The League of Sharks (24 page)

Hobie looked to the sky. ‘That was very impressive. Thank you,' he said.

He took the rope from around his neck and set off for home.

The Brotherhood of the One True God, Pire, had no purpose in life other than to protect the key, and after hundreds of years of protecting it successfully they had become complacent. That was the only way Brother Antor could explain how they had lost the box so easily. That and Brother Rard's abject stupidity at bringing the boy into the monastery.

No.

No, it was wrong to blame Brother Rard. The blame must lie squarely with Brother Antor himself. Passing the buck was the refuge of a coward. Brother Antor knew he was not that. Over the years, he had done everything he thought was right with Brother Rard, but clearly it was not enough. He glanced at the young monk. He would have to punish him of course and severely. Though what Brother Rard wouldn't understand was that Brother Antor would really be punishing himself. Whatever he did to Brother Rard – burn his flesh, blind his eyes, break his feet – he would really be doing to himself. Not literally, but it would hurt just as much. Though not as much.

The forty-seven monks who resided in the monastery of the One True God, Pire, now stood on a stony beach gazing out at the
Casabia
, anchored a mile offshore. The tide lapped around their booted feet. They were all armed with a collection of staffs, swords and bows.

Brother Antor marched into the water and the others followed. They kept walking until the sea was over their heads.

*

The colour had returned to Otravinicus's skin thanks to Cascér. He tapped her meaty thigh as an indicator that he would very much like to get up now. She unfurled her long limbs and Otravinicus scuttled free.

He stood on the spot and turned slowly, looking all around at the thousands of rectangles of green light glistening in the blackness.

‘It's so beautiful,' he said. A tear bloomed in the corner of his eye and ran down his face. He looked over at Junk, who was also gazing up at all the doors. The last time he had been here he hadn't had time to stop and appreciate the Room's inherent beauty. ‘You did it, Junk. You did it.'

They heard Cascér swear in H'rtu behind them and they turned to see her looking down at her arms. The protective commust fluid was starting to dissolve.

‘Navoora
Casabia
chachin zuc harutuk,' she said.

Otravinicus looked at Junk. ‘She says that you need to go back to the
Casabia
and bring us down some more fluid sacs before yours dissolves too. Otherwise we won't
be able to swim back up.' Junk looked at his torso. His covering was still intact.

‘OK,' he said. ‘I'll be as quick as I can.' He started back for the door they had come through.

Otravinicus stepped into his path. ‘Why don't you leave that here?' He pointed to the box in Junk's hand. Junk's gut instinct told him that was a bad idea.

‘Probably best I take it with me,' said Junk. ‘I mean if the door closes while I'm on the other side, I won't be able to get back in, will I?'

Otravinicus glowered but couldn't argue with that logic. ‘I suppose so,' he said, turning away. ‘Just don't be long.'

‘Sure,' said Junk. He dropped the box into the netting bag slung around him and jumped back through the door.

*

Junk was spat out on to the seabed and saw the markers they had lowered from the
Casabia
to indicate the last resting place of the
Pegasus
. He got his bearings and started for the surface.

After a few moments the hull of the
Casabia
came into view and Junk powered upwards through the water towards a ladder on the port side. The bottom fifth of the ladder was submerged. Junk reached out for it. He could see blue sky above now. What happened next happened quickly. A dark shape fell from the boat. As it plunged towards the water and Junk, it grew larger and more distinct. However, Junk only had time to acknowledge it was coming but not get out of its way. It turned out to be
a monk. A member of the Brotherhood of the One True God, Pire. His name had been Brother Guge, but Junk had never met him and never would. He was dead before he hit the water. A metal hook with a perpendicular wooden handle was embedded in his ear.

Dead Brother Guge hit the water hard and sank rapidly. He collided violently with Junk, knocking the air out of his lungs. Brother Guge's velocity forced Junk back down. The impact ripped part of the commust suit and the seawater flooded in. Brother Guge continued to sink and Junk went with him. The seawater found its way into Junk's mouth and he started to splutter. With a surge of panic, he realized he might drown.

Junk pushed up against Brother Guge's body and shifted the dead man's weight to one side, causing him to roll off. Dead Brother Guge continued his descent as Junk turned and clawed his way to the surface.

As Junk emerged into the air and filled his lungs, coughing up the saltwater, he was instantly aware of a commotion coming from the
Casabia
. He could hear the sounds of battle.

Another body fell from above and splashed into a watery grave. In the split second before he sank Junk saw the face of Hortez, the ship's cook. He was as dead as Brother Guge.

Junk grabbed hold of a rung on the ladder and started to climb. The higher he got, the louder the sounds of fighting became. As he reached the top he peered cautiously over the side of the ship. The monks
of the Order of the One True God, Pire, had boarded the vessel. Straight away he saw that Hundrig and his crew were heavily outnumbered. There looked to be about fifty monks versus the nine remaining crew members and Lasel and Garvan. Hundrig and some of the bigger members of the crew were fighting three or four at once. Garvan was holding six monks off with apparent ease. He didn't appear to notice any of the blows he received.

Lasel was no fighter, but she was quick and agile and used that to her advantage. As Junk pulled himself up on to the deck, a pair of monks were coming at her from opposite directions. The one on the left swung his sword. The one on the right was armed with what looked like a medieval mace: a crudely formed metal sphere atop a long wooden handle. This he let fly, launching it at Lasel. She jumped up, planting a foot firmly on the mace-wielding monk's chest and pushing off. She twisted balletically as she went, arching her back. The mace went over her and the sword passed under her. The momentum of the two monks' swings made them lose their balance. The sword cut the throat of the mace-wielder and the mace mashed the face of the swordsman. Each fell into a heap on the ground and Lasel landed firmly between them.

Junk ran across to her, keeping low and zigzagging to avoid the weapons caning the air. Lasel spotted him and came to meet him.

Another of the monks, a powerfully large man, stumbled into Junk's path, crashing down on to one knee and roaring in pain as he did so. He steadied himself
and looked up into Junk's eyes. Junk froze. The monk's gaze was pulled down to the box held in the netting bag hanging at Junk's side. He made a grab for it, but as he did so Lasel landed on his back and drove him face first into the deck. He was left dazed and spitting out teeth.

Lasel seized Junk by the hand and hauled him across to a cluster of packing crates. She pulled him behind the crates, out of sight.

‘They're here for you and for that,' she said, pointing to the box.

‘Of course they are,' said Junk. ‘Listen, it works. We've found the Room of Doors. Otravinicus and Cascér are down there now.'

There was an almighty crash and Hundrig landed hard on his back next to them. He was bloodied and bruised but still raring to go. He was about to scramble back to his feet when he spotted Lasel and Junk.

‘Junk! When did you get back?'

‘Just now,' said Junk. ‘We've found the Room of Doors! It's where I said. We can all get in there. The monks won't follow – they think they'll die if they go in. But we need more commust sacs.'

Hundrig nodded towards the top deck at the stern. ‘Whole bag of them up there. Get Garvan and go.'

‘No,' said Junk. ‘All of us should go. This is my fault.'

‘I won't argue with that, but you're a sailor, Junk. You know I can't abandon the
Casabia
. Nor would any of my crew. This is our home. Go now. There's no time.'

‘But, Captain—'

‘Don't fret about us. We're tough old birds. A few God-botherers can't stop us. I'll see you again, Junk.' Hundrig put a fatherly hand on Junk's head.

‘I've got an idea,' said Junk. ‘Get ready to set sail. I can get them off the ship.'

‘Junk, no …'

But Junk didn't give Hundrig time to finish. He jumped up and grabbed Lasel by the hand. The two of them sprinted across the deck, heading for the steps leading up to the top deck. They went via Garvan, who was busy punching as many monks as he could.

‘Junk, you're back.'

‘Come on,' said Junk. ‘We're going. Got us a plan. Can you swim?'

‘Course I can,' said Garvan, following Junk and Lasel to the top deck. ‘I lived on an island. Who lives on an island and can't swim?' Garvan paused to punch a few more monks before carrying on.

It was quiet on the top deck, the battle being confined to the main deck. They found the bag of fluid sacs. It took two to coat Garvan. Once all three were covered, Garvan and Lasel gathered together the remaining sacs and all their clothes, as well as those belonging to Otravinicus and Cascér, sealed them in a waterproof sack and slipped silently overboard and started swimming downwards, following the markers as Junk had instructed.

Junk gave them as much time as he thought they needed and then jumped up on to the balustrade surrounding the top deck.

‘BROTHER ANTOR!' he roared at top of his lungs. Little by little, the battle beneath him stopped and all eyes turned to Junk. Brother Antor stepped forward and Junk held the box aloft. ‘Is this what you're looking for?'

‘Return what you have stolen and I shall spare your wretched life,' said Brother Antor. He was lying.

‘Sure,' said Junk. ‘Come and get it.' And with that he dived off the starboard side of the ship.

Brother Antor ran to the rail and saw Junk enter the water with barely a splash. He didn't hesitate. He jumped in after him. The rest of the monks, those still standing, jumped in too, following their leader.

In seconds the
Casabia
was peaceful again. The crew stood around, unsure what to do now.

‘Let's get her under way,' shouted Hundrig. ‘Toss the stragglers overboard.'

The crew threw the unconscious monks into the water and the anchor was pulled in. The blood-red sails unfurled and the
Casabia
set off.

*

Junk powered through the water, going deeper and deeper. He was sure the monks would not follow him for long. After all, none of them were wearing the protective fluid. He glanced over his shoulder and was horrified to see that the brothers were still coming, and what was more, they were gaining. They were protected by their zealotry.

Ahead, two pale blue shapes started to materialize out of the darkness: Lasel and Garvan.

As Junk got closer, Lasel and Garvan spotted him coming, and saw the monks right behind him. Junk waved, pointing them in the direction of the green door. They turned and swam quickly.

The door was ahead of them and first Lasel and then Garvan reached it and went through.

Junk looked behind him, straight into the determined eyes of Brother Antor. He was not going to give up, and Junk wasn't sure he could get to the door before Brother Antor got to him. Junk put everything else out of his mind and surged onwards.

Some of the monks started to drop back, unable to hold their breath any longer or stand the cold. But not Brother Antor. The power of his faith drove him on. In the distance he saw the doorway of green light. The entrance to the Room of Doors. He had never seen one before. He realized Junk was going to get there before him and then the key would be lost forever. He couldn't let that happen. He increased his speed.

Junk focused on the door now. Only a few more metres. He was just about to make it when he felt fingertips on his heel. Brother Antor was that close. Junk pushed forward, reaching out ahead of him. His fingers touched the light of the door and he felt the pull of the door's force. He was being drawn inside.

But then Brother Antor got a hand around Junk's ankle and pulled. He was more powerful than Junk, and Junk was jerked back, away from the door. Panic crashed through him. Brother Antor increased his hold on Junk.
He reached for the netting bag and ripped it free. Then he dug his fingers into the fluid covering Junk's face and tore it apart. The icy seawater burned as it hit Junk's skin and his first instinct was to open his mouth. It took all of his willpower to resist.

Brother Antor was on the seabed now. He bent his knees and pushed off with force, aiming for the surface, the netting bag containing the box in his hands. Junk watched him go and then looked at the door. He could make it. He looked to Brother Antor, rising in the water. If he went after the monk, Junk would die. His hands were clamped over his nose and mouth to stop himself inhaling. His oxygen-starved lungs were starting to send urgent demands to his brain for resupply, but there was only one real choice. Junk kicked off the seabed and swam with all his strength after Brother Antor.

Brother Antor didn't see him coming. Truth be told he had forgotten all about him, dismissed him as a problem no longer, and all his focus had turned to reaching the surface. So when Junk caught up with him and whipped around him without warning, snatching the netting bag from his grasp, Brother Antor, who had been holding his breath for much longer than Junk, gave in to instinct. He opened his mouth to protest and the ocean roiled into him. Junk turned and started swimming back down to the door as fast as he could. His skull felt as if it was about to implode.