Sea of Lost Souls

by Emerald Dodge

  We all shook hands, and they sat down with us. The taller one was named Pierre, and the shorter one was Hal.

  I eyed their drinks. “What’s on tap? We’re waiting for our drinks.”

  Hal took a long swig. “You must be new deadies. It’s this world’s beer. Instead of making you drunk, though, it’s infused with fairy magic. It’s a nice tingle. Been drinking it since the 80’s.”

  Was there anything magic couldn’t do or be? I could feel the raw magic I’d squirreled away in my insides before leaving the ship, gently humming with life. I mentally patted it and turned my attention back to Pierre and Hal.

  Pierre traced the rim of his flagon with a finger, clearly thinking. “You’ve got a seabag. You leaving the Saint Catherine?”

  “Yes. I’m looking for passage to the Far Island, and hopefully another chance to kill Scylla. She attacked the carrier a few days ago. We lost some good people.”

  Hal and Pierre looked at each other. “Scylla’s been unusually active,” Pierre said. He spoke with a French purr, but his words were laced with unignorable warning. “She came after the Sérendipité last month. We lost thirty men, plus our captain.” He inclined his head to me. “You’re invited to join our crew. We’re not picky. We need all the help we can get these days. If you want to fight Scylla, our ship is a good bet.”

  “We can do that?” Torres said. “Just join another country’s ghost Navy?”

  “You can switch allegiances in life, so why not in death, too? We’ve got a few fairies, even. The war has caused a lot of displaced young people from their world who need a job and a purpose.”

  “No offense, guys, but your ship doesn’t even look seaworthy anymore,” Bickley said.

  “It’s not,” they said at the same time.

  Hal heaved a sigh. “Yeah, okay, it was worth a shot. But I gotta be honest: we’re on our last legs. Between Scylla’s attacks and the constant skirmishes with pirates, we’re not much more than a floating bathtub. Now we’re under Commander Gagnon, too. Heaven help us.”

  Pierre snorted. “Don’t you mean Captain Gagnon?” He gave us a significant look. “She loses her mind if you don’t call her that, even though she’s still officially a Commander. I’ll be the first person to give someone the respect they deserve, but this woman is something else.”

  “It sounds like I’d better off staying away from your ship,” I said. “Sorry, guys. I’m not looking to join another Navy. I’m actually trying to figure out how to get to the Far Island.”

  Another man in a cloak entered the tavern. He strode into the backroom where Aurora was, never sparing anyone a single look.

  “You need to go to the House of the Setting Sun,” Pierre said. “They can take you anywhere, if you’re willing to pay their prices. I don’t know the details, but they don’t want money, or so I’ve heard. Frankly, I’d stay away from them. Stay away from fairies in general.”

  Stay away from the fairies. Stay away from the House of the Setting Sun. There were a lot of things to stay away from in this place.

  Bickley leaned back in his seat. “So, what are you going to do, Rach? You’re a free woman. You’ve got an invite to be in Canada’s navy, or you can stay here for three nights before you have to find other lodging.”

  Aurora saved me from having to answer. She bustled over to our table with our drinks, and set them down in front of us with a winsome smile. “Here you go, loves.” She placed a small brass key in front of me. “You’re in room two. I’ll have my daughter bring you fresh sheets later. It’s up the stairs over there.”

  I picked up the heavy vessel and inhaled the effervescence. The heady, hoppy smell seeped into my brain and made strange colors swirl behind my eyes, strange visions of people I’d never seen, dancing women in flouncy skirts, and eyes… red eyes that bore right through me.

  Scylla’s eyes.

  I took a sip and nearly choked. Lightning coursed through my insides, spreading into the tips of my fingers and toes. Warmth followed it, and I was beset by the sudden desire to lie down.

  “I’m checking out my room,” I said, giving my head a little shake. “You can all come with me if you want. I don’t… I don’t feel so good.” Bickley and Torres’s eyes were also droopy.

  Pierre frowned. “Man, you all are lightweights. They give this stuff to kids around here.”

  Hal dipped a finger into my drink and licked it, then choked. “What is this? Here, try,” he said to Pierre.

  Pierre copied him, his eyes widening. “Whoa. That’s not the normal ale. I’ve never had anything like that.”

  I was too sleepy to care. Instead, I dragged my feet toward the stairs, the doors blurring together. My seabag felt like a load of bricks.

  I stumbled into my room. Hal picked me up and placed me on the bed. My head touched a pillow. Bickley and Torres laid down next to me, while Pierre and Hal were speaking to us, their plaintive voices simultaneously loud and incredibly far away.

  I blinked. Pierre had shoved a chair underneath the doorknob, and Hal had a pocket knife in his hand.

  Time melted into nothing, each second dragging on like an hour, and each minute just the blink of an eye.

  And in the distance, there was screaming.

  11

  “Rach! Rach, wake up! Come on, wake up!”

  Someone propped me up in bed. The room swam, a mural of colors and shapes moving back and forth. My head felt full of rocks, and the inside of my mouth was more like a desert than anything.

  And the air…it smelled of smoke and ash.

  The image in front of my eyes stilled. Hal and Pierre were by the door, knives in hand. The chair had been replaced by a solid-looking dresser. Bickley was standing by the window, which was covered by a thin curtain. He was watching the street below, unblinking.

  Torres helped me to my feet. “Rach, how are you feeling? I’ve been trying to wake you up for five minutes.”

  “They meant to rob you all,” Hal said, turning to look at me. His mouth was a grim line. “Aurora must’ve been paid to drug your drinks. However, they may have actually done us all a favor by giving us a room.”

  “There’s at least three bands down there,” Bickley said. “They’re looting. They have weapons.”

  “Not much to loot in a tavern,” Pierre said. “I don’t think they’ll come up here.”

  “What happened?” I asked, taking a hesitant step to test the strength of my legs. They felt like jelly.

  “Pirates attacked shortly after you all crashed from whatever she put in your drink,” Hal said. “It sounded like they attacked anyone and everything they could. They were taking people, too.” He patted the dresser. “We barred the door. They messed up the place downstairs, but they didn’t come up here.”

  I gasped. “Guys, the ship! We need to get back on board!”

  Torres shook her head. “We’re not leaving until nightfall, when we can sneak around.”

  I held up my hands. “I’ve got some power left inside me. If anyone tries anything, I’ll blast them. But we gotta get back to the ship.”

  Bickley stepped away from the window. “Well, if that’s the case. The bands moved over to the next street, so maybe now is as good as any other time. And she’s right,” he said to Hal and Pierre. “We all need to get back on our ships. Goldstein’s not a member of the crew, but we are.”

  Hal and Pierre had a silent exchange, and then they shoved the dresser aside. I picked up my seabag and slung it over my shoulder. Bickley broke the hatstand over his knee and gave one of the ends to Torres, while he took the other. Hal and Pierre whipped out their pocket knives.

  “All right,” Pierre said, cracking open the door. “Don’t even blink.”

  Port des Morts was in shambles. We’d planned to sprint for the port, but there was to be no running of any kind in the dark streets. The setting sun was low on the horizon, but the remaining fires cast enough glow to see the carnage I’d slept through.

  Every building now lacked windows o
r doors. Furniture had been tossed through them, spreading broken glass all over the cobblestones. Dead people lay here and there in pools of blood, their throats slit. It took me a moment to see that all of the deceased had the tell-tale sparkles around their eyes.

  “Fairies?” I whispered as we passed a dead mother still holding her baby.

  “Most of the permanent residents of this city are fairies,” Hal whispered. He held his hand up, then hastily beckoned for us to follow him into the dark doorway of the House of the Setting Sun. It was the only building in sight that didn’t have a scratch.

  The door swung open, revealing the same cloaked, hooded man as before. He smiled mildly, and held his arm out behind him. “Please, come in.”

  Bickley held up his half of the broken hatstand. “We’re just passing through. You can shut the door.”

  But the man merely cocked his head and studied Bickley. “Your father is waiting for you, Jack. And the little child. Your heart broke when Tanya lost the baby. Isn’t it time you go and join them? The baby needs a daddy.”

  Bickley froze, then lowered his weapon. “How… how do you know that? How do you know my name?”

  The man looked to Torres. “Marisol, your grandmother still thinks of you fondly, but she regrets that she couldn’t speak English and tell you that she loved you. Why don’t you go to her now?”

  Torres’s eye twitched. “Everyone, get away from this guy. He’s a psychic like me. It’s a cheap trick. C’mon, let’s go.”

  She grabbed my shoulder, but he was looking at me. His dark eyes were like tunnels, pulling me in deeper and deeper until all other sound fell away.

  “Rachel Miriam Goldstein. Your middle name means ‘sea of sorrows.’ How appropriate, don’t you think?” He held out a gloved hand to me. “Take my hand, child. Your sorrows are almost over. I will take you to your people. They are waiting.”

  “They’re waiting?” I whispered. If they’re waiting… it would be… rude to delay…

  Someone was shouting at me, but I disregarded them. His eyes were so velvety and dark, enveloping me, like nightfall after a long day in the reactor. Encasing me in—

  Bickley hit him with the hatstand. The spell was broken, and I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “Wha…?”

  Torres, Hal, and Pierre wrenched me away from the door and spun me around. “That guy is the creepiest person in all of Port des Morts,” Hal hissed, shoving us inside another broken doorway. “People go through the door and never come out. They’re always the ones looking for a way to get to the Far Island, or the land of the living, or wherever. I don’t know what he does, but he’s a predator. Stay the hell away from him.”

  “Noted,” I said, gulping. “Quick, let’s run to the corner. Nobody’s watching.”

  We all dashed for the corner, around which would be the final leg of the journey to the market that had been filled with so many stalls. Bickley held up his hatstand again, and gestured for us to stay low. “Okay, let me just check to s…”

  He’d peeked around the corner.

  Torres hurried to see what he’d seen. “Oh. Oh… dear.”

  I joined them, equally lost for words.

  Across a battlefield of destroyed kiosks and stands, the USS Saint Catherine was half-sunk in the water, listing heavily and completely, utterly without hope. A few dozen sailors were camped out on the pier next to her. A lone blonde figure in white attended to a line of injured sailors.

  The blonde was Peggy. Where was Dot?

  Beside it, the HMCS Sérendipité was in equal disrepair, partially sunk and taking on water. Canada’s finest hurried around the pier, their own nurses attending to everyone. Around both camps, armed guards patrolled the perimeters.

  “Let’s go,” Bickley said. “Hal, Pierre, this is where we part ways.”

  We all shook hands and wished each other the best, then began the long walks toward our destroyed ships.

  They’d come for people, not goods or weapons. That much was obvious. Captain Gorman had been taken, along with Commander Muree, a dozen sailors of various ranks, and Dot. The pirate fleet had come around the coast, sweeping up to the side of the ships in their cutters and easily overwhelming the skeleton crew. Most of the sailors hadn’t been on board, but out and about in town.

  Peggy’s victory rolls were limp and unkempt as she worked diligently on the injured sailors, which were many. She wound bandages, dabbed at burns, and pulled shrapnel out with tweezers, never letting her despair appear on her face.

  But I knew. I knew how shock and sadness sat in a heart, and I could see it in the trembling of her hands and the glaze in her eye. “Do you need medical attention, Petty Officer?” she asked as she passed me on the pier. Her accent had somehow lost the midwestern smile.

  “No, and I’m not a Petty Officer any more. Do you need medical attention?” I reached for the gash on her cheek, but she batted my hand away.

  “I’m fine. It could be a lot worse.”

  “What happened?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “We were in our berthing when they came. Dot had stuffed me into a linen locker before I knew what was happening. I heard them come and get her. She was screaming so…”

  Peggy broke down, and Torres hurried over to comfort her.

  I silently picked up Peggy’s kit and began attending to the injured in her stead. The first person I went to was Commander Hollander.

  He was lying down with his eyes closed on a blanket next to two other injured officers, and his chest still bore the bloody, stinking wounds Scylla had inflicted on him. I kneeled next to him and made to change his bandages, but he put a hand on mine. “Don’t.”

  A rod slammed down my spine, forcing my hand to retract. Captain Gorman had used the same voice on us in our first hour onboard the ship.

  What in the hell?

  “How did you do that?” I demanded. “That voice—that was the bossy voice like Captain Gorman’s.”

  He propped himself up on his elbows, wincing the whole way. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Stop lying. You made my hand move away.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  I threw down the bandages. “I don’t have time for this. Why won’t you let me take care of your injuries?”

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered. “They took all the other aviators. I should be with them, not here.”

  If I’d rolled my eyes any harder, I would’ve been able to see my brain. “Not now, Arthur. Be dramatic later.” My mom had said that to me several times in my teens. I finally understood. He made to reply, but I held up a hand. “I didn’t save you before just to have you bleed out or whatever right now. And if you use your Hashem-voice on me, I’m going to smack you all the way back to the living world.”

  His lips twisted as he thought, and then he settled back and let me begin removing the bandages. “What’s Hashem?”

  “It’s what some Jews call, you know…” I pointed at the sky.

  “You’re an interesting friend to have, I gotta say.”

  “We’re not friends, sir. That’s fraternizing.”

  He scoffed. “There are two problems with that.”

  “And I’m sure you’re about to tell me. I can’t wait to hear this.”

  He grinned. “One, you’re not part of the crew, so it’s not fraternizing.”

  I ripped off a piece of tape and placed it on his new bandage. “And two, you’re a smartass, so—”

  “And two, you just admitted to saving me after Scylla’s attack, so I have to be your friend whether you like it or not. Whether I like it or not, as a matter of fact. I don’t make the rules.”

  I paused, then looked up from his wounds and rested my arm on my knee. “Fine, you got me. I pulled you from the water. Happy?”

  “Goldstein! Torres! I need you!” Bickley’s shout made me turn my head. He was standing by one of the large holes in the hull. The ship was tilted in such a way that access via the hangar bay was impossible. However, a person could c
limb up onto the hull via the gangplank and fall into the hole.

  I made a face at Commander Hollander, then rushed over to Bickley. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve been asked by a few members of the crew to go into the ship and find the remaining stores of raw magic, and if they’re still there, to secure it. I say we split up to cover as much ground as possible in the shortest amount of time. Torres, you go up to the hangar bay and check there. I’ll search the weapons locker where the Master at Arms stored his firepower. Goldstein, you’re in the engine room.”

  “Got it,” Torres and I said together. Torres clambered up the gangplank, then carefully slid onto the hull and into the gaping wound in the hull. She held my hand while I maneuvered into place, and then dropped me down into the compartment below. A minute later, Bickley joined me. He caught Torres, and then we all took stock of the damage.

  And holy cannoli, there was a lot of damage.

  The pirates had ransacked the place, throwing furniture and paperwork everywhere. We were in what appeared to be a destroyed yeoman’s office, but it was impossible to know for sure—there was just too much mess.

  “At least they didn’t set the place on fire,” Bickley said. “Come on, you two. Keep sharp.”

  The bowels of the ship were almost pitch-black. We didn’t have flashlights, and the sun was almost out of sight. I wasn’t familiar enough with the ship to know the layout by memory, but there was something I could do.

  I placed my hand on an exposed wire and whisked a tiny amount of power into the system. Bing, bing, bing, the lights popped on, then off, creating a silent-but-bright chain of illumination down the passageways.

  “I’ll do that periodically,” I said. “I’ve only got enough power for about five more times, so memorize what you can, and run when possible.”

  They nodded, then sprinted off in the opposite direction of the engine room. I walked purposefully toward the stairwell at the far end of the passageway. When I reached the top, I stared down into the vast nothingness at the bottom.