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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  “Great.”

  “Can I go now?” Francis asked. “I have something stuck … my throat.” He gestured and grimaced.

  “Oh, of course. Grab something to drink or eat and it’ll dislodge in no time.”

  He thanked her and headed off. As he stepped through the door, Vala’s humming started. Always cheerful.

  Francis wondered how often she had to stomach those concoctions, and whether she would be cheerful then.

  9

  Two days later, Ruby called a meeting. She’d been avoiding it for a long while, and hoped to ponder the topic longer. But there were things that needed discussion, and it was best to start now, everything fresh in their minds.

  This wasn’t a full-scale meeting. No need for all the crew; just five people, Ruby included. So instead of heading toward the rec room, she told the three day-shift technicians to finish their tasks early, and then gathered in the Harbinger’s control room with Trove, Natasha, Mikhail, and Francis.

  “Thanks, all,” she said. “It’s nice to collect everyone together again properly. Things have been a little disjointed these past few days; Natasha captaining while I was out of action—”

  “And excellent job she did, too,” Mikhail chimed. Sat a workstation over, Natasha ignored the compliment, though Francis caught her lips twitch up at the corners.

  “Yes, she did a spectacular job,” Ruby agreed. “Thank you, Miss Brady.”

  “Welcome, Captain.”

  “So, things have been disjointed, with Natasha captaining and Trove incapacitated.”

  “Not of my own volition,” he said.

  “Merely looking out for your health,” Ruby told him. Addressing the group at large, she said, “We ought to discuss the events that transpired a number of days ago.”

  “Which bit?” Mikhail asked. “The storm, the missing rainforest, or the kraken?”

  “It can’t have been a kraken,” Natasha protested.

  “Miss Celeste saw it with her own eyes,” Mikhail countered.

  “The ship was shaken up. Perhaps she hit her head, or …”

  “It was a kraken,” Ruby said.

  “But—”

  “The girls have been reconstructing the final images from our camera feeds, these past few days. Only as a backburner project, so it has been slow. This morning, they had a breakthrough.” Ruby turned to the nearest terminal and inputted a command. Three stills appeared on the room’s main display. They were grainy, marred by darkness and the sheeting hail, and the bottom third of the last image was garbled. But the pictures showed enough: a frightening, bulky presence in the storm, with long tentacles and a vast round eye.

  “But—but I don’t understand,” Natasha said. “Krakens aren’t real. They’re a myth. Except for antiquated stories, no one has ever seen one.”

  Ruby answered, “Well, we just did.”

  Natasha’s mouth flailed up and down. “I can’t—I—”

  “Regardless of the creature’s mythical status,” Ruby went on, “it’s unimportant now. It was struck by lightning and fell out of the sky. Whatever its origin, we don’t need to think about it.

  “What concerns me is what Mikhail said. Tesla told us the Exceptional Luck’s beacon broadcasted three encrypted images, all showing a rainforest. And whatever we stumbled across, radar topography was clear: that was not what we found.”

  “Something in the cloud scanned us, didn’t it?” Mikhail asked.

  “That’s correct. Right before that cloud exploded up around the ship and caught us in the worst storm we’ve ever fared.”

  “And the beacons we should have found were missing, too,” said Mikhail.

  Ruby nodded. “Right.” She paused. “So: what do we do?”

  “New Harlem is our priority,” said Natasha. “The ship isn’t running totally green. We still need some repairs.”

  “Not to mention Tesla’s drone,” said Mikhail. “We need cameras.”

  “I was wondering more about after New Harlem,” Ruby said. “Once everything is functioning normally again. What do we do then.”

  The room was silent.

  “Since no one is speaking,” Ruby said slowly, “I’ll put forward the first suggestion.” She inhaled. “I think we should come back.”

  “What?” Natasha said. Her voice was incredulous. “We can’t—we can’t come back here. There’s a—a kraken,” she finished, looking as though just saying the word was a struggle.

  “There was a kraken,” Ruby corrected. “It was struck by lightning.”

  “That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s dead.”

  “It took a hundred thousand volts to the face. Anyway, when we’re back we’ll have a working drone. It can scout things out before we enter the area proper; a full visual sweep. Nothing will creep up on us.”

  Natasha pursed her lips.

  “The Exceptional Luck went down somewhere around there,” Ruby continued. “Its hold was stocked with gemstones. Think of the money we could make by selling them.”

  “We didn’t find anything,” Natasha cut in. “None of what Tesla said we should. There’s nothing out here. A—a kraken,” she forced with disbelief, “and nothing more. Those ships aren’t here. And nor are the gems.”

  Ruby looked around the room for support. No one spoke.

  “Okay. Well. Just think about it.”

  Still, quiet.

  “Well.” Ruby clapped her hands together. Her face brightened. Francis wasn’t sure the expression was entirely genuine. “I shan’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, everyone. See you at dinner.”

  And before Trove could apprehend her, she was out the door.

  There was a brief vacuum of awkward silence, before everyone else, too, departed.

  10

  Francis was just tucking into a rather impressive breakfast of beans, mushrooms, hash browns and toast, when a voice said, “Hi.” A voice he recognised too well, and one he wished he didn’t have to hear.

  Toast halfway to his lips, he lowered it carefully and looked up. On the other side of his table was Brie, fresh from her finished shift.

  Well, not fresh. She looked tired; probably ought to have been in bed a good half-hour ago, like the rest of the night-shifters.

  Francis didn’t need to ask why she was still up.

  “Morning,” he said slowly.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. You?”

  Brie nodded. “Okay, thanks.” She flipped her hair aside. Eyes swept the cafeteria, then her too-long gaze fell back to Francis. He busied himself with cutting a hash brown apart so as to ignore it.

  “Are you feeling better yet?” she asked. “After your injuries.” She quickly tacked on, “I came to see you, but you were asleep, and Miss Celeste—and it was kind of early, because I left my shift …”

  “I’m fine,” Francis said. “Thanks.”

  One table over, Evans was telling Peters and Herschel some particularly noisy story, and Francis tilted to listen as hard as he could, chewing hash brown slowly and refilling his mouth as early as possible. Maybe that would give Brie the hint.

  It did. He fell enraptured into Reuben’s story, and only when it was over did he remember Brie had been standing there. Now she was gone, vanished without a trace. She hadn’t even stopped for breakfast, he realised as he glanced about.

  A guilty twist knotted his stomach.

  Francis ignored it. If this was the way to show clearly to Brie his thoughts of her relentless pursuit, so be it.

  11

  Later, Francis knocked on the door to the greenhouse. “Hello?” he called. “Are you in here?”

  “I am,” Vala called back.

  Francis wended through the aisles toward the back of the room. “Hey,” he said.

  “Morning.” Vala was already stirring a glass container of gritty, milky liquid. She handed it over. “Knock it back.”

  Francis gulped it down just as quick as yesterday’s. Maybe quicker. When he was do
ne, he coughed and wiped residue off his top lip. “Thanks,” he said, passing the flask back to Vala.

  “That’s the last one. How are you feeling?”

  Francis stretched, pivoted. A low ache still gripped his side, but it was nowhere near as pronounced.

  “Better. Much better,” he said.

  “Good stuff.” Vala leaned against her work surface. “Much planned for the day?”

  “Usual. Yourself?”

  “Not a great deal. I think Stefan has the afternoon off, so I’ll probably have to spend some time with him.”

  “You poor soul.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” After a moment’s pause, Vala said, “I saw Brie hovering by your table this morning.”

  Francis had forgotten already. Now that oddly guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach returned as his mind replayed it: Brie there one moment, then absent the next after his blatant attempt at ignoring her.

  Colour rising to his ears, he said, “Yeah … She doesn’t leave me alone, that girl. I don’t get it.”

  Vala sighed. “She’s young. Can’t hold that against her.”

  “Is she?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “What?”

  Vala nodded. “Mm. Eighteen in a month’s time, but still, she’s our youngest.”

  “I—well, I guess it shows.” Francis frowned. “I just don’t understand why she’s so interested. I mean, it’s just … me.” He gestured to himself. “Francis. Nothing special.”

  “She thinks otherwise.”

  “Hm.” Francis bit his lip. “I’m too old for her.”

  “Again: she thinks otherwise.”

  “Touché.”

  “She’s a sweet girl. But young, and I think somewhat naïve. She’s been … sheltered. So she doesn’t know how to interact very well in situations like these.”

  “Clearly.”

  “But you do,” Vala went on. “And I don’t suppose that involves ignoring a girl to her face—much less someone you technically work with.”

  The feeling at the bottom of Francis’s stomach intensified. Fighting a wave of shame, he nodded stiffly, not looking at Vala.

  “Anyway, I shan’t keep you,” Vala said. “I ought to try to get as much done before that husband of mine demands attention.” She mock-tutted, to an awkward laugh. “I’ll see you later.”

  Francis walked from the room, closing the door behind him. Heat burned his ears.

  In his mind, the morning replayed.

  No matter how much he tried to wish it away, it wouldn’t go.

  New Harlem

  (Chapter Eight)

  1

  New Harlem was the largest city Francis had ever seen. Here, from where the Harbinger was parked in one of its many bays, he could see barely a fraction of the cluster of islands strung together to form the behemoth city. There was the market, tucked at least three-quarters of a mile rightward on New Harlem’s uneven curve. Left, a housing district. Towering up in the middle like a spire was a grand office block, perched on another island entirely.

  Early afternoon sun beamed down. Francis waited on deck. Most of the crew had departed already. The last few stragglers were filtering out of the door in ones and twos.

  Natasha and Mikhail stepped through. They were laughing about something. Both caught Francis’s eyes; Mikhail gave him a nod and a grin, and Natasha a small wave, before slipping through the Harbinger’s rail and departing. Francis watched their retreating backs a moment, then let his gaze sweep back over the city.

  No more than five minutes later, the door opened once more. Conversation floated out. It was Ruby and Tesla, the latter clutching his small case of belongings.

  “Your key is returned?” Ruby asked.

  “I gave it back to Trove this morning. Yes.”

  “Excellent.” The captain’s eyes alighted on Francis. “Ah, Francis, thanks for waiting. You shall get to bid Tesla farewell with me.”

  Francis wandered behind as Ruby interrogated Tesla. Filling the silence, really; the interview concluded just seconds after they stepped from the ship.

  “Well,” said Ruby. “Thank you for your assistance. Your expertise with the drone has been much appreciated.”

  Tesla nodded mutely. For all his complaints and antagonism, he looked far from happy to have been cut loose like this.

  “Farewell, Tesla.”

  He nodded again. Stood opposite Ruby and Francis, he looked between them demurely and rearranged the bag slung over his shoulders.

  “Bye,” he murmured.

  He turned and began a slow walk away. Before he’d taken half a dozen steps, he swivelled back and looked at Francis.

  “I don’t know if your story is true or not,” he said. “About where you came from. But either way, I’d get the hell out of there while you’ve got the chance if I was you, buddy. You already got your ribs broken. She’ll kill you before much longer.”

  Francis glanced sideways at Ruby. She merely stared straight ahead, unfazed, hands folded neatly behind her back.

  “Thanks for the advice,” Francis said. “Next time maybe I’ll ask for it. Buddy.”

  It wasn’t much of a jibe, but Tesla’s face twisted. For a long moment he stared, expression contorted—then with a last huff he marched away.

  “How very sweet of him,” Ruby said. “And I’d thought the man didn’t care.”

  Francis chuckled.

  Ruby smiled. “Come on, let’s go. I’ve a hat to find.”

  2

  Wandering through New Harlem, Francis could begin to comprehend its scale.

  The Pharmacologist’s Eden had been a cubic mile of shops and stalls and chrome. Francis had seen a few cities since, and they’d multiplied that size by two or three.

  New Harlem, though, was something else. Ground level measured over eight square miles. And that wasn’t enough, because as the city grew it had been made more efficient: structures were built into the sides of the outer islands, looking out into blue; housing, with balconies, lining the spaces between parking bays; office blocks; whole areas had even been hollowed out, filled with neon-lit bars and nightclubs.

  Nestled in the centre of New Harlem’s dozen-strong cluster was a duo of fused islands. Grand walkways arced from island to island like threads of a web, forking apart and crisscrossing, sloping down or up to access areas of different elevation. Unlike the rickety bridges Francis had crossed a fortnight ago on their trek to rescue Tesla, these were strong and solid.

  The clientele was varied. Most were the inhabitants of this place, but as Francis and Ruby headed for the marketplace, they saw more analogues to themselves: travellers, their clothes just distinct enough to set them apart from the people living here. One foursome of men and a single woman were adorned in what looked like a vibrant stained glass window converted into fabric, with expertly wrapped headpieces. Francis listened as they passed, but their words were foreign and came too quick to understand.

  “Quaint, isn’t it?” Ruby said as they approached the market.

  Colourful stalls manned by sunny vendors filled the open space. People were chattering: shoppers and salespeople alike. Benches lined the edges of the area, and beyond the black rail cordoning it off, Francis could see a sprawling public garden. A fountain sprayed, and children in t-shirts and shorts or frilled skirts splashed in the flow.

  It didn’t take long to find a tradesman selling hats. Ruby perused his offerings and made smalltalk, finding a black velvet tricorne nestled at the back. She checked it fit, then paid.

  “Ah,” she said as she fiddled with the hat, and she and Francis resumed their wander. “Much better.”

  Soon after, Ruby made a sudden noise of delight. She pulled Francis by the wrist to a stall perched under a wide, striped umbrella.

  Francis peered. “Fudge?” he asked. “I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.”

  Behind glass were dozens of different coloured slabs. Cocktail sticks were pressed into them, paper signs affixed to t
he top with flavours and prices.

  “A deathly one,” Ruby said. “This place will ruin me if I’m not careful. Ah, good afternoon, sir. Some of the vanilla, please.”

  The vendor sliced the cream-coloured slab into bitesize pieces, bagged it, and he and Ruby exchanged money and goods.

  Grinning, Ruby fell back into step with Francis and returned the way they’d come. “Want to share?” she asked.

  Francis shook his head. “That’s okay. I’m not big on sweets.”

  “No? Go on, try some. Perhaps it’ll change your mind.”

  They found a bench and sat, watching the people in the market. Ruby opened her paper bag and withdrew two perfect little slices. She handed one to Francis, then stuck the other in her mouth and sucked.

  He bit the end. Chewed slowly, carefully.

  Ruby watched with a raised eyebrow. “Well?”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Francis said. Ruby poked out the tip of her tongue at him. “It’s actually pretty nice. Thanks.”

  “Told you.”

  When Francis’s piece was gone, Ruby passed him another. He was going to wave it off, but found himself taking it instead. Maybe Ruby was right; he could well be converted.

  “So how long do you think we’ll be here?” he asked after a while.

  “Not sure. Repairs shouldn’t take too long, but I think everyone could use some downtime. Four, five days perhaps.” Ruby added, “Going to do the rounds and ask if anyone knows of a way you can get home again?”

  “Can’t hurt.”

  Ruby nodded. She sucked on a new piece of fudge.

  “I hope you find someone,” she said.

  Francis looked over. “Hm?”

  “To take you home.”

  Francis gazed forward. Thoughts swum to his parents. What they might be doing with their own summer days. How their lives continued to march forward without him.

  Whether they missed him as much as he missed them.

  “I hope so too,” he said.

  3