The League of Sharks (16 page)

‘Dutu, jay,' said Cascér to Junk.

‘She would appreciate it if you poured,' said Otravinicus.

‘Sure,' said Junk. He picked up the bottle and tried to pull out the cork. It wouldn't budge. He went red in the face trying, and this proved to be a source of amusement for Cascér. She snatched the bottle from him and pulled out the cork without any effort at all. She smiled and winked at Junk as she handed it back. His hand was shaking a little as he filled the glasses.

‘Ja,' said Cascér, waving a hand over the glasses, indicating that everyone should have one.

‘Brace yourself,' said Otravinicus quietly to Junk. Cascér sucked back her shot. Garvan did the same, as did Otravinicus. Lasel copied, and even though the drink was strong she forced herself to show no ill effects. When
it came to Junk's turn, he followed suit and promptly erupted into a coughing fit. His face turned an alarming shade of blue. Cascér was laughing heartily. All of a sudden she leaned forward and snatched Junk off his feet. Before he knew what was happening, she had installed him squarely on her lap. As the coughing fit subsided, he felt like a little kid visiting Santa's grotto.

‘She likes you,' said Otravinicus. ‘You might just have to put up with it.'

‘This is humiliating,' said Junk out of the corner of his mouth.

Cascér ruffled his hair. ‘Na foota bootchek, jay?' she said to Junk, who looked at Otravinicus for a translation.

‘She's asking what you want to know,' he replied.

‘About the League of Sharks,' said Junk. ‘Who are they? How do I find them?'

Otravinicus repeated the questions to Cascér in her tongue and she answered at length.

‘She says,' said Otravinicus, translating, ‘they are a cult obsessed with their ancestors' reputation as the ultimate predator. Like Alsk said, they are an extremist group. Not representative of her people. She wants to make that clear. Says they're nothing but pirates. Bloodthirsty, I think she's saying. Her language is a little basic. They will kill and maim for pleasure or profit.

‘She says the tattoo you describe, the fin and the five stars, is specific to a particular branch that resides in Cul Sita – what would have been South Africa in your day.'

Junk's heart was pounding. This was what he had
been looking for; he was another step closer to Ambeline's killer. He had to get to South Africa. Then something else occurred to him and he looked to Otravinicus.

‘The man who killed my sister, he spoke to me. He said, “Fatoocha mammacoola charla.'” Will you ask her what it means?'

Otravinicus explained the question to Cascér and she frowned. She said something to Otravinicus and he looked at Junk. ‘She wants to know if you're sure that's what he said?' asked Otravinicus.

‘I'm sure,' said Junk. He had played those words over and over in his head for three years now. He would never forget them.

‘She says it means “Nine Emperors send their regards.”'

Junk considered that. ‘What does that mean?' he asked.

Otravinicus shook his head. ‘She has no idea.'

When Junk, Lasel and Garvan got to Dr Otravinicus's apartment the following morning, they were surprised to find Cascér was there already and cooking breakfast. Otravinicus was about half Cascér's size and they made a very odd couple. Though she cooked a mean breakfast. Over food they discussed what to do next.

‘I need to get to South Africa,' said Junk. ‘I mean Cul Sita.'

‘Of course, of course,' said Otravinicus. Cascér stood behind him, massaging his shoulders. She was far too rough, but he merely winced and sucked up the pain. It was too early in their relationship for him to point out her shortcomings. ‘Here's what I suggest but it is only a suggestion. If you disagree, I am more than open to an alternative. I think our most direct way to find the League is to return to Garvan's island. If we can find the entrance to the Room of Doors, then all you would have to do is step through the adjacent door that you believe would take to you to Cul Sita.' Otravinicus was making a reference to Junk's suspicion that he should have taken the door
on the right when he had been faced with a choice back in the Room of Doors; he felt bad that he had based his decision on nothing more than a childhood rhyme and therefore chance. ‘Our alternative is to take a land-ship,' Otravinicus went on. ‘Even on the fastest vessel we could find, it is a journey of several weeks.'

Junk considered this and nodded. ‘The quicker we get there the better, I say.'

‘That's the spirit.' Otravinicus smiled broadly. ‘I have already enquired about hiring the fastest ship to take us south. It is moored to the north of here on the coast. We can leave today if that is acceptable.'

‘That's perfect, far as I'm concerned,' said Junk with a hearty grin. He beamed at Garvan, who wasn't paying attention, and Lasel, who was frowning. Something was bothering her, but Junk was a teenage boy and was therefore oblivious.

*

They set off almost immediately, taking a smaller landship to the north coast. The journey took less than an hour. They passed the outskirts of a bland, nondescript village by the name of Dissel, which was Lasel's hometown. She sat on one of the open decks seeking out landmarks of her childhood as they rumbled past: a small tor to the west, topped with a crooked tree, where she would sit as a child, finding reasons not to go home. The tree was still there, but she remembered it as being dead and black and twisted. But not now. Now it was caked in blossom. It was alive and vibrant. The grass around it was green and lush
and she saw, from a distance, a girl doing handstands against it, just like she used to do. Despite herself, she smiled.

*

They arrived at the costal town of Turanay, which was a hub for land-ships. Nothing existed in the town that didn't revolve in some way around either the organization, deployment, piloting or maintenance of the ships or the feeding and watering of the thousands of passengers and crew who passed through there each year.

Junk and the others disembarked at a station that housed tracks leading off in every direction. Dozens of ships were docked here, waiting to set off on the next leg of their journey. The place boiled with activity. The air was filled with the clanking of the turning circles moving the next ship to depart into position on its chosen track.

Dr Otravinicus led the way through the bustling station with Cascér by his side. Garvan followed, displaying little interest in his surroundings. Junk came after, marvelling at the ships and the activity around him. Lasel brought up the rear. Her mind was elsewhere, on the crooked tree on top of the tor.

They arrived at a staging platform where they found the ship Otravinicus had hired. It wasn't as huge as the land-ship they had been on before, nor as grand, but it was beautiful. It was called the
Casabia
. Eight masts and made from a dark, almost black, wood.

They stopped at the solitary gangplank and Otravinicus called out, requesting permission to board.
Junk, who was loving all things nautical at that precise moment, thought about old films he had seen where people would have to call out in this way. Old films that were now more than three million years old. He liked how some things hadn't changed.

A figure appeared at the top of the gangplank. He was tall and broad and looked like he could be hit in his vast belly and not even notice. This was the captain of the
Casabia
. His name was Hundrig Shunt. Since Otravinicus had explained the evolution of Jorda's current population, Junk had found himself looking at everyone he met, trying to work out their ancestry. Some were easier than others and Hundrig was very much in that category. His ancestors had clearly been rhinoceroses. Apart from being bipedal and the lack of a facial horn, Hundrig still looked like a rhino.

Junk's grasp of Jansian had improved and he discovered that he understood almost everything the captain said.

‘Greetings, Dr Otravinicus. S'good to see you again, sir. Come aboard, one and all. All are welcome.'

Hundrig had what could only be described as a booming whisper. Anything louder and it would have cracked the very ground they walked on. Once on board, introductions were made. Explanations for the journey were given and everyone was shown to their cabin. Once again Junk was expected to share with Garvan, and the first thing he did was look for a convenient balcony to sleep on. Unfortunately there wasn't one, but Junk
figured it was a big ship and he would find somewhere to sleep even if it was in the crow's nest. Then it occurred to him that he hadn't noticed whether or not there was a crow's nest on this sort of ship. He resolved to find out later.

*

The
Casabia
had a crew of ten, who all looked very different from one another. They were big and they were small; they were fat and thin. Their skin was black or grey or white or pink or brown or even, in one case, blue. Junk had been part of many a ship's crew back in his time and the
Casabia
didn't feel that different. Crews tended to be made up of stragglers and people running away from one thing or another or sometimes running to somewhere.

If anything, Otravinicus was even more eager to get going than Junk, and less than twenty minutes after they had boarded the
Casabia
was given its departure berth.

Junk stood on the prow and watched as the ground beneath the ship cranked around and then jolted sideways. Tracks joined up and the magnetic propulsion system got the
Casabia
moving. Slowly at first, but then with each new change of direction the speed increased until the ship reached a massive central turntable. It rotated through two hundred and seventy degrees until it was lined up with the tracks that would take it west-by-south-west.

Hundrig bellowed the order to unfurl the sails, and in the blink of an eye the canvases, each one blood red, dropped into position. The
Casabia
lurched forward, rapidly picking up speed as it thundered out of Turanay
station. The suddenness of its forward momentum took Junk by surprise and he yelled joyously as they sped away.

*

The journey to Garvan's island would take the best part of two days. Junk spent time getting to know the crew. His Jansian was getting better all the time, but, much like crews back in Junk's time, when language let them down, they always found some way to communicate.

The
Casabia
's crew liked and accepted Junk almost immediately, sensing in him one of their own. A seafarer. In particular he bonded with the captain and with the ship's navigator, an impossibly tall, impossibly thin man called Gaskis. The two of them talked endlessly about the stars. Gaskis was fascinated by Junk's description of the constellations three million years ago. Junk would show him where Orion's Belt or the Plough once were, and in return Gaskis taught Junk the names of the celestial clusters that they were looking at now.

Hundrig took a shine to Junk because of the boy's enthusiasm for all things nautical. The big captain was moved by Junk's story about Ambeline and his search for her killer, and Gaskis explained that Hundrig had lost his wife and young son many years before to disease. Despite the brash exterior, Gaskis said, the captain was a big softie at heart.

Junk, Garvan and Lasel spent time together, sitting up on the foredeck, watching the land or sea go by. Garvan was looking forward to seeing his island again.
He described his home in vivid detail to Lasel, but Junk noticed that he left out the ravenous, flesh-eating Neanderthal birdmen. By this time the three of them were able to switch almost unconsciously between Jansian and English.

‘What are you going to do when you find him?' Lasel asked Junk. He knew without her having to clarify who she meant: Ambeline's killer.

Junk shrugged. ‘Kill him,' he said, a little too casually. He said it the same way he would talk about making a cup of tea or reading a book.

‘How?' asked Garvan.

Junk shook his head. ‘I don't know.' He paused. ‘Yet.'

‘But he's big,' said Garvan. ‘Very big,' he added pointlessly, for emphasis.

Junk knew exactly what Garvan meant:
How do you expect to kill someone who could easily flatten you?
‘I was just a kid when I saw him.'

‘And what are you now?' asked Lasel. One corner of her mouth twitched, trying to hide the smile that said she was teasing him. Their friendship had reached a stage where she could tease him, but it had got there a little too quickly, so even though they were both comfortable with the actual teasing, they both felt subconsciously uncomfortable with the idea of the teasing. It made for a lot of internal confusion.

*

At dusk on the first day Garvan went below, leaving Junk and Lasel alone. They sat side by side, their legs dangling
over the side of the ship, watching the sun setting. The sky was magical. Streaks of orange, red, pink and gold. It took them a moment to realize that their fingers were touching. They both became aware simultaneously and neither moved. They didn't look at one another or try to move their fingers apart. The proximity made them feel a little light-headed. It was intoxicating. Their hearts galloped. Junk felt his mouth dry up. Lasel was the same.

Slowly Lasel shifted her weight so her body leaned into Junk's. He opened his shoulder, creating a hollow that allowed her to sink subtly into him. The movements were tiny. Anyone watching probably might not even have noticed a change, but to Lasel and Junk they were massive, grand gesticulations. Both blushed.

Lasel started to turn her head towards Junk, but not her eyes. Not yet. As if he could sense her, Junk started to move his eyes to her but not his head. Then, slowly, Junk started to turn his head too and Lasel her eyes. Both were hugely conscious of their own breathing, which sounded deafeningly loud to them but of course was practically inaudible to anyone else.