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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  The ship bucked again. Ruby was thrown against the nearest workstation. She grunted. Her midriff warmed. Maybe blood. She’d deal with that later.

  “Is he—?” she asked Natasha.

  “Fine, fine; I’ve got him.”

  But Francis didn’t look fine, and neither did Natasha. The flow of crimson from Francis’s nose had widened, and try as she might to smear it away, Natasha couldn’t tide the flow.

  Ruby thought, quickly.

  They had no eyes. The drone—that damned drone and its busted cameras!

  But it was no use lamenting it now. This wasn’t the time.

  Ruby’s mind raced.

  There was only one option.

  “Okay,” she said to herself. Then, to the rest of the room: “Okay. I’m heading topside.”

  Protests: “But—”

  “All our eyes are dead. If we can get a shot off, maybe we stand a chance of getting out of here.”

  “Miss Celeste,” Amelie started, but Ruby cut across her and said, “Stefan, are our weapons systems still operational?”

  “Two starboard cannons are offline, but the remainder are functioning.”

  “Be ready to take instructions,” Ruby told him. “I’ll radio targeting vectors in. Shoot fast; I don’t know how good visibility is out there.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Amelie tried again. “Miss Celeste—”

  “Keep the ship functioning,” Ruby instructed. “Any systems look like they might fail, switch them off.”

  Thunder sliced through the air.

  “Miss Celeste, if you go out there—” Trove started. “You heard Miss Telford; the wind speeds—the hail—”

  “I appreciate your concern,” Ruby said. “But duty calls.”

  Trove looked pained. But he did not protest, instead saying quietly, “Stay safe, Miss Celeste.”

  Ruby nodded. “And you. All of you.”

  For a second there was quiet. Not true quiet; the onslaught of hail, and pulsing alarms, filled the air. But the people in the room were silent as Ruby steeled herself against what she faced outside.

  Then, after the eternity that could fit into just a moment, she inhaled, and brushed out of the door.

  8

  Halfway up the corridor, Ruby was thrown skyward and then landed and tripped, bracing herself against the side wall. The ache in her side grew hotter still. Had she torn a gash open against the workstation she’d collided into? Probably—no, definitely, she was sure. Another white undershirt, ruined.

  Up the stairs. The sound of pelting hail intensified. A thought went to Vala’s greenhouse. Would the glass ceiling survive? Ruby hoped so.

  But that was irrelevant. Plants could be replaced; lives could not.

  The door out onto the open deck. Ruby reached it, gripped its handle. Her frenzied heart said she wouldn’t do it, couldn’t step out—but then the image of Francis came back to her, lying broken in Natasha’s arms. She would not let him, or the others, die.

  She stepped out.

  Wind roared. It ripped the door from Ruby’s hand and slammed it behind her as she waited in the tiny alcove.

  Darkness whorled like a nightmare.

  Lightning pulsed. Thunder pealed.

  Hailstones exploded on the Harbinger, spraying ice in all directions.

  The deck was slick.

  Pressing her arm to her face, Ruby stepped out into the freezing winds.

  The tricorne flew from her head. She cried, reached for it, but it had already tumbled out of sight. Unshielded, her hair whipped.

  It was even worse here. Hail slammed every inch of her body, hard and bruising. The wind screamed and howled. It blustered, shifting direction every moment. One second she fought; the next it pushed her along, threatening to take her off-balance.

  Or off the ship.

  As close to the deck’s middle she could manage, Ruby lifted her communicator. Her fingers were frozen, and fumbled. But she found Stefan Daly and opened a channel.

  “Miss Celeste,” he said. Ruby had to place the speaker right to her ear to hear him.

  “I’m on deck!” she shouted. “Looking for contacts now. Stay on the line!”

  Distant, rendered little more than a whisper: “Aye, Captain.”

  Everywhere, black cloud and sheeting hailstones.

  Was the ship still rising? There was no way to tell.

  Eyes frantic, Ruby searched.

  A fat lump of ice crashed into the top of her head, and she grunted as stars exploded across her vision.

  “Miss Celeste?”

  “Still looking!”

  Twisting, still her eyes darted. Smokescreen. Ice.

  She turned again.

  Again.

  Lightning flashed—

  All coherent thought left Ruby’s mind. There, curling out of the dark, was—

  Cold terror swept her veins.

  “Unload portside cannons now!”

  The heavens ripped open. Through the maw tore a seething mass of tentacles, a vast head, a great blank and beady eye—

  Kraken!

  Four side cannons unloaded.

  A fraction of a second later, a single blast lit the kraken’s hellish face—

  It barely shifted.

  Ruby had no time to brace as the kraken slapped the Harbinger on the nose.

  The deck was wrenched from under Ruby’s feet. She pirouetted through the air, screaming—

  Then she crashed into metal, hard, and blacked out.

  9

  The darkness gripped Ruby for only a moment.

  She pushed unsteadily to her feet. White heat gripped her side; not just bleeding now, but a break.

  There was no time to think of it. Brushing the hair from her face—her hand came back slick with red—Ruby pivoted.

  She gasped at the pain. The wind tried to push her onto her knees.

  Stay steady, she willed. Got to—stay steady …

  Her movements were lurching. Her every atom cried with fire, and every second she was buffeted by more bruising hail.

  This onslaught would end her.

  “Miss Celeste!” The voice came from far-off. Only now did Ruby realise it had been coming, frantic, this whole time. “Miss Celeste, are you still there?”

  “I’m here,” she said through gritted teeth. She sidestepped—grunted—searched. “Await instructions, Stefan.”

  He said something, but Ruby ignored it and dropped her arm. Just lifting it hurt. And she didn’t need Stefan’s protests.

  Another half-step turn. She wanted to screw up her eyes and scream the roar in her side away. But not now. Even blinking was dangerous with the speed and ferocity with which the kraken had come at the ship.

  Thunder exploded. Ruby gasped and jerked—tripped. She went over, hands groping the carpet of ice. Sharp fragments tore open her palm. She cried.

  “You can do this,” she gasped. “Think of—Francis—”

  Maybe she didn’t have to stand; maybe this would suffice. But it would only work if she wasn’t face-down.

  She fought to turn, and groaned.

  “Think of the others,” she said. “Natasha—Trove—fuck, even Tesla.” She let herself laugh at the last, but it wasn’t amused. It was the only sound she could make; if she didn’t, she might cry.

  She heaved herself onto her back. (And had she screamed, too? She wasn’t sure.)

  The heavens pulsed and flashed with light. Crimson curls whipped, and she forced them aside with her bleeding hand. Little use; the wind simply tossed them into her way again.

  Seconds dragged. And still no sign of it.

  Lightning forked directly overhead, and Ruby braced herself to spy another twisting tentacle. But there was nothing—in all directions, nothing.

  Had it gone? Were they clear?

  A lump of ice the size of a fist hit Ruby full-force in the face. She yelped. Sudden warmth spilled from her nose across her freezing cheeks.

  It’s broken, a dim part of her t
hought. My nose is broken.

  Ruby reached for it and gasped. This had to end. She couldn’t stand; could barely move. Couldn’t see.

  She was going to die.

  As if summoned, a bolt of lightning forked through the turbulent air, lighting a vast wound. And there, surging from the abyss for its final devastating blow on the Harbinger, it came: the kraken.

  10

  One of the kraken’s great clubbed arms lifted; then it surged down, for the Harbinger—for Ruby—

  Terror overrode pain. She pressed the communicator to her mouth, and—

  A rocky chunk of ice shrieked out of the sky. It crashed, hitting the communicator dead centre—

  Hailstone and communicator exploded.

  The tentacle sailed down—

  Teeth gritted, Ruby braced. And then—

  Lightning exploded.

  The world turned pure white.

  A tremendous crack, like no other, drowned everything.

  It lasted only an instant, and then the world was thrown back into darkness, and Ruby thought she was blind, or dead—

  A keening wail pierced the air.

  Ruby forced her eyelids apart.

  Her eyes resolved.

  The kraken screeched. The tentacle that had been surging for the ship just moments ago was gone, turned into a stump. Flames raged across its body from the devastating bolt, turning its skin black, cracking it apart.

  For forever, it seemed to hang—

  And then, finally, it fell from sight.

  Broken

  (Chapter Seven)

  1

  The dreams Francis had were fevered. Hectic colours coalesced into fragmented images and broke apart. Sometimes the patterns contorted into a red sea of fire, or black tar. Those were the worst, and he tossed and turned, convinced something grim was eating its way through his side, before they, too, ebbed away into pastels.

  Now and again he woke. At least, he thought so; maybe those instances were dreams as well.

  Mostly he saw Darrel. Natasha came several times, with Mikhail. And Trove, though his focus was diverted somewhere out of Francis’s bleary view. Francis tried to open his mouth and call him, but after what seemed like a blink the room was empty, and lit by a single bulb Francis couldn’t see.

  Once he thought he saw Brie, at the foot of his bed. A soft voice spoke to her; Francis couldn’t pick out the words, nor to whom the voice belonged.

  Then sleep overtook him again, and it didn’t matter.

  2

  His eyes flickered open. A white ceiling above. For a few confusing seconds Francis thought he was home.

  Then his brain muttered, I’m in the Harbinger’s medical bay, and the fleeting warmth in his stomach vanished.

  “You’re up,” said a voice beside him.

  Ruby was sat on the other free bed. Her tricorne hat was missing. Black rings hung beneath her eyes, and wide white strips crisscrossed her nose. The hand she used to give a demure wave was bandaged around the palm, her middle and forefinger taped together.

  “What happened?” Francis half-whispered. It was all he could manage. A dull ache gripped the left side of his torso, and talking made it worse.

  “Kraken,” Ruby said simply.

  “A … a big squid?”

  “Flying one. But yes. It attacked the ship.”

  Francis gawped. He scanned Ruby’s face for a hint that she was toying with him. But she was genuine; he could see. Lowering himself down carefully, Francis sighed. “God. This place I’ve ended up in.”

  “We made it out,” Ruby told him. “Though I suspect you guessed at that, given we’re still here.”

  “That or there is an afterlife,” Francis muttered. “What happened to you?”

  “Our cameras went out. I had to brave the storm to help the weapons team know when to fire.”

  “You killed it?”

  Ruby laughed. “No. Lightning did that job. Fried it. Lucky thing it did, too, or …” She trailed off. Francis didn’t need to hear her finish; he had some idea already of how that sentence ended. “Got a little bit battered. Broken nose, two broken fingers, a fractured ankle, and a broken rib. Not to mention these beautiful bruises under my eyes.”

  “Fetching,” Francis said.

  “You should see the others. My body is quite literally black and blue right now. And I lost my hat.

  “You, meanwhile,” Ruby went on, “have a rather more impressive four broken ribs. You also split your lip, but all things considered I’d say that’s hardly relevant, wouldn’t you?”

  No wonder his body ached.

  “How long will it take to fix?”

  “A while,” Ruby said. “And ribs can’t be set, either. So it’s bed rest for the time being. For both of us.”

  “I can’t do anything?”

  “Not at the moment. Darrel had you drugged all through yesterday, he was so concerned. Tried for me too, but I told him I could take it.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Lunch.” At Francis’s look of surprise, Ruby said, “You were asleep for a long time. Somewhat fitful, too. It was amusing listening to your groaning throughout the night. Once I knew you were going to be all right, of course,” she tacked on. She paused. Then, voice lower: “You called for your parents a couple of times.”

  Francis’s stomach hollowed. The memory came back like an echo, their faces swimming through the chemical-induced haze he’d been swallowed by.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “You miss them.” Not a question.

  “Every day.”

  The words hung, heavy.

  Silently, Ruby shuffled over as far as she could and extended a hand. Francis looked at it a second, then held out his own and took it.

  They sat like that for a long time.

  3

  Natasha came to the medical bay that evening. Gauze was taped to her cheek, and a stray thread poked out from one side: stitches.

  “Don’t stress them,” Darrel warned.

  “I shall be on my best behaviour,” Natasha promised.

  “You’re awake, I see,” she said to Francis. “How are you feeling?”

  “Except for my four freshly broken bones, just wonderful,” he answered.

  “That’s the spirit. And how about you, Miss Celeste?”

  “Marginally better than Francis,” said Ruby. “Have you a status report for me?”

  “Right here.” From beneath her arm Natasha retrieved something Francis hadn’t spotted: a familiar clipboard, laden with sheaves of paper.

  He looked confused. “Isn’t Trove—”

  “Broken arm,” said Ruby. “I gave him some time off. For now, Miss Brady helms the ship.”

  “Most systems are back to amber,” Natasha read. “We’re still struggling to bring one of the condensers back to usual capacity, but I shifted Reuben onto it. The drone can wait; water can’t.”

  Stupid drone, Ruby thought sourly, but she said, “Good call. And our progress?”

  “Slow. I’ve got us at half-thrust while we work out the ship’s kinks. Once enough areas are moved back to green, I’ll increase power. Give or take a day or so, we should arrive in a little over a week.”

  “Where are we going?” Francis asked.

  “New Harlem,” Ruby told him. “It’s a city a little way from here. It has a nice little marketplace, I believe. Sells fudge. And hats.”

  Flicking over to the next leaf of paper, Natasha continued, “Mikhail, Glim and Herschel finished patching the largest splits in the hull an hour ago. They worked most of the night, so I took them off task and told them to get some rest. I’ll move Glim onto the smaller fixes tomorrow, while Mikhail and Herschel re-inventory.” Looking over the clipboard to Ruby, Natasha said, “As I’m sure you can imagine, it’s a little bit of a mess right now.”

  Ruby nodded. “I daresay it is. How go repairs on Vala’s greenhouse?”

  Francis asked, “The greenhouse? What happened to it?”

  “Part of t
he ceiling was broken,” said Natasha. “Mikhail fixed it this morning.”

  “What about her plants?”

  “Most are fine. Some spillages, and a hailstone destroyed our only snaptree seedling … But Vala thinks she can salvage the rest.”

  That wasn’t so bad. Yes, it had taken six weeks of hard work to coax that single seed to sprout. But in the scheme of things, if the rest of the greenhouse had survived, they could hardly complain.

  “Thank you, Miss Brady,” Ruby said. “Have you eaten?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Get yourself to the cafeteria and grab something. Take your time; you need your feet up just as much as the rest of us.”

  “Will do, Miss Celeste.” Natasha snapped off a salute and rose.

  “And bring us back something nice, if you can,” Ruby called as Natasha departed. “Or failing that, a stiff drink.”

  4

  Voices woke Francis. At first they merged into his dream, but quickly the cocoon of slumber left, taking the dream with it, and he lay awake in the medical bay’s dim light.

  “Is he okay?”

  That was Brie’s voice.

  Francis cracked his eyelids as little as possible, feigning long, low breaths.

  There she was, at the foot of his bed! So he hadn’t imagined it before!

  “Hush,” said Ruby. “He’s sleeping. He’s been through a lot.”

  “Is he okay?” Brie repeated, this time at a whisper.

  “He’ll live. But he needs a lot of rest, and he’s going to be laid up for a while. How are you feeling, Miss Channing? Swelling gone down?”

  The blurry waif rubbed her elbow absentmindedly. “Yes.” She hesitated a second. Francis couldn’t tell, but he imagined her staring at him. “Is he allowed visitors?”

  “Yes,” said Ruby, “but it would be best to leave him to himself as much as possible. Breaks take a long time to heal, ribs especially. Any untoward stress will only prolong his suffering.”