The Dark Calling (The Arcana Chronicles #5)(63)

Even Mr. Radcliffe couldn’t have afforded a rock-star megayacht like that.

On the spacious front deck was a seashell throne worthy of the Priestess herself. Colorful pennants snapped in the breeze.

In addition to all of us new arrivals, a crowd was gathering. As we waited for the “orientation,” Kentarch kept close to my side, Jack standing on my other.

The armband guys filed out onto the deck. Were they the Ciborium? Of varying ages, they flanked the throne, but none of them sat in it.

A petite brunette in a fancy silver ball gown exited from the yacht’s interior, seeming to glide across the bow. She wore seahorse earrings and a seashell belt and had an unfocused, blissed-out look in her eyes. She was attractive in a soft way, like a stoned fashion model.

She gracefully took the throne. The leader of Jubilee was a she? A young she? The girl couldn’t have been much older than Jack.

When cheers broke out, I peered around. Most of the men in the audience looked as if they were in love with her.

She waved a fragile hand, and everyone fell silent. “Welcome, new Jubileans,” she said in a scarcely raised voice. Even the winds seemed to die down for her.

I wished Sol were here to experience the spectacle. The master of self-expression would’ve appreciated her themes. As would Circe.

“As many of you know, I am Lorraine Ciborium. My guards”—she indicated the armband guys—“are all Ciborium as well. Our family welcomes you to our settlement, a place of dreams. Whenever we have more bounty than we have hands to harvest, we signal to the old coast, to the faithful awaiting, and open our gates. You are the latest to receive the fortune of entry. Here there is no slavery, plague, or cannibalism. Here we salvage everything we could ever want. All good things flow to us.”

The armband guys and most of the crowd repeated, “All good things flow to us.”

Which sounded a little creepy. Still, I was psyched to see a woman leader. She’d have to be better than the ones we’d crossed swords with before.

Right?

Lorraine continued, “The Ciborium are on hand to help newcomers acclimate to life in Jubilee. Our currency is food and fuel. Aside from plenty to eat and warm fires for all, we have a restaurant to prepare feasts, tailors for new clothes, and machinists. We have religious officiants and a physician.”

Jack gave me a meaningful look. “Maybe somebody to deliver Tee?”

I gazed away. How long did he think we’d be here?

Lorraine said, “Jubilee has been made possible because of creativity, ingenuity, and dreams.” She seemed distant, almost detached—nothing like the charismatic leader Jack had been—but the people here seemed to revere her.

Maybe a girl leader was exactly what the world needed.

“Use your imaginations and follow your hearts,” she said grandly, then added in a darker tone, “along with the rules. If you break the laws of Jubilee, you will walk the plank.” A ground spotlight flared to life, directing our attention to the trench side of the ship.

Two sailboat masts had been soldered to the side deck, jutting out at forty-five-degree angles over the trench, a plank attached between them. Like a suspension bridge to nowhere.

A pair of armband guards with bayonets shoved a bound man toward that plank.

“Please! No!” the battered-looking prisoner begged. “I didn’t do anything wrong! They set me up!”

Lorraine spoke over him: “Though all good things flow to us, this thief tried to smuggle out three cans of tuna, valuable protein, from the trench.”

All around us, the crowd chanted, “Plank! Plank! Plank!”

She nodded to the guards. They jabbed those bayonets at their prisoner, forcing him onto the plank.

Halfway out, he yelled, “Please, no! I didn’t do what they said—” The plank pivoted at its midpoint like a seesaw, dumping the man.

He screamed all the way down—what seemed like an entire minute of horror. How deep was that trench?

I gazed around at the Jubileans’ satisfied expressions and whispered, “Did the theft of three cans merit death?”

Kentarch answered, “There are strict laws and swift justice. Considering the alternatives . . .”

Widespread kidnapping, rape, murder.

Lorraine stood, the breeze ruffling her dress. She seemed frail, no match for an apocalypse—or for a settlement mainly composed of men. How did she keep power?

“Obey the rules, my dear ones, and dream of bounty. My heart is with you.” She turned to go, followed by more cheers.

“We love you, Lorraine!” “All good things!” “Long live the Ciborium.” I heard one woman yell, “Our queen of hearts!”

As the crowd dispersed, Kentarch said, “Time for recon.” He jerked his chin toward what looked like a raised observation deck at the edge of the trench.

Jack nodded. “Let’s go.”

We climbed the slippery metal steps, then eased toward the cobbled-together guardrail to peer below us.

Covering the trench wall were old nets and dangling debris. Milky-white shells clung against gravity. Oversize spotlights shone like movie premiere lights in reverse, illuminating the crevasse.

“Jaysus,” Joules breathed. “Take a gander at that.”

What must have been hundreds of feet down, wrecks littered the trench—tankers, cruise liners, submarines. The recovering ocean lapped among them and had reclaimed some, but ships were still visible as far as the eye could see.