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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  “Nice to stretch our legs, eh?”

  “You’re just interested in ice cream,” Natasha said.

  “Well, it’s pretty nice.”

  “Where’d you get it?” Francis asked.

  “Vendor in the marketplace,” said Natasha. She frowned as a milky white trickle dribbled across her knuckle, and she sucked it off. “They do a few flavours.”

  “Offer him a bit, then,” Mikhail told her.

  “I guess I’m sharing with everyone today,” Natasha muttered. She ignored Mikhail’s jab to her side and stuck out the cone to Francis, but he waved her off. “Sure? Brie?” Brie shook her head stiffly, and Natasha shrugged. “More for me then. Oh, damn, this thing is melting everywhere.”

  “You should have eaten it faster.”

  “We don’t all scarf our food down, Khorkov.”

  Mikhail raised his eyebrows. “My last name. Well, you really told me.” Natasha stuck a finger up at him. “So, what are you guys up to for the rest of the day?”

  “Wandering; sightseeing,” Francis answered. “You?”

  “Not sure yet. See what takes our fancy.”

  “I have to get back to the ship this afternoon,” Natasha said.

  “You don’t have to.” To Francis, Mikhail said, “She lives in the library at the moment.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with knowing how to read.”

  “Oh, eat your ice cream and stop the snark.” Another middle finger from Natasha, and Mikhail grinned. “Anyhow, we’ll leave you guys to it. See you both later.”

  Francis bade farewell, and Brie mumbled a goodbye too. They watched as Mikhail and Natasha drifted off.

  “So,” said Francis. “What now?”

  Brie shrugged mutely.

  “Wanna head to the marketplace? We could get ice cream. Or there’s fudge.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  They walked in silence.

  Thirty seconds after they set off, Brie suddenly said, “You know they’re sleeping together, right?”

  Francis spluttered, “What?” He stopped and spun, looking for Natasha and Mikhail’s retreating backs. They were long gone. He stared at Brie. “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  They couldn’t be … but then, they were often together these days.

  “I see,” Francis finally said. “Well. Fair enough then.”

  Their walk resumed. Francis kept checking behind, as though Natasha and Mikhail might appear and cry, “It’s true!” or “All wrong; sorry, Brie!” His brow furrowed.

  “Are you bothered?” Brie asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You used to spend a lot of time with her,” she said. “I thought maybe …”

  Ah. So that was why she’d said it.

  “No, I’m not bothered,” Francis told her truthfully. “She’s a friend. I’m just surprised. That’s all.”

  “Oh. Okay.” A pause, and then, brighter: “What are we getting from the market?”

  Francis shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

  “What are you getting?”

  “Um … fudge, I guess.”

  “Okay. I’ll get some too.”

  “All right.”

  Quiet, for a little longer. Then: “What flavour?”

  7

  Knock-knock-knock.

  Déjà vu told Francis, for just an instant as he awoke, that Tesla’s drone was fixed to the side of the ship. It was out there, peering in, tapping to get his attention.

  And then the thought was snatched away as he realised it wasn’t the drone; it was Brie.

  Don’t open it. You were stuck with her all yesterday. Just ignore her. Maybe she’ll go away.

  But she knocked again, and Francis knew he was wrong. So he opened it.

  And, of course, he was spending the day with her. Again.

  Worse, she kept grabbing at his wrist.

  At first it irked him. Now, as they waltzed through one of New Harlem’s many public gardens, she did it again and Francis paid more attention to the way she held him.

  She’s not pulling me along, he realised all at once, gently retracting himself from her grasp. She’s trying to hold my hand.

  Well. Wasn’t that a pleasant thought.

  “Isn’t it pretty?” Brie asked. She gestured at a pond backed by vibrant pink cherry trees. Children threw bread to the long-billed birds sailing across the water’s surface, and parents sat on benches. A curved path arced to and fro, and couples drifted up and down, arm in arm. It was these Brie’s eyes fell most to.

  Francis grimaced.

  “Did you have trees like those?” Brie asked. “Down there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow …”

  Why does she sound impressed? They’re just trees! Trees are everywhere!

  They walked on.

  Brie had quieted, watching the far-off wanderers skirting the pond. In the wake of silence, Francis’s thoughts shifted. It had been in the back of his head all day, but Brie’s question served as a solid reminder: he was supposed to be trying to find out if anyone knew a way he might be able to get back to the surface. Instead he was being carted around by a seventeen-year-old blonde girl with the nervous disposition of a rodent.

  A blonde girl who keeps going for my hand, he amended as her fingers wrapped around his wrist. Lower this time; a pinky was tucked delicately into the crook his palm made, before she again let go.

  A hut loomed ahead, by the path.

  Brie cried, “Oh!” She halted and waved to the nearest door; a restroom. “I just need—can you wait—”

  Francis nodded. “See you in a moment.”

  “Okay!”

  She hurried off.

  Offset half a dozen metres opposite was a bench. Francis wandered to it glumly, and sank down, crossing his legs.

  Could he escape her? He had, after all, better things to do. And so did she! The other technicians had been more than willing to pick up her slack two days in a row. But she could be busy right now, checking in on the Harbinger when needed. Instead she’d extricated herself, and Francis was stuck.

  He eyed the door she’d gone through. Could he make off now? He could hide behind a tree or bush, wait until she wandered past, and then make his way in the opposite direction. The morning was wasted, as well as the first two hours of the afternoon, but that didn’t mean the entire day was lost. Some time to ask questions was better than none. And they weren’t going to be here forever; Ruby had said they’d be put down for maybe four or five days. Half the stay was gone.

  Yet though these thoughts danced enticingly in Francis’s head, he couldn’t. That echoing guilt at ignoring Brie, and Vala’s motherly way of calling him out on it, came back. This would be many times worse.

  So he stayed. And when Brie came out a minute or so later, he rose and met her, pulling his best smile, even if he didn’t feel remotely happy. She moved for his hand again, and almost got it now; two fingers around his wrist, the other two and her thumb twisted oddly around his palm. He cringed inside.

  But, again, that echo of guilt. So he let her.

  8

  At his desk, Francis twiddled a pen. His leatherbound diary sat open to a half-finished entry. Reading it back over, it was all so negative. There had to be something positive he could add.

  He thought long and hard. Finally, he wrote, Fudge was nice in stilted letters. He put down the period—and then drew a fat black line through the sentence, across the whole entry, and shoved pen and diary aside before flopping down onto the bed.

  “God damn it,” he muttered into the mattress.

  The ship-wide intercom jingled. Too cheerily. If his face hadn’t been buried, Francis might have glared at the speaker mounted by the ceiling.

  “Meeting in the rec room, please,” Ruby said.

  Francis took the walk at a trudge, so when he arrived most of the crew were already assembled. Natasha gave him a little wave, and he slotted in beside her, eyes sweeping for Brie. She wasn’t here, yet. Probably h
anging about outside his bedroom door to walk with him.

  “Hey,” Natasha said.

  “Hi.”

  “You okay?”

  Francis shrugged. “Eh.”

  “Ah, Miss Channing,” Ruby said as Brie stepped in. “Please, take up a place. No, at end of the line; there’s no space by Miss Brady and Mr Paige. That’s right.

  “Okay, thank you for gathering, everyone! We’ve had a pleasant couple of days, and it sounds as though everyone is enjoying the vacation.”

  “Here, here,” Peters called. A few of the others cheered.

  “Good. I’m glad. If nothing else, it gives me some time to enjoy the ship in peace.”

  “And gives us some time away from you,” Evans chimed.

  Ruby smiled. “Anyway. The past couple of days, I’ve been pondering what to do next. And I have come to a decision.”

  She paused. This hadn’t gone down well the first time.

  “The morning after tomorrow, the Harbinger will begin to retrace its path and reinvestigate the last known location of the Exceptional Luck.”

  Francis’s eyes widened. The morning after next? He had just one day to try to ask his way through as much of New Harlem as possible to find a way home! Damn it, why had he had to spend his whole day—two whole days—with Brie?

  “This is not a decision I have taken lightly,” Ruby continued. “However, the place deserves scrutiny. We made our journey in search of precious gems, and thus far have found none. With more time to scope things out, we may find something of value.”

  “But—” Natasha started.

  Ruby cut across, “And if we find nothing, then all we have wasted is our time.

  “I understand your collective concerns,” she went on. “However, the kraken that set upon us was struck by lightning. It is dead.”

  “How do you know that for a fact?” Natasha demanded.

  “I am sure of it.” At the sparked chatter, Ruby held up a silencing finger. “Regardless, our safety is of paramount importance to me. Thus, we will dispatch our new drone upon arrival to scout and ensure the area is clear. Rest assured, we will not enter that airspace again unless I am completely certain it is safe.

  “So.” She held open her arms. “Any objections?”

  “One or two,” Natasha muttered.

  Mikhail nudged her. “Chill, Tasha.”

  “As I said, Miss Brady, I understand your concerns. I do. But you must at least agree that something warrants investigation.”

  Natasha sighed. “Yes, I do,” she said. “It’s just …”

  “A kraken,” Ruby finished. “I know. But it’s gone now. I saw it die.”

  Natasha didn’t say anything.

  “Any other objections?” Ruby asked the remainder of the crew.

  It was quiet for a moment. Mikhail said, “It sounds as though you’ve summed everything up nicely, Captain.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” Ruby clapped her hands together. “Well then. Thanks once again for gathering. Dismissed.”

  As the room began to empty, Francis turned to Natasha. “Are you free tomorrow?”

  “Can be. Doing the rounds?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Sure. Have you been asking with Brie these past few days?”

  Francis huffed. “No.”

  An eyebrow rose on Natasha’s face. She said nothing, though, because Brie had woven through the departing throng and found her place at Francis’s side. She gave Natasha and Mikhail a wide-eyed look before training her attention on him.

  “Hello. I waited … Are we hanging out again tomorrow?”

  “Sorry,” Francis said, not meaning it in the slightest. “I’ll be with Natasha.”

  “Oh?”

  “Mm, yeah.” Another day he might have tried to look apologetic. Now, he didn’t even bother. “Anyhow. I’ve got to finish some writing. See you later.” He said the last mostly to Natasha, then left the room as quick as he could.

  Damn it, why had he folded so easily? Brie didn’t need his attention; she just demanded it. But there were more important things than babysitting a seventeen-year-old girl. Francis needed to find a way home—and now he’d lost two full days of potential leads.

  What if those lost days meant he’d lost his chance?

  He stymied his anxiety. There was still tomorrow. A solid day of questioning every person who might know something; patrons, business owners, tourists, merchants. Anyone and everyone. And without Brie. That had to be a victory, even if his desperate search came up naught.

  “Hey, Francis,” a voice called from behind.

  Evans was heading up the corridor with Peters. A crooked smile painted his face, and Francis knew already that Reuben had some jibe prepared.

  “I spotted you and Brie earlier. In the city. Did my eyes deceive me, or were you holding hands?”

  Francis cringed. Damn it!

  Evans elbowed Francis good-naturedly. “She finally broke you down, then.”

  The words spewed from Francis’s mouth before he could stop them: “Oh, fuck off, Reuben.”

  And before either Evans or Peters could say another word, Francis marched down the corridor and out of sight, not stopping until he was safely behind the door to his quarters and the key twisted in the lock.

  9

  It was a failure. Francis had known that from the very moment he awoke. Where usually there was some hope, this morning he felt only an anticipatory pit of defeat.

  To make matters worse, it had been Brie’s knock that woke him. And he hadn’t overslept this time; no, she’d woken him so she could help collecting Sam’s ingredients. Thank goodness today’s options were toast or muesli.

  Francis had been sullen over breakfast. Ruby had stopped by to chat, but even being outgoing to her was a challenge. He was thankful when Brie had to leave for the control centre; after two days of being covered by the others, she was making it up today. Good, Francis thought sourly as he watched her go, glancing away from her last fleeting look before she passed through the open doorway.

  Natasha had stopped by his table shortly after, and he’d tried to be upbeat. Had tried all morning since then. Even after hours of rejection; hours of people laughing at the very notion he might have somehow come up from the surface, or that there might be some way back down that wouldn’t bankrupt all but the richest businesspeople.

  At midday they’d paused to grab a sandwich. As soon as they’d wolfed the lunch down, they began again.

  Francis had tried and tried and tried, and now, at a little before three with nothing but an aching throat and a wadded ball of frustration to show for it, he had had enough. He flopped down into the nearest bench and hung his head in his hands.

  Natasha sank down next to him.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t know whether to cry or … cry.”

  “I think you got the saying wrong.”

  “Did I.”

  “Come on, we’ll find something.”

  “Will we?” Francis looked up at her. His face was desperate. “Will we? It’s the same everywhere. No one believes me, and those that do haven’t got a clue.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know how to feel about the time I wasted with Brie. On one hand, that’s two days I’ve lost. On the other, would it make any difference?”

  “We’ve still got the rest of the afternoon,” Natasha said. “We can carry on right through the evening if you want.”

  Francis sighed. “What’s the point? I’m never getting back home.”

  “You don’t know that. Be positive. I know it’s hard, after all this. But you got up here; we’re doing our best to find you a way back down.”

  “But I don’t understand it! People had to have come up here somehow in the first place. What the hell happened, they just forgot how to do the process in reverse? It must be possible!”

  “Of course it is,” Natasha said. “It’s just expensive, carrying that kind of payload back and forth, especially withou
t Volum able to help.”

  “Rhod did it.”

  “Rhod was a millionaire. Most people aren’t.”

  “It can’t have cost that much, if he was willing to do it just for me.”

  “Who says it was just you? Besides, it doesn’t matter as long as he was making a profit. And your cost—well, it was a long payment plan. If Ruby hadn’t stolen you, you’d be pricey.”

  “Yay.” Francis slumped. “I just don’t understand. I’ve been priced out of a ride back. What if regular people wanted to go back and forth?”

  Natasha said, “What if they didn’t?”

  Questions piled and piled in Francis’s head, spiralling end over end. There were no answers; not that Natasha could give, anyway. And none here, it looked like.

  So where could he look?

  He sighed. “Sorry. I’m just stressed.”

  “I know. It’s understandable. Do you want to carry on?”

  Francis shook his head. “Let’s take a break. Just for a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  An elderly couple passed, arm in arm. The man must once have been tall and reedy, but now bent in the middle. His wife was pear-shaped. She giggled at her partner’s jokes.

  “I haven’t seen you in ages,” Francis said. “Not properly, anyhow.”

  “Library, mostly. That and regular duties.”

  Francis hesitated. “Brie said—well, she told me …” He tried to work out the most polite way of putting it. Certainly he wasn’t going to use the same words Brie had. That was far too blunt. “Is there something going on between you and Mikhail?”

  The navigation leader made little movement. But Francis saw her eyes flit away for just a moment, and an instantaneous lift of the corners of her mouth in a smile that was gone just as fast as it had come.

  “Mr Khorkov is a perfectly respectable man, and I enjoy his company.”

  “Aha.”

  “I enjoy the company of all my crewmates.”

  “I don’t suspect in the same way,” Francis said.

  He waited. Natasha did not bow … for all of three seconds. She grinned unabashedly.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Francis asked.

  Natasha shrugged. “I don’t enquire as to the state of your relationship with Miss Channing.”