Within the Water

by Kelly Fallows

  ‘If you will wait in here, Kristoff will be with you shortly.’ Wilks shepherded them into a fine-looking room, this time with plenty of comfortable-looking furniture, much of it made out of wood, which was a very rare and expensive commodity. Kristoff was definitely making a statement. The rest of the room matched in both style and expense; it would seem that Kristoff, whatever else he may be, was a man of taste who embraced Abantos’ old Vinci history and refinements. The room appeared to be some kind of cross between an office – the solid and intricately carved wooden desk off to the far left certainly gave that impression – and an old-time parlour with its plush settees and arm chairs centred around a low table. There were two other doors aside from the one they entered through, all three of which matched the desk in materials and design. Curiously, there were no windows, but in their place were paintings depicting Land scenes.

  ‘That was quite a bluff, you know.’ The voice came from behind the group, but a scant few moments after the door closed, although without the telltale clicking of a lock this time. ‘Not many would’ve dared attempt to pull off such a blatant stunt, although Captain Benjamin Daniels is not said to be one of the many but instead is one of the few.’

  ‘One of the few what? That really is the only matter of importance,’ Ben countered, turning towards the voice and coming face to face with an entirely ordinary looking man of approximately six feet in height, with brown hair and brown eyes. His was the face of anonymity – instantly forgettable – which Ben thought was probably a great help in his chosen profession.

  ‘Indeed, literature would call them the brave or the bold few, and the more uncharitable would call them the crazy few.’ Kristoff, for indeed it could be no other, smirked. ‘But the question still remains: which are you?’

  ‘Me – I’m definitely crazy,’ Ben declared, smiling not unlike a madman.

  Kristoff threw his head back and laughed. ‘Well, you certainly don’t disappoint Captain Daniels.’

  ‘Glad to be of service.’ Ben gave a mocking half bow.

  ‘But still, Graves’ sister,’ Kristoff said, shaking his head, ‘I’m afraid that was a miscalculation on your part. How you ever learned of her sister even down to her appearance I’d be interested to know, especially as you didn’t receive the most vital part of the story.’

  ‘And just what vital part might that be?’ Sophie enquired, stepping forward.

  Kristoff turned towards Sophie as she stepped to the fore and waited but a moment before replying, ‘That she died, my dear girl.’

  ‘From a knife wound to the heart?’ Sophie asked casually, as she pulled down the neck of her shirt to reveal a horrendous white scar that stretched from just below her collar bone down beneath the line of her shirt. ‘It’s rather remarkable how many would-be assassins do not wait for death in their victim before proclaiming their success,’ she remarked.

  ‘Indeed, a poor failing in many,’ Kristoff agreed almost absently as he took in the scar. ‘However, a scar even in the correct place where the deathly blow was struck does not prove your identity,’ he told her once he had regained his equilibrium.

  ‘Yet it is compelling, nonetheless,’ Ben commented. He had seen many scars and had more than a few of his own, but the sight of Sophie being so marred disturbed him. No, it was more than the sight of it – it was the knowledge of what she had endured to have gained such a scar that devastated him. He felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness towards his little pilot, which battled for dominance with a wave of anger towards the man in front of him. The man who had been the real cause of such pain. It was only through sheer willpower and practice at bottling such feelings that he was able to continue unencumbered by them; they had a job to do after all.

  ‘A terrible sight to see on such a beautiful woman. I don’t know how you could have done it, Daniels, just to prove a point.’ He turned his attention back to Ben, seeking to rile him up.

  The poignancy of the remark was extraordinary considering Ben’s thoughts a moment before, but he had expected the attack and so it was nothing to deflect it with ease. ‘That’s the funny thing about the unbelievable, it usually is so because it is untrue. You can’t know how I did it, simply because I didn’t.’

  ‘You know, it would be a damn sight simpler if you just got her sister to come down here and see for herself,’ Ash declared from where he'd made himself comfortable on the settee, getting more impatient with all this back and forth verbal sparring.

  Duncan fought to hide his grin at Ash’s comment. Ash was right and they all knew it, but in the game of one-upmanship Ben and Kristoff were playing, neither could have suggested that course of action themselves without losing face.

  ‘Indeed. What clever fellows you surround yourself with, Captain,’ Kristoff observed with just a touch of mocking. Kristoff was blessed with that superior tone of voice that could make even the sincerest compliment sound derogatory, and so one could never tell his exact meaning. It was an ability he used to great effect and with immense pleasure.

  ‘It certainly makes life more interesting,’ Ben replied noncommittally.

  Kristoff merely smirked as he made his way over to his desk, where he pressed a series of buttons. Within seconds a knock sounded on the left-hand door.

  Kristoff’s command to enter was followed swiftly by the appearance of a beautiful, red-headed woman who radiated poise and elegance as she walked ten paces into the room, until she was directly in line with the desk and then turned expectantly towards it to wait for instructions. She did not once turn and look towards the rather unusual group that was placed about the room. It wasn’t until Kristoff spoke from beside the bar along the side wall, to which he had gone to help himself to a drink, and she turned towards him, that Captain Daniels and his crew saw why. She was completely blind. Not only that but it was clear from the scaring around her eyes, which didn’t show in her profile, that the blindness had been inflicted meticulously and intentionally.

  ‘Elise, contact Graves and tell her that her presence is required,’ Kristoff instructed, clearly enjoying the effect his little spectacle was having on Daniels’ crew. He was quite certain that the presumptive Miss Graves had to stifle a gasp.

  ‘A man should surround himself with beautiful things wherever he can, don’t you agree, Captain?’ Kristoff taunted before the door had even closed behind Elise, who had retraced her steps and exited the room with the same decorum she had entered it with.

  When Ben made no direct reply to the taunt, Kristoff continued, ‘See, for example, this painting.’ He deliberately ignored the fact that everyone was thinking of Elise with his remark, just as he had intended. ‘This is a beautiful representation of our heritage, don’t you think?’ he continued to goad.

  ‘Before we destroyed it you mean?’ Duncan asked waspishly, speaking for the first time.

  ‘Rather careless of us really, wasn’t it? But then, accidents do happen,’ Kristoff rebutted. Fortunately, they were saved any more remarks within remarks by a second knock on the door.

  ‘Enter,’ Kristoff called once again.

  However, this time when the door opened it revealed no horrific surprises. Nonetheless, this did not mean that it didn’t yield any surprises at all for Ben and his crew. They had expected Sophie’s sister and Sophie’s sister had entered the room, but she wasn’t the woman that they’d expected. For one thing, Sophie had neglected to mention that they were twins, and it was just slightly disconcerting to see their pilot looking at them from two places at once. However, after a moment or two, each of them managed to draw their eyes away from Melanie’s face and focus on the differences in the two women, of which there were a few to be found. While their childhood had been undoubtedly the same, their present courses through life differed enough and each had left its mark. While Sophie had a healthy plumpness to her figure, Melanie was all sharp angles with no curves to be seen. The way they held themselves betraye
d a great deal as well: while Sophie was by no means relaxed, her tense posture was nothing compared to that of her sister, who gave off an aura of being ready to go straight in for the kill at a moment’s notice. This same coldness was in evidence in the expressions the two women wore, but while Sophie’s was somewhat anxious, Melanie’s was devoid of emotion: a hard mask. Perhaps this was the most difficult thing for Sophie’s crewmates to take in, to see their pilot’s face twisted into such an expression that had never once been seen on her.

  ‘Melanie.’ Quite surprisingly, it was Sophie who first broke the silence that had descended on the room. The Coelacanth’s crew had been too busy watching Melanie and Sophie, and Kristoff had been too busy watching the Coelacanth’s crew as they took in the sight before them for any of them to even consider speaking. It was anyone’s guess what Melanie’s thoughts were on entering the room.

  ‘Haunting me now, sister?’ Melanie responded stepping further into the room. ‘One would’ve thought you’d have got right onto that the instant my betrayal killed you.’

  ‘As presumptive as ever,’ Sophie commented with something approaching a half-smile. ‘Your betrayal didn’t kill me, nor did Max’s knife.’

  ‘And yet I saw it do so.’

  ‘No, Melanie, what you saw was me lying in a pool of my own blood as you shut the door on me and I know that because I was still conscious when the door clicked shut.’ Any attempt of a smile had vanished from Sophie’s face at this point.

  ‘Did you feel you ought to give me another chance then?’ Melanie asked cruelly, stepping closer to her sister.

  ‘I even brought the knife,’ Sophie agreed calmly, as she produced a knife from its sheath in the small of her back and held it haft first towards her sister.

  Melanie reached out to take the knife still staring her sister in the eyes, as she grasped the hilt though she suddenly looked down.

  ‘Seem familiar, sister?’ Sophie asked; unlike her sister, she could not achieve a true emotionless tone, but, at that moment, Melanie wished she could. Her tone was instead full of an accusing sadness.

  ‘You know it is,’ Melanie stated, turning the weapon over in her hands. It was a simple looking knife, with no ornate designs or colouring: just a plain black haft with a five-inch blade. It’s only distinguishing feature was a crudely carved M in the haft, which was more obvious by the feel of it on the palm than seen by the eye. ‘A clever replica.’

  ‘True,’ Sophie agreed and couldn’t help the little smile at Melanie’s shock. ‘But then mine did make for a good base to work from,’ she continued, drawing a second knife.

  Melanie looked between the two knives and then at her sister, for she knew it was her. In truth, she had known the moment she had seen her on the monitors running through the passages of Abantos. She had, of course, had her suspicions as to the identity of the infamous Captain Daniels’ pilot, but chose to leave well enough alone. Yet now she was confronted by the very truth she sought to avoid.

  ‘And yet all this does is point to all the reasons why you shouldn’t be here – be you alive or dead.’ Melanie at last formed the words she was seeking.

  ‘Hope, Mel, that’s why I’m here,’ Sophie replied quietly.

  Melanie laughed at this. ‘Then by hell you’ve come to the wrong place – Abantos is for the hopeless.’

  ‘“All hope abandon, ye who enter here”, is it?’ Ben decided that this was a good moment to intervene and they were certainly in the right place to be quoting such classics.

  ‘Words to that effect, yes.’ Melanie turned to face the man who had brought her sister to such a hopeless place, but, before she could demand from him answers as to why, Kristoff spoke recalling her attention to him.

  ‘Now, Graves, do be fair; I do hope I’m not included among these hopeless souls you speak of,’ he commented, not one to be left out of a conversation.

  Melanie turned a somewhat brittle smile on him, ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Good. If anything, I should like to be the one who takes hope away,’ he announced with a smirk. ‘But that still leaves us with why you are here.’ He turned towards Sophie in question.

  ‘As I said, in the hope that I still have a sister.’

  ‘Hmm, I always did wonder why people strove to have hope; it makes them do such foolish things once they have it. Like coming here,’ Kristoff mused.

  ‘Melanie, I…’

  ‘Daniels, you would not have brought her here for a family reunion.’ Melanie did not hear her sister speak, so focused was she on Daniels. ‘You would not risk your life and that of your crew to come back here just for her,’ she continued, certainty ringing in her voice, ‘not with your history. So why have you brought her here? What do you hope to gain?’ She made this demand almost standing toe to toe with him; a sight that could have been quite comical given their difference in height, but no one was laughing. All anyone was doing was looking at Ben and waiting for his next move.

  ‘Personally? Nothing,’ he said with a careless shrug, before narrowing in on Melanie and closing the space between them, forcing her to step back. ‘But what I am interested in is to know why you’ve done everything, short of welcoming us as old friends, to make us feel at ease? So, the question becomes what is your game?’ He turned the tables on Melanie and Kristoff.

  ‘Do you really have so few friends that our actions pass as hospitality?’ Kristoff asked with a laugh.

  ‘Perhaps I should lay them out for you?’ Ben asked, but continued without waiting for an answer. ‘We have neither been frisked nor divested of our weapons. We have not been beaten, tied up or thrown in holding cells. Nor have we been seriously questioned as to our intention and purpose before being led into the heart of your operations, without being blindfolded, may I add.’ Ben listed all the things that he had expected at least on some level to happen, but that had not.

  ‘Well…’

  Ben didn’t let Kristoff get any further in his excuses. ‘Shall I tell you what has happened?’ Ben asked rhetorically. ‘We have been greeted cordially, had a guided tour through your territories – don’t think I didn’t notice we took the long route – been shown enough of the inside of your HQ to have a handle on your security and level of assets, and, finally, we’re now in a room with no guards and the three doors to which are safely guarded by my crew.’ Ben finished with a wave in the direction of Ash and Duncan, who far from lounging around had actually taken up strategic positions in the room. Their now drawn weapons added to the air of the crew of the Coelacanth being in control. ‘So, I ask again, what’s your game, Kristoff?’

  ‘You certainly are observant, Captain Daniels,’ Kristoff remarked with a great deal of composure. ‘But just suppose that this room isn’t as unguarded as you may think. Just suppose you may have walked very neatly into my trap.’

  ‘Well, that is an awful lot for one man to suppose,’ Ben countered; he’d given up as much as he was willing to freely give. Now it was Kristoff’s turn.

  ‘Kris.’ Kristoff turned to Melanie as she spoke his name, once she was sure she had his attention all she said was, ‘They passed.’

  ‘Indeed they did,’ he agreed, while the crew of the Coelacanth waited tensely to find out just what they had passed.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Fahlen remained in his office long after he'd sent Devonport off to stew in some corner or other of the city. He honestly couldn’t care less where that bumbling oaf had gone; as far as Fahlen was concerned, he'd out lived his usefulness. And he’s turned out to be rather useful, indeed, Fahlen mused. It was as he'd always said: men accomplished amazing things when their necks were on the line. And Devonport had such secrets that he was ready to spill to save his miserable neck. Not that he would know the importance of them, Fahlen thought, snorting derisively. The question now was how to play his hand. It could work out very well as an insurance scheme, should things take a turn for th
e worse, but there were still unknowns, which was something he needed to rectify before going further. He was not going to make the same mistake as Nathan. Idly, he wondered whether Nathan knew yet just what kind of man he had trusted and, more to the point, what kind of bomb he’d started the countdown on.

  ‘Bring me the file on the Serronous,’ he spoke briskly into the comm. link on his desk and waited for his clerk to produce the required file.

  The minutes ticked by, but there was no appearance by the hapless clerk. Fahlen angrily pushed away from his desk with a mind to beat his authority into his clerk’s skull. He wrenched open the door, a stinging reproof on his lips, where it promptly died. His clerk was nowhere to be found. Fahlen glanced about in consternation for a moment or two, then decided to stop looking like a fool and squared his shoulders. Fortunately, he noted, there was no one around to see him acting like a fool. Even his idiot clerk couldn’t disappear into the filing cabinets. He decided to leave the chewing out he’d planned on giving his clerk until the morning; instead, he set off to the archives himself. Indeed, he thought, this is perhaps a better plan. After all clerks can sometimes get too nosy for their own good.

  ***

  Nosiness was a trait that Nathan perhaps had more use for than his adversary. He knew the importance of being too curious for your own good, provided, of course, that the curiosity was channelled in the right direction: namely away from him and towards his opponents. Who, in this particular case, would be the Republic’s very own Minister of Security. And, of course, these curious people should be encouraged to share their knowledge – with him specifically.

  Still, he was having some difficulty in finding anyone who was too curious about Captain Daniels. On Fahlen he had plenty and was kept in regular supply of such information, but Daniels was another matter entirely. He was waiting on Rose’s report, but given that his own probes had proved less than useful, he was not holding out much hope.