‘Is there such a thing? A gentle wounding?’
Black blood as dark as the darkest onyx ink fills the large glass tube—and other details find their way into his notice as he fulfills his purpose. The creature’s breathing is labored. The skin reminds him of a landscape of disease and death.
When the vial was full, he pulls it out as cautiously as he can and the dagger end becomes a stopper. He swims back down the tunnel and steps into the temple chamber bearing his ebony prize.
‘Your elixir, my Queen.’ He offered it into her greedy hands and the drums in the temple and the gong sound with a cacophony of celebration. The priests hold it aloft and the Atlantians cheer. ‘But where is my crew?’
She smiles enigmatically. ‘They will serve us in another way. But you are my champion and tonight we will partake of our traditional feast! It must be held to strengthen us before the final Rites tomorrow night.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Feast of Suffering
She prepares him for the evening’s revelries and shows him her private gardens. Everything in her touch and look enchants and the horror of the Kraken fades in her presence as she bids him lay down with his head in her lap while she touches his face and weaves a tale. Queen Arête shares the story of the Elixir with her beloved captive.
‘Immortality has long been the quest of the rulers and priests of Atlantis. Their every thought and effort was shaded by their insatiable desire to live beyond all other races and transcend the clutches of death. Men looked to Atlantis as a shining City State without equal and their fame spread throughout the known lands.’
‘But the Gods of Olympus were disgusted by their arrogance and their pride and decided to test their metal.’
‘One day, an emissary of the sacred temple of Poseidon was sent to ask why the Atlantians should live when others died and why they would deserve such a Divine Gift. The King of Atlantis answered with a sneer that they received no “gifts” but would earn the achievement of immortality on their own merit with brilliant science and superior technology. He boasted that the world of men would kneel in awe to them and the humblest Atlantian would surpass the distant and dusty splendor of the gods.’
‘What of your Patron Deity? What of Poseidon?’ the emissary asked. ‘Surely you do not think to scoff at his powers!’
‘The King laughed. “Poseidon should be pleased that his children have grown so clever that we need not bow and scrape to every tide for our prosperity! And if he is pouting at our glory, there are plenty of ignorant fishermen left in the world to assuage the hurt.’
‘And so the fate of Atlantis was sealed.’
‘A gift was presented to the King of Atlantis at the next Rites of Tides. It was an opiate derived from the blackest inky blood of the Kraken that swam in the deepest depths of icy ocean imaginable. No one was sure of its origins. But a gold embossed note explained that it was the gift of immortality from the gods themselves in tribute to the worthy people of our kingdom. One small dose transported the subject into a state of euphoria like no other, warming their skin and reminding them of what it had been to stand in the sun and walk as men—As the delight faded, their beauties returned to former glories, their bodies refreshed and rejuvenated and they failed to fear!’
‘Very quickly, we came to prize it above all other things.’
‘It is addictive then?’ he asks.
The Queen shrugs her shoulders unconcerned. ‘It is terrible to feel the change come over us but we cannot resist the Elixir now. It is the only thing that sustains us and after all, we always return to our natural state.’
A chill creeps up his skin but he ignores it.
A gong sounds. ‘Come, it is time for the Feast of Tides to celebrate your successful harvest of the Elixir.’ She leads him from the idyllic garden with its glass walls and the ocean pressing in on all sides. ‘They will sing your praises for a long time to come, Captain.’
Into the Throne Room, he follows her as if in a dream. The dome is once more solid gold and the courtiers all shine with an ethereal beauty that makes him wonder if any mortal would not mistake them for gods. A long table has been set up and already the feast is underway.
He is given a place of honor next to Queen Arête. Hack tastes the wine and the smell of the dishes is enticing but then the lids come off of the giant platters and as the revelers cheer the work of their kitchens.
And Captain Martin catches a glimpse of Hell.
The feast is comprised of his crew…all the men he thought to have saved. They are laid out in various forms and pieces on platters. Next to a great bowl filled with the eyes of his men, plates of hands and feet in jellied sauces, filets and pastries, even puddings of their sweet breads, he spies George’s boy roasted whole atop a gold ornate stand. His cooked body is artfully arranged as if he were peacefully asleep but the nearest courtier has already cut open his belly to reveal a seafood stuffing that steams in the night air. New drink is brought out in sea glass pitchers and Hack recognizes human blood pouring out into the goblets of the guests.
The room spins and he stumbles from the table.
He hears laughter and then comes back to himself in the bed of the Queen.
She tries to comfort her fevered captain, kissing him and casting an erotic spell that he slips into, grateful for the escape from the madness and horrors in the royal throne room. Aware that it is no escape at all but a dark fall into bedlam.
‘You killed my crew.’
‘Shh! They served their purpose. Tomorrow is the last night of the festival. You’ll see. You’ll see the Change and why we must have the Elixir.’ She strokes his hair as if her words alone are enough.
And Hack tries not to hear the faint sound of cutlery and laughter from the throne room below them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Poseidon’s Revenge
He awakes alone just before the last night’s ritual.
He can hear them downstairs and races to the throne room. The Elixir his crew died trying to get and that he alone retrieved is brought in, a giant marble bowl holds it on a dais in the center of the floor and every citizen lines up to take their portion and imbibes. He watches from a narrow alcove behind Queen Arête’s throne.
At first it is like any bacchanalian orgy as the courtiers cavort and dance to celebrate the blinding beauty and pleasure the Elixir brings. Without hesitation they sample each other’s forms, openly fornicating in a frenzy that exhausted the watcher, the tangle of bodies becoming unrecognizable.
And then it all changes.
His Queen is the most beautiful of all, laughing at her ecstasy and shamelessly dancing naked atop the dais for all to desire.
And then her beauty alters, her pale skin darkens and she transforms.
Around the room, all of them begin to cry out with a new tenor. They begin to writhe and twist, scream and screech. Yet even then, the sexual undercurrent only strengthens and Hack fights the vomit rising up in his throat as monsters pump and play at a mockery of love.
They are a nightmare to behold! The black ink coursed through their veins and showed through the pale glove of their skin, pulsing in branches of gothic feathery dark veins across their bodies and proclaiming their immorality.
For the true horror that our Captain could only guess at was that over time, the addictive opium permanently strips them of the white marble like beauty they once possessed. Lost now is a beauty that had inspired the Greeks and Romans to believe in Gods—and left them as tentacled monsters with gaping maws where their mouths had been and serpent shaped spines.
‘Am I not beautiful to you, Captain Martin?’ She hissed and undulated toward him, a trail of putrid slime in her wake. ‘For you are beautiful to me and now that I have a man worthy of the Festival, you will repeat your bravery every year and bring us what we need…and I will reward you in my bed, my dearest pet. Does this not please you?’
CHAPTER NINE
The Fatal Storm
He races from her, from all of them
. He races down the dreaded paths to the temple to escape sea monsters in pursuit. Captain Martin grabs one of the guard’s weapons from the wall and a black cloth around his face. He is into the tunnel. This time there is no care. Death whispers in his ear and Hack is set on his course. He swims into the darkness and then toward the great beast, so deadly and so powerful…imprisoned in this hole.
He swims into its gaping mouth, narrowly missing its teeth and clutching his blades allows himself to become a meal that the Kraken will quickly regret. He cuts and slashes, twists and turns, a sharp whirling dervish that damages the monster with a dozen mortal wounds from within. He fights, the black cloth now converting blood to air and in the tight confines of the Kraken’s guts, he conquers the wet until the cries and screams of the Kraken make him deaf.
The Kraken dies and as the cave and tunnel turn black with its blood and the Elixir dies with it, the screams of Atlantis echo through the underwater city. For the Kraken was the last and Immortality, even as twisted monsters, is a prize they were unwilling to yield.
Captain Martin’s fate? Who can say? Did they retrieve him from his gory prison of a rotting Kraken and tear him into pieces for a feast of their own? Or did they toss him back into the dungeons of Atlantis to cling to the narrow hope that if another Kraken were found, they would have their champion at the ready? And how would they keep such a champion alive? Would they use the last of their stores of Elixir? Would they extend his life and transform him against his will into the monsters he feared?
Believe me not? At your own peril, you must each decide what you will hold to when the storms come. Think your civilization divine? Think that you are above the gods? Hold fast, readers.
And who is it that can relay all this tale and convey the secrets of the HMS Fatal? Who is it that can testify to the truth of it or swear to seeing Captain Martin breathe his last in the arms of the ocean’s Queen Arête when his body finally gave out and the icy touch of her love could not save him?
Perhaps only the Queen herself, mortal reader.
Beware. And Voyage safely.
The End
A Last Note to Readers
Still reading? Well here’s your treat. I put my hidden notes where only you would find them. Where do I start? So many wonderful emails and questions have come my way as this series unfolded, so I’ll try to hit a few fun tidbits and behind-the-scenes facts for my Super Readers. After all, I’m going to assume it’s only my die-hard Jaded Fans that are venturing this far and that everyone else closed the book after the words “The End”.
Truthfully, it was my first editor in the series, Kate Seaver, who pushed the jewels to the forefront (and into the titles!) and made me rework the plots around them. The thought was that readers are mostly women and women like jewels. I couldn’t really argue since I’m a bit of a magpie and have a frightening penchant for anything shiny (this includes glass and plastic…I have no ability to discriminate between real gems and the sparkly fake stuff apparently and take equal delight in either one!) Even so, at first, I was a very reluctant player as I looked at the synopsis for the first book, REVENGE WEARS RUBIES, so I rebelliously decided that if there were going to be jewels I would take it to the next level. The gems became a thriller style sub-plot that I stubbornly carried forward…and here we are!
Okay, let’s work backwards. Yes, Michael joined the military when he was fourteen and the British Army took boys as young as twelve at that time, bless their hearts. He was far too poor to have purchased a commission and I loved the idea of him existing in a twilight of rank as a bodyguard and personal attendant to his “betters”. Michael’s polish inevitably would have come from his association with more educated men and the necessities of becoming familiar with a gentleman’s routines as he served and guarded them. He taught himself to read using penny novels and to this very day, refuses to give them up. (Especially now that his beloved Grace supplies him with all the stories he could ever hope for!)
To my military buffs, I am fully aware that snipers are a more modern convention of war and something the British would never have admitted deploying in the 19th century. I understand that an American Sharps rifle in the hands of a British shooter in 1857 would have been as rare as a butterfly on a battlefield. But for the sake of fiction, I pushed the envelope so that my beloved Michael could take on the full weight of war and because I find long-range snipers enigmatic, compelling and they fire up my imagination. Blame me. Not Ian. He gave me fabulous information that I then chose to ignore.
I never fully explained the madness of the raj or why he literally collected foreigners but honestly, why try? Explaining the rationale of a madman is a bit beyond me and I think life is full of lovely unanswered questions. Bottom Line: He was not right in the head and as the British culture/presence became a new reality in his twisted domain, he saw others turning their relationships with the British Crown into political advantages. But why be a servant to the British? Why not just “own” a few and have them on hand? I’m sure he thought to demonstrate his genius and power that he could pluck these white men off their feet and keep them without fear of retaliation… And then the rebellion hit, and his guests were even more “valuable” (although that value would have increased if he’d bothered to tell anyone outside of his palace that he had them.) And then he forgot he had them. Because his dinner was cold. Or his favorite peacock died. I’ll let you paint in the rest of that grim tale.
And yes, my husband recently “gifted” me with a space of my own to write, so when it came to Grace, I couldn’t think of anything she would appreciate more from the man of her dreams.
Lots of villains, so little time! I know I don’t always kill the bad guys, but again, I think it makes for a more real and compelling read when things aren’t too neatly tied up in a bow. Did you need to “see” Sterling’s end? Trust me. He’s not coming back. Ever. And if they find pieces of him in the Thames at some point (highly unlikely), I doubt he would be recognizable. (Forensic sciences being what they were in 1860…) He is dead like the monster under the mountain in your favorite childhood books and if I edited out the scene where he bites it that was an artistic choice. Penny Dreadfuls are lovely reading and crime books thrill, but for this story, I didn’t think it was a good call to have a gruesome scene where a bad man begs for his life and fails to convince the powers-that-be that his life is worth more than a flawed rock in a leather pouch. Not near the end of the story, and not so close to the drama of Caroline and Ashe.
And yes, if you really were paying attention there were ultimately six villains in that dark little club to mirror my six lovely heroes…and no, I never named them all. A writer has to save a little something for a rainy day.
Josiah Hastings is suffering from a delightful version of macular degeneration of my own making with a dash of cataracts and floaters to make it interesting. While I appreciate the notes begging me to give him only cataracts and send him off to France for surgery; Mr. Hastings declined to travel abroad to submit to the procedure. (Stubborn things, men, don’t you agree?) Eleanor remains his source of beauty in the world and he has a few more paintings yet before the shadows win. But Josiah isn’t afraid of the dark, and I know my readers understand that with his prim and lovely lady at his side, his future is very bright.
Gayle continues to study medicine and thrive under her husband’s tutelage and while it was a work of fiction, I will respectfully not be giving her access to a formal education or licensing to honor the women who truly were first and fought that fight. Rowan is a progressive thinker but still a man of his age, so he has clearly encouraged her in the areas of midwifery and women’s health but probably still engages in rousing arguments about how she doesn’t need to treat the rougher elements in his weekly clinics.
Caroline’s dreams of a university for women is part of a future series if you ask this writer. Bellewood College has a place in my heart and I love the idea of a series of books based on the women who will cross through those doors and turns of
their lives and loves. (Besides a selfish wish to catch a glimpse of Darius Thorne the professor and his wife Isabel…and friends…and…)
How close did I come to killing Caroline? Close. I think a previous editor had a heart attack when I mentioned the option and I was talked out of it. It is a convention of our genre that main characters seem immortal—but every time I watch Downton Abbey, or any great romantic and dramatic series on television, I’m jealous at their knack for ending a character’s life to wring more emotion from their audience. So apparently, I’m a wicked person. Please don’t send me hate mail. I did NOT kill Caroline and Ashe’s happiness remains intact.
Although, somebody out there admit it! If I’d done it and snuffed her, it would have made for an amazingly emotional ending and potentially...a great set-up for another story…Seriously. No hate mail, friends.
And finally, we’re down to Galen’s tale. After all this time, I’m not sure if I have any secrets left except to say that Herbert wasn’t really intended to have a happy ending of his own until a reader sent me an email that was so kind and gracious, I decided to make her an opera singer and the rest, as they say, is history. Thank you, Betsy!
And yes, just in case no one was paying attention…there were a couple of fun new secondary characters in this last book and I for one would LOVE to see their stories. Anyone? Sabrina Martin is lovely, don’t you think? I find something about beautiful widows very appealing and I think she deserves a fairy-tale of her own. And what about “Death”? Nothing like a tall, dark and handsome, English-educated, foreign assassin to make a future woman’s day…I do enjoy bad boys.
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