From the Deep of the Dark j-6

by Stephen Hunt

  ‘Lishtiken has never been attacked,’ said Maeva. ‘Not in my memory. The Temple of Judgements is over there. If we meet anyone who questions our presence, tell them we’re with your sister’s people. You can still pretend to be a royalist can’t you, Jared?’

  ‘I’ve spent most my life pretending not to be one; the reverse won’t be any harder.’

  Charlotte slipped into her old familiar routine. Just another theft from the rich and powerful. Something she needed to do. Not to alleviate her poverty this time; an extra layer to the blanket of wealth she used to keep the desolation at bay, all her fears of being abandoned with no one willing to help her. Her commission was stealing one of the enemy’s darkships. A way to transport her into the monsters’ lair. She could hardly enjoy her life if every iota of her blood was sucked out to satisfy some horde of fish-scaled monsters, could she? The sea-bishops had immense power. They were greedy beyond avarice, and like so many back home, they had tried to use Charlotte, then discard her. Arrogant. Selfish. Calculating. They were overdue for a fall and who better to humble them than Charlotte Shades, Mistress of Mesmerism?

  The raiding party kept to the lower levels of the city, as Maeva led them through the shadows of the gem-like towers, a maze of pipes and gantries, exotically coloured seaweed clinging to any stretch of seabed not built over. At one point, the nomad woman led them on a diversion to skirt an access station for the transport tubes sending gill-necks to far-off sectors of the city. The way ahead was thronged with locals trying to get into the heavily overcrowded transport system; to travel home and check their families were safe from the raiders. Squadrons of armed and armoured gill-necks manoeuvred past, soldiers riding something Charlotte hadn’t seen before. Massive squid-like creatures, rubbery flesh saddled with a single rider above stabilising fins; flashes of sinuous skin and quivering tentacles as the squadron propelled past.

  ‘Monitors, lass,’ said the commodore, keeping low on the seabed next to Charlotte as he watched them flash down the gap between the towers. ‘Same as our Kingdom constabulary.’

  ‘They are stabled at the Temple of Judgements,’ said Maeva, sounding pleased. ‘Fewer of them for us to bluff our way past.’

  Shaped like a crown rising majestically out of the surrounding buildings, the Temple of Judgements reached up as grand as any palace. Charlotte ran her eyes over the fortress-sized structure as she squeezed out of a narrow passage. Dozen of crystalline towers climbed out of a central wheel structure, points on its coronet circled by spirals of pearl-white bubble-buildings, each wreath set among a helix of winding arches.

  ‘Can you still feel the darkships inside there?’ asked the commodore. There was a tone to the old u-boat man’s voice that made Charlotte suspect he would have been relieved if she said no.

  Charlotte pointed to the side of the Temple of Judgements, near the seabed where the red crystal wall sloped dotted with tunnel entrances. ‘They are inside those passages.’

  ‘U-boat pens,’ said Maeva. ‘They’ll be mostly empty by now. Anything with torpedo tubes will be out chasing our warriors.’

  ‘They won’t have sent the darkships, not yet,’ said Charlotte. That wasn’t the sea-bishop way. They might send their forces to tip the balance, but why risk their precious lives when they commanded so many expendable cattle to exhaust first? ‘I can sense at least two vessels inside.’

  Elizica was worryingly silent on the matter. Yes, because I’m doing such a good job by myself.

  Charlotte gazed up at the waters above the city. Was it her imagination, or were the flashes of fighting at the margins of the capital growing less frequent now? Savages against the well-defended heart of the Advocacy’s hegemony, how long had she expected the nomads’ war party to be able to mount a diversion? Charlotte singled out an entrance down which she sensed the darkships lurking and they quickly crossed the open plaza to the temple.

  Inside the tunnel entrance, the water was dark and still. They only took a minute to swim along the smooth crystal surfaces. As the light inside the submersible pen began to brighten the water, Charlotte realized the sloping tunnel floor was clear of liquid before them. ‘There’s air ahead of us.’

  ‘Always better to do repairs on your blessed boat out of the sea when you can,’ said the commodore. ‘Welding is welding.’

  ‘The oxygen will be enough to keep the casually inclined away from their pens,’ said Maeva. ‘Our ride is topside?’

  ‘Let’s see.’

  Breaking the surface of the tunnel alongside her two companions, Charlotte found herself in an oblong chamber, a crystalline ramp with multiple launch rails running across its floor. A couple of open-to-water gill-neck craft hung from gantries above, and at the back of the pen, a pair of black oily-hulled darkships skulked. Two massive malevolent stingrays — they appeared to be steaming in the air, as if their presence was enough to make the very substance of the world crawl. Arches at the rear of the chamber led deeper into the Temple of Judgement, sealed with glass doors — but of crew, engineers and temple staff there was no sign. The three of them walked cautiously up the incline, pushing the visors of their diving helmets up into their helms. Disconnecting the voice line that tethered the three of them together, they pulled out shock spears and crept up alongside the launch rails, dripping water down onto the hangar floor.

  ‘Why do I feel like a mouse, lass?’ whispered the commodore. ‘Creeping up on a piece of cheese dangling from a bait clasp?’

  Charlotte craned her neck, looking for any signs of movement in the dock. ‘That’s the point of the assault. Any sea-bishops masquerading as Advocacy commanders inside the temple will be overwhelmed by officials pestering them for orders on how to defend the city.’

  Charlotte approached the alien black mass of the ships. It was as if the substance that formed them was alive, throbbing with dark intent.

  ‘How many can one of these evil boats carry?’ asked the commodore.

  ‘Two pilots. Up to ten passengers,’ said Charlotte. At least, that’s how Elizica remembers it. ‘Enough to hold the three of us.’

  The commodore appeared as though he’d been hoping for a smaller capacity — perhaps one less than his number. ‘Two craft to choose from, but we need to name them for luck. The one on the left we’ll call the Revenue Man’s Soul — for it’s a fact well known that they have none — and the one on the right should be the Witch of Jackals, for it’s her dark magic we must rely on to survive diving to thirty-six thousand feet. Which one of the terrible pair are we to seize?’

  ‘I’ll take a witch over the office of tax,’ said Charlotte. She approached the craft on the right and touched the crystal under her diving suit. A circular port irised open in the darkship’s hull and a ramp extruded like a lolling tongue. One foot on the ramp and Charlotte was punched backward by a weight wrapping her with a murderous constriction, then she was falling down to the dock. She managed a single surprised croak before a blaze of agony burned across every nerve she possessed. As Charlotte tumbled, she saw Maeva weaving around, her shock-spear blazing erratic bolts of energy towards the craft behind them, loosing bolts even as her body jerked and lurched, spouting blood off her diving suit in a hail of rifle balls; falling, shooting, falling, shooting. Charlotte hit the chamber’s floor as a dead weight, exhaling and gagging, the strangling netting repaying her every movement with sparking pain. Laid out across the hanger, Charlotte’s eyes twisted up, the one thing she could still move without being lashed by the cruel embrace of the capture net. A lock had opened in the craft behind them, spilling sailors with guns — Jackelians by the look of them, the ancient royalist arms of the Kingdom sitting on their Jack Tar hats.

  Commodore Black stumbled towards Maeva, clutching a red weal of blood on his shoulder. Shot-drunk and trembling, he landed on his hands and knees by the nomad woman’s side. ‘Don’t move, lass.’

  ‘I’ve found a way to punish you after all, Jared,’ she grimaced.

  ‘Save your strength now,’ the commo
dore pleaded. ‘We’ll patch you up. Just be quiet and let me look at you again.’

  ‘And how do I look?’ Maeva coughed.

  ‘Fine, lass. Just like when we first met.’

  ‘You always were a honeyed-tongued pirate.’

  ‘Privateer, Maeva. Never a pirate.’

  A grey-haired woman emerged from the darkship portal Charlotte had opened, more sailors at her side. Alighting on the dock, the woman smoothly kicked the commodore off all fours and onto his back. ‘There you are brother, lying on your fat arse. That’s the way you like to spend your wars. Before you run away, at least, leaving the rest of us to die.’

  ‘Mercy,’ coughed the commodore, raising an arm. ‘Parlay.’

  ‘One privateer to another? I think we’re a little beyond that, don’t you?’ Gemma bent down and reached through the netting binding Charlotte, a blade in her hand. Slicing open Charlotte’s diving suit, the woman reached through and ripped the amulet painfully from Charlotte’s neck. ‘No more stage tricks from you, Mistress Shades. Our mutual friend Mister Walsingham is looking forward to renewing your acquaintance. It seems you owe him a sceptre and he’s not very pleased with all the hoops you’re making him jump through to retrieve it.’

  Charlotte tried to speak, but the burning agony was as bad as plunging her fist into a stoked fireplace.

  ‘The capacitors on the net are very sensitive,’ smiled Gemma Dark. ‘I’d keep your witticisms to yourself, thief girl, until you’re safely locked up in the feeding pens. You did want to visit my allies’ seed-city, no? It’s a long dive down. I’m here to save you the trouble of stealing a darkship. Always happy to give any friend of my brother the scenic journey.’

  Maeva groaned on the floor, her fingers reaching weakly for her fallen shock-spear, but Gemma Dark’s foot swept the nomad’s weapon a couple of inches beyond her dying grasp. ‘No, I don’t think you’re coming along for the ride. You’d bleed all over my darkship’s cabin, and while our allies do so appreciate human blood, I’d rather not have to mop it up for them.’ Gemma Dark knelt down alongside Maeva. ‘Your filthy nomad vermin outside Lishtiken didn’t last very long, I’m afraid. The city wasn’t as unprepared for your arrival as it appeared. Time for you to join your friends.’ The commodore’s sister produced a pistol and shot Maeva through the heart, her body shuddering on the floor. Charlotte jounced in shock at the cold-blooded slaughter, the commodore’s moan coming out as half a sob.

  ‘That’s as much mercy as I have for your kind, sea-wanderer. Same as your seanore friends showed any royalist unlucky enough to be captured crossing your hunting grounds.’ She pushed the commodore away from the nomad’s corpse with her boot, clicking her fingers for the mob of sailors to come and secure him with manacles. ‘Don’t worry, you’re not getting off so easily, brother. We’ll have a proper family reunion, you and I, appropriately unhurried. The sea-bishops have a machine that allows them to drain a mind as if it’s a swamp, but where’s the sport in that? I’ll handle your interrogation the way all traitors to the cause should be treated… your fat arse, an iron bar, and your dear little sister for company.’

  ‘You didn’t have to kill Maeva,’ whispered the commodore. ‘You didn’t have to.’

  ‘Oh, I think we should start as we mean to go on, don’t you?’

  Charlotte lay on the deck, the sailors deactivating the shock net only to manacle her arms and bundle her up inside the darkship. At least she was free of the vicious shocks pursuing her every roll and twitch. ‘You can’t trust the sea-bishops! Those monsters don’t have allies, they have herds. You’re not their partners. To them, you’re only their supper — delayed.’

  ‘Trust has always been a pliable notion, thief girl,’ said Gemma, boarding the craft and stuffing Charlotte’s amulet inside her jacket pocket. ‘And when it comes to the hunt, better a flea on the hound, than a flea on the hare, hmm?’

  After the shock of the net, Charlotte could hardly stand, and the sailors rolled her into the back of the darkship’s cabin, a featureless dark tunnel leading up to the cockpit. The surface was slightly sticky and wet, as if they were being held in the belly of a beast. She turned over as she slid across the floor, landing next to Commodore Black. With her hands and the old u-boat man’s securely bound, Charlotte noticed the sailors were passing their rifles to one of their number, a young pock-faced man who then exited the darkship with a pile of rifles in his arms.

  ‘Is that the limit of the alliance you have struck, honey?’ Charlotte called to Gemma. ‘The sea-bishops won’t even let you in their city with ranged weapons?’

  Gemma patted the sabre resting by her side. ‘Hold your filthy mouth, thief girl, lest you lose it. I still have this, and its edge is sharp enough for your wagging tongue. My allies don’t need your prattle during interrogation. They can rip your thoughts out with their queer machines.’ She turned back to the cockpit and then ignored her prisoners.

  Jared Black shook his head sadly. ‘Sorry lass. This is it for our schemes. Why did Maeva choose to follow me? She always knew what follows at my heels. I’m an old fool whose life has drained away into the sea, but a young doe like you deserves better.’

  Charlotte watched the controls at the front of the darkship twisting around the pilot, carnivorous black ivy wrapping itself around a victim. ‘We all deserve better, Jared.’

  ‘Aye, but this is all the wicked world has for us.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Corporal Cloake pulled back the viewing slit on the feeding pen’s heavy iron door. The sea-bishop glanced inside, noting the figure stretched out across the floor. The rest of the cattle were herding fearfully to the rear of the chamber, while the nanomechnical creature that had until recently been head of the State Protection Board was shaking near the corpse as if a disease was inflicting it.

  ‘I have lost my bet,’ said the sea-bishop wearing Sadly’s body. He was standing behind Corporal Cloake along with the pair of guards standing sentry on the feeding pens. ‘It seems as if the Tull animal chose to suicide.’

  Cloake nodded towards the guards. ‘You two, drag it to the rubbish pile.’ He opened the feeding pen door, the stench of cattle defecation flooding out, added to by the foul reek of Dick Tull’s corpse.

  ‘By the dark between the worlds, what a malodour,’ grunted one of the guards, hesitating before stepping through the door.

  Corporal Cloake entered the pen. As he set foot inside, he stepped into a pile of decaying feed used to fatten the cattle. Cursing, Cloake brushed his foot off against the pen’s sides. What was the point of feeding these dumb things if they wouldn’t eat? Well, they still needed to consume plenty of water. He would have to remember to order the herd master to add a hunger stimulant to their liquids. Then the cattle would be as fast at the feed as the filthy rodents scattering across the floor before him.

  Cloake bent down, checking the corpse’s cold, pasty skinned neck for a pulse, before feeling for a heartbeat. Nothing. The animal had been sweating before it died, its jacket drenched in its own disgusting sweat. By Tull’s side was the cane to detect the brethren of the Mass, the pommel carving’s eyes dead, power source drained and partially disassembled to reach the suicide pill. ‘Powdered root in the suicide pill, similar to those issued by the State Protection Board. The fever stopped its heart. It’s the poison you can smell on its skin.’

  ‘Its blood is rancid,’ said the guard, grabbing hold of a stiff leg. ‘The Mass must feed.’

  ‘Indeed we will, but not on this debased flesh,’ hissed Cloake. ‘How many do you need? Animals overrun this filthy city. Breeding in their slums, lying hop-addled in the gutters outside their taverns. You can’t cross the street without tripping over sustenance.’

  Sadly helped the guards drag the corpse away, while in front of Corporal Cloake, the deposed head of the State Protection Board was vibrating and shuddering, adding its mad ramblings to the insane sing-song whine from the dirty cattle clustering at the rear of the pen.

  ‘Trea
sonists, treasonists, everywhere. Vampires, vampires, on the stairs.’

  ‘So, your mind’s finally become as broken as your body, you primitive bucket of bolts?’ Cloake drew out his pistol. He was eager to pay back this half-witted calculating device for the ignominy of far too many years having to pretend to take orders from a mere nanomechnical, of having to subjugate the superior intellect of the Mass to this ridiculous half-sentient machine-born monstrosity. ‘Don’t you have any orders for me? Speak, tell me how you are the head of the board and I must rush to do your bidding… order me to let you live!’

  Dragging Dick Tull’s corpse out of the cell, the sea-bishop wearing Barnabas Sadly’s form turned and took in the vista of the Algo Monoshaft’s violently shuddering body, Corporal Cloake standing in front of it and about to pump a bullet though its useless, shaking skull.

  ‘Don’t!’ shouted Sadly. ‘That’s-’

  Cloake ignored his brethren. ‘We can’t take an imprint of this thing’s memories. I want to see what it looks like in pieces.’

  ‘-how their race use their body as a-’

  With stacks sealed for hours, its boiler-heart circulating and building pressure, the pressure inside Algo Monoshaft’s frame became too much for its ageing hull-plates to hold.

  ‘-suicide bomb!’ The steamman transformed into a grenade, shrapnel and fire scything out, instantly killing all the cattle and cutting Corporal Cloake in two, both halves of his body collapsing across the filthy pen floor. Cloake’s mesmeric field collapsed along with the shredding of his crystal. The sea-bishop’s distended head had enough life left to watch the other guard caught in the blast. Writhing across the floor, the sea-bishop’s field flickered on and off as he lost control — switching between his human and natural form — then, judging its host life lost, the evidence removal function of the crystal activated and the guard flared into ashes. Cloake reached for his own crystal, but it had been blown to pieces, his fingers only coming away with splinters. He wasn’t going to experience the sudden clean death of the crystal’s mercy.