Darkfall: Shadows of the Deep, page 10
‘Well, you won’t be working together,’ he said, ‘that's for sure. You,’ he pointed at Max, ‘can work sorting out the smaller hauls. You need to split the catches up by species: crabs, mussels, lobsters, things like that. A lot of those little bastards can nip, so you’re likely gonna have some pretty sore hands by the time the day is out.’
‘Don’t I get gloves?’ Max asked.
Bull just smiled. ‘When you earn ‘em.’
‘What about me?’ Jack asked.
‘How good are you with a knife?’ Bull asked. ‘Ever gutted fish before?’
‘Once or twice,’ Jack said. ‘I’m not an expert.’
‘You will be soon enough. We need to get the innards out, as those are the parts that start to spoil and rot first. Get the bones out as well, if you can, then package up what’s left ready to be shipped out. Smelly work, so hope you have access to a bath.’
‘Not really,’ Jack said.
Bull laughed. ‘Then you’re gonna stink. But that ain’t my problem. Now let’s go.’ He then led them deeper into the warehouse.
As they walked, Max leaned in to Jack. ‘If you get an opportunity,’ he whispered, ‘try to get into that closed door. Even if it’s just for a peek. Also, keep your mouth shut. I’d wager a lot of men in here are the type to start trouble. Don’t give them the opportunity.’
‘I’m not an idiot,’ Jack whispered back. ‘You just concentrate on looking after yourself. I’ll see you when the day is over.’
The first station they arrived at was Max’s. Bull then ordered Jack to follow him deeper into the warehouse. The station he was working at turned out to be much closer to the rear double doors. He was directed to a small, basic wooden table covered in dried stains and deep cut marks—and it stank of fish guts. Two men brought a crate of dead fish over and placed it next to the table. They then left an empty box at the other side, before moving away at Bull’s command.
‘Make your way through these,’ Bull said as he tapped the box full of fish. ‘Gut and de-bone each one completely, and keep going till you're told to stop. If by some miracle you get through them all, we’ll bring more over for you. I’ll make sure we’ll get our money’s worth out of you. Don’t,’ he stressed, ‘move away from your station too much. If you need a piss, go into the back alley. If you’re gone longer than ten minutes, don’t bother coming back. I’ll ring the bell at the end of the day to let you know the shift is over. After that, you clear out quickly so the night workers can come in.’
‘Are there extra hours to work tonight?’ Jack asked. ‘Cos we’d be willing to stay—’
Bull cut him off. ‘No. The night-shift is carefully selected. New blood have no chance. Everything else clear?’
‘Clear as glass,’ Jack replied.
‘Good, get to work.’ Bull walked away. Jack watched him move back to the stairs and head up to the gantry again. Jack caught view of Max and saw the Shadowhand was elbow deep in a crate full of crabs and lobsters. Max looked up and gave him a quick nod.
Jack glanced down at his own table. He picked up a long, slightly curved knife, and then grabbed one of the slippery fish. He slapped it down onto the wooden surface.
Jack then pushed the end of the knife into the soft white belly, slicing it open along the length of the body. As Jack worked, he looked up to see one of the other workmen entering the door on the far wall, walking in between the guards. It was quickly closed behind him again.
How the hell do I get inside there?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tom Sullen sat with his back resting against a tall headstone. The graveyard around him was deserted. That allowed Tom to sit and fight his overwhelming cravings alone, without worrying about being disturbed. If someone did find him, would they too fall victim to the savagery growing within him?
It had been a long climb up the one hundred and ninety-nine steps to reach the Church of St. Mary and its surrounding graveyard. Whitby Abbey was close by, as both buildings sat up on the southern cliffs and looked out over the settlement below. Now, however, the abbey was a ruin. It had no roof, so was open to the elements, and some of the walls had crumbled and eroded away. The east-facing wall of the structure still retained its grandeur, with a high peak and three sets of tall, narrow openings that used to be windows. The western section, however, had deteriorated to a few lone outcroppings of stone that gave an indication of the building’s original footprint. The inside of the abbey was completely open, with a partial stone flooring but no internal walls, and was mostly overgrown with grass and weeds. Its footprint resembled that of a cross.
The graveyard surrounding the low, squat Church of St. Mary was a little farther west. Hundreds of graves were all hemmed in by a stone wall that ran around the perimeter. Tom had hidden himself away in the northern section of the large graveyard and was nestled between a row of headstones and the surrounding wall, which helped keep the wind of the cliffs at bay.
The cold headstone behind Tom caused a chill to radiate through both his shirt and the hooded coat he’d stolen that evening. It had been hanging off the back of a public bench as the drunk owner sat with his head in his hands and a pool of vomit at his feet. The coat was a little too big for him, long and baggy, but that was actually perfect for his needs—it kept him warm and also hid the deformities he’d developed.
The deformities terrified him almost as much as what he’d done the previous night.
He couldn’t forget the ripping and tearing, and the devouring of flesh. Tom remembered the bitter, glorious taste, and how unleashing his anger had felt so good. It was as if he had finally been sated.
After coming to his senses, however, still covered in blood and gore, Tom had fled.
Soon, he realised the relief had been short-lived. It soon returned—even stronger this time—and started to gnaw at his unnaturally bloated stomach, which was still full of human meat. His gut pushed against the buttons of his shirt, and some of them had already popped off completely. But that had not been Tom’s only change.
He slid his hands from his overly long coat sleeves and looked them over. His fingers were elongated, now long and spindly, and his newly blackened nails had grown long. Earlier, Tom had actually tried to chew through them, but his teeth—which were also now longer—couldn’t bite through.
The skin over Tom’s face also felt much tighter, to the point of being painful—it was like his skull was trying to push its way out. His bones ached. In addition, Tom could feel two protrusions forming on his forehead, one on either side, where nubs of bone were pushing out.
He had no doubt all of this had started when the thing beneath Kettleness had bitten him. The wound on his arm, now black and weeping, had grown even wider, with the infection spreading across the flesh up to his shoulder. Could the infection have caused all the changes? he wondered. Though he was loath to admit it, he felt it was likely, and realised the changes would continue. He thought again of the creature.
Is that what I’m becoming?
If so, Tom wondered if he would retain any of his own agency and memories. There seemed to be intelligence behind the eyes of that monster, but that was alongside an obviously animalistic glare.
He leaned his head back against the headstone. No doctor could save him now, even if he could see one. That left him with two choices: either accept what was coming and let the change occur, or… end his own life before it happened. At least that way, he would be in charge of his own end, finishing things on his own terms and dying as a human rather than an abomination.
It was a crushing realisation.
Tom slowly stood and looked out to the sea. One small step off the edge of the cliff would be enough. Drowning would be terrifying and painful, he assumed, but it might be preferable.
He slowly climbed over the wall and began walking out to the cliff edge. However, he hesitated, then stopped. After remaining motionless for a minute, Tom then turned around and returned to the graveyard. He sat down again and cried.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘Is this the first inhuman entity you’ve seen?’ Webster asked Assandra.
The three of them were in a small cave system beneath Kettleness. The air around them smelled earthy; the only light was from small torches and oil lamps fixed to the rocky walls.
‘No,’ Assandra replied as she looked into the eyes of the beast before her. It was trapped behind a wall of iron bars. ‘I saw things out at Dalby,’ she said. ‘Dead bodies that had risen. But… this is different.’
‘It is,’ Vern confirmed. ‘The reanimated dead were under the control of your sister, raised by a combination of the spawn and her own power. What you see here is something that was once human, but it acts on its own instincts.’
‘What is it?’ Assandra asked. The unmoving creature stared back at her with a gaze that simmered with rage. It took all of her willpower not to step away.
‘A thing of beauty,’ Vern simply replied. ‘In truth, there are many such things in the world, though their numbers are slight enough that they are not common knowledge. To most people, they exist simply as legends or folk stories, but most people don’t really believe in them. However, I learned long ago that where most fanciful tales exist, a certain truth usually lies behind them. The things we keep down here are evidence of that.’
‘Things?’ Assandra asked. ‘Monsters might be more appropriate.’
‘No!’ Vern snapped. ‘That is a biased label, one decided upon by the speaker, never the subject. To many, you might be a monster, but I know you are not. It is the same with the thing before you.’
‘I don’t have antlers,’ Assandra argued. ‘Or a mouthful of sharp teeth. Or claws. My skull is not visible over my skin.’
‘But none of those traits are monstrous,’ Vern said.
‘When you put them together they are.’
‘Why?’
Assandra shook her head in annoyance. ‘Tell me this, then. If we release it from its cage, what would happen? Would it simply walk away? Or would it tear us apart and eat our flesh?’
‘It would kill us,’ Vern answered.
‘Then it’s a monster.’
‘But if you released a caged lion, would it not do the same thing? Is a lion therefore a monster, or just an animal like us?’
‘These creatures are just animals, then?’ She shook her head. ‘They can’t be. They aren’t natural.’
‘Defining what is ‘natural’ is not so straightforward,’ Vern said. ‘The creature behind that cage exists, therefore it is surely natural, even if its origins are… unusual. That doesn’t make it unnatural. I would think you of all people could understand that.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Assandra asked with a raised eyebrow.
‘Would you class your abilities as natural? Is shooting fire from your hands normal? Or would most people shun you and call you evil, just because of the things you can do?’ Assandra was forced to pause—she had no argument. ‘Even the more fantastical entities I’ve learned of,’ Vern went on, ‘such as ghosts, wraiths, and others, are all explainable. What’s more, I believe these things the world over have one thing in common.’
A loud screech from down the tunnel drew their attention. ‘What was that?’ she asked.
‘One of the others keen to see us, I’d wager,’ Webster said. ‘Probably wondering what sort of meal is walking the tunnels. A lot of them get agitated when they haven’t been fed.’
‘You feed them?’ Assandra asked.
‘Of course. To continue your father's comparison, would a keeper not feed his lions?’
‘And what do you feed them?’
He smiled. ‘The only thing they eat.’
‘People?!’
Webster let out a laugh. ‘Well, it doesn’t have to be human flesh, thankfully,’ he said. ‘Though sometimes it’s the only thing that will do, depending on what we’re feeding. Some are pickier than others.’
Assandra’s stomach lurched. Why have I come out here? I can’t be part of this.
‘I appreciate this is a lot to take in,’ Vern said. ‘But we are showing it to you to prepare you, to ease you in so you might be more open to believing the rest. We need you to help us finish what your sister started. Now, follow me. There is more for you to see.’
With no other options, Assandra walked side by side with Vern, Webster bringing up the rear.
As they walked, she saw more creatures in the tunnels. All of them were behind strong bars, and all of them were terrifying in their own right. She saw a reanimated body, similar to those she’d witnessed out at Dalby, only this one was mostly skeletal. It had a single eyeball, which sat deep in its skull and glinted in the flickering torchlight as it stared at her. It was motionless as Assandra walked past.
Another horror was standing behind bars, this time spaced much closer together, and the cavern it resided in was much smaller than the others. Vern told her it was something called a boggart. The creature was the size of a child, with dark skin somewhere between grey and brown. The head was perfectly bald, and it had small ears on the side of a chubby face and a large, protruding forehead. Its black eyes were set far apart, pushed away from the centre by the gaping vertical split of its mouth—one that opened like a venus flytrap, with strings of saliva hanging from spindly teeth. The wide, purple tongue that flopped from the mouth was lined with a layer of fine bristles.
The shoulders and chest of the creature were infant-like, save for the lumps and warts covering it, and the lower half of the boggart’s body more resembled that of an insect. The bottom of the torso curved out backwards, with a white-plated underbelly supported by six legs, three on each side of the abdomen. The legs were thin, but fleshy, and there were small, human-like feet at the ends.
There was yet another cage filled inside with dull-grey webbing, spun so finely it was difficult to see much between the silky strands. However, as Assandra peered inside, a long, spindly, insect-like leg slowly moved out from between the bars. It was longer than her arm and covered in thin spines and fleshy orbs that were a milky-yellow.
‘What on earth is that?’ she asked.
‘Don’t get too close.’ Vern said. ‘The creatures we have down here can be safely caged for as long as we need them. But they’re still dangerous. Accidents can and do happen, so keep your distance.’
Eventually, after seeing several more monstrosities, Assandra was led back out of the tunnel system. The daylight above ground was a contrast to the dark tunnels, and Assandra was forced to shield her eyes for a few moments after exiting. She then followed Vern and Webster back to the large house.
While witnessing the monsters down in the caves had been unnerving, the thing that plagued her was what Vern and Skivington had told her the previous day, of the entity that lay out beneath the sea. Vern had called it… a god.
‘How do you feel?’ Vern asked.
Assandra thought on that, then shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It’s a lot to take in.’
‘I understand. I’m opening your eyes, which have been closed for so long.’
She let out a humourless chuckle. ‘Closed because you hid everything from me—including your own existence.’
Her father ignored the comment and carried on. ‘Hopefully, you can now understand there are other things in the world. Like the god out there beneath the waves,’ he said, nodding to the sea.
Assandra shook her head. ‘I don’t believe in God.’
‘I’m not talking about the father of Christ, girl,’ he snapped. It was the first time he had shown anything approaching anger, even if it was brief. Vern quickly caught himself, however, and resumed a gentle tone. ‘The thing I’m talking about is real, tangible. Something we may be able to see and communicate with.’
‘You’ve seen it yourself, then?’
He paused. ‘No. But with the monolith your sister created, I have seen her communicate with it.’
‘What was the purpose?’ Assandra asked.
He spun to face her. ‘To learn! So we can discover our place in the world. No, not just the world, but beyond it. Aren’t you the least bit curious what knowledge it could impart on us? We are mere ants to it, so imagine all it could know.’
His voice was filled with wonder. To Assandra, however, he would have been wiser to show more caution. If the entity beneath the sea was as powerful as he hinted, that was absolutely terrifying.
‘Tell me,’ Assandra began. ‘When was the last time you explained yourself to an ant?’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘You should. The point is a simple one. You likened us to ants. What makes you think the god would bother trying to communicate with us? Would you speak with an ant? Could the ant even understand you? Or, if one ever bothered you, would you be more likely to talk to it, or just squash it and move on?’
She saw Vern slowly nod. ‘I understand your logic,’ he said. ‘Indeed, I believe if any normal human tried to make contact, it would ruin their mind.’ Assandra immediately thought of Gus. ‘The same would happen to me, I’m sure,’ Vern said. ‘However, it won’t be me. You see, the gifts you and your sister possess are such that you are strong enough to bear the crushing weight of communion.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because Cora achieved it—I knew she would. But the communion was cut short by the Deathborn. Our work was not finished. We were just getting started.’
‘And now you need me, the fallback, to step into her shoes?’
Vern let out a sigh. ‘You were never a fallback, Assandra.’
‘Of course I was. I’m not an idiot.’
‘We did it to protect you, as I’ve already said,’ he replied, though he was starting to raise his voice again. More cracks formed in the previously calm disposition. ‘Why must you keep going back to that? Your combative attitude is draining.’
‘My combative attitude is my normal attitude,’ Assandra snapped. ‘Which I developed after both my parents left my sister and I alone. Don’t you dare presume to lecture me!’ While Assandra was certainly annoyed, she deliberately overplayed her anger. It was interesting to see how much she was able to get under his skin.
