Hush (Dragon Apocalypse)

by James Maxey

  Far below, I saw a light; I think it was Gale’s phosphorescent sword tumbling ever deeper, growing fainter. For the most fleeting instant, I swear the sword came to rest upon something pitch black, undulating, serpentine, and vast. A sea monster? Whatever it was, the sword slid from its back and vanished into darkness. Whatever I’d glimpsed was free to move about without my ability to track it.

  It was well past time to leave. Though it was utterly graceless, I placed Romer’s limp belly against by crotch and wrapped my legs as tightly as possible around her hips. With both hands free, I dragged myself up the rope, in yard-long lunges. In a few seconds, I was above the surface. Instinctively, I tried to breathe. Captain Romer displayed no such instinct. As I made my way slowly to the deck, she didn’t cough, or even twitch.

  By the time I reached the rail, a half-dozen arms reached over to grab at us. Mako and Brand both looked fully recovered from their ordeal, and as they lugged me over, Sage and Jetsam grabbed their mother and pried her free of my leg-lock. Menagerie was back on his feet, or paws at least, and Bigsby had recovered both his wits and his wig, and was currently tying Purity’s arms behind her back. Infidel, I saw, had taken possession of the fallen Ice-Moon Blade. Her enchanted armory was growing rather impressive.

  I found my way back to my feet and looked around for my hat. I spotted it near the bow. I reached it, but before I could bend over, the ghost of Jasmine Romer once more materialized and lifted the hat from the deck, offering it to me.

  “Well done,” she said.

  I wanted to shake my head, but couldn’t. I could make no attempt at communication due to Sorrow’s command, but I was certain that Gale was dead.

  “You’re troubled, young spirit,” she said, her voice growing soft. “You spotted it, didn’t you?”

  It? Was she talking about the sea monster?

  “The beast that tracks us is Rott,” she said with a sigh. “The dragon of entropy and decay. He passes freely between the material world and the abstract realms. He is the only truly universal elemental force.”

  If I’d been able to speak, I would have asked if there were a dragon of taxes. But, considering that her daughter was dead, I was grateful that my lack of voice spared her from my tasteless humor.

  “Do not think that, by surviving the death of your body, you’ve cheated Rott for long. There is no true immortality. Things fall apart, even things that are only the memory of things. In the end, entropy will devour us all. We risk destruction any time we traverse this realm. But, for now, you’ve brought my daughter another day, at least.”

  As she said this, I heard coughing behind me. Captain Romer was flat on her back, her arms flailing limply as she spat up wine. Mako and Rigger flanked her, and Jetsam was at her feet. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and she let loose a high-pitched shriek that devolved into laughter as she kicked Jetsam hard in the chest and let loose with twin uppercuts that caught Mako and Rigger beneath their chins. She sprang up as they went down. Her motions were exaggerated and woozy, but she landed on her feet and managed to snatch up a belaying pin from the pin rail. She brandished the improvised club as she shrieked, “I’ll kill the lot of you!”

  She let loose a fierce growl to give weight to her threat, but mid-way through her her growl changed into giggling.

  “I’m on it!” shouted Infidel, flying across the deck in a single hop to land in front of the drunken captain. She said firmly, “Put the club down! You know who I am, right?”

  “Infidel,” Gale laughed, before unleashing a haymaker punch with the belaying pin. Infidel blocked the blow with the shaft of her hammer. Gale attempted a kick, but Infidel dodged by jumping a yard into the air and hanging there.

  Suddenly a gust of wind howled across the deck, catching Infidel and throwing her back. She tried to spin in the air to take control of her flight, but succeeded only in turning her face toward the foremast as she raced toward it. With a sound like a butcher’s mallet pounding a slab of tough meat, Infidel slammed into the wood. The Gloryhammer was left floating in the air as she dropped to the deck, blood pouring from her temple.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  INADEQUATE VESSELS

  FOR THIRTY SECONDS, pandemonium reigned. Mako and Jetsam tackled their mother as she cursed, giggled, and got in a couple of good licks with the belaying pin before being dragged down by their weight. A dozen ropes snaked toward her to snare her thrashing legs, until violent winds pushed them back. Cinnamon rushed forward, dodging her mother’s kicks, crouching to place her hand on the bare skin of her mother’s midriff. Gale’s drunken giggles cut off in mid-breath, replaced by gagging. Her limbs went limp as all color drained from her face. Jetsam released his mother’s arm and leapt skyward, kicking to gain altitude as she began to projectile vomit the wine she’d swallowed. Now too sick to command winds, Gale was quickly wrapped by Rigger’s ropes. Even after she’d emptied her stomach, Gale continued to spit, trying to rid her mouth of whatever foul flavor Cinnamon had inflicted upon her.

  Meanwhile, Bigsby jogged across the deck, holding his wig on with one hand, as he stretched his other hand toward the Gloryhammer, which hovered in mid-air six feet directly above Infidel’s fallen form. “I claim the holy power that is my birthright!” he cried as he used Infidel’s butt as a trampoline to leap for the hammer. Bigsby’s jump was a good six inches short of his target. Please note that I do not, in anyway, place the blame on the springiness of my wife’s derriere, which I assure you is more than adequate. He landed on the deck, hard, his plate armor clanging, and was pushed to his belly by a snarling dog with wings. Menagerie had finally recovered from his chill.

  I moved toward Infidel, who lay limp and unconscious on the deck. I wanted to kneel and investigate her injuries, but this simple act lay outside the range of freedom that Sorrow had granted me. I couldn’t even motion for one of the Romers to come to her aid.

  To add further to the distractions that kept Infidel from getting help, one of the ice-maidens recovered her wits and leapt to her feet just then, grabbing Sage from behind. Sage looked curiously unworried as the ice-maiden pressed a sword against her throat and shouted, “Jabber jabber jabber!” This might have been a threat in her native tongue, but on this boat all it meant was, “I’m an idiot! Kill me!” Her request was carried out a heartbeat later by Brand, who sank one of his throwing knives deep into the orbit of her left eye.

  Rigger neutralized the threat of further ice-maidens waking by having every rope in sight come to life and bind their hands and feet. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed tightly together. Despite the heat and humidity of the Sea of Wine, his lips were nearly blue, and his limbs were visibly shaking beneath his black uniform, soaked with icy water.

  Sage shouted, “Poppy! Go get Rigger a blanket before he freezes to death!” She ran to Rigger’s side. “We have to get him out of these freezing clothes.”

  “We’re all drenched,” said Poppy, who was also shivering. “Why aren’t you telling him to get me a blanket?”

  “If Rigger gets sick, the Freewind’s all but crippled,” said Sage. “The rest of us are expendable.”

  “No one’s expendable,” Mako said. He’d already pulled off his soaked shirt and boots, and his muscular body had shaken off the effects of the cold. “Bring blankets for everyone, Poppy.”

  Meanwhile, Jetsam had also gotten over his chill, perhaps because of the exertion of swimming through the air around the now limp sails. He dove down from near the tip of the mainmast to land beside Bigsby. He dropped to his knees and grabbed the fallen dwarf by his cheeks.

  “Who are you?” he demanded as he drew his dagger.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brand shouted, holding up his hands. “It’s okay. She’s with me!”

  “Only if she’s a stowaway,” Jetsam said, shaking his head. “We officially have two passengers aboard, and she’s not one of them. And why are we saying she? She’s plainly a he!” He snatched Bigsby’s platinum locks and shook them before the dwarf�
��s face.

  “I am too a she!” Bigsby screamed, grabbing Jetsam’s sinewy wrist and twisting to no avail. “I’m Princess Innocent Brightmoon!”

  “It’s true,” said Brand. “She’s my sister. I’m Prince Steadfast Brightmoon!”

  “You’re both mad,” said Jetsam, rubbing Bigsby’s makeup off with his sleeve.

  Now it was Mako’s turn to join in the confrontation. He grabbed Brand by the throat and pushed him against the mast. I noticed for the first time that Mako’s fingers were webbed. He pushed his toothy face inches from Brand’s pale blue eyes and snarled, “You’re no prince! You’re nothing but carnival trash! Your looks and charm may have reduced my mother’s wisdom to that of a teenage girl –”

  “Hey!” shouted Sage. Poppy had returned with a heavy wool blanket, which Sage draped over Rigger’s skinny shoulders.

  Mako continued: “I took care to learn everything there was to know about you once you became our dryman. Before you turned up in Commonground, you traveled the Silver Isles as a member of the Slinger Carnival. You were the show’s knife thrower.”

  Sage glanced at the dead ice-maiden who’d tried to take her hostage. “You’ve got to admit he’s good at it.”

  “Not so good that he could survive on the income from his act. My sources say his true gifts lay as a pick-pocket.”

  Brand gave a surprisingly natural-looking smile for a man on the verge of having his windpipe crushed. “You only know I’m a pick-pocket because it was part of my act. I would always return what I stole. I’m no thief, and I’m not ‘trash’ simply because I traveled with a carnival. I joined them because I was searching for my long lost sister who had been magically transformed into a dwarf. Dwarves frequently seek employment with carnival freak shows. It seemed like a good place to look.”

  “I’ll admit I’ve heard stranger stories,” Jetsam said, spitting on his captive’s face as he wiped away the last of the rouge and mascara. “But this can’t be the lost princess. This is Bigsby, the Fishmonger! I recognize him now that he’s not painted like a tart. He’s lived in Commonground since before I was born!”

  “No!” Bigsby sobbed. “I’ve always been Princess Innocent! I only appear to be an old, ugly dwarf due to a witch’s curse!”

  There was a loud sigh from the hatch. Sorrow’s head was just above deck. “Witches get blamed for everything,” she grumbled. She climbed the rest of the way up the stairs and looked around. Her brow furrowed at the sight of all the semi-nude women bound on the deck. “The missing Skelling women, I presume?” She nudged a yeti with her boot. “That pelt should bring a nice price.”

  “We’ve captured their leader, no thanks to you,” said Mako, taking his eyes off Brand, but not his grip. “What was so important you couldn’t help save the ship?”

  “Excuse me?” Sorrow said. “It wasn’t my job to fight them. You’re getting paid to protect your passengers. I thought you Wanderers understood contracts.”

  “If these ice-maidens had killed us all, I’m sure that you could have waved the contract in their faces and made them understand the error of their ways,” Mako said.

  “But they didn’t kill you all, or any of you, as far as I can tell. Anyway, your charge that I did nothing is baseless. Perhaps you failed to notice the seven-foot-tall wooden golem who fought by your side?” She knelt and yanked my sword from the yeti’s skull. “Catch,” she said as she tossed me the blade, and I caught.

  She looked around at the sky.

  “And would someone care to explain why we’re no longer in the material world?”

  “No,” said Mako. Then, with his meaty hand still clamped on Brand’s throat, he turned to Rigger and Sage. “We’re trapped here until Mother recovers. The two of you keep your eyes peeled for any trouble. We’ve sent many an enemy to the Sea of Wine, and I’d hate for them to show up now.”

  “If they do show up, there’s nothing we can do,” said Rigger, shaking his head sadly. “Without Mother, there’s no wind.”

  “If there’s no wind, no ghost ships can come hunting us,” said Sage, trying to sound positive.

  “They could have row-boats,” said Jetsam.

  “I’m taking mother to her cabin,” said Mako. “We can do nothing but wait for her to sober up.” He turned toward Jetsam, and Cinnamon who stood nearby. “Take Brand and the dwarf below and place them in manacles. Ordinarily I’d keelhaul a stowaway, but the dwarf is plainly insane. I’m not going to punish a man for losing his mind.”

  He tightened his grip on Brand’s throat as he brought his face close and smiled. It was a smile from a nightmare, saw-toothed and twice as wide as it should have been. “As for you, I haven’t figured out your game. I should just rip out your throat for helping conceal a stowaway.”

  “Ma will tan your hide if you kill her dryman without asking permission,” Jetsam said as he guided the dwarf toward the hatch. “Remember how mad she got at Levi?”

  “I’m not afraid of Ma,” Mako said. “But I’ll wait until she sobers up before deciding this scoundrel’s fate.”

  He stepped back as Cinnamon moved forward and took Brand by the hand. Brand’s mouth suddenly puckered.

  “You’ll go below and play nice or my sister will put a taste in your mouth that will have you cutting out your own tongue. Understood?”

  Brand nodded.

  Satisfied that Brand was neutralized, Mako walked toward Purity, unconscious on the deck where Bigsby had hogtied her. “Rigger, since she’s bound, use your power to guide her down to my cabin. Once Ma’s tucked in, I’ll see to it that this witch is stripped of her armor and properly disarmed.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” said Sorrow.

  Mako raised his eyebrows. “With my mother incapacitated, I’m captain. The safety of this ship is my responsibility.”

  “That is not in dispute, but I don’t care for your tone. I fear that you mean to abuse this woman in her helpless state.”

  Mako’s face twisted into a snarl. “Choose your words with care. I’ve won’t stand here and take your baseless slander.”

  “And I’ll not stand by as a defenseless woman is strip-searched by a lone man, no matter what his reputation.”

  “I can help,” said Sage. “Though I assure you she’d suffer no abuse if Mako were alone.”

  Sorrow nodded. “This is acceptable. But search her and bind her properly so that she doesn’t lose any limbs to gangrene. Gag her so that she may not speak. Don’t interrogate her until I can properly construct iron bands of negation to baffle any delayed magic she might seek to trigger with her words.”

  “Good call,” said Sage. “There’s something strange about her. Her internal light is all indigo.”

  “You can see auras?” Sorrow asked, sounding surprised.

  “I see lots of stuff,” said Sage, shrugging.

  “How long will it take you to construct these bands?” grumbled Mako.

  “As long as needed,” said Sorrow, now kneeling next to Infidel. “It’s not something that should be rushed. Something that must be rushed, however, is treatment of this woman’s injuries. This wound on her temple will require stitches.” She looked up at me. “Drifter, take her to my quarters. Bring the hammer. Its light will prove useful.”

  As the various Romers vanished down the stairs with their captives, I grabbed the Gloryhammer in my gloved hand. Not having any convenient place to carry it, I improvised and shoved it down the back of my shirt. I knelt and scooped Infidel into my arms. I lifted her as a groom lifts a bride across a threshold, although whatever romance the moment may have held was negated by the two inch gash on the side of Infidel’s head that gushed blood with every heartbeat. Praying that Sorrow could mend Infidel’s wound, I stepped onto the staircase and descended once more into the dark hold.

  SORROW’S LIPS WERE pressed tightly together as I arranged Infidel on the bed. Sorrow removed her cape and hung it on the back of the door, then pulled the front of my shirt open. The Gloryhammer along my spine was p
owerful enough to push beams of sunlight through the gaps in the barrel staves that formed my chest. The gore on Infidel’s brow glistened with the illumination.

  “Who knew you’d make such a convenient lantern?” Sorrow asked as she slid a towel under Infidel’s head. She went to the table in the corner and washed her hands in the basin. She then brought over the pitcher of water and a second towel and began to clean Infidel’s wound.

  “As you may suspect, I’ve some experience tending to scalp injuries,” she said. “They always look worse than they are.”

  It took only a moment to dab away the blood. Sorrow then produced a razor and scraped away a few fine hairs that extended down from Infidel’s scalp. She swabbed the area with clear fluid from a small bottle – vodka, from the smell of it. Infidel’s face clenched, despite her unconscious state.

  “This wound isn’t so bad,” said Sorrow. “But I must work fast. She may wake soon. Move one step to your left.”

  I did, as Sorrow turned Infidel’s head so that the light fell directly on the gaping flesh. I wondered for a moment if I was seeing bone beneath the gash, but it was all just amber on amber to my wooden eyes. Sorrow produced a silver needle that looked too large for the task at hand. I expected her to thread the needle, but instead the metal came to life, wriggling like a serpent, stretching and tapering until it was as thin as a hair before plunging into Infidel’s flesh. The silver filament rose and fell, rose and fell, moving through the torn skin as if it had a will of its own. In less time than it’s taken me to tell it, it reached the end of the wound and tugged itself tight. Sorrow dabbed her handiwork with a fresh corner of the towel and wiped away what blood had bubbled up during the procedure. Now that the skin was clean, no further blood seeped through. Infidel’s wound was neatly stitched together, the silver thread so fine as to almost be invisible.

  Finished with her work, Sorrow turned back the bed’s linens and commanded me to place Infidel beneath them. With her injury turned away from me, my wife looked as if she was merely sleeping.