by A. C. Cobble
Five times the size of the airship, a gang of men was working atop of it. A few of them paused to wave as the airship passed by. Traditional stone-cutting tools, huge pools filled with water, and thick hemp nets dotted the top of the rock. The men were cutting long, rectangular plates loose, similar to the ones in the hold of the Cloud Serpent, and they were then corralling them with water and nets to where they could be safely brought down to earth and built into the hold of a new ship.
“What happens if one gets away?” wondered Sam.
“A lot of wasted effort,” responded Oliver. “Aside from getting up there and getting back down, I’m told the work itself is frustrating but isn’t that dangerous. Over the years, the miners have figured out a solid system, though I suppose if one does get loose, you don’t want to be standing on it.”
“And how do they… oh.”
They’d cleared the end of the rock and saw a long bundle of rope and hose trailing from the levitating island down to a wooden platform floating on the sea. The platform appeared to be a giant, flat barge. Only a few structures which might have been housing for crew or a pump were on the deck. The airship was far above it, but even from a height, they could see a huge coil of rope attached to a pulley system which workers must use to raise supplies to the mining crew and lower the stones they’d cut free.
Oliver explained, “They pump water up hoses to the top to fill those pools. Then, they can release it as necessary just like we do on the airship to lower the island and keep its elevation steady.”
“What happens if the hose breaks?” wondered Sam.
With a wink, he replied, “Then they’d better pray to the spirits for rain. Luckily, in the dry season, there is not much risk. The winds are steady and tame, and the sea is smooth enough the barge can hold steady. In monsoon season, though, they detach from the islands and tow the barge to dock in Archtan Town until the heavy wind and rains pass.”
Sam grunted. After a moment of studying the apparatus, she questioned, “How do they get it all up there in the first place?”
“They can drop in on a line by airship now,” explained Oliver. “The first time, the story is they had to wait until a storm when water from the rain sank the mass down to the sea. They tossed up a grappling hook and scaled it. How would you have liked to be the first person who climbed onto one of these? Once they got up there with an expedition of men, they went from island to island. They spent weeks climbing amongst these structures as they drifted closer together and then apart. Those first men figured out the logistics of mining the stones. Half the party was lost, falling between the rocks, but the ones who survived will go down in Enhover’s history as true adventurers. The Company paid a special bonus to each member of the expedition or their families in the cases they were deceased. It’s rare, that.”
Sam nodded, wordless.
“There it is,” said Oliver, pointing over the gunwale.
Across the sea, rearing up out of the water like an angry giant, was the key island of Archtan Atoll. Named for the chain of land around it, the largest of the islands served as the Company’s headquarters in the area. On the island was Archtan Town, home to thousands of Company men and thousands more foreigners who had been brought to assist in running the place. There was a marketplace that rivaled those in Enhover itself, a full shipworks to build the airships, and a harbor that was as large as any outside of the colonial nations. Archtan Atoll was nearly an independent nation in and of itself, with the wealth and military might to keep it so.
Hanging above the city were half a dozen airships. It was the thickest concentration of them anywhere outside of Southundon, the seat of the king and the location of Company House. Half of the airships floating above Archtan Atoll appeared to be Company freighters, and the other half belonged to the royal marines. King Edward committed almost as much might to protecting Archtan Atoll as he did his own ports in Enhover. The levitating islands were the jewel of the Company’s possessions, a key source of tax revenue for the Crown, and responsible for much of Enhover’s military success.
“That’s bigger than I thought,” murmured Sam.
“It’s ten times the size of Imbon Colony,” remarked Oliver.
Deep inside their airship, he heard the crank of chain and the rush of water. The airship dipped as water poured over the levitating stones in the hold until the drop steadied, and then the airship began a slow descent, still gliding toward Archtan Town.
As they drew near, the sounds of industry rose to greet them — saws and hammers at the shipworks, the hubbub of thousands of people busy about daily tasks within the city, and in a large, cleared field just outside of the settlement’s walls, several companies of royal marines were drilling.
“Why are they drilling?” Oliver asked a passing sailor.
The man merely shrugged and went about his tasks.
“They’re military men, are they not?” said Sam. “Isn’t it normal for them to do some drills, to train?”
The duke frowned, staring down at the milling men. “Perhaps.”
The landing and descent from the airship bridge was no more exciting than they’d experienced in Imbon, but when they made it to the ground, Oliver could tell something was off. The steps of the laborers were quick and efficient, unlike the unhurried pace he usually saw in the tropics. There were no piles of merchandise waiting to be brought up to the ships. In fact, the staging grounds around the base of the airship bridges was about as clean as he’d ever seen it anywhere. It was the contingent of royal marines, though, that finally made him stop in his tracks.
“Sergeant,” he asked, addressing the leader of a squad that was patrolling between the airship bridges and the rows of warehouses that stood nearby, “what’s going on?”
“Beg your pardon, sir?” asked the man.
Sam, who’d stopped half a dozen paces after the duke did, turned and watched.
“Security around here is tighter than I’ve ever seen it,” pressed Oliver. “Why?”
“Sir,” replied the sergeant, drawing himself up. “That is a matter for the governor and the commander to be concerned with. Please move on and conduct your business without barring the road.”
“What’s your name, Sergeant?” asked Oliver.
The man blinked at him.
“I want to know because I’m on my way right now to see the governor,” explained Oliver. “I’d like to—”
“That’s Duke Oliver Wellesley,” interjected Sam. “He’s a son of the king.”
The sergeant’s jaw fell open, and the duke shot a scowl at Sam.
“Don’t torture the lad,” she said. “What do you think he’s going to tell you that we can’t get from the governor half a turn of the clock from now?”
“The governor is a Company man and a peer,” explained Oliver. “He’ll put a good face on it. The sergeant here is a royal marine, and royal marines tell it like it is, don’t they, sergeant?”
The sergeant grunted and it appeared he was chewing the inside of his cheek, lost in thought, possibly wondering if the man in front of him really was a part of the royal line and had the authority to wave a hand and have him thrown in gaol for insubordination. In short time, it appeared the sergeant decided the possibility was enough, so he answered.
“Pirates, m’lord,” he said, his words coming quickly, falling on top of each other in a rush out of his mouth. “They’ve been harassing the cutters and ketches who trade amongst the islands. They’ve even taken a couple of prizes.”
“You’re being deployed to root out this menace?” questioned Oliver.
“No, ah, no, m’lord. We’re on heightened alert, though. There’s no fear here in the city. We’re well-protected, and the pirates haven’t come within fifty leagues of Archtan Town.”
“Of course they won’t attack the city itself,” snapped Oliver. “You’re not heading out, hunting these corsairs down? The prizes they took, are they not under your protection as well?”
The sergeant coughed
and seemed to find something highly interesting on the ground by his feet. The duke glared at the man’s squad, and they all shifted uneasily, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Come on,” he said, turning to Sam. “It appears we have more than one difficult discussion to conduct today.”
“Governor Dalyrimple,” said Oliver, nodding to the man.
The governor stood from behind a massive desk. He had the thick bushy mustache and bald pate that seemed a requisite for Company governors, but unlike Towerson, Dalyrimple had the broad shoulders and thick arms of a man who had spent countless hours at labor or perhaps with steel in hand on the practice fields. He had the belly and shining crimson nose of a drinking man, though, and the duke couldn’t help but notice the half-empty crystal decanter of clear liquor sitting conveniently near the governor’s silver coffee set.
“Duke Oliver Wellesley,” boomed the governor, forcing what he must have thought passed for a smile onto his face. “It’s good to see you, Oliver. What’s it been, two years?”
“About right, Governor.”
“Sit, sit,” said the man, gesturing to a comfortable looking set of rattan chairs. “I’ll call for refreshments. It’s morning still, right, so coffee? It’s one thing we have that’s finer than even the best clubs in Enhover can provide. On the atoll, it’s straight from the plantation.”
“It’s afternoon, m’lord,” remarked Oliver.
“Ah,” muttered the governor, glancing at a rack beside the door. He seemed to be weighing the need to gather his coat for an afternoon meeting with a duke versus the comfort of remaining in his shirtsleeves.
“Punch, if you have it, would go down well,” mentioned Oliver. “We’ve been on sailor’s rations on the airship. A bit of grog gets them between berths, but it’s not my preferred pour.”
“Punch? Perfect,” said the governor. He picked up a small silver bell and rang it sharply before following the duke and Sam to the rattan chairs. The big man sat down then seemed to notice Sam for the first time. “Apologies, m’lady, I…”
“She’s a representative of the Church,” said Oliver. “Priestess Samantha… Samantha. She’s assisting me on my errand at the behest of Bishop Yates.”
“That old fish,” rumbled Governor Dalyrimple, sitting back in his chair, evidently satisfied that if Sam was no lady, he needn’t greet her as such. “What’s his interest in Archtan Atoll? We have a Church here, but I can’t say it’s much attended. Away from their wives, the men don’t feel such a pressing urge to confess any sins, I suppose. That or the hangovers keep ‘em in their beds!”
Oliver gave the obligatory chuckle to the man’s jest, but he didn’t answer his question. Not yet. Instead, he floated his own. “On the way in, it looked like the marines are preparing for action?”
A servant ducked a head in, and the governor requested a pitcher of punch then turned to Oliver and Sam. “You’ve heard about our little squabbles, then, have you? It’s been years since we’ve had trouble in the atoll, but we’ve got it now.”
“Pirates, is it?” asked Oliver. “That’s the squabble you’re referring to?”
“Aye, pirates,” agreed the governor. “I’m surprised word has spread so far, to be honest. It’s a nuisance, but if I can get Commander Ostrander to sail, it’s one we can resolve easily enough on our own. Has word reached the capital, then, that we’re dealing with some brigandry?”
“We only heard when we landed,” replied the duke. He eyed Sam out of the corner of his eye and drew a deep breath before continuing. “I want to hear more about that, but before I do, there is something I must tell you.”
The servant returned with a pitcher of punch and set of cups, and Oliver shifted uncomfortably as the governor eyed him curiously. Oliver waited until the servant left the room before sharing his news.
“Your wife, she… she’s passed away.”
Dalyrimple frowned.
“She was in Enhover,” added Oliver. “Did you know?”
“I did,” said the governor, rubbing a hand across his mustache and leaning back to stare at the exposed ceiling beams above them.
“I understand this is shocking news,” consoled Oliver. “I want you to know that both my family and the Company share your grief. We thought it best if someone… someone you know was able to deliver the news.”
“I appreciate that,” replied the governor.
He fell silent when his servant returned with a heavy silver tray filled with bits of cheese, dried fruits, and nuts. The man left without word, and Oliver sat forward.
“If I may ask, Sebastian, why was the countess in Enhover? We were unable to determine that during the investigation.”
“Investigation?” asked the governor.
“The circumstances of her death were unusual,” replied the duke.
The governor shifted in his chair, the rattan creaking under his weight, and he poured and gulped a cup of punch, finishing it quickly and then pouring himself another. He didn’t meet Oliver’s gaze until his cup was refilled.
“The pirate threat,” he claimed. “Hathia worried about the danger these… these ravagers posed. We spoke and both thought it would be best if she were to leave the tropics and go home, at least for a time. She was to return when things settled down, if they do. If that coward Commander Ostrander musters his men and rids us of this plague.”
The big man’s fist was clenched around his cup, and for a moment, Oliver worried he’d crush the thing.
Sam shifted, and he looked at her. She raised an eyebrow at him but remained silent. She didn’t need words to communicate the oddity of the governor’s reaction.
“Do you think, while you’re here, you can speak to the man?” asked Dalyrimple. “He might listen to you.”
“Certainly,” offered Oliver. “Governor, your wife fled to Enhover to escape the pirate threat?”
“Of course,” muttered the man. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
Oliver looked to Sam again then turned back to the governor. “We first heard of the problems while walking through town. These pirates have taken a few ketches?”
“A few!” exclaimed Dalyrimple. “They’ve taken three ketches, two cutters, and they’ve nearly shut down commerce on the outlying islands. The pirates are probing us, testing what we’re willing to do. So far, it’s not much. If we don’t hit them hard, hit them in their lair, they’ll only grow bolder. Bolder and stronger. Each prize they take increases their wealth, brings them new weapons, and an argument to recruit more of their ilk. By next summer, I don’t doubt they’ll be threatening us here behind the walls. It’s intolerable!”
“Governor,” said the duke, “I saw half a dozen airships docked when we arrived. Surely they’re capable of—”
“You’re damn right they are!” barked the governor. “It’s that lazy coward Ostrander who’s the problem. He should be removed. Believe me, if we go another week without action, I’ll be writing the admiral myself. He doesn’t think I’ll do it, but I will!”
Oliver sipped at his punch, confused and concerned. “M’lord, I do not mean to judge anyone’s actions here, as I don’t have the facts, but what has been done? Before we left, not a word of this had reached Enhover. Neither the Company nor the Crown was aware of this problem.”
Governor Dalyrimple snorted. “Ostrander doesn’t want to let his superiors know what a coward he is, if you ask me. Admiral Brach would tell him to roll up his sleeves and get the job done.”
“You asked Ostrander to bring in more troops, and he… he didn’t?” questioned Oliver.
“I don’t know what the man’s done or not done,” growled Dalyrimple. “All I know, the corsairs are there, taking our ships, and he’s here, hiding behind the walls of my compound. He’s probably getting drunk all day.”
The governor sat forward and poured himself another cup of punch.
“Perhaps I should speak with him immediately,” offered Oliver.
“He’s just across the courtyard,” repli
ed the governor, “sitting in his office, I suspect, like he does every day.”
Oliver stood, placing his half-empty cup back down on the tray. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll go see him right now, then.”
“Good luck,” muttered the governor.
“I-I’m sorry about your wife,” offered Oliver.
The governor was staring down into his cup and did not respond. Oliver took it as his cue and waved for Sam to follow him out of the room.
“Well, that’s about the strangest conversation I’ve ever overheard,” remarked Sam once they’d closed the door on the governor’s office. “Do you think… do you think the man’s gone mad?”
“I don’t know what to think,” responded Oliver. “I can only hope that this Commander Ostrander can shed some light on what is going on around here.”
“Commander Ostrander,” said the neatly dressed royal marine who’d escorted them through the barracks. “This man claims to be… What was it, m’lord? A duke?”
Ostrander, a pale, freckle-faced, red-haired man who wasn’t more than a year or two the duke’s senior, looked up from behind a leaning pile of parchment.
“A duke—” The commander stood abruptly the moment his eyes found Oliver. He offered a quick bow. “M’lord, we didn’t have word you were coming to Archtan Atoll. I’m sorry. If I’d known, I would have met you at the airship bridge.”
“I didn’t send word,” remarked Oliver. “I just arrived with Captain Haines today. We are coming from meeting with the governor.”
A shadow fell across Commander Ostrander’s face and he waved off the enlisted man who’d escorted them into his office. Ostrander stepped around his desk and motioned to a serving tray covered in crystal glasses, a bowl of sliced citrus, and decanters filled with liquor. “A tonic?”
