And it was to the bottom that the vessel now plunged, into the waters that were blacker than any black on land, into a gloom that was more consuming than the deepest night. Were the crew not focused on their frenzied work to stop the steep descent, they might've glanced out one of the many round windows, and they might've thought that they were looking into the black iris of an evil creature—and they might've been right.

Something pressed against the window, nudging the submarine. Its hide was almost as dark as the waters around it, but its scales glistened from the light inside the room. Jacob badly wanted to douse the oil lamp, to hide inside a different darkness, but he had a feeling that any change inside the room, any step, any dimming of a light, any sound, might be like a beacon to the beast outside.

He liked the darkness, but this was oppressing. It almost flooded his being. He was afraid that even when he returned to the light—or if he returned to the light—he would still feel that darkness in his soul.

The walls were painted red, and there was the painter up ahead, that candle-maned woman carving her way through the darkness, and carving her way through everyone she thought the darkness owned.

Darkness gathered there, smothering out the sunlight. As the fleet headed towards it, it threatened to smother them too.