Read Online Gravedigger 01 - Sea Of Ghosts by Alan Campbell - Free Book Online
Authors: Alan Campbell
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Creedy said. ‘Sank seven ships before they harpooned it in the eye.’
‘Two ships,’ Granger said.
‘Well,’ Creedy said. ‘But you saw what it ate.’
Grunting, Granger manoeuvred his shoulders down through the gap in the floor. ‘Saw it?’ he said. ‘I disarmed the bloody thing.’
Creedy laughed. ‘I don’t think Davy even knew what it was.’
Granger dropped to a squatting position. It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to duck his head under the joists. Apart from the wardrobe, some shelves stuffed with moth-eaten blankets and a stack of old tin pails, the storage room was empty.
‘What are you doing?’ Creedy said. ‘I’ve got galoshes you could have borrowed. You don’t have to rip the goddamn house apart to get down there.’
Granger opened the wardrobe door, then, turning to face the wall, he lowered himself down on splayed elbows. His boots scuffed the sides of the wardrobe and kicked against the open door, knocking it back against the wall. Finally the air under his heels gave way to a solid surface. With another grunt, he hopped down inside the narrow wooden space.
It was musty and dark, but his fumbling hands located the tin box at once. He picked it up and slid it on top of the wardrobe, then stopped as pain seized his chest. It hit him like a punch. ‘Could you give me a hand back up, Mr Creedy?’
‘You got your own self down there.’
‘I can’t . . . breathe.’
Granger heard a chair scrape across the floor above. A moment later, a shadow fell across the gap above, and he saw his former sergeant’s big, ugly face staring down. ‘You’re never going to fix this hole, are you?’
‘Grab that box and give me a hand.’
Once he was back up in the garret, he took a drink of water straight from the spigot and then sat down on the floor, breathing slow until the cramps in his chest relaxed. He’d been inhaling this sea air for too long, living too close to the brine. The Mare Lux had got into his lungs, and there was nothing to be done about it now.
‘You don’t look well,’ Creedy said.
‘The register’s in that box.’
Creedy opened it. ‘What’s all this?’
He pulled out an assortment of objects. There were two books: the prison register and an old Unmer tome in raggedy script. And there was a child’s doll. This last was a representation of a human infant, fashioned out of silver and brass. Tiny joints allowed its head and arms to swivel. One of its eye sockets was empty, but the other held a glass copy of the real thing – a finer replica than Creedy’s old clockwork lens. A faint yellow light glowed behind its remaining iris.
‘You don’t remember it?’ Granger said.
Creedy thought for a moment, then frowned. ‘The Unmer child,’ he said, unconsciously lifting his hand to his eye. ‘What did you keep this for?’
‘I don’t know,’ Granger said. ‘Evidence. Lift its arm. No, the other one.’
A tinny voice came from the thing: ‘A oo a apee.’
‘I’ll be damned,’ Creedy said. ‘That sounded like speech.’ He lifted the arm again.
‘Oo oo uv ee.’
‘It is speech,’ Granger said. ‘There’s a mechanism inside.’
‘You opened it?’
Granger shrugged. ‘Why not?’
Creedy looked incredulous. ‘It’s Unmer made. God knows what sort of sorcery is woven into this thing.’
‘Do you suppose it’s worth anything?’
The other man examined the doll. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘If you could figure out what it’s saying. A lot of people will pay good money for something like that. Don’t let Maskelyne’s buyers rip you off, though. No offence, Colonel, but you need the money.’ He looked pointedly around the room, before returning his attention to the doll.
‘A is oo oo.’
‘I doubt it’s even speaking Anean,’ he said. ‘Sounds like one of those old Unmer languages.’
‘Don’t wear it out, Mr Creedy.’ Granger got to his feet and picked up the prison register – a heavy book bound in blue cloth. He thumbed
‘Two ships,’ Granger said.
‘Well,’ Creedy said. ‘But you saw what it ate.’
Grunting, Granger manoeuvred his shoulders down through the gap in the floor. ‘Saw it?’ he said. ‘I disarmed the bloody thing.’
Creedy laughed. ‘I don’t think Davy even knew what it was.’
Granger dropped to a squatting position. It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to duck his head under the joists. Apart from the wardrobe, some shelves stuffed with moth-eaten blankets and a stack of old tin pails, the storage room was empty.
‘What are you doing?’ Creedy said. ‘I’ve got galoshes you could have borrowed. You don’t have to rip the goddamn house apart to get down there.’
Granger opened the wardrobe door, then, turning to face the wall, he lowered himself down on splayed elbows. His boots scuffed the sides of the wardrobe and kicked against the open door, knocking it back against the wall. Finally the air under his heels gave way to a solid surface. With another grunt, he hopped down inside the narrow wooden space.
It was musty and dark, but his fumbling hands located the tin box at once. He picked it up and slid it on top of the wardrobe, then stopped as pain seized his chest. It hit him like a punch. ‘Could you give me a hand back up, Mr Creedy?’
‘You got your own self down there.’
‘I can’t . . . breathe.’
Granger heard a chair scrape across the floor above. A moment later, a shadow fell across the gap above, and he saw his former sergeant’s big, ugly face staring down. ‘You’re never going to fix this hole, are you?’
‘Grab that box and give me a hand.’
Once he was back up in the garret, he took a drink of water straight from the spigot and then sat down on the floor, breathing slow until the cramps in his chest relaxed. He’d been inhaling this sea air for too long, living too close to the brine. The Mare Lux had got into his lungs, and there was nothing to be done about it now.
‘You don’t look well,’ Creedy said.
‘The register’s in that box.’
Creedy opened it. ‘What’s all this?’
He pulled out an assortment of objects. There were two books: the prison register and an old Unmer tome in raggedy script. And there was a child’s doll. This last was a representation of a human infant, fashioned out of silver and brass. Tiny joints allowed its head and arms to swivel. One of its eye sockets was empty, but the other held a glass copy of the real thing – a finer replica than Creedy’s old clockwork lens. A faint yellow light glowed behind its remaining iris.
‘You don’t remember it?’ Granger said.
Creedy thought for a moment, then frowned. ‘The Unmer child,’ he said, unconsciously lifting his hand to his eye. ‘What did you keep this for?’
‘I don’t know,’ Granger said. ‘Evidence. Lift its arm. No, the other one.’
A tinny voice came from the thing: ‘A oo a apee.’
‘I’ll be damned,’ Creedy said. ‘That sounded like speech.’ He lifted the arm again.
‘Oo oo uv ee.’
‘It is speech,’ Granger said. ‘There’s a mechanism inside.’
‘You opened it?’
Granger shrugged. ‘Why not?’
Creedy looked incredulous. ‘It’s Unmer made. God knows what sort of sorcery is woven into this thing.’
‘Do you suppose it’s worth anything?’
The other man examined the doll. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘If you could figure out what it’s saying. A lot of people will pay good money for something like that. Don’t let Maskelyne’s buyers rip you off, though. No offence, Colonel, but you need the money.’ He looked pointedly around the room, before returning his attention to the doll.
‘A is oo oo.’
‘I doubt it’s even speaking Anean,’ he said. ‘Sounds like one of those old Unmer languages.’
‘Don’t wear it out, Mr Creedy.’ Granger got to his feet and picked up the prison register – a heavy book bound in blue cloth. He thumbed
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