The Reef (17 page)

The rumel were standing on the docks, staring up at a large, grey boat. Behind them, other worker rumel in overalls were sitting eating their lunch, whilst seagulls screamed down from above, circling them, eyeing the bread in their hands. These docks had a sense that nothing really happened, and that was the way of things. Nothing in terms of progress, at least. You could smell it in the organic matter that only ever accumulated. It was one of those places where people did what they did, what they had to, earned some coin for some food, and that was about it. Days would probably drift into years and nothing would happen. People would stay, marry, take their parents’ jobs, have children of their own, quite happy to keep doing this. The mere concept of development or migration would unnerve them totally. Menz had seen a thousand places like it in his lifetime-but perhaps he missed all this because his home city had gone. Maybe that was where his bitterness came from.

As Menz and Yayle climbed a step ladder, they could see over the tops of red-brick buildings, four or five floors high with steep-pitched roofs that reminded him of Rhoam, squeezed together overlooking the harbour. Hundreds of white masts punctured the sky. The sound of engines echoed around the bay.

‘This’ll do nicely.’ Menz leaned over the side of the boat, rested his arms on the rail.

Yayle joined him. ‘I’d say. Hey, have a look at this submersible.’

Over the side hung a brass rimmed cylinder, with circular glass panels. It was about ten foot long with yards of piping coiled at one end. Walking over, Menz noted what they took to be generators that would supply air to the craft.

‘That should definitely do the job,’ Yayle said. He tapped the roof of the craft with his knuckle.

Menz said, ‘Right, all we need is a couple of people to man this thing and we can go.’

‘Is Jella right in saying we need a skipper? Can’t we just do this ourselves?’ Yayle asked, gripping the rails.

‘No, lad. There’s no way I can navigate this thing for four months. Remember last time we had a guide, one with experience at sea.’ ‘Why do we have to find one? I bet those two are at each other right now.’ Menz said, ‘Don’t be so crude.’ Then, ‘Anyway, you’re only jealous.’

‘Of who?’

‘Both of ‘em.’

‘Probably true.’ Yayle sighed.

‘Anyway,’ Menz said, ‘I doubt they are, lad. Not with that ghoul hanging around.’ He didn’t trust Allocen, despite what the creature had done. Mildly annoyed at his prejudice, Menz thought it a peculiar feeling that people have towards anything that looks strange, unnatural. There’s an inherent lack of trust to the more freakish-and why? It’s purely a physical thing. Perhaps it was some biological consideration, an evolutionary learning-to dislike anything other than what is accepted.

‘Hmm,’ Yayle said. ‘He’s a strange one. Endearing, I suppose. If you like that sort of thing.’

‘Aye. I guess he’s proved his worth, what with that little carve-up the other evening.’ Menz walked along the deck, glancing at the gulls, which seemed to float in the air, waiting for food. ‘Still, he makes the mind boggle.’

‘How do you think he got like that? You know, half fly and half man?’

‘Well, they say that scientists did it to them, the Qe Falta, in the last age. Some book of sorts, held the recipe for altering their. .. what’s the word?’

‘Hairstyle?’ Yayle said.

‘No, fool.’

‘Sex drive?’

‘Idiot.’

‘Genes?’

‘Genes, that’s it. Altering their Genetic make up. But the secret for that has long been forgotten. Allocen’s one of the leftovers, I suspect.’ Menz stared out to sea. The weather was still, a bank of grey cloud hung low over the horizon. The local waters were filled with trawlers. Yayle said, ‘I suppose we’d better find someone to drive this bugger then? If we sure as hell can’t.’ ‘Yep.’

The tavern was quiet, the lunchtime period having finished. The sign on the bar said ‘No Beggars’. Yayle walked up to the bar, where a well-built man was polishing tankards. His face was red, as if he had just swum to work. His shirt was stained with oil.

‘My good man, we’re looking for a sailor,’ Yayle announced, placing a hand on the bar.

The barman looked Yayle up and down, his eyes narrowed as he put down the tankard, he draped the cloth over his. ‘Aye, you look the sort,’ he said. ‘If you want those sorts of shenanigans, you’d better walk up Juiliper Street after six. They cater for your lot.’

Yayle raised his chin then turned to Menz, who shook his head.

‘What he means is,’ Menz said, ‘that we need to hire someone to skipper our boat. We need a good sailing type, someone who knows the western seas. Sea of Wands, and beyond.’

‘Ah, I see. Right, well, anyone in here after lunch probably doesn’t have a job to get back to. Take your pick.’

They looked around the tavern. In one corner, a window cast a grey light on an old woman, who sat with her head tilted back, her mouth open as if she had died only that morning. There were two young rumel, who sat playing cards. They looked too young to know the sea. By the other window, next to a staircase, a young woman touched the edges of her wine glass, before dabbing the crumbs on her plate then licking her fingers, smiling.

In another corner was a man with a black beard that covered most of his face. Ah, Menz thought. Now he looks the type. He tipped a naval hat back as Yayle and Menz approached.

‘Good afternoon,’ Yayle said.

The man looked at them and nodded, then scratched his beard. Yayle glanced to Menz.

‘Do you sail?’ Menz asked.

‘Aye, I do.’

‘Can you read charts?’ Yayle asked.

‘Better than any book.’

Yayle said, ‘Can you read a book?’

Menz kicked Yayle. ‘Do you know, sir, the way to Arya?’

‘I do. And what’re you wanting to go there for?’

‘That’s our business,’ Menz said. ‘We need a skipper to take us there. You’ll be away from land for months, at least.’ ‘You got a vessel?’ ‘Yep. She’s a gooden. Parked over there, number nineteen.’ Menz indicated out the window that overlooked the harbour. The bearded man did not follow Menz’s gaze. Instead he sat back, the seat creaking. ‘They say you have to be mad to set sail round there.

Not many have returned.’ ‘Sailors’ stories, mostly. Besides, we have money.’ Menz produced a heavy purse, tossed it onto the table.

The man looked at it. Then he glanced between the two rumel, sipped from his glass. He sighed whilst he set his glass down again. ‘There’s a lot of money around these days.’

‘When was the last time you had a job?’ Menz asked.

‘It’s not all about work now, is it?’

Yayle said, ‘True, true. Okay, tell me this. You anything against Escha?’ ‘Ain’t we all. Why?’ He looked up, suddenly interested. Menz said, ‘How old are you?’ ‘Seen fifty-four years and can remember most of them.’ ‘You know a lot about the sea then?’ ‘More than anyone you’d know, aye. Most people talk too much these days though.’

‘Look, we want you on board, okay. You seem a good sort, and if you got jip with Escha, we’re your people too. I’m Menz. This is Yayle.’

Yayle leaned forward to shake the man’s hand. ‘There’s three others coming along too. Two women and someone else. You’d better come back and have a chat with us. We’re staying at another tavern a few streets back. You got digs here?’

‘Yep, been staying here a few weeks now. The name’s Gabryl.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Menz said. ‘What exactly was your line of work?’ Gabryl flicked his hat. ‘Navy. Was thrown out six years back.’ ‘What for?’ Gabryl said, ‘Killing another officer.’ Menz and Yayle looked at each other, still standing at the side of the table. Menz said, ‘Why?’

“Cos he didn’t follow my orders. We were months away up the north coasts. Some of the tribes’ people up there didn’t like us being there, so they got nasty, started being all difficult with us, not cooperating. Got messy. One night, my second-in-command decided he’d take one of the local women into the forests. I caught him raping her, saw it all. Saw her face full of tears and teeth marks. So, I dragged him off and gave him the beating of his life. Beat him for ten minutes solid, which is a long time when you’re hitting a man. Ten long minutes and the tribes woman watched, then she thanked me, so did the rest of the tribe when they found out. They even paraded his body afterwards. Didn’t mean to kill him, but I got furious. You just don’t do that. Gives us all a bad name. But we had to pull up after that, and we came back shortly after, and I turned myself in. My crew tried to persuade me otherwise, but I’m an honest man, Menz. Apparently, our government seems to think that the natives are a lesser people than our forces.’

Menz looked at Gabryl, who glanced down. Menz turned to the barman. ‘Can we get three beers here?’

Gabryl stared vacantly across the room. Menz thought he smiled, but couldn’t quite see under the beard. ‘So before you know it, I’m out of work and away from what’s been my whole damn life. Been messing around on schooners here and there. Hired knowledge and so forth. Ain’t the same, though.’

‘Listen, can I trust you to keep something to yourself?’ ‘Do I look like a gossip? Does it look like I know many people at all? ‘Right, well, have you ever heard of... ‘Menz leaned in closer, and whispered, ‘Ever heard of Quidlo?

The bearded man’s face darkened. ‘Yeah. You don’t wanna be sayin’ that too loud, you hear? Not round the coasts anyway. What in Has-jahn are you talking about that for?’

Menz sat back. ‘We’re going to get it.’

‘You don’t
get
a thing like that?’ The bearded man took a long sip from his glass then gasped after swallowing. ‘So, you actually know of it then?’

Menz smiled, ‘Seen it. So’s the lad.’ He indicated Yayle. The bearded man looked at the purse, to Yayle, back to Menz. ‘What you want me for? What the hell d’you want
Quidlo
for?’

‘We’re taking it to Escha, or at least trying to. Sounds crazy but we got it all worked out. You don’t have to come that far necessarily. We just need you to get us there. We got everything planned in detail you’d never imagine. We got plans, notes, sketches, maps. Got the lot.’

There was a pause while the bearded man looked out of the window then back to the table, pouted his lips, narrowed his eyes. ‘Well, it looks like you have yourselves a captain.’ He extended a blistered hand that was as thick as a blacksmith’s.

‘What’s your full name then, captain?’ Menz asked, shaking it.

‘Captain Gabryl Miller Fontain.’ He nodded to the two seats next to him, and took the purse. He opened it briefly, tied it shut, buried it inside his coat.

Lula lay on the bed, a newspaper resting on her chest. Her eyes were closed, but Jella could tell that she wasn’t asleep. Jella sat at a small table in the corner, by the window, which overlooked an alleyway. You could smell the rubbish piled up outside the tavern, two floors below. On the edge of her chair, Jella could just about see the harbour front, the litter that blew around. Earlier she had seen men cutting nets of fish, allowing the cargo to spill into crates.

Allocen sat at the table, too. He leaned over and his fingers formed intricate shapes. Using hand movements, he was trying to communicate with her, starting with simple things such as his name, his weaponry, objects around the room. Jella made notes, in an attempt to bond with the Qe Falta creature. His hood was, as always, hauled over his head, but she could clearly see the light from the window shine off of the numerous shapes that formed his eyes. She felt a strange bond forming between herself and Allocen. Perhaps it was because of the fact that they were both isolated individuals, that they both felt unable to connect to the world in a normal way-albeit for different reasons. They had been brought together, with a common aim of destroying Escha.

There was a knock at the door. Jella looked up, but was reassured by Allocen’s lack of action. Lula reached for her musket that was on the bed next to her. Jella pushed the chair back along the floorboards and walked to the door. She pulled it open. Menz shuffled in, Yayle behind.

Menz said, ‘Afternoon.’

‘Hey, Menz.’ Jella turned, sat back down at the table. ‘So. Did you find anyone?’

‘Certainly did.’ Menz and Yayle stepped aside. ‘Presenting ex naval Captain Gabryl Miller Fontain, thirty years service in the Eschan forces.’

Gabryl stepped in, hunching as he stepped through the door. His boots were loud on the wood and he stretched out his hand to Jella, looking at the back of the cloaked figure sitting opposite. ‘Please to make your acquaintance.’

‘Likewise,’ she said. At the instant she heard the fact that he was in the Eschan navy, she felt defensive. Why would these two idiots have brought someone from Escha?

With a gesture, Menz said, ‘This is Jella and over there is Lula.’ Lula gave a slight wave. ‘And this is the other chap we were telling you about. Allocen.’ Menz leaned across to Gabryl, whispered, ‘He’s Qe Falta.’ ‘By the balls of Arrahd ... ‘Gabryl took a step back as Allocen stood up, inches higher than the bulk of the new captain, stared right at him. Jella could see that this man he could feel the immense and complicated eye structures analysing him. ‘He’s a quiet one,’ Yayle said, ‘but he grows on you. And he’s saved us all once, so we’ve decided we like him.’