Jonathan Green - Pax Britannia #2: Leviathan Rising

ACT ONE

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea

July 1997

Below the thunders of the upper deep,

Far far beneath in the abysmal sea,

His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep

The Kraken sleepeth...

(Alfred Lord Tennyson, The Kraken)

ACT TWO

The Kraken Wakes

August 1997

There Leviathan

Hugest of living creatures, on the deep

Stretched like a promontory sleeps or swims,

And seems a moving land, and at his gills

Draws in, and at his trunk spouts out a sea.

(John Milton, Paradise Lost)

ACT THREE

Leviathan Rising

August 1997

You have carried your work as far as terrestrial

science permits. The real story of the ocean depths

begins where you left off... wonders that defy my

powers of description.

(Jules Verne, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea)

Jonathan Green lives and works in West London. Well known for his contributions to the Fighting Fantasy range of adventure gamebooks, as well as his novels set within Games Workshop's worlds of Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000, he has written for such diverse properties as Sonic the Hedgehog and Doctor Who. To date, his books have been translated into French, Hungarian, Italian, Polish, Portuguese and Spanish. The co-creator of the world of Pax Britannia, Leviathan Rising is his second novel for Abaddon Books.

CHAPTER ONE

Around the World in Eighty Days

LUXURY LINER SETS SAIL ON MAIDEN VOYAGE

By our reporter 'on board' Miss Glenda Finch

"Around the world in eighty days - in style!"

This is the proud boast of the Carcharodon Shipping Company, owners of the new luxury passenger sub-liner the Neptune, that sets sail from Southampton docks on 5th July. It is the company's claim that those who can afford the small-fortune-a-berth price tag will enjoy an unprecedented luxury cruise across the oceans of the globe, taking in many of its most remarkable and celebrated sights along the way.

Jonah Carcharodon repeated this bold claim - one of his own devising - during the festivities surrounding the launch of the Neptune, when His Royal Highness the Duke of Cornwall broke the traditional bottle of Cristal champagne - as served on board the Neptune in its many bars and restaurants. Rumour has it that Carcharodon has placed a hefty bet on his pride-and-joy's inaugural voyage running to time.

As well as an estimated three thousand paying guests, a number of dignitaries and VIPs are on board at the invitation of Jonah Carcharodon himself, to add glamour and media interest to the maiden voyage of the newest member of the Great White Shipping Line's fleet of high-end luxury passenger vessels. Amongst the invited elite is rumoured to be Hero of the Empire, Ulysses Quicksilver himself who, as regular readers of The Times will know, was instrumental in thwarting the recent plot against Her Majesty's life. But whether he is here for a little rest and recuperation, to find himself a new female companion from amongst the socialites and well-to-do heiresses on board, or for some other clandestine reason, only time will tell.

"Your cognac, sir," the aquiline gentleman's valet said, bending at the hip to proffer his master the glass positioned precisely dead centre on the tray in his hand.

"Why, thank you, Nimrod," the younger man said with a smile, taking the balloon glass in his left hand. He gently swirled its contents before putting it to his mouth. There he paused, savouring the heady aroma of the brandy before taking a sip. He held the tingling mouthful on his tongue for a moment, taste buds excited at its touch, before luxuriating in the sensation of the cognac slipping like molten honey down his throat.

"Very nice," he said, easing himself back on the sunlounger.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, I think that will be all for now," Ulysses Quicksilver replied, running a hand through his mane of dark blond hair and adjusting the dark-tinted spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose.

"Very good, sir. Then if you would not mind I shall retire and see to some matters of house-keeping demanding my attention back at the suite."

"Very well, Nimrod. Whatever floats your boat I suppose," Ulysses said, flashing his faithful manservant a wicked grin. Nimrod responded by arching an eyebrow, before he turned on his heel and strode rigidly from the sundeck, tray in hand.

Ulysses Quicksilver stretched his body out on the wicker lounger, adjusting his suit of cream linen for comfort and loosening the azure rough silk cravat at his neck, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun on his face.

A twinge of pain from his right shoulder took him momentarily by surprise and reminded him, at least in part, why he had accepted Jonah Carcharodon's invitation to join the maiden voyage of the Neptune. More than a month on from the debacle surrounding Queen Victoria's 160th jubilee his left arm was healed and out of its sling - although it still hurt to over-flex it - but his shoulder was a more substantial, recurring injury, one he had received in his near-fatal crash on Mount Manaslu in the Himalayan range. He had been lucky to walk away from that one at all; not that he had walked away of course. He had crawled from the crash-site, managing to get as far as a precipitous icy ledge before the effects of hypothermia had set in. And then the monks of Shangri-La had found him.

He stretched again, testing his body this time, wondering what other aches and pains would reveal themselves, trying to put the memory of an event to every twinge, every dull ache, every agony remembered, each a physical remembrance of one of a whole host of injuries received in the line of duty.

There was the rumour of cramp in his left leg, and the still-present dull ache in his side. Such sensations were almost reassuring in their familiarity. Easing his right shoulder into a more comfortable position he felt the skin under his shirt. There were still four distinct traces of scar tissue where the pterodactyl had - bizarrely - saved his life.

But that was all in the past now. All that featured in his immediate future was a few weeks R & R and a jolly jaunt in warmer climes, while Barty remained in London overseeing the renovation of the Mayfair residence, his brother himself under the ever-watchful eye of Mrs Prufrock, Ulysses' cook and housekeeper.

A sudden shadow came between Ulysses and the burning white disc of the sun blazing in the cloudless azure expanse of sky above the cruising liner. Ulysses removed his sunglasses and, narrowing his eyes, focused on the not uncomely figure in front of him.

"It's Mr Quicksilver, isn't it? Or can I call you Ulysses?"

Ulysses smiled and deliberately looked the svelte young woman up and down, taking in the classic yet subtle curves of her body, accentuated by the way the sea-green gown she had chosen to wear hung from and clung to her body to greatest effect. It was a bold statement - the colour in sharp contrast to the blue of her eyes and the over-coiffeured curls of her golden-blonde hair. The dress would have been more appropriate as evening wear - exposed shoulders, arms and cleavage not really being the done thing, at least not on the sundeck or the watertight promenade deck. The boa of pink flamingo feathers really set it off a treat.

Worn here and now, it was an outfit that said that this was a young woman who was independent, determined to make her own way in the world, apparently regardless of what others might think of her. And yet, at the same time, all too self-aware, desperate to make a lasting impression, fearful of being forgotten or, worse, overlooked in the first place.

"I'm sorry, you seem to have me at a disadvantage, Miss -"