The Corpse-Rat King

understand the paradise of a dry corner, away from the rain, where he can light a snout and smoke, undisturbed, for a few stray moments before the call of duty and danger requires him to re-enter the whirlpool outside. There were no such conditions that morning, but such a corner serves as well in the dry as the wet. Spone was crammed in, half-turned into the angle, striking a Lucifer against the wood, when Marius appeared out of the dark and stood before him.

“Mister Spone.” He clung to a beam as the ship pitched and rolled across the pre-dawn swell. Spone, his body perfectly adjusted to life at sea, stared at him and raised his hands into half-fists, unconsciously shielding his exposed side. He waited, saying nothing. Marius gripped tighter as the ship listed, then righted itself. “May I speak with you?”

Slowly, warily, Spone nodded, his eyes darting to the left and the right, seeking out ways to get around the man before him. When none presented itself he let them fall upon Marius, suppressing a shudder as he did so.

“You are a religious man, Mister Spone? A Post-Necrotist, I understand?”

Again, Spone nodded. Marius sighed.

“In that case, I must apologise for my appearance. It must have startled you.” Marius stared at the man for several seconds. “It must have terrified you,” he said, so softly that Spone could barely hear him above the wind. Marius stepped closer, transferring his grip from one stanchion to another. Spone shrank back as far as the corner would allow.

“I am not the hallowed dead, come back to wreak havoc upon the world of the living,” Marius said. “I am not dead at all. Give me your hand.” He held out his. Spone stared at it. “Please, Mister Spone. Your hand.” Haltingly, Spone gripped it. Marius pulled it against his chest.

“Can you feel that, Mister Spone?” he asked. Slowly, Spone nodded, eyes fixed upon Marius’ chest. “My heart, sir, beating, the same as any man’s.” Marius risked releasing the stanchion, reached up, and drew back his hood. Spone winced at the sight of his uncovered face.

“I know,” Marius said. “It’s awful. Totally ruined my chances with the ladies.” He laughed, and despite his confusion, Spone managed a small one in return. “Truth is, Mister Spone, I have no idea what it is, only that it affects me alone. Those around me are safe, have no fear on that count.” Marius let go Spone’s hand, and gestured ahead of the ship. “I’ve travelled far and wide for a cure, but nobody can tell me what it is, only that my flesh rots and my eyes film over, and as to the smell, well,” he shrugged, a comical, exaggerated movement. “Ruined with the ladies.” He offered his hand once more. “Once more, I can only apologise.”

This time, Spone shook it.

“Had I known of your beliefs, I would never have barged in upon you in such a manner,” Marius said. “I hope I did not cause you too much grief.”

Spone straightened out of his corner, and banished memories of four terror-filled nights awake in his tiny cabin, praying. “Think nothing of it,” he managed to say. Marius dug into his jerkin, and produced a Lucifer to replace the one Spone had dropped. He struck it, and leaned in, cupping it to protect it from the wind. Spone accepted the gift, and lit his snout.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

The two men stood and looked out at the grey sky, watching as the sun peeked hesitantly over the horizon.

“Tough watch,” Marius said, and Spone nodded in quiet acknowledgment.

“Makes you captain, in the end.”

“Is that the plan?”

“Eventually.”

Marius nodded. “A good place to learn, then?”

“I’ve served under worse,” Spone said, and Marius nodded in agreement.

“I’ve seen worse, for certain. So…” he let the thought hang for a moment, “He’s a fair man, this Captain Bomthe?”

They stood, side by side, and Spone talked about his captain, and Marius listened, as the sun rose and the new watch arrived to take up their posts. When they parted, with a handshake and a firm wish for a good morning, Marius returned to his cabin, to think upon what he had learned, and to lay some plans for his future.

He stayed in his cabin for five days, during which time the Minerva made fair progress. The weather was temperate, and fresh winds propelled them across the open ocean with no need to tack or bring the massive mainsails into play. Figgis visited three times a day, bringing bowls of the increasingly thin soup and leaving with the empty vessels and a smear of broth around his cheeks. Marius listened to the gossip-filled reports he delivered, filtering out the important tidbits as they rose to the surface: Captain Bomthe wished to avoid the coast and head straight out into deep waters; Mister Spone was worried about several items of cargo that had come loose in the aft hold; Captain Bomthe and Mister Spone had gone down to the hold personally to secure the cargo; nobody knew what was down there; rumours assigned it to everything from gold bullion, to magical arms to be traded to the Taran heathens, to women set aside solely for the officers’ use; Mister Spone was angry about something, but would discuss it with nobody; Captain Bomthe kept drinking, and sending Figgis out to refill his brandy skein. Marius simply nodded and kept his head against his chest, telling the young lad to eat up.

At dinner on the fifth day, he interrupted his visitor’s monologue with a short cough, and a raised hand.

“The aft hold you mentioned.” Figgis looked up from his bowl, a dribble of broth wending its way down his chin. “Could you show me where it is?”

Figgis looked uncertain. “I’m not allowed down there, Mister Spone says. Nobody is, just him and the captain.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them.” Marius leaned back on his nest of blankets, and folded his hands across his chest. “You don’t need to take me all the way there. Just far enough so that I can find my own way. If the captain or Mister Spone find me after that, your name will never occur to me.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Does he beat you, this captain of yours?”

“No… I… well, yes… but only when I deserve it,” Figgis corrected himself quickly. Marius nodded. Shipboard discipline was no mystery to him. It was a hard life, and it took hard men. The cabin boy’s definition of “deserving it”, and by extension the captain’s, might not accord with Marius’ feelings on the subject. But then, Marius was in their world. One of the first things he had learned whilst travelling – learn the rules of your destination, so that they do not surprise you.

“I give you my word,” he said. “I’ll not ask you to do anything to make you deserve it. Perhaps…” he paused, as if considering his options. “What if you came to me between the third and fourth watches? Would the captain know?”

Spone would not be on deck until a full watch later, and like all good sailors, would sleep right up until the bell sounded. And Bomthe would have fallen into a drunken stupor long before, if Figgis was even remotely accurate regarding the number of visits he was making to the brandy cask. The young boy frowned for a moment, considering Marius’ proposal. Marius sat still, projecting innocence with every fibre.

“I suppose…” Figgis said. “Just as far as I want?”

“Not a step further,” Marius said. “All I want is to see this hold. After all,” he held his arms wide. “What else can I do?”

“But why?”

“I’m nobody’s agent, if that’s what’s worrying you.” Marius leaned forward, and teased at the fingers of one glove. “I want to show you something, but I need your promise before I do.”

“My promise?”

“That you won’t fear what you see.”

“Okay.” Figgis shrugged. “You have it.”

“Are you sure?” Marius stopped worrying at the glove. “I don’t ask this lightly, boy. I need your promise to be a man’s promise, you understand? Unbreakable, inviolate. Nobody knows about this but you and I. Not the captain, not Mister Spone. Nobody.”