Meanwhile (in a sense)…

  Elsewhere…

  The sea

  Not far from the coast of New Thrimp

  A world as yet unnamed

  -Saskia-

  The man thrashed and kicked, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the rope around his neck. His eyes bulged and a harsh, rasping sound rose from his throat.

  Behind him, Igor pulled tighter on the rope.

  ‘You two, grab his legs,’ he grunted.

  Dhyani and another woman nodded and moved forwards; taking one leg each, they restrained the increasingly desperate man as Igor’s knee pressed into the back of his head.

  ‘Remember, up and back. Not just back. Up and back.’

  The man squirmed in their grip, tapping desperately at Igor’s forearm.

  ‘See how long it takes? It’s not like in stories. People don’t die easy!’

  He released his grip and the man curled up into a ball on the floor, wheezing and spluttering. The sounds of festivity from upstairs were loud enough now that there was little need to worry about noise.

  ‘And you want to go another twenty seconds or so after they’re dead, if you can. To make sure. If they wake up again, you’ve just wasted all that effort.’

  Around him, prisoners nodded. With the Urge compelling them, there was no dissent. They were united in purpose.

  He tried to pull the man he had just half-killed to his feet, but his efforts were met only with frantic gasps and wheezes.

  ‘Might just leave him for a bit. He’ll be alright. anyway, We outnumber them probably about four to one. We’ve got the element of surprise. Plus they’re all off their faces on Lilymilk. They can sober themselves up deliberately, but it takes a few minutes, so it needs to be over in those minutes, you hear? They get themselves sobered up and organised, we’re just people getting slaughtered by the polity. I.e., dead. Now.’ He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. ‘Groups of four. Form up quick. Go with strangers, not friends.’

  He counted down from ten. By the time he was done, they were standing obediently in groups of four, awaiting the next instruction. Saskia marvelled at the power of his Urge.

  The average Forceborn could generally bully, charm or persuade their way to getting what they wanted from people, provided they used their Urge on one individual at a time and the target was already at least somewhat open to the idea, whatever it was. The stronger among them tended to be in positions of influence and power, leaders able to motivate entire groups of people into doing things like marching down the street singing protest songs, or agreeing to more unpaid overtime. Igor had just completely reversed the free will of forty-nine complete strangers. He was dangerous.

  ‘Billy. You’re not fighting. We need you safe. Wait down here.’

  Billy nodded apprehensively and stepped to one side.

  ‘Now Saskia, you swap into that group of three. The three of you, Saskia and you two, your job is to keep the hatch open until everyone’s out, then you’re roaming. Don’t take on any Polity by yourselves, just assist other groups. Saskia, you go round speeding up any kills in progress with your blades. The other two, cover her. Everyone else, each squad takes one enemy. Tackle them to the ground all at once, then whoever’s nearest the head, get your rope around the neck. Remember, up and back. Keep your head tucked in. If they go for your face and catch an eye, you’ll let go, and then you’re dead. No time for practice. You’ll just have to remember. The other three, take the arms and legs. Don’t let them get their feet under them. If they stand up, you’re dead.

  Keep your eyes open while you’re killing. Make sure none of their mates come to help and if they do, either abandon the kill or call for support. If your crew isn’t engaged and you hear a call, head towards it.’

  Prisoners silently nodded assent. They all held the ropes that had bound their own wrists.

  ‘Remember. If they have time to realise what’s happening and organise themselves, we’re all dead. When you see one, don’t hesitate and start feinting and circling and looking for an opening. You run towards it, in a straight line, and trust in your teammates to back you up. You knock it down and kill it as fast as you can, and if it’s got any weapons, you take them and use them to get the job done faster. Who’s Selfborn?’

  Two people raised their hands.

  ‘Figures there wouldn’t be many of you in prison. Don’t get caught, do you? If you wanna take your clothes off, do it now, but don’t dive until we go up.’ The two Selfborn men—one enthusiatically introduced himself as Phil— stripped their clothes off with no sign of embarrassment. ‘Anyone Truthborn or Skyborn with a weapon they can use?’

  When there was no response, he continued: ‘Right then. One of two things is gonna happen. If Holly can unlock the hatch for us, she will. If she can’t, we wait until the Polity open it. Either way, the second that hatch cracks open, we charge out and commit a massacre that our great-great grandchildren will learn about in school.

  Now, everyone on the stairs. We wait.’

  -Holly-

  Belle’s legs thrashed wildly in the air. He roared in panic. His arms swung, grasping uselessly at empty space.

  Laughter surrounded him.

  ‘Go on, Belle!’

  ‘Very impressive, Mr. Hammerplank!’

  ‘You’re wasted as a sailor!’

  ‘Definitely wasted.’

  He hung six feet in the air, leaning backwards with all four limbs thrashing ridiculously, struggling for balance as though seated astride a bucking horse. Only his tail touched the ground.

  The huge thing emerged from the base of his spine through a hole in his trousers, as thick as a thigh at its root, narrowing to the width of a forearm towards the tip. It was hairless and thickly muscled along its length, like an eel, but covered in distinctly human skin.

  It twitched and jerked under his control as he waved and wobbled atop it, briefly righting himself and grinning at the encouragement of his crewmates. Holly winced as he then overbalanced backwards, but he somehow corrected himself with a mighty clench of the tail’s muscles, grunting with the effort. Once steady, he slowly lowered himself towards the ground, the tail coiling up on the deck beneath him like a rope. He hovered comfortably, a foot off the ground.

  ‘It’s easier the lower you are,’ he explained breathlessly, indicating the coil of flesh beneath him, which Holly noticed shone with a patina of sweat. It didn’t simply merge into his lower back, she realised; there was an entire girdle of musculature that anchored and controlled it, leaving him with gargantuan buttocks and a bizarrely thick waist. ‘Because there’s more of it on the ground. The higher you go, the less of it’s on the ground and the more unstable it gets. And then,’ he continued with sudden enthusiasm, ‘when you get really good…’

  ‘No!’ someone shouted, realising what he intended. The crew, recognising the danger, all hurried back, calling for him to stop.

  ‘…you can do this!’ he finished, sinking down for a moment before swinging his arms up and propelling himself skywards with an explosive flex of the tail. It burst upwards like a spring and he was launched, far higher than Holly had ever seen a human jump, slowly turning what he intended to be a backflip. Her hands flew to her mouth despite herself.

  At the apex of the jump, some twenty feet in the air, he came unravelled. As he began to descend, his rotation stopped. Arms, legs and tail all flapped like a swimmer as he accelerated face-first towards the deck. Holly gasped. He was going to splat belly-first onto the planking. The fool had drunk too much Lilymilk and he was going to-

  ‘No!’ She heard herself yell.

  In the moment before he collided with the ground the squat figure of Lady Broadwood rushed forwards on her stout little legs and placed herself under him. Her enormous arms wrapped around him as he smacked into her and the pair crunched into the wooden floor.

  Holly’s heart was in her mouth, believing she had possibly just witnessed one, maybe two people die tragically, but the crew around her exploded with laughter and cheers. She remembered Gennara’s words—we are less fragile than you. Holly knew they reinforced their bodies to withstand injusry, but still, surely they must…

  Astonishingly, Lady Broadwood stood up from the tangle of limbs on the deck, her expression sour but otherwise seemingly unhurt.

  Before Belloe could get his bearings she had grabbed him by the ankles and lifted him back into the air, far above her head. Her arms, Holly realised, were longer than her entire height when straightened. She was like a Goblin crane. Holly could tell from the ease with which she lifted his that she could tear him in half by the legs if she wished to. Belle’s arms flailed idiotically as she gently lowered him, dangling him upside-down so that his face hung inches from her own.

  ‘You!’ she roared.

  His arms and tail flopped down to dangle below his head. He grinned.

  ‘Sorry!’ he said. ‘Sorry. Thank you. Sorry. I-’

  ‘Utter tit!’ she interrupted, vituperatively, then dropped him. He fell head-first the rest of the way to the deck with a bonk, collapsing into a heap.

  ‘I will fling you over that railing if you don’t stop showing off,’ she admonished. ‘It’d be a kinder death than the broken neck you’re going to give yourself. How much brain did you have to sacrifice to the control of that idiotic appendage?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said again, sheepishly standing and dusting himself off. He turned to return to his seat, but her long arm whipped out again to clip him around the back of head. He yelped.

  ‘Idiot boy,’ she grumbled. ‘Show some humility!’

  ‘What?’ he asked, confused; then a light came on behind his eyes, as if suddenly realising something. He stood to attention before going down on one knee with theatric obsequiousness, dropping his voice to a smooth, rolling lilt. ‘My lady. Your humble servant overflows with egregious gratitude and voracious apology.’

  ‘That doesn’t even come close to making sense,’ she laughed. ‘Someone teach this imbecile to talk properly before he’s let out in public.’

  ‘I quiver with lugubrious desire to compensate my egregious Lady for her, um-’

  ‘Stop saying “egregious”, you absolute fool,’ she chuckled. ‘Shut up and make yourself useful, cretinous boy! Lace me!’

  ‘Forthwith, My Lady!’ Belle stood and bowed deeply. Holly wondered whether he ever stopped grinning.

  Gradually, the crew returned to sitting in a circle on the deck. Belle sat beside Holly and pulled a small cloth bag from his pocket, into which he reached and pulled out a glob of thick black paste the size of his fingernail, thinly veined with bright, sparkling orange. Amberlace.

  Stolen story; please report.

  The lump he was preparing was enough to lay out ten ordinary people. As he began to roll it between his fingers, it warmed, emitting a familiar, woody musk. The amount he had in that bag was probably worth more than her house.

  He saw her staring and hesitantly proffered the bag. She shook her head violently, looking away, and he shrugged. He talked as he rolled.

  ‘I can normally stand a lot longer that,’ he said, conversationally. ‘Probably messed up my co-ordination a bit.’ Holly jumped as his tail appeared over his shoulder, its tip curled around a bottle of Lilymilk. He chuckled, shaking it. ‘This stuff can make you a bit clumsy. And overconfident. Probably the worst possible combination for someone like me.’ The tail raised the bottle to his lips and tipped it. He took a sip. The smell of the Amberlace was growing stronger— intoxicatingly so—as it heated up.

  He began to pull it apart expertly; when warm it didn’t break, but stretched like dough, a thin strand extending between the two halves. He brought the two halves back together to reform the blob, then stretched it out again, repeating the motion as he talked. Gently, the heat generated cause smoke to rise.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m rude, not offering you any Lily.’ Holly shook her head. ‘It’s one of the first betterments we learn, you know. Making the enzyme that lets us drink it without… you kn.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ said Holly. ‘I always thought you grew horns first.’

  ‘Oh, well, yeah, obviously. But they just sort of grow by themselves, when you’re little.’

  Holly remembered being that age; she and her friends—every child in their class—all desperately hoping they would wake up one morning with the nubs of horns beginning to sprout from their hairlines, marking them as Skyborn. Every child wanted to be Skyborn. As they approached the age where their affinities would start to show, they gossipped and chattered and speculated about their futures as Skyborn: the betterments they would give themselves; the Goblins they’d create; whether they’d try to join the Polity or live an ordinary life among the layfolk.

  ‘Hardly anyone keeps them, though. Mostly people let them drop off as soon as they can. No one wants great big heavy lumps stuck to their heads.’

  Holly would have given anything for Skyborn horns. To be taken away to the Manse for Skyborn training…

  ‘The first year’s no fun at all, you know,’ he continued. ‘You just learn the standard betterments that everyone has. The Lilymilk enzyme, basic health stuff like healing and repairing, strengthening muscles and tendons, thickening bones, stopping aging, that sort of thing. It’s actually really boring. It doesn’t get fun until a few years in, when you choose your path and get assigned to your mentors. And even then, it’s hard work.’ Holly didn’t have the mental resources to participate in the conversation, but luckily he seemed willing to do almost all the work himself. ‘You should see my grandfather,’ he continued, oblivious. ‘He’s got two tails, both of them bigger and stronger than mine. He can walk on them!’

  ‘Wow,’ said Holly.

  She remembered the day Saskia, then a girl she barely knew, two years above her, had shown up at school with those little lumps under the skin on her forehead… How everyone had stood around in the playground and felt them.

  She thought about her down in the hold now; her anti-anaesthetic gland; her boneblades...

  Belle was apparently planning to keep talking until something stopped him, so Holly was relieved when when the girl sitting on the other side of her suddenly leaned over. Holly had seen her once when she was first boarding, climbing up the mast towards the crow’s nest.

  Up close, she saw they the girl’s eyes were huge, at least three times normal size, making her look both childlike and nightmarish all at once. They had no whites—they were all iris, a swirling pattern of colours, with a curved, ribbon shaped pupil stretching across each from edge to edge. She spoke slowly, her voice surprisingly deep.

  ‘You’re never going to reach your grandfather’s level sitting around drinking,’ she said. ‘You should go practice more. I bet Holly will think you’re really awesome if you learn some more tricks.’

  Belle blushed and took another sip of his Lilymilk, still smiling. The girl shifted closer and put an arm round Holly. ‘You know he can pick his nose with the tip? Show her, Belle.’

  ‘I can’t! Well, I could, but, I mean I don’t. Obviously. That would be disgusting.’ Even Holly wasn’t convinced. His blush deepened but the grin remained. ‘That’s Ilya,’ he said.

  ‘Lady Omnivident to you, monkey boy.’

  ‘She gets off on scaring layfolk with her crazy eyes. She’s waiting for you to notice them.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Holly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Ilya, ‘it’s fine to be freaked out by them. Layfolk always are. I don’t mind if you stare. They’re good at seeing things you can’t see. That’s why I’m on the crew. I stay up in the crow’s nest, watching the sea.’

  ‘I see,’ said Holly.

  ‘Not like I do. I can see heat, you know.’ She looked pointedly at Belle. ‘Little changes in temperature. Even through clothes.’

  Belle set the Lilymilk bottle dow. His tail reached round behind Holly to flick at Ilya, its tip almost catching her face.

  ‘Get that revolting thing away from me, I don’t know where its been. Or rather, I suspect I probably do.’

  ‘Shut up, Ilya.’ They were like a teenage brother and sister, Holly thought. Probably both well over a hundred years old, and squabbling like schoolchildren. That was the great contradiction of the Polity: a near-infinite natural lifespan, yet most of them behaved like they were still stuck in the latte stages of puberty.

  ‘Look, I just wanna say, thank you.’ Ilya laid her head on Holly’s shoulder affectionately, as though they had been friends for years. She had to fight to stop herself pushing it off. ‘I mean, you literally saved our lives,’ she laughed. ‘You’re a hero. I just want you to know I’m grateful.’ She rubbed her head against Holly’s shoulder, like a cat. ‘So thank you.’

  She remembered the other thing Gennara had said—we of the Polity are known for our affection. It seemed to have been an understatement, especially with Lilymilk added to the equation. She genuinely couldn’t tell whether they were just naturally very intimate people or whether there was a suggestive heat underlying their apparent warmth; either way, it made her intensely uncomfortable. If Belle talking at her was intrusive, this was a full-scale invasion.

  Suddenly, Belle stood. The glob of amberlace in his fingers was now aflame. Amazingly, he kept it held between his fingertips—he must have grown heat-resistant calluses—and approached Lady Broadwood.

  ‘About time!’ she cried, happily.

  Holly watched in astonishment as she opened her mouth wide and tilted her head back. Belle moved his bottle of Lilymilk to his left hand and poured a large measure into her open mouth, which she did not swallow. He followed it immediately with the little flaming lump, which hissed when it hit the liquid. A puff of heavy black smoke escaped the woman’s mouth but she closed it immediately, sucking air in through her teeth which bubbled through the Lilymilk. Her chest swelled as she pulled in more and more air, the bubbling sound rising in pitch, her eyes growing wide, her eyebrows rising further and further, until her face looked as though it was about to burst…

  And she exhaled.

  She threw her head back and blew into the air a billowing fountain of black and orange, vast clouds blooming and expanding as more and more smoke flowed. It flowered, little cracks and pops and sparks dancing through it, spreading outwards, leaving a trail in the air behind them as the gentle wind of the ship’s passage slowly carried it away, the two colours twisting and interweaving to form a dark, woody brown that slowly faded into the distance.

  Suddenly she coughed and the steady plume of smoke stopped. She bent over, hacking, a ragged puff of smoke bursting out with each cough as the crew laughed and jeered.

  She sat back down, thumping at her huge, tub-like chest with an arm like three hammers strung together. ‘Good boy,’ she wheezed happily. ‘Dear me. Oh, that’s made me giddy,’ she chuckled, gently lying down. ‘Think I’ll just have a little look at the stars.’ A man next to her reached over and patted her upturned tummy in a supportive manner.

  Conversation flowed. Holly tried to switch between Ilya and Belle often enough that neither managed to truly engage her. Bottles clinked and sloshed. Before long, the voices grew louder, the topics more adventurous.

  Ilya had also taken a hit of amberlace and lay on the floor with her head in Holly’s lap, oblivious to the unhappiness this caused her. Her enormous eyes, now heavy-lidded, stared up into Holly’s face. Holly had to stop herself from staring back; the patterns in her irises seemed to swirl, iridescent twists of colours swimming across them as she gazed blissfully into Holly’s own.

  ‘You don’t have to keep looking away,’ she said. ‘I said you can look. It’s fine. I’m looking at yours. Let’s just look into each other’s eyes.’ She smiled.

  Holly immediately turned away, towards Belle on her other side, but he was deep in animated conversation, seemingly about the stars.

  ‘…that the sky is actually a dome, right, like a bowl turned upside down and painted blue on the inside, right, but it’s got little holes in it, and at night…’

  She looked back down at Ilya’s upturned face, for lack of anywhere else to look.

  ‘What’s it like? Diving, I mean?’ the girl asked. ‘I’ve always wondered. Does it feel nice? I bet it does. Tell me about it.’

  Holly had put it off long enough. Now was as good a time as any. Better, in fact, if it got her away from these… weirdoes.

  Her heart began to race at the thought.

  ‘Er,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry. I need to go to the loo.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ilya. ‘No worries.’ She rolled over, extricating herself. Holly stood.

  ‘Where do I, er….’

  ‘Just over the side there.’

  Holly looked blankly at the railing.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Ah! Time for your first sea-wee, is it? Let me show you,’ interjected Lord Certainflex, brightly, clearly having read the situation. He, at least, seemed to be relatively sober. ‘Observe!’ he called gallantly as he walked over to the rail. He clambered over it holding onto the bottom rung and bracing his legs against the outside of the ship so that only his head was visible and his bottom hung out over the sea. ‘Like this. If you do it standing on the deck, the wind… gets involved,’ he called, laughing, before climbing back up. ‘Belle found that out the hard way.’

  Holly knew the method; she had seen a few of them doing it.

  ‘I don’t think I er… I mean, not here,’ she said. ‘I, um. I think I’d be happier with some privacy.’

  A few of the others had stopped to listen to the exchange with amusement.

  ‘Oh, come on!’

  ‘Dont be shy!’

  ‘You’re part of the family now!’

  ‘Nothing we haven’t smelt before, love.’

  ‘I’d really rather… go over there.’ She gestured to the far end of the ship, shrouded in darkness.

  ‘Nonsense. We all do it here, it’s fine. Go ahead.’

  ‘No really. I don’t want to. I’ll… just be over there.’ She started to walk away but Lord Certainflex’s voice called her back.

  ‘Holly! Hang on hang on, what’s wrong? It’s no big deal, just-’

  Her heart raced faster. Her hands trembled.

  ‘Look, I’m not going to the loo in front of you all, alright? I don’t want to be rude but Gennara said you were supposed to make sure I-’

  That was all it took. ‘Yes, no, right,’ he stammered. ‘Alright. Okay, just, be er, careful, then. The wind can suddenly pick up. If you get into trouble just shout, okay? Have you got, er… everything you need?’

  She just glared at him. Then she nodded and walked away, a sudden gust of wind carrying some muttered comment about sensitive Selfborns, which was quickly hushed by the others.

  She plodded towards the back of the ship.

  When she reached the hatch, she stopped.

  She turned.

  ‘Don’t look!’ she called back to the group. She forced herself to laugh, effecting mock outrage. ‘I’m embarrassed!’

  As she called out, she tapped her foot on the hatch. Three times.

  Doomp.

  Doomp.

  Doomp.

  ‘No one’s looking!’ someone called back from the group of sailors. ‘It’s you that’s making it weird. Just get on with it!’

  She turned and her walk away from the group. Slowly.

  Very faintly, from the decking behind her, she heard three knocks—doomp, doomp, doomp—but they were unnecessary. Standing on the hatch, she had felt the Urge of the man waiting mere inches below her. It was overwhelming. Stronger than anything she had ever felt. A roiling inferno of bloodlust.

  Whatever came up from that hatch was going to unleash hell.

  When she reached the darkest part of the ship, hidden by the mast and the little hut that housed Gennara’s quarters and the ship’s controls, she looked around. Gennara was nowhere to be seen. No one was watching.

  Moving quickly, she removed her clothes and stashed them behind a coil of rope. Then she dived.

  She went deep, deep enough that her vision went dark and blurry, deep enough that she would go unseen to anyone who wasn’t looking for her, but not so deep that she was completely blind.

  Slowly, carefully, clumsily, moving as best she could with her senses so heavily muffled, she padded back to the hatch.

  She had no idea where Gennara was but if she had heard that exchange about the toilet, she would be keeping an eye out for her. She had to move fast.

  The plank holding it shut was huge. She had examined it earlier; it had to be slid out through two housing brackets that held it in place, one on either side of the hatch.

  She bent over, the plank it with both hands, and gently tugged.

  It didn’t move.

  Crouching, balancing as carefully as she could, she gripped it more firmly and braced herself. Terrifyingly aware that she was naked and right in the crew’s line of sight, she hauled backwards.

  The plank budged, but it was stuck. With her hearing muffled, she couldn’t even tell whether it had made a noise. She couldn’t hear the sounds of the crew either. Nor could she see well enough to check what they were doing.

  There would be no point anyway. There was no explaining this. No going back.

  She crouched, gripped, and heaved again. The plank stuck fast.

  What was wrong with it? She needed a closer look but surfacing could mean death. But then, so could delay.

  There was no time.

  She surfaced just enough to resolve the haze of brown into shapes. The plank was warped, probably from exposure to the salty air. It had gotten itself diagonally jammed up into the inside corners of the housings. It needed to be twisted before it would slide. She gripped it once again and applied downward force to one side. Gently. Gently…

  Even with her hearing muffled , the wooden clonk was so loud she heard it as clearly as a gong.

  Now, she screamed internally. Now! Move! To her left, blurry movement.

  She heaved. The plank slid and she fell back. She heard the hatch pushed upwards from the inside, banging again and again against the plank, which was only halfway out, keeping the hatch shut.

  Her hands had lost contact with the plank and she searched for it again, her fingers scrabbling against the wood of the deck. Through her feet she could feel thudding footsteps, hear voices, louder now, clearer…

  She surfaced. Sound and sight resolved instantly. Sky. Ship. Sea.

  Hands.

  Plank.

  She didn’t look round. She gripped, leaned back, and heaved.

  It slid free and she toppled backwards, sprawling. The unmistakable sound of Gennara’s voice roared at the same time as the hatched banged open and two dark figures rushed out onto the deck, followed by two more, then two more.

  Instinctively she rolled away from the roar, escaping by inches the heavy oak spear that slammed into the deck where her chest had just been. She looked up at the scene before her: the deck, mast, railings, and the distances between them. The clear path from where she stood to the far end of the ship.

  In an instant she memorised it all then dived, deep enough to disappear.

  The world turned black. She ran.

  Blind, invisible, vulnerable, she sprinted into the memory of what she had just seen; she accelerated, imagining Gennara rushing after her, stabbing madly at the empty air, expecting to pierce invisible flesh. Trusting her memory, she skidded to a stop, crouched, and rolled into the blackness on her right. She imagined Gennara rushing past her, chasing an invisible ghost. She had no way of knowing for sure whether the deception had worked, but she didn’t seem to have been trampled or impaled. Yet.

  She reached out a hopeful hand.

  It felt like gripping jelly through seven pairs of thick gloves, but she felt it. The bottom rung of the railing. She grasped it with all her strength and blindly slid herself under it, off the side of the ship, bracing her feet against the side. Her other hand reached up and grabbed the railing and she hung there, over the side where she couldn’t be seen.

  Just like Lord Certainflex had shown her.

  Holding on with all her strength, she entrusted her life to her friends and her luck, and waited.