The Perils of Archipelago

by B A Simmons

  Only a few hours later, as the canes of tall grass were visible across the southern horizon, they spotted the first sea serpent. It ignored them and sped away toward its home among the channels. As the lone Engle Islander among them, Duncan told the crew as much as he knew about the Sea of Grass, which was little.

  It wasn’t long, however, before they found themselves dropping the anchor and furling the sails while the wind whipped at them. The Anna Louisa bobbed up and down before reaching an open channel leading deeper into the grass. While strong, the wind couldn’t get enough grip on the shallow water to make any large waves.

  Eugene called John and Charlie to the bow, where he stood with a far-see.

  “Look there,” he said, gesturing to the southwest.

  John took the far-see first and raised it. After a moment of searching, he noticed what Eugene had seen. It was smoke.

  It couldn’t be called a plume, for after a few yards into the air, the wind dispersed it. Yet, against the gray-green grass, it was discernably black and rising from a single spot.

  “A signal, you think?” John asked, handing the far-see to Charlie.

  “If it isn’t, we’d best not head that way. From what Duncan says, the only intelligent creatures, if you can call them that, inhabiting this area are the Quillian. Despite the friendly meeting Pete supposedly had with them last month, I’d rather not try an encounter.”

  “Supposing it is a signal, the only humans it could be are either those aboard the Entdecker or those on the Falcon ship,” Charlie said.

  “What choice do we have?” Eugene replied. “Either we go that way, danger be damned, or we go back to Engle Isle. That storm is only a day away at best, we’ll be stuck out here until it passes if we delay.”

  “We check out the smoke. That’s my vote,” John said.

  “Vote? I thought you were in command here,” Eugene countered.

  “You’re the acting captain. I’m no more in charge than you.”

  Charlie smiled, “Well then, as acting sheriff of Engle Isle, I’ll make the decision.”

  He paused to let the other men catch his smile, then said, “We go into the grass to find the smoke.”

  “Weigh anchor and man the oars!” Eugene called out.

  They rowed the Anna Louisa down the channel, hoping for a large enough opening to lead them to the smoke. All hands donned armor and stowed weapons where they could easily lay hands on them. James and Duncan loaded the three-pounder at the bow, just in case.

  Hours passed before they came across a burned Quillian reed boat. It appeared well abandoned, as none of the blue-skinned aliens could be seen aboard or near the craft. Keeping a cautious watch on the water, however, they continued their venture toward the dangers ahead.

  The smoke was more readily seen now above the tall grass. The channel seemed to be leading in its direction. Eugene took his place at the helm, though more out of comfort than need as the oarsmen controlled the ship’s maneuvers. Charlie leaned on the bow railing, calling out commands for the rowers.

  Eugene had a fine view of the grass on either side of them. Every so often, a pair of eyes peered back at him. Creatures he’d never before laid eyes on examined him and the rest of the Anna Louisa with curiosity, and perhaps hunger. Oddly, or so he supposed, there hadn’t been a single sea serpent since the one earlier that morning.

  The sun was hidden behind the threatening storm clouds that grew nearer, and the black smoke was lost against them.

  “We must be close to it,” Eugene said as they rounded another bend in the channel.

  His mouth dropped at the sight before them.

  No fewer than six Quillian canoes, each teeming with the blue-skinned bodies, sat in the water near a stone structure. They fired arrow after arrow into a large opening in the structure while screaming ghastly war cries.

  While Eugene and many other on board stood dumbfounded at the sight, Charlie wasted no time in aiming the three-pounder at the nearest reed boat. He announced their presence with a shot that shattered the boat and sent a dozen Quillian into the water.

  The Quillian turned and brought their bows to bear on them.

  11: Defying Kith Mor

  Being stranded on a small boat inside a flooded ancient temple (as Rob supposed it to be) created enough tension for Pompeo to break. Fewer than two hours inside the dark shelter, overgrown with vines and crawling with obscure creatures, he began to scream violently. A few words of the rant made it into Rob’s brain for translation. Something about death and sailing. He heard the name of Ayday used several times, undoubtedly in the form of curses or insults.

  Several people, including Garibaldi, tried to calm him down as his voice echoed from the vaulted stone. He would not.

  At the end of his rant, Pompeo’s fear and anger was overcome by only one other need. He spied the water barrel and its ladle. He drew a cup of water and greedily poured it down his throat. As he returned the ladle for a second dip, he stopped and his body convulsed.

  The men on the Entdecker looked at him with confusion and then horror as his face turned blue, his tongue engorged, and his eyes froze in a look of pure terror. Rob moved to help Pompeo, but the would-be ambassador swayed and then fell to the deck. His breathing became shallow, intermittent, and then paused.

  It took less than a minute for him to die.

  Rob looked up from the dead face at the other men. All seemed as confused as he was, save Piers. Piers had his eyes fixed on the water barrel but not on its contents. Rather, he examined two shafts protruding from the side nearest the hull. They had gone unnoticed among the many other Quillian arrow shafts stuck in the Entdecker.

  “Damitall,” Rob said.

  “Damitall?” Harry questioned. “For him?”

  “I had hoped that saving him would give us leverage with the Falcons. Help us end this war.”

  Harry huffed and looked away. Their eyes had become accustomed to the dim light inside the artificial cave. The only light from the outside came from where they entered and from an opening at the opposite wall, which was too small for the Entdecker to fit through.

  “There was no saving him. Honestly, I am surprised he made it this far,” Garibaldi said.

  For Garibaldi and his two remaining Falcon sailors, Rob felt he needed to guarantee their safe return or there would be no end to the war. Yet, even as this feeling drove his current actions, the thought remained in his mind: There are no guarantees.

  “How long do we stay here?” Max asked. The fear in his voice betrayed his stoic expression.

  “I suggest we wait until darkness falls, then we can escape without being seen by the Quillian.”

  “You’re worried about the Quillian,” Harry said. “What about sea serpents?! Can we escape them at night? No! That’s when they’re out hunting!”

  “Harry, we need to stay calm,” Piers said. “Check on Orson, will you? See if he needs some food or water.”

  “Our water is poisoned!” he shouted.

  Piers looked compassionately into Harry’s eyes. “I have some in my canteen. Use that.”

  Harry took a deep breath and gulped, as if swallowing his anger. His eyes shot another dagger at Rob, and he moved to Orson.

  Max tried to light the lantern but Tom stopped him.

  “We don’t know what’s in the water below us. Let’s try not to find out.”

  “I’m worried about what’s on the ceiling above us,” Max said. “I keep hearing a chittering sound up there. Some creature’s going to drop down on us and suck our blood, or something.”

  “Suck our blood?” Piers asked.

  “You weren’t there. I still have nightmares about that selkie.”

  “From what I heard, you were asleep when Trina found it,” Tom said.

  “Yeah, but I saw what it did to that fellow . . . Freddy, his name was.”

  “They’re wyvern-hawks,” Garibaldi said.

  “What?” Max asked.

  “The chittering animals up there. W
yvern-hawks. Wild ones, but they sound the same as those tamed and kept as pets by my children.”

  “Do they pose a threat to us?” Rob asked.

  “Not if we leave them alone.”

  Tom slapped Max on the back, “See there, Max? Nothing to be afraid of.”

  Max did not look comforted by this.

  Rob turned his attention to the walls and ceiling now that his eyes could see the moving shapes of the wyvern-hawks, stretching their wings. They seemed to nest on various outcroppings of stone that jutted out here and there around them. Above them, dark spots on the ceiling proved to be holes extending to some upper level of the temple. Then a pattern appeared.

  On the far wall, the wyvern-hawks kept their nests at least six feet above the water. However, from there, they were evenly spaced, each to the left and up one foot. A pattern, but a confusing one until Rob followed it to the ceiling. There, the final nest was immediately below a large gap in the ceiling.

  “Stairs,” Rob said aloud.

  “Stairs?” Max repeated as a question.

  “There are stairs on that wall, Max. Going up to another level.”

  The two men stared at the wall in silence for a full minute before Max spoke.

  “Rob, that map of mine that led us here . . . it wasn’t the only thing in that box.”

  “What else was there?”

  “A scrap of parchment written in Iyty. I couldn’t read it, so I asked Doctor Morris to translate it.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yeah, mind you this was before you came back and started the whole war. I didn’t know that was going to happen.”

  “Never mind that, Max, what did it say?”

  “Morris said it was a story about a treasure hidden in the Sea of Grass. Worth thousands, maybe millions, to whoever finds it. It said to find the island called ‘Engle’ and sail south. It said to use the map to find the tomb.”

  “A tomb full of treasure. That’s what you’ve been after this entire time?”

  “We can’t all be heroes like you and Mark—”

  Max paused, realizing how tender Rob’s feelings about his brother were. Yet, at that moment, Rob didn’t feel the normal twinge of regret and pain he often had in the past month. At that moment, Rob’s mind was reeling in the facts he’d just learned.

  This meant that the former owner of the Entdecker had come to Engle Isle to search it out but was eaten by something instead. In a twist of irony, the Entdecker and her crew now found themselves stuck right where the treasure was located.

  “Ayday be merciful,” Rob said.

  “Rob, this is the tomb, isn’t it?” Max asked.

  Rob thought for a moment before answering. He couldn’t just let Max go looking around up there for treasure. He’d likely be killed. Yet, here they were, in a tomb devoted to Kith-Mor. The discoveries he could make with a bit of exploration.

  No, this isn’t the time. We have to get out of here alive.

  “I’m sorry, Max,” Rob said. “Even if this is the tomb you’ve been looking for, we can’t go looking for treasure.”

  “What? Why not? We’re stuck here until nightfall you said. It wouldn’t take us long to find it. Think about all you could study up there. I bet there are some fascinating . . . paintings or something.”

  “No. It’s too dangerous. A treasure of gold or knowledge won’t do either of us any good if we’re both dead.”

  Max rolled his eyes and huffed off to the other end of the ship.

  A sense of pride, mixed with disappointment, filled Rob’s heart—he felt as if he was at last becoming a true leader.

  They settled in for a long night. Rob did not expect to sleep, despite not having slept much in the past two days. It seemed that except for Jordan and one of Garibaldi’s sailors, there would be no sleep for any of them. Orson was awake, and though the numbness hadn’t subsided, it hadn’t spread any further. His labored breathing was a bit deeper and steadier than the previous hours.

  Rob ate dried fish and biscuits before sitting down near the poisoned water barrel. He realized how tense his muscles had become with the day’s events. Since the fight with the Quillian, he had removed the arrow from his armor but dared not relieve himself of the jacket altogether.

  The light from outside the tomb diminished quickly as the sun set. The Entdecker was plunged into complete darkness. Rob heard feet shifting on the deck and a few sniffs from those on board with him. The fluttering wings of the wyvern-hawks were heard above. They seemed to be leaving for a night of hunting. Rob did not remember falling asleep, but his dreams were pleasant for the first time in weeks.

  Shouts of alarm interrupted Rob’s sleep, and he fully awoke as Harry’s heavy foot stepped on his to get toward the bow. Tom, Piers, and Lewis Johnson were already there. They were leaning over the edge and shouting “Max! Max!”

  Had Max gone overboard? Then Rob remembered where they were; it was the treasure.

  He jumped to his feet, a dim light shone through the large opening. Morning had arrived, though its brightness diminished because of the dark clouds. Max Claythorne, had quietly slipped into the water and with gentle backstrokes, was now halfway between the Entdecker and the far wall.

  There were more shouts. “Look there! In the water!”

  Rob looked into the darkness beneath them. He couldn’t see anything. Then a pale shape swam under them, in the direction of Max.

  The pale shape was indiscernible with such little light, but it was obviously attracted to Max and his movement.

  “Max, stop moving!” Tom shouted as he pointed at the water.

  Max arrested his movement and made himself like a plank in the water. His wood-plated jacket buoyed him up. The ghost-like fish, as big as Max himself, slowed its pace. It turned this way and that, as if it had lost its purpose. A moment later, it figured out where Max floated. Passing by him twice, it then turned and nosed him. To his credit, Max remained calm and maintained his impression of driftwood. The pale figure in the water undulated in circles for another few minutes and bumped him twice more before descending into the darkness again.

  “You meecher, swim back to us now,” Harry said.

  Max’s response was to resume his gentle course toward the stairs on the wall.

  “Grab an oar, Harry,” Rob said as he ran out the starboard side oar. Harry did not argue but joined Rob, and they closed the distance quickly. However, just before catching up to him, the pale fish returned in a flash and bit into Harry’s oar.

  The mercenary cursed as it was nearly ripped from his hands. He reset his grip and pulled back on the oar, nearly bringing the fish out of the water. It thrashed, causing a commotion that made all on board worried about drawing the attention of something bigger. Whatever strange fish they were dealing with was trouble enough. Its jaws refused to release the oar, even though it was obviously inedible.

  “Don’t fight it, Harry,” Rob said.

  “Can’t let it take the oar!”

  Tom cut in, taking hold of the oar with Harry. “Just hold it steady, don’t pull against it.”

  After a minute or two of struggling, the fish released it. Yet even then, Tom let the oar lay still in the water as the fish remained nearby. It nosed the oar as it had with Max and swam around it in obvious expectation.

  Rob looked out toward Max to see that he was now ascending the steps toward the upper level of the tomb. The pale, troublesome fish left them, and they took several gentle dips with the oars before arriving at the wall. Rob took a sword and climbed out onto the closest guano-covered step. Piers began to climb out, but Rob put a hand on his shoulder.

  “No, Piers. I need you to stay here and help Tom and the others. I can handle old Max myself.”

  “It’s not Max I’d be worried about, Rob. What if something else is up there?”

  “Then I’ll have Max to help me deal with it.” He turned to Tom. “We should have left hours ago. If I’m not back with Max in one hour, get out of here. Make a break for the open
sea where you can outrun any Quillian boat, even if it means sailing to the Falcon Empire.”

  “Rob . . .” Tom said, and he furrowed his brow.

  Rob did not wait for his cousin to finish, but climbed up the steps as quickly but as carefully as he could. Not only was there guano to avoid but what looked like black eggs in the wyvern-hawks’ nests. The steps were close together, as if made for children, and he had to duck to get his head into the gap.

  Once through, he arrived at a corridor and somewhere ahead, light filtered in through an opening. He waited in dreaded blackness for his eyes to adjust again. Unable to see the floor, Rob dragged his feet. He shuffled along toward the source of the light, discovering that the corridor opened into a large room with no ceiling. More doorways on the other three walls led back into the darkness, but Rob could ignore those.

  In the center of the room, a large pedestal rose up above the walls. Unlike the walls of the tomb, this impressive pedestal was constructed of cut coral stone. They were intricately placed together without the use of mortar or cement. Rob guessed it was the burial chamber as it was not part of the original construction. More steps spiraled their way up this massive pillar to a platform. There, the silhouette of Max Claythorne stood out against the charcoal-colored clouds in the sky.

  “Max, we need to go! Come down!” Rob called.

  “Rob, you need to see this.”

  Against his better judgment, Rob ascended the stairs to the platform and placed himself on the edge next to Max, and his eyes widened. The platform was covered in hundreds of thousands of pearls. Even in the dim, cloud-filled morning light, they seemed to gleam with myriad colors.

  “There’s a fortune here, Rob. Get the others, we’ll get as many as your boat holds and then come back for more.”

  “Max, we can’t take these. It’s desecration.”

  “I don’t know what that word is, and I don’t care.”

  “This is a tomb. Someone important is buried beneath our feet and these pearls are offerings left to it.”

  “Exactly . . . it. It’s not a human. Why should we care if the Quillian left these gems here? They hate us anyway. C’mon Rob, think of what these could do for your war effort.”