The Dragon's Eye: Sequel to Where the Stairs Don't Go (The Corridors of Infinity Book 2)

by Shae Hutto

  “I’m sure you’re right,” said the doctor, eyeing Nick with renewed interest and perhaps a touch of dislike. Everyone else shifted uncomfortably in their seats during the ensuing pause in conversation. “I was just about to take the air and indulge in a little tobacco rolled in paper. Could I persuade you to join me?” He said this looking at Nick.

  “I’d be delighted,” said Amanda as she slid her chair back and stood up. “Let’s go. It’s stuffy in here.” Once again, everyone in the room was shocked, but the doctor recovered quickly.

  “By all means, let us ascend out of this pit of vitiation and congestion for the more congenial air above. Amiable as officers may be at table, too much of this atmosphere is surely bad for the balance of the humors.” He reached across and took Amanda’s hand and led her out the door. Nick followed with bows to his hosts who stood when Amanda did. The gallant effect of the doctor’s manners was spoiled when he ascended the companionway ladder behind Amanda and first bumped his head on the coaming and then tripped over a line in the gathering gloom and almost fell overboard. Amanda grabbed him by the arm to steady him and managed to keep him on his feet. Rather than thank her for the assistance, he ignored the episode and pretended it never happened, much like a cat whose dignity is offended. Several seamen who witnessed it nudged each other and chuckled quietly, with knowing glances. Several others stared at Amanda like she was a goddess or an angel descended from heaven.

  “Quit mooning about and look alive, you grass combing sods!” shouted a petty officer of some sort and hit one of them with a rope. Amanda tried to not look shocked at the casual brutality.

  Doctor Maturin rolled a little tobacco in paper and handed it to Nick, who stepped to the binnacle and lit it on the lamp an obliging helmsman held out for him. He rolled another one and before he could light it himself, Amanda held out her hand expectantly. After a slight shocked hesitation, he handed it to her and rolled one for himself. He, too, lit his cigarillo from the binnacle lantern and puffed contentedly. Amanda lit hers from Nick’s already glowing tip and sucked the smoke deep into her lungs. She promptly began a coughing and choking fit as the harsh, unfiltered smoke filled her lungs. Amanda felt as if she had inhaled liquid fire, pepper spray, poison ivy and raw cinnamon. Dr. Maturin looked at her smugly as he puffed on his little burning stick of paper. Nick looked at his in alarm and took small puffs of smoke that he did not inhale for fear of dying, or worse: making a fool of himself. When Amanda could breathe again, she stood in the gloom contemplating the poisonous little cigarette with loathing.

  “Yes,” observed Dr. Maturin. “The purifying essence of tobacco is often not borne well by the weaker constitutions of the gentler sex. You had best toss it overboard and be done with it.” He grinned snidely, showing his green-stained teeth. Amanda deliberately placed it between her lips again and sucked another lungful of death into herself. This time, she managed to not cough, although it was through sheer will and cussed contrariness. She slowly blew the evil smelling smoke out again in a long breath, leaving little doubt what she thought of the good doctor’s advice. He made no reply other than a crude “harrumph.”

  They stayed on deck only for a few more minutes. Dr. Maturin seemed disinclined to hold up his end of a conversation and soon excused himself with a murmured remark about ‘the falling damps,’ whatever that was. But they did manage to come up with a rudimentary plan.

  “The only way I see of getting back into the captain’s cabin,” expostulated Nick, “is to wait until he is recovered enough to receive guests and request to see him so that we may thank him for our rescue.”

  “But that could be weeks!” exclaimed Amanda in dismay.

  “Yes,” agreed Nick soberly. “But once inside, we could contrive to open the door and when the captain sees that robot thing shooting up his ship, he’ll help us kill it himself.”

  “But in the meantime,” complained Amanda, “we’re stuck here. Here being both a) on a ship in the middle of the freaking ocean and b) in the 19th century.”

  Nick sighed. “True,” he conceded. “But I don’t see any way around it. We can’t get in there with that marine guard at the door 24/7 and if we could, we can’t move that brass 9-pounder, much less aim and fire it. We’ll just have to make the most of it.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she hissed at him. “You’re not the one being treated like a different species because… because… well, you know why.”

  “Boobs?” ventured Nick.

  “Among other things,” Amanda muttered angrily and stormed off to her borrowed cabin, leaving Nick alone in the dark to contemplate other things.

  Over the next few days, Nick grew more comfortable and familiar with the ship and its regimented routine. He made friends with the midshipmen and could often be found in the rigging or perched on the masts and yards or racing to the tops. He got to know Mr. Reade quite well, and the boyish manners usual to someone his age made more of an appearance than the professional competence that he had displayed on the day they arrived. Amanda grew more and more sullen and discontented with her new status and expectations. She could normally be found sulking in her cabin or standing near the captain’s door, contemplating it silently. It gave the guard the willies. She started to take a cruel satisfaction in the sailors mooning over her and getting in trouble with the officers and petty officers. Despite her attempts to stay engaged, she felt herself falling into a blue funk, the likes of which she had never experienced. It felt almost as if a physical weight were dragging her down by the heels. She steeled herself to ignore it.

  She spent a fair amount of her time walking the quarterdeck, trying to enjoy the weather and watching the crew and the running of the ship with, if not interest, then at least, mild curiosity. Sometimes she would be joined in her restless back and forth stroll. The doctor walked with her several times, but it was obvious that he found her company disagreeable and soon, he stopped attending. A marine lieutenant named Gardener joined her and was so intrigued by everything about her that he soon spent all of his free time following her about like a puppy. She tolerated him out of sheer boredom and loneliness. When she was forced to spend time alone in her tiny cabin, Amanda experimented and found she could coax the privacy field generator to pair with her iPhone. She had to conserve battery power but it didn’t take her long to figure out she could put the piece of metal on her head and play music as loud as she wanted and nobody but could hear anything. And there was nothing annoying in her ears, like the earbuds she was used to. It was a pity she couldn’t listen to music all day, but she didn’t have her charger with her. And it wasn’t like there would be any place to plug a charger in on an early 19th century warship anyway.

  Nick did spend some of his time with Amanda, when she wasn’t being accompanied by anyone else. They tried to come up with some way to force the issue of the door and the cannon. Amanda mentioned her fears that Connix was going to come for her, based on her contact with the Eye. When pressed, she was unwilling to share the experience of being sucked into the horrid orb. She wasn’t sure why, but it seemed private and personal. No doubt Nick felt similarly about being possessed by the freaking Devil. Or whatever was going on with him and that oozing darkness.

  Every chance they got, they mentioned their gratitude for being rescued and their desire to personally thank Captain Aubrey. Most of those chances to mention their gratitude came at meal times and were invariably met with embarrassment and the news that the good captain was not up for visitors as yet. They knew that the captain didn’t necessarily agree because on such a small, wooden ship it was impossible to not overhear his (often loud) insistence that he was well enough to do whatever he pleased. The crew and officers assiduously followed his every order in all things save that he be allowed out of his cabin. It seemed that Dr. Maturin’s medical opinion outweighed him in that regard.

  Finally, the day came when Dr. Maturin pronounced the captain well enough to leave his cot and hobble about the ship. Captain Aubrey immediately insis
ted on inviting his new guests to dinner. When they heard this news, Nick and Amanda exchanged a meaningful glance and determined grins. They both knew this would likely be their only chance to enlist the captain’s help in using the cannon. Amanda laid aside the sailcloth frock the sail maker had made for her and redonned her splendid crimson dress of silk. She felt the black depression recede and a renewed sense of boundless energy came welling up from within. Nick borrowed a midshipman uniform, minus the insignia of course, but formal enough for dinner with the captain. At the appointed time, they presented themselves to the guard at the captain’s door, freshly scrubbed and as presentable as they could make themselves.

  “Come in, come in,” said the captain pleasantly as he opened the door to his cabin and ushered his guests back into the room from which they had emerged so many days before. Captain Aubrey was still looking much the worse for wear. His leg was stiff with layers of bandages, more wrappings bulged under his shirt and a patch covered one eye. There were many signs of long healed wounds, as well. His face was a scarred map of his career. His blonde and graying hair was pulled back and clubbed, revealing even more scarring than would ordinarily be visible by his ears and hairline. His features, though grotesque, were bright with delight at either his visitors, the chance to entertain or both. Nick and Amanda both felt self-conscious under his bright and friendly gaze. He was polite and eager to please. Dr. Maturin dined with them as well, and was much more reserved. Mr. Reade rounded out the gathering, but he made little contribution to the conversation; adhering to the rule that at the captain’s table no member of the crew could speak unless spoken to.

  “Killick!” yelled the captain in a voice calculated to carry to the topmasts in a hurricane. “Bear a hand with that soup, do ya hear?”

  “Which I’m right outside the door, ain’t I?” came the snarled reply as Killick backed through the door with bowls of soup delicately balanced in his arms. He busily arranged the soup bowls on the gently rocking table and hurried back outside. Amanda doubted he moved very far from the door. She was tempted to kick it and see if it hit him in the head but decided that would be bad manners. The soup was a horrid green color and tasted like salty glue.

  “The portable soup is better tonight than usual,” remarked the captain.

  “Indeed,” agreed Dr. Maturin. “They seemed to have mixed it in something close to the proper proportion this time. I am gratified they listened to my advice.” Nick and Amanda struggled to get any of the noxious mess to go down at all. They helped it with twice-watered grog and something called sillery. They managed to not gag. Barely. After a hideous main course consisting of something called a soused hog’s face and the usual salt pork boiled until it was slightly more edible than Amanda’s sneakers, and some dubious, wilted green things, Amanda began casting about for a way to open the other door; the one with a killer robot waiting on the other side. Neither could bring themselves to touch the dessert; a translucent pile of raw, juggling suet called a boiled baby.

  “Do either of you play an instrument by any chance?” asked the captain, interrupting Amanda’s convoluted but unpromising scheming. Amanda had taken piano lessons twice a week for the past six years and could just manage to not disgrace herself with something well-rehearsed. She was confident that she could make whatever claims she wanted in that regard, as there was no piano on board the Surprise.

  “I can manage Für Elise on the piano,” she said confidently. Captain Aubrey and Dr. Maturin shared a look that seemed to convey more meaning than she could divine.

  “That piece is not familiar to me,” the captain said slowly. The doctor was also shaking his head slightly. “Pray tell, how does it go?” This time it was Nick who was shaking his head.

  “Oh, you know,” she said, oblivious. “Duh da duh da duh da dun dun dun…” she sang the notes to the beginning of the famous bagatelle no. 25. Both the captain and the doctor looked captivated. Nick looked angry.

  “Who is that by?” asked the doctor.

  “Beethoven,” she replied without thinking. “It’s been around for ages…” she trailed off when Nick kicked her under the table again.and she saw the thunderous expression on his face. When she thought of Beethoven, she thought of classical music and that meant ‘ancient’ in her mind. Surely, it had been written by now? She looked questioningly at Nick. He shook his head minutely. He later told her that though Für Elise had been written by then, it wasn’t published for another fifty years or so. “Oh, well,” she said, blithely ignorant, “It’s no matter, seeing as how there’s no piano.”

  “Killick!” bellowed the captain. Killick appeared as if by magic. “Have the bosun rouse that pianoforte out of the hold.” Amanda started to feel a bit panicky. “Just let me get my violin out and I’ll see if I can pick it out as you tell it to me.” The captain started to lever himself ponderously out of his chair. Nick saw his chance.

  “Here, captain,” he said quickly as he slid out of his chair. “Allow me, sir.” The captain nodded his thanks as he sank back into his seat with a slight groan and Nick sprang to the door, prepared to open it whether it was the correct one or not. The captain didn’t stop him, so he threw it open and stood to one side as a blast of energy sizzled furiously out of the doorway and exploded a hole in the side of the ship with a thunderous boom. Amanda flung herself back from the table, pulling her .45 out of the bag and trying to see if she could catch enough of a glimpse of the robot through the doorway to aim at an eye.

  “God between us and the devil!” cried Dr. Maturin as he tried to extricate himself from the table and fell over backward. The captain, his wounds all but forgotten, was on his feet and pulling a heavy, battered sword from a sheathe on the back of a chair. The remaining arm of the robot poked through the doorway and Amanda deafened everyone by bouncing two slugs off it, leaving ugly gouges in the metal and resounding concussions from the reports echoing in everyone’s ears. Nick kicked the extended metal arm in some acrobatic flying ninja move, pushing it upwards out of the way and he slammed the door closed the instant it was clear. The captain opened his mouth to shout for help and already the sounds of alarm were spreading throughout the ship. The main door opened to show the face of a very serious marine, equally serious musket leading the way into the little room.

  “Wait, captain,” said Nick quickly. “I can explain.” The captain’s mouth closed and his visible eye narrowed. He waved the marine into the room. The marine closed the door behind him and busily looked for something to aim his musket at. The doctor stood and brushed himself off, eyes darting back and forth from the flimsy wooden door inexplicably hiding the metal monster and Amanda who was still holding her shiny hand cannon which had just as inexplicably fired twice, something that was impossible. Neither was something that had an immediate explanation but Nick’s words hinted that one was forthcoming and he was curiously waiting for it to develop.

  “We are in no immediate danger, sir,” continued Nick. “If you were to open that door you would find nothing inside but the doctor’s hammock and cello. If either I or Amanda open it, we will be confronted with a metallic monster intent on roasting us all alive. As we just saw.”

  “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eye, I would have thought you to be unhinged,” said the captain. “Now we may all be thought unhinged.”

  “I take it you are not from the Arastor?” asked Dr. Maturin, quicker on the uptake and to work out some of the complexities of the situation than the captain. Nick gave a little half bow as an affirmative.

  “Indeed, sir,” replied Nick. “We are from another time entirely. And we fled through that door and found ourselves in this cabin in the middle of your battle. We were as surprised to find ourselves here as you are.”

  “Doubtful,” said the captain with a trace of humor. “I take it you don’t plan to remain onboard our vessel?”

  “We have little choice,” said Nick carefully. “Unless you are willing to help us kill that robot.”

  “That cannon should do t
he trick,” said Amanda as she pointed at the brass nine pounder tied to a bulkhead. All heads turned slowly to look at the cannon lurking innocently in the corner, it’s bronze finish gleaming dully in the candlelight, full of promise of a good time. Then they turned back to look at Amanda, their expressions slowly morphing from ‘she’s insane’ to ‘by golly, it just might work!’ Nick grinned evilly, his expression just as full of dark promise as the cannon.

  The captain quickly sent out the sentry with orders to stop the rousing out of the pianoforte from the hold and instead get a gun crew to the captain’s cabin on the double. So intense was the curiosity and interest in what was happening in the cabin that it was literally a matter of seconds before the master gunner and nine men were crammed into the little cabin, listening incredulously to the captain’s instructions to aim the cannon at the door to the doctor’s sleeping accommodations. A file of marines under Lieutenant Gardener trooped in, as well; cramping the available space to the point where nobody could move about without jostling someone next to them.

  The cannon was initially positioned directly in front of the door, but Nick didn’t think that was a good idea. He pointed out the two holes in the wall opposite the door (one repaired by the carpenter, but still visible) and explained that the cannon should probably be moved so it wasn’t directly in the previous line of fire. The captain instantly understood what he meant and directed the crew in moving the gun about thirty degrees out of the way, opposite the hinged side of the door. As soon as the cannon was in position, the captain shooed all unnecessary personnel out of the tiny cabin to make enough room to move.

  “Can that iron devil hear what we say on this side of the door?” asked Captain Aubrey.

  “No, sir,” replied Nick. “He’s not really on the other side of that door. If anyone but I or Amanda open it, there’ll be nothing but the doctor’s hammock and cello on the other side.”