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

by Nicholas J. Ambrose

  Abraham went down the stairs. Clank-clank went his shoes. Grace stopped, hand on the side rail. She cast her gaze at Francis. Francis, wide-eyed, looked back.

  Grace tilted her head in a sideways nod. Come on.

  Francis, fighting for calm, went.

  At the bottom, Abraham stood a short distance from the plinth. Grace hovered at his side.

  Francis drew up beside them.

  “What is that?” he finally managed.

  “This,” said Abraham, “is something very special. It’s a burial shroud—the very same, we believe, Ife herself was ensconced in upon her death.”

  Francis swallowed hard. “Why isn’t it up with the rest of the idols?”

  “A relic like this is very valuable,” said Abraham. “Any number of people might wish to take it from us. A statue, though beautiful, can be replaced. This cannot.” He cast Francis a sidelong look. “Here, it is safe.”

  Is it defended? Francis glanced around the dim chamber as best he could without turning his head. He couldn’t see anything. No cameras; no sensors. Abraham had had to do nothing but turn the equivalent of a key in a lock, pull open a door, and descend some stairs. That hardly spoke of defensive systems. Likewise, Francis was quite sure they were alone in the chamber. Its recesses were dark, but he was sure they were empty.

  No defenders. It was just here. Sat on a post, right under everyone’s noses.

  “Is it definitely hers?” Francis asked. “Ife’s?”

  Abraham nodded. “Yes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We have our methods of substantiation.” Abraham gave Francis a sideways smile. “This is it, Francis. This shroud is hers.”

  “Why are you showing me this?”

  Abraham licked his lips. Eyes appraising, he said, “Because of what I said to you the morning you came to me, asking to join our church. You remember what I said?”

  Francis frowned. “Err …”

  “I said I had a strong feeling about you. I sensed it the moment you came to me; not just that morning, but the day before, when I showed you and your friends around the cathedral. I knew it then, and I know it just as well now: there is something special about you, Francis. That is why I brought you here.”

  Francis looked back to the shroud. Just a few short metres away. It would take nothing at all to step forward and snatch it up.

  “Does anyone else know it’s here?”

  “No,” said Abraham. “Only the three of us. Which is why I must ask you to keep it to yourself. Can I trust you to do that?”

  Francis met the old man’s eyes in the dark.

  He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “You can trust me.”

  Abraham smiled. “Thank you, Francis.”

  It would not be hard to take. Not hard at all.

  3

  The moment the radio chimed, Francis snatched it up.

  “I’ve found it!” he whispered.

  Ruby’s voice came back a crackle. “What?”

  “The shroud!” Francis checked again to make sure his curtains were closed. Holding the radio closer to his mouth, he brought the whisper down even quieter. “Abraham—he took me to see it this afternoon! I know where it is!”

  There was a stunned pause. Then: “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure! He told me exactly what it was. It’s a big piece of red material. He said Ife was buried in it. I’m telling you, Ruby, it’s the shroud! It’s right in the middle of the city, under the cathedral! It’s been there the whole time!”

  Now Ruby’s questions came fast. “Is it defended? How do you get to it?”

  “Not defended, no. Not as far as I can see. But I’m going to go back.”

  “What? When?”

  “Tonight,” said Francis. “When it’s dark.”

  “No, wait—”

  “If I go back, I can scope it out properly. Alone. The city’s day starts at five o’clock in the morning. By ten, everyone has their head down. If I head out at eleven, it’ll be dark. No one will see me. I can sneak in, check the place out with the proper time to do so, and come back to report my findings to you. Then,” he said with a deep inhale, “we can figure out how to do this.”

  There was a tense pause. Francis pictured Ruby, her mind racing through all this information.

  “Francis,” she said at last. “How do you know this isn’t a trap? What if they know about you?”

  “They can’t. If they did, would Abraham have led me right to it?”

  “What if you get caught?”

  “If I get caught on the way to the cathedral, I’ll just say I was out for a late night stroll,” Francis said. He had decided this earlier, in the long hours since Abraham had shown him the shroud. The time had given him long enough to get a full plan in place. “If they catch me in the cathedral, I’ll say I wanted to practise my sermon. I’ve got something prepared I can rattle off if it comes to it. All I have to say is that I came to feel the place out; see how it felt delivering it for real. I’ll tell them I’ve got nerves. Abraham knows that’s true enough, and Remie. I’ll say I came to the cathedral to test it out. You know, without actual people around to put me off.”

  When Ruby spoke, her voice was apprehensive. “Francis, I don’t know …”

  “I do,” said Francis firmly. “I know you wanted it to be you here, not me. But it’s not. I’ve felt this place out for the past few weeks. I know what I’m doing. I promise, Ruby.” Softer: “I can do this.”

  Subdued radio crackles filled the silence. Then Ruby’s voice came, just as soft.

  “I know you can. Just … be careful.”

  Francis nodded to himself. “I will. I promise.”

  4

  Francis waited until full dark had descended. Then he waited some more.

  In the murk, he peered out of a crack in the kitchen curtains at the nearby dorms. Curtains were drawn, but telltale light came from behind several.

  Finally, the last clicked off.

  Francis waited even more.

  When he felt it had been long enough, he checked his communicator.

  The time was 11:09PM.

  Silent as could be, he slipped his key into the lock of his front door. He turned it, slow and careful. It slid open so slowly it did not even click.

  He twisted the handle. Pushed.

  Stepped out into the night.

  It was near black out. Without the moon’s searing gaze, the night ought to have been alive with stars. The galactic disk should have reared up, a subtle plum bulge streaking the sky. But high-hanging cloud had rolled in across the evening, blotting out everything. It was halfway to pitch.

  Even so, Francis stuck to the shadows. He might have a cover story concocted for every leg of his journey, but that still did not mean he wished to put it to use.

  He slipped around the cathedral’s side. Past gardens, along pathways. Here, the route he had walked with Abraham and Grace on his first morning, when he’d asked to join the church.

  He came to the cathedral’s grand entrance.

  As best he could tell, there was no one.

  Groping for the wall, he took the stairs. Every step was slow, and he brought his foot down with as much care he could. Too late, he wondered if he should have come barefoot. Grace moved with all the silence of Knot’s many cats.

  Pews loomed. To the sides, closed doors to prayer rooms, empty for the next six hours. Between them, paintings of Ife. In the dark, their fine brushstrokes had been reduced to little more than amorphous blots.

  Francis stalked the central aisle.

  His heart had juddered all evening.

  Here, it was louder than ever.

  He reached the lectern. Stepped behind it. Gripped its edges.

  He inhaled. This was it.

  Holding tight, he applied force. At first it was gentle. Then, as the lectern refused to yield, it grew. Harder and harder, until Francis’s knuckles had gone invisibly white.

  Still, it did not move.

  Fr
ancis frowned. What gave? Why couldn’t he shift it?

  He played back the afternoon.

  Then he recalled. Abraham had given it a little upward jerk, as though freeing it from something.

  Francis did the same.

  He almost gasped. The pressure was gone. Immediately loosened, the lectern twisted in his grip.

  He turned it ninety degrees. It clicked home. The noise was low, but like a gunshot to the silence.

  Now to move it.

  He squatted, and placed his shoulder against the lectern.

  A sudden fear stabbed him.

  Would he be able to move it? The job had required two men. Francis was alone.

  He braced … pushed …

  It gave.

  He flooded with elation so strong he almost laughed. He made sure to bite it off before it could exit his throat.

  The lectern slid along its runners. Francis took it as slow as he could. The noise should be too low for anyone to hear. He could barely make it out himself, over the shallow noise of his breathing. But every inch closer to the shroud he got—and every inch further away from feigned innocence, because he could certainly not explain this to a sudden insurgent upon his evening—the more his heart hammered, and the more his fear grew.

  The lectern’s movement ceased.

  Francis bowed. He took the iron ring, and hefted the door open.

  Below, barely illuminated by the frail glow of a bulb in the tunnel further down, were stone stairs.

  He took them.

  Four full turns, and he reached the bottom. The stubby stone corridor extended. Stale air came. It smelled of rock and damp.

  He went up the corridor.

  The tunnel’s end loomed …

  And then he was out, on the small platform against the room’s wall.

  And there, in the centre, atop its plinth: the object he’d come for. The crimson shroud.

  5

  Ruby could not concentrate.

  It had been an age since she had spoken to Francis. And unless he broke radio silence, it would be almost a day until she spoke to him again.

  Twenty long hours until she knew he was safe.

  There was no way she would be able to sleep. Ruby knew this without even trying.

  She had come to the cafeteria. Now she sat alone, drinking coffee in stops and starts. Her third bitter cup waited at her wrist, forgotten and cold. Sooner or later she would snap from her worries, pour it down the sink, and refill it.

  Footsteps broke the quiet. A moment later, a tall figure appeared in the doorway.

  “Evening, Captain.”

  Ruby glanced up.

  “Hello, Natasha.”

  Natasha came in. She lowered her long body into the chair opposite.

  “How’s your coffee?”

  Ruby looked at it. “Fine.” She picked it up and swirled. The percolator needed replacing: unfiltered grounds churned in the dregs. Ruby cast them a look of distaste, then slid the mug away. “Why are you up?”

  Natasha shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I gather you couldn’t either.”

  “What’s new?”

  Natasha smiled down at her interlaced fingers. “Touché.” She raked a hand through long straight hair. “Are you worried?”

  “Yes. Are you?”

  Natasha did not answer. Not directly. Instead she responded, “He’ll be careful.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Natasha opened her mouth to say something more, when a commotion sounded in the corridor. Frowning, she turned to the door.

  Brie burst in. Her face was pink.

  Ruby was straight up. “What is it?” she demanded.

  Brie heaved. “It’s—those anomalous traffic reports we’ve been getting,” she panted.

  “I thought there was just one.”

  “One last week, but they’ve been occurring almost every night since. We thought it was a glitch, but tonight—” She clutched her ribs. “Wren thought something else was up, so we—we dug in further. We—we found—”

  She gasped for breath.

  “Found what?” Ruby pressed.

  “Someone has been hitching a ride on our communications! Someone on New Calais! They’ve been listening in to our broadcasts!”

  Ruby’s vision tunnelled.

  Natasha gawped. “Does that mean—?”

  “Yes!” Brie cried. “Someone knows about Francis!”

  6

  Francis descended the stairs into the chamber. It was dark. The bulb’s light was frail. Beneath its dim murk, the shroud, and the plinth it rested on, looked sickly.

  This was it. This was what he’d come for.

  He could take it right now. If he wanted.

  He took a step forward.

  “Hello.”

  The voice cut out of the dark like a knife.

  Francis turned in its direction, eyes bulging.

  Someone stepped out from just behind him, shrugging off the shadows like a cloak. He was a thickset man with piercing eyes, shorn hair, and thin lips turned up in the slightest of smiles.

  “Francis, is it?” the man said.

  Francis stared back at him. His throat had gone suddenly dry. When he swallowed, it clicked.

  The man’s leering smile grew. “You’re Francis, correct? Francis Paige?”

  Francis fought to keep his voice steady.

  “Who are you?”

  Extreme Circumstances

  (Chapter Eleven)

  1

  “How long until we get there?”

  The Harbinger’s command centre was a hive of activity. All the technicians were present: not just the night-shift, but day-shift too, called in to help. Alongside them were Natasha, Mikhail, Trove, Ruby, and Vala, who looked tense by Stefan’s workstation.

  The last forty-five minutes had been filled with hectic discussions. First and foremost was turning the Harbinger around and heading to New Calais as fast as it could go. On that, everyone had been in agreement.

  Next came the issue of whether or not to radio Francis.

  “We can’t,” Natasha protested.

  “He needs to know,” Ruby countered.

  “If someone has been piggybacking on our transmissions, what’s to say they won’t piggyback on this one, too?”

  “We need to warn him!”

  “Tasha’s right,” said Mikhail. “We have the element of surprise. Radioing Francis risks losing that.”

  “So we should just—just leave him in the dark?” Brie cried. “What if someone comes to—to get him?”

  “Brie’s right,” said Ruby, suddenly very thankful of her.

  “If the reports are correct, someone has been listening in on our transmissions for over a week,” Natasha said levelly. “Nothing has happened to him yet. What’s to say tonight changes that?”

  “Because the man in charge of that church showed him the shroud this afternoon, and Francis was going to poke around it tonight!”

  Tense silence answered.

  “I’m right,” Ruby said. “Let me radio him.”

  She strode for the main console. Brie looked all too ready to open a radio channel.

  Natasha stepped in front, her arms folded.

  “Natasha …”

  “We have the element of surprise on our side. Whether Francis is safe or not, we’d be stupid to give that up.”

  “He needs to know!”

  “He knew what he was getting into when he went down there.”

  “He should never have—I never wanted—”

  “I know,” said Natasha. “I know.”

  “What if he’s hurt?” Ruby breathed. “They heard he was going after the shroud. And that man—he must’ve shown it to him because he knew. He knew Francis was looking for it. He wanted to ensnare him, and now Francis is going after it and they’ll have an excuse to—to—”

  “We don’t know that he’s not safe,” said Mikhail. “For all we’re aware, he changed his mind.”

  Ruby snorted.

  “It
’s a bit of a long shot,” Mikhail admitted. “But think of it like this: if Francis isn’t safe, radioing him isn’t going to change that. If he is safe, we jeopardise him. If whoever is listening gets wind we’re surging in right now on a rescue mission, they’ll march straight up to his dorm and do who knows what to him.”

  “If he’s safe,” Ruby said. “Which he’s not.”

  “We don’t know that,” said Natasha.

  “I do. I knew something was funny about this whole thing.” Ruby smacked herself on the forehead. “I never should have let him leave!”

  Brie: “Are we calling him? He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”

  Ruby thought as fast as she could. She wanted to, desperately. But Mikhail and Natasha were right. On the slim chance Francis was not in immediate danger, one call could change that. And that tiny sliver of hope was not one she would risk.

  “No,” she finally conceded.

  Now she asked the question: “How long until we get there?”

  Amelie said, “Computers estimate our arrival time at five hours, six minutes.”

  Ruby looked at her clock and calculated. That meant they’d hit New Calais at four-thirty in the morning.

  “It’s not fast enough,” she said.

  “We’re going as fast as we can,” said Natasha.

  Ruby shook her head. “No, we’re not.”

  “We are. All power is directed into our thrust. We’re operating at one hundred percent capacity.”

  “We can go faster.”

  Natasha frowned. “I don’t—”

  “Overload our batteries,” said Ruby. This was not to Natasha, but Amelie and Wren.

  “Captain?”

  Natasha: “What?”

  “We can burn through all the power in our batteries,” said Ruby. “It’ll boost our speed.”

  Amelie and Wren looked apprehensive.

  “Ruby, no,” said Natasha. “We can’t.”

  “Why not?” Ruby demanded. “We’ve got two back-ups. They’re fully charged. The moment the main batteries are dead, we can switch over and carry on normally.”