Out Through the Attic (17 page)

In that cool darkness, broken only by his single lamp and a barrel of ship oil, time lost all meaning. His belly had told him to eat nine times, and his body had convinced him thrice that it needed sleep. Beyond that he had no idea how much time had passed. When he wasn’t eating or sleeping, he’d occupied himself with sorting and stacking the piles of goods that surrounded him.

What his savior (and he’d considered capitalizing that word more than once) had so easily described as ‘other things’ turned out to be no less than a miracle—two miracles, in fact—that would change the world.

Yet she had not returned.

The symphony lulled him to sleep.

O O O

A surge and splash of water startled Plat out of a magnificent, glorious dream.

“Your friends are here,” a metallic voice lifted up from the surface of the water, beyond where the light reached. “It’s time for you to go.”

“May I see you?” he asked.

“No. Please turn out the light.”

He sighed, desperately wanting to see the face of his Savior. “As you wish.” Plat lifted the oilskin-wrapped object and slipped the strap he’d made for it over his shoulder. Then he dimmed the lantern, taking one last look at the yellowish gleam that spread out on the opposite side of the cavern from the crates and other supplies. Darkness folded in once again. He heard a swirling of water as his Savior approached him. “You said that all of this was mine,” he said, speaking towards the movement in the water. He hesitated, fearing the answer to his next question. “Did you mean it?”

The answer came instantly. “Yes. The world needs someone like you. Someone willing to risk himself to save others. As yet most of my people lack the programming to defend themselves.”

Programming?
he thought. He wanted to ask what it meant, but she continued on.

“You may return any time you like and take whatever you need. I suspect a being like you might just be the savior my people … and your own … need.”

He knew what she was saying … what she wanted of him in return. And he was more than willing.

“Thank you,” he replied, humbly. “I will,” he promised. And it
was
a promise. He’d never thought of himself as a savior, but what he could see of his future led in a straight line towards the Raelish empire.

He stepped gingerly down into the water, careful not to fall in the darkness, and felt tentacles gently run along his body. He took a deep breath, felt small, firm hands grip his own and then they dove beneath the surface.

They flew through the tunnel. The pale circle of blue grew larger and larger as they neared the cave entrance. As they passed through, Plat’s savior released his hands and pointed towards the surface. With a swirl of tentacles and a bloom of dark ink that blotted out his vision, she disappeared, but not before Plat got one good look at it … at
her.

Pale brown hair framed an angular, simian face as smooth and pale as alabaster. Her eyes were blue, and the cut of her leather waistcoat exposed something remarkable. A circle had been cut out in the middle of her chest. Plat assumed it had been cut into her flesh, and while it might have been, what was exposed by that circle was not.

Clockwork.

Her insides were clockwork. Like Faen. Like the automatons. She was one of them …
and a great deal more
.

Plat stroked hard towards the surface, his webbed hands pulling heavily at the water, his webbed feet kicking furiously as his wide tail swished to and fro. As he neared the surface, he spotted the gleaming, bronze keel of
The Kraken
. He’d recognize his own ship from any angle.

He breached the surface with a splash, dazzled briefly by the bright, noonday sunshine as it reflected in blinding flashes off the sea swells.

“Ahoy!” he cried, waving his arm high over his head.

He spotted figures jumping and pointing on the mid-deck. Someone ran inside, and a moment later
The Kraken
veered towards him. She was a magnificent vessel, a submersible with long line, gentle curves, and sharp edges. Her pointed bow stretched like a spear in the sunshine, cutting through the water, and her short conn tower angled back towards the stern. A bronze railing surrounded the long mid-deck, and the stern rose slowly at a shallow angle that tapered off just above her massive screws.

Plat wondered who was in command. A pang of pain and guilt laced its way through his thoughts. He’d managed to put Dimont far from his mind, down in the depths, but now there was no escaping the loss.

The Kraken
slowed as it approached, and Plat heard her mighty engines reverse as she pulled alongside him. He gripped a rung of the ladder set into the ship’s hull and started up. A motion above caught his eye, and he looked up into the blue eyes and striped, furry face of Lana. Upon her shoulder sat Clive. And Plat had never been so glad to see either a tavern maid or a bird in his entire life. He pulled himself up onto the deck and looked at what appeared to be most of his crew, undoubtedly above decks to search for him.

He gave Lana a hug, and then a kiss, and then another, longer hug. The seagull hopped from Lana’s shoulder to Plat’s.

“Thank you,” he whispered in Lana’s ear.

She held up his belt, the pistol and sword swinging in the breeze.

“It’s nice of you to remember, Lana, but I don’t think I’ll be needing them.” She gave him a confused look and then slung the belt over her shoulder.

“Clive?” he said turning towards the bird on his shoulder.

“SQWAAAAK! Aye, Cap’n?”

“That was you the whole time, wasn’t it? At the warehouse? Aboard Caan’s ship?”

“SQWAAAAK! Aye, Cap’n!”

Plat ran a finger under the seagull’s throat, eliciting a quiet, satisfied grumbling sound from the bird.

“Then it’s all the crackers, anchovies and whatever else you can eat. For the rest of your life. I owe you one,” Plat added, patting the bird on the head.

“
YES CAP’N
!” Clive flapped his wings excitedly.

Turning to his crew, Plat smiled. “It’s good to see you all,” he said. “But who’s in command? Tierney?” Every set of eyes shifted from Plat to something behind him.

“It’s customary for even the Captain to request permission to come aboard
The Kraken
,” a familiar voice grated behind.

Plat froze in place and smiled. “It can’t be,” he whispered. He turned and took in the green countenance of Dimont, leaning against the doorway to the inner deck. A dark bruise and severe rope burn ran around his entire neck. “You son of a bitch!” Plat shouted. “I saw you hang!”

Dimont shrugged … hard to do when you’re a turtle … and said, “Aww, c’mon, Cap’n. You know us turtles can hold our breath even longer than platypi can. Them dumb, Raelish bastards cut me down after they was finished with you and dumped me out a back door into the bay.”

Plat strode to his First Mate and embraced him, slapping him on the back.

“It’s good to see you, my friend. Damn good to see you.” Plat was teary eyed. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Permission granted! Sir!” Dimont saluted.

Plat returned it and said, “Let’s head on home. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Well, we’re not out of this fix yet. If you’ll look astern, you’ll note a Raelish frigate steaming towards us. She’s powered, sir. Not a sailing vessel.”

Plat turned and spotted the dark plume of smoke from about a mile off. “Well, it can’t be Caan,” he said, disappointed.

“What’ll we do, Cap’n?”

“Are you sure it’s just one?” Plat asked.

“Yessir,” Dimont said confidently. “Caan has every Raelish vessel out of Hamerheim spread up and down the coast looking for us.” Dimont nodded to the frigate closing on them. “I’m sure they’ve spotted us, but any help they might expect will be hours away.”

“Then come about. Head straight for those Raelish pigs. And give me all the speed you can muster!”

“Sir?”

“You heard me, Mister Dimont!” There was a fierce determination in Plat’s voice. Dimont had heard it many times before and knew what it meant: death or glory.

“
SIR!
” Dimont shouted and disappeared back into
The Kraken
.

“The rest of you …
BATTLESTATIONS
!” Plat shouted. He pulled the oilskin from off his shoulder. “Move like you’ve got a purpose!”

Even Lana dashed inside, although Plat was certain she had no idea of what to do. He closed the hatch behind them.
The Kraken’s
engines roared. A fountain of water blossomed from the stern as her screws bit deeply into the water. The ship lurched ahead, gaining speed quickly.

“You ready for a little payback, Clive?”

“Aye aye, Cap’n
!
SQWAAAAK!”

Captain Plat made his way around the conn tower of
The Kraken
, stopping at the narrow bow of the ship. The Raelish frigate was now a mile off.

“SQWAAAAK! What’s the Cap’n got?”
Clive asked, his gravelly voice sounding clearly curious.

“Just an antique, Clive,” Plat replied easily.

A wave splashed up from the bow of the ship as the ocean sped by. The wind made Plat’s longcoat billow and flutter. Clive had to grip tightly to stay on Plat’s shoulder.

A puff of black smoke appeared at the bow of the frigate, followed several seconds later by a boom. There was a splash of water far astern and to the left. Plat turned and motioned to Dimont who was safe behind the thick glass of the bridge. He waved his hand back and forth and then pointed ahead. Dimont nodded.

The ship veered hard to port fifteen degrees and then raced at an angle, still closing the gap between
The Kraken
and the frigate. Twenty seconds later
The Kraken
veered again, this time to starboard thirty degrees. Several more puffs of black smoke appeared on the bow of the frigate. The reports of its heavy guns came even sooner, although the splashes appeared further off than the first one.

Plat released the leather straps of his package and peeled away layer upon layer of oilcloth. As the last fold dropped away, lost in the waves beneath the bow of the ship, he revealed a slim, silver rifle of a design no one alive had ever seen or even dreamed of.

More gunfire erupted from the frigate, and Dimont veered yet again. The shots hit closer this time but were still far enough not to worry Plat. He raised the rifle and placed its scope to his eye. The ship, a thousand yards away, bloomed to ten times its size in the tiny image within the scope. Plat lowered the barrel slightly, placing the tiny cross hairs at the waterline of the frigate.

“I hope this works,” Plat muttered. He’d fired it once at the water when he found the thing at the back of the cave … along with others like it. He’d eventually figured out where it came from, although he had no idea what powered it. But it was a rifle … a rifle that unleashed hell itself.

He pulled the trigger. There was a flash, and a hiss of energy that sounded like red-hot iron dropped into ice water.

The water line near the bow of the frigate erupted in a flash of steam and molten metal. Through the scope Plat saw a hole the size of a man at the waterline, half of the hole lay beneath the pressure wave of the oncoming vessel.

He fired again.

And again.

And again.

Plat dotted a wide line of destruction along the side of the frigate, knowing that tons upon tons of water poured into the belly of an already doomed ship.

An explosion detonated near the stern of the frigate, sending metal plates and men sailing into the sky. Another explosion erupted amidships.

The frigate listed to port. With a groan of bending metal, the ship’s back broke, and she keeled over on her side, flames pouring out of the gaping holes now visible in her deck. Dimont turned hard to port once again and set a course away from the dying frigate.

With the rifle resting easily over his shoulder, Plat strolled back to the main deck and waited for his crew to open the hatch once again.

When they did, Dimont stood before him, his eyes full of awe as he stared at the rifle.

“Cap’n,” he blurted, “where in the name of nine hells did you get such a thing.”

Plat ignored the question. “Dimont, we’re going to build ourselves a fleet and raise us an army.”

Dimont was taken aback, looking confused. “Pardon me fer askin’, Cap’n, but how the hell are we gonna do that? We can barely afford to keep
The Kraken
afloat. You plannin’ on going full pirate with that little pop-gun?”

A bright gleam, borne of golden mountains lit Captain Angios Plat’s eyes.

“Trust me, my friend.” Plat slapped his First Mate on the shoulder and stared at the horizon where he knew the heart of the Raelish Empire waited. He would first crush Commander Caan, and then he would turn upon the Empire and wreak such vengeance upon it that the pillars of history itself would shake to their foundations.

He fingered the pendant about his neck. Faen’s pendant. “I was saved, Dimont. By what I can’t really say, but it showed me something. Gave it to me, actually. Beneath us is a cave, and in that cave are riches beyond our imagination. There was enough treasure down there to buy a hundred ships … a
thousand.
And there were more of
these
.” Plat held up the slim, silver rifle. “Thousands more. It’s not just gold down there, Dimont. It’s history. It’s the knowledge of the simians, gone these forty thousand years. And we’re going to use it to change the world …
free
it.”

BA
BY W
EI

Originally appeared in It Lives: What Hath Mother Wrought from RuneWright Publishing in June, 2011.

For three days she’d thought only of three-hundred-thirty-five babies waiting for her, and the though made her nauseous. From the moment she’d hung up the phone with her old mentor Dr. Hayes, through the flight from Athens, Greece, to the limo ride that felt more like a funeral procession than a business trip, the thought of those comatose infants had filled her waking … and
dreaming
mind.

The dream she’d had on the plane was both surreal and terrifying. In it a cacophony of infant cries filled her mind to the point of breaking, but not a sound broke upon the silence which cradled the suffocating darkness wrapped around her. Out of the darkness swelled a shape. Glowing faintly from an inner light, it was a mass of flesh, with newborn faces and limbs scattered across its pink surface. Although the cries filled her mind, the faces were calm, sleeping, as if borne upon the aspect of a dreaming child safe in its mother’s arms. As the great mass of flesh approached her in the darkness, a single, great eye of translucent blue opened. She felt its razor-sharp mind dance across her flesh and pierce her consciousness, peeking and prying into the whole of her existence. It was done not as a violation, however, but as a gentle exploration achieved with all the care of a gifted surgeon. Then a mouth split across the surface of the flesh, and for a moment it smiled before opening into a gaping maw that stretched wider and wider.