by C. L. Werner
Unseen, unheard, the slender finger of darkness slithered from shadow to shadow, flitting through the ironclad’s holds and hallways, creeping under doors and across cabins. Its senses were limited, but its awareness was pronounced, heightened far beyond what it possessed when it was part of a colossal whole. An intelligence greater than itself flowed within it, endowing it with purpose and motivation. From shadow to shadow it stole, always growing still when a member of the ironclad’s crew walked past. It used its squamous, almost shapeless body to squeeze through the narrowest of gaps. Its serpentine length would twine around beams, climbing up and across them with a rapid, undulating movement, casting its coils forwards to gain new purchase before pulling the rest of its length along. Always, bobbing above the snake-like tube of its mass, the bulbous eye quivered at the end of a lumpy horn-like projection.
The storm-beast’s severed eye-stalk had not dissipated with the other segments cut from the monster’s main mass. A powerful enchantment sustained it, infusing it with vitality so that it could continue to serve. Everything the remnant saw was conveyed back to its master, feeding back into the sorcerer’s brain as though drawn from his own eyes. The compulsions that directed the remnant’s movements were fed back to it by that same brain, commands that the segment would not have been able to resist even if it were capable of such thought.
The hideous spy continued its silent survey of the Iron Dragon until at last it came to the cabin of her captain. As the blemished eye gazed down from the roof beam, it saw two duardin arguing. The cluster of ganglia that controlled its muscles gave no special attention to the bearded figures. Even the memory of such creatures attacking it and hacking it from one of the larger tentacles during the recent battle was too much for the remnant to maintain. It was the sorcerer guiding it who supplied that information, who urged it to greater secrecy and made it coil up within the shadows.
It was Khoram who had the remnant fixate upon the two duardin, Khoram who identified one of them as the ironclad’s captain. And it was Khoram who used the segment’s eye to watch the lips of the captain and his companion as they argued. For one who had mastered the tongues of daemons, there was no mystery any mortal language could hide from him.
Skaggi paced across the cabin, fingers twisting in his beard as frustration steadily grew within him. What shone in his eyes was a kind of sullen spite, ugly and imperious. He pointed a quivering finger at Brokrin, snapping at the captain as though he were a cadet back at the Academy.
‘How can you fail to appreciate how monstrously the situation has changed?’ Skaggi demanded. ‘It was simply pragmatic before to take advantage of Grokmund’s deal. Now it is essential! The loss of the frigates, the wergild the families of their crews can demand, these are costs which will destroy the careers of every officer on this ship! The debt will pass down to the third generation, allowing a reasonable interest can be negotiated. Our backers will suffer immense loss, and it might be just the thing to make the financial guilds take seriously all the dockyard scuttlebutt about a curse hanging over you and your ship.’ He gave his beard a vicious twist, several hairs coming off in his hand. ‘It isn’t a choice now,’ he declared. ‘We have to take Grokmund’s deal. That aether-gold vein he discovered is the only chance we have of coming out of this fiasco with anything beyond enough debt to choke an ogor.’
‘So you have mentioned,’ Brokrin said, his voice low and steady as a mountain. Those who knew the captain best also knew that it was when his voice took on that stony quality that his temper was starting to boil over. ‘You have explained yourself quite clearly. I do not need to have it repeated again and again.’
‘You do,’ Skaggi retorted. He knew Brokrin’s moods, but his own temper had risen too far to back away now. ‘You need to have it repeated until something like sense works its way into that thick skull. This isn’t a choice now. We have to do this. It is essential. The only chance there is of–’
Brokrin cut him off with a slashing motion of his hand. ‘The only chance to see this ship blasted across the winds of Chamon!’ He shook his fist at the blackened crater that scarred his table. ‘Are you forgetting what just a little of Grokmund’s treasure did?’
Skaggi glowered at Brokrin. ‘Are you forgetting that Horgarr exhausted the rest of the sample fighting off that…’ he waved his hands in a helpless gesture, ‘whatever that thing was?’
‘Maybe it would have been better to let it rip this ship apart the way it did to the frigates?’ Brokrin snapped back.
‘Don’t be absurd,’ Skaggi returned. ‘We are fortunate Horgarr had the wit to make use of it. But it would have been prudent of him to save at least a sliver of it. Even if we were of a mind to go back to Barak-Zilfin and try to interest someone in the find there is no proof now. No collateral to offer backers. All we have is Grokmund’s stories and our own claims.’ His eyes narrowed and he shook his forefinger at Brokrin. ‘The claims of an impoverished crew, I might add. Investment is all about appearances, whether something looks sound. How sound do you think we will look coming back to port with our hold empty, our fleet missing, and owing a tidy ransom to manling savages?’
‘We are not equipped to transport Grokmund’s strike,’ Brokrin tried to explain once more. ‘As gaseous ore it will be far more dangerous than the distilled ingot Horgarr refined.’
‘There is no reward without risk,’ Skaggi said. He arched his eyebrow and gave Brokrin a wary look. ‘Are you afraid of losing the ship? By the Black One’s bony beard, they are going to take her away from you anyway! What difference does it make if she blows up trying to haul a priceless treasure back to Barak-Zilfin or if she is broken up by a scrapper to pay off your debts? Debts that will far exceed what you’ll get for this tub in salvage, I might add.’
‘You seem to forget that if the Iron Dragon blows up hauling this aether-gold, she will take every hand with her.’ Brokrin laid his hand against the wall, caressing it almost as though it were alive. ‘If she is lost to the scrapyard, she goes by herself.’
‘She will take you with her,’ Skaggi warned. ‘Your reputation will be ruined. Nobody will trust you again.’ He frowned when he saw that his words were taking no effect. ‘Everybody’s future is on the line, cap’n. With things standing that way, you should let the question be put to a vote.’
Brokrin glared at the logisticator. ‘She is still my ship and I am still her captain. There is not going to be any vote. And there is not going to be any further discussion on the matter.’
Skaggi turned and marched from the cabin. His last words were muttered in an angry hiss too low for Brokrin to hear. ‘Then we won’t discuss it any more.’
Plying needle and thread, Gotramm mended the tears in his undercoat, sealing the gashes and cuts inflicted by the sky-horror’s tentacles. He had been lucky none of the flailing tendrils had landed a more telling blow. There was a dent in Thurik’s pauldron that had come close to driving the crumpled armour straight through the arkanaut’s shoulder. Another of his privateers had suffered a broken leg when a severed tentacle flailed against him in its death throes.
‘What you are selling, I am not buying,’ Gotramm stated, not bothering to look up from his work.
While the holds were empty the areas had been given over to the Iron Dragon’s crew to use as living quarters. As the holds were filled with commodities to bear back to Barak-Zilfin, they would be shuffled around to ever more cramped compartments. It was not unheard of for a particularly successful voyage to have its crew sleeping on the decks or slinging hammocks over the sides of the hull. Gotramm had heard stories about the Gilded Eagle after making the Fatherfold strike where the ship was so overladen with aether-gold that the kitchen had been re-situated above the forecastle on a scratch-built platform.
The hold in which Gotramm’s arkanauts had billeted themselves was the largest, positioned midship just below the immense endrin and its powerful aether-motor. The size afforded the
privateers the space to accommodate the aether-endrins of the skywardens, granting them quicker access than the ship’s armoury would provide. It was not that factor which had led Gotramm to make the middle hold his choice of billet, but rather the added durability of this section of the hull. Here the timbers were reinforced to give extra support to the endrin, making this the toughest and most rugged part of the ship. If the Iron Dragon were knocked from the sky, this was the spot most likely to survive the fall. He was reminded that it was in the Stormbreaker’s middle that Grokmund had been found miserable, but alive.
Even at that early point in the voyage, when they were just setting out, Gotramm had had his misgivings. All the talk of Ghazul’s curse and the hoodoo hanging over Brokrin must have coloured his decisions, even if at a subconscious level. He had not merely prepared for disaster. Some part of him had anticipated it. Despite his show of unconcern and indifference, that part of him was very interested in what Skaggi had to say.
The logisticator leaned against one of the beams, his foot idly kicking an empty hammock and setting it slowly swinging back and forth. ‘If you are going to pay a price, it will be from not listening to me,’ Skaggi said. ‘It isn’t my fingers in your purse, slashing your share down to nothing. I am only trying to help.’
‘The only one you’re trying to help is yourself,’ Thurik grumbled. He removed the slice of meat he had pressed against his bruised shoulder, frowning at the purplish cast to his skin. Aside from the duardin with the broken leg, Thurik was the only arkanaut in the hold with Gotramm and Skaggi – the nearest thing to a private conference the privateer would consent to.
Skaggi gave Thurik a withering glance. ‘Even if I am,’ he said, his tone sharp, ‘by helping myself I also help everyone.’ He wagged a finger in the general direction of the officers’ cabins. ‘Even Captain Brokrin, if he would only open his eyes.’
‘I don’t particularly like you,’ Gotramm said, finally setting down his mending. ‘There is a sneaky streak about you, Skaggi. You are loose with your honour and loose with your word. If someone dug into the halls of your ancestors I would not be surprised if they found a few grobi before they were finished.’
The insult brought a shocked gasp from the broken-legged arkanaut. Thurik’s eyes went wide with alarm, his hand dropping to the knife in his boot. Both of them expected to see Skaggi make a lunge at Gotramm, to redress the slight on his ancestors with fist or blade. Gotramm, however, remained relaxed. He didn’t expect Skaggi to rise to his baiting. The logisticator was not that sort of duardin.
What Skaggi did was to stop kicking at the hammock. He pushed away from the wall and gave Gotramm an offended glare. ‘How quick and ready we are to throw dirt on logisticators. We call them honourless and oathbreaker, chiseller and thief, conniver and scoundrel. No insult is too base for them. They are parasites sucking the blood from every enterprise, battening on the sweat and courage and determination of decent duardin. They are no better than grobi with beards, vultures trying to stuff their gizzards with whatever they can grab. They lie, they cheat and they steal.’ He turned and glared at Thurik. ‘They are only in it for themselves. That is why they are always trying to craft the best trades and agreements, why they are always struggling to determine the ideal balance between expenditure and profit. Of course they don’t feel any pride, any sense of obligation or duty to increase the shares of the duardin they voyage with. Those too honourable to condescend to call a logisticator “comrade”. No, all we do is take, never with a thought about how we can help our clan or our sky-hold. All we care about is swindling a few more coins into our share.’
Skaggi turned back to Gotramm. ‘If you will listen to me, I don’t give a damn what you call me or what you think of me. Believe only this – if we do nothing then we all become equal partners in disaster.’
Gotramm felt the barbs of Skaggi’s speech, not enough to make him any more disposed to the logisticator, but enough to make him willing to hear him out. He nodded slowly. ‘I don’t trust you,’ he stated, letting the words establish the sentiment in which he held Skaggi so there would be no illusions between them. ‘I would be happier to sit beside a sky-sick ogor than share a stein of beer with you. But say your piece and I will listen. If I have judged you unfairly, then I owe you that much.’
‘Then listen,’ Skaggi said. He looked aside at the other arkanauts. ‘Keep your ears sharp as well, because I will only say this once. It is no secret that this voyage has descended into a catastrophe. It isn’t a question of fault or blame, simply statement of fact. With the loss of the frigates and their crews, only a discovery of incredible scope could salvage this expedition. That possibility has been presented to us. The aether-gold Grokmund found is precious enough for us to recover from these disasters. We can meet our obligations to everyone and still turn enough profit to hold our heads proud.’
‘Captain Brokrin feels otherwise,’ Gotramm pointed out. ‘He says the aether-gold is too volatile to transport in the Iron Dragon. It would need a specially equipped tanker to handle–’
Skaggi cut him off. ‘Where would we find such a vessel? Back at Barak-Zilfin? And if we go back to port, what guarantee is there Grokmund will continue to work with us? There are many loopholes in the Kharadron Code he could exploit to free himself of such debt as he owes the Iron Dragon. Only a little cunning on his part and we could be cut out completely. Left holding all the expenses but without any claim on the rewards.
‘Right now, Grokmund is forced to deal with us. We are the only option he has,’ Skaggi explained. ‘He is terrified that the strike will be lost unless it is harvested quickly. Just now he is thinking about fame more than fortune, having his name recorded as the discoverer of this new ore. Give him some time to think it over, especially with better-equipped vessels available to him, and he might start to see things more clearly. All the more reason for him to negotiate with someone else rather than honour his arrangement with us.’
‘Brokrin doesn’t want to risk the ship,’ Gotramm persisted.
‘Maybe he believes in the curse,’ Skaggi said. ‘Maybe it is because he believes in it that the curse becomes real.’ He held up his hand in a gesture of apology. ‘Don’t mistake me, I know that the captain’s burden isn’t an easy one, but you must agree that he has made some poor choices. Choices that have made things worse, not better. A captain who is reckless can bring calamity to his crew, but so too can a captain who is too timid.’
‘The cap’n is no coward,’ Thurik growled.
Skaggi shook his head. ‘Not cowardice, but overcaution. Brokrin expects the worst so he blinds himself to the best. He can only see the danger of securing Grokmund’s stake. He refuses to see the possibilities of taking that chance.’
‘The cap’n doesn’t make decisions lightly,’ Gotramm said, his patience wearing thin. ‘He has considered everything before telling you to–’
‘Has he?’ Skaggi challenged. ‘Has he considered everything? Has he really thought about what kind of debt this voyage has incurred and how that debt will be parcelled out among his officers? As a captain of privateers you should stand to have three shares in the expedition’s profit. That makes you responsible for three shares of its liabilities. How long do you think that will take you to pay off? Allowing any ship will take you on, how many voyages would it need just to be back where you were before we left port?’ An ugly smirk pulled at the logisticator’s face as he added a more personal touch to the argument. ‘Helga is a pretty rinn. I am sure she has many suitors vying for her hand. How long will she wait for you? How long before she starts listening to fellows who aren’t loaded down with debts and obligations?’
Gotramm’s face was florid as he strode towards Skaggi. He set his balled fist against the logisticator’s nose. ‘Get out of here,’ he warned. ‘Get out of here before I break my hand on your face.’
Skaggi sketched a quick bow and hurried out from the hold. As he withdrew, a s
ly grin crossed his face. Gotramm had more in jeopardy than any of the others. He was less capable of accepting the losses Brokrin’s decision would force onto all of them. He was the weak link. Even his antagonism towards Skaggi served in the logisticator’s favour. Because when the time came to force the issue, having an enemy supporting him would impress the rest of the crew far more than having a friend echoing his demands.
All it needed now, Skaggi felt, was the right moment to bring things to a head.
‘I am not saying the cap’n is wrong, mind you. Just a bit overcautious.’ Skaggi fairly whispered the words into Drumark’s ear. The sergeant answered with a far from subtle belch. Flecks of beer spattered across the logisticator’s tunic, forcing him a step back as he wiped at the detritus.
‘Should have been standing downwind,’ Drumark gave some tardy advice. He ran his glove through his beard, wiping the collected foam off on his breeches. He took another pull from the bottle before tossing the empty over the side of the ship. Peering over the gunwale, he watched it speed downwards until it was lost from sight. ‘Good eye exercise, that,’ he told Skaggi. ‘Helps strengthen distance vision. Less revolting than gnawing on a carrot.’ The sergeant let his voice dip into tones as subdued as the ones Skaggi had been using. ‘Anyway, you were saying something mutinous about the cap’n that I was only half listening to. Start over.’
Skaggi ground his teeth and glared at the sergeant. ‘I am sure you’ll find it very funny when you are in debt to half the creditors in Barak-Zilfin. I would almost like to see how you deal with that.’
Drumark smiled and smacked his lips. ‘They can’t put a lean on the beer ration,’ he said. ‘That is right there in the artycles.’
‘And what about your share?’ Skaggi hissed. ‘Don’t you care about that?’
‘I would just spend it on more beer,’ Drumark shrugged. He clapped a hand against Skaggi’s arm, almost knocking the logisticator over. ‘You should enjoy the simple things more. Gives you less to worry about in the long run.’
