Shadow - Monsters, Machines and Mad Scientists!: Episode CXLVIII

Gulliver felt like he was drowning. He could feel the weight of water overhead, the pull of the depths beneath and all the time he seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper towards the cold lights of the city in the abyss. There seemed to be voices calling to him, whispering secrets and lies so close together that it was hard to tell what was real and what was fallacy.

You're a failure, Gulliver. You've never been a real pirate. You're certainly not a hero. First Siren chose Harker over you - you were never more than his shade- then she chose Ellis and he's not even real!

Each words was like a cord wrapped around his wrist, and anchor weighing him down.

Poor Gulliver, never amounting to anything, never any use. You just drift along in Siren's wake. You'd be better off down here. We all drift down here.

There was a part of him that agreed, that just wanted to open up his lungs and let the water in, to drift down to the drowned city and let the water carry his weight from then on, because he couldn't handle it anymore.

But there was another part of him, a stronger part, and it was glad when the city exploded and the water erupted all around him and he jolted awake in his hammock, drenched, not in lake water, but in sweat.

The eruption came again, but this time it wasn't a dream lake but the roar of cannons above him and the shaking of the deck beneath. When the vibrations faded, the ship still seemed to be shaking more than usual, as if travelling at immense speed.

"What the aether is goin' on?"

He scrambled out of his hammock, pulled on a jacket and ran out onto the deck to discover that he had slept through a massacre. There was blood everywhere, the deck was awash with it, so much so that it ran in a watery stream along the edge of the gunwhale to spill out into the lake at the scuppers. Resting in the pools of blood were the bodies, some alive, but writhing in pain, gushing crimson; others all gushed out and pale. Those still standing slid between them, hurrying to obey orders Gulliver knew he had just missed. Some were picking up fallen muskets, some were tending to the wounded and others still were carrying barrels of black sand - their last remaining stores - to the massive hypostatick cannons which now stood at intervals along the deck, appearing almost as if they had sprouted, forcefully from the cargo hatches. Still smoking, they were pointed toward a trio of the most grotesque vessels Gulliver had ever seen, the foremost of which appeared to have taken the brunt of the first two barrages and was even now listing at the bow, where its oozing wounds took on water. All three were starting to fall behind them as the Absolution sped across Lake Nightglass far faster than she had ever moved before.

There was too much going on to get a clear picture and it seemed to Gulliver that he barely recognised anyone or anything, but there was Siren, standing in the midst of it all, shouting for the cannons to be primed, for the next rounds to be loaded.

He dashed across the deck and arrived at her side just as a third barrage was unleashed from the hypostatick cannons. He caught the blast as they impacted the lead Lakhma ship out of the corner of his eye and gave an involuntary wince at the sight of so much green-black ichor shot up into the sky. It was clear, now, that the lead vessel had only moments left before the starry lake consumed it.

"Gulliver!" Siren said in surprise as he came to a halt before her, "I thought you were resting!"

"Do you think I could get any rest with this malarky goin' on? What 'appened?"

"We were ambushed, as we knew we would be, and yet we reached the lake so much sooner than we had expected and what with all that went on in the cavern, we just weren't prepared..."

Gulliver felt, rather than heard, the terrible pain in Siren's voice. As captain she would feel responsible for all the deaths she had witnessed in the last few minutes and Gulliver wasn't sure there was anything he could say to reassure her.

"Well, we seem to be losing the remaining ships," he said instead, glancing towards the stern of the Absolution and the monstrous vessels which seemed incapable of keeping up now that they had navigated around their fallen leader.

"Yes, but I don't know for how much longer," Siren replied. "We used up a lot of our spare fuel fighting off those Velocignaths and at this speed we burn through black sand like dry grass." She gestured across the mirrored expanse of water towards the nearest, distant islands, barely larger than the size of her hand to Gulliver's eye. "It's a big lake."

“And that is why we built the cannons,” the Former Baron said, appearing at Gulliver’s side. His voice was shakier than usual, his hands were bloody and his eyes glittered with unshed tears.

“What ‘appened to you?” Gulliver asked, knowing the question was stupid the moment he asked it. He let his eyes flick across the sea of blood on the deck before returning the Former Baron’s quivering gaze.

“Ellis was shot,” he replied, then, before Siren could react he added, “but Rockspark has it in hand, I think. Oh yes, there’s nothing to worry about at all, nothing at all.”

“Oh gods,” Siren replied and Gulliver could see her eyes searching for him amongst the wounded, “I didn’t notice. I didn’t see.”

“Rockspark has it in hand,” Von Spektr repeated more forcibly, “but you have the Absolution to worry about.”

“I know, I know,” she was crying suddenly. It was shocking, unexpected and yet so normal to see her so vulnerable. Guliver’s heart went out to her, and yet he couldn’t stop some small, cruel part of himself asking, Why couldn’t it be me?

“So ‘ow are we going to escape those ships?” he asked instead, redirecting Siren’s attention to the task at hand.

“Speed first,” she replied shakily, “then we’ll have to rely on the cannons and then… then…”

“Then we rely on older methods,” the Former Baron said firmly. “There was a reason Lakhma didn’t wipe out the obelisks whilst they were being built last time, I’m sure of it, and I think it’s going to help us now.”

Gulliver gave the Former Baron a questioning look. Sometimes it was like nothing the old Philosopher said made any sense at all, and yet… he was seldom wrong.

“What can I do?” he asked, turning to Siren once more. “‘ow can I ‘elp?”

He was sent to the cannons, helping to load the heavy lead balls that would blast through the soft, oozy flesh of the Lakhma ships. He watched as the Absolution slowed for the first time – saving some black sand for a last sprint after the next few barrages, and the cannons fired, and fired, and fired. They sank one more of the remaining ships - watched its writhing tentacles disappear into a pool of bubbling gore – and wounded the second, but then they were out of projectiles and the enemy were drawing near enough to begin firing their own poisonous, living pellets. More crew fell, the air seemed to fill with the screaming of them, and then the deck shook as the last black sand was shovelled into the furnaces.

The Absolution sped away for another few minutes, those islands drawing ever nearer and yet, never quite near enough, until her pace slackened and they were running on little more than vapours.

“That’s it,” Siren called over a suddenly silenced deck, “we’re out.” The island they were reaching for loomed large ahead of them, and yet it might as well have been miles away now. A large cave could be seen in the cliff face, beneath the ancient, ruining dwellings and foliage which crowned the rock. It seemed to be taunting them.

Behind, the final Lakhma ship was gaining, even though it seemed to limp after the beating they had given it.

“All muskets to the stern,” Siren commanded and Harker led the bloodied survivors aft along with all those left who could hold a weapon. Gulliver joined them, clutching his musket like a life-ring, watching the Absolution’s dwindling wake as the enemy ship seemed to devour it with its many mouths.

And then something they none of them could have expected happened. The Lakhma ship hit a wall.

There was no visible barrier, indeed the Absolution had passed through the same patch of water only moments before, but as the tentacled monstrosity approached, seemingly gaining speed as it did so, it suddenly stopped short, its bow crumpling into thin air, smearing ichor across the air as if over a pane of glass.

“What the-” Gulliver said and heard the same sentiments uttered again and again from his crewmates.

And the Absolution drifted on to miraculous safety.