Sea of Ghosts - Alan Campbell [69]
Jontney peered shyly at Ianthe from his father’s arms.
All this time, Ianthe’s ego had been darting between the minds of Maskelyne and Lucille, unconsciously weaving the gamut of their perceptions into an ever-changing tapestry of light and sound inside her own head. She herself was part of that creation – the wild-haired, blank-eyed girl in a whaleskin cloak standing between the man and his wife. There was something horribly inhuman about her – something, she felt, that deserved to be hated. Suddenly angry, she bulled her consciousness into Jontney’s mind and heard him bawl suddenly in response.
Children were more sensitive that way. Their own egos had not yet fully developed, leaving room for influence.
Maskelyne frowned kindly at the child. ‘Hey, hey, hey. What’s the matter with you?’
The child’s distress filled Ianthe. She could hear his screaming through his own ears, feel the warmth of tears on his cheek, the snot bubbling in his nose, the after-taste of his mother’s milk. He was hot, flustered, annoyed. But he was receptive. She pushed a single thought into the boy’s mind, and he lifted his hand and struck Maskelyne across the face.
‘Hey you.’ Maskelyne tried to soothe his son to no avail.
‘Let me take him,’ Lucille said.
Maskelyne passed the screaming boy to his wife. ‘He’s not usually like this,’ he explained to Ianthe. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him today.’
Ianthe withdrew her consciousness from the child, pulling it back out into the void. She was about to settle back into Maske-lyne’s mind, when she sensed something nearby – a great sphere of perception moving quickly through the darkness between the living. It was underwater and it was coming at them fast.
At that same moment, alarms sounded on the deck above.
‘That will be our dragon,’ Maskelyne said. He strolled over to the weapons cabinet and took out his blunderbuss. Then he opened a nearby hatch in the floor, revealing an insulated compartment packed with ice. Freezing vapours swirled within the open hatch. He scraped away at the frost until he had uncovered several black glass globes. He examined each carefully, before selecting one and putting it in his pocket. He grinned at Ianthe’s puzzled frown. ‘Ammunition,’ he said.
Upon opening the hatch, Maskelyne found his men scrambling and slipping across the deck amidst the clamour of bells. He did not approve of this chaotic urgency. He looked for Mellor, finding the first officer standing by the port-side bow gun.
One of the crew shouted, ‘Captain on deck.’
Mellor turned.
Maskelyne grinned. He strolled forward and called out in a cheerful voice, ‘Am I the bravest man you men have ever known?’
The crew replied as one: ‘Aye, sir.’
‘Am I the smartest man you men have ever known?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Am I the man to slay the beast we see before us now?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Then let’s bloody the sea.’
The crew cheered.
Maskelyne reached Mellor and gazed out past the deck rail.
There the dragon flew above the sea. It was an enormous female, a great brown drunken monster with a meat-swollen belly and teeth as old and black as fossils. Its scales were dull and crusted with rime from centuries of brine. Its claws were as yellow as a smoker’s teeth. The tips of its mighty wings thrashed the tops of the waves, flinging up spume. As it drew nearer they could see that it carried the corpse of a Drowned man in its jaws.
Mellor said, ‘Takes a hellish cunning for them to reach such a size.’
‘Don’t forget yourself, Mr Mellor,’ Maskelyne replied.
‘She’s coming into cannon range now.’
‘Let her dive.’
Mellor looked like he was about to protest, but then he said, ‘Aye, sir.’
The serpent had seen the boat and would know its purpose. But Maskelyne had no doubt that the creature’s own addiction would drive it under the sea before it attacked. Fearing that its hoard of ichusae had been plundered, it would dive down to check. Once there it would discover the theft and resurface enraged. And anger could unbalance the wisest of foes.
Sure enough, as the beast drew nearer, it plunged beneath