Tim Akers - Dead of Veridon

We stared at each other for a second, his empty eyes churning darkly in that beautiful face. Veronica grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me into the forecabin. She was stripping off before I had a chance to turn around.

"It's not a horrible thing to see," she muttered. "You're going to make a girl feel bad."

"It's not that. It's complicated. Never mind." I started fumbling with my shirt. The clothes available were simple fisherman's garb, but there were several mismatched shirts and pants in a pile. We would both be able to find something that fit.

"And who are these strange friends of yours?" she asked, her voice muffled as she pulled a shirt over her head.

I told her; explained how Valentine was my boss when the famous events of two years ago went down, how he had my back until things got too complicated, then shoved me to the dogs. And when it became advantageous for him again, came back and offered to help. How I took that offer poorly, and held a gun to his head. Told him we were done being friends.

"He doesn't hunt me," I said. "That's the best thing I can say about the relationship."

"So what's he doing here now?" she asked.

Before I could answer, Cacher opened the door without knocking. Leered at us as he held out two pistols, grip first.

"You're arming us?" I asked.

"Boss says. Jacob Burn ain't the same man without a little iron dick to wave around."

I took the revolver. Veronica took hers, but held it daintily. Without another word, Cacher closed the door.

"Beats the hell out of me," I said, answering Veronica's question of a moment ago. "But we should find out."

Dressed, and with our weapons tucked into waistbands under baggy vests, we went back out on the deck. The fog had lifted some. We could even see the distant majesty of the Church of the Algorithm, perched on the banks at the confluence of the Ebd and the Reine. The other boat was awfully close, and steaming at us.

"We gonna get out of their way, Valentine?" I asked. He was standing on the edge of the boat, resting his hands lightly on the side. Staring down the other vessel as it approached. He turned his head slightly to me, then back to the boat.

"I have strange allies, Jacob. Are things prepared, Mr. Vaunt?"

I looked down and nearly jumped out of my skin when a face slid out of the water. Green and bloated, with teeth like popcorn.

"They are, sir," the face said with a voice that was all water and mud.

"Then let us end this encounter, shall we?" He waved jauntily to the boarding party that was gathering at the rail of the other boat, bristling with longrifles.

There was a thump that I felt in my knees, and a boiling tumor of water rose up from the side of other boat. Its hull tore like party paper, and the whole thing bent. Suddenly heavy, it leaned to one side, its bow pointing sharply away from us, and then it ripped open. A second thump, and deep inside, something exploded. Fire rolled along the deck, and she was sinking.

"There. Doesn't that feel good?" he asked, turning to face us. "All those bad men who put you in a box and rolled you into the river? They're on fire now!"

"What happened to you?" I asked nervously.

"I've started taking action. I've always been a brutal man, Jacob. I've just become very intentional in my brutality. Now, if you'll come with me."

We followed him to the back of the boat. Several floating corpses pulled themselves from the water and approached us.

"You're working with the Fehn?" I asked.

"Of course. I had a number of loyal subjects among their race. When," he looked at me funny, "the event occurred the other morning, they came to me for solace. There's something I've learned from you, Jacob. Never turn an ally away, no matter what the consequences may be. They can be so useful."

"A little late for that to be much use to me," I muttered, thinking of the time he had kicked me to the street, just as I needed his protection the most.

"But it's not, Jacob. I've learned a lot in the last two days. Probably more than you, in fact."

"This I doubt. But try me."

"I know that there's an Artificer in town," he said, cocking his head.

"Not news."

"There are many dead on the Council. Several of the families are said to be near the brink of war. And the Patron Tomb is about to die."

"Oh, gods, Valentine. I used to have such respect for you." I watched the shattered remains of the other boat slip beneath the river. "The last son of a purged and exiled Founding Family, associated with the Artificers, came back to Veridon to take revenge on those who did his family wrong. He killed people who held their former property, toyed with and murdered those on the Council whose ancestors originally declared a purge on his ancestors. Including my father and, yes, the Patron Tomb. But his true target was the Church. And when he struck, the Angel Camilla was waiting for him."

Valentine looked at me with unmasked awe, even through that nearly blank face. His eyes went to Veronica.

"Near as I can determine, Camilla has somehow absorbed him and is using the Artificer's magic to hold herself together."

There was a moment of stunned silence around the tiny boat. Even the Fehn looked shocked. I smiled and crossed my arms.

"So what have you got, Valentine? What do you know that I don't?"

"Well," he started, and took several breaths to collect himself. "For one thing, I knew you were floating down the river in a barrel. And I think that ought to count for something."

"Granted."

"And I know what the Fehn have told me," he said, giving me a sly look. "Which is the only thing that really matters right now."

I looked to the popcorn-toothed Vaunt and shivered.

"What have they told you?"

Valentine strutted around the deck, his hands in his pockets. "Besides the unusual arrival of a barrel from the Church, a barrel that screamed when they loaded it? Well, they told me that whatever you delivered to them, Jacob, was like a disease. It spread quickly, it killed many. Those who survived either bunkered down in the underwater hives that house the Mother…"

"Mother?" I asked.

"The prime Fehn. Slug zero," he said, then waved the matter away with his hand. "Anyway. They either bunkered down, or they hid on the surface with their friends. These gentlemen of the river came to me. They were quite shocked by the attack." He placed a hand on the Fehn's soggy shoulder. "In fact, they're quite unhappy with you, Mr. Burn."

"They can get in line, Valentine. I was tricked, just like the Tombs. Just like my father."

"Yes, well." He folded his hands in front of him. "The point is, while they were at first in communication with their brethren beneath the river, the situation has changed."

"Changed?" I asked.

"They have lost touch."

"The Mother is silent," Popcorn Mouth said. "The histories are empty."

"Histories are empty," I repeated.

"All of the past is closed to use. All of the present." The Fehn looked shaken, as distressed as a soggy corpse can look. "We have nothing but these limited forms."

We were all quiet for a minute. The Fehn was inching closer to me, his hands out as though to rest his fingers against my chest. I stepped back.

"Do you know what the hell he's talking about?" I asked Valentine.

"Only in very limited ways. The Fehn have a sort of hive mind…"

"That's a gross misunderstanding," Veronica said. We turned to her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize we had a scholar among us," Valentine said. "Please, continue. I happily yield the floor."

Valentine does not happily yield anything. I tried to warn Veronica, but she seemed immune to my glares and subtle hand motions.

"Well, it's more like…" She held her palms up, her vision unfocused and slack. She was looking for the words. "I'll start with your analogy, Mr. Valentine…"