The Atomic Sea: Volume Ten: Into the Dark Lands

by Jack Conner

  “I think so, but the lock on the door is different from the cabin lock on the Maul. I’m not sure I can work it. Plus, there’s a lock on my shackles, too.”

  “I’ll show you how to do it, don’t worry. The lock room is a different story.”

  “Have you found someone to—?”

  A half dozen figures sauntered up to the rock Avery and Janx perched on. The prisoners were all rough and scarred and tattooed and infected; some showed seal mutations, but all displayed changes that had occurred before their incarceration, too.

  “Well well, lookit this,” one said, speaking awkwardly out of a misshapen beak, possibly derived from an octopod. “A little one and a big one, sittin’ together, pretty as you like.”

  “A cute couple,” said a large fellow.

  Several of the sailors quit playing ball and approached to defend their captain, but Janx waved them back as he examined the newcomers.

  “Segrul’s boys, ain’t you?” he said.

  “That’s right, pops, and don’t forget it.”

  Avery started. These men weren’t just pirates, they were pirates serving the R’loth. That cast their mutations into a whole new light. They likely hadn’t simply been infected, Avery realized—they had accepted the Sacrament.

  “Collossumists,” he breathed. “Here. I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” one said. He was the broadest and meanest-looking of the crew. “We serve the Great Ones, and we know who you are. Oh yes. My name is Gauthis.”

  “Whaddaya want, Gauthis?” Janx said.

  Gauthis smiled, showing barracuda teeth. His skin was as rubbery as a whale’s. “Why, just to give you a friendly head’s up. Keep your eyes open, Janx, my friend. We’ll be watchin’ you. You best be sure you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready now.”

  Gauthis looked amused. “Don’t think that my associates here are the only privateers in this yard that crew for Admiral Segrul. He’s the biggest fish in these waters now, remember, and the Maj is the fishermen. You’re trapped in here with us, you bastard, and I just wanted to make your time here a bit more uncomfortable. It’ll be fun when we finally take you down, but if that’s all we get out of it, a few seconds of your surprise, then ... well, I think we can do better. Now we can watch you watching us. That’s the fun part.”

  He spat on the ground at Janx’s feet and strode off, his mates with him.

  “Great,” Janx said. “As if this wasn’t complicated enough already.”

  “At least they don’t seem to be currently in contact with Segrul. Remember, the pirates work for the mystery party now, and if the mystery party knew we were here ...”

  “They may not talk every day, Doc, but sooner or later they will get word to their superiors that they ran into Janx Blackhand—that’s what they’ve started to call me; catchy, isn’t it?—feared foe of Admiral Segrul. When that happens ... well, we’d best be gone by then.”

  Along the rocks, the seals laughed.

  * * *

  “Off my bunk, asshole,” said a voice in Avery’s ear. He’d just been drifting off to sleep, and the voice snapped him wide awake. He woke to find hands seizing him and dragging him down from the highest bunk.

  He crashed to the floor, groaning. “W-what ... ?”

  Someone kicked him in the ribs. “That’s my bunk now.”

  Avery stared up at the creature that had spoken. More seal now than anything else, the man still bore scars on his hands and face, and despite his new-grown whiskers he inspired a certain level of terror by the rage in his face.

  “You can have it,” Avery said.

  He collected himself and tried to stand, meaning to climb into the bunk his attacker had abandoned, but the seal-man shoved him back to the floor with a foot. The foot stayed on Avery’s chest as the inmate spoke:

  “You sleep there.”

  “But ... I ...”

  “Shut it, cunt. One more squeak and I break your glasses.”

  Avery held his tongue as the seal-man mounted to the higher bunk and threw himself on it, the bed squeaking under his weight. None of Avery’s other roommates dared help him, not that they were inclined. All were smugglers and pirates, and he had no friends among them, Duke Leshillibn had made certain of that. The cell was cramped, and three bunks were shoved into it.

  Defiantly, Avery snatched a pillow and a blanket from the vacant cot and made himself comfortable, or as comfortable as he could be on the cold stones of the floor, but he did not venture onto the bed.

  What had caused the seal-man to move against him? He must be one of Segrul’s men, Avery decided. Gauthis had given the order to make it harder for the men of the Muirblaag, and his people were accommodating him.

  Avery closed his eyes and tried to sleep. As always at this time, he thought of Ani and wondered where she was, what she was doing. How was her new family treating her? Was she truly as revered and alone as Janx and Hildra made her sound? At least she had Hildebrand. Avery smiled at the image of the monkey scampering about Ani’s luxurious suite, playing with her silver forks and ivory-backed brushes, tormenting the royal family and keeping their butlers busy.

  Then his mind slipped, not to Layanna as it usually did, but to Sheridan, and he wondered how she fared cohabitating with Hildra. Were the two constantly at each other’s throats or had they found a way to tolerate each other? He tried to picture them peacefully debating who would get the top bunk and failed.

  Before he could slip off, a guard passed by, and a small pebble pattered against Avery’s cheek. His eyes popped open, and a curse was halfway out of his mouth—were even the guards against him?—when he saw the tiny note fixed to the pebble. Making sure none of the others were watching, he snatched the note and scanned the words, his heart beating faster.

  Made contact with H & S. They’re ready. Get the chems. It’s now or never. Signed, J.

  * * *

  Avery’s heart raced as the overseer walked by. Sweat dripped into his eyes. Today was the day. Everything depended on what Avery did next, or failed to do. If he couldn’t steal the alchemical supplies from the lock room, all was lost.

  His hands shook as he emptied the solution he worked with into its funnel and watched it drain into the machine before him. The solution stank, even through his filter, and he wanted to throw up. Part of that was nerves. Maybe most of it. Get it together, he told himself. Now’s no time to lose it. He steadied his hands as best he could and continued working. If only this concoction was what they needed, things would be so much easier, but of course no overseer would have assigned a prisoner to use those compounds. Those were reserved for licensed prison staff members.

  But they were stored in the same place.

  He looked around, trying to find Rolf. There was no sign of the old pirate at first, and Avery started to panic, but—there! The mutant hunched over a machine slightly further down the line than before, and Avery blanched at how sickly he looked. More mutations had sprung up on him, and he was turning gray and thick. Still, he lifted a fused-together hand when he saw Avery and attempted to give a thumbs-up. Avery returned the gesture weakly. He knew that, in addition to Rolf, Janx had appointed some Muirblaag crewmen to lend him the assistance he needed, but they manned machines further down the line.

  Breathlessly, Avery waited. Every moment was an agony.

  Suddenly, a great cacophony rose from the sailors’ end of the chamber. Sparks and strange colors leapt to the grimy, pipe-snarled ceiling.

  Men screamed and tried to get away, but they were chained to their machines, and guards rushed to the scene. Avery waited for the guard who was patrolling his area to go, as well, and had a tense moment when the man hesitated; then, seeing the extent of the disturbance, the fellow swore and ran to help put out the flames. Avery silently thanked the crewmen who’d started the conflagration and hoped they wouldn’t be seriously injured either by the flames or the guards. Then he dug out the set of picks Janx had given him and set to work.

 
After a desperate moment, his cuff locks snapped free.

  He darted over to Rolf and worked at the sick man’s shackles. Other prisoners, seeing him, called to him to help them get free, too, and he was tempted—their freedom would only increase the confusion and his chances of success—but the riot enforcers would come in soon. Anyone not at their station would be beaten down savagely. You’ll thank me later.

  Finally Rolf’s shackle came free. “Took you long enough!”

  “Come on,” Avery said.

  They ran down the line, past astonished prisoners, toward the reinforced locked door that protected the alchemical compounds used in seafood processing. For a moment, Avery looked longingly at it, wishing his simple picks could open that portal, but of course it was too well sealed. In addition, two guards stood to either side of it. Avery knew neither carried a key, though, so there was no point in waylaying them—yet.

  Before the guards could see them, Avery and Rolf crept behind some machines that had been out of operation for a time; the prison authorities had decided not to risk having prisoners stationed too close to that door. A wise move until now.

  The noise down the line grew, and Avery bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming in impatience. Finally the iron doors that led into the guard station burst open and a tide of armored riot enforcers poured into the workroom and made straight for the group of sailors causing the commotion. Avery knew the sailors had used their assigned alchemicals to sabotage each other’s machines and some of the others, and had bribed some of the prisoners to help them ward off the overseers; that had been the plan, anyway.

  Now the enforcers came down on them hard, and Avery tried not to imagine the broken bones and bloodied cheeks even as he heard the shouts and cracks coming from down the line. What concerned him most was the tall, broad figure at the rear of the tide: the sergeant that oversaw the guards in this work area. He was the one that held the key, so everyone agreed. Drawing him out was one of the main reasons they’d had to engineer the disturbance.

  “Now!” said Avery, and he and Rolf slipped from one machine to the other, trying to get close to the sergeant before he could draw too far away from the lock room door.

  “Do you see the key?” Rolf asked.

  “No—wait. There! At his waist, on the right.”

  Avery paused while Rolf stole forward, just as the sergeant paused to shout something to his troops. Rolf raised his thick, snaky tendril toward the ring of keys—the sergeant started to move, turn—everything would be lost if he completed that movement and saw Rolf ...

  Acting quickly, Avery removed his right shoe and threw it at the sergeant’s head. The man stumbled forward, and Rolf had time to snatch the keys and duck behind a machine before the overseer could crane his head to see who had thrown the missile. Avery hunkered low and the sounds of the disturbance up the line drew the sergeant’s attention once more. He moved off.

  Rolf rejoined Avery and they made toward the lock room door, depending on their filters to mask their identities. Prisoners called softly to them, but the two ignored them. Avery’s focus was solely on that door.

  The two guards stiffened. They were big men, covered in stained leather armor, eyes hidden by smoked glass. Whips hung from their hands.

  Avery attempted to steel himself to what he must do.

  “Stop right there!” said one of the guards.

  Avery and Rolf continued forward. Neither guard carried a firearm, as it was deemed too risky to allow anyone in the prison areas to carry one—only those on call in the guard quarters had them—so each man was armed only with a whip, a baton at their hips and an intercom system to call through if things got too dicey.

  Avery moved forward while Rolf hung back, as the plan called for.

  “STOP!” shouted the lead guard. He cocked his whip—Avery hunched his back, twisting so that he would take the lash on his shoulder and back, not his face—and struck. Blinding pain filled Avery, and he could feel the lightning strike of the whip part the fabric of his thin jacket, shirt and the flesh of his back. Still, he didn’t let the pain stop him but reached up and grabbed the whip in both hands—and tugged. He couldn’t pull the guard off balance, of course, but the guard couldn’t retract the weapon, either.

  Rolf glided around Avery and barreled forward. The second guard lashed at him but only struck a glancing blow, then Rolf was among them. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before both guards were down. Avery understood now why Janx respected him so.

  Using the stolen key, Rolf opened the lock room door and ushered Avery inside. Shaking with nervousness, Avery entered, switched on the overhead light and looked around. Aisles of industrial racks on both sides, rows and rows, many of the chemical and alchemical compounds sealed away in iron canisters or brass globes. Avery could feel it on his skin, the unnatural charge in the air, and could detect what tasted like aluminum on his tongue. Aluminum mixed with blueberries. Rancid blueberries. Gagging, he threaded his way through the aisles, scanning each row. The hair on his arms lifted. The world seemed to move around him, strange and porous.

  “Hurry!” Rolf called. “The ruckus is already dying down.”

  Avery had been here several times to replace his compounds and had started to map it out in his head after the first time. It only took him a couple of minutes to find the globe he needed, remove it from its niche, where several other similar items rested, and retreat back to the door.

  “Come on come on!” Rolf said.

  They ran over the unconscious bodies of the guards and back toward their stations as prisoners cheered them on for having laid two whip-wielders low. They returned Rolf to his station first and locked him in.

  “Back to your machine,” Rolf said, his head snapping up as he heard a sound.

  Avery obeyed. Even as he was trying to fit the cuff around his ankle, however, armored figures appeared out of the smoke and gloom from the direction the fire had been in, and though Avery couldn’t see their faces, he could detect murderous rage in the guards’ body language. They had not been glad to do what they had just done; either that or they were still afire with bloodlust after having already administered several sound thrashings. At any rate, the conflagration had died down, and now instead of fire, smoke massed thick in the chamber. The guards emerged from it like demons, covered in black.

  “You!” one said.

  Avery froze.

  The men were descending on him, all bristling with whips, batons and guns.

  “I ...”

  They didn’t give him time to explain. A whip came down on him, then a baton, and all he saw was blackness.

  Chapter 6

  He awoke to a frigid salt breeze stinging his sores and sinuses. His eyes jerked open.

  What the hell?

  He was in one of the cages, he realized. He’d seen them on the way to the prison island, black iron things hanging from the exterior of the fortress, open to the elements. Bones, he remembered. He had seen human skeletons in those cages.

  Gripped by panic, he played his hands over his body, finding nothing broken but much bruised and sore. Blood had caked in his mouth around several teeth, a few of which were loose. He thought one might be cracked. His lip had been split, as had his scalp. Lucky he hadn’t incurred brain damage, or at least he thought he hadn’t. Blood had hardened in his nostrils, making it difficult to breathe through his nose, and he heard a constant ringing in one ear. The whiplash down his back and over one shoulder burned like a line of white-hot fire, and by the way it ached he thought it might be infected.

  A sudden cold gust made him sit up and shiver and wrap his arms about himself. It must be nearly freezing out here.

  Bones shared the oversized birdcage with him. Human bones, yellowed and gnawed upon, half hidden by old hay.

  Below, the seals laughed. Ark ark ark. At that moment, Avery wanted nothing more than to grab a bone and plunge it into a seal’s eye. Had the plan been foiled? Dear gods, has it all gone wrong?


  He tried to stand, but one of his legs flared and he collapsed. Exploring the limb with his fingers, he found bruising around the knee but still no broken bones. That was fine. Soft tissue could heal, he told himself. Knees were tricky, though, and he could only pray nothing serious had gone amiss. He wished he had some water. His mouth was dry, his lips cracked. For once the heavens weren’t spilling their usual drool.

  When they do, though ...

  He remembered the stinging sensation when the droplets had landed on him before. When it began to rain again, would the precipitation eat him alive? Is that how the former occupant of this cage had been turned to bone? Examining his surrounds more closely, he saw old, blackened shards wedged in the top of the cage with some tattered remnants of what might have been fabric or clothes sprouting from them, fluttering in the wind. At first he didn’t understand what he was looking at, and then he got it. Hells. The former occupant of this cage had used the previous occupant’s bones to hang clothes from over his head, a sort of homemade canopy against the rain.

  At first the notion filled Avery with disgust, but he quickly saw what a clever move it had been. Well, he thought. I suppose I can do the same thing, can’t I? I have bones and clothes. The inventor of the technique could provide the same service to his protégé. Or had the bones on the floor belonged to the inventor at all? Perhaps he had inherited the technique from the man whose bones were wedged above, or from the man that that man had used the bones from. Maybe every caged man learned it from the one who came before and passed it on to the one that came after.

  Despite his queasiness, Avery’s stomach growled suddenly, and he realized he was hungry. Ravenous, in fact. He must have been passed out for some time, and no food or water had been left for him, not even a pot to piss in or bowl to defecate in.

  Ark ark ark.

  Dear gods, how could anyone stand those fucking seals?

  Some of them had gathered below and were honking up at him. He wanted to throw a bone at them, make them scatter, but he might very well need those bones. He did have his shoes, however. Perhaps as a jest, the guards had replaced both of them on his feet. He wished they’d provided another jacket, though. The threadbare specimen he’d been wearing indoors served tolerably well to keep off the chill there, but out here, exposed to the frigid temperatures, he shivered and huddled his arms around himself. His teeth chattered, and when he felt a sharp pain he thought once again that one of them might be cracked.