PodCastle

* Author : Merc Fenn Wolfmoor
* Narrator : Brian Murphy
* Host : Summer Fletcher
* Audio Producer : Peter Adrian Behravesh
*
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Submerged anthology, edited by S.C. Butler and Joshua Palmatier. 


Content warning: sexual assault


Rated R, for lustful magic.
Note: Merc recently changed their name, so while the podcast lists an old name, they are now going by Merc Fenn Wolfmoor, the name credited on the website.
Fathoms Deep and Fathoms Cold
By Merc Fenn Wolfmoor
Tage lights a cigarette and watches the man in the scarlet fedora come nearer. Hat like that’s hard to miss. This one’s his contact. His heartbeat gets quick. The docks are loud, briny, thick with bodies. Storms scrape the horizon, kick up sharp winds. He can’t show desperation. It’ll get him killed or left stranded. Same difference.
“Afternoon.” The man tips his hat. Long black duster hangs about a too-thin frame, but he don’t look weak. Dual revolvers rest on his hips. “I hear tell you’re looking for passage.”
Tage grunts, shifts his weight for better balance. He didn’t expect another wizard. The twisty, rusted aura ‘round the man is too fucked to be purely one Clan. It puts his guard up, fast. “Depends whereto.”
The man smiles, charming. It never reaches his faded blue eyes. “We’re headed for Aldare. Whale Fall’s a good vessel, and we have room for a couple passengers who’ll work for it.” He speaks with a slow drawl. “You left a calling card with the barkeeper.”
“I can work,” Tage says. He don’t have enough to pay even a modest fare. He ran, scarce a fortnight ago. Left everything behind. He ain’t got much experience, and when word gets out he’s VanDrake, a wizard from one of the most feared Clans, no crew will risk taking him on.
The Clan thinks he’s dead. He keeps trying not to wish it, too.
“You ever been on a submersible?” the man asks.
“Not yet.”
The man hooks his thumbs through his belt. He might’ve been eye-catching once. Sharp-boned face, shaved, with odd-shaped tattoos across one cheek that match his hair — black and gray. He looks Tage up and down, critical. “It’s cramped. Not much space, and no deck. Can you handle living in metal and glass for long days?”
Tage ain’t sure. There’s nowhere to run in the sea. “What’ll the work be?”
“Manual, easy enough.” The man’s gaze is iron-hard. “Do what you’re told and no magic. Clear?”
Tage’s gut turns. Something’s wrong here — not just the threat. The man should be asking more questions. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Suddenly, the man smiles again and proffers a hand. “I’m Marcus Grey.”
“Tage. VanDrake.” Last test. If the other wizard balks, shows any sign he’s here to grab Tage, he’ll run. Or fight. Ends the same — he won’t be taken back to the Clan.
Marcus Grey’s expression and body language don’t change. “May I welcome you aboard the Whale Fall, VanDrake?”
Self-exile. He don’t want to see the ghost-memories of everything he’s lost, the ones that won’t let him rest. It’s Kane’s face, mostly. He got his brother killed and he can’t forget. It hurts too much to stay here.
Tage takes a final drag on the cigarette, drops it, then crushes the butt under his boot heel. He takes Grey’s hand, shakes it once. “Yeah.”