Tantamount

by Thomas J. Radford

  “Jack, stop!” Nel yelled when the big man ran out after the battling pair, a meat cleaver in hand. He didn't seem to hear her, so she raced out after him.

  Sharpe was rolling across the deck, back and forth, clutching at the loompa, which had a firm hold on his face with three grasping limbs. The fourth held something like a flail that the creature was pummelling Sharpe with.

  Quill got to the brawl before Jack. Nel hadn't seen him arrive though he must have come down from the bridge. He snatched Bandit, plucking the loompa off the helpless Sharpe, suspending the struggling rodent in one clawed hand. Bandit writhed in that grasp, windmilling arms and legs, squawking rage and indignation.

  “Oi, Kelpie, that's my helper there, you let him go!” Jack called out, advancing on Quill with the meat cleaver raised.

  Quill looked between Jack and Bandit. “The ship's slop monkey has a rodent for his helper? This explains much.”

  “Eh?” Jack grunted, looking confused by the wordplay. “You gonna let him go or what?”

  Quill laughed. He tossed Bandit in Korrigan Jack's general direction. Jack fielded the catch in one beefy hand, the loompa clinging to his arm and scampering onto his shoulder, spewing angry noises in Quill's direction. He thrashed his make-shift weapon as well and for the first time Nel got a good look at what the loompa had assaulted Sharpe with.

  Sharpe chose that moment to sit up with a groan. He touched his face, raked with long bloody gouges. He pawed at his mouth, spluttering.

  “What was that about?”

  Nel snorted. “That,” she said, “was for Piper.”

  Sharpe grimaced in confusion, then realisation dawned. “Ah, yes. Possibly I had that coming then.”

  Quill chuckled.

  “Oi,” Jack snapped his fingers at Bandit, “give it here.”

  Still squeaking angrily, the loompa handed over his prize. Jack held out the wharf rat by the tail for Quill to see.

  “How you like your meat, Kelpie?” he asked. “This one's been nice and tenderised for you.”

  Quill's eyes narrowed. “Where did that filthy thing come from?”

  “Must have picked it up at Rim,” Jack said. “Ain't seen none since before Cauldron, and I would have 'cause Bandit would have caught them. Best ratter this ship's ever had, he is. So how do you want it?”

  “I do not,” Quill snapped. “It's vermin.”

  “Yeah?” Jack shook the dead rat. “Ain't heard you complain none before now. When'd you get so picky, Kelpie?”

  Quill stared hard at Jack. “You,” he hissed, his voiced shaking with rage, “you have been feeding those . . . things to me!”

  Hells, Nel thought. She could already see the charged air starting to gather around Quill.

  “Fresh meat,” Jack grinned, inflaming the situation. “Fresh, just like Gabbi always says.”

  “Hells,” Nel swore aloud. “Jack, shut the hells up. Just shut up.”

  Quill took a step towards Jack, one hand raised. Sharpe shot to his feet, putting himself in front of the Kelpie. Nel did the same to Jack.

  “Get back in the galley, Jack,” she said. “Get back in there now and finish cleaning the damned thing up.”

  Jack looked past her and chuckled. “Sure,” he said. “I could do that.”

  “And throw the damned rat over the side too. The same for any more your helper catches.”

  Jack scowled. “Waste of meat, Skipper. Waste of meat.”

  “We're going to talk later, but for now don't argue with me, Jack,” she growled. “Get back in the galley before I beat you half to death myself.”

  Jack took a long look at her, evidently deciding she meant it, which at that point she did. She waited 'til he was back in the galley before turning to deal with Quill.

  She could hear a low, steady stream of curses coming from the direction of the bridge. Quill was gone. Sharpe remained, shaking his hands ruefully.

  “Shocked me,” he explained. “He was right worked up there for a bit.”

  “Don't expect any sympathy from me,” she said, remembering what it had felt like when she'd grabbed Gabbi's arm.

  “Wouldn't dream of it.” Sharpe shook his head. He gagged, pawing at his tongue.

  “Uh, rat hair.”

  “Skipper!”

  “What?” Nel turned to the bridge. Quill stood there, arms raised, and it almost hurt her eyes to look at him. Quill's body absolutely writhed with incandescent energy. He raised his arms, preparing.

  “Oh hells,” Nel whispered. “Grab on to something!”

  Sharpe stared for a moment before grabbing for a line. He was just in time—the whole ship shifted, timbers screaming horribly as Quill attempted to turn the course at breakneck speed. There was a yell from the galley as all of Jack's cleaning came crashing down. Threats of murder streamed out the door.

  “What happened?” Sharpe yelled, looking as unsettled as Nel had ever seen him. She didn't answer him, twisting to face the tumbling rock that rolled leisurely past them, just outside the Tantamount's envelope. As it passed it blocked out the miasma horizon. Even Jack, emerging from the galley, was sobered into silence.

  “Hells,” Sharpe echoed Nel's thoughts when he caught sight of it.

  “You said this corridor was clear.” Nel turned on him, clenching her teeth to keep from yelling.

  “It was. It was!”

  “You said it was clear, gods damn you!”

  “Skipper,” Quill descended from the bridge. He was unsteady on his feet, leaning against the brightwork for support. “That . . . was not supposed to be there.”

  “Quill.” Nel held out a hand to steady him. “Well done, you . . .”

  “That rock was not supposed to be there,” Quill repeated. “There are no others like it here.”

  “Then where'd it come from?” Jack demanded suspiciously.

  “We can worry about that later,” Nel said. “We need to get out of this corridor, before we find any more like it.”

  “As you say, Skipper.” Quill studied her. “As you say.”

  Chapter 10

  The golem made it look effortless, hoisting the grey skinned Draugr off his feet. Violet and the rest of the mob watched in horror as Wallace flailed at the golem's arm. Onyx wasn't just lifting the Draugr, the golem had impaled him. And with a negligent toss threw him away.

  A circle formed around the obsidian construct. The mob of Rim's refugees and slum dwellers had pushed the Alliance all the way to where they'd first landed on the docks. Where the golem had been waiting. But even that display wasn't enough to break them. Not yet. It took the arrival of the rest of the blockade ships to do that.

  Fresh boarding parties crossed from the frigates, timbers creaking and twisting where the ships had forced their meshing. Uniformed Alliance sailors and cold-eyed Kelpies met the Rim mob in a rush. Then the mob broke, crying out in panic and splintering into small rushing groups and individuals.

  Violet ignored them as best she could, kneeling by the fallen Wallace. She lifted the Draugr's hand in hers but wasn't sure what else she could do. There was a massive hole in the creature's chest. It didn't seem possible it could have survived, but it had.

  Wallace's eyes found hers. There was something there in the cloudy visage. The Draugr smiled.

  “I'm sorry,” Violet whispered.

  A shadow fell over them. The golem. And behind it the Guildswoman, Scarlett.

  “You!” the woman mouthed, lips twisting into a grimace. Onyx's fist came smashing down. It would have crushed her if Wallace hadn't shoved her out of the way. Violet scrabbled away, crabbing back on hands and feet as the golem extracted its fist from the timber ground. It exposed something that sent Violet's heart into palpitations. There was nothing beneath them, nothing under the thin planking but empty space and the longest fall imaginable.

  The golem raised its fist again, but hesitated when something struck it. A rock. Followed by crockery, claw plates, and bowls that shattered ineffectually against its skin.


  It didn't take Violet long to figure out that was Gabbi hurling projectiles. Her heart lurched when she saw the cook and the captain, the latter brandishing his wand at the golem. Scarlett saw them too and seemed to be weighing who to set the golem on first.

  Wand-fire from the captain bounced off Onyx just as it had for the skipper. All it did was provoke the golem to advance on the captain and Gabbi. Gabbi threw more rocks, but Onyx didn't even slow.

  “Scarlett!” Violet yelled to them. “You have to aim for Scarlett!”

  Gabbi didn't hear her, or at least she didn't change her tactics. The cook continued to pepper the golem with every makeshift projectile she could rip up. Rocks, crockery, discarded food from rotting refuse piles. The golem lowered its head, preparing to charge. But the captain had got the message. His wand littered the air with bolts, forcing Scarlett to duck for cover.

  Whether self-aware or acting on instructions, Onyx changed course, putting itself between Scarlett and her attackers. The captain darted forward, flicking his wand in wide, sweeping arcs. He grabbed Violet's arm and pulled her to her feet with surprising strength.

  “Time to go, my dear,” he said, pulling her towards Gabbi and the rapidly vanishing crowds. Behind Onyx more Alliance sailors were appearing, armed and as stone faced as the golem. The tide had well and truly turned.

  “Wait!” Violet wrenched her hand free from the captain. She ran back, towards the golem and Alliance, to the captain's cry of dismay. She saw wand fire shoot past her as he did his best to cover her mad rush. She skidded to a stop next to Wallace, tugging at the fallen Draugr.

  “Get up,” she said. But the Draugr just stared blankly at her.

  Hells. He has to move, I can't lift him. I can't leave him, neither. The skipper wouldn't leave no one.

  “Get up,” Violet snarled. “Move your hells damned carcass, sailor! Move!”

  And to her complete amazement the Draugr complied. One hand pressed to the gaping hole, Wallace somehow made it to his feet, letting Violet drag him along towards the captain and Gabbi.

  Violet caught a last glimpse of Scarlett as the captain pulled her away, standing near her golem. The women's face was dark, with eyes that promised blood.

  Coming out of the corridor wasn't as rough as Nel had feared. She worried Quill might take his frustration out on them and the ship, but she should have known better. He guided the ship out smoothly, wrapped in cotton wool and goose-down, decelerating through the final turns of ether pockets. From there it was a short run to Grange. Whether by luck or design they'd come out near to the closest point of the moon's orbit in relation to the corridor. According to Sharpe there was only the one settlement on Grange, and before long it came into sight.

  There was a harbour, deep enough to moor or dock the ship, but at Sharpe's urging Quill set the ship down in a dry-dock cradle. Then he led them into the centre of town.

  “This isn't possible,” Nel said.

  She'd promised herself if Sharpe and Quill didn't show her something monumental, something so important it made up for all the drama they'd caused her, she was going to bait the pair of them on the ship's anchor and trail them out for the rays.

  And damn them they'd gone and done it.

  Quill was sullenly silent. Not so with Jack. He grumbled and complained, he didn't understand. He said as much.

  “Shut up, Jack,” Nel told him shortly.

  Her crewman growled. “Somebody explain it to me.”

  “You wouldn't understand,” Quill said. Jack turned on him, but Quill didn't seem to notice. Maybe he didn't care. Nel could understand that.

  “It's a lot to take in.” Sharpe sounded sympathetic.

  Nel swallowed. A lot to take in. Sharpe had a flair for the understatement

  “I don't get it,” Korrigan Jack said, getting louder.

  “They're dead, Jack,” Nel said quietly. “They're all dead.”

  The whole township, all of Grange. For as far as the eye could see, dead bodies filled the town. Men, women and . . . no, not children. The children were still alive, as far as Nel could see. But all other ages. Whole generations, almost entire families. Some had been dead a long time, bodies decaying and rotting, barely holding together. Others . . . others it was harder to tell.

  Jack took a step forward, looking around at one corpse, then another. There was practically steam coming out of his ears as he struggled to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

  Nel had seen towns filled with bodies before. Towns and bigger communities besides. She knew Jack had seen his share too. This one was different. No fires, no smoke obscuring the view, no miasma hiding the grisly details. It was all present and on show. There was none of the hallmarks of destruction, just death. She waited for Jack to accept what they were seeing.

  It turned out he wasn't going to.

  “You're wrong,” Jack stated. “You're all wrong.”

  “Jack,” Nel started.

  “You're wrong,” he repeated stubbornly. He pointed, stabbing with one thick skinned finger. “Dead is dead. That ain't dead. So they ain't.”

  The crowd of dead people exchanged long looks with each other. It was hard to tell on some of the slack and withered faces, but they might have been amused.

  “You,” Jack pointed, “what's your name?”

  “Hazel,” the man responded. His voice sounded slurred, gravelly. Just like Nel had expected it would sound.

  “There,” Jack grunted. “Dead people don't have names. They get headstones, if they're lucky. But they don't answer questions and don't tell you who they is.”

  Quill muttered something.

  “What was that, Quill?” Nel said tiredly.

  Her navigator struggled, agonising over some inner turmoil. Then came the shocker. “He has a point.”

  “What did you say?” Nel asked incredulously.

  Quill gestured, taking in the whole settlement. “You can see the ones who fought, the ones who don't talk.”

  He indicated the shallow graves on the edge of the settlement. The graves were recent, the ground freshly disturbed and piled up. Makeshift markers stood out, piles of stone, pieces of wood nailed or lashed together. A few dozen altogether.

  “The first, they are the most far gone, you can see how ravaged they are,” Quill rasped, looking at the most decayed walking dead. They replied back with gruesome rictus smiles, teeth and rotting gums peeping through holes in cheeks.

  “Others look like ones you might see elsewhere. And some,” he paused, “some it would be hard to tell which side of the line they walk on.”

  “What about the children?” Nel said, thinking of Violet. “They don't look . . .”

  “What?” Sharpe asked her. “Infected?”

  “Dead,” Nel said shortly.

  “They're not,” he told her. “They hid the children after it became clear what was going on.”

  “We tried,” Hazel said. “Maybe we did keep them safe. Maybe they were too young, were never in danger in the first place.”

  “Are you saying none of the children were affected?” Nel asked.

  Hazel nodded. “None.”

  “There could be something to that,” Nel said, taking a few steps outward. She looked around. Sure enough all the walking dead were safely out of childhood. Safely, that was the wrong word to use.

  “I've seen plenty of Draugr,” she said. “They have them on Alliance ships.”

  “Not just ships,” Jack said. “Saw some on Cauldron too. But these aren't like them. Stiffs on Cauldron didn't move and talk like these folks.”

  “On Cauldron?” Nel said.

  “Yeah, when we got the stores. Delivered them too. Gabbi didn't like them much. They upset her.”

  “She didn't say anything,” Nel said.

  “They upset her,” Jack repeated.

  “The High Lanes are built on the backs of Draugr labour. What's the official Alliance line, Vaughn?” Sharpe asked her. “What do they tell you marines these days, where do baby Draugr
come from?”

  “There is no official line,” Nel said. “Just rumours. That they're golems made flesh, that they witch Alliance dead to come back and keep helping out. That it's what they do to the enemy dead to keep punishing them.

  “But,” she said, “I've never seen a Draugr that could talk, least I never heard one. Nor act without instruction, beyond the most basic tasks.”

  “You've never seen anything like this,” Sharpe told her. “Not many people have.”

  Nel took another look at the settlement full of dead people. Except for the children. What was it doing to them? Seeing their parents, friends, family, brothers and sisters, walking around as rotting corpses?

  “That blockade out there,” Sharpe went on, “it's not just to keep people like us out. It's here to keep people . . . like this, in.”

  The Alliance blockade. And Nel hadn't forgotten that when she first found Sharpe it was inside the wreck of an Alliance ship, one that according to him had been bound for Marching, on Thatch. And the Draugr on Rim with the Alliance tattoo.

  Sharpe shrugged. “What do you know about Thatch and Grange?”

  “I didn't know this,” Nel said.

  “Come with me,” Sharpe said. “It's time for us to talk.”

  “What do you know about Grange and Thatch?” Sharpe asked her again. They'd retreated into Horatio's cabin on the Tantamount. Quill and Jack had remained ashore—both actually wanted to mingle with the locals. Nel didn't waste any energy pondering why, she was focused on Sharpe. If he was finally ready to come clean she wanted to hear it.

  “Nothing like this.” Nel glanced over at the wall. There were no windows or portholes to see through but it was hard to forget the scene outside.

  Sharpe grimaced. “This isn't indicative of Grange, or even Thatch.”

  “Then this is part of the war?” Nel asked. “It's . . . cold. Even for an act of war. I've never heard of anything like this before.”

  “No,” Sharpe said. “This isn't because of the war. The truth is there is no war.”

  Nel frowned. “Then how do you explain what we saw out there. How do you explain what we saw on Rim?”