Dark Currents

by Lindsay Buroker

  Engrossed in his examination, he did not answer.

  “He’s probably responsible for most of them,” Books muttered.

  “Have you seen anything in here you can use to get us under the water?” she asked him.

  “I’ll look.” Books took a couple of steps but paused when nobody followed him.

  Maldynado, Akstyr, and Basilard were watching Sicarius, who was poking at one of the wounds with his knife. Amaranthe’s belly squirmed.

  “Company would be appreciated,” Books said.

  Maldynado ambled over and threw an arm around his shoulders. “Booksie, you’re not afraid to go off alone in the dark, are you?”

  Books shucked the arm. “Of course not. Anything suitable to be used as a diving bell will be heavy. I’ll need someone large, muscle-bound, and brutish to lift it.”

  “Maldynado’s your man,” Akstyr said.

  “Akstyr is mocking me?” Maldynado pressed a hand to his chest. “That shouldn’t be allowed. He’s barely old enough to show a lady a good time.”

  “Go.” Amaranthe shooed Books and Maldynado. “Take Basilard too. Akstyr, you’re with Sicarius and me. I want to know if there’s any magic about. We won’t go far.”

  The three men took a lantern and shuffled away. Sicarius had finished his examination of the body.

  “Makarovi?” Amaranthe asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It looks like this fellow was running toward the exit when it caught him,” Amaranthe said. “Shall we take a walk and see where he came from?”

  Sicarius’s look reminded her they were supposed to be here for Books’s tools, not a monster hunt, but he led onward. He paused to pick up an army-issue rifle, the hammer uncocked. A bloody knife lay a few meters away.

  “Looks like he got a couple of blows in before…” She waved toward the dead man.

  “Yes, there are blood drops about,” Sicarius said. “Makarovi are difficult to kill.”

  “Good thing we have Akstyr.” Amaranthe noticed the young man’s face had grown pale beneath his unshaven stubble. “Perhaps our fledgling wizard will have a few tricks for them.”

  “You should have given me a book on monster slaying if you wanted that,” he said.

  More bellows and gunfire sounded in the distance. Sicarius led them through the rows of machinery. Their lanterns reflected off the metal parts, creating tiny eyes in the darkness. Amaranthe found herself wishing for a window, even if it only gazed out upon a night-darkened river or forest.

  “Ought to be gaslights in here somewhere…” She trailed off as a new stench came to her nose. Rotting flesh.

  “Ungh,” Akstyr grunted.

  As they continued forward, the odor grew stronger. Breathing through her mouth did not help as much as Amaranthe wished it would.

  Sicarius paused and faced a snarl of pipes and machinery.

  “Light,” he said.

  Amaranthe handed him the lantern.

  He raised it and stepped closer. The light revealed…too much.

  A woman in the shredded remains of a city worker’s uniform hung over a horizontal pipe, her back bent in an impossible arch. Her torso was split open, her insides ravaged. No, Amaranthe corrected, feasted upon.

  Bile rose in her throat. She ripped her gaze away, turned her back, and bent over her knees. She gasped for air, not wanting to vomit. The sight she could block out, but the stench surrounded her. The air was too close, too confining.

  Nearby, somebody retched. Akstyr. She clasped a hand over her own mouth, fighting the reflex to do the same.

  Sicarius rested his hand on her shoulder. Amaranthe closed her eyes, and forced calmness into her breaths. Like him.

  After a moment she found, if not detachment, control.

  She nodded to Sicarius. “I’m all right.”

  He went for a closer look at the corpse. Akstyr wiped a sleeve across his mouth. If he had been pale before, he was white now. Though apparently too shaky to make an excuse, he avoided her eyes. She was glad for his presence. While she appreciated Sicarius, especially his support, his unflappability sometimes made her feel too human. Too weak.

  “This happened more than a week ago,” Sicarius said when he returned to her side.

  “When things were just getting started.” Amaranthe gestured for him to continue onward. She did not want to linger where the stench hung so thickly.

  They soon reached another narrow tunnel identical to the one that had brought them into the large chamber. Sicarius paused before the last machine and plucked a tuft of fur off a protruding lever. He sniffed it, then handed it to Amaranthe.

  Though smelling fur could do little enlighten her, she obliged him by inhaling. Earthy, musky, and distinct. Her recently riled stomach churned anew at the hint of blood.

  “That’s their smell?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Sicarius said.

  “It sounds like you’ve encountered them before. Personally.”

  “Once.”

  “On your—” she glanced at Akstyr and lowered her voice, “—mission to Mangdoria?”

  “Yes,” Sicarius said.

  “Did it attack you? And you killed it?”

  He turned his back to Akstyr. “It chased me out of the mountain pass. I sunk several of my throwing knives into its face and torso, but it kept coming. I eventually climbed a cliff where it could not follow to escape it.”

  “Oh.”

  They need not have worried about Akstyr overhearing. He wore a distant expression and faced away from them, toward some corner or object hidden by darkness.

  “How did our ancestors kill them?” Amaranthe asked.

  “Battles of attrition,” Sicarius said. “If you drive enough holes into them, they’ll eventually die, but even head shots are not certain to kill. They have blubber and skulls thick enough to withstand firearms and bows. There are stories of cannons being used. A couple of drownings. Their density makes them poor swimmers.”

  Amaranthe perked up. “Poor swimmers? We’re surrounded by water. Maybe we could convince them to jump in.”

  Sicarius grunted dubiously.

  A rifle fired. Here, at the tunnel entrance, the noise was louder than it had been earlier. She eyed the stygian passage, debating whether to go deeper.

  “If they catch your scent,” Sicarius said, “you won’t be able to escape them, and we lack the firepower to stop them.”

  “Right,” Amaranthe said. “Let’s check the rest of this chamber and see if there’s anything of interest.” Such as giant vats of water they could use to drown monsters.

  “This way,” Akstyr said, surprising her.

  Before she could ask why, he strode to the left, following the wall away from the tunnel. His head was up, almost like a hound following a scent.

  Shrugging, Amaranthe trailed after him. His senses led him past a broken machine, its flywheel torn off and bolts scattering the floor. They came to a corner, and she thought Akstyr would turn to follow the new wall, but he stopped and pressed his palms against the concrete.

  Amaranthe shifted from foot to foot while Sicarius stood guard. A distant flame glowed, visible between a pair of thick vertical pipes. She assumed the lantern belonged to Books and the others. If they were standing still, perhaps they had found something useful.

  “Something Made behind here,” Akstyr said, dropping his hands.

  “You’re not sensing the thing at the bottom of the lake, are you?” Amaranthe asked. “We’ve descended below the surface of the water.”

  “Wrong side,” Sicarius said.

  Amaranthe retraced their route in her mind. He was right. This wall stood between them and the waterfall side of the dam, not the lake side.

  “It’s a similar feel, but smaller,” Akstyr said. “Less energy and…there are more devices.”

  “More magical devices?”

  “Intricate ones, yeah.”

  “Somebody’s got an active hobby shop going.” Amaranthe touched the wall. It thrummed with the
power of thousands of gallons of water flowing overhead, but she could sense nothing else.

  “A master Maker,” Akstyr said, his tone reverent. “I can tell from the sophistication of the work. I can’t wait to get a look at the artifact in the lake. I bet it’s brilliant.”

  “So…” Amaranthe said. “You think our opponent is some genius craftsman who’s probably a lot smarter than any of us.”

  “Daunted?” Sicarius asked quietly.

  “Of course not. You know I like a challenge.” She wondered if her confident smile was at all convincing.

  They explored the chamber further and found more machinery and more dead bodies: some fresh—soldiers—and some not—dam employees. They came upon the rest of the team in an alcove on the lake-side of the chamber. Basilard, Maldynado, and Books bent over crates, their backs to the entrance. Piles of tubing, tools, and smashed wooden casks scattered the floor, as well as boots and a heap of leather material or perhaps clothing.

  Amaranthe cleared her throat.

  The men jumped. A large, brass helmet clanked to the floor.

  “Watch,” Sicarius said.

  Nobody misinterpreted the single word. Basilard grabbed his rifle, jogged to the corner, and put his back against the wall to stand guard.

  “Sorry. We got distracted.” Books waved to encompass the alcove. Pegboards full of tools hung from the walls and equipment cluttered workbenches. “This place is perfect.”

  Amaranthe shrugged. “You’re the ones who’ll get eaten if a makarovi sneaks up on you.”

  “But, we’ll look extra fine when they come.” Maldynado plucked the helmet off the floor and deposited it over his curls. It engulfed his head and neck, and a stiff, leather bib extended a couple of inches down his chest and upper back. A glass faceplate in the center allowed a view of his broad grin. Hinges, bolts, and flat cylinders sticking out at the ears made him look like something that had crawled out of a scrap pile at a smelter. “What do you think?” he asked, voice muffled. “Fetching, eh?”

  “You look like a discarded toy built by a drunken automata maker,” Books said.

  “Huh?” Maldynado ticked a fingernail against an ear cylinder. “Hard to hear in here.”

  “You look great,” Amaranthe said. “The ladies at the Pirates’ Plunder will be sure to give you special rates.”

  “Special high rates,” Akstyr said.

  Maldynado tugged the helmet off. “The right person could make brass fashionable.”

  “What is all this?” Amaranthe asked.

  Books took the helmet from Maldynado, tossing in a shoulder shove to butt him out of the way. “Diving gear. Helmets, body suits, and even gloves. I wasn’t hoping for anything this ideal, but it makes sense that workers would have to be able to go out and inspect the dam from time to time.”

  “You mean we can put those on and go down to the bottom of the lake?” Dare she hope it would be that easy?

  “Well, there’s a problem.”

  Ah, she knew it.

  Books nudged one of the shattered casks. “The suits are more advanced than what I’ve read about, and I’m not positive how everything works, but I believe these are—were—for supplying air. They’ve all been destroyed.”

  “Whoever stuck that device on the lake bottom probably didn’t want people visiting it,” Amaranthe said.

  “I imagine not.” Books scratched his jaw. “But there’s a lot of tubing in that crate over there. Naval diving is done with surface supplied air. Perhaps with time I could rig something up. Enough for two suits anyway.”

  “Take whatever and whomever you need to help,” Amaranthe said.

  “Akstyr definitely needs to go down,” Books said.

  “And see the artifact up close?” Akstyr grinned and plucked a helmet out of a crate. “Nice.”

  “And probably me as well.” Books sighed.

  “Not me?” Maldynado reached for the helmet in Books’s hands.

  “No.” Books wrapped his arms more tightly about it. “Akstyr knows about magic, so he must go. And I know…everything else.”

  Maldynado snorted. “Fine, then I can stay up top and watch. I want to see these things working.”

  “I require a serious and trustworthy assistant up above, watching over things.”

  “You insult me, Books,” Maldynado said. “More than usual.”

  “Take Basilard instead,” Amaranthe said. “As for the rest of us, shall we go back outside and help Books or go find…” The soldiers? The makarovi? The new magical doodads Akstyr sensed?

  “Trouble?” Sicarius suggested.

  “That’s…probably a word that encompasses everything I’m thinking of,” she admitted.

  “Was not the plan to leave the makarovi for the soldiers?” he said.

  “That was before we knew about the additional magic. And if they’ve sent for reinforcements, they may really need our help.”

  “Amaranthe,” Sicarius said, voice low. The others had turned back to the equipment, all save Basilard who remained on watch, attention outward. Sicarius drew her to the side. “If there are many makarovi, we’ll not be able to defeat them.”

  “We’ll think of something. Besides, wouldn’t it be great if we could do something heroic right in front of the soldiers?”

  “Heroics get people killed,” Sicarius said.

  Clanks sounded as Akstyr and Maldynado rummaged in a new crate.

  “They get people noticed too.” Amaranthe held his gaze but did not sense any give behind his eyes. “We’ll be fine. We have a well-trained group of men with unique talents and skills.”

  “Ouch, ouch, get it off!” Maldynado hollered.

  He was hopping about with a hand clamp hanging from…ah, that was a nipple. Amaranthe dropped her face into her hands.

  “Oops,” Akstyr said.

  Amaranthe avoided Sicarius’s gaze as she helped Maldynado unfasten himself. “Need anything else, Books? How long will it take you to set up?”

  He lifted a hand. “I should not wish to make promises about time or even success. If that artifact is as deep as Maldynado believes, we may have trouble with water pressure. Bones and muscle can hold up, but air-filled spaces in our bodies, such as the ears and lungs—”

  “Books,” Maldynado groaned.

  “If we do go in, we should walk in from the shore and gradually let our bodies acclimate. Likewise, it could be hazardous to come up quickly.”

  “All right,” Amaranthe said. “Go get set up. You can wait for us to return to go into the water. I don’t want you somewhere vulnerable without lots of help up above to ensure you’re kept safe.”

  Books blew out a relieved breath. “Good.”

  “Of course, if we all get eaten, you’ll have to do it on your own,” she said.

  Books’s relieved expression turned to a worried frown. Even Sicarius gave her a dark stare.

  Amaranthe patted Books on the arm. “We’ll be careful.”

  She headed for the main chamber, but Maldynado paused and pointed at Books.

  “Watch out for the giant man-sized catfish while you’re down on the lake bottom. I hear they’re carnivorous.”

  Books scoffed. “Those are stories told by uneducated rural mountain folk, nothing more.”

  “Sure, Booksie. You believe what you want to believe. Just make sure to take a sword down there. Can’t fire a rifle underwater, you know.”

  “You’re a bastard at times,” Amaranthe told Maldynado when he fell in beside her. Sicarius was already leading the way toward the tunnel.

  “Yup, but he deserved it. I wouldn’t have done anything unsafe when he was underwater.”

  “Perhaps it’s your insouciant manner that leads others to believe you shouldn’t be placed in positions of responsibility.”

  “Yes,” Maldynado said, “but I thought Books bright enough to see past a man’s painstakingly cultivated levels of insouciance.” He wriggled his eyebrows.

  “Are you saying you have hidden depths?”
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  Maldynado scratched an armpit. “Naturally.”

  “Hm,” was all she said.

  The new tunnel, too, dripped copious amounts of water and stank of mildew. It continued to slope downward and soon came to a T-section. A faint draft of fresh air whispered from the right. Maybe that passage led to the top of the dam where those towers perched.

  “Left,” Amaranthe said when Sicarius paused. “Akstyr’s magic is that direction, right?”

  Wordlessly, Sicarius headed left. They reached a doorway in the side of the tunnel. Inside lay a small room with a panel on a wall, hanging diagrams, a desk and chair, and a series of levers.

  Amaranthe unclasped a bolt and pushed on the panel. It slid sideways, opening a window of sorts. The roar of water intensified, and cool misty air gusted inside, spraying dampness onto her face. A panoply of stars gleamed in a clear, black sky, while a quarter moon shone silver on three streams of water pouring from flood gates open beneath them. A half a dozen more closed flood gates marked the dam wall.

  Maldynado joined her. “Looks like we found the control room.”

  “I wonder how they open and close those heavy gates.” Amaranthe leaned out and twisted her neck to peer upward, but whatever mechanism did the work was hidden in the walls.

  “Here.” Sicarius stood behind them, an eye toward the exit, but he pointed at one in a series of diagrams on the wall.

  Amaranthe studied it. “Ah, I see. Those things on the top of the dam aren’t watchtowers after all. Or at least they’re not just watchtowers.”

  The diagram showed cranes housed in each structure with cables that could pull up the heavy gates. The next display riveted her attention for longer. It displayed vertical and horizontal lines—pipelines—and the topography of the surrounding area, all the way down to Stumps and the lake.

  She ran her finger along the diagram. “This pipe routes water to the aqueducts that lead into the city. These go to fields. The river itself flows south and empties into Little Sister Lake over one hundred miles from the capital. Whichever emperor was in charge when this was built sure didn’t mind making a lot of extra work for people.”

  “Isn’t that every emperor that’s ever existed?” Maldynado asked. “Making work, that’s their job, isn’t it?”