by A. C. Cobble
“Things you know,” retorted the other woman. “What do you know? You know nothing of what you face. Last time I saw you, you were begging my help to translate your grimoire. You can’t read more than one in ten words in that text. Do not claim you know what it is you are stepping into. You have no idea.”
“I may not know ancient Darklands script, but I know what I must do,” declared Sam. “I know where we have to go. We have to keep fighting, Kalbeth. We have to.”
“Fight who? Go where? You don’t even know who your enemy is, Sam,” argued Kalbeth. “What do you and Duke Wellesley mean to do? Where do you mean to… Oh. I see. Duke Wellesley. The Duke of Northundon.”
“It’s the only lead we have,” said Sam, “I have reason to believe the spirits haunting the place will not oppose Duke. With the tattoo you inked on my back, I think we have a chance. We have to do it, Kalbeth. There is no other choice.”
“You’ve spoken to the man, already planned this out?” questioned the black-haired woman. “Why are you here then? I will not help you with another tattoo. I cannot.”
“We haven’t spoken about it,” replied Sam, looking up to meet her lover’s eyes. “Do not worry. I did not come here to ask any more of you, but it is obvious what I must do, is it not? If you have another idea, please tell me.”
Kalbeth was silent.
“That is why I must go,” said Sam.
“You could stay here. Forget it all,” replied Kalbeth.
“You could come with us,” offered Sam.
Kalbeth looked away, her black hair falling across her face.
Sam stood abruptly from the bed. “We’ll stay here tonight, but we must go soon.”
The other woman did not respond, so Sam dressed quickly. Without speaking, she walked into the sitting room and saw both Duke and the key were missing. She knew where he would be.
The Cartographer XVI
Oliver saw Sam slinking through the busy common room of the Four Sheets and waved for the barman to bring another mug. He’d already ordered a pitcher of ale and was halfway through it.
“Good night?” he asked her.
“You mean aside from… from what we did earlier?” she asked.
“Well, I don’t know what you did earlier,” he huffed. “I’ve been minding my own business, drinking ale.”
“Are you jealous?” asked Sam.
“No, I…” he trailed off, certain he wanted to say no, but not certain it was true. “I’m just worried, is all.”
“Worried about Kalbeth?” questioned Sam. “That sounds like you’re jealous.”
“Is that her name?” he wondered. “I’m worried but not because I’m jealous. She’s rather a lot like Isisandra Dalyrimple, is she not?”
Sam blinked at him. “No, she’s no sorceress. Her magic is small, just an affinity. She can’t do any… Is that what you meant? That you think she is a sorceress?”
“I meant she has black hair, is quite petite, and prefers women,” he mentioned. “She is a sorceress as well? That gives me real concern, Sam. You can have a type, but I’m not sure that type should be those on the dark path. Those you’re tasked with hunting.”
Sam grabbed her ale and drank. “She’s no more a sorceress than I am.”
He grunted. Jet-black hair, slender figures, preferences for the same sex, and an affinity for the dark path. Isisandra, Kalbeth, and Sam. If she didn’t see it already, he wouldn’t point it out to her. Not yet, at least. Not until he learned more about this new woman. Not until he could say it without an uncomfortable twinge of jealousy worming its way into his voice.
“I was thinking,” Sam said, ignoring his expression. “We only have one lead, one way to turn, even though it’s a rather dangerous line to pursue.”
“Northundon,” he said, smiling at her shock. “I’ve been thinking too. We can’t show ourselves anywhere I would be recognized. We can’t solicit help from anyone with the strength to actually help us. If we did find help, we still don’t know who we’re up against. That leaves only one trail we can follow, as far as I can deduce.”
“Northundon,” agreed Sam. “If we go, though, we must be prepared. Prepared for what’s ahead and prepared for those who will seek to stop us before we get there. We need a plan, and we need supplies.”
“Well, the only apothecary I know has recently closed shop,” remarked Oliver, “or were you thinking of mundane supplies?”
“Those too, but I think that’s easily handled,” she said. “I meant, ah, something a bit more esoteric.”
“Is there another vendor for that type of material?” he asked her.
“None that I know of, but…” Sam’s eyes darted toward the stairwell.
“But your friend upstairs might be able to help?” questioned Oliver. “This friend who has nothing at all to do with sorcery, huh?”
Scowling at him, Sam said, “We’ll have to talk fast to convince her.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I have a way with women.”
The Director II
The former soldier slammed his fist on the table, smashing the solid wood like he meant to snap the boards in two.
Cringing, Raffles shot a glance at Bishop Yates, who was cowering in a corner and looking like he may soon wet his priest’s robes.
Shaking himself and resolving to not appear such a coward as the churchman, the director held up a hand. “Hold, William. We missed them, but you must understand. We were not prepared. This was an emergency situation. The wolfmalkin failed, but we will not.”
“Will not?” snapped Enhover’s prime minister. “You already have. I’d be outraged that you killed my nephew without talking to me first, but trying and failing to do so? That is even worse. It’s appalling.”
“He visited the underworld!” cried the director. “He saw a true vision! What would you have us do?”
“The girl was in Romalla, soliciting assistance from the Council of Seven,” added Bishop Yates. “They did not agree to help her due to my persuasion, but we are being hunted, William! Your nephew, the girl, they may not know who they are seeking yet, but they are seeking us. How confident are we that we’ve snipped every thread, closed every avenue to our identity? I am almost certain there is nothing in this world that can lead to me except the two of you, but shall we risk the last twenty years of labor, our stations, everything we’ve done and hope to accomplish? Are we that certain, after so long, we’ve left no trace?”
“If there was a trace, the other would have found it,” snapped William, stalking back and forth across the room.
“The other?” wondered Raffles, sharing a look with Yates.
“Don’t be coy with me,” growled the prime minister. “There is another who works against us. One who has been subtly foiling our maneuvers for years. I don’t know who it is, but I’m confident they do not know who we are, either. If they did, I can only imagine the three of us would have our throats slit by now, if we were lucky. No, there is another walking this path with us. The signs are obvious. If we’d left clues, the other would have followed them.”
Randolph Raffles snorted and pointed a finger at William. “Your nephew is as persistent and as dangerous as only a Wellesley can be. You think the other would have found any trace that was left? What about Standish Taft? The man lived in Swinpool for years, and if someone had found him, he could have spilled secrets about what you discovered in the Coldlands. Any time, the other could have unmasked our identities, but it was your nephew and the girl who found Taft.”
“They don’t have to operate within the shadows,” remarked Yates. “Moving in the open, unafraid to ask questions, unaware of whose notice they might draw… They moved faster and more thoroughly than any of us could have imagined, and they aren’t stopping. They’ve already gotten too close, too close by far.”
William clenched his fists on the table, but he didn’t respond.
Raffles took the opening. “We acted because your nephew had a true vision. In it, Oliver spo
ke to spirits of the underworld. They interacted and communicated with him. I do not know what they told him, but I was able to confirm the contact. Those spirits still speak the boy’s name.”
“Let us call to them, then, and bind them to our design,” suggested William. “We’ll find out what they told him and use that to help find the boy.”
Raffles shook his head. “The spirits are in the thrall of Ca-Mi-He. They are sacrifices to him. Hearing Oliver’s name, sensing their recent knowledge of him in the underworld, that was all I could determine before I had to flee. If they’d found I was observing them, if they’d felt the blessing of the dark trinity upon me… Ca-Mi-He could learn of our ambition.”
William grimaced but nodded. “More and more often, it seems we stumble across spirits in the thrall of that one. His power… Even with the strength of the dark trinity, I worry—”
“It will be enough,” counseled Bishop Yates. “Three are stronger than one as has always been the case. It is why only the trinity has a chance against the great spirit. It is why when we bind them to us, we’ll be unstoppable.”
“You are sure?” asked William.
“I am,” answered Yates. “You brought me into this group because of my research, because of my access to the Church’s archives. Everything there reaffirms that one can never stand against three, not when those three are formed as one, at least.”
William grunted at the obvious barb.
“Oliver had a true vision of the underworld,” said Raffles, drawing the two other men’s attention back to him. “We don’t know what he learned, but does it matter? If he pierced the barrier and survived, he could do it again. He has an affinity, it seems, and it will only become stronger as he develops his talents. But even if he does not, can we risk it? Is there any other option — was there any option other than his death? I am sorry, William. I know you have feelings for the boy, but will you gamble everything we’ve worked for?”
The former soldier’s jaw bunched and he squeezed his eyes shut. A vein beat furiously in his forehead. His breathing was quick and violent. When he finally responded, his voice was tight with strain. “You are right. We’ve sacrificed much, and we’ve always known we may need to sacrifice more. I do not like it, but… If he had a true vision, we cannot allow him to continue freely. Oliver must die, and we must immediately bind his spirit. The girl as well, of course.”
“Of course.” Raffles nodded.
The three men sat silent for a moment.
The director, ever practical, finally mentioned what they were all thinking. “We have to find him first. He hasn’t been back to the palace. He hasn’t been to his home in the city or that ridiculous estate of his in the middle of the park. I’ve put watchers around his valet, and the man has had no contact. Neither of them has visited the girl’s apartment, and they haven’t been seen near the Church. I’ve sent people to inquire discreetly at all of the reputable inns in the city, and of course we’ll monitor the boy’s usual haunts.”
“The Child twins?” asked William.
Raffles smirked. “That’s where I would go if I was him, but he hasn’t seen or even written either one. Once we’ve checked the reputable establishments in the city, we’ll begin checking the disreputable ones. There are hundreds, though, and I only have so many people I can trust with this. It will be a week before we can inquire at every ale sink, inn, and hostel.”
William nodded, rubbing his temples with his fingers.
“They could have left Westundon,” offered Yates. When the other two men turned to glare at him, he said, “We have to face reality. It’s possible he’s already gone from Westundon, maybe even Enhover.”
“We’ve been watching the main highways and rail lines,” reminded Raffles.
“What about his airship?” asked William. “If he boards it, he could be leagues from here before we’d even know he was going. If it was me, that’s the way I would flee. Does the Company have vessels nearby that can match the speed of his?”
Raffles shook his head. “We have one in Westundon, the sister ship of Oliver’s. It’s an identical vessel. Could our captain overtake his in a chase? I would not bet on it. What about the Crown? Surely the royal marines have something that could pile on the sail and pursue him?”
“The Crown’s attention is on the tropics at the moment. Trying to convince Admiral Brach to divert resources to Westundon is a fool’s errand, and the admiral will be up my brother’s ass in a quarter turn of the clock if he hears of me commandeering one of his airships,” said William. “The marines claim allegiance directly to the king and his line, not the ministry. If it came between Oliver and I, they’d support the boy. There are those in the service I have turned, of course, but I cannot man an entire airship with them on such short notice without raising suspicion.”
“Disable Oliver’s airship,” suggested Yates. “Break the bindings on the levitating stones or kill the crew. Whatever is necessary to prevent travel. If he leaves on the rail or the road, we have a chance of catching him. In the air…”
Raffles glanced at William and said, “It makes sense.”
William shook his head. “If we disable the airship we force him to be creative. If he’s creative, it will be more difficult to guess his next course of action. Instead of disabling it, I suggest we lay another trap. Summon shades, hundreds of them, post them around his airship, and when he boards, direct them to attack. If we’re lucky, he’ll walk into our snare, and we don’t have to worry about finding him.”
“I like it,” admitted the director. “It’s simple, a small burden on our resources, and it might be our best bet. I’ll arrange something. In the meantime, any additional resources we can gather should be devoted to finding the boy and the girl in case they do not try to flee on the airship. Stopping them must be our highest priority. If he touches the underworld again, has another true vision…”
“I will take over monitoring the shroud,” stated William. “The boy and I share blood. I will be able to sense if his presence breaches the barrier again.”
Raffles nodded, glad the prime minister had suggested it himself. “Good. I’ll lead the search here. You cover the underworld. Yates, I think it is time to approach the Council. Inform them that the girl has delved too far into true sorcery and we require the assistance of the Knives.”
Gabriel Yates swallowed nervously. “You want to invite more Knives of the Council into Enhover? Are you sure?”
“I don’t have the first clue on where we could find that girl unless she turns up with Oliver,” said Raffles. “Do you?”
Yates shook his head.
“Do it, Gabriel,” instructed William. “If the Church sends her Knives at your behest, at least we’ll know who they are. We can hide from them as we always have. Either they’ll find our missing prey, or we will. Whoever does, we can be assured both of us will quickly kill them, and I’ll be standing ready to take their spirits at the shroud. We’ve come close to disaster, but we can still rescue this situation, and it’s possible we can turn it to our advantage.”
Raffles raised an eyebrow at the prime minister.
“Oliver doesn’t know who he is hunting,” explained William. “It could be the other just as easily as it is us. When he is at the barrier, when I take control of his soul, he will not stop his hunt. Except this time, he’ll be working on our behalf.”
The Captain III
“Are you sure this is wise, Captain?” asked Pettybone.
“Of course so,” she chided her first mate. “What would be unwise about it?”
“Sorcerers, spirits, violent death…” muttered the man, peering anxiously over the gunwale into the fog. “An attack we only suspect may be coming but we don’t know when. It all seems rather, well, insane I suppose is the word I’m looking for.”
“The spirits favor the bold,” insisted Captain Ainsley. She propped a tall boot on the gunwale in front of her and rested a hand on one of her two long-barreled pistols. “All of those gian
t palaces we see in the city below us when we lift off, all of the estates out in the countryside, how do you think those people made their wealth? It wasn’t by sitting at home and taking no chances.”
Pettybone snorted. “A lot of people have ended up dead, too, by taking chances.”
“If you don’t fancy dying a rich man, then you’re on the wrong airship,” declared Ainsley.
“I fancy being rich. I don’t fancy dying,” complained the first mate.
“What was that?” asked Ainsley, suddenly leaning forward and peering into the fog. She pushed up the brim of her giant, tri-cornered hat with one finger, wondering if the disturbance she’d seen below was a quiet gust of air, a laborer moving quickly through the night, or something else.
“Nothing, Captain,” said the first mate, joining her in peering into the darkness below them.
Suddenly speaking behind them though she’d made no sound on the approach, the odd priestess who traveled with the duke whispered, “Is the cannon ready?”
Ainsley nodded.
“Winchester spread word two turns ago that Duke was departing on the airship. That’s enough time for our enemies to assemble their attack. They won’t wait long. It should be any moment now,” advised the woman, crouching down and looking directly into the fog across from them.
There, thirty yards away, docked the Cloud Wolf, their sister airship. It occupied the berth they were assigned to, according to the bridge master’s logs. At night, the two ships looked identical. If anyone came sniffing around for them, they hoped their deception would lead their pursuers to the Wolf.
Through billowing tendrils of fog, the vessel passed in and out of view, sometimes only the globes of fae light set on its deck providing any certainty it was still there. Then, the fog drifted away for a moment, and a shadow passed distinctly in front of one of the lights.
