They had
chosen to rendezvous back at the dock on the secret isle, where the remainder
of the able bodied crew continued to work on the Absolution, patching holes and tending to the wounded. Ember had agreed to transport the four away
teams back once they were ready and a signal had been arranged to call him from
his search for this very purpose. It was
a short melody, to be hummed or whistled, and Ellis derived an almost perverse
amount of enjoyment in singing it out across the resonant expanse of the
sanctuary of the Sacred Temple of the Deeps as they stood next to the obelisk
pit they had revealed.
The melody
echoed and reverberated and eventually began to harmonise with itself. Ellis stopped his humming and just listened.
"It's so
much quieter in here," he said at last.
"With the
Draconics gone? Yes" the Former Baron said absent-mindedly, "I don't
suppose they'll stay away for long though."
"Then
Ember had best come for us-" Siren began, but, just as she was about to
say the word soon, the world seemed to shift and they found themselves staring
at the Absolution, dizzy and
disoriented.
"Welcome
back," came the calm, androgynous voice of their Fallen friend.
"Are the
others here, yet?" Siren asked, once she had steadied herself on a nearby railing.
"Yes,
they are waiting in the meeting room.
You are the last to return."
She glanced at
her companions and then nodded, "Then we had best not keep them waiting
any longer."
Ember looked
like he was about to say something, then looked towards the ship and vanished.
"I wish
he wouldn't always do that," Siren muttered.
"Or he at
least took us with him when he did," Ellis replied, mounting the gangplank
and balancing his way across to the Absolution.
Siren led the
way down below decks, with Ellis and the Former Baron side-by-side behind her,
so when she opened the door to the large chamber, probably once a cabin filled
with berths, and then just stopped, frozen and - it seemed to Ellis, shaking a
little - neither could see what the hold up was.
Ellis stepped
forwards, reached to put a hand to her shoulder and ask what the problem might
be, but she flinched before he had even touched her and, in doing so, gave him
a view of the table beyond.
It seemed
almost everyone was there, Gulliver and Miss Barkcastle, the trio of pirates
who had been sent to the fifth obelisk - he never had caught their names -
Annabella, Rockspark and Lord Blood Dragon... and yet, there was no sign of
Harker and instead there were two others at the table who had not been with
them before.
It was Ellis'
turn to freeze, although he wasn't sure what was shocking him more.
Doctor Barkham, he thought in slow,
palsied syllables, Sarah!
It was almost
more than his mind could take all at once.
He found himself flashing back to the dream he had had so many months
ago, the one where he had been walking through Larksborough, heading towards
the castle with the intention of seeing Sarah, only, when he got there it was
Doctor Barkham he had been going to meet all along. The circumstances were hugely different, but
Ellis had the unsetlling feeling that his dream was coming true.
“What are you doing here?” Siren demanded,
apparently able to unfreeze herself and step forwards into the room. Ellis staggered in after her and the Former
Baron…
“Ah,” he said,
“I wondered when you would show up again.”
“It’s
delightful to see you too, Franck,” the megolomaniacal Philosopher replied,
resting her hands calmly on the table before her, “as for what I’m doing here,”
she turned towards Rockspark, “perhaps the Stoneskin should explain?”
Ellis didn’t
hear what Rockspark said at first, he was too busy staring at Sarah, trying to
shake the sense of unreality, or perhaps a memory of a different reality, that
was settling in around him. For her part
Sarah was staring back, her expression unreadable.
“…so Rosetta
is going to help us activate the final obelisk and move it to its correct
location,” Rockspark finished, bringing Ellis back into the here and now.
“And I suppose
you’re going to offer us all the resources of the Noble Society to achieve
this?” Siren asked dubiously.
“Ha,” the
laugh was more bitter than Ellis had expected, “if I still had all the
resources of the Noble Society available to me, do you think I’d be travelling
around with a Slayer and consorting with you rabble?”
“What
happened?” asked the Former Baron with some interest – the kind of interest
that leads people to write dull essays, as opposed to the kind which indicates
any genuine concern.
“Your nephew
happened. He’s turned most of the
society against me, brainwashed them all into the service of Lakhma. Noble Society of Hypostatick Philosophers? Bah!
Ignoble Cult of Mad Prophets more like.”
“So you were
going to try to stop Lakhma single-handedly, then?”
“That
was the plan, but then I found out that you have been doing most of the work
for me, only without the slightest idea about what it is you’re really
doing. So, beggrudgingly, I am
here. We have a deadline to meet, I know
what it is we have to achive and you appear to have the resources to achieve it
on time. Let’s try not to get
sentimental about it, though, shall we?”
“Unlikely,”
Siren growled, before finally taking a seat at the table. She glanced back at Ellis and the Former
Baron as if to encourage them to hurry up and join them, so, warily, Ellis
obliged. The Former Baron was only a few
seconds behind him.
“Before
we continue,” Siren began, “I’d like a report from everyone as to how their
missions went - any details you think might help would be appreciated – and I’d
also love to know where Harker is. Did
he feel the need to go hunting, or something?”
There
was an awkward silence at the table.
“What
is it?” Siren asked, suddenly sounding worried.
“Has something happened to him?”
The
silence stretched on and Ellis noticed Gulliver’s red eyes for the first time.
“Oh,
for the love of Philosophy,” Doctor
Barkham said, clearly frustrated, “just tell them all so we can get on with
this!”
Miss
Barkcastle leaned forward, placed her hand on top of Siren’s and, having given Rosetta a long,
hard glare, said, softly, “I’m sorry, but… Harker didn’t make it.”
“What…
what do you mean?” But Siren’s eyes were already brimming over. Ellis was just in shock. Now this really was too much. The man he had envied so much, and later, in
a way, admired – a rival and a friend and brother to Gulliver, who had been his
friend (and rival) for far longer: dead.
It didn’t seem possible.
There
followed tears, shouting, recriminations, consolations, soothing words and even
hugs. It was chaos and Ellis found
himself lost in the middle of it, staring at the two people who did not belong
there, who had no part in their grief.
Doctor Barkham and Sarah.
The
former was clearly uncomfortable, frustrated and anxious to move past this to
whatever her true goal was. As for
Sarah, she seemed confused and conflicted somehow and… it seemed she couldn’t
quite meet his gaze.
So
it was a further shock when it was Sarah who made the first interruption.
“Look,
I’m sure this Harker was a wonderful man and that you all loved him very much,”
all eyes turned towards her, Gulliver’s seemed to burn behind the sheen of
tears, “but we have very little time remaining to us to activate and move the
final obelisk.”
More
shouting, Siren leapt up off her seat and leaned over the table, armed with
threats and Sarah gave back as good as she got.
Ellis didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t even think of anything to
say. Here were the two women in his
life, literally worlds apart, and yet so
similar, both arguing their corner with a degree of right on their side and
more than a soupcon of blindness to the entirety of the situation. This is
a kind of hell, he thought.
And
then finally Doctor Barkham stood up and spoke and to Ellis’ horror, he was
actually relieved.
“Wonderful,”
she said, clapping and getting everyone’s attention, earning even more hard
glares than Sarah had and, it was undeniably, deserving every one, “just
wonderful. It brings a tear to the eye,
it really does, but, before you continue your charming little operetta, let me
paint a picture for you.
“Somewhere
in the vicinity of Shalereef and army will be amassing. It will be vast and terrifying and utterly
unholy. There will be Lakhmaspawn and
former members of the Noble Society, there will be monstrosities and there will
be clever, clever machines designed in my laboratories, and in hundreds like
them across Shadow, to maim, to kill and to eradicate. They will be waiting for us, some patiently,
some with calculated ease and some with ravenous hunger. They will have thought it all through,
predicted our every move, laid traps and turned the streets you once knew so
well into a nightmare maze. They will be
ready and above them all, watching and waiting and more hungry than any of
them: their god.
“How
do I know this? How can this be
true? Because Lakhma is not stupid. Because Tiberius is not stupid. Because if we have all worked out what the
secret weapon to defeat Lakhma is, used on him/her centuries ago, then you can
be sure that Lakhma knows more about it than even we do. The only element of surprise we had was in
the initial stages, when we could have chosen any one of a thousand different
rebellions, but now it will be clear that we have chosen this one and that, so
far, it is working. So we will not be
allowed to enter Shalereef. We will not
be allowed near the pyramid. We will not
be allowed to activate the final obelisk and banish Lakhma once more.
“And
we have only a few hours left to achieve this impossible outcome.
“I
cannot say that I mourn with you over the loss of your friend. I do not.
I do not care for any of you, not even my own, darling creation,” she
gave Ellis a cold, appraising glance, then continued, “but I do care about my
own life, and the freedom to continue my work.
So we will achieve the impossible and I am certain there will be more
casualties in the end than this pirate you all so miss, so, with all due
disrespect, I say it is time you got over it.
Grieve later when the full butcher’s bill is presented you, for now –
there is work to do, bloody, hard work, and I for one would rather it was over
and done with as soon as possible.”
Silence
followed the speech, a silence than continued long after the Countess of
Skullbridge had regained her seat at the table and smoothed a crease out of her
blouse. Everyone was hurting, as much,
or so it seemed, from Barkham’s words as from the situation they were in and
the loss they had just experienced, but perhaps the greatest hurt of all lay in
the truth of these three little words: she was right.
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