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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  The room was quiet.

  Damn it, if she wasn’t so feverish, she’d be able to think properly. Usually her thoughts were nimble; quick. Rash, sometimes, but her mental processes worked fast. Right now everything took four times as long to get to.

  “The only way we’re going to know for sure is to infiltrate the church,” she said at last. “And we’re going to need to do that anyway if we want to get the shroud without blowing a big hole in the city.”

  “Which we don’t want to do,” Trove put in.

  “We’ll do it,” said Mikhail, nodding sideways to indicate his fellow workhands. “We can infiltrate the church.”

  “No.” Ruby shook her head. It hurt; her brain seemed to be jammed right up against her skull, and even the slightest turn put pressure on it. “I can’t send you all in. Besides: they’re probably wary right now. If I send in four men—particularly men your size—”

  “Thanks.”

  “—it’ll look suspicious. Even moreso considering the four of you spent today scouring the city in disparate groups.”

  “Just one of us, then,” Mikhail said.

  Ruby pinched the bridge of her nose. “I should do it.”

  Francis sat forward. “No.”

  “I took the job; it’s my responsibility.”

  “You’re ill.”

  “I won’t be forever.”

  Darrel interjected, “Maybe not, but your fever hasn’t broken. It’s going to be another few days before you can do anything, and that’s assuming you start getting better right this instant.”

  “Maybe you can find some stronger stuff in that metal closet of yours,” Ruby said. It was half suggestion, half snide. It would be a long while before she forgave Darrel for his efforts this morning. “I’m fit enough to go out.”

  “With respect, but no, you’re not.”

  “I think I know what I’m capable of, Darrel.”

  “No, you know what you think you’re capable of. What you can do, and what you think you can, are two entirely separate things.”

  Ruby’s nostrils flared. “And what makes you think you know better?”

  “I’m your doctor.”

  “Okay, Doc.” Ruby’s voice rose. “What do you think we should do? I ask because I forgot I report back to you.”

  Darrel folded his arms, shaking his head. “I’m looking out for your health. Anything strenuous or stressful—”

  “Like you?”

  “—will only slow your recovery. How do you expect to get in there and scout it out when you feel the way you do? Unless everything I’ve learned during my career is a lie, flu makes you tired. It makes you ache. Can you even walk to the city centre? It’s a mile from here. You got out of breath climbing the stairs.”

  Ruby listened to Darrel with a dark, sullen look.

  “I’ll wait until I’m better.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “What? No,” Francis said. “I thought we were worried about looking suspicious. Won’t it look strange that we’re parked here for days on end?”

  “We’ll think of a story,” said Ruby. “And it’s only a few days.”

  “Is it? What if it’s not?”

  “Well, then we’ll pull out and come back later.”

  “And when they see we’re back a second time …?”

  Ruby’s lips pressed tight. She ran a hand across her forehead, and massaged the bridge of her nose. A quirk in the side of her face said her headache had delivered a particularly powerful stab.

  “We’ll figure it out,” she said at last.

  Francis inhaled. “I’ll do it.”

  Ruby’s eyes jolted open. “No.”

  “It was my group who got a tour around the cathedral yesterday. I already know its layout, and I already know the church’s head guy.”

  “No.”

  “I can spin a story; tell him he opened my eyes to the story of Ife; that I want to join them, and learn their ways.”

  “No.”

  “Why? Whether you like Darrel’s opinion or not, he’s right. You need to rest.”

  “So I’ll rest—”

  “The longer we spend arguing, and the longer we wait, the longer it’s going to be until we get this job done and we’re out of here. And the longer they’ve got to get suspicious.”

  Ruby pursed her lips. “Francis …”

  “I can do it,” he said. “Let me. And—and think of the ship. You’re not going to miss me.”

  “Of course I—”

  “Everyone on this ship performs a necessary task. You most of all. But take me out of the party?” Francis shrugged. “The only change is Sam has to collect his own ingredients for a while.”

  “The ship can run without me.”

  “It can run better without me.”

  Ruby was quiet.

  Francis waited, breath held.

  No one said anything.

  At last, Ruby said, “I can send you in with one of the boys. Reuben, would you—?”

  “We’ll raise suspicion,” Francis cut across. “If they’re edgy about the shroud, which they probably are, anyone trying to squeeze into their ranks is going to be cause for concern. Who looks more obvious: a two hundred and thirty pound guy who looks like he eats steak for breakfast, or me?”

  Mikhail said, “Francis makes a few good points.”

  Reuben and Glim nodded.

  “What if the shroud is defended?” Ruby asked. “One gun is all it takes.”

  “I’m not going to run in there like an action hero,” Francis said. “I’ve had a gun pressed to my head once this year. I’m not keen to repeat it. All I’ll do is scout things out. The first sign of danger, you’ll know. Then you can call the big boys in.”

  Ruby’s eyes pleaded. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I want to.”

  She tried desperately to think of a final argument. One last counter to everything Francis had said. But though she had fought Darrel, at long last her face dropped in conceded defeat. Francis wasn’t sure whether to feel victorious, or sad.

  “One sign of danger,” she said. “You see one gun, one bullet, and you radio to let us know. We’ll stay close, and we’ll come back to pull you out.”

  Francis nodded. “Deal.”

  Pinching the bridge of her nose again, Ruby closed her eyes. Another particularly painful stab from her head made her eyebrows knit and her face twitch.

  “When do we do this?” she said at last.

  Francis thought. It needed to be soon. Very soon. People would try to talk him out of it otherwise. Brie in particular. And Brie, sweet as she was, had proven herself capable of acting just as rash as Ruby on more than one occasion.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “At dawn.”

  2

  It was still dim out when Francis woke. Usually his eyelids cracked when the sky was light. This morning, it was still deep blue. Only an hour was left in it. By the time that hour was up, Francis would be making his way off the ship for … he didn’t know how long.

  He changed, and packed a rucksack. He kept his possessions scant: a few sets of clothes—no doubt he would end up with a deep red robe of his own before the day was out—plus toiletries. A still-wet toothbrush lay on top, and he wrapped it in a washcloth so it didn’t damp the fabric of a pair of trousers.

  He took his communicator from its spot just under his bed, where he left it at night for the alarm. He shoved it into a side pocket.

  Last of all, he withdrew his diary from its resting place in his drawer, plus a pot of ink and pen. The ink was half-empty now, and a dark stain blotted its label.

  Before he slid the diary home, he leaned back on his knees and flicked through it.

  Strange to think Natasha had given him this book only eight months ago. It felt like a lifetime.

  Looking at it, it might well have been. Leather once firm and gleaming had acquired give, and its shine faded. Untidy handwriting filled the pages. Some at the back were cut out where he had written
notes to his parents and dropped them overboard, hoping they would reach land intact; hoping someone would pick one up and see its address, and deliver it.

  Francis frowned. Those notes had become more and more infrequent. His entries, too, had slowed. He ought to have picked up a new diary in Survoix. And yet he hadn’t. Even while he was there, while he walked Survoix’s cobbled streets, a thought had gone to the task.

  And he hadn’t done it.

  Had he given up?

  Two answers. Either he had; or he had settled in.

  Which was correct?

  Francis didn’t know. And the thought he gave it was uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t pinpoint, so he closed the diary—no snap now, as it had possessed way back at the start of this year—and added it to the rucksack.

  3

  Part of the Harbinger’s lower deck was devoted to a storage room. It held maintenance equipment, racks of rarely used cannonballs, and several steel cabinets with multiple locks.

  It was in this room Francis stood now, rucksack slung over his shoulder. He was joined by Mikhail, Natasha, and Ruby. She looked just as bad as yesterday. Perhaps worse. The dark rings under her eyes had deepened. At last she’d given up on the jacket. It did not appear to have done anything for her copious sweating.

  “I’ve got two things for you,” said Mikhail. “First of all …”

  He held up a black handheld device.

  “A long-range radio. As you already know, these fancy bracelets of ours have fairly limited range. Once we’re further than a mile out, you won’t be able to contact us. So you need this.”

  Mikhail handed it over. Francis took it, but Mikhail did not let go.

  “I tuned it last night to our frequency. I don’t expect you would, but don’t go rooting around for ways to change it, or you’re not going to be able to contact us when you need to.”

  “All right.”

  “Just click this twice to transmit.” Mikhail pointed at a round button. “They’re not like walkie-talkies; the channel is two-way, so you don’t have to worry about any ‘over and out’ bullshit.”

  “Okay.”

  “When you’re done, click it again to stop broadcasting.”

  He showed Francis another button on top of the radio. “This is your power switch. It’s off right now. Keep it off unless you need it, to conserve juice.”

  “Turn it on regularly, though,” said Ruby. “We’ll contact you once a day.”

  “That’ll be down to the schedule they want you on, so let us know as soon as you can,” said Mikhail.

  “And you can contact us at any hour,” Ruby added.

  “When we contact you, the radio will chirp. It’s not loud, but I’d advise you to keep it buried under your clothes to reduce the noise.”

  Francis nodded. “Wouldn’t want to attract undue attention.”

  Mikhail grinned. “Exactly.” Finally, he gave the radio over to Francis entirely.

  Francis stooped to unbuckle his backpack. He stowed the radio, shifting clothes so it would not be the first thing he saw when it was opened.

  “What’s the second thing you’re giving me?”

  “This.”

  Francis looked up to see—

  “A gun?”

  “It’s a precaution,” said Natasha.

  Francis rose hesitantly. Mikhail held out a pistol, grip facing Francis and barrel pointed at the floor.

  “I’ve never used a gun before.”

  “And with any luck, you won’t have to,” said Mikhail.

  Francis looked to Natasha for support.

  “I agree,” she said. “You should take it.”

  “What if they search my bag and find it?”

  “You tell ’em a guy hopped on our old ship and pressed a gun to your head,” said Mikhail. “You’ve been carrying it since then.”

  “What if they take it off me? The church doesn’t believe in violence.”

  “Better make sure they don’t find it, then,” said Mikhail.

  Francis fished around, just in case he’d missed someone who had his back. Nothing from Natasha; she had not moved.

  Ruby watched with tired eyes. “Against my better judgment, I’m letting you go in there without someone to protect you,” she said. “At least take this. Just in case.” She added, “For me.”

  Francis took the gun. It seemed both heavier and lighter than he’d expected. He wrapped both hands around the grip, keeping his fingers as far from the trigger as possible. His arms were rigid.

  “It loaded?” he asked. A high note crept into the question.

  “Yep. You’ve got twelve bullets, so if you need to, make ’em count.”

  “Right.” High-pitched again.

  Mikhail laughed. “You don’t need to be scared of it.”

  “Don’t I.”

  “Here, let me give you a primer.”

  This did not remotely enthuse Francis. But he took the brief lesson nonetheless, trying to take in Mikhail’s information on how to switch the safety on and off, how he should stand (legs at shoulder-width, arms not locked), where to aim (the chest, always the chest) …

  When at last the process was done, Francis shoved it into his backpack. He angled it so the barrel pointed away from him when he put it on. On the (impossible, said Mikhail) chance the safety managed to switch itself off and the trigger depressed, Francis would rather the rucksack end up with a hole in it, not his back.

  “That everything?” he asked.

  “That’s everything.”

  “Let’s go over the plan one last time,” said Ruby.

  Francis nodded. “I stroll into the city and offer myself up as a disciple; a convert to the church. I want to learn Ife’s ways. While I’m there, and while they train me, I observe; look for the shroud.”

  “Concealed weapons or defenses are more important,” said Ruby. “We can deal with the shroud ourselves, when we know if there are any further hurdles.”

  “But if you can find the shroud too, that would be helpful,” Mikhail added. “Though no pressure.”

  Francis nodded. “Okay. Anything I find, I report back. And … that’s it.” He shrugged. Now he stood on its verge, it didn’t seem like much of a plan at all.

  “That’s it,” Ruby echoed.

  Mikhail looked at his communicator. “Sun should be up.” To Francis: “Time to go.”

  4

  Soft glow lit pale sky. The air was cool. If Francis looked earthward, he could see distant streaks of cloud hanging below. New Calais was over sea, but he could see a stretch of coast, where the horizon turned into an indistinct blur.

  The cluster of islands stretched before him. This small island first, connected to the central island by a straight spoke of gleaming white steel. Rising above it all, the cathedral. Ife, rendered in white stone, looked down upon her kingdom.

  For now—if this morning went well, at least—this was Francis’s home.

  “Good luck,” said Mikhail. He clapped Francis on the shoulder. Francis jerked harder than normal; what if the gun went off?!

  “You’ll be great,” said Natasha. She wrapped him in a hug.

  “Yeah,” said Mikhail. “Really great.”

  “Yeah.” For all his confidence last night, Francis no longer sounded quite as though he believed it.

  Ruby hovered to the rear. She cast sad, rheumy eyes at him.

  “I shouldn’t get too close,” she said. “Flu, and all that.”

  “If I catch it, I catch it. At least I’ll get to kick my feet up for a while, right?”

  Ruby smirked. Then coughed.

  She stepped close, and met his eyes. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late to change your mind. I won’t think any less of you.”

  “What, and waste all that time packing?” Francis forced a laugh. “I’m going. But thank you.”

  Ruby nodded. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but drew Francis into a warm embrace. He hooked arms about her back, and she held his neck tight.<
br />
  “Sorry for the sweat,” she said.

  He laughed again. More natural, now, though his heart was going fast; so fast he was sure Ruby would feel. “Shut up.”

  The hug lasted two seconds more, three … then Ruby unpeeled, pulled a watery smile, and stepped back. “Stay safe.”

  “And you. All of you.”

  Francis was just about to step for the break in the Harbinger’s railing when the door into the ship flew open. And out came—

  “Francis? Francis, what are you doing?”

  It was Brie. She was a flurry of white blonde hair.

  She almost collided with him.

  “Is it true?” she demanded. “You’re going into the church by yourself?”

  “How did you—?”

  “Trove said!”

  Francis glanced behind. Ruby closed her eyes in a cringe. “Poor timing, Trove.”

  “Is it true then? Are you going?”

  Francis tilted to show Brie the backpack. “Yes.”

  Her eyes bulged. “You—you can’t! What if something happens? What if—what if—what if—”

  Francis cut her off before she could fail to finish a fourth time. “I’ll be fine. I’m careful.”

  “I’ll—I’ll go with you,” she said. “I can—I can help.”

  “No, Brie.”

  “But—”

  “Brie.” Francis caught her hands. She stopped, eyes wide. “You’re needed on the ship. And I … I’ll be okay.”

  Her mouth worked.

  “I promise,” he finished.

  “B-but …”

  “I’ll be all right,” Francis said. “And I’ll see you soon, okay?”

  Brie was wordless. Then she threw her arms around his neck, dragging him into a slight bow as she gripped him.

  “Be careful!”

  Francis patted her on the back awkwardly. “I will.”

  “If anything happens—”

  “It won’t.”

  “Just make sure—”

  Francis laughed. “I’ll make sure.” He prised himself free.

  Brie looked fraught. There was still time for her to do something stupid. Best make this quick.

  “I need to go. And you should get back to the command centre. Wren and Owen need you.”

  “They can wait. I—I want to wave goodbye.”