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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  Quiet.

  “Go on, now, Brie,” Ruby said gently. “He’s okay, and that’s the most important thing. You don’t need to worry. Head on back to the control centre; Wren and Owen probably miss you.”

  “Okay,” the girl said quietly.

  Footsteps, and she was gone.

  Francis waited in silence. He thought perhaps Ruby had realised him awake. Yet she said nothing, and Francis soon drifted off once more.

  He woke at mid-morning. Ruby said nothing of the blonde spectre come seeking, and nor did Francis.

  5

  Later that afternoon, while Darrel had left the medical bay to do the rounds about the crew, Ruby bade farewell to Francis and left the room. He’d looked incredulous.

  “Won’t Darrel complain?”

  “Yes,” said Ruby. “He probably will.” She flashed a grin, then waved. “See you later.”

  Trove would probably want to speak to her, Ruby thought. Maybe try to convince her that he was in perfect working order. That could wait until later, though. Something more pertinent had consumed her mind these past forty-eight hours, and she intended to handle it directly.

  Her feet carried her to the engineering module, where the door stood closed. Hoping Evans and Tesla were present, Ruby knocked.

  The door was opened by Evans, who looked first shocked, then grinned.

  “Back on your feet, I see, Miss Celeste. And sporting a couple of nice bruises, too.”

  “Likewise,” said Ruby. “Would you mind giving us some privacy? I’d like to speak with Mr Wong alone.”

  “Sure.” Evans gave Tesla a backward glance, then saluted and headed out through the door, closing it behind him.

  Tesla didn’t look up. He was bent over the table in the room’s centre. Wires were exposed like a tangle of spaghetti from the drone’s interior, and his hands muddled through the mass, unplugging sections, pulling them apart and constructing new bundles. Even when Ruby approached the table, he remained fixed on his work.

  “Mr Wong,” Ruby said. “How do repairs go?”

  “Fine,” he said.

  Ruby waited. Sometimes silence unnerved; caused people to talk, spill information. But Tesla was too resilient for that, she already knew, and he continued not to speak. Continued not to even look at her.

  Ruby asked, “ETA on completion?”

  “Not sure. Couple of days. Need to figure out what caused the power spike and ensure it doesn’t happen again.” This time Tesla made no jibe at Evans and his involvement.

  “Good.”

  The room was quiet. The air, tense.

  Finally, Ruby knew she would have to break it.

  “As you have no doubt heard from our crew’s chatter, we’re due to arrive at the city of New Harlem sometime in the next week.”

  “I had heard that, yes.”

  “I’d like to know your plans upon our arrival.”

  Tesla shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “I’d like to discuss your departure.”

  Ruby thought she saw the slightest quirk there; the tiniest little incline of Tesla’s head, the most minute jerk of his fingers, that indicated he’d been caught as off-guard as one could be when expecting something. But it was momentary, and he carried on working with no change.

  “Okay.”

  “Is that amenable to you?”

  “The discussion? Go ahead.”

  “This is the discussion. I meant leaving.”

  The bundle of cables Tesla had been working on separated just a little harder than he could have meant, spiralling everywhere. He cloistered them in his grip quickly.

  “Fine. I don’t much fancy staying with a crew of wannabe grave-robbers, anyway.”

  That was meant to cut. Yet it didn’t. Ruby simply gave a curt nod Tesla couldn’t see. “Good.”

  She waited a moment longer, eyeing Tesla’s work. It meant little to her. Still, it looked like it was coming along well. Evans could confirm that shortly.

  “Well, I shall leave you to it,” she said.

  She headed for the exit.

  Just before she reached the door, Tesla called, “I didn’t lead you into that.”

  Ruby looked back. At last Tesla had stopped, facing back with a ghost of the pout he so often wore.

  “I didn’t,” he repeated. “I wouldn’t.”

  Ruby nodded. “Okay, then.” And without another word, she left the room.

  6

  Recovery was a slow and trying process. For the next three days, Francis spent almost all of his time in bed. He envied Ruby, who could come and go as she pleased. (Though he was hugely thankful when he needed to make awkward use of his bed pan. Sitting beside the captain, separated at most by a thin curtain, while he pissed (or worse) into the metal bowl would be most embarrassing. Had been embarrassing, that first day they’d spent relegated to each other’s sides. How he’d managed to get through it holding everything in, he had no clue.)

  Until now, Francis hadn’t realised just how much of his day was spent doing something. Whether small tasks around the ship, or assisting Samuel at mealtimes, Francis had few empty patches to fill. Now, confined to a bed, he was bored out of his mind.

  “Can’t I go yet?” he moaned to Darrel as the doctor checked him over.

  “No,” Darrel said.

  “Yes, you can,” Ruby said. She ignored the dirty look Darrel gave her. “Mr Stitt is lovely, and he’s looking out for you, but he is just a little overbearing. If you got up now, he wouldn’t stop you.”

  Darrel snorted. “I most certainly would.”

  “Well, then I would order you aside.” Ruby smiled at him. “I’ve been in and out of your care more times than I can count. I know how you operate, Darrel. Now, is there any reason Francis can’t get up?”

  “He needs to take it easy—”

  “Ah, but can he take it easy on his feet, or in his own bedroom?”

  Darrel blustered some protestation, but it held no water.

  Ruby took Francis by the hand and helped him onto his feet. They ached, but a good ache: muscles stretching after days of inactivity.

  “Oh, this feels good,” Francis said.

  “You shouldn’t—” Darrel started, but Ruby cut across him.

  “I defer to your judgment now and always, Darrel, but if there is no reason for Francis to be bedridden, he ought to resume his normal life. As long as he takes it easy, his healing will not be hampered by the use of his legs, will it?”

  “No, but—”

  “I thought as much.” To Francis, Ruby said, “See? Overbearing. But sweet.”

  “Take it very easy,” Darrel warned Francis. “Minimal physical activity. You won’t be able to lug ingredients back and forth for Sam yet.”

  “Can I help him with prep?”

  “Within reason, yes. But be careful! Or I shall have Miss Celeste’s head if in a few days you’re back in my care.”

  Ruby smirked. “I doubt it. One person tried his hand at that already this year, and look where that got him.” She patted Darrel on the wrist, and then led Francis out with her arm around his waist, saying, “Let’s go for a walk.”

  Darrel called one final warning to Francis, but Ruby ignored it. The doctor hmphed, and the door to the medical bay closed with a solid click behind them.

  “Thank you,” Francis said.

  “Don’t mention it,” said Ruby. “So: is there anywhere in particular you’d like to go?”

  “Outside?”

  “Aha. Yes, I daresay you could use the fresh air. Then outside we shall go.”

  They moved through the ship with slow trepidation. Francis’s joints creaked with every step, and muscles flexed like forgotten elastic.

  Ruby asked, “How’s your side?”

  “Fine.”

  “Really?”

  “Still aches.”

  “Am I hurting?” Ruby rearranged her already light hold, and the twinge softened. “Is that better?”

  “Yeah. Thanks. How are you healin
g up?”

  Ruby pulled the facial equivalent of a shrug. “On the mend. These bones of mine are used to it.”

  Francis could believe that. Already, in the few days that had passed, Ruby looked better. The tape that held her nose in place was gone, and the job of reconstruction Darrel had done was immense. The rings under her eyes were less pronounced, now a blue-purple tone. Her fingers were still taped together, and Francis could detect the slightest limp as she moved onto and off of her fractured ankle. But compared to the first time she’d extracted herself from the bed, face masked and footsteps lurching, she was in a far better place.

  “I wish I could heal as fast as you,” Francis said.

  “Well, stick around long enough and you probably can. Though, you will need to break quite a few more bones first …”

  “How many have you broken?”

  “Enough.”

  After what felt an age, they arrived on the topside deck. Ruby motioned for the railing, but Francis shook his head. In his state he didn’t feel much like standing at the ship’s terminus. Instead they sunk down against the wall of the mini deck—actual sinking, in Francis’s case, held on by Ruby as he drooped to sitting—and looked out.

  “The deck looks good,” Francis said. “Considering the battering the ship took.”

  “The workhands have been working on fixes the past few days. Patching holes and splits. The railings were pretty wrecked, but they removed the warped sections and replaced them.” Ruby added, “I shall never again question Mikhail’s desire to hold steel rods within our inventory.”

  “How is everyone else?”

  “Holding up. Trove is keen to return to work, but I won’t allow it. For the most part, we escaped unscathed. Relatively.” Ruby extended her legs and reached for her toes, stretching absently. “You and I got the worst of it.”

  “What about Tesla?” Francis asked.

  “Couple of cuts and bruises, but unharmed.”

  “What’s going on with him now?”

  “Nothing much of anything, at the moment. He and Evans finished drone repairs yesterday. We just need its new cameras, but those will have to wait until New Harlem. We shall bid him farewell at the same time.”

  “Ah.” Francis thought about it; the spats Tesla seemed to start. “I’m not sorry he’s going,” he said.

  “Were I less professional, I might agree. We are fortunate, however, that I know how to hold my tongue in moments of necessity.” Ruby grinned. “Nevertheless, he has been useful to us, as we have to him. So we may all take something good from the experience.”

  For a while, they sat in mutual quiet. At one point Francis changed positions, and groaned at the pain. Ruby held his hand and helped him shift.

  “Just moving shouldn’t be such a mammoth task,” he panted.

  “Let us be thankful you didn’t break anything else, then.”

  Quiet—comfortable. Francis watched the empty skies. Deep and blue—nothing like the storm that had enveloped the ship a few short days ago.

  The storm.

  The remembrance hit Francis hard.

  “What happened out there?” he asked. “One minute we were over cloud, and the next the ship was swallowed by thunderheads. That’s not normal, is it?”

  “I’ll be discussing it with the others soon,” Ruby said.

  “But—I mean, I’m right, aren’t I? Clouds don’t do that.”

  The captain licked her lips. There was no detectable pause, but Francis was sure she was choosing her words carefully. “Storms can come on very suddenly.”

  “That suddenly?”

  Ruby looked at Francis, but didn’t answer.

  She didn’t need to; the look was all the ‘no’ Francis needed.

  7

  With his newfound appreciation for just being able to wander the ship, Francis spent much of his time doing just that, even if he did need a lot of breaks to recover from his exertion. Likewise, though he did his best to help Sam with prep work, there wasn’t a lot he could do. Darrel’s words hung in the back of his mind like a warning bell, and it was a constant exercise in second-guessing what was and wasn’t safe.

  Despite Ruby’s intervention, he still wasn’t entirely out of Darrel’s net. The doctor recalled him the following morning and evening, then the morning after that, to check him over. The process was painful, and Francis quickly grew to hate it. But it was for the best, Stitt endlessly reminded him. Begrudgingly, Francis had to admit the doctor was right.

  Darrel also gave Francis painkillers: big white, chalky pills. Francis took them warily. Fog had swallowed him for the first twenty-four hours after the kraken’s attack, and he didn’t much fancy slipping back into it. So the first chance he got alone, he tossed them over the ship’s edge.

  Except he wasn’t alone, because a voice from behind said, “What are you throwing away?”

  He froze. It had to be Brie—Brie, again, had found him. But it wasn’t: when Francis turned, he found Vala sat sewing by the door. So the deck had been occupied after all. Francis cursed his haste.

  “Pills,” he said as he crossed to her, ignoring the rush of red to his cheeks. “Darrel gave them to me, but after being drugged the first time around …”

  “Aha. Don’t much fancy it, eh?”

  Francis smiled sheepishly. “Just in case.”

  Vala snickered. She patted the deck beside her, and Francis sat carefully, one hand pressed to his side. He grimaced at the pain.

  “If regular pharmaceuticals aren’t your thing,” Vala said as she resumed stitching the flowery pattern she’d been working on, “I might be able to help.”

  “Oh! You’re … a medicine woman, right?”

  “You make it sound so tribal. But yes, I can whip something up from the contents of my greenhouse. Just breaks you’re struggling with, yes? Nothing else; nausea, headaches, anything worth mentioning?”

  “Just breaks,” Francis confirmed.

  “Good. Well, not good, but—you know. I shall set to preparing something now.” Vala tucked the needle and thread into her fabric, folded it, and laid it into the sewing box at her side. She hoisted herself up, and then helped Francis.

  “How is your greenhouse now?” Francis asked.

  “Tidier. Our little siege knocked plants and compost everywhere.”

  Francis smirked at the word ‘little’. “Did the workhands help?”

  “Stefan,” Vala said. “He’s working reduced shifts at the moment. Dislocated his shoulder, the poor thing.” She tutted. “Watching him sweeping one-handed was rather amusing, though.” She held the door into the ship open for Francis, following in his wake with the sewing box swaying at her side. “Sadly, I’m not entirely sure what seeds were in the mess of soil I salvaged, so it’ll be a case of waiting for the sprouts before I can sift through and get everything back into order. Still, never mind.” They reached the greenhouse door, and she held it. “Would you like to come in?”

  Francis checked the time on his communicator. “Probably best not. Sam will need whatever help I can give him.” He looked apologetic. “Otherwise I would.”

  “Not a worry.” Vala smiled. “You get to it, and I’ll set to work, hopefully preparing something a little less potent than what Darrel dispenses with. I’ll let you know when it’s done. See you later, Francis.”

  “Bye,” he said, waving before heading down to the kitchen to see what he might be able to do today.

  8

  Vala’s tonic had finished brewing the next morning, and once the meagre breakfast of porridge was through, she and Francis headed toward her greenhouse together.

  A long metal work surface ran from wall to wall at the back of the room, neatly stacked with Vala’s many tools, the space beneath filled with empty pots and containers. In a free spot stood a brewing stand. A mounted flask held milky liquid. Cuttings from half a dozen plants lay next to it, tied with twine.

  “Sorry it took so long,” Vala said. “For maximum effect, it’s best to leave them
going a solid half a day or more. And I doubted you much fancied being awoken in the middle of the night.”

  She tested the edge of the glass flask with careful fingers—checking whether it was still hot, Francis guessed from the quelled flame that must’ve burned beneath it. Content, she removed it and set it onto the work surface.

  It remained milky—until, that was, Vala inserted a long metal rod with a bulbous end and stirred, throwing up a whirl of green and brown particulates. Francis did his best to hide his horrified expression.

  “Now,” she said. She removed the stirrer and extended the flask. “It’s a bit lumpy, and might taste a little green, but …” Francis took it. Up close, it was even more difficult to mask his disgust. “It’ll heal you up far faster than anything Darrel could provide.”

  She waited expectantly. When she didn’t say anything, Francis prompted, “The whole lot?”

  “Yes, you’ll have to drink all of it.”

  Francis balked. There had to be a good half a pint in here!

  But Vala had painstakingly prepared this, and besides, he trusted her judgment on its healing properties. Even if it did look vile. So with a deep breath, Francis closed his eyes, put the flask to his lips, and began to drink.

  It was horrid. Francis less swallowed it than choked it down, lumps and all. It seemed to go on forever, yet he cleared it all in five great gulps. When it was gone, Francis wanted to slam the flask down like he might a stiff drink. Instead he lowered it delicately, choking out a cough. His eyes watered.

  “How’d it taste?”

  “It—err—”

  The botanist laughed. “Vile stuff, isn’t it? But if I’d told you that, you wouldn’t have taken the stuff.” She folded her arms and looked pleased with herself. “However, I promise it’ll speed up your recovery.”

  Francis nodded quickly. “Am I done?” he asked.

  “You’ll need to take it again for the next three days, I’m afraid,” Vala said. “Well, if you think you can manage it. I only prepared this one batch, just in case you changed your mind. If you can stomach it, I’ll prepare more.”

  It was so tempting to decline. But foulness aside, Francis trusted Vala’s judgment. So he nodded and said, “Okay, let’s do that then.”