Breach

Published by Breach at Smashwords.

Cover Art by Oliver Hayes / Design by Peter Kirk

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Contents

The Unknown

Matey

The Devil’s Loop

Hurk + Dav

The Unknown

Hannah C. van Didden

Hannah C. van Didden plays with words in the second-most isolated capital city in the world. You will find pieces of her in places like Atticus Review, Southword Journal, Gravel Magazine and her blog thirtyseven — and she hopes you'll see her first novel on a bookshelf near you very soon.

AARU approaches the room containing his latest addition with a reverent caution. The room is lined with sacred wood, stained with henna sap. The viewing pane is made from diamond glass. The beast's reputation warrants such measures.

Bedell, the bounty hunter, called the beast Emims. He'd qualified the name in low tones: "Terror, it means. In ancient tongues."

The ship's captain bestowed a different title. "We'll call it The Unknown. It sounds more mysterious, don't you think?"

These are the costs of Aaru's work — the placation of dangerous creatures, the captain always being right, the lack of respect that comes with his attachment to this floating freak parade. Because this is what he is. One of the freaks.

The creature is craned into the room in a two-metre cube, the roof fixed quickly overhead. Aaru watches the cube scatter to dust from the door's tiny window. Even when the cloud has settled, the extent of the beast is not apparent.

It's a shadowy mass of sinew, limbs and tail tucked from sight; breathing, but without any fight.

Aaru offers thanks to Bedell in his absence, for not scrimping on the tranquilliser. He shunts the door to its stopper-gap, slips through, brings the door to a close. He doesn't bother to lock himself in. The creature is an ephemeral: it can not escape without taking a host, and he has already set a charm over this place.

But in an eyeblink, Emims has disappeared from view. There is no sound, no sign, no sight other than the vent holes' foggy light.

Aaru reaches for the tomahawk strapped to his side. His head flicks back at the approaching shrieks. Guests. Ready to gawk at the beast.

Keep calm. Work fast, he tells himself, anxiety rising.

Aaru sits cross-legged, breathing long and deep. He unfurls his artefacts from their leather and arranges elestials. From an apothecary bottle, he shakes a golden elixir that glints at the compass points. He opens his mouth to chant. Then comes the click of a glottal stop.