Best Laid Plans (20 page)

‘They’re coming about,’ someone called from the prow.

‘Steady!’ bellowed Podesta, drawing his cutlass. ‘Cleto!’

Cleto’s head popped up through a trap in the deck. Nods passed between him and Podesta and then Cleto vanished back into the hold.

‘Crossbows on the foredeck!’ Podesta shouted. ‘The rest of you, defensive positions on the aftcastle. I want barricades up there—chests, tables, beds—anything you can find. You two!’ He called over a couple of petrified sailors. ‘Bring up every last flask of oil. If they look like boarding, drench the quarterdeck and then join us on the aftcastle.’

The sailors scurried off below. Shader frowned at Podesta.

‘They’re not eating my crew,’ the Captain said. ‘Just a precaution. You can never have too many plans, eh?’

The
Aura Placida
continued to sail closer to the reaver and its victim. The merchantman was floundering and there was no sign of activity on deck. The galleon, however, began to turn its port side towards them. Podesta pushed his way to the front of the ship, Shader following him.

‘What are they playing at?’ the Captain said. ‘They should be coming at us head on.’

He had a point. Shader could now see that the prow of the galleon was fitted with a heavy metal ram. One hit from that and the
Aura Placida’s
hull would be breached. That would be the end of them. The two ships were now a few hundred yards apart and Shader could see the massed furry bodies lining the rails of the reaver. A chilling roar went up from the mawgs, who began to jump and prowl about in barely suppressed frenzy.

‘Look!’ Shader said as slats on the side of the galleon’s hull slid open and metal tubes popped out.

‘What the Abyss?’ Podesta said, leaning forward to get a better view.

He leapt backwards as a wave of explosions sounded and smoke erupted from the bank of tubes. A shout of horror went up from the crew and then there was a series of splashes as heavy objects hit the water in front of the ship. Another roar went up from the mawgs as the
Aura Placida
continued to drift towards them.

‘Bring us about!’ Podesta shouted. He turned to Shader. ‘What was that?’

Shader had seen nothing like it before, but Aristodeus had once told him about thunderous weapons from a bygone era. ‘Aeterna-tech?’ he wondered out loud.

‘Perhaps,’ Podesta said. ‘But I think we can do better than that. Cleto!’

Cleto was there in an instant. Slung over his shoulder was a long cylinder made of a dull metal Shader didn’t recognize. Cleto had hold of some kind of grip with one hand, and with the other he steadied the cylinder and rested his thumb above a red circular protrusion.

‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ Podesta asked with a look of mild trepidation.

‘Not a fucking clue,’ Cleto said. ‘But there were pictures in the box. I reckon it’s a simple matter of pointing and pressing the trigger.’ He tapped his thumb against the button.

Podesta winced and gave him some room.

The bank of tubes on the galleon withdrew and then reappeared after a few moments.

‘Whatever you’ve got planned,’ Shader said, ‘now would be a good time.’

Cleto rested the cylinder on the forward rail and knelt down with his head beside it. He closed one eye, took aim, and pressed the button.

There was a deafening roar and Shader and Podesta hit the deck. Cleto was thrown back against the foremast as fire and smoke streaked from the strange weapon. Shader rolled to his feet in time to see something strike the mainsail of the galleon and erupt in flame. The top of the mast fell away and dropped towards the stunned mawgs beneath. The reaver banked and the tubes sticking from the hull drooped.

Shader ran to Cleto’s side and helped him to stand. ‘You OK?’

‘Fuck, yeah!’ Cleto said with a wide grin spreading across his pockmarked face. ‘Did I get ’em?’

‘They lost a sail,’ Shader said, ‘but I think that’s your only shot.’ He indicated the smoking cylinder that now had a split running down its length. ‘Unless you’ve got any more of those things down below.’

Podesta called out over his shoulder. ‘Only one we had, eh, Cleto? Now answer me this.’ He shot a look at Shader. ‘What the shog did Jarmin the Anchorite of Gladelvi want with one of those, uh?’

Shader left Cleto to dust himself down and rejoined Podesta at the prow. ‘They’re turning away,’ he said as the galleon increased the distance between them. ‘It’s not like mawgs to run from a fight.’

Podesta was biting hard on his knuckles. ‘Maybe they’ve got more important things to do, eh?’ He pointed at the stern of the retreating ship where a white face was staring at them from beneath a black hood.

‘We must give chase,’ Shader said. ‘We need to get the statue back.’

Podesta’s gaze switched to the floundering merchantman. ‘All in good time, my friend. Rules of the sea. Search for survivors first, eh?’

Shader opened his mouth to protest, but could see from the Captain’s face that he’d be wasting his time.

***

The waters were red around the merchantman as the longboat came alongside. Dorsal fins broke the surface, sending ripples through the blood, and here and there huge jaws burst above the waves to tear at the disgorged contents of mawgish stomachs. Shader kept as close to the centre of the boat as possible, scarcely daring to move in case he was pitched into the water amongst the sharks.

‘Hundreds of them,’ Podesta said, peering over the side. ‘No chance of survivors there.’

Shader half expected a shark to leap from the water and drag the Captain face first overboard, but Podesta seemed unperturbed.

Cleto swung a grapple up top and the three climbed aboard.

The Sahulian flag snapped and fluttered above them, but other than that there was no sign of movement. The decks were slick with gore— half-eaten limbs and regurgitated bones. Shader stepped over the torso of a man whose hands still held fast to the railing, but whose legs had been ripped away at the hips. The three trod a path between chewed-up heads and strewn entrails, holding their noses against the stench of blood, piss, and excrement. Cleto retched and then bent double as his stomach emptied. He wiped the sick from his face with the back of his sleeve.

‘Wait for us in the boat, my friend,’ Podesta said, to Cleto’s obvious relief.

Shader pressed on to the quarterdeck, a discomforting feeling growing all the while. The ship certainly matched the description of the
Ghost
they’d been given in Rujala, but there was something about it that unsettled him.

He started as a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

‘You feel it too, eh?’ Podesta said, his breath heavy in Shader’s ear. ‘Something very familiar about this ship. Look.’

A corpse held onto the wheel in a death-grip, its clothes shredded, the flesh of one half of its body stripped to the bone. The head hung to one side, attached only by the slenderest thread of sinew. The eyes were white and frozen wide, the teeth bared in a silent scream that seemed to stretch to eternity.

‘Ain,’ Shader muttered as he recognized what was left of the face. ‘Captain Diaz.’

Podesta was ashen, a single tear rolling down his cheek. ‘The
Dolphin
was the
Ghost
all along.’ He fell to his knees and let his head drop.

It looked to Shader like a gesture of prayer. He’d always thought Diaz was Podesta’s bitter enemy, but clearly the manner of Diaz’s death had touched a nerve. Then Shader recalled the Captain’s story aboard the
Aura Placida
on their way to Sahul.

Shader knelt beside Podesta and put an arm around his shoulders. ‘Come, my friend,’ he said. ‘Time to leave.’

Podesta shook him off and stood. ‘No!’ he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘You’re wrong. Go if you like, but I’m staying. Someone must have survived.’

Shader felt his cheeks flush with shame. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

Podesta held his gaze, the tears spilling freely now. He gave a curt nod and then they both turned back to the blood-spattered decks and began their search. True to his word, Podesta left no stone unturned. He scoured every cabin, searched under tables, in cupboards, growing more frantic and enraged every step. Shader followed him, but kept his distance. They searched for over an hour and Shader felt they could do no more when Podesta’s eyes turned to a loose plank in the hold.

‘Help me,’ he barked, drawing a dagger and using it to pry the board free.

Shader lifted it clear and started as something rushed past below. Podesta dropped to his front and reached into the gap.

‘Got you,’ he cried.

There was an answering yelp and then Podesta drew a young boy to the opening. The child was biting and scratching, but the Captain ignored the pain and uttered soothing words. Shader pulled the neighbouring plank away and then reached down to help Podesta lift the boy up. He was a scrawny lad, no more than nine or ten. His face was streaked with dirt, his clothes soiled with dried blood. He started to shake as he looked from Shader to Podesta, his mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out. Podesta drew the lad into an embrace and stroked the back of his head.

‘There, there,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘You’re safe now.’

Podesta raised his eyes to Shader’s. They were bloodshot and brim ming with tears.

‘Told you,’ he said with no sense of triumph. ‘Told you I’d find one.’

T
he streets were deserted, but if you looked close enough you could catch people peering through cracks in the curtains. Whatever might have befallen the centre of Sarum, the suburbs had so far been spared.

General Starn pressed his back to the wall and stole a quick glance down the alleyway, holding up a hand to halt the men behind. The sun was high in the sky and his blooming breastplate was growing more and more of a nuisance. He dug in between its bottom edge and his sore belly with the tips of his fingers. Sweat was streaming down his face and plastering his moustache over his lips. He blew to dislodge it before the tickling drove him stark raving mad. Once they were done and dusted here he’d have Mrs Starn trim it for him and put him back on a diet of herrings and oatmeal. Shed a few pounds and the armour would fit as well as it had years ago, when he’d won it at the tournament in New Ithaka— back when Troy Jance was still on speaking terms with the Emperor.

Starn was about to signal the company forward when he was barged out of the way, catching the side of his head on the wall. ‘Ooh, quite a knock that,’ he mumbled as the Emperor strode past into the alley and stood there, hands on hips.

Indomitable,
Starn thought.
Like a god of battle.
He felt a tad unworthy cowering by the wall. Not a good show to have the Emperor take the lead. Not good at all.

The thirty men of the Imperial bodyguard flowed past him, taking up their positions around Hagalle with seamless precision. Shields were raised in a defensive circle, but the Emperor stood a good head above the tallest of the soldiers and suddenly looked vulnerable. A single arrow was all it would take. It didn’t matter that the enemy thus far had been reported as walking corpses; a good general always had to plan for the worst.

The shield wall parted for Starn as he took up his place beside the Emperor.

‘Makes a change,’ Hagalle growled. ‘The scouts were right. Nothing. No movement in the northern suburbs. What would you say, General, press on to the central district and get a good look at the enemy ourselves?’

Starn scrunched his face up and tugged at his moustache. He’d have preferred a steady advance with the main army, but Duke Farian had been left to arrange that whilst Hagalle insisted on going ahead to make sure the scouts hadn’t been lying. Starn had learnt long ago there was no point arguing with the Emperor. He was a man of action, a brave man— whatever the slanderers might say. A man worthy to be followed.

‘Lost your tongue again, Starn?’ The Emperor rolled his eyes and Starn lowered his, feeling an utter disappointment.

‘I was going to say…’ he stammered, hating himself for his inability to speak in front of authority.

‘What is it I pay you for, Starn?’ Hagalle raised his voice and the sniggers started amongst the soldiers. ‘Because I’m damned if I can remember. Wait here for Farian, if you like, but us men are pressing on. I want a good look at these ghouls for myself. You can never have too much reconnaissance, Starn. Never.’