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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  “The church believes the sky was populated by a woman, from whom the rest of us are descended. I’m sure it goes without saying, but they believe her name was Ife.”

  “Probably worth pointing out,” said Reuben. “For Glim, here.”

  “Ife was said to be kind, and loving, and patient … essentially, as benevolent as any other deity.”

  Ruby clicked past a slew of images of the idol. Many were carvings, but she had also been rendered in stained glass, and paintings. It was one of these Ruby honed in on now: a dark-haired woman wrapped in crimson fabric.

  “It’s this the Church of Ife has allegedly acquired.” Ruby pointed. “The church calls it the crimson shroud. Allegedly, it was the cloth Ife was buried in. It’s also what we’re here to find.”

  “A cloth?” said Glim. “That could be any old thing.”

  “It’s their deity’s burial shroud,” said Mikhail. “I don’t think they’re liable to leave it with the curtains. It’ll be somewhere of its own.”

  Ruby nodded. “It may well also be protected.” She went on, “As Magnus Dwight told us, the Church of Ife is strictly non-violent. It’s their way of passing on Ife’s peace, as it were. However: that doesn’t mean the people on guard duty are followers of the church. Ife’s message of peace may well mean nothing to them.”

  “If there are guards,” said Glim.

  “‘If’ indeed. There may be none. Either way, it’s in our best interests to prepare for the worst. Before we worry about that, though, our most pressing concern is locating the shroud. Going on Dwight’s information, the shroud was stolen from its holding facility around six weeks ago. As such, it’s unlikely the church is ready to bandy it about just yet.”

  “How do they know it’s even here?” Reuben asked.

  “The research team running the facility were able to track a Pod’s arrival and departure bracketing the shroud’s theft. Sniffers traced its emissions to New Calais.”

  Reuben looked impressed. More than impressed: he looked amazed. “Shit.”

  “What?” said Francis.

  “Pods are almost undetectable,” Natasha told him. “Remember the guy who hopped on the Pantheon just after we picked you up?”

  Francis nodded. He remembered. A little too well; he didn’t have to think hard to conjure the feel of cold steel on his temple.

  “He probably came in a Pod. That’s why our computer didn’t pick it up.”

  “Sniffers are highly-specialised craft,” said Mikhail. “Their instruments have to be incredibly sensitive to pick up a Pod’s trail.”

  “Which means they’re expensive,” Natasha said.

  “Which also means,” Mikhail finished, looking back to Ruby, “whoever lost that shroud really, really wants it back.”

  Ruby nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Why not go in themselves?” Glim asked.

  “They’re scientists, not mercenaries.”

  “And we are?”

  “No, but we at least have more know-how.”

  Glim sat back. “I don’t think that washes with me. Especially considering this shroud is now in the hands of a bunch of non-violent churchgoers.”

  “I hate to agree with Glim,” said Reuben, “but I think he’s right.”

  “You’re correct,” said Ruby. “It doesn’t wash. But it’s a job, and it’s paying, and we’ve got nothing better to do. And,” she finished, eyes flicking to him, “it begins a route home for Francis. After he and Brie saved us this summer—after he saved me on Cacophonous Harmonics—it’s the least we can do.”

  “Okay, we’re helping Paige,” said Reuben. “Back to the history lesson.”

  Ruby clicked through more pictures. Now all the religious iconography had been gone through, they were treated to wider shots of New Calais’s vibrant green scenery.

  “We land in two days’ time. According to our most recent estimates, it’ll be close to midday. When we get there, I want everyone off the ship to explore the city and provide on-the-ground information. You five—” she nodded to Mikhail, Reuben, Glim, Herschel, and Natasha “—will accompany them in sets. You’re exploring too, but you’re also looking for any hurdles we may face. Defense systems, weapons—the shroud. If it might give us even the slightest hiccup, I want to know.

  “Between the seventeen of us, we need to cover the whole cluster. Particularly the main cathedral. That’s the likeliest place the shroud will be held, available for public viewing or not. And we need to search without raising suspicion. For one day, we’re tourists, nothing more.”

  Cycling on screen were the city’s stills, left now to automatically play. Five seconds, each picture held, before blinking to blank and then being replaced. Francis eyed that first miniature statue of Ife before the photograph was whisked away, a stained glass window filling the space where it had just been.

  Scout out New Calais. That was the task. After that …

  An empty hole. No plan.

  His heart fluttered.

  Francis did his best to quell its beat. They would come up with something, regardless of what their day of scouting yielded.

  For now, it was just a matter of waiting.

  2

  Ruby did not come to breakfast the following morning. Francis asked Trove where she was. Trove said she had felt under the weather since late the previous evening.

  “Darrel and Vala have her covered,” he assured. “She’ll be right as rain in no time. If I know Miss Celeste, she’ll likely be back by lunch.”

  She was not.

  3

  When Ruby didn’t show for dinner, Francis decided to see how she was.

  Ruby’s quarters were larger the rest, fore of the Harbinger’s top internal deck. Francis had never been in, but he knew where they were, and headed for them.

  At her door, he dawdled. If she was ill, ill enough to have avoided showing her face today, she might not want company.

  He debated turning back … and knocked anyway.

  Faint noise came from inside. Shortly after, the lock clicked, and the door came open.

  “Hi—”

  Ruby looked worse than Francis had thought. Her hair was a bedraggled mess, and her skin was papery white. A sheen of sweat licked her forehead. Her normally healthy, softly freckled skin looked altogether sallow. Under a mop of crimson curls, plastered to her forehead and which Ruby now smeared off, her eyes were bloodshot.

  “—Ruby.”

  “I imagine I look a sight,” she said. Her voice was heavy.

  “Err …”

  She laughed hoarsely. “Trove had a similar reaction. Actually, I think he swore.”

  “You’re ill, then,” said Francis.

  “A little.” Ruby shrugged. She leaned against the doorframe, and swiped the hair out of her face again. Strands stuck in the damp. “This morning, Darrel said it was down to poor sleep. This afternoon he said it’s flu. Flu! No one else is sick.” She folded her arms.

  “You’ve got medicine though, right?”

  “Yep. Lovely little bits of chalk, it feels like. And Vala prepared me a draught of something green.” Ruby breathed a laboured breath. “Wanna try it?”

  Francis shook his head. “I’ll pass. I remember the last time I had to have one of her drinks.”

  Ruby gave a hollow laugh. It turned into a wheeze.

  “You’ll be better tomorrow, won’t you?” asked Francis.

  “Absolutely,” said Ruby. “No question about it. Don’t worry. I’ll be there to scout out New Calais with the rest of you.”

  Francis nodded. “Do you want something to eat? I’ve just come from the cafeteria. There were some sandwiches left from lunch. I can run down and grab a couple.”

  “That’s okay,” said Ruby morosely. She patted her stomach. “I’m not very hungry at the moment.” She hacked another dry cough. “I’d better get back in. Don’t want to pass this on to you.”

  “All right. I’ll catch you later. Rest easy, okay?”

  “Wil
l do. See you tomorrow, Francis.”

  She pushed the door. Francis caught a last glimpse of a wan smile before it closed. Then came the muted sound of coughing.

  Poor Ruby, he thought as he ambled away, making for the library. Fingers crossed her assessment, that she would be back in action tomorrow, was correct.

  As it turned out, she was wrong.

  New Calais

  (Chapter Five)

  1

  “No way. You’re not going.”

  It was an effort for Ruby to open her eyes. But open them she did, if only to shoot Darrel daggers.

  “Yes, I am.” Her voice was hoarse. It grated her throat.

  Darrel’s medication had done nothing to ease her symptoms. Neither had Vala’s concoctions alleviated the rush of fever. If anything, over the past twenty-four hours Ruby had only slipped further down a gravelly slope. Her temperature was up. Her whole body ached.

  She hadn’t slept.

  That in itself was not a surprise; sleep had proven a challenge for … well, quite a while. It was always raggy.

  But last night was something else. She’d tossed and turned, sweating in spite of the fact her covers were kicked across the floor and she’d stripped down as far as she could bear to go. Then, suddenly, she would catch a chill and scramble to wrap up again. Later still, heat would flush her, and the covers would be discarded once more.

  Sometime, a headache had begun to encroach. This morning, it was close to a migraine.

  But she would still scout New Calais with her crew, fever be damned. All she needed was something stronger from Darrel, and Ruby knew he had it.

  “No,” said Darrel. “You need to rest. In bed.”

  “I’ve just been in bed.”

  “And how did you sleep?”

  “Fine,” Ruby lied.

  Darrel lifted an eyebrow.

  “Disbelieve all you like,” said Ruby. “But I’m going.”

  Darrel had perched her on the end of one of the medical bay’s beds. Now Ruby gripped its edge and pushed to standing. She desperately needed to cough, but held it back. A hacking fit would only fuel Darrel’s fire.

  “Miss Celeste—”

  “I’m going. I just need something stronger.”

  She crossed to Darrel’s store: a steel cabinet with two locks on the front. Only he had the keys. But Ruby was in charge, and if she told Darrel to open it, he would. He would protest, but she could make him.

  “Now, will you—”

  A wave of weakness gushed over her from nowhere. Her legs went to jelly. The room went faraway. Grey tinged it.

  She staggered, catching the edge of Darrel’s desk.

  “Miss Celeste!” He hurried to her side.

  “I’m fine.” Her eyes were closed. Breaths came, long and deep. Each one inched her just a little further out of the grey. “I just need something strong.”

  “You can’t be serious. Miss Celeste, if you go out like this—”

  “Darrel.” She wrenched her eyes open—those lids ached so much too—and did her best to glare.

  He did not bend. “You can barely walk. Trekking through an entire city—”

  “Open your cabinet, Darrel,” Ruby heaved.

  He stared back, immoveable.

  Ruby thought she would need to reiterate.

  She did not. Looking hard, Darrel said, “Fine. But you’re sitting down again first.”

  Once Ruby had been moved back to the bed, Darrel fished a key from his pocket and slipped it into the top lock. He dragged open a drawer at his desk, retrieved the other, and slotted that in too.

  Mechanisms clicked.

  “I’m not happy about this,” he said, disappearing behind a steel door as he sifted.

  “What’s new?”

  Darrel reappeared with pursed lips. He held an orange plastic pot with a white lid and small label. Unscrewing it, he asked, “Do you want water?”

  Ruby shook. “No.” She held out a hand. Darrel deposited an ovoid white tablet. “What is it?”

  “Acetaminophen. It’ll help.”

  Ruby tossed it back and swallowed dry. The pill seemed to gain jagged edges on its way down. She coughed.

  “How long until it starts working?”

  Darrel had replaced the tablets in their cabinet. He locked the doors, and consulted the communicator at his wrist. “When did you last eat?”

  “Day before yesterday.”

  “I’d say pretty soon, then.”

  Ruby nodded. “Good.”

  She gripped the ends of the bed again, and pushed up.

  Halfway, her arms wavered and went to water.

  She fell back.

  Wooziness overflowed her head. Worse than before. It was not the concussive pain of a migraine, but a drunken sway.

  Her eyes met Darrel. Her lips moved to begin a question: What?

  “Sorry,” he said. “You’re not fit to go out.”

  “You drugged me?”

  This was the question Ruby wanted to ask. Maybe even started asking. But her body had gone instantly to work on the tablet, and her vocal cords could not form the words.

  The world slanted.

  Eyes drifting out of focus, she sagged. Her eyelids no longer ached; they were just heavy, so heavy. All the energy in the world could not lift them.

  A hand from very far away touched her shoulder and gently shifted her back on the bed.

  “You’ll thank me for this later,” said Darrel.

  He didn’t believe that. But it mattered not, because Ruby didn’t hear.

  2

  The precise time the Harbinger would dock at one of New Calais’s parking bays was thirteen minutes to twelve. At the gentle cruise Natasha had reduced the ship to, by the time Francis had finished helping Sam collect ingredients for breakfast, prepared it with him—somewhat tasteless vegetable omelette and toast, with flaked corn cereal as the alternative—and finished eating, New Calais would be something between a speck and a smear on the horizon. In the intervening hours, it would inflate, its features grow discernable, and, at the very end of this fortnight-long journey, fill the sky.

  Some of this, Francis watched from the topside deck.

  Most, though, he remained in his quarters.

  He’d fallen into a familiar routine these past eight months. Prior to arrival, Ruby would knock on his door or hail his communicator. He’d join her in the ship’s command centre, and she’d show him an enhanced view through one of the Harbinger’s front-facing cameras.

  Today, however, Francis wasn’t sure it would happen. Ruby hadn’t been at breakfast. Neither had Trove, which meant Francis hadn’t been able to question him.

  Still, Ruby was resilient. Francis told himself this as he lay on his bed, feet up by the pillows and head overhanging the bottom, messy black hair straight beneath him. Feverish or not, Ruby would push through.

  When a knock came at his door just after eleven, Francis was sure she had. He leaped up, twisted the key, and yanked it open to see—

  “Good morning, Mr Paige,” said Trove. He stood very tall and very proper.

  “Trove,” Francis returned with a nod. He glanced left and right along the corridor. From the adjacent room rightward, Owen was headed out. Otherwise, they were alone. “Where’s Ruby?”

  “Miss Celeste is incapacitated right now.”

  “She’s still ill?”

  “I regret so. Mr Stitt adjusted her medication this morning to reflect the worsening of her symptoms. It appears to have knocked her off her feet.”

  “Oh.” Francis’s shoulders drooped. “I guess she’s not coming around New Calais with us.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Trove said. “Miss Brady and I are collecting the troops in the rec room in order to assign our travel partners for the day, if you’d care to join us.”

  “All right,” said Francis. “Be there in a few; let me just grab my shoes.”

  Trove nodded politely. “Thank you, Mr Paige.” He departed.

  Perched on
the foot of the bed, Francis stuffed his feet into his shoes. Dragging out the laces—he hadn’t moved them, and they’d been squashed into the leather beneath his socks—he pondered the day ahead.

  3

  Under primarily Natasha’s direction, the Harbinger’s crew was split into four groups. With Ruby out of action, and Darrel electing to remain on the ship to see to Ruby when she awoke, that meant three groups of four, and a triplet.

  “Can I be with you?” Brie asked.

  “Sorry, Brie,” said Natasha. “I’ve put Francis with Vala, Stefan, and Reuben.”

  “Oh …”

  “That’s okay,” said Wren. “You’re with me, Sia, and Mikhail.”

  Brie did not look remotely placated by this, but allowed herself to be pulled to her group nonetheless.

  Group three comprised Glim, Sam, Amelie, and Owen. Last were Herschel, Natasha, and Trove.

  “You guys are on the main island,” Natasha told Francis’s group. “Particularly the cathedral. Groups one and three will scope it out too, but only once they’ve tackled their respective satellite islands.”

  “Sweet,” said Reuben. “I get to buddy up with my pals.”

  “No, you don’t,” Natasha said. “No one is to congregate. If any of our groups cross paths, it’s like we don’t know each other. No interaction. We’re all strangers today.”

  Francis shot a sideways glance at Brie’s group. Mikhail was chatting amiably with Wren and Sia. Brie watched Francis like a lost dog. He wondered just how well she might be able to adhere to that rule if they did happen to pass.

  “Anyway, you are buddied up with your pals,” said Vala.

  “Ah, but I don’t get to insult you.”

  “And rightly so.” Vala grinned.

  “Remember, you’re looking for anything that might give us trouble later,” said Natasha. She directed this most to Reuben, but Francis, Vala, and Stefan took note too. “Defensive procedures, weapons, even concealed cameras—keep your eyes open. Be thorough. I don’t want Ruby waking up to the news we need to run a do-over because your attention slipped.”