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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  She grinned. The way she did when he saw the slight unevenness of her teeth. “See you soon, Francis.”

  “See you soon.”

  “I’ll help you!” Brie said excitably as Francis passed through the door.

  “All right. But only the light stuff.”

  “I can carry more …”

  Ruby shook her head as the last snippets of their conversation drifted down the corridor.

  All Dressed Up

  (Chapter Two)

  1

  The back of Francis’s desk was home to a mirror. Like so much else, it was bolted down, lest unexpected turbulence sent it to a jagged grave.

  Francis hovered in front of it on half-bent legs, watching reflected hands fumble at his tie.

  A head appeared in the doorway. “Afternoon.”

  “Hey, Reuben,” Francis said without looking. “Glim with you?”

  Glim appeared too. Shorter than Reuben, he sort of unfolded from behind him.

  The knot Francis had been attempting disintegrated in a mess of twists. Francis huffed with annoyance, took the tie by each of its ends, and pulled hard so it went straight.

  He started again. Slower, this time.

  Reuben grinned. “Having a spot of trouble with that?”

  “Not at all,” said Francis. “I just love the process, you know? If I could do this all day …” The latest attempt failed, too, and Francis almost tore it from his neck. “Yes, I’m having trouble. Funnily enough, I don’t wear ties very often.” His eyes flicked to the highly amused pair, dressed in suits for the afternoon’s wedding and reception. They looked wrong. “And I expect I can say the same for the pair of you.”

  “In his case, you’d be right,” Reuben said, jerking a finger and almost jabbing Glim in the face. “But me? I brush up.”

  “When?” Francis scoffed.

  “When I’m serenading a lady.”

  “You don’t even own a suit.”

  Reuben’s grin widened. “I do now.”

  Francis shook his head, and pulled his tie apart yet again. He’d lost count of his failures now. Had a few attempts ago, in truth.

  “Are you just going to stand there and watch, or are you going to help a guy out?”

  “Stand and watch,” said Glim.

  “Seriously, how the hell do you tie one of these?”

  “You make a kind of loop.”

  “I’ve been doing that.”

  And again, the would-be tie fell apart in Francis’s fingers.

  He made an angry growl. “Look, can one of you please help me?”

  “We’ve told you what to do.”

  “Tie it for me.” Francis held out the ends. “Please.”

  “No way,” said Glim.

  “Why?”

  “Bit of a romantic thing to do, isn’t it?”

  “Please.”

  “Struggle a bit more first,” said Reuben.

  Francis almost screamed.

  “Why not ask one of the many women on this ship you’re courting?” Reuben suggested. “It’ll give you something to bond over.”

  “I am not fu—”

  “What are you two looking so amused about?”

  Francis bit off the obscenity he’d started. That voice, coming from down the corridor, belonged to Ruby.

  Glim glanced her way. “Case in point,” he said. “Nothing, Captain. Just watching young Paige tie his first tie. It’s not going very well.”

  Ruby appeared in the doorway. Unlike the workhands and Francis, she had not yet begun to change. Regular captain’s garb for her: jacket, shirt and undershirt, thick trousers and heavy boots. Her tricorne hat topped her mass of curly hair, and the usual sword hung sheathed at her side.

  Francis shot Glim daggers. “It’s not my first tie,” he said stubbornly. “I just can’t remember how to do it.” To Ruby, he added, “It’s been a while.”

  “Aha. And these two are helping?” Ruby asked.

  “Of course,” said Reuben.

  “Absolutely,” said Glim.

  “No,” said Francis.

  A smile lighted the corners of Ruby’s lips. “Thought not. All right, you two, leave Francis in peace.”

  Glim made a disappointed noise. Reuben patted him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go find Mikhail. I’m sure we can find something about him to laugh at.”

  “Hey, yeah,” said Glim, brightening. He and Reuben sloped off. “I heard him asking Vala for a flower to pin on his jacket earlier. I bet it’s one of those glittery things she loves …”

  Ruby watched the pair’s receding backs. Her arms folded, she shook her head, smile still ghosting her face. “Children.”

  Francis looked darkly in their direction. “Bloody big kids, if that’s what they are. Reuben’s about eight feet tall.”

  Ruby laughed. She leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Not going well, then?” At Francis’s glance, she nodded at his hands, set to fumbling once more.

  “If it was going well, I’d have finished about ten minutes ago.” He consulted his clock. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

  Ruby smirked. “Come here.” She levered up. Stopping just short of him, she slipped the tie from Francis’s hands—he was more than willing to let it go—and smoothed out the creases. Blue eyes on methodical fingers, she began to fold.

  A loop and a knot and a twist later, and it was done.

  “There, now.” She grinned, showing the faint unevenness of her teeth. “It’s not so hard.”

  She folded down Francis’s collar, arranging the tie’s knot into its final resting place.

  “It is hard,” Francis said.

  “You just need to remember how the knot goes, and practise.”

  Francis bent his knees again so he could look at his reflection in the mirror. It looked very proper. And very odd.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Not a problem.”

  “I thought you said you have a dress,” said Francis.

  “And a veil.”

  “Changed your mind about them?”

  “I’ll change just before leaving,” Ruby said. She hadn’t returned to her spot in the doorway, but leaned against the wall, hands behind her, at the small of her back. She bobbed back and forth, watching as Francis opened his closet and removed the jacket he’d hung there. “I’d rather not prolong my time in a dress.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Ruby shrugged. “They look weird on me.”

  Francis slipped into his jacket. He did another hovering crouch to assess in his mirror.

  Very proper. Very proper indeed.

  It made him frown.

  Ruby said, “I can see the feeling isn’t lost on you.”

  “Apparently not.” Francis shifted from one foot to the next. Maybe if he caught himself at the right angle, the reflection would look correct.

  Ruby’s head appeared beside him, just over his shoulder. She was an inch or so shorter, so had to tiptoe.

  “You look fine,” she said.

  “Hm.”

  After a few seconds more of trying to capture that magical spot where he would look right, Francis’s eyes flickered to Ruby in the mirror. She was grinning.

  He turned to her. Ruby fussed with his jacket.

  “Where did you learn to tie a tie?”

  “I know all sorts of stuff.”

  “Vague.”

  “Uh huh,” said Ruby. She assessed Francis a moment—jacket, tie, collars—and then grinned up at him. Her nose did a little twitch too, he’d come to realise. When she did that big grin, the one that showed her teeth were just minutely out of line, her nose twitched almost imperceptibly. “I trust you can tie laces?”

  “Err … yes?”

  “In that case, I’ll leave you to put your shoes on in peace.”

  And off she went, throwing one last over-the-shoulder smile as she passed over the threshold, before disappearing up the hall.

  2

  Early afternoon sun glinted off the Harbinger�
�s deck as Francis stepped out.

  Perched by the side railing were Reuben, Glim, and Herschel. They were shooting looks at Mikhail, who stood nearby with Natasha and Trove. True to Glim’s words, Mikhail had acquired one of Vala’s glittering charis flowers: it sparkled in his lapel, mauve and silver.

  Natasha wore a sweeping black dress. Her hair, which was long and straight and usually hung down her back, was tied up in an elegant twist. She looked so different Francis almost did a double-take.

  Likewise, Trove was a world apart from his usual self. A tall, thin man with a slowly growing bald spot, he spent much of his time clad in a long, slightly threadbare jacket. Now he wore a suit, same as the others. But what seemed most off about him was the lack of clipboard. It accompanied Trove everywhere, at all times. Francis wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen him without it.

  On the other side of the deck were Vala and Stefan Daly. Vala wore a long gown of pastel blue.

  “Afternoon,” said Stefan as Francis trekked over. He stuck out a hand, and patted Francis on the shoulder with his free one as they shook.

  “You guys look great,” Francis said.

  “Nothing new here,” said Stefan.

  “Thank you,” Vala answered. “You look very dapper yourself.”

  “I think I look odd.”

  “Of course you don’t,” said Vala. “You look perfectly at home in a suit.”

  Francis looked sceptical.

  “It’s high praise; I’d take it,” said Stefan. “Best she said of me was ‘Not bad’.”

  Francis continued his sweeping look of the deck. Indeed, most of the crew had amassed beneath the two o’clock sun. Amelie was joined by Owen Good, Wren Beckers, and Darrel Stitt. Wren’s dress was understated; Amelie’s was not. Her pink gown sprung open like a great bulb around her hips, an upside-down V cut in the front. A pair of sparkling high heels extended her bare legs, and were matched by an equally sparkling necklace and tiara. Her hair, so often tied back, was crimped.

  She looked nice. Pretty, even.

  And then she glanced sideways, caught sight of Francis, and her face turned into a scowl before she angled away.

  Of course.

  The door from the ship opened. Francis mentally checked, wondering who it might be. Ruby, or Brie … but it was actually Sam who stepped out. Somehow, and Francis had no clue via what method that might be, he had managed to acquire a suit to fit his enormous frame.

  “We’re going to a look a sight,” Francis said. “Walking through Survoix all dressed up.”

  “The church isn’t far,” said Vala.

  “No?”

  “Just up there.” She pointed in the direction of a nearby hill. Streets and houses cut lines among trees. “We took a look yesterday.”

  Stefan nodded. “It’s nice.”

  “Very big,” said Vala.

  “It’d have to be,” said Stefan. “Amelie said there are four hundred guests attending.”

  Francis let out a low whistle. “I don’t think I’ve met four hundred people in my whole life.”

  “You and me both,” said Stefan.

  “What was your wedding like?” Francis asked.

  “Small,” said Vala. “Nothing like this.”

  “Good,” said Stefan. “It was busy enough with the forty-two we sent invitations to.” He said to Francis, “Some of our friends brought kids.” He shook his head. “Never again.”

  “Good for you marriage is a one-time thing, then,” said Francis.

  “If he’s lucky,” said Vala.

  “Trust me,” Stefan countered. “It’s a one-time thing whatever happens.”

  Francis chortled.

  The door down to the ship snapped open.

  “Francis!”

  He, Vala and Stefan turned. As did half the rest of the ship.

  Brie flew out. Sia Cowell, the third day-shift technician alongside Amelie and Stefan, had come too, but was left in dust as Brie broke away.

  Brie hurried across deck in a silky, royal blue dress. It was strapless, and the hem curved an arc around her legs. Her cheeks were faintly blushed, and her lips glossed, shiny pink. And her hair: for the first time straight, white blonde locks did not overhang Brie Channing’s shoulders. Instead they were curled, and drew spiral waves.

  Brie hurtled to a stop in front of Francis. “Hi!” She pulled her dress up absentmindedly. “Do you like it?”

  “It looks wonderful,” said Vala.

  Francis nodded. “Really great.”

  Sia, in an apple red dress, wandered over. “Brie, you need to slow down. Your hair …” She fiddled with it from the back, frowning.

  Brie looked sheepish. “Sorry, Sia.”

  “It’s all right. Just … hold this, okay?” Sia passed the clutch bag tucked under her arm forward. Brie took it.

  “Francis?” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Siasaidthere’s—”

  “Whoa, whoa, slow down,” said Francis. “Say again?”

  Brie inhaled. Looking as though it took a great deal of effort to iterate at normal speed, she said, “Sia said there’s going to be dancing, and—and she said there would be a slow dance—” Her cheeks were colouring now, and it was nothing to do with her make-up. Over her shoulder, Sia curled her lips inward and fought to keep a straight face.

  “And—and I was wondering if you would dance with me!” Brie finished in one great breath.

  Just as Brie concluded, the door between topside deck and ship opened once more. No one looked around, from what Francis could see; not like Brie’s noisy arrival. But he saw, over the young woman’s shoulder. Saw perfectly as, slipping out …

  Ruby stepped onto deck. No more was she clad in the outfit Francis was so accustomed to. Instead she was wrapped in a pale brown dress. It clasped above her shoulders, and had no sleeves. Around the middle was a loose, wide belt with a plain gold buckle. Hooding her head, her mass of curls tucked perfectly away: a veil. Deepest red, and speckled with white dots.

  Compared to the others—compared to Amelie in particular, and followed by either Vala or Brie, Francis wasn’t sure—Ruby looked altogether plain. Yet something caught, and for a stretched instant his eyes were fixed on where she stood, unaware of him.

  Then his gaze flickered back. Brie waited, breath held. Behind her, Sia still fussed with hair.

  She asked if you’d dance.

  Francis cleared his throat. He nodded, feeling as though he was on autopilot. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, of course I’ll dance with you.”

  Brie’s eyes bugged. She looked like she could hardly believe her luck. Sia seemed to brace for some kind of explosion.

  “You—you mean it? A slow dance?”

  Francis’s eyes slipped past. Just a moment. Enough to see Ruby had joined ranks with Natasha and Trove and Mikhail. As well as Reuben and Sam, those three were some of the tallest on the Harbinger. Next to them, Ruby looked small … but not diminished.

  Francis cleared his throat again. It had acquired a sudden, odd tickle. “Yeah,” he said to Brie. “Yeah, of course.” And he nodded, just as automatically as before, as Brie looked happier than she ever had—and his eyes slipped past again, to Ruby.

  3

  ‘Church’, Francis decided, was the wrong word. This was a cathedral.

  The building was made of purest white marble, windows glinting. It resided in the centre of enormous grounds, the edges lined with magnificent trees, so the cathedral did not so much round into view, but rise into the sky as the streets and then trees fell away.

  Francis stared, awed. “Holy fu—”

  Mikhail bumped him in the shoulder. “Place of worship, mate. Easy on the effs.”

  At the same moment, Brie, who had just appeared behind, said, “Holy fuck!”

  Francis and Mikhail turned just in time to see her eyes go wide. She clapped a hand to her mouth. Blushing furiously, she mumbled, “S-sorry.”

  Mikhail suppressed his smirk. Looking sidelong at Francis, he said, “Wond
er where she got that from?”

  The grounds were packed with guests. Men clad in suits, and women in dresses of every colour under the sun. Dozens of kids, too, like the adults but miniature. Whereas the older attendees had arranged in throngs, mostly confining themselves to company they knew, the children were different. They were chasing, weaving through guests’ legs while nearby mothers and fathers called for calm.

  The Harbinger’s crew crossed the grounds. Several men, also in suits, appeared to be checking a guest list between them. They apprehended Ruby, who led.

  Amelie jogged forward, holding her dress up, and conferred.

  The conversation was brief. A few moments later, Amelie was given a nod and a smile, and the party permitted closer.

  “Where’s the reception happening?” Francis asked.

  “Marquee set up on the other side,” Mikhail answered. “Just there.” He pointed.

  Francis craned. He could just about spy it: a pointed fabric ceiling, peering around the cathedral’s edge.

  “Must be pretty big,” he said. “To get all of us in there.”

  “We’ve got the grounds, too,” said Natasha from the other side of Mikhail. “And I doubt everyone will stay.”

  Francis assessed. “Still.”

  Mikhail laughed. “Stop worrying, mate. There’ll be loads of room. You’ll get your slow dance.”

  “Slow dance?” And then, remembering: “Oh. Right.”

  “This place is amazing,” said Natasha. “It must be really expensive.”

  Mikhail: “Good thing Mrs Telford is loaded.”

  “It’s Miss Travere, actually,” said Natasha. “At least for another hour or so.”

  Francis frowned. “So why’s Amelie—?”

  “Her dad’s surname. Though don’t tell her I told you that.”

  That wouldn’t be too hard.

  “What does her mum do?” Francis asked.

  “I don’t know. Amelie doesn’t talk about her much. She was born into wealth, I gather, but could be anything. Whatever the case, she’s done a fine job of handling her assets. Or her accountant has.”

  “Why didn’t Amelie stay?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If her mum can afford all this …” Francis gestured. “If she can afford to fly a ship full of people out here—”