Tome of the Undergates

‘Buried below deck,’ Lenk replied sharply. ‘Since I lack that privacy here, I have the distinct pleasure of hearing you while I-’

His sarcasm caught in his throat, overtaken by a stampede of half-digested meat. In one vile swoop, he tilted overboard.

‘If you’re feeling a bit fragile, I could ask Dreadaeleon to slow down,’ Kataria offered, none too gently.

‘I doubt he’ll listen.’

Their eyes slid towards the stern, narrowing upon the scrawny, coat-clad figure seated upon the sole bench. Legs folded, hands knitted in a gesture that looked painful to even consider attempting, Dreadaeleon’s eyes were shut tightly, lips quivering in a series of incomprehensible murmurs.

Above his head, the air shimmered and waxed, the sails billowing with every rapid twitch of his mouth. Behind him, the combined strength of Denaos and Gariath fought to control the rudder against the fury of the artificial wind. The rogue looked not at all pleased with the task; perhaps due to the proximity of the dragonman, perhaps due to the boy’s coat-tails whipping him about the face.

‘Fortunate that the companion vessel is small enough for him to move, isn’t it?’ Kataria spared a smile for the wizard. ‘I’d wager even the Abysmyth can’t swim so fast.’

‘Yeah. . fortunate,’ Lenk grumbled, narrowly avoiding a rogue wave. ‘We’ll be food for it that much quicker.’ His cheeks bulged momentarily. ‘And here I am, courteously marinating in my own juices.’

‘If it bothers you that much, wake him up.’

‘You don’t know much about wizards, do you?’ Lenk cast a baleful glare at the youth. ‘He’s focusing at the moment. If he’s disturbed, something could go wrong.’

‘Such as?’

‘I woke him up one time while he was trying to keep a fire lit without wood.’ A sour frown creased Lenk’s face. ‘He got startled and I walked away with no hair anywhere, save on my head.’

Kataria blinked for a moment before her eyes widened.

‘You mean even-’

‘Yes.’

‘Sounds painful.’

‘It was,’ he replied. ‘Anyway, if you feel like being blasted by whatever he’s messing with, go right ahead. Maybe then I can be sick in peace.’

Kataria chose to hold her tongue as his head bowed back beneath the railing. An expression that lingered uncertainly between lamentful and resentful played upon her face as she stared at him. There was a quiet comfort in his lurching, she thought, not without a modicum of distaste for the idea. She could see him now, vulnerable, as she had not seen him for ages. She could stare at him now without agitating him.

Without him screaming at me.

His head snapped up suddenly, his gaze fixing on her with a cold intensity. She resisted the urge to jump, even as he narrowed his eyes at her, as though he had heard her thoughts. In an instant, whatever malice lurked behind his glare dissipated, replaced by something hovering between meekness and resentment.

‘So,’ he whispered softly, ‘this will sound rather odd to hear.’

She quirked a brow.

‘And, rest assured, it’s not that easy to say, but. .’ His eyes flitted to the side, indicating a lock of silver that had been coated in a thick brown substance. ‘Would you mind terribly?’

The other brow went up, eyes widening as she realised his request.

‘Mind?’ she asked. ‘Yes, of course I mind, and more than a little of it is quite terrible.’

He blinked at her. ‘But can you do it anyway?’

‘Yeah.’ She sighed, doffing her gloves. ‘Just don’t get any on me.’

With a roll of her eyes, she slid behind him just as his head went back over the railing. Gingerly, she knitted her fingers into his hair and pulled it back gently, holding it out of his face as he sent a wave of brown cascading from his maw.

It occurred to her, with no small amount of grimacing, that she shouldn’t be looking so intently, much less smiling so broadly, at the sight of his liquid corkscrews. His sickness was a comfort to her, however; perhaps it was simply morbid amusement at his suffering, perhaps it was simply pleasant to feel needed once more. Either way, she could not turn away nor banish the smile from her face as he let out a gurgling sound, choking on pleas for mercy to his own innards.

She resolved to be disgusted with herself later.

‘This is nice, isn’t it?’

‘Nice,’ he repeated, gasping. His head tilted upwards slightly. ‘I’m vomiting up my intended last meal so that I’ll be nice and lean before something out there in the wide, blue sea of death decides to devour me.’ He shuddered. ‘Yes, this is very nice.’

‘What I mean is,’ she continued, ‘this is like how things used to be.’

‘That’s odd, I don’t remember this part.’

‘Just shut up and listen for a moment.’ Her ears twitched for emphasis. ‘What do you hear?’

‘I really don’t think-’

‘Wind and water,’ she speared his sentence with a smile, ‘nothing more.’ From behind her, a shrill voice rose to an alien crescendo. ‘Well, wind, water and Dread, anyway.’ She leaned closer, skewering him a little further on her grin. ‘But that’s all there is. There’s no screaming, no dying. It’s just the sound of the world. Do you even remember when we were last able to hear this?’

He raised his head from the sea, casting a glimpse over his shoulder. Despite the sopping strings of hair clinging to his face and the brown streak creeping from the corner of his mouth, some hint of a smile shone through, like the merest sliver of sunlight through a boarded-up window. With a sigh, the first sigh, she noted, not to brim with resentment, he turned away.

‘I’m not sure I’d put it in those words,’ he said, ‘but I do remember a time less red. . and brown.’ He made a choking sound as he bit back a meaty uprising. ‘I suppose if we could have such things all the time, though, they wouldn’t mean anything.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Hm?’

‘Well, given the circumstances, you think we might. .’ She let the thought dangle off her tongue, hanging ominously in the air over his head.

‘Run away?’

‘Yeah.’

‘The thought had occurred to me.’ His second sigh bore not even a hint of contentment. ‘What of you? You seemed eager enough to go chasing the Abysmyth last night.’

‘Well, I wasn’t about to be shown up by you,’ she retorted, less hotly than she thought she ought to. ‘But I’ve had time to think on it.’

‘And now you want to run?’

‘Not really,’ she spoke evenly. ‘I’m merely putting it forth as a possibility. It doesn’t matter much to me.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Lenk repeated. She could hear his brow furrowing. ‘How does it not matter? Have you not figured out that we’re all going to die?’

‘Well, if you’re so certain about our fate, it would seem a bit pointless to worry about it. But that isn’t what I’ve been thinking about.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘It just occurs to me,’ her voice grew hesitant, as though she were attempting to soothe an irate beast rather than pose a question, ‘I don’t know why you’re out here.’

Lenk’s response was a wet gurgle as he nearly toppled overboard with the fury of his heaving. The sea giggled a mocking, salt-laden tune as it reached up to slap him with a frothy palm. He pulled back a scowl dripping with resentment.

‘I ask myself that same question,’ he muttered, ‘every Gods-damned day.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’ She spoke more harshly. ‘Why are we out here? Why did you decide to go after the demon if death is so certain?’

‘I believe we covered this last night,’ he replied, ‘with one thousand golden responses.’