The four of them stopped to watch the scene unfurl. The little girl looked around her. She couldn’t see them standing quietly in the distance. She jutted her hand into one of the gardens and pulled out a fistful of stolen vegetables. “That’s it, ya little porkster.” The pig stood and snorted, following the treats down a side corridor in the gardens and disappearing into the darkness with the girl.
Abigail burst out laughing as soon as the girl was out of earshot. They all joined in for a brief moment, thankful for the spectacle.
“He was cute, though,” Artisema sighed.
“The pig?” Bard asked.
“Yeah,” she looked down at Bard, “I like animals.”
“There are a lot of them here.”
Abigail looked over the gardens with wonder in her eyes. She turned around and walked backward to face the rest of the group, “How much trouble would she have been in if she got caught?”
“It was a small amount, but it would depend on the farmers. They would have to agree upon a punishment. Usually, for an offense like that, they’ll ask for free labor from the kid. Pulling weeds, feeding animals, maintaining tech, you know….”
“Sounds fair,” she shrugged.
“We want to go down that alley.”
Bard pointed down a narrow, dark alley. Two large buildings concealed the slender arch. The alleyway led into a small courtyard. Only one of the doors had a light shining above it. An old, weathered sign read ‘The Sandbar’ in blue paint.
Light shone from the crack around the ill-fitted door. Sounds of laughter mingled with the occasional cheer and an uneven melody of song and instrument.
Abigail pushed the door open. She stood there for a moment taking in the scene. All kinds of people weathered from salt, sun, and small town brew, occupied the bar. A cue ball broke a fresh game of billiards with a clatter of porcelain balls as Kalak, Artisema, and Bard followed Abby inside.
Abigail walked straight for the bar. The bartender was an older woman. She looked up at Artisema and back down at Kalak for an explanation.
“She’s a midget,” Kalak said.
The woman rolled her eyes, “What can I get for you?”
Kalak’s voice was as rough as he was, “Three whiskeys, neat, and a small one,” he raised his fingers to signify how much, “For the midget.”
Abigail scowled at Kalak.
“What?” He shrugged.
“I’ve worked hard,” Artisema was serious and fought for her case. “Vlad says that everyone should be treated equal.”
Abigail raised her hand and opened her mouth to rebuttal. As soon as she looked at Artisema, she let the argument drop. It was on all of their minds—the looming uncertainty of death.
“Like I said, you’re responsible for her,” Abigail turned her attention to the whiskey glasses set down on the bar.
“Good one,” Kalak whispered up to Artisema.
14.
The party found a seat in the far corner of the tavern. All three of them shifted the wooden chairs around the round slab so that they could see the entrance at all times. Artisema wedged herself between Kalak and Abigail balancing atop a small, empty keg. They raised their glasses in a relaxed salute. Artisema sipped hers and coughed as the fire filled her chest. The crew laughed as she tried to hide her discomfort and subtly pushed the glass away from her.
The bar itself had not changed since Bard was last home. The people though—the faces were all different. Most of his old companions were most likely at sea, searching for leviathans, months from Sparta. At the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but acknowledge they may be dead by now. He tried to envision some of them happy in far-off atolls with happy families, retired from the cold clutches of the sea.
“Some party,” Abigail rolled the whiskey tumbler in her hand, watching the last drop slide around the glass curve.
Bard sighed, “It has been a long time since I’ve been home. I don’t recognize anyone here.”
“Well?” Kalak pulled out a deck of soft, faded cards.
“I’ll be right back,” Abigail stood up and walked to the bar.
Kalak dealt the cards out to each of them. Abby returned with a pitcher of ale and a glass of mystery liquid which she gave to Artisema.
“What is that?” Bard whispered.
“Milk with honey,” Abigail smiled as we watched Artisema swallow her drink with satisfied pride. "They have something on Sparta called a cow."
Before any of them had a chance to peek at their cards, the door to the tavern flew open with a gust of cold, night sea breeze. The card's positions shuffled with the gust of wind.
“Shut the door!” Bard yelled as they scrambled in unison to weigh down their cards.
Bard stared hard at the man who walked in. He wore a long hooded coat, shrouding his eyes with the hanging hem. Only his mouth, chin, and neck were visible as he approached their table under the dim lighting of the tavern. Bard straightened his chair out, so he faced the stranger head on. Even Kalak, as large and intimidating as he was, adjusted himself for a quick escape from behind the table.
The mysterious man stopped in front of them. He moved slowly as he raised his hands to remove the hood. The shadow fell away from his face to reveal a weathered, slender man with dark peppered hair and features. The lines in his face ran deep through his flesh from years of stern decision making, battles met, and long nights contemplating the course of life.
Bard pushed his chair back. “Captain Menas.”
The stranger shook his hand and gestured to the empty seat.
“Of course,” Bard said.
“What news have you?”
Kalak snorted, “Not even time to order a drink, huh?” He swallowed a splash of ale that trickled down the giant man’s chin.
Captain Menas shifted his weight to give Bard full attention and wagged his hand at Kalak to silence him. “Of the blackwater and the kraken. I know you have heard stories, Bard.” The man’s eyes burned with passion.
Bard shifted in his chair as he thought about Captain Menas. There were few as obsessed with a hunt as him. It was not the trophies. Once he conquered a beast, he was hot on the trail of the next greatest conquest. It was a fever for him.
“Tell me what you know. You know how this goes, Menas,” Bard said.
Abigail slammed the palms of her hands on the table and pushed herself away.
“Fuck,” she whispered on her breath. Within a moment she returned with more whiskey to accompany the ale, no doubt irritated by work invading their adventurous respite.
Menas’ eyes glowed as he thought about the kraken. He leaned up, and a smile crept across his lips. A hungry look invaded him. He tapped a coin on the wood top of the table as he spoke, “I know she has a cave somewhere,” his eyebrows shot up as he said this. He looked through the table, lost in his plans and plots. The tap of his coin sped up as he thought of the dark creature. “She recedes into the hole to digest and rest up. That’s when to get her!” he popped the coin off his thumb and caught it mid-air.
A moment passed before he made eye contact with Bard, who said, “We rescued, well, tried to rescue a man on our way here. He was stranded on one of the Panzer Fish sacrifice altars. He said her den is beneath an oil rig.”
“Did he say where?” Menas asked.
“No,” Bard took a drink so that the Captain didn’t see the truth in his eyes, “No, he died soon after we brought him aboard.”
Captain Menas hit the table lightly.
“What else do you know? What brought you here?” Bard asked.
Menas eyed him suspiciously. “I came on a hunch that didn’t quite pan out.” A slow smile turned up the corner of his mouth. “But a man in the fish market today said their boat has been fleeing the wake of the she-beast for two weeks. Another bloke there said he heard of three other wrecks, all makin’ it look like she’s headed right here.” He prodded the wood with the tip of his finger for emphasis.
Abigail shifted in her seat, “How long do
you think we have?” she asked.
“No clue, but if you want out of her way, I suggest you leave by morning,” Menas said. “What else you got, Bard? Don’t skimp on me. I know you sail with the Penny Dreadful now, took a hand in killing the Mega, and then fought at the Battle of Seattle. Quite a lot of stories hanging on your name now, boy, big change from the lad who sailed out on the Osiris.”
“I’d heard a myth—this was years ago now—about a shark god, Kiaku.” The bar around them seemed to fade into a distant roar; everyone leaned in towards Bard as he spoke, “and his mistress. There was a boy, an islander named Aki-Pati, long before the Melt ever happened. A fearsome shark plagued the waters around his island. It would circle his village night and day. Anyone who tried to fish had to evade its angry jaws. The beast drove the fish far from the island’s safe coves.
“One day, after a close encounter, the young boy made eye contact with the shark. Aki-Pati suffered from dreams he knew must be connected to the creature. Finally, he decided to go to the place in his dream. The wind told him Kaiku was punishing the village for overfishing the waters. The boy was given instructions to save his village.
“Aki-Pati presented a sacrifice, and the shark god let them live in peace so long as they did not take more than their share. It cost the boy an arm, but he did it.” Bard took a drink from his beer and scooted in closer to them.
“There is a second story, though, about Kiaku’s vengeful mistress. She is different than him. There is no reasoning with her. I’ve heard three various accounts of Kaiku having a kraken wife. Where he believed it was fair for humans to fish their share for sustenance, she believed the human race was evil and would continue to take without discretion. All of those myths,” he looked his friends in the eyes, “end with her slaughtering every human within her waters, not just those over-harvesting.”
“Geez,” Abigail leaned back, “You haven’t mentioned this before.”
Bard shrugged, “I tell bar stories and sing drinking songs. That one is extra depressing. Either way, I think the best bet is trapping her before she can destroy anything else.”
“Trap it?” The Captain shook his head, “No, a beast like that cannot die starving to death in some hole. She is a glorious beast, Bard. She needs the death of a warrior.” He slammed the last dregs of his whiskey down his throat and stood to leave. There were stories about Menas too, and he'd led more than one crew down to their watery graves in pursuit of his maritime glory.
“Hold up,” Bard jutted his hand out and grabbed him by the wrist. “That all you know?”
The man looked back at him. Another sly smile spread over his face, “I’ve heard quite a few tales about horrors occupying the water around her keep. There is not much to go off of. Most of the people who have battled them have died. The others refer to them as black serpents. Supposedly they are silent and unperceivable until it’s too late.”
“And you weren’t going to tell us that bit, aye?” Kalak scoffed.
“I want her for myself.” Menas pulled his hood back down over his face. “Remember,” he said as he threw water tokens down on the table, “Get out now if you don’t want to meet Kaiku’s bride.”
15.
Drucilla approached Vladimir’s workshop. The sound of laughter echoed off the steel bulkheads. Dru softened her footsteps to listen. She tried to guess who Vlad was making laugh. It was a new sound to her which is odd considering how close she was with her crew.
The deck creaked. With a sharp inhale, the female laughter ceased. Drucilla rapped her knuckles on the hatch which hung slightly ajar. With the pads of her fingers, she pushed it open. Riddle sat on top of one of the work tables. One of her arms lay over her lap. She was stoic and composed as always, her face drawn into a blank expression. Her eyes looked through Drucilla, never quite meeting them.
“Hello, Captain,” Riddle addressed her.
Drucilla looked at Vladimir. He did not try to conceal the laughter still rippling through him. He lifted a glass of clear liquid to the Captain in a salute.
“I apologize for the intrusion,” Drucilla tried not to smile as she saw Riddle’s cheeks redden for briefly. “Mr. Pit and I are heading into Sparta in search of diving gear for descending into the kraken’s pit. Will you take charge in my stead?”
Vladimir nodded, “Yes, Captain.”
Drucilla nodded and clicked her toe behind her heel to about-face. She paused and gave another curt, polite nod.
“Riddle,” before she exited the workshop.
Drucilla could hear Vladimir’s laughter boil out, “You should see look on your face, little girl.”
“Shh, shut up, she can probably hear you.”
Drucilla heard the sound of a small fist hitting flesh.
“Ow,” Vlad laughed, “You hit like girl.”
The Captain smiled and continued to the upper decks. It was the first time she ever heard Riddle’s laughter, and although not usually the sentimental type, knowing Riddle found some sort of companionship onboard caused warmth to swell in her chest. She knew all too well what it was like to feel isolated due to the demands of duty. It was then that the Captain suddenly realized how lonely she had felt since the death of her father.
Mr. Pit waited for her at the top of the gangway. The sight of him comforted her as she remembered the moment they shared after seeing the kraken for the first time. If there was anyone she could relax around it was him. Even her father indulged in the companionship and trust of his first mate. Mr. Pit was one of a kind.
“Lovely evening, no?” Drucilla asked.
“Aye.”
Mr. Pit waited for the Captain to exit before him. He walked a half pace behind her and to her right. The silence between them was not uncomfortable. It was a moment where both drank in the scene before them. From the elevated height of the gangplank, they could see the black velvet night, twinkling with stars melting into the crisp gray waves, wrapping around the curved edges of the soft glowing atoll. It felt as if ascending from infinity. The stars stretched out, infinite, white pinpricks glimmering over the horizon.
Mr. Pit did not speak until they passed beneath the arch and entered the crowds. He let out a heavy exhale. “Well, the officers are drinking in the tavern, the rest o’ the men are taking to shore and back in shifts so's everyone gets a little time to themselves, and the watch is set.” he flashed a smile at Drucilla. It was as if a decade shook off his shoulders in that moment. “Looks like we c’n do whatever the root we want t’night.”
Drucilla felt the corners of her mouth flicker. She knew her eyes gave her away. “Mr. Pit,” she said.
“Loosen up, Captain. Raj would’ve taken advantage of what this city has to offer—invisibility c’n set you free.” He smiled.
Drucilla felt her shoulders soften. “Well,” her eyes darted around the various streets branching from the main path. There were multiple wooden alleys fingering out from the busy marketplace. She led the way down the least populated. As soon as they were far enough from the crowd’s commotion, she flashed a crooked smirk at Mr. Pit.
“I’ll race you to the trader’s shop.”
Laughter erupted from Pit. He did not answer her, instead, starting into a light jog. Drucilla caught up within a few seconds. They ran until the endorphins rushed through them. Drucilla felt free for the first time in a long time. Although the work onboard the Penny Dreadful was intensive, there was never any cathartic reprieve like running loose on a stable structure. A war cry erupted through her. A man stepped out into their path. He looked at them, bewildered, as they cut around him.
The wood beneath their feet creaked. Mr. Pit pushed in the lead. Drucilla quickened her footfall into a sprint and raced ahead. She broke through the wall of fatigue building in her muscles. Her slender frame existed for running. The wind seemed to push her along, faster and faster, until Mr. Pit was left meters behind. She did not stop or slow for him to catch up. She enjoyed the crisp night air chilling the corners of her ears and making each bre
ath bright in her nose and lungs.
Drucilla slowed as they approached the street which housed the trade shop. She caught her breath as Mr. Pit reached her side. “You’re a bloody cheater! What exactly are we lookin’ for again?” He asked.
“We need a deep dive apparatus with individual tanks.”
Mr. Pit grunted and gave a nod. The two of them sobered up as they thought about the next evolution the crew would need to face. They thought of how many people died over the last few years. So many good men and women lost to the beasts of the sea. Drucilla tried not to guess who they would lose while defeating the kraken.
Mr. Pit must have read the thoughts etched in the lines creasing Dru’s brow. He patted her back with his massive hand which caused her shoulder to pivot forward under the pressure of each caring blow.
“It’s gonna be alright, Cap’n,” a smile reached his mouth but not his eyes. “You can’t kill off the whole crew.”
Drucilla busted out laughing for the first time in a long time.
“Agh. ‘Tis part o’ the job. You think I’d get caught hangin’ with someone soft as you out in the real world?” He smiled and took quick steps ahead of Dru to avoid her friendly punch.
“Mr. Pit, the shop will be on the left flank, four doors down from where we are now.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Although there were many eclectic shops filled with goods for trade in Atoll Sparta, this was the only place Drucilla would look for the things she needed. The owner was a scallywag, without a doubt, yet a scallywag the Captain could work with. She knew his tells. She watched her father negotiate trades with him when she was young and learned quickly how to bargain with him for what she wanted.
From the outside, it looked shady. There were no signs on the front door alerting passers-by of the contents of the shop. There was only a single lantern swaying in the wind above the doorway. The lantern’s glow was dim due to the thick, dusty grime of neglectful ownership. It added to the visual despair of the place.
Blackwater Kraken (The Dystopian Sea Book 3) Page 6
