her away hard, and clawed at his neck. But he had twisted, so Ruby didn’t go overboard; instead she landed in a heap to his side, drawing in a great heaving gasp of breath. And Rhod didn’t manage to stay still, because whoever had embedded this knife into his neck—his own knife, he was sure of it—had collided with him just hard enough to transfer a little bit of momentum, and—

  Rhod’s footing went. He struggled to regain it, but his body continued forward and his feet tried to keep up. One, then the other—

  Except that other foot hit the very edge of the SkyPort, half on, half off. He teetered, bellowed—

  And with one final cry, Rhod Stein tumbled out of sight.

  20

  Ruby didn’t know how long she lay there, but someone was crouched next to her, talking: words she didn’t quite understand. It was Francis, a dim part of her finally realised; Francis again, Francis who’d saved her life three times now, and the first of those after she’d directly accused him of feeding information to Stein and leading attackers to her.

  She blinked and tried to focus. The world rippled, and black streaked the air; smoke from the growing flames. With another sharp inhale—it hurt so much, but felt so good—she brought Francis into focus. He was pale.

  “What happened?” she wheezed.

  “I killed him,” Francis said. “I—at least, I think. He—he fell over the side. He’s not going to bother us anymore.” He let out a very short nervous laugh, then fell silent. In Ruby’s vision, he split into two. She tried her best to reconcile them, but the copies of Francis refused to merge. “We need to get you out of here. I think you’ve ripped your stitches.”

  Ruby nodded. The welts on her neck screamed. “I can’t walk.”

  “I—I could carry you?”

  “No, you couldn’t.”

  Francis bit his lip. “I think you’re right.”

  The world slipped out of view a little bit. Ruby breathed deep and concentrated hard on bri
nging it back. It seemed just a little darker at the edges, but it held. For now.

  “Trove,” she said. “Call Trove.”

  Francis nodded. He lifted the communicator, cycled through, and then radioed for Trove. Just a moment later, Trove’s voice came through: “Miss Celeste? Are you all right?”

  “It’s Francis. I’ve got Ruby here.”

  “Is she okay? We heard the announcement, and—”

  “I’m fine, Trove,” said Ruby. Francis extended the communicator toward her. “We’re okay. Francis saved me.” Her eyes met his, just for an instant. “How is everyone else?”

  “All accounted for,” Trove answered. “We’re still in the parking bay. Were waiting for you, actually.”

  “I can’t—” Ruby’s voice trailed off. She slumped backward. Francis gripped her shoulder; she snaked up a weak hand and held him.

  “She can’t walk,” Francis said. “And I can’t lift her. Can you pick us up?”

  “Absolutely. Where are you?”

  “Erm—at the edge of the SkyPort. You’ll see us.”

  “On it. Be there in a moment.”

  Francis switched the communicator off. He stooped beside Ruby. Her eyes were closed, her breathing laboured. Beneath her free hand, her bandages were stained crimson.

  “Sit tight, Ruby,” he muttered. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

  Harbinger

  (Epilogue)

  1

  Dear Mum and Dad;

  I don’t know if you ever received my letter. And I don’t know if you’ll receive this one. But I sincerely hope you do; both of them, ideally, but if not then just this one will suffice.

  I’ve thought long and hard over this, and decided that you can disregard everything I said before. When I said it was dangerous up here—well, okay, yes, that is true. It is dangerous. But I’m in safe hands.

  I won’t get too bogged down in specifics. Not yet, anyway; I still need some time to wrap my head around everything. But just know that your son is doing okay.

  I hope to see you again soon.

  Your loving son;

  Francis Paige.

  Francis re-read the letter. It was brief, but would do. For now the most important thing was simply keeping his parents informed—if they received this short note. They might not, and Francis might never know either way. But he had to believe.

  He re-checked the address on the inside and outside, then folded it tight.

  “Ready?” Natasha asked.

  He glanced up at her. She stood in the door to the Harbinger’s library; larger than the Pantheon’s, and with more books too. For all the bruises and broken bones, she was healing up nicely.

  “Yep. Let’s go.”

  They walked through the ship side by side. It was strange, getting used to new corridors. The layout was entirely different to the Pantheon’s. And despite the short time Francis had been on that ill-fated ship, its interior had become so ingrained he was sure it would be months before he forgot it and adapted to the Harbinger’s sleeker, newer confines.

  Instead of a porthole, a minute third deck open to the sunlight was perched atop the ship, with a regular door leading topside. Francis passed the usual trio of workhands assisting Vala and Stefan filling the new glass-topped room with plants, and gave a little hello as he passed.

  Outside, the sky was tinted purple, and entirely unobstructed. No towering fins above the Harbinger: these fanned out in smaller arrangements along the ship’s side and underbelly instead.

  Cacophonous Harmonics had been well-insured. And though it was down to Rhod Stein that the Pantheon had been felled, along with the SkyPort, Ruby had somehow wrangled this ship out of the ether. Compensation, apparently. Francis wasn’t sure he quite believed it, but he didn’t feel like arguing. He’d lost two homes these past six weeks, and was itching to get back into another one.

  Francis and Natasha wandered to Harbinger’s railing. In the weeks it had been since the Pantheon crash-landed, they had been shuttled about between SkyPort and SkyPort, city and city. Finally they were back above land; perfect timing, given Francis had just managed to finish this letter after weeks of trying.

  Extending his hand, Francis silently wished his note luck, and dropped it.

  “Do you think they’ll get it?” Natasha asked.

  “I hope so.”

  For a while they were silent. Then footsteps sounded on the deck behind, and both turned.

  Ruby approached. Her lip was mended, as was her side, though Francis suspected she still fell under Darrel’s near-constant surveillance. She smiled, and said, “Evening. Mind if I speak with Mr Paige alone?”

  Natasha nodded. “See you shortly, Francis.”

  She loped off. Francis watched her go, and then nodded to Ruby. “Evening.”

  “Evening,” Ruby said.

  They were quiet for an awkward moment. Then Ruby joined Francis at the railing, held, and looked out into the approaching dusk.

  “I’ve been meaning to thank you,” she said. “And apologise.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was so sure you were the cause of everything, when really … it was me. I’m sorry for that.” She looked down, then turned to Francis. “I accused you of being a spy. Working for him. And then you saved me. Not once, but three times.” She looked perplexed. “Why?”

  “When I arrived here, you said that this ship was like a family. I fought it at first, because I was desperate to go home—and I hated you, because I thought you’d taken the only avenue back from me.” Francis glanced at her sidelong and pulled a wan smile. “That’s something I’m sorry for.” Looking back out over land, he continued, “But then I began to slot into your crew—that family—and realised how wonderful everyone is. And Rhod was sending those people after us—after you. And that made me realise just how much of a bad person he is.

  “At first … for a long time, really … I thought you’d kidnapped me,” Francis said slowly. “But you didn’t: you rescued me. And even if you were suspicious, I never forgot that. You rescued me from him. So I did the same.” He shrugged. “I’ve never been very eloquent. If that was a mess to understand …”

  “It wasn’t.” Ruby smiled. “Thank you, Francis. For saving me.”

  They were quiet for a little longer. The sky darkened, slowly, and the moon began to rise. Before long it would be the only light.

  “I expect you’re curious what I’m doing here,” Ruby said.

  “That wasn’t it?”

  “Well, not entirely. I brought this.”

  She produced a leatherbound book.

  “The diary,” said Francis. “From the Modicum.”

  “That’s right.” Ruby flicked through its pages. “I was so convinced that what it said was true.”

  “So are we still looking for it?” Francis asked. “The Ghost Armada.”

  The captain shook her head.

  “Why?”

  “Because over the past couple of weeks, while I recovered, I came to understand a few things.” Ruby sighed. “This is complicated, and I’m not very precise with words either, but I’ll do my best.

  “In the wake of Benjamin’s untimely demise, I’ve been doing some research. And after a while, I stumbled upon knowledge of a parasite. Some call it Malaise, others called it Démence; the name varies, but its effects are the same, and rather recognisable.”

  “What does it do?”

  “Initially, it infects a Volum,” Ruby said matter-of-factly. “It’s starts slow-growing, but then breeds exponentially, causing all manner of effects. Loss of lift … corrodes metal … causes insanity in a ship’s crew …”

  “The Modicum.”

  “That’s right. We thought it was rusted—”

  “Just like we thought the rust in the Pantheon was caused by the condenser malfunctioning,” said Francis. “But it was a parasite?”

  “Correct. A parasite that infected our Volum—and then poor Ben, given the amount of time he spent with it. I daresay if
we’d survived much longer the rest of us might have turned too.

  “The more I read, the more I realised. This diary—it’s exactly what everyone thought: the diary of a madman. Filled with deranged writings and lunatic ideas—ideas about ethereal ships. A Ghost Armada.” Ruby pulled a sad smile. “And that’s why I’ve come: to do this.”

  She extended the diary over the Harbinger’s edge, and let it drop. Francis tracked it as it fell, tumbling through the dark until he could see it no more.

  “And now, Francis, I want to make you a promise.” Turning, Ruby looked at him squarely. “I don’t know how, nor if it will happen. But if ever an opportunity arises, I will get you home.”

  Elation swelled in Francis’s chest. He nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I rather think it’s you I should be thanking.”

  Momentary quiet. Then Ruby nodded curtly and said, “Well. I’d best be off. I believe dinner will be served shortly.”

  She turned and trekked away.

  “Ruby?”

  She paused.

  Francis hesitated. “How old are you?”

  “What?”

  “Natasha said the Pantheon was older than her, and definitely older than you. But she’s about my age, I thought. So …”

  “I see. And how old are you, Francis?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Well. Okay then.”

  She turned again, and Francis called, “You didn’t answer.”

  Ruby looked at him over her shoulder. “I know. A lady never tells her age.” Then, setting off along the deck once more, she said, “See you later, Francis.”

  2

  Francis frowned and turned back out to look over the edge of the ship, marvelling at how far he’d come. Just weeks ago he hadn’t been able to do this, and now …

  He paused. Up ahead something glinted in the dark; something shadowy, silhouetted by the moon. He squinted. It had looked like … but …

  No. It couldn’t have been.

  Could it?