Chương 58: 6 The Undertide (Bonus Chapter)

"Again," I barked! The Kobolds scrambled, spilling over each other as they made for the next cluster of barrels. Dustnose tensed; it made his motion sloppy. Mudlock pushed Chipsludge, sending the first one sprawling. In the back, Clod gasped, dragging his fat belly as he waddled in the rear.

"Dead. Dead. Dead!" I clapped my hands with each word for emphasis.

"I said move!" Mudlock hit the barricade first and drew his four-barreled Kobold Pebble Pelter. He jerked the trigger, a sharp series of pops splitting the deck. They trained with powder, but no shot. Only the light trajectory cones of displacing gases shone from the barrels, quickly dispersing.

"Too early, Mudlock! You are a team that fires together! Your role is suppression!" Dustnose hit the barricade, then Chipsludge.

"Wait for everyone!" I hollered.

"You'd be lucky to hit a capsized hull on your own! Together—no one wants to face down that much powder!" Clod huffed and gasped, wide feet slapping the deck. My eyes rolled.

"Needles, go!" The Goblin launched off the quarterdeck, sailing through the air and coming down on the main deck. His momentum didn't stop; he rolled, fluid, coming up clean and sprinting around the Kobolds. Twin, long, needlelike daggers flashed in his hand. He kicked off a barrier, severing a rope suspended in a stand, landed, then stumbled. I slapped my brow, a grumble escaping me.

"No hiccups!" Needles gritted his teeth, recovered, then rolled under another training barrier. He came up on the other side, dagger flashing. The blade sheared another target rope, but only halfway.

"Dead!" I shifted.

"Bigs!" Othess and Drogo came next, sprinting from one end of the deck to the other. I tried to ignore the onlookers. Bianca watched, along with Corin, but the one whose eyes I felt the most was Elara. What had happened since the last time we met? Why was she so closed off? No, that was a foolish question. I knew what happened. I guess I hadn't expected her to take it so personally.

"Support by fire, now!" The Kobolds came up over the cover. Gunsmoke barked from tiny pistols, crackling like firecrackers. Dustnose fired too fast. A spark from the second barrel ignited the powder in the other three. The weapon jerked from his hands; the kick multiplied many times over. Othess reached his position and shouldered his rifle.

"Use the support!" I threw my hands up in dismay.

"That barrier is a stable firing position!" I could teach them the same lesson over and over, but they'd never remember it when the smoke filled the air. Othess winced, irritated, then dropped to a knee, bracing the rifle on the crate. His rifle roared, many times larger than the Kobold Pebble Pelters. Finally, Drogo's flick knife slammed into a barrel, sinking into a wanted poster of Puppetmaster's face, epoxied to the wood. The blade hit just left of my father's ear—a miss.

"Dead. Dead!" I said, face warm.

"End Exercise!" Drogo deflated. The Kobolds heaved relieved breaths. I stomped over.

"Mudlock, stay with your team! Dustnose! Regulate your shots!" They each winced in turn.

"And all of you—every single one, popped over the barrels to fire!" I scanned the little gang, allowing my shadow to loom over them.

"What have I told you about breaking the horizon?"

"Don't do it," Dustnose murmured. I gestured to Othess.

"Unless you've got a long weapon that needs the support, don't risk it." I shifted to Othess.

"Why kneeling?" His lips pinched tight in confusion. I pointed to a sandbag that I had placed beside his crate.

"You could have gone prone for a steadier position while minimizing your silhouette." He glanced over, clearly noticing the sandbag for the first time.

"I wanted the mobility," he said.

"Prone would lock me down too far." I nodded.

"Acceptable reasoning." My finger jabbed at the sandbag.

"But next time, I want you to consider all of your options. You had tunnel vision. That'll get you killed." Shifting, I faced Drogo and Clod.

"You two," I said.

"You're both way too slow."

"Not my fault!" Clod hissed.

"I'm moving as fast as I can!"

"Not your fault?" I jabbed his belly.

"Don't you think I haven't noticed you sneaking spoonfuls of honey from the galley? You're overweight. That's an extra load you can't afford to take into combat with you." I turned my attention to Drogo, whose potbelly stuck out over his belt.

"That applies to both of you." The Hobgoblin twitched, adjusting his round tinted spectacles.

"I suppose I could lose ten pounds." I snorted.

"Try fifty. Trust me, this all gets a lot easier when you're lean." I folded my arms tight across my chest.

"So I'm going to leave it up to you. You're either going to cut your rations, or you're going to burn them doing ladders across the deck." I glanced at the timer. <<Time to Seal Collapse: 02: 01: 01: 12: 32: 33>> What was the point? The world was ending. It's not like they'd make substantial progress in the time we had left. My hands tightened on my biceps. No, my men wouldn't be complacent. They'd be sharp. Capable.

"Needles," I shifted, then nodded once.

"Good effort, just need to clean things up around the edges." The Goblin smirked, smoothly sliding daggers back into his sheaths.

"Get the course cleaned up," I said, nodding toward the barriers and obstacles.

"Get some rest. We'll rerun the exercise tomorrow." The Kobolds grumbled as they packed the crates and sandbags away. Footsteps behind me announced Bianca and Corin's arrival.

"Being a little harsh there, don't you think?" Bianca said in a low voice. Morgan's shadow towered over me in my mind. In that moment, Drogo and Othess had been dead men walking. Me—I had tricks, feats. The others were just regular people.

"I will not lead them to easy deaths," I said darkly.

"Why not?" Bianca asked.

"Isn't that the reason you're willing to work with them and not us?" I shifted my gaze to her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we're your friends. You don't want us to get hurt. So you chose mercenaries, convicts, and outsiders. Be honest, is there a part of them that sees them as expendable?" Her eyes didn't waver. I didn't answer. Wood scraped against the deck as the Kobolds hauled a barrier away. Drogo wrenched his flick knife from the barrel before rolling it away.

"You're going too hard on them," Bianca said.

"I disagree emphatically," Corin said, earning a surprised sidelong glance from me. The Primord shrugged.

"If Antonio's going to pursue a foe so grand as Puppetmaster, he can't afford a soft crew."

"He could recognize their effort," Bianca said.

"They're frustrated, and all he does is criticize. That's how you get a mutiny." Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. My grip tightened. Was I being harsh? I didn't think so. Everything I did, I did for a reason. Corin's head ticked, ear tilting up.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Bianca asked. A grin split his face.

"Stop the ship!" He turned and rushed for the bulwark. Executing what was easily the cleanest dive I'd seen in my life, he slipped over the edge of the ship, vanishing beneath the waves with barely a splash.

"Helm's a-lee!" I barked up to the helmsman.

"Let her luff!" The helmsman nodded, angling the ship out of the wind.

"What is he doing?" I grumbled, gripping the bulwark as I watched the water. Elara joined us at the rail, and Naomi exited her cabin.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Fish boy decided it's a good time to go for a swim," I murmured.

"I have no idea." Naomi stepped beside us, listening.

"There are other sentients down there," she said.

"If he just dove into a Deep Folk raiding party, I'm not bailing him out." The wood creaked in water, and low waves lapped against the hull.

"Well?" I murmured. Then his head broke the surface, and he grinned.

"Submariners! It's Uncle Coralfin!" Blood drained from my face as the other heads broke the water—mostly Merfolk and Primords, wearing skin-tight wraps. My eyes found him instantly. Lance, Coralfin, Uncle of the High Family; my mentor. A dorsal fin circled him playfully; that would be Dredge, his great white shark familiar.

"Uncle Coralfin!" Naomi called down.

"What a surprise. Would you care to join us for supper?" He grinned, waving up.

"Aye, Cousin Myrkrath! I think we would." Naomi turned.

"Drop the ladders. We have company." Minutes later, red and yellow-skinned Primords climbed aboard. Soldiers wearing the wet suits of the Submar Deep Guard. Their pincer harpoon bows hung in harnesses strapped to their backs. The Merfolk among them remained in the water. Lance grinned, offering Naomi a wet hand. A canister dangled from his belt, holding Quickgold, his liquid trident.

"Captain."

"Don," she said, inclining her head. He scanned the crowd, going suddenly still when his gaze landed on me. The smile disappeared. I swallowed.

"Hey," I said. He stomped toward me, his face a hurricane. I flinched back.

"You. Talk. Now." He pinched my ear, pulling me away from the others. I inhaled sharply, hurrying after him. He stopped in the center of the deck.

"What the brine, Tony?" he hissed.

"What's your problem?"

"What?" I demanded, rubbing my ear.

"What?" His red face flushed darker.

"What? Tony, you went AWOL. Bruk wants you court-martialled, and that's not an unreasonable request." I folded my arms, all of my brilliant justifications feeling suddenly juvenile.

"There's an open quest," I said.

"On Puppetmaster. Ourabora told me it's within my rights to pursue."

"The High Family didn't issue that quest!" he snapped.

"It's a system hiccup. A mistake."

"She doesn't make mistakes," I said.

"Maybe the High Family is the reason we haven't caught him yet." He flicked my ear. I hissed, clapping my hand to the sting.

"Think, Tony. We can't have rogue Cousins running around disrupting operations."

"Disrupting operations?" I demanded.

"I'm finding results. I know where he is. I know what he's after."

"Tony, burning hot and smashing doors down is foolish."

"Except when it isn't." I folded my arms tightly across my chest.

"I've messaged you," he said.

"Your mother asked me where you were, and I had to look her in the eye and tell her I didn't know." His eyes fell on the amulet dangling around my neck. He seized it, snapping the chain. <<System Notice: Your Location Telemetry is No Longer Obscured>>"Hey!" I exclaimed, hand rubbing the sting around my neck.

"You stole this from the Armory of Allocation!" He clutched it in a fist.

"That makes it contraband." It blinked away into his inventory.

"Want big boy toys. Grow up!" I folded my arms, scowling.

"I have half the mind to throw you over the bulwark and switch you like a naughty school child." I tensed. He could do it—easily. He studied me for a long moment, then his shoulders slumped.

"Jorg, boy, it's good to see you're alright." His hand found my shoulder.

"No more going dark on us, do you understand?" I didn't answer. His head shook ever so subtly.

"Stubborn kid." Naomi approached but stayed at a respectful distance. Lance shifted to her, decorum and friendliness replacing disappointment and rage.

"Well, Captain, you said something about supper? I'm famished!" For an impromptu affair, Naomi's crew put a nice spread together quickly—three long tables spread across the main decks, complete with white tablecloths, glass, silverware, and candles. A makeshift band set up on the quarterdeck, serenading the ship with soft guitar and slow accordion. I stood behind my seat, the other officers and Submariners waiting at their respective spots. Naomi's boots clicked as she approached the head of the table.

"Captain on deck!" We snapped to attention. These formalities usually weren't important to Naomi unless we had distinguished guests.

"Please!" Naomi approached Lance at the other end of the combined tables.

"Take a seat." He scooted his chair, and everyone else followed suit, settling into their places. Overall, the dinner had taken less than an hour to prepare. The personnel below provided fresh fish, and on a ship this size, the galley was perpetually moving. Sailors swooped in from both sides, bearing plates and platters of cod, salmon, shrimp, and fresh biscuits.

"So," Lance said, grasping a fork and a knife in either hand.

"What brings you out so far south downward?" He took a bite of cod. Naomi interlaced her fingers before her.

"My quest calls me home." He finished chewing and swallowed.

"I've been in the deep for over a week now. I haven't had the chance to check the quest logs. What are your objectives?"

"Cousin Antonio actually brought us this one," Naomi said.

"Perhaps he could give the best context." I paused, shrimp half raised to my lips, pinched by the tail. She'd seen our argument earlier—this was her way of allowing me to account for my actions. Lance turned to me.

"Oh? I'm glad to see you've been productive." His voice was overly formal, detached from his feelings in my absence. I set the shrimp back down.

"I've been following a chain of Puppetmaster's agents," I said, casting a quick glance at the other officers.

"Initially, their plans were in the research phase, but it quickly became apparent that they had advanced to operations." I glanced down at my plate. Was I really briefing the High Family again?

"I thought maybe they had located another Anti-astral Defense System," I said.

"But we now know he was looking for something else." Every eye turned to me. A tube of parchment winked into existence in my palm, and I handed it to Felipe, who passed it down the line until it found itself in Lance's hands. He slipped the leather ring off and spread it wide.

"The Bottle of Souls," he said.

"Zalathor." I nodded.

"With Bloodwake fleets assembling, that makes sense," he said.

"If they bind up Fel Rock with a rogue lich, they'd cut us off from an entire coalition island."

"But why bother with the war?" I asked, pointing up at the holes overhead.

"They can dig in. Wait us out. Once the timer hits zero, Granduncle dies, and the sky breaks anyway." Lance's brow pinched together, a conclusion dancing behind his eyes, but he held it in. He rolled the parchment back up, slipping the ring back over.

"If Puppetmaster's going to be there, perhaps I should join you." He sent me a meaningful glance.

"If I can conclude my work here?"

"And what brings you here?" Naomi asked, then glanced at the other officers and added.

"If you're at liberty to disclose."

"Conventionally, no," Lance said, interlacing his fingers before him, matching Naomi's posture.

"But I'm going to bend the rules for you. I should warn you about these waters in the lower quadrant, Captain." Everyone leaned in.

"As you passed overhead, we were investigating a wreck—The Gilded Archon." I froze, half reaching for a roll.

"The Gilded Archon? That's a capital ship. A ship-of-the-line."

"Hence our investigation," Lance said.

"What could possibly be in water so near the bottom map that posed a serious threat to the Gilded Archon?"

"Tethyra?" Naomi guessed. Lance shook his head.

"The Kraken is all the way up by Heim Rock, presently."

"A Dragon?" Corin said.

"One of Krathic-Thar's sons?"

"No burns on the ship."

"The brass turtle," I said, recalling the new titan prowling the waters. Lance's fingers steepled.

"We've diagnosed the damage. A beast didn't sink the Gilded Archon. Artillery did."

"Another ship?" I said, sinking back into my seat.

"How? They say the Archon was unsinkable. It'd have had to face off with a whole fleet. Ten other ships."

"Pirates couldn't muster an armada that big," Naomi noted.

"They're too divided."

"I've spent the better part of the day swimming these waters," Lance said.

"No other ships sank with the Archon."

"So what? It somehow sank itself?" I snorted. Lance didn't smile.

"Whatever sank the Archon left no evidence whatsoever," he said.

"I have forensics experts studying her wounds. They could tell you the caliber of ball that took her down, but there are no shells below." He sipped from a crystal goblet, setting the cup down gently.

"So, either whoever sank it cared enough to dive down and retrieve their cannonballs or—""There are no physical cannonballs," I said, eyes going wide.

"The Undertide." He nodded twice.

"It seems the ghost ship had left her usual hunting grounds and is targeting Paradise ships."

"Wait," Corin said.

"I thought the Undertide never left Ghost Rock."

"So legends say," Lance agreed.

"Old Captain Alonso Vale, protecting the isle of souls," he said as if reciting an ancient passage.

"He sinks any who approach, Bloodwake, or Paradise. The Watchman of the dead."

"Only," I said, glancing back at Naomi at the head of the table.

"We're hundreds of leagues away from Ghost Rock."

"Exactly," Lance affirmed, leaning back in his chair.

"The moment we learn Puppetmaster is operating in bottom seas, the Undertide changes its attack patterns."

"Why?" Naomi asked.

"Why indeed, Captain?" Lance agreed." That is why we are here." A hush fell across the table. Submariners and navy officers alike stared at their plates, appetites forgotten.

"The Gilded Archon isn't the Undertide's first prey," Lance warned.

"It's her fifth. Captain Vale is getting bold, striking out closer and closer to Fel Rock."

"It's like a one-ship blockade," I said softly.

"And you just crossed the sanctioned line," Lance said.

"Hence, my warning. Be careful, Captain. You sail in hunted waters." The band continued to play softly, but no one spoke. At length, Corin broke the silence, reciting the first verse of a well-known chanty.

"Beware, beware the Undertide, If you see her, stow your pride. Flee, outpace her if you can. No wind fills her canvas span. Beware, beware the Undertide, At her chill, run and hide. Shot and steel will pass her through She can't be harmed, but she'll sink you." Lance nodded slowly.

"I'm afraid I must focus on the Undertide. But Aunt Myrkrath should aid you greatly on Fel Rock."

"If we don't get sunk by an untouchable ship first," I murmured.

"You might consider charting a longer route to Fel Rock," Lance advised. Naomi glanced out over the waves.

"If Puppetmaster is at Fel Rock, we're needed now. We sail straight through." <<Time to Seal Collapse: 02: 01: 01: 10: 12: 58>>