The Reef (12 page)

‘Vampir!’ Menz shouted. ‘I’d say now was a good time to shoot the fuckers.’

But, before they could raise their guns, a blur shot past them, circling them and all that they could see was a streak of metal in the air through the rain, and the displacement of water as Allocen sped through. A head fell at Menz’s feet, blood spat up on his breeches. He stumbled back in disgust as the vampir’s eyes faced him, cold, lifeless. The canine teeth must have been two inches long.

Again the blur raced by, blood arced through the air. Rain vibrated. They began to fire their muskets where they could whilst edging the horse forward to the end of the street. Allocen carved the vampir, hacking and slicing at a speed that dazzled, amazed. So impressive was his display that Jella couldn’t tell what where the rain ended and the blood began. Vampir still lurched at them, clawing, but all that came close was a severed arm falling at their feet.

Allocen had formed a physical barrier. When he did pause, his held scimitars out wide, dripping with blood. He possessed a sheen that was neither sweat nor rain. His head flicked from left to right as the ragged figures clambered at them further, groaning. The vampir screamed as they fell, in ones, twos. The Qe Falta hacked and slashed, kicking, spinning, flexing into impossible forms and at improbable speeds whilst body parts were scattered and the floor became with blood. Lula aimed and picked at one or two of the vampir, but Allocen frequently beat her to it, leaving strips of the ghouls at her feet.

He appeared in a static image on all sides. Jella thought that it was as if, in Allocen’s eyes, the vampir moved at a painfully slow pace, walking like elderly with their hands out, ready to be severed. He hacked though bone, skin, slashed his blade through the vampirs’ throats, picked lines in their veins for his own amusement.

Eventually, Allocen slowed. They could see him slicing the remaining vampir. A young female was spinning away, knowing she was defeated. The Qe Falta sliced a scimitar down her spine with the poise of an artist flicking paint at his easel. The vampir girl shrieked, she scratched the floor, then her eyes sparked out. Allocen stabbed both blades either side of her spine, brought them together, then twisted, generating a crack as he broke her back.

The last vampir stood a foot shorter than Allocen. He held his scimitars out either side from the creature’s head. The vampir took one step forward, and Jella could see the glowing eyes become wide and bright as Allocen closed both blades around, through the neck, crossed his arms, and the body fell in fluxes, leaving the head in mid scream to balance on his two blades. Blood spat on Allocen, who stood there letting the liquid drip down his face, indifferent. The vampir’s eyes faded to black. Allocen let the head fall.

Soon all you could hear was the rain hitting the floor and the remains of bodies. The Qe Falta creature stood still, his chest heaving and falling. He turned to face the group.

Jella could just see bodies in the rain. Nothing moved amongst them. The wind echoed around the bay. Out on the sea, he foam on the top of the surf was intense. The rain fizzed on the ground by her feet.

‘I think he’s on our side, Menz,’ Yayle said. ‘No need to be so anxious about that anymore.’ Menz regarded Allocen, a look of wonder on his face. ‘How does he move so fast?’

Yayle shrugged. ‘Have you ever tried to swat a fly?’

‘Look,’ Jella said. ‘Let’s just get out of here and to a boat, before any more of those things get here.’

The wind strummed the masts and ropes and chains, tilting the vessel as it lurched out into the bay, and arced towards the north, the shore on their right. Menz stood at the wheel, and steered the boat through the ripples of foam that savaged the boat on all sides.

‘Keep her steady man,’ Yayle bellowed though the rain. ‘I’m trying to take a piss off the side.’ ‘Arch your back,’ Menz said, squinting through the rain.

While the others were above deck, Lula and Jella were below, their clothes hanging to dry, and they were standing, warming in candlelight, semi-naked. The rumel dabbed the soft, human skin with rags that she had found and all the time they talked of places that they had been to as a couple, reminding themselves of warm cafes, pleasant walks, sunsets-anything to take their minds off what they had been witness to moments earlier.

Lula told Jella that they would have dinner together one night, and that they would not talk of the mission. Jella held Lula close for several minutes, and for only a few of them could she feel the human shivering.

Allocen stood at the front of the boat, staring offshore. He wiped his scimitars clean with oil, let the rain wash his torso. Drops of water turned pink as they hit the deck. He appeared not to be concerned with this. He held himself upright, pushing out his torso to be cleansed by the elements.

Behind, Menz stared on as a sheet of lightening illuminated the distance, framing the creature’s unnatural silhouette.
All this effort,
Menz thought,
not to be followed

The boat weaved the surf, headed north along the coast.

Santiago Speaking

Voyage Diaries, Volume
8,
The Trip to Arya. Day 2.

The first time that I heard about Arya, I was earning coppers on schooners during my holidays. That was when coppers meant something. My job was, amongst others, to maintain the rope, & I walked, every evening, to a fishing supplies store for various materials. There, amidst the bric-a-brac & the basket traps, fisherman came to talk. One man was talking to another about his expeditions to the far seas, past the Sea of Wands, & further southwest, to a chain of islands. There were two boats that went out & only his returned. The other vessel disappeared after some precarious deep-lagoon fishing, using explosives. No one ever heard of it, or even why the devil sank.

It will take some weeks’ travelling to get there, so we have been quick to leave. I’ve once seen some islands just to the north of Arya, but they were a little far away from it, so I have never happened across the place. That was a few years back. When they told me what they found, I didn’t believe them at first, but I went to see it for myself.

One must listen to the sea. That hypnotic noise that slaps the hull as the ship slices through each wave. The amount of nature below us is amazing. Only on these trips can I understand life. & I look forward to new lands-unseen places, to be the first!-because for me, seeing other things, the way other people
live-that
is life.

To stay in one place is to die.

It has been three days since we left, & three days since we left all our troubles behind. Well, almost. We still have those two bastards with us. Government agents. The mayor said that he didn’t trust me. I can believe that. So, I must put up with them.

Arya is three months’ travel southwest, providing we stand on with the wind astern. I don’t know much more about the locale, except that legally it’s still property of the Escha, & moreover, the mayor’s responsibility. There has been some political wrangling over the island in the past, too long ago to make much of a difference. The mayor is keen to establish that there is no threat to Escha & her properties. However, I assume he wants to know what is there exactly, & this provides him with a most excellent opportunity to get me out of the city for a while.

My Freelance Exploratory crew are called for, & it’s about time, too. I can’t say that funds weren’t running low. I nearly had to sell my third boat if it wasn’t required for a private expedition-something which was fine by me, at least.

Hitherto, only three or four vessels are known to have returned from Arya. A small community was set up after a storm wrecked one ship, leaving it unable to leave, so history has us believe. But the island is not too small, according to the charts, &, I suspect there has been a fair amount of inbreeding with the natives. I don’t know what we’ll find there, with regards to its populace, but I do know they are being killed, & we’re going to find out why.

A message from one Doctor Forb Macmillan reached us. The community of a species thought to be extinct, the ichthyocentaur, is alive-alive!-but threatened. An exciting day for science, but something from the sea claims them. Fifty have been taken this year, according to the note. There are humans on the island, too, & they are frightened (quite right). They are technically Escha’s folk-some legal loophole-so, we must investigate. I am rather interested in the other things mentioned in that letter. Doctor Macmillan suggests that the ichthyocentaur possess botanical knowledge, & that the island harbours great cures that may be of benefit to mankind. This is also something that the mayor is interested in, for Escha is famous around Has-jahn for her drug culture. The rest of the continent believes her to be rather a rum place, & I can’t say I disagree. I, myself have been an abstainer of the harder stuff, but there are others who cannot resist temptation. Perhaps the island holds the cure for damaging bodies in such a way. But, for now, we have left those problems aft. In all honesty, those deaths & that message provide a great excuse for us to map & sketch new territories, which can always fetch a shilling or two in the right circles. Information is, as they say, power.

We’re one less in number. Tchad is on his honeymoon, we have decided to leave him to his new marriage.

We number as follows:

Myself, Manolin (whom I’ve a few concerns over. He is depressed), Becq, my daughter (whom has been suffering from terrible dreams of late-she keeps having nightmares about drowning. Not something to think of when at sea. She has brought her doll making kit with her dolls, I despair!), Jefry, Yana (whom I can certainly say has blossomed since the last trip, although I’ve not succumbed to her womanly charms), & Arth.

Yana has spent the last couple of nights chatting to Manny, trying to cheer him up. I’m not sure if she has done any good. Maybe she can open him up a little-woman’s touch. I’m not sure if it’s what the lad really needs. What he wants, me thinks, is to plunge into his work like a real man. He needs to grow up & stop worrying about his wife (ex) & start thinking of these new shores. New horizons!

Oh yes, a matter of the addition of a Mr Calyban & a Mr Soul, as I noted. The two government agents are casting a critical eye over all that we say & do. They don’t contribute at all. They keep themselves to themselves, when we’re not up to anything interesting. I think they’re here to follow up a story that one of the Eschan navy vessels went disappearing in the area years ago-it’s a bit of secret, rumour perhaps, but more than a few ships have gone down in these sees. But, those agent fellows: I don’t like them.

I can’t help but think that because of their presence everyone is paranoid. Arth kept trying to persuade me that he saw me sending a pterodette off of the ship. He insisted on the fact, but became angry when I told him that it was the shadow of my hat on my arm. He stormed off, cursing those agents for making him suspicious. Much to my relief, of course, but that’s a feeling that won’t be expressed in these journals. That’s what happens when you bring people like that on board. Interested only in gain, & on expeditions like this, one must be communal. In life, in fact, one must be. That’s why I dabbled in politics.

One last thing: the wine supply that I’ve brought-all cracking vintages, of course-is excellent. There are some delightful specimens. My only concern is how long they will last. I’ve calculated I should still be drinking by arrival, & for a day or two more.

After that, I dread to think.

Village Diaries, Volume
8,
The Trip to Arya. Day 20.

We were lucky to miss a storm last night-we’re still alive! I could see it on the horizon, just before sunset. The anvil of the cloud, which must have reached hundreds of miles up, headed inland adjacent to our boat,
DeBrelt One.
The sky was a dark indeed, but we missed it.
DeBrelt One
is a typical schooner, just like one used for fishing. We have no need for luxuries. It’s made from a rusting metal, painted grey. We have about four months’ supply of fuel, but I’ve had large sails installed in order to carry us farther.

There were storms on the boat, too.

Jefry cannot seem to do anything but annoy Yana. I think, & I’ve seen this many times before, that she yearns for other lovers now. Not that there is anything wrong with Jefry, no. He is a good fellow, but, perhaps a little
too
nice. One can see when things are running aground. That’s the problem with a rumel & a human. The differences are subtle, but as with differences in ethnic backgrounds, & I do only mean in one or two instances, it can be exciting at first-and why not?-something exotic that adds a fraction of spice to life, but when that goes one can only imagine the differences when comparing species. It soon evolves that that same fraction of spice becomes a friction. Love & hate are two sides of the same coin, after all.

No matter how many tens of thousands of years that we’ve been co-evolving, which is in itself an interesting aside (I have no time here), there are some things that just cannot click. Basic feelings just aren’t there, no sir. Not being able to have any fertile children may be another issue. There are other issues, too. I’ve been at a theatre or show with Jefry & some others, & Jefry will always have the spare seat next to him. Old ladies even, they’d rather stand for a while than take that spare seat. Some of that sort still goes on & that can highlight an incompatibility between the species, even when she herself may have forgotten any differences. I can see the pain on her face clearer than these weather patterns, although in both cases, one has to know what to look for.