Sure enough, Hanratty and Baterman were back on the other side of the bars.
“You’ve stopped bleeding,” said Hanratty. “Maybe I should start it up again.”
Francis barely looked at him.
“You want to know something?”
“Not especially,” Francis muttered.
“Well, your luck’s in, boyo, because I’m going to tell you anyway. About ten minutes ago, we got a visitor.”
Francis lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “So?”
“So,” said Hanratty, face alight, “we ran a little check on who it might be. And what do you know? That ship is a SkyHugger. Modern model. Fidelity series. Sound familiar?”
No—how could it be? Ruby hadn’t brought the ship in—had she?
“Our luck’s in—that’s what you said, isn’t it, Baterman? We don’t need you to make a call after all; your people have come back all by themselves.” Hanratty’s grin widened. His eyes became ever more manic. “But then I said—hey. This radio still might come in handy! Suppose we just … switched it on.” He mimed turning a dial. “Open channel. How difficult do you suppose it would be to find? Your people know the wavelength it’s broadcasting on, after all. And a bucket like that could locate the source pretty easily. Why, they’d be able to follow it right to you! As a matter of fact …”
He stooped. Earlier he’d kicked the backpack diagonally across the floor, beyond Francis’s reach. Now Hanratty lifted it, riffled inside, and brought the radio out.
“Why don’t we do that?” he said. “Why don’t we just do that very thing?”
“No,” Francis said. He levered up, stepped forward—
Baterman levelled the gun at him.
Francis stopped.
“Don’t,” he told Hanratty.
Hanratty held the radio tauntingly … and then pressed the on switch.
He grinned. “Oops.”
4
The world came back.
Ruby lurched straight up.
“What’s happening?”
Natasha caught her. “Take it easy—”
“What’s happening?” Ruby repeated. It came as a slur. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the cafeteria,” Natasha said.
Sure enough, now she had said it, Ruby understood. Those hard edges were not meaningless shapes, but tables and chairs.
“I need to get back,” Ruby said.
“At least drink something. Please.”
“Natasha—”
“Please.” Natasha’s eyes begged.
“Fine,” Ruby grumbled. She slumped back in her seat. Despite wanting to get to the Harbinger’s command centre again, she was thankful for it. Maybe she could go back into the dark; away from the lights and the pain and the fear …
Natasha brought her a glass of cold water. She held it to Ruby’s lips. Ruby clutched weakly about her hands. She swallowed. The cold stung her teeth. Lines dribbled down her chin.
She pulled away. Natasha removed the glass. Ruby gasped.
“Helped any?”
Before Ruby could answer, someone tore up the corridor.
It was Sia.
“Miss Celeste, Miss Brady!”
Natasha was on her feet. “What is it?”
“Francis’s radio just started broadcasting!”
Ruby kicked straight into action. She forced herself about the table, heading for the door. “Is he there? Did he say anything?”
“No,” said Sia. She led the march up the corridor. “It’s just static right now.”
“When did it start?”
“Only a minute ago. Once I checked it wasn’t a software glitch after what we put the ship through, I came straight to get you.”
“Where’s it coming from?”
“The central island. Amelie was working to find its source when I left.”
They entered the command centre.
Amelie began to pipe information without instruction.
“I’ve pinpointed the source of the broadcast. It’s coming from a small facility just outside of the cathedral, on the central island.”
“Has Francis said anything?” Ruby asked.
“No. It’s nothing but static.”
“Is that the same place he’s been broadcasting from the last three weeks?”
“Impossible to say,” said Amelie. “I could trawl through our logs and try to put something together, but it’ll take time.”
“No need,” said Ruby. “Keep monitoring it. Natasha, can you radio to Mikhail? Triangulating Francis’s communicator only needs three of the workhands. The other can go check out wherever it is the radio is broadcasting from.”
Natasha did not answer. Her face was downturned, eyebrows cast in a V.
“Natasha, would you mind—?”
“Where’s Brie?”
Ruby turned.
Brie’s seat was empty.
5
Gun in hand, Brie tore across New Calais.
She had known from the moment Trove told her what Francis was doing that this trip was dangerous. Francis would get in trouble. He never should have come here! Not alone. Maybe not even with her, though she had volunteered—as if she could keep him safe! As if she wouldn’t just be scared the whole time; the way she had been these awful last few weeks, knowing he was miles and miles away, in unfamiliar territory, perhaps surrounded by people with—with guns, or knives—
And she’d been right. Someone had piggybacked their transmissions. Had been for nine days, going by the date of the first ‘glitch’.
Damn it, why had she been so sure it was a fault? Why hadn’t she delved deeper?! She could have put two and two together days ago, and Francis might not be in this mess!
She had listened to everyone talking in the command centre. Sia had told Mikhail how to triangulate the location of Francis’s communicator. Miss Celeste had told them to take guns. And if they needed guns—that meant Francis was in danger.
Brie had tried asking to go too. She could take a gun. She could help. She could get him back.
But Miss Celeste hadn’t listened to her. Brie had tried three times, and all she got was ‘No, Brie.’ Because of course Brie couldn’t help. She had gone over this all before. She was not brave—she was not capable.
Well, she would show them.
Miss Celeste had passed out again. Darrel and Miss Brady had taken her away, Trove with them.
Then they’d heard the radio.
And so her chance had come. In this newest flurry of activity, she had thrown herself up. Someone had called after her—she was not sure if it was Wren, or Sia—but she had ignored it. She had floored it up the corridor, to one of the supply closets where the workhands kept their weapons.
In their haste to go after Francis, they had left it unlocked.
And now here she was: hurtling along the walkway between the parking bay the Harbinger had put down on, and the central island. She could just about see the cathedral: a dark smear against black sky.
The others would think she had no idea what she was doing. Of course they would. Brie had just turned eighteen a couple of months ago. She was youngest, smallest, and most inexperienced on the Harbinger, all rolled into one.
But stupid, she was not. As a matter of fact, she did know what she was doing.
The workhands had gone out to triangulate the location of Francis’s communicator. And between them, they could, though it meant fanning across New Calais to do so. They’d come up with a precise location, but it would take time. Even now they would still be arranging themselves around New Calais’s satellite islands.
Brie could not hasten that.
But she knew another way of finding Francis: by following the source of his blankly broadcasting radio.
It would not be difficult. All she had to do was switch up some of the functions on her communicator. Take it out of the network, for a start—she did that now, half an eye on the low-lit screen as she fiddled with one hand. Once that was done, all she had t
o do was input a new set of frequencies to scour. And she knew precisely what she needed. The radio Francis had been given occupied a very narrow band. The odds of someone else broadcasting in it was low.
She found it just as she set foot on New Calais’s central island.
A radio like this was not the same as her communicator. Those had very short range, and their signal was weak. But the one Brie found—it could broadcast for miles. It was powerful. Where the communicators might be fireflies in the night, this radio’s signal was like the beam of a lighthouse.
And unlike the communicators, Brie did not need triangulation to find it. She could follow it by herself, directly to its source.
6
Natasha sprinted back into the command centre.
“There’s one more gun missing than there should be.”
Ruby breathed a silent curse. Wet with sweat, and not just down to this frightful fever, she rubbed a shaky hand across her forehead.
It hurt so much.
“What do we do?” Sia said.
“She’s gone after him!” Amelie cried. “She’s gone after that wanker!”
“We need to follow her,” said Natasha.
“If she gets hurt because of him—”
“Amelie,” Ruby warned. “Please. Be quiet.”
“She can’t handle herself,” Amelie said. “She might have a gun, but if she gets into trouble, that’s it. She’s done for.”
“Amelie,” Ruby repeated tiredly. “I know.” She looked to Natasha. “What do we do?”
“I’m going after her,” said Natasha. “If I set out now, I can catch up.”
“And how do you know where she’s going?” Amelie asked. “She left before we could figure out where the radio transmission is coming from. She’s running in blind.”
“I’ll hail her,” Natasha said. “If she doesn’t answer—well, I’ll just have to get help triangulating her signal, too.”
Ruby nodded. “Go.”
Natasha did not need telling twice. Like the workhands before her, she hurtled down the corridor.
The only pit stop she made before clambering off the Harbinger was an echo of Brie’s: to fetch up a gun.
7
The upper door leading to the bank of cells opened and closed.
Probably Hanratty back, Francis thought morosely. Fucker had gone out for a piss, though not after loudly debating whether or not to urinate through the bars at Francis.
Footsteps came down the stairs.
They stopped just outside of Francis’s cell.
He did not even open his eyes. He’d had enough of Hanratty’s smug leer.
But it was not Hanratty who spoke. The voice came as a squeak—one very familiar. “Francis?”
He looked up in shock.
“Brie, turn around! There’s a man—”
Brie spun.
Baterman loomed out of the dark. His face was grim and set.
He clutched the handgun he’d confiscated from Francis. Its barrel pointed at Brie.
“No!” Francis roared.
Brie lifted one of her own. She held it too rigidly—
Baterman was caught off-guard. He dived at the same time he pulled the trigger.
The bullet went wide. Brie screamed. Francis gasped. A flash of white burned his retinas where the projectile bounced off the bars of his cell—
Baterman hissed. There was a clatter—had the rebounding bullet hit his hand?—as the gun dropped—
“Shoot, Brie!” Francis roared.
“I—I don’t know how—”
Baterman flew at her in a tackle.
“Brie!”
She cried as he hit her. The gun arced out of her hand. It slammed one of the bars of Francis’s cell—twisted into a backward spin—
He bounded forward. The gun hit the floor. It bounced once—then Francis had it in hand.
Baterman swung a fist.
“Get off of her!” Francis roared.
Baterman hit her again. She yelled, but he was on top, and too strong. Another fist sailed home—
“I said get off!”
She cried.
“Get off or I’ll shoot!”
Baterman stopped. He looked up: at Francis, and the gun’s trembling barrel above his knuckles.
Brie sobbed.
Francis shook. “I will shoot you if you touch her again. I swear.”
Baterman glared.
“You haven’t got the stones.”
He lifted a fist—
CRACK!
Brie gasped.
Baterman slumped sideways.
His head was gone.
Opposite, eyes all whites, Francis stood rigid. His finger rested on the trigger.
The burnt stench of spent gunpowder wafted from above his knuckles.
8
The door crashed open just as Brie was climbing to her feet.
Hanratty flew down the stairs. “Don’t move!”
Francis brandished the gun. “Don’t touch—”
Hanratty drew out his own. He snatched Brie’s arm and pulled her close.
The barrel pressed to her neck.
“Put the gun down,” he said. “Or I’ll blow your girlfriend’s head off.”
Brie whimpered.
“Don’t you dare,” Francis breathed.
“You’ve got three seconds,” said Hanratty. “One. Two. Thr—”
Francis dropped it and held up his arms. “All right, it’s yours. Just don’t hurt her.”
“Correct choice.”
Hanratty shoved Brie against the nearest cell. Gun still pointed at Francis, he unlocked his cell door and thrust it open. He planted a foot on the gun, and kicked it backward.
He pressed the barrel to Francis’s forehead.
“No!” Brie cried. “Don’t shoot him!”
“Say goodbye to your boyfriend.”
Francis screwed up his eyes. “Look away, Brie.”
“Francis, no!”
“Say goodbye.”
“Look away!”
“NO!”
“Sayonara, boyo.”
Francis clenched. Brie bawled—
He could practically feel Hanratty’s finger on the trigger—
The door swung open.
A hoarse voice shouted, “Hanratty! I need you!”
Abraham.
Hanratty did not move.
“Hanratty, get your ass up here now!”
The cold press of steel left.
Francis chanced to open his eyes.
Hanratty glared.
“We’ll finish this shortly, boyo.”
He swung.
Francis grunted. His head whipped back as Hanratty’s fist crashed over his nose. Blood erupted.
Hanratty stepped back over the threshold.
Brie was crying.
Grabbing her by the hair, Hanratty yanked her forward and threw her into the cell.
He swung a kick to the back of her knee.
She gasped and went down.
The cell door clanked shut. Hanratty locked it.
With one last glare, he stalked back up the corridor. Fingers flexed on the fist he’d used on Francis.
Up the stairs—then the door was shut again.
Brie sobbed.
Francis wrapped his arm around her. “Ssh,” he said. He tried not to look at the slumped form that had once been Baterman.
It went without much success.
“Ssh …”
He wanted to say, It’s okay. But he knew it was not. They were in deep, deep trouble—and it would only be a matter of time before Hanratty came back and made good on his promise.
9
Though he did not know its nickname, Reuben Evans had come to Knot.
If they had gone at top speed, Glim and Herschel would be spread across two more of New Calais’s satellite islands. Mikhail would be somewhere on the central island, ready to move in on whatever location they found for—hopefully—Francis.
Reuben lif
ted his communicator and began to key in commands, bypassing normal menus and getting deep into subsystems he figured only the technicians really understood.
He was just about to begin Sia’s magic process for finding Francis’s communicator, when steel pressed to his neck from behind.
“Drop your gun.”
Reuben froze.
“I said drop it.”
His finger inched for the trigger of his rifle.
“I know what you’re thinking, big man. But there are more of us than there are of you. And if you shoot just one of these men, I promise you: I personally will kill your friend. Do you understand that? Now, drop the gun.”
Reuben closed his eyes. He exhaled a long breath.
He let go of the rifle.
A man scurried in from the dark and snatched it up. He was gone just as fast.
“Good boy. Now; you’re going to come with us.”
“I guess I am.”
They led.
Halfway along the vast walkway between Knot and New Calais’s central island, Reuben’s communicator trilled.
“What’s that?” asked the man with the gun to his neck.
“A call.”
“Take it off and toss it over the edge.”
“Not gonna let me take it?”
The barrel pressed harder into his neck.
“Guess that’s a no, then.”
Reuben slipped off his communicator. The trills continued—then the screen’s low backlight arced sideways in the sky, and disappeared over the far railing, taking the pulsing chimes with it.
10
And that was how the Harbinger’s weapons team were disarmed. All four were apprehended: first Mikhail, then Glim and Herschel. Natasha was caught swiftly after, and she did manage to fire off a couple of shots—then a bullet stung her neck and she dropped her weapon.
Reuben did not know, but he was the last of his crew to be taken into custody. By the time he was marched onto New Calais’s central island, his friends were arranged in cells opposite Francis and Brie.
He would not realise until he was thrust into his own that he had been told just half the truth. He was outnumbered, yes—but only by one. The Church of Ife’s entire defensive force comprised just nine men, one of whom had been turned into a spray of gore on the floor of the corridor between the banks of cells. Those eight had been spread, two to a person; the first two had gone back for Natasha after Mikhail.
The Ruby Celeste Series - Box Set, books 1 - 3: Ghost Armada, Dire Kraken, and Church of Ife Page 60