ARC: The Corpse-Rat King (18 page)

“Mister Spone.” He clung to a beam as the ship pitched and rolled across the pre-dawn swell. Spone, his body perfectly adjusted to life at sea, stared at him and raised his hands into half-fists, unconsciously shielding his exposed side. He waited, saying nothing. Marius gripped tighter as the ship listed, then righted itself. “May I speak with you?”

Slowly, warily, Spone nodded, his eyes darting to the left and the right, seeking out ways to get around the man before him. When none presented itself he let them fall upon Marius, suppressing a shudder as he did so.

“You are a religious man, Mister Spone? A Post-Necrotist, I understand?”

Again, Spone nodded. Marius sighed.

“In that case, I must apologise for my appearance. It must have startled you.” Marius stared at the man for several seconds. “It must have terrified you,” he said, so softly that Spone could barely hear him above the wind. Marius stepped closer, transferring his grip from one stanchion to another. Spone shrank back as far as the corner would allow.

“I am not the hallowed dead, come back to wreak havoc upon the world of the living,” Marius said. “I am not dead at all. Give me your hand.” He held out his. Spone stared at it. “Please, Mister Spone. Your hand.” Haltingly, Spone gripped it. Marius pulled it against his chest.

“Can you feel that, Mister Spone?” he asked. Slowly, Spone nodded, eyes fixed upon Marius’ chest. “My heart, sir, beating, the same as any man’s.” Marius risked releasing the stanchion, reached up, and drew back his hood. Spone winced at the sight of his uncovered face.

“I know,” Marius said. “It’s awful. Totally ruined my chances with the ladies.” He laughed, and despite his confusion, Spone managed a small one in return. “Truth is, Mister Spone, I have no idea what it is, only that it affects me alone. Those around me are safe, have no fear on that count.” Marius let go Spone’s hand, and gestured ahead of the ship. “I’ve travelled far and wide for a cure, but nobody can tell me what it is, only that my flesh rots and my eyes film over, and as to the smell, well,” he shrugged, a comical, exaggerated movement. “Ruined with the ladies.” He offered his hand once more. “Once more, I can only apologise.”

This time, Spone shook it.

“Had I known of your beliefs, I would never have barged in upon you in such a manner,” Marius said. “I hope I did not cause you too much grief.”

Spone straightened out of his corner, and banished memories of four terror-filled nights awake in his tiny cabin, praying. “Think nothing of it,” he managed to say. Marius dug into his jerkin, and produced a Lucifer to replace the one Spone had dropped. He struck it, and leaned in, cupping it to protect it from the wind. Spone accepted the gift, and lit his snout.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

The two men stood and looked out at the grey sky, watching as the sun peeked hesitantly over the horizon.

“Tough watch,” Marius said, and Spone nodded in quiet acknowledgment.

“Makes you captain, in the end.”

“Is that the plan?”

“Eventually.”

Marius nodded. “A good place to learn, then?”

“I’ve served under worse,” Spone said, and Marius nodded in agreement.

“I’ve seen worse, for certain. So…” he let the thought hang for a moment, “He’s a fair man, this Captain Bomthe?”

They stood, side by side, and Spone talked about his captain, and Marius listened, as the sun rose and the new watch arrived to take up their posts. When they parted, with a handshake and a firm wish for a good morning, Marius returned to his cabin, to think upon what he had learned, and to lay some plans for his future.

He stayed in his cabin for five days, during which time the
Minerva
made fair progress. The weather was temperate, and fresh winds propelled them across the open ocean with no need to tack or bring the massive mainsails into play. Figgis visited three times a day, bringing bowls of the increasingly thin soup and leaving with the empty vessels and a smear of broth around his cheeks. Marius listened to the gossip-filled reports he delivered, filtering out the important tidbits as they rose to the surface: Captain Bomthe wished to avoid the coast and head straight out into deep waters; Mister Spone was worried about several items of cargo that had come loose in the aft hold; Captain Bomthe and Mister Spone had gone down to the hold personally to secure the cargo; nobody knew what was down there; rumours assigned it to everything from gold bullion, to magical arms to be traded to the Taran heathens, to women set aside solely for the officers’ use; Mister Spone was angry about something, but would discuss it with nobody; Captain Bomthe kept drinking, and sending Figgis out to refill his brandy skein. Marius simply nodded and kept his head against his chest, telling the young lad to eat up.

At dinner on the fifth day, he interrupted his visitor’s monologue with a short cough, and a raised hand.

“The aft hold you mentioned.” Figgis looked up from his bowl, a dribble of broth wending its way down his chin. “Could you show me where it is?”

Figgis looked uncertain. “I’m not allowed down there, Mister Spone says. Nobody is, just him and the captain.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them.” Marius leaned back on his nest of blankets, and folded his hands across his chest. “You don’t need to take me all the way there. Just far enough so that I can find my own way. If the captain or Mister Spone find me after that, your name will never occur to me.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Does he beat you, this captain of yours?”

“No… I… well, yes… but only when I deserve it,” Figgis corrected himself quickly. Marius nodded. Shipboard discipline was no mystery to him. It was a hard life, and it took hard men. The cabin boy’s definition of “deserving it”, and by extension the captain’s, might not accord with Marius’ feelings on the subject. But then, Marius was in
their
world. One of the first things he had learned whilst travelling – learn the rules of your destination, so that they do not surprise you.

“I give you my word,” he said. “I’ll not ask you to do anything to make you deserve it. Perhaps…” he paused, as if considering his options. “What if you came to me between the third and fourth watches? Would the captain know?”

Spone would not be on deck until a full watch later, and like all good sailors, would sleep right up until the bell sounded. And Bomthe would have fallen into a drunken stupor long before, if Figgis was even remotely accurate regarding the number of visits he was making to the brandy cask. The young boy frowned for a moment, considering Marius’ proposal. Marius sat still, projecting innocence with every fibre.

“I suppose…” Figgis said. “Just as far as I want?”

“Not a step further,” Marius said. “All I want is to see this hold. After all,” he held his arms wide. “What else can I do?”

“But why?”

“I’m nobody’s agent, if that’s what’s worrying you.” Marius leaned forward, and teased at the fingers of one glove. “I want to show you something, but I need your promise before I do.”

“My promise?”

“That you won’t fear what you see.”

“Okay.” Figgis shrugged. “You have it.”

“Are you sure?” Marius stopped worrying at the glove. “I don’t ask this lightly, boy. I need your promise to be a man’s promise, you understand? Unbreakable, inviolate. Nobody knows about this but you and I. Not the captain, not Mister Spone. Nobody.”

Figgis looked solemn, his face a child’s play-act of seriousness. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Marius grasped the glove’s fingers and pulled, sliding it off in one swift movement. He held his hand before Figgis’ face. “You see?”

“It’s a hand.”

“Yes. And?”

Figgis looked at it, then back at the shadow of Marius’ hood. “It’s a hand.”

Marius looked at his hand. The boy was right. It was just a hand. His hand. Browned by the sun, the fingernails slightly ragged from too much time without attention, a maze of tiny scars and flaws from twenty years of living amongst the lower ends of society. His hand. He stared at it, and Figgis stared at him, a look of increasing worry on his young face.

“Are you all right?”

Slowly, Marius reached up and pulled back his hood. “What do you see?”

Figgis shrugged. “I don’t know. You? Listen,” he shifted impatiently. “What’s any of this got to do with me taking you below decks?”

“I…” Marius thought furiously, “I… do you know what fear of spaces is?”

“What? Like, being outside and all?”

“Yes, exactly.” Marius nodded. “I… I have it.”

“But I seen you walking along the wharf, and about topside with Mister Spone and all.”

“It’s… it’s difficult.” Marius lowered his eyes, as if staring at the floor, taking care to make sure his hand stayed within his line of vision. If he only had a glass, or something in which to see his reflection. “I can do it, but it… exhausts me. I… if I could spend some time, in that room, away from the outside…” He flicked his hand towards the open window. “I feel it, all the time, all around me…” He peeked up at Figgis. “Even if I could spend just a short time in this hidden store, away from people, away from…” he shuddered, “The sky. It would help me.
You
could help me.” He looked straight at the young boy. “I need a friend here, Figgis. Have I not been your friend?”

His eyes slid to the empty bowl at Figgis’ feet. The cabin boy followed his gaze, and coloured .

“Between third and fourth watch,” he said, scrambling to his feet and gathering up the bowl. “But only for a few minutes, mind?”

“You have my word.”

“And Mister Spone and the captain never hear of it?”

“Never.”

“And if you’re caught…”

“On my own head be it.”

“Okay, then.” He opened the door, and half slid out. “Shouldn’t we… have some sort of secret knock or something?”

“Don’t worry,” Marius smiled. “I’ll know it’s you.”

“Okay.” Figgis left without another word. Marius lay back on his makeshift nest and stared out at the sliver of sky visible through the window. After all, he thought, who else would come and visit? He held his hand up. As he watched, the skin dried out, grew pale, then grey. His nails darkened. Cracks appeared in their surface. Small flakes dropped from his skin, and the fingers withered until they were little more than desiccated claws. He stifled a cry of alarm, and scrambled in his lap for the discarded glove, pulling it back on with a shaking hand. He curled into a foetal ball, and slowly reached up to pull the hood down over his face.

Slowly, night suffused the cabin. Marius stifled a moan of despair as his eyesight adjusted to the darkness, picking out details in the room he knew he would be unable to see with living eyes. He heard bells sound to end the evening watch, and shortly thereafter, the muted barrage of feet thundering through the ship as weary sailors headed below to their hammocks for a few hours rest, and their replacements headed upwards to take up their stations. After that there was silence, other than the creaks and groans of a ship under sail, and the occasional sharp call as an order was relayed from mate to crew. A single toll of the bell marked off each hour. Then, just as midnight sounded, Marius heard a scratching outside his door. He sat up, suddenly alert. Three quick knocks rapped against his door, then a pause, and two more. He smiled. The never-changing nature of the boy child – a secret escapade must have a secret knock. Marius would almost lay money on being gifted a secret password by the end of tonight’s jaunt. He opened the door a crack.

“What’s the password?”

Figgis stood outside, a look of fear suddenly filling his features.

“You didn’t give me one,” he began. “Do you think we need–”

“I was just kidding.” Marius stepped outside and crouched on the narrow walkway. “Are you ready?”

Figgis nodded. “The captain’s sleeping at his desk, and Mister Spone’s in his bunk. As soon as…” He stopped as running footsteps sounded across the top deck, and crouched down next to Marius, eyes wide.

“Don’t worry,” Marius whispered. “It’s just the changing of the watch. Give it a minute.”

They waited in silence until the footsteps died away, and normal sounds returned. Marius laid a hand on Figgis’ shoulder. The cabin boy was shivering, whether from the cold or fear, Marius could not be certain. “Go on,” he whispered.

“Mister Hongg is master of the watch,” he said. “He likes to catch a wink in the lee of the mizzenmast. It looks like he’s standing watching the crew…”

“Not likely to see us if we use the near stairs, then?”

Figgis shook his head. “As long as we’re quick, and quiet.”

“Oh, I’m good at quick and quiet,” Marius said, then bit off the rest of his comment. Figgis lived amongst sailors, true, but there was no need to expose him to more bedroom wit than was absolutely necessary. “Let’s go, shall we?” he said instead, and ushered the young boy ahead of him.

The space between decks is a gloomy place at the best of times: packed tight with sweating bodies; badly lit; piled high with supplies necessary to survive a long voyage. Whilst the top deck may be polished smooth and presentable to visiting investors and dignitaries, no such effort is wasted on the lower areas. The wood is rough, the angles tight, and what little room is left for movement is cramped, fetid, and jealously guarded by anyone who manages to carve out a tiny allocation of personal space. As mindful as he was of the desire to hurry, Marius forced himself to step carefully through the maze of cargo. Far worse than missing out on the captain’s treasure room would be the consequence of discovery should he upset some precariously balanced box of victuals and ruin the contents by crashing them onto the floor. He tested each creaking step before he committed his full weight to it, slowly slinking down until he and his companion crouched beneath the steps.

“Which way, Master Figgis?”

The young cabin boy pointed deeper into the bowels of the ship. “At the end of the corridor, sir. The mate’s cabin is just down there, and the powder room, then the locked room before the rear food store.”

Marius nodded, memorizing the layout as Figgis spoke. It was all fairly typical of a Scorban trader, a layout refined through several centuries of sea-borne trading. The mystery room would normally be reserved for assorted junk that fit nowhere else – spare weaponry, maps of regions not visited upon the particular voyage, whatever items of trade the captain wished to keep for his own personal collections. It was tiny, perhaps three feet in either direction, the perfect sized for a moderate haul of purloined gold, or valuables not originally belonging to the ship’s owner. A ship is the same as a man, in certain ways. Never steal anything the ship cannot swallow. Marius nodded, and indicated the darkness before them.