"Into the Noxious" originally appeared in Tevun-Krus #30: PiratePunk

Into the Noxious

by LeighWStuart

Silence fell on the Coral Cutter as the bold form of the king's ship, the Belle Luce, darkened the horizon. Wind and updrafts filled her white sails and gliders as she rolled closer, riding high on the Mermists.

Every pirate aboard stilled in his duties to watch with dread, but also a keen sort of anticipation. Her presence spelled their doom; never would their dwindling supply of powder and cannon balls win the day. They had been sailing in circles through the seas of Revis' Reefs for weeks doing nothing but waiting for a king's ship to find them, wondering if today was the day the limping Coral Cutter would sink into the Noxious.

It was today. Their ship would sink, but if possible, they would drag the other down with it into the deadly fumes.

Captain Black-Eyed Pete Belfroy pocketed his spyglass. "To yer posts, lazy dogs or I'll put the shrieker barbs to yer backs! Bring out the red guns and ready the blasted cannons or I'll be bedding yer sisters, ye sons of whores." He hooked his steel fingers onto the helm to steer them straight to their fate, sneering at his men. "Whelp, the readings!"

Cassandra, known only as Whelp to the Captain, hopped to her duty and slid open the filigree box lid behind the helm to announce the readings. "Two hundred twelve rings altitude, eighty-five north by three hundred sixty-six east, Captain. Sailing at twenty-one and a half beats."

He grunted and hurled curses at his men. "And brace yerselves, brainless merslugs!"

"Captain, the Belle Luce is at two hundred sixty rings, or I'm a slippery star monger. Our single cannons will bounce useless off her sides," Cassandra said.

"She's at two hundred fifty-five rings and I'll pull out yer guts to be feeding the kriks if ye tell me how to fight these tarve infested king's men!"

Their stores of Hesa's gold – the precious, lightweight gas the Hesa plants made – were low as the plant herself lay in her death bed. The Coral Cutter would sink in a few weeks without a new plant in the hull, but now the question was moot.

Captain Belfroy pointed his sword at the Belle Luce still approaching on a high wind. "Fire the red guns if ye be men!"

The crack of a dozen shots split the air. Smoke plumes rose from the ship's starboard, followed quickly by the wooden thumps of hand pumps to recharge the long range guns. The Belle Luce continued her approach unperturbed.

"Whelp, to the scufbox," the captain snarled. "Aim for the gliders. We bring the strumpet to us."

"Aye, Captain!" Cassandra shouted, running for the main-mast and nimbly climbed the rope ladder to the high-perched box.

She strapped the scuf gun to her right arm and around her shoulder, setting the barrel in its notch. From this height, she could see their own gliders jutting from the sides of the Coral Cutter like wings. They were rent and torn in many places and only slightly buoyed from the updrafts that swirled from the Noxious up into the Mermists.

A ship normally sailed on the fine white mists, but these foul days they were sailing through them, Cassandra thought. Her chest rasped with every breath from weeks of sailing too low. The fumes came up on the drafts, stinking and carving the wholesome air from her lungs.

She peered through the crystal spy fixed on the scufbox wall. Both the Belle Luces' gliders were in sight as she barreled down on the them, but the shots would not be easy.

"Ready, whelp?" Captain Belfroy asked.

"Aye!"

"Fire as it pleases ye!"

She steadied her hand. She would need two quick shots, at least. Aiming for the port glider, she adjusted the angle to compensate the updrafts and strong sou'wester and placed her finger gently on the trigger. Scuf's were jittery things and you had to squeeze them gently, or as Gilbert, who had taught her to shoot, would say; touch as lightly as when cutting the purse from a Marquise's belt.

The Belle Luce bobbed on an updraft and she followed with the scuf. And squee—

"Hold, hold!" shouted the captain.

She lifted her finger.

There were several men visible at the bow. The captain had his spyglass trained on them and he was muttering curses she couldn't hear, but could see as his mouth twisted and spit.

"They've run the flag of parlay, Cap'n," shouted the Mizzou. "They've got young Gilbert, they do, may the winterin' winds shred their skin."

"Aye, that they have," the Captain said.

She squinted through the scuf spy, blinking at the glare from the bright sails and the Mermists. A yellow flag with the blue slippery star flapped in the wind from the bow. Three king's men dressed in impeccable uniforms of black and emerald green stood with a scruffily attired man.

A young man.

Cassandra's heart pinched at the sight. They would send him overboard and he had no wing jacket. The cruel bastards.

"Captain, I could go out with a wing boat," she shouted down.

He ignored her, yelling at the men to stand ready with the guns and run up their own parley flag.

The Belle Luce floated fat and complacent as a rich merchant's wife on the rolling mists, creeping ever closer.

"Captain Belfroy of the Coral Cutter, you are under arrest for treason, thievery, pillaging, murder, lewdness, debauchery, slander and a number of other crimes against the crown of King Pippin, ruler of these territories," one of the king's men on the bow announced. He had a rubber tubed amplifier over his mouth that allowed his voice to be heard across the distance.

"And what be these other crimes ye speak of?" asked Captain Belfroy, disdaining the use of an amplifier. "How are we to know the truth of yer words, when ye do not enumerate properly?" His voice went against the wind and over the mocking jeers of his men, though. Cassandra doubted the king's men heard much.

It mattered not.

"You shall remove your flags in sign of surrender immediately," the crier continued, "or we shall be forced to fire upon you until you either surrender or fall from the mists into the Noxious, where the weight of the gases will crush your bones and the fumes burn holes in your lungs until you die. If you surrender now, we will allow your nephew, Gilbert Belfroy to keep his life as our prisoner, as you, yourself and all of your men will also become our prisoners until a fair trial determines your fate. If not, your nephew will be the first to suffer in the deep."

"A wing boat, Captain," Cassandra called. "I could catch him."

She knew he heard by the twitch of his head, but he ignored her again.

"Is he then to be executed with no trial?" the captain shouted. "What be the boy's crimes?"

The sailors conversed briefly. They probably couldn't hear the captain's voice, but came to the logical conclusion that he had not surrendered.

Cassandra pressed her face to the scuf wall to look through the spy. Gilbert was struggling in his captive's hands. He would jump and end this game if he could. A pirate never surrendered when the Mermists were still below his feet. To drown in the Noxious was an honor much to be preferred over swinging from the end of the king's rope.

And a fair trial meant only one thing – a hanging. The man holding Gilbert walked him carefully to a wooden plank thrown from the side of the Belle Luce.

Cassandra scrambled over the scufbox wall and started down the mast.

Gusts from below suddenly bounced the Coral Cutter upwards and Cassandra watched her gliders fill. She landed, catching her balance on the swaying main deck.

The captain felt it too. He ordered the men to action. "Gliders to forty-five, prepare me the wing boats to launch." He glanced at her as she rushed up the stairs to him. "Ye'll await my orders or I'll be wearing yer teeth for a necklace."

She nodded and jumped to the rail. Holding a heavy rope to keep her balance, she patted her jacket for the wing cords. They were in place. She was ready.

Propelled from below, the Coral Cutter sailed forward, but still low in the mists. The winds could have lifted them up for a blazing show of cannon fire. Instead, the captain chose to give Cassandra a greater chance to catch his nephew when he walked the plank.

Captain Belfroy read the secrets in her heart easier than he read the stars at night; Cassandra hadn't a doubt.

"Give us your answer," the crier ordered, as another sailor prepared to push Gilbert from the plank.

"Now how should we answer the mangy dog?" the captain asked his men. "Wi' cries o' mercy, ye say? Or with a blast of our frigate breaker, and a pox on their souls?"

"The breaker!" the pirates answered. They lifted their fists and shouted, showing blackened teeth. Golden rings in their ears and noses flashed brightly.

Cassandra swelled with pride at the sight. This was the life she loved and the only family she'd ever known. These king's men thought they had only to bark at the Coral Cutter in order to send her to the deep. They didn't know these pirates.

"Run out the breaker!" Captain Belfroy shouted. "Fire!"

The boom from double barreled cannon shook the Coral Cutter. Masts creaked and dust from the Noxious fumes puffed up in yellow clouds.

On the Belle Luce, sailors fell to the decks, bracing for impact as the two iron cannons spun, chained together and whistling through the mist. The cannons hit her on the Hesa tank, just above the ship's concave underside. A resounding thwack split the air, but the side was barely dented.

A lesser ship would have lost the fore tank which held a good part of the precious gases needed to stay afloat on the mists. Not the Belle Luce.

Like an oily politician during a crisis, she managed to stay upright and smiling.

The plank under Gilbert's jumped and trembled, but he kept his footing, shifting nimbly to and fro. He was about to laugh at the sailors hiding behind the rails, when the crier rose up. He kicked Gilbert in the small of his back. He teetered, then fell.

Cassandra gasped, throat closing in fear.

"Wing boat!" the captain yelled. "Now, tarvy dogs!"

An eight seater shot from the hull into the Mermists. Cassandra tightened her muscles to jump, but a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. "Hold, Whelp."

Gilbert spread his arms and legs, trying to slow his descent, but without a jacket...

"Captain!" she cried. Her voice was drowned by cannon fire from the Belle Luce. The wing boat exploded mid-air and before Cassandra could blink, cannons hit the ship. Pirates screamed in pain and the Coral Cutter rocked hard to starboard.

"Wing boat!" the captain yelled again. "Now, Whelp, into the Noxious! On yer feet, sons of tarvy whores all of you! Aim the red guns! Fire!"

Cassandra heard no more. She had thrown herself into the mists the instant he let go of her. She was flying from the ship, arms tucked to her sides for speed.

Cannons boomed and guns cracked. Her attention was on two things only, though. The falling wing boat and Gilbert.

She pulled her wing cords from her hip to her belly, releasing the wings on her jacket. Using her shoulder blades and the cords better than a puppet master, she steered herself to the left, closer to the boat. Wind whipped her face, and tears blurred her sight.

"Gilbert!" she yelled.

He was nearly to the Noxious. He twisted around to face upwards, arms and legs still out. As he reached the yellow fumes, he slowed a bit more.

She was nearly to the small boat. Tugging on the left wing, she angled her body to veer right.

So close...It bobbed and bucked as it fell, too light with the Hesa gold lining the bottom. She reached, holding her cords in the other hand.

Gilbert was shouting, but the wind was too loud in her ears. Almost...almost!

She was under it, a gust pushing it upwards.

She pulled hard on both cords, deploying her wings to catch the draft. She soared, and caught the rim. There were ropes inside, with loops for hand holds. She twisted them around her wrists, pulling herself onto a seat. The cap to the mini Hesa tank was between the seats. Taking a deep breath of mist air, she broke it off.

The boat plummeted as the gases escaped, her stomach leaping into her chest and throat.

She had to use the wings on the boat to steer towards the disappearing figure below. The trick was not to open them too widely, though. The boat shaking nearly apart in the turbulent mists and fumes, she reached the heavy yellow layer of Noxious with a thump.

It stung her eyes, grating like fine sands. This wasn't the first time she was in the deep, however, and she knew better than to panic and try to breathe. There was no time to put on one of the masks, either. She was falling faster than Gilbert now, his lighter body supported in the fumes.

She threw a rope.

He caught it. Wrapping it around the bow, she unfurled the wings and set them as gliders, slowing their fall.

Hand over hand, she hauled Gilbert in, her lungs on fire with a few stolen breaths of the Noxious. He was coughing and even through the thick yellow gases, she could see he was beet red.

As soon as he was in, she grabbed a mask and shoved it on her face, sucking in a deep breath through the filter. The air tasted of sulfur and blood, but it was air. She waved another mask at Gilbert. He had collapsed.

He shook his head weakly, coughing again.

Cassandra hooked the goggles over her eyes and fixed the mask's strap. She had her hands free, finally. Climbing on a seat, she handed him the mask. He stared at it dully.

"What's the good in breathing?" he asked, choking. "We've fallen into the Noxious, the Coral Cutter soon to follow. Why did you come for me?"

She would have to take the mask back off in order to answer, the filter end was held between the teeth. What could say, anyway? She hadn't the courage to speak the truth.

She shook her head at him and crossed her arms to wait.

In a minute or two he would faint and she could put the mask on him then. He knew this and after a wracking coughing spell, took the leather and metal contraption and set it over his face. He fell back, defeated, breathing noisily through the filter.

There was a midden coral crop large enough to hold them in the distance. Now that they were deep in the Noxious, their descent had nearly stopped, but it would be better to be on the coral.

She steered them to it, Gilbert too weak to help.

They hit with a light bump and she knotted a rope to an outcropping. All they had to do now was wait.

Wait to die in the deep. Wait for a miracle from above. Wait for the great demons from below.

Gilbert took her hand. His fair, blond hair was yellow with Noxious dust, as was the rest of him, in fact. He lifted his face towards hers, his goggled eyes like a drear bug's and the leather mask covering his expression.

There are a many hand signs that Nox divers had created throughout the years when searching for pearls, precious metals like chermac or simply their next meal. Those who sailed the Mermists picked up the signs for their own use.

Left hand to chin and then turned outwards meant thank you. Right hand in a fist meant friend (except when it meant the beginning of a drunken brawl, but this was usually in taverns). Words such as you and me were made by motioning to the person. Right pointer finger tapped in the left palm was help and fists closed with thumbs touching was together.

She watched in the heavy silence as Gilbert signed, "Thank you, my friend. You wanted to help me, and now we are together."

It was pigeon, but it worked. He was telling her he was glad he wasn't alone to die.

She signed, "You are my friend."

He had been the one who had found her stowed away behind the barrels of rum many years ago and convinced the captain not to toss her overboard. Later she realized that the captain would never have done such a thing, but at the time she had nearly wet herself with fear. Gilbert had given her a candle to light a few minutes each night and a hammock that didn't smell of vomit or unwashed man.

She loved him with every fiber of her being.

He nodded in agreement, signing, "Friend." Then he touched the top of his forehead to hers and she thought she might fly apart in a thousand pieces. He must think this was the end.

She wanted to explain more, tell him there was still hope. At that moment, though, he pointed into the Noxious.

In the distance, the huge, black mass of the Coral Cutter slid downwards, the sound of the men swallowed by the fumes. It had rolled sideways, the masts laying horizontal. But there was still hope, she thought. She was going to take off her mask to tell him, but he wrapped his arms around her and brought her head to his chest.

She couldn't bring herself to lift her head from his warmth and take off her mask to talk. Many minutes passed by, his hands on her hair and shoulders and her face buried in his cotton shirt.

He startled her later when he tensed, sitting up in alarm. He had noticed something. There were knives and a sword under one of the seats and he pulled it free. They peered over the side of the wing boat. From the darkness, something darker was rising.

Normally, only one thing that huge rose from the deep: the mamontous whales. Flesh eaters and tentacled monsters which could swallow many men whole in a single bite.

Gilbert readied the sword. Not to be outdone, Cassandra took two of the knives, but hoped she wouldn't need them. They would be utterly useless. Chermac harpoons were the only weapons that could harm these beasts.

It climbed steadily, an inky black cloud in the darkness. Closer and closer it came, bigger than any whale ever spotted. Cassandra lowered her knives. As she had thought. Useless.

Tentacles spread out in waves. A groan and then metallic rasping filled the fumes around them. A single, great, bulbous eye appeared, glowing faintly. The monster continued to rise until it came face to face with them.

Now Gilbert lowered his sword. Cassandra had to assume he was gaping in amazement.

The thing's mouth opened with a clang.

Captain Black-Eyed Pete Belfroy stood in its mouth, light pouring from behind him.

"Act lively, now!" he snapped, "Into the belly of the whale or I'll be leavin' ye here for the snats pick the meat from yer bones!"

Gilbert moved stiffly to the opening, too surprised to question this miracle. Cassandra paused, though to admire the machine for a moment. The pirate's guild had been working on it for nearly a year, since shortly after Gilbert had been taken captive. She had heard them talk of the wondrous submersible, but had never really believed it was true.

When word came that it was ready, they had set fire to as many of the king's outposts as possible and then waited to be sent below by his sailors. No one would ever come looking and when they came out of the Noxious, the Mermists would belong to the pirates again.

She patted the metal beast fondly on her way inside. Captain Belfroy nodded his approval.