[Warhammer] - Fell Cargo

by Dan Abnett

  Open jaws burst up through the whirlpool, thrashing the waves back. They were huge, as massive as the bow of the Demiurge. Scaly, brown, wide open, they displayed teeth the size of cutlasses. Rising out of the monumental foam, the jaws spread wide, swallowing Guido and several of the eater fish into its maw. The last any of them saw of Guido Lightfinger was his body bursting apart as the massive jaws closed.

  “Mother mine!” Belissi wailed. “Mother, mother mine!”

  For so it was.

  XXVII

  The gigantic beast slumped back into the sea, like the face of a glacier sliding into the polar flow. The impact of its colossal snout kicked up a great Whitewater impact that rolled both the Lightning Tree and the Safire violently to port. Men tumbled and pitched across the decks, for most had been so stunned by the monstrous vision that they had not been braced to hold on. Belissi was screaming and cowering, but his voice was just one of many rising in fear and frantic prayer. Panic had seized almost every soul, even the hardest and the most robust.

  The beast raised its snout again, jaws wide and chomping at the frothing water. Then it slipped low. At the rail, Silvaro gazed at its great bulk, a scaled, brown shadow in the churning, sunset sea. It was like a crocodile in form, but giant flippers drove it forward in place of legs. It was at least the length of the Lightning Tree itself.

  “Ware!” Luka bellowed. “It’s going under us!”

  The deck vibrated with a dreadful impact, and they could hear the grind and scrape of the beast’s horn-plated back against the Lightning Tree’s bottom.

  “Get cannon!” Luka yelled. “Train guns upon it as it surfaces!”

  “Against that?” Honduro screamed back. “Our biggest culverin would not even make a mark!”

  “Then what? What?” Luka shouted. Except for the wildest stories, he had no idea that any creature so large dwelt upon the face of the world.

  Mother mine, curse that fond name, rose again between the Lightning Tree and the Safire. The tumult of its surfacing threw spray across both decks, washing men off their feet with such pressure, they clawed at lines to hold on. The poor Safire, dwarfed by the creature’s mass, broached wildly, dipping her masts down towards the sea and all but capsizing. Luka saw men tumble off into the waves.

  He ran across the pitching deck and began to struggle to reload the nearest swivel gun on the port rail. It was hopeless, but he was damned if he was just going to stand by while the beast devoured them.

  Ignoring the beleaguered Safire, the monster swung back towards the Lightning Tree, as if it knew somehow that poor Belissi was hidden upon that vessel. The snout struck against the ship’s side like a battering ram, and there was an angry crackle of timber. The whole ship lurched to starboard, its tonnage knocked against the grip of the sea by the massive blow.

  Holding onto a ratline, soaked through, Sesto saw Belissi. The old carpenter, struggling to keep upright, was hobbling towards the port rail.

  “What are you doing?” Sesto shouted.

  “I must offer myself,” Belissi cried back. “Give myself to Mother mine so that she might spare the rest of you!”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Sesto answered, but from the look on the faces of the desperate crewmen around, this was an idea they were heartily in favour of.

  “Belissi!”

  The carpenter was almost at the rail, but the beast struck again, shivering the hull with another titanic strike, and Belissi lost his footing and fell. He got up, clawing to grip at the rail and pull himself over.

  “No!” Sesto yelled, and lunged at him. They grappled.

  “Let me go!” Belissi shouted. “I must do this!”

  “No, I say!” Sesto replied. Belissi wrestled and shoved at Sesto, trying to break his grip. “I won’t let you do this!”

  “Please! I must!”

  Belissi managed to wrench himself free from Sesto’s grip. Frantically, Sesto threw a punch. He had no wish to injure the old man, but it was all he could think of. His fist caught Belissi’s chin and cracked him down onto the deck. Sesto grabbed his unconscious form and began to drag it back across the soaking planks, volumes of spray crashing down upon them both.

  Sesto looked up at the rail as he struggled, and saw the vast maw of the beast opening wide as it rose up to rip a chunk out of the Lightning Tree’s side, and them with it.

  “Luka! Stop that nonsense and help me!”

  Luka turned from the swivel gun and saw Tusk struggling across the deck. The old pirate lord was clutching a large golden box in his arms.

  “Luka, help me stay upright!”

  Tusk was facing the rail, and the immensity of the rising beast. Luka grabbed him and steadied him as he let go of his walking stick and opened the box. Tusk let the box fall, and held up its contents in both hands.

  It was a tooth. One, single tooth, but it was huge. It matched in size any of the long fangs in Mother mine’s grin, but where they were the long, dagger-shaped teeth of a reptile, this was flat and triangular in shape. Ancient, grey, pitted and worn, it was precisely like the saw-edged tooth of an eater-fish. But what scale of eater-fish had ever filled its jaws with teeth like that?

  Gold wire had been wound around the tooth, and strange runes etched onto its surfaces. It was as wide as a man’s chest and as long, at the tip, as a man’s forearm and hand. Tusk had to hold it with both hands, like a shield or a salver, his bone-hook notched around one corner. He raised it high and brandished it at the great beast. Luka fought to keep them both on their feet.

  For long seconds, striking the sea into great troughs with its giant paddles, Mother mine raised its head and neck above the water to threaten the near-swamped Lightning Tree.

  Then it closed its baleful yellow eyes and slipped back, like an avalanche, into the sea, sliding down out of sight.

  Slowly, the tormented waves began to calm.

  Tusk lowered his arms, and with Luka’s help, leant against the nearest firm cordage for support. He was exhausted. Luka took the heavy tooth from him.

  “Place it back in the casket,” Tusk said. “Please, with care and due reverence.”

  “What is it?” Luka asked, marvelling at the thing in his hands.

  “The Bite of Daagon, it is called,” Tusk replied. “An amulet. I won it from a corsair in an action off Copher. A potent talisman against the devils of the water, as you see. Even a beast like that likes not to glimpse the teeth of that which would menace it.”

  “I would not like to see the manner of monster that other monsters fear,” Luka said.

  “None may live anymore, not even in the deepest places. The Bite is very old. But the other devils remember its like. It wards well against evil.”

  Luka placed the tooth inside the casket and, with a shudder, closed the lid.

  The tumult slowly calmed away, though the open sea was still brisk and heavy. By the time full night had fallen, the men cast over the gunwales in the incident had been recovered from the ocean. Miraculously whole from the swell they came, for the arrival of Mother mine had driven all the eater-fish from that stretch of brine.

  As Honduro and Casaudor attempted to light the deck lamps and rally some semblance of order amongst the Lightning Tree’s rattled crew, Sesto helped Luka conduct Jeremiah Tusk down to his cabin. The old man was pale and breathing hard, as if greatly exercised by the grim events.

  His cabin was in more disarray than usual, for many objects and pieces had been tumbled onto the deck by the violent shaking of the ship. Sesto placed the golden box on a bench, and hurried to trim the lamp-wicks, looking around in quiet wonderment as he did so. Silvaro helped Tusk to a seat, then poured him a reviving shot of rum.

  “I’d prefer tea,” Tusk said, “but there’s no time for boiling water now. Rum will do,” His hands were shaking as they took the heavy lead glass. “I am most fatigued. See, Luka? I told you the fire had gone. I’m getting too old for this game.”

  “I’ll not hear such talk,” Luka said.

  The pair sat
in the yellow lamplight and conversed for a time, while Sesto quietly inspected the marvels of the room. Slowly, Tusk’s vitality seemed to return a little.

  “So, where are you for now, Luka?” he asked.

  “Back to Aguilas, to see what shape my poor Rumour is in.”

  Tusk nodded. “You told me about Guido’s treachery, but not about what business had taken you to Aguilas in the first place. Hardly a port friendly to men of our stripe.”

  “Friendly enough,” Luka said, “to a man who bears letters of marque and reprisal.”

  Tusk stared at Luka for a moment, and then burst out into such a fit of wheezing laughter that both Luka and Sesto feared for his continued respiration.

  At last, the splutters subsided. Tusk wiped his eyes. “So the Hawk himself has taken letters? A privateer! Surely, this is a world turned upside down!”

  “Why should that be so funny?” Luka asked. “You yourself have taken letters in your time, from different lords, when the enterprise suited you.”

  “Luka, Luka,” Tusk replied, leaning forward and warmly pressing his good hand around one of Luka’s massive, scabbed fists. “I have done many things in my life, many things, that I would never expect you to do. I am capricious and ill-humoured, and I ply one course on one day, and on the next, another. But you, Luka, you are a single-minded pirate prince, free, impetuous, phlegmatic, and owned by no man or master. That’s what I’ve always admired about you. I cannot think of a cause so great, even with riches attached, that would bend your will to the service of another m…”

  His voice trailed off. He swallowed and fixed Luka with a terrible gaze. “Unless… Oh, Luka, say it is not so! Say you have not undertaken the task of which I am thinking.”

  Luka smiled. “I have sworn to rid the seas of the Butcher Ship, old friend, or die in the attempt.”

  “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Because someone must, for the good of every soul upon the water,” Luka replied. He was rather pleased with the drama of his answer. It had a better ring to it than. “Because the Prince of Luccini gave me little other option than a gibbet tree on Execution Dock.”

  Tusk shook his head sadly. “And what manner of king has made you such an offer of letters that you could not refuse?”

  Luka was about to reply, when Sesto answered. “My father, sir. The Prince of Luccini.”

  “Indeed!” Tusk glanced around. “Making you…?”

  “Giordano Paolo, sixth and youngest son of his majesty the prince.”

  Tusk was too tired to rise, but he bowed his head low in genuine reverence. “My young lord, I had no idea whose presence I was in, nor what noble blood was guest upon my poor brig.”

  “There’s no need for bowing, sir,” Sesto said quickly. “The honour is mine to be here.”

  “Are you, as the Estalians have it, rescate for the completion of the deal?” Tusk asked him.

  “Sesto joins us of his own free will,” Luka said. “No ransom is involved. No rescatadores, we, I assure you. Sesto has come to observe the dealings, and make report back to his father on our success.”

  “Of your own free will,” Tusk mused, impressed, “you gave up the handsome life of court to join a pirate company, a company, moreover, engaged upon such a suicidal quest? Young sir, may I say there is more fire in the royal blood of Luccini than I ever suspected.”

  Sesto coloured a little.

  “And what of your fire, Jeremiah?” Luka asked. “Kindled a little after this action? Losing the Demiurge, though we had little choice thanks to Guido, was a setback. She was meant to be the backbone of my force against the Kymera.”

  Tusk sighed. “Oh, Luka, not another favour. Please. I broke my oath to my men in supporting you here against your wicked kin. That was for old times, and it has left me spent. My fire is gone, and I am sailing to my cross, and that will be the end of it. Do not ask me to sail with you against the Butcher.”

  Luka nodded. Then very quietly, he said, “There is still the matter of three times.”

  Jeremiah Tusk chuckled. “You are ever the knave, Luka. I would say we’re square. I have fought with you against the Demiurge, as you asked…”

  “That’s one,” said Luka.

  “…and I have driven off the sea-dragon where none else might have.”

  “And that’s two,” Luka said.

  “I think you should be more generous,” Tusk said. “That dragon alone was worth three, or four, or five, or however many times you might have saved my life.”

  Luka smiled and nodded. “I know. I know, my old friend. But I had to ask.”

  Tusk smiled back. “Of course you did. And in the spirit of fairness and the ancient code of our brotherhood…” He picked up the golden casket from the bench beside him and slid it across the table to Luka.

  “There’s three,” Tusk said. “If the Butcher Ship is half the daemon they say it is, you’ll have more need of the Bite of Daagon than I will. Take it. Take it with my blessing. Now get on your way! I hate goodbyes, especially final ones, so I won’t say it. Get off my ship and begone.”

  Luka stood, picked up the golden box and looked one last time at the old pirate lord hunched in his seat.

  “May you find your cross, Jeremiah Tusk, and let it be where you left it.”

  “And may you find your Butcher Ship, Luka Silvaro, and let King Death be at your side when you do.”

  They took the longboat back to the Safire, Casaudor and Belissi stroking the long oars, Sesto and Silvaro in the stern. Belissi seemed calmer and more bright-eyed than Sesto had ever known him, as if he was looking forward to a whole new lease of life.

  “What does it mean,” Sesto asked Luka, “to be sailing to your cross? What did Tusk mean?”

  “No pirate worth his salt carries his riches with him,” Luka replied. “He simply carries a private chart, often writ in code or other devices so that it may be read only by those privy to the making of it. On that chart is a cross, an X, which marks the location of his secret, buried trove. The cross, you see, marks the spot. And when a pirate reaches the end of his career on the waves, he makes an oath to his loyal crew, and they sail for that cross, under the captain’s direction. So, at that cross, when it is found, they uncover the riches and share them out, a portion to every man as befits his service and duty and rank. And that is the end of it.”

  “But what of the ship and the men?” Sesto asked.

  “Some of the crew may inherit the vessel. Honduro, perhaps, will take command and become the new master of the Lightning Tree.”

  “And what of the pirate lord?”

  Luka shrugged. “I cannot say. In truth, Sesto, I have never known any captain who has lived long enough to sail to his cross and retire.”

  They clambered up the side of the waiting Safire, the sloop lit up with lanterns in the night. In the blanketing darkness, by the vague moons-light, they saw the great shape of the Lightning Tree draw up sail against the westerly wind and swing away into the rising flood.

  The Lightning Tree cracked off one last, fiery salute, then pulled in its guns, closed its ports, and vanished into the night.

  XXVIII

  “Come hard about off the wind!” Roque commanded. “Lose a little from the tops there!”

  “Hard about off!” Benuto repeated, bawling at the men. “Tops away, you laggards!”

  “How does she feel?” asked Captain Hernan.

  “Considering the time the wrights of Aguilas have had to work upon her, almost perfect,” Roque replied with a smile.

  It was midday on the seventh day following Luka’s departure aboard the Safire in pursuit of Guido and the Demiurge. Under Roque’s command, the Rumour was making her first sea trials out of Aguilas Bay, testing the repairs to the hull. They were running up the coast northwards, skirting the shoals and reefs, tracing a course along the wooded foreshore. The sun was bright, the wind running, and the sea crystal blue in their wake.

  “She’s a fine ship,” Hernan said, st
anding beside Tende and Saybee at the wheel. “A little too small and light for my tastes, but I was schooled on the voluptuous galleons of the Estalian Navy. Still, I can appreciate her fleet stride and fast turns. A sprightly senorita, there’s no mistake.”

  Seniors of the crew came up to the poop to report to Roque. Vento, tugging the tails of his white coat out of his waistband, described how some of the new cordage was over-stretching. It was still damp, which affected the efficiency of the handling, especially on more subtle corrections of trim. Largo said the fresh canvas was good, but bellying well, due to its newness. They’d get more speed and fatness off the wind for a week or two, which was fair enough, so long as they knew it was coming. Clean sheeted, the Rumour would pull faster than usual for a while, and that would make her headstrong, and as hard to handle as an unbroken horse, unless they were wary.

  Sheerglas, who refrained from coming to the deck and the sunlight, sent one of his head gunners, and the man reported splitting and seeping from the sections of the repaired hull below the quarter deck. Patches had been wedged and caulked in, but the wood was yet to settle.

  “That’s something to watch,” Hernan said studiously. “The hull repair is good, as good as we could do in the time, but it’ll be weak until it sets and binds. Turn too hard into a force of water, and it will pop, and that will be your end. And, whatever you do, don’t present that side to an enemy’s batteries. They’ll find that vulnerability in a second.”

  Roque nodded. “I’ll mark that and pass it on to the captain when he returns.”

  “If he returns,” Hernan muttered dubiously.

  Roque ignored the jibe and rolled out a waggoner. “I say we chase for that atoll, and pass around it, before returning home.”

  Hernan nodded. “Let’s run her out as we’re here.”

  They were turning when they heard a cry from the topcastle. “Sail! Sail yonder!”

  Roque picked up his scope and directed it where the lookout had pointed. Close in to land, in the next bay, a small boat was drifting, tugged along by the wind in its lone sail.