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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  “That statement assumes we’re not cheap,” Mikhail said with a wink.

  “I just wonder why Amelie would have left. It’s a nice place.”

  “And she had her mum’s chequebook at her disposal?” Mikhail tacked on.

  Francis shrugged. “Sweetens things.”

  They came to a stop on the very fringes of the great congregation outside the cathedral. The largest cluster, disjointed and piecemeal as it was, amassed around the enormous double doors into the building. Closed, for now. More people still joined from the pathways cut in the perimeter tree line.

  Amelie stood a little way off. She had been joined by Wren, Sia, and Brie.

  Brie looked around. She caught Francis’s eye. Face lit, she waved excitably. Francis lifted a hand back.

  “I guarantee you’ll be stuck with her all night,” Mikhail muttered in a low voice.

  Francis shrugged. “There are worse people to be stuck with.”

  “Yeah? Miss Telford, you mean?”

  “Well, her or you and the other guys.”

  Mikhail laughed heartily. “Charming. Still, in spite of those hurtful words of yours, if you want some respite, you let me know.”

  “Going to take her off my hands?”

  “Nah,” said Mikhail. “But Tasha will.”

  “Gladly,” said Natasha. “The sooner, the better.”

  “Aren’t you just a peach?”

  Natasha waved Mikhail off. “Come on, I think people are moving inside.”

  Indeed, they were. The large wood doors into the cathedral had been opened, and slowly but surely the many guests were making their way in. Good thing the doors were so wide, or it might take most of the afternoon. Even so, the footsteps Francis and the crew took were very, very small.

  “You sitting with us?” Mikhail asked.

  Francis opened his mouth to say ‘yes’, but caught himself. “Uh—Brie asked if I’d sit with her.”

  “You can still sit with us. It’ll be like a double date.”

  Francis gave Mikhail a dark look. “No, it won’t.”

  “Well, not like any I’ve been on.”

  “It won’t be like a double date.”

  At the same time, Natasha said, “What double dates have you been on?”

  4

  The cathedral was even more majestic inside than out. The walls and ceiling—which, Francis noted with an awed murmur as he looked up, was incredibly high—were the same white marble as outside, with a dark floor. Heavy, elaborate pews were set into great lines for what felt like miles. At the room’s distant front, steps rose gently to a raised platform covered in floral arrangements, at the edges, an organ to the rear, onyx-coloured pipes protruding skyward in sloping, layered rows, and a lectern.

  More floral arrangements lined the edges of the pews, and beneath the tall windows through which golden light shone. Even at a glance, Francis thought they were expensive.

  Vala, who sat with Stefan in the row in front, seemed to agree. As Francis edged behind them, following Mikhail and trailed by Brie, he thought he heard Vala trying to goad Stefan into plucking something out and pocketing it for her.

  The pew was surprisingly comfortable. Francis had always pictured them as solid wood, but a plush crimson pad ran along the back and seat of the bench.

  For their late arrival—and the fact they were almost entirely unknown to the soon-to-be newlyweds—they found seats right at the very back of the hall. Only Amelie, as daughter to the bride, had brushed past for the front of the church.

  “Isn’t it nice?” Brie asked.

  At the front, a man in a pressed white suit stood on the steps. Two others were with him.

  Was that the groom?

  Wait a second …

  Francis squinted. He leaned forward, as far as he could go.

  “What’s up?” asked Mikhail.

  “I think …” Francis frowned. He rubbed his eyes, and squinted again.

  Mikhail waited. “You think …?”

  “He needs glasses,” said Brie.

  “He thinks he needs glasses?”

  “I have glasses,” Francis said.

  “Err …”

  “Back home.” Francis shook his head. “Just look up there. Guy in the white suit.”

  Mikhail peered. “The groom?”

  “Yeah. Look at him. Have a really, really good look.”

  Mikhail did. “I’m not seeing …” Then he paused. Like Francis, he leaned forward and squinted. “Is that—?”

  “The guy from yesterday?” Francis finished. “I think so.”

  “What guy from yesterday?” Brie asked.

  “When we were getting our suits,” Francis told her, “a kid ran past. He’d stolen some guy’s suitcase, and Mikhail caught him and returned it to the bloke he’d nicked it from. The guy in the white suit; it’s him.”

  And now Mikhail had confirmed it, there was no question. Francis could not see perfectly, but squinting he cleared up the blur just enough to know: that man in white, the man about to marry Amelie’s mother, was the man whose belongings Mikhail had rescued yesterday afternoon.

  “Huh,” said Mikhail. He sat back, looking mildly surprised. “Small world.”

  Small World

  (Chapter Three)

  1

  Amelie’s mother came out at half past three on the dot. The room, abuzz with conversation, silenced all at once. Heads turned and craned.

  Francis, near the back, got closest look.

  She wore the most extravagant wedding dress Francis thought there was. A cascade of white layers flowed. She wore no veil, but a tiara, encrusted in sparkling jewels.

  That she was Amelie’s mother was clear. The cut of her face was the same. The eyes, too, and lips. Her hair was the same brown, and though here it was curled, Francis found it was not difficult to mentally swap it out for Amelie’s traditional ponytail. It made the pair look more similar than ever.

  Six flower girls trailed behind. They were all young; eight or nine at most. Their dresses were plain. Each clasped a carved wooden bowl of petals, all different colours.

  As the organ began to play, Miss Travere took her slow walk up the aisle. The girls followed, scattering petals: left-hand girls to their left; right-hand girls to their right.

  “Isn’t she pretty?” Brie whispered.

  “Ssh,” said Sia from Brie’s right.

  “Sorry …”

  After what could have been an age, given the timing of her steps to the organ’s music, and the sheer length of the hall, Amelie’s mother reached the front. She bowed down to hug and kiss each of the flower girls, who filed to seats of their own. Then she turned to the man in the white suit, and took his hands. He said something too quiet to carry.

  “What did he say?” Brie whispered.

  “I think he called her beautiful,” said Sia.

  “Ooh! That’s sweet.”

  The elderly priest took his place at the lectern, and held up his hands.

  “Dearly beloved,” he began. “We are gathered here today …”

  2

  A hand waved up and down in front of Francis’s eyes. “Anybody home?”

  He blinked. “Huh?” Reuben and Glim looked faintly amused. “Oh. Hi.”

  Reuben pulled up a seat. “You spaced out. Spy someone nice on the dance floor?”

  Francis frowned. A dance floor had been set up, yes, and it was in the direction he’d zoned out looking toward. Though it was still early—just past five, at last look—more than a handful of people had started filling it out. Children, mostly, but there were a few adults too; mothers and aunts and older sisters, dancing along with them.

  “What? No,” said Francis, shaking his head.

  Reuben followed his look. Then: “Oh … I see.” He grinned at Francis. “Checking out the captain?”

  Francis looked sideways. There was Ruby, and Trove. Ruby in her plain brown dress with the black belt and its gold buckle, and that red veil speckled with white dots. She h
ad pulled it down now, so it hung around her shoulders. Her hair fell in free spirals.

  Trove looked more officious than ever. He was talking away, ramrod straight. Probably memorised the contents of his clipboard, and was now in the process of relaying them. Ruby, picking at the contents of a long buffet table, listened and nodded along.

  “No,” Francis said. “I’m not.”

  “She help you with that tie earlier?” Glim asked.

  Francis glared sidelong without saying anything.

  “Never know,” Reuben continued. “If you ask nicely, she might help you out of—”

  The last word turned into a cough as Francis elbowed him. “Shut up.”

  “Relax,” Reuben said. “We know you’re not crushing on the captain.”

  Glim: “Though I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

  “I’m not,” said Francis.

  “We know,” Reuben said.

  Francis lifted his eyebrows. There was more coming … but Reuben only looked back, and Francis relinquished.

  “It’s Brie you’re after, right?”

  “Oh, for fuck—”

  Francis had risen. Reuben caught him by the wrist. “Hey,” he said, laughing. “We’re winding you up. Seriously, mate, chill. It means we like you.”

  Francis glared.

  “Less of the daggers. Sit down. We’ll shut up. Right, Glim?”

  “If we have to—ow! All right, fine, we’ll shut up.”

  Begrudgingly, Francis lowered back into his seat, looking sourer than before.

  “One thing, though,” said Reuben.

  Francis eyed him warily.

  “If you’re not interested—why’d you say you’d dance with her?”

  “Friends can dance.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a slow dance.”

  “Friends can slow dance.” At Reuben’s unyielding expression, Francis huffed. “Look, she knows how I feel about everything. We’re just friends.”

  Reuben nodded. “All right then.”

  The marquee turned out to be several, all put together. And good thing, too. The one Francis found himself in was large enough, but even with the other three completing the quadrants, and many more guests out in the cathedral’s expansive grounds, it felt packed. Not enough to be claustrophobic, certainly not, but there were so many people!

  The marquees were set up on temporary wood flooring, and all white. Likewise, the décor. Round tables were strung throughout the floor space, with white tablecloths and stunning floral centrepieces. The chairs, too, were wrapped in white fabric, held in place by large pink bows. Brie had cooed over these.

  “Tell you what,” said Glim. “There are some very fine ladies here.” His eyes lighted on a young woman bending over to adjust an ankle bracelet. “Very fine indeed.”

  Reuben followed his gaze. “Not a chance. Me, on the other hand …”

  “What makes you think she’ll want you over me?”

  “How long have you got?”

  The woman turned. She couldn’t be in earshot, but she must have caught Reuben and Glim looking, because her eyes landed straight on them.

  Reuben lifted a hand.

  Her face contorted. Francis wasn’t sure whether it was a frown, a turn-up of the nose, or both.

  He laughed as the woman walked unsteadily away in her heels. “I don’t think she’s interested in either of you.”

  “Damn it,” said Reuben. “She must’ve seen Glim first.”

  “Why me?”

  “Like I said: how long have you got?”

  “Francis, back me up here, will you?”

  Francis smirked. “You’re on your own.”

  Glim harrumphed and crossed his arms.

  A male waiter ambled by. A tray of champagne flutes was expertly balanced on one hand. He paused by the three men to offer. Reuben and Glim accepted; Francis shook his head.

  “Go on,” said Reuben. “Live a little.”

  “I don’t like champagne.”

  Reuben looked to the waiter. “You got anything else for fussy, here?”

  “Our bar is just over there, sir. I’d be happy to bring you something.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Go on,” said Reuben. “The man’s offering. This is a party.”

  “It’s a wedding reception.”

  Reuben shrugged and swallowed a third of his champagne in one. “Same diff.” To the waiter, he said, “You got cider?”

  “We do.”

  “He’ll have one.”

  “Make it a fruit one though, yeah?” Glim chimed.

  “Yeah, fruit,” Reuben added. “Strawberry or something. He doesn’t get out much, and he’s bad enough without a hangover.”

  Francis protested, “I don’t—”

  But it was too late. The waiter had already nodded and headed away.

  Francis gawped at his receding back. “I wish you hadn’t done that,” he said.

  Reuben made a dismissive sound. He took another slug of his champagne. “It’s only one drink.”

  “I never drink.”

  Glim laughed. “I could’ve told you that.”

  “One won’t hurt,” said Reuben. “It’ll loosen you up. Help you relax a little. When’s the last time you relaxed?”

  Francis thought back. Just months ago, the Harbinger had encountered—twice—a massive, mechanical beast designed to knock trading ships out of the sky and loot valuable cargo. On the first occasion, Francis had had several ribs broken. On the second, he’d taken a flying leap out of it and re-broken them, along with his nose. It was still slightly lopsided.

  “I spent several weeks in and out of a hospital bed this summer,” he said.

  “With the old sawbones prodding you every five minutes?” Reuben shook his head. “Doesn’t count.”

  The waiter was back, and had with him a faintly brown bottle. A sticker on the front bore a stylised strawberry, and the name OLIVIA’S.

  “Your drink, sir.”

  Francis took it. “Thanks.”

  The waiter nodded, and was off.

  Francis sniffed. Dubious, he sipped.

  “How is it?” Reuben asked.

  “It’s … not bad, actually.”

  Reuben looked victorious. “See?”

  Francis laughed. “All right, fine. You were right. I don’t know what you were right about, but you were.”

  “That’s the spirit. Now get it down your neck.”

  “What? But you said just one—”

  “Won’t hurt. And if one won’t hurt, two won’t either.” Reuben grinned, and lifted his champagne flute. Not much was left. Behind, Glim did the same, his rather more full. “Bottoms up!”

  He and Glim downed theirs in one fell swoop. Francis looked unsure—but he glanced around. This was a party. And he didn’t relax nearly as much as he ought to. And the drink was nice …

  “Go on,” Reuben goaded. “You’ll enjoy it.”

  “All right,” Francis said. He grinned, feeling like a teenager at a party: a touch of apprehension, a touch of excitement. He raised his glass. “Bottoms up.”

  To the tune of Reuben and Glim’s combined whoops, up went the bottom.

  3

  “Francis!”

  Brie half ran, half stumbled across the marquee. Her footing almost went as she passed two boys of five or six on the dance floor, hopping from foot to foot. They cast her a slight look of alarm, but after a hasty “Sorry!” she barrelled forward.

  She landed heavily on the free seat at Francis’s left. “Hi!” She grinned. Her cheeks were pink.

  “Hey,” said Francis.

  Reuben tipped his glass. “Evening, Brie. Having fun?”

  “Loads!” Voice conspiratorial, Brie leaned close to Francis. “Sia said that someone keeps looking at me. A man.”

  Francis fought not to smile. “Yeah?”

  Brie nodded. “Sia said he’s … he’s ‘making eyes at me’.” She looked positively thrilled.

  Now Francis did laugh.
“Lucky you.”

  “Have you spoken to him?” Reuben asked.

  Brie looked suddenly serious. “No.”

  “Well, maybe he’ll come speak to you.”

  Brie’s serious face turned into a look of alarm. “I don’t want him to do that!”

  Francis laughed. “Why not?”

  “I don’t fancy him!”

  Ah.

  “Fair enough,” said Reuben. “If he starts to bother you, you come let one of us know, yeah? We’ll get him to back off.”

  “W-will he bother me?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Francis said.

  Brie didn’t look convinced. Nevertheless, she nodded and said, “Thank you,” to Reuben and Glim.

  She rearranged in her seat. Not with much precision, either. Her legs kicked out and her heels dug the floor so she could press her back into the seat. It tilted—

  “Oh!”

  She flung out arms.

  Francis caught one and pulled the chair forward.

  Brie looked wide-eyed and sheepish. “I thought I was going to fall …”

  She set to fixing herself, more carefully this time.

  Francis watched. Then: “Have you been drinking?”

  A wide smile cracked Brie’s face. “A little bit! Champagne is so nice!”

  That explained the pink in her cheeks. And the added clumsiness.

  “Good choice,” said Glim. “Paige here doesn’t like it.”

  “You don’t like champagne?” she asked him.

  Francis shook his head. “I’ve got some of this.” He reached under his seat for bottle number two, which was close to half-empty. It was on Reuben’s side, which was good, because Francis wasn’t sure he could trust Brie not to kick it over. “Strawberry cider.”

  “That sounds nice.” Two syllables. Ni-ice.

  “It is.”

  Reuben elbowed Francis. “Let the lady try some, then.”

  “Um … Brie, want to try?”

  “Okay.”

  She took it in both hands, and upended it without hesitation.

  Francis watched. He expected Brie to take a small sip. But her throat moved up and down, and the liquid in the bottle drained. A pink trail trickled, and she did nothing to stop it.