Tome of the Undergates

‘I’m not certain I want to know,’ Asper replied, frowning. She cast a glance to the companionway leading to the hold below and shuddered.

‘And what do you intend to do about him?’ Dreadaeleon asked, pointing to the far side of the mess hall.

Asper cringed; she had purposely avoided glancing at that particular section. Swallowing her anxiety, she turned and glanced at the cold, limp corpse of the frogman lying on the table under a sheet, eyes wide open and glazed over as they stared up at the ceiling. She hadn’t even ventured near enough to close his eyes, she realised, cursing herself for such disrespect. Still, it was difficult for her even to glance at the corpse. Without the rush of combat, the man’s appearance unnerved her greatly.

Anxiety was not a word that Dreadaeleon recognised, however, and she gasped as she saw the wizard take a seat next to the corpse and poke it curiously.

‘Dread!’ she cried out, hurrying over. She skidded to a halt about halfway, cringing, but forced herself to come alongside the boy. ‘Foe or not, have some respect for the dead!’

‘Look at this,’ the wizard said, ignoring her. He held up the corpse’s limp arm and she cringed again. He held the arm a little closer to the light and pointed to the skin. ‘His skin is still wet and he’s been down here for hours and. . my, my, what’s this?’

He didn’t have to point it out to her, for Asper saw it as clearly as he did. The boy gently pulled the man’s fingers apart, stretching the flaps of skin between the digits.

‘Webbed hands,’ he said, examining the digits. He dropped the hand and spun in his seat, lifting up the man’s leg. ‘Look here. . he has them between his toes as well.’

‘Fascinating,’ Asper replied. ‘Do you really have to do this now?’

‘And if he has webbed appendages. .’ Dreadaeleon trailed off as he inched closer to the frogman’s head.

Asper reeled back, cringing as he lifted the corpse’s head and pulled back his ear. She nearly retched when she saw the thin red slits hidden behind the earlobe.

‘Interesting,’ Dreadaeleon remarked, sharing none of her disgust. ‘He has. . gills.’

‘So. . he really is a frogman?’

‘It’d be more accurate to call him a fishman, I think.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Asper replied, intentionally avoiding looking at the mutated man. ‘It’s. . good that the captain didn’t order him tossed overboard. Otherwise you might never have found this out.’

‘Why does Argaol want him, anyway?’ Dreadaeleon asked, examining the webbed toes again. ‘Weren’t the others tossed overboard after they were executed?’

‘I suppose he believes the frogmen have some connection to the creatu-’

Asper stopped short, staring in abject horror as Dreadaeleon dropped the man’s leg and began to pull the sheet covering him down. Able to stand no more, she stamped her foot and reached for his hands.

‘Even if he is a loathsome creature, I won’t let you desecrate him like-’

‘Do you have any tattoos under your shirt?’ he interrupted.

‘What?’ Asper asked, pulling back with a shocked expression on her face.

‘You know, like on your belly or chest?’

‘I most certainly do not!’

‘Really?’ Dreadaeleon asked. With one swift jerk, he pulled the sheet from the corpse. Asper reeled back at the sight as Dreadaeleon leaned forwards to get a closer look. ‘Our friend here has an interesting one. .’

Emblazoned on the man’s chest in ink the colour of fresh blood was a symbol of a pair of skeletal shark jaws, gaping wide and lined with hundreds of sharp teeth. The other frogmen had worn the symbol on their biceps, she recalled. Did they all have them on their chests, too?

‘What. . do you think they mean?’ At his curious glance, she cleared her throat and continued. ‘In your opinion, that is?’

‘I’m at a loss. Symbols are really more the dominion of priests, aren’t they?’

‘Well, maybe I-’ She hesitated, suddenly aware of the edge in his voice.

Or rather, she noted, the lack of an edge. He’s doing it again, trying to appear nonchalant and enquiring while secretly smugging it up in his own head. She felt a familiar ire creep behind her eyes, her hand clench involuntarily. Not this time, runt.

‘What do you mean by that?’ she finished tersely.

‘I. . didn’t mean anything by it.’

‘You leapt straight to linking those symbols to some manner of priesthood. Religious orders are hardly the only organisations to use sigils, you know. What about thieves? Assassins? Merchants? Argaol himself carries his own sigil.’

‘Not tattooed on his flesh.’ He held up his hands before she could retort. ‘Listen, I’ve neither the time nor inclination for a debate right this moment. I’m simply posing theories regarding a mystery that no one else seems to be thinking about besides you and me.’

Her jaw unclenched so slowly and forcefully that it might have made the sound of groaning metal. She inhaled sharply, holding her breath as her thoughts began to melt into a fine, guilty stew in her head. She had overreacted, of course she knew that now; not everything he posited was a challenge to her faith, nor was he intentionally trying to be snide.

The fact that he was unintentionally quite skilled at it, she chose to ignore. For now, she forced her irritation down and her smile up, offering an unspoken truce.

‘Though, you have to admit,’ he scratched his chin, perhaps hoping a beard would magically grow to make the gesture more dramatic, ‘it is a little odd.’

‘What is?’ She felt her jaw set again.

‘That the only one who seems to know anything isn’t answering any questions and is also a priest.’

It unclenched in a creaking snarl. ‘Why, you smarmy little-’

Before she could finish expressing her righteous indignation, before he could offer any stammering excuses, a noise filtered through the timbers of the mess. Growing closer with each breath, the sound of cursing, bodies hitting the wood, heavy-handed slaps and more than a little squealing filled the air.

Both pairs of eyes turned towards the companionway as a tangle of flesh, gold and silver came tumbling out of the shadows. They tussled for a moment, all frothing saliva, bared teeth, reddened skin and sheens of sweat, before settling into a mess of limbs. Gloved hands gripped arms, ankles, tufts of hair. Feet were planted in bellies, shins, dangerously close to groins. Their teeth were glistening, their recent use testified by the red marks on each other’s skin.

It was a horror to behold, Asper thought, but she had long since spent all her lectures on companionship and scolds for infighting. At this particular tangle, she could only blink once and sigh.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Ask this savage,’ Lenk growled. ‘She bit me.’

‘This round-ear bit me first!’ Kataria snapped back.

‘At least I don’t have teeth like a dog’s!’ Lenk spat.

‘And that’s only his most recent crime,’ Kataria continued, ‘before which came insanity, excessive cursing and oversensitivity!’

‘Lies!’ he all but roared. With a shove, he pulled free from her, clambering to his feet as she did. ‘It hardly concerns anyone else, anyway. This is between me and her.’

‘Have you no respect for the dead?’ Asper protested, taking a wary step to intervene. ‘These men, who fought and died alongside you, are resting here and you have to bring another squabble into their midst for no reason?’

‘There’s plenty of reason,’ Lenk snarled. ‘These men are dead because of us.’

‘Why? Because you weren’t able to kill the thing that killed them?’ Kataria turned her nose up haughtily. ‘Accept your weakness and move on. There was nothing you could have done.’

‘I could have grabbed the book!’

‘You could have had your head smashed in and lost the book anyway. Then we’d be short a book and you.’

‘And what do you care about that? What is it you always say?’ He pulled his ears upwards in mockery of hers,