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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  “I didn’t mean …”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Amelie rolled her eyes. “Just like I’m sure she didn’t mean to fall for such a nasty, low, yellow-bellied—”

  “That’s enough, Miss Telford.”

  Ruby stood just in the doorway, Trove paused beside her, clipboard tucked under his plastered arm.

  Ruby said, “While I assure you I’m not defending Mr Paige’s position, I will remind you now of the saying to practise what one preaches.”

  Amelie huffed.

  “Go on, go grab yourself some breakfast.”

  Turning to Francis one final time, Amelie pointed a finger and said, “You’re a nasty piece of work.” Then she turned head and walked away, brown ponytail flapping behind her.

  “How is Sam’s cooking this morning?” Ruby asked Francis conversationally. “Up to his usual high standard?” Trove scoffed; Ruby ignored him.

  Francis looked down at his plate. “I’m not really hungry anymore.”

  “Aha. Well, then perhaps you’ll be so kind as to come with me for a moment.” At Francis’s wary nod, Ruby said to Trove, “Have Sam wrap the meal so Francis can collect it later.” To Francis: “It won’t quite be the same cold, but I’d rather you not starve.”

  While Trove took care of the plate, Ruby and Francis wandered from the room. The captain made idle chitchat, but it was barely heard and Francis’s answers were automatic. Instead he eyed the route they walked, wondering who might come from this direction. More of the technicians? Brie?

  “Had Miss Telford been berating you long?” Ruby asked at last.

  “No. Only for a minute.”

  “She’s fiery.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  Choosing her words carefully, Ruby said, “What happened last night was … vitriolic. Caustic. Unplanned, I’m sure; by the sound of what a few of your fellow diners heard prior to your diatribe, Brie said something that would have understandably rubbed you the wrong way. However. Your method of dealing with it left more than a little to be desired.”

  Francis nodded sadly. “I know.”

  “As I told you on your first true morning among us, and as you reminded me a little later: we’re a family. Families have schisms sometimes. It’s normal. The number of times Reuben and Glim have gone too far and narrowly avoided coming to blows … and likewise, our technicians can be just as irritable, stuck in that room all day with each other. So it happens.

  “But. Families also patch things up. And I need you to do that, Francis.” She held his gaze, long and steady. “Can you do that for me?”

  “I’ll try.” Somehow.

  “Good.” Ruby’s hand found his shoulder and squeezed. “You’re a good person.”

  “Am I? After that?”

  “Good people aren’t just black and white. We’re grey, all of us.” Ruby released him. “Anyhow. I ought to get some breakfast. And something to drink. I haven’t even had my coffee yet this morning—can you believe that?” She smiled, and Francis gave a very small one back. “Have a good day.”

  She touched him one last time, her hand gently on his forearm, and then returned the way they’d come. Francis watched her go.

  He would fix it. He didn’t know how, but he would.

  2

  Vala’s greenhouse was as full as Francis had ever seen it, come evening. The botanist occupied herself with cross-pollination on the rear work surface. Stefan assisted half the time; the other half he leant back against the table, listening to the others. Mikhail was sprawled out across the floor, and Natasha sat cross-legged beside him. Opposite, Francis sat and fiddled with the fronds of ferns overspilling the nearby rack.

  “I don’t blame you,” said Stefan. “For what happened.”

  Vala: “Stefan, she’s seventeen.”

  “But he’s right: she didn’t leave him alone. How many times did you point her out to me? She’s been ghosting him for ages. All those times she kept turning up for breakfast; she’s on night shift, they’re all in bed by the time we eat.”

  “What Stefan means,” Vala said to Francis, “is he can understand why you reacted as you did. He’s not excusing you. Isn’t that right, Stefan?”

  “If you say so.”

  “I think we all agree we can understand why it happened, in light of what she said,” Natasha said. A charis that had survived their brush with the kraken sat in her lap. Idle fingers touched its petals. “But they’re both in the wrong.”

  “I’m more wrong,” Francis said. “Like everyone said; she’s seventeen. And naïve.” Clearly, given her pursuit. “Teenagers say and do stupid things.”

  Natasha said, “We’ve all been there.”

  “You still look barely a day older than eighteen,” Mikhail told her.

  Natasha stuck a finger up at him.

  “Why don’t you ever say anything like that to me?” Vala asked Stefan.

  “Because I’d be lying.”

  She hit him.

  “I should have known better,” said Francis. “I’m older. I should have held my tongue. And now everyone’s upset at me.”

  “Not everyone,” said Mikhail.

  Natasha said, “Though you were a dick.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “It doesn’t matter how everyone else feels,” Vala said. She stopped her pollination and pointed at Francis with a long, stickly tool. “What matters is Brie. She’s the one you upset. She’s the concern. Forget the collateral.”

  Francis looked helpless. “How am I supposed to fix it?”

  “Same way everyone does: you apologise.”

  “It doesn’t seem like enough.”

  “Well, no. But it’s a start.”

  Francis thought about it.

  “What’s the problem?” Natasha asked.

  “I’m just—I’m scared, okay? The thought of seeing her again after last night … it terrifies me.”

  “Good. It shows you feel bad.”

  “Not that we didn’t already know,” Mikhail added. “I mean, just look at you. You look bloody horrible.”

  Francis muttered, “Thanks.” Mikhail grinned. “So I’m scared. That’s it. But.” He took a deep breath and steeled himself. “I’ll do it.”

  “That’s good,” said Vala. “When?”

  “Um …”

  “She’s working now.”

  Francis checked his clock. Brie would’ve started her shift a little over half an hour ago.

  “The sooner you do it, the better for her, and the easier it’s going to be for you,” Vala said.

  Francis nodded. It took a lot of effort, but he did. As often proved the case, she was right.

  “Okay. Then I guess I’m going now.”

  “Want me to come?” Mikhail asked. “You know, for emotional support.”

  “I’d like to say yes,” Francis admitted. “But I should do this alone.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Natasha. “You’ll be fine.”

  Francis didn’t think so. But after battling inside for one last moment, he pushed to his feet. Already his heart thumped quicker in anticipation, and he’d barely done more than stand. How would he manage when he actually got to her?

  “Good luck,” said Vala.

  “Yeah, good luck,” Stefan said. He stuck up a thumb.

  “You’re doing the right thing,” said Natasha.

  Francis, hollow: “Yeah.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to come?” Mikhail offered. “Last chance. You can take it. None of us will think less of you.”

  Francis really wanted to say yes, really, really wanted to—but he declined with a shake of the head. This had to be alone. It was the only way that was right.

  “I’ll see you all soon,” he said. And after a last look at each of them, he headed down the closest aisle carved between racks of plants, for the door to the rest of the ship—and with it, in the Harbinger’s beating heart, Brie Channing.

  3

  The control centre door was open when Fra
ncis arrived. That was a dual-edged sword. On the one hand, it meant he’d lost the opportunity to stand outside and wonder if he might chicken out. On the other, it meant he’d lost the opportunity to stand outside and wonder if he might chicken out.

  The next best thing was to slow down on approach. But that still brought him ever-forward. Maybe he could stop around the corner, talk himself up to going in?

  No. They’d have heard his footsteps.

  With a shaky breath to fill his icy lungs, he swallowed hard and stepped over the threshold, knocking against the wall in place of the door.

  The Harbinger’s six workstations, of which only three or four were in use most of the time, were arranged in twos. One pair in front of the room’s gargantuan main display; in the day, these were helmed by Amelie and Sia. Midway up the room, staggered on opposite walls, the next pair; Natasha often took one of these. And to the rear, two final stations: Stefan had one during the day, replaced by Owen on night shift. The other stations remained free and available should they become needed.

  Wren and Brie were Amelie and Sia’s night shift analogues. So they were sat right at the front of the room.

  They turned. Brie saw Francis and jerked, swinging back round. Francis’s stomach clenched.

  Wren flew up from her seat.

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  Francis swallowed. His throat clicked. Suddenly his mouth was bone dry.

  “I wondered if I could talk to Brie.”

  “Why?”

  “To, ah … to apologise.”

  Wren gestured to her. “Go on then.”

  Brie was bowed low over her console, typing commands fast—too fast.

  She didn’t want to talk. Of course she didn’t. Why would she?

  But Francis had to at least try.

  “I’d like to speak to her alone. If you don’t mind.”

  “Anything you want to say, you can say in front of me and—”

  “No.”

  Three faces turned. Brie’s frantic typing had stopped. Eyes wary, face pink, she shook her head.

  “He can talk to me on his own, if he wants.”

  “Are you sure?” Wren asked. “After …”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay.” A watery smile. “Thanks.”

  Wren laid a hand on Brie’s shoulder. “If he upsets you, just call, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Come on, Owen. Let’s leave these two to it.”

  Wren marched past Francis, giving him a final significant look, and waited for Owen to exit the room. She followed in his wake, and from outside wheeled the door closed.

  Silence.

  Voice low and quiet, Francis said, “I’m really sorry, Brie.”

  “Did you mean it?” she asked. “What you said?”

  “I …” Francis trailed off. How could he answer? What he’d said was true. But he couldn’t lie to her and deny it, either. Just by having her around, letting her paw at his hand on their walk through New Harlem; that had been lying too, in a way. There could be no more of that.

  Brie’s lip quivered. “Did you?”

  “I’m sorry. I just … I overreacted.”

  Tears welled in Brie’s eyes. It was gut-wrenching to watch, and harder still for Francis not to let his gaze drop to the floor.

  “Which bit?” she whispered. “Which bit did you mean? About me—me hanging around, or—or not liking me, or only spending time with me because you—because you felt guilty?” When Francis didn’t answer, her face contorted and fell. “All of it?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Tears dribbled down Brie’s cheeks. She let out a rending sob.

  She was so small.

  Francis didn’t know what to do. Should he go to her? Hold her? But that was so disingenuous, after everything. So instead he stood mutely near the closed door, mouth downturned, unable to tear his eyes from this broken girl.

  “Why d-don’t you l-like me?” Brie finally asked. Face red, blonde hair was plastered madcap to it. A strand had found its way into the corner of her mouth, but she did nothing to move it. “W-why?”

  “I … I just don’t,” Francis said. “I can’t give a better answer than that.”

  Brie hiccoughed. She rubbed her tears away with a bunched sleeve, but they returned just as fast. And all the time she looked at him, stared through those bloodshot watery blue eyes, as she tried to understand something Francis couldn’t explain.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, lamely.

  “I just w-wanted …”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Please, just—just give me a ch-chance. I can … I can be different. I can—can annoy you less.” A bawl echoed from her throat and warbled her last words. She clutched her head in her arms, lifting her knees to her chest in her chair. “Please.”

  This was so hard. Francis could stop her tears if he just said yes. One word, and she would be okay again. This would be over. No more of those great sobs that rocked her body.

  And no more of this black feeling sweeping through him.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair. It would a lie.”

  Brie wailed. She gripped herself into a ball and slumped sideways.

  Go to her.

  And now the second voice, right this time: I can’t.

  “I’m s-s-sorry,” Brie sobbed. “About—about your l-l-lock … I just …”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I j-just …”

  Again: “It’s okay.”

  Brie’s mouth worked like she might say something else. Before she could articulate it, another great cry burst from her lungs and she clutched herself tighter.

  The door wheeled opened and Wren was in. She elbowed Francis aside and swept Brie into a tight embrace.

  “What did you do?” she demanded of him.

  “I just apologised—”

  “Yeah, well, good job you did of that.”

  “But, I—”

  “Just get out,” Wren said. “Go on, go. You’d done enough damage. God, I should never have left you alone with her.” To Brie: “Come on, honey, it’s okay …”

  Francis couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch.

  A hand landed on his shoulder.

  He looked sideways. Owen.

  “I think you’d better leave.”

  It was said with no malice, no threat. It was a statement, pure and simple.

  And it was enough to finally break Francis’s horrid reverie. Nodding, he excused himself with a murmur and left.

  Brie’s cries echoed up the corridor after him, but only a few footsteps; someone wheeled the door shut, muting her sobs. Still, if Francis listened hard enough he could detect them, if not truly then in his mind as he replayed breaking the girl for a second time.

  4

  Francis thought his legs might carry him to his quarters. But they didn’t. Next he thought they were taking him to the greenhouse. But he passed, casting it little more than a glance—it was empty, judging by the glow that no longer seeped from under the door—and he instead found himself on the Harbinger’s empty top deck.

  The sky was pink. Summer was just beginning its way out. Twilight descended sooner; the heat had abated. A subtle tang wafted, and the softest breeze caressed Francis as he held onto the Harbinger’s side rail and looked out in glum quiet.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there before the door behind him opened. It must have been a while, because pink had slipped into purple, and overhead the very first diamond pinprick watched down from the heavens.

  Someone joined his side. Two hands held the rail.

  “Hi, Francis.”

  It was Ruby.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “How are you?”

  Francis shrugged. “Been better.”

  “Wren called me. She said you stopped by earlier. To speak to Brie.”

  Fantastic. Another person to chide him.

  “Sorry,” he said.

 
“For what?”

  “I tried to fix it. I went to apologise, but she got upset. I … I said some things I guess she didn’t want to hear.” A long breath escaped his lungs. “I couldn’t lie.”

  “I know. Once Brie calmed down, she told me everything.”

  Ahead and below, a puff of pale cloud streaked the sky like a contrail. Further beneath, the land; a dark swatch of green, reduced to plains by the Harbinger’s height.

  “Sorry,” Francis repeated at last. “I tried.”

  Ruby held his wrist. For the first time, Francis looked at her.

  “I know. And that’s all I ask.”

  “But Brie …”

  “Will be fine, in time. She’s young. This sort of thing happens to everyone, at some time or other. Yourself included, if it hasn’t already.”

  A tiny, unfunny laugh left Francis’s lips. “True.”

  “Time heals all wounds. For better or worse, it always does. As it shall heal hers.”

  Francis nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “Not that I deserve it.”

  “You understand what you did was wrong. That shows exactly what I told you earlier, about being a good person.”

  “I still don’t think so.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t. But you are.”

  Ruby looked at him for a long moment, then removed her hand from his wrist and held the railing again, looking out once more. A crimson spiral twisted over her shoulder. Brie would’ve swiped that away; Ruby simply lifted her left hand and let her fingers fiddle with the bottommost curls.

  “Has it happened to you?” Francis asked. “The heartbreak stuff.”

  “Ah.” Ruby smiled. “No.”

  They looked out a little longer. Finally, Ruby drew a breath of cool evening air.

  “Well. I shall leave you to it. Have a pleasant evening, Francis.”

  “See you.”

  A few seconds later the door into the ship opened and closed, and Francis was again alone.

  He stayed there for a long time after that, lost in his thoughts. By the time he finally extracted himself, the sky was fully dark and pocked with hundreds, if not thousands, of glinting stars, a subtle plum band streaked among them.

  It took a long time to fall asleep.

  5