by A. C. Cobble
“What did you mean, then, Admiral?”
“It’s just… I expected you’d want to, ah, a misunderstanding, m’lord,” stammered the admiral. “Of course your assistance is appreciated in whatever way you see best to provide it, and not a man in the royal marines could question your bravery.”
“It’s easy to float above an island filled with poorly armed natives and roll bombs from the deck of an airship,” said Oliver. “It’s more difficult, Admiral, to face a man blade to blade, to look into his eyes and understand that one of you will die. When you’ve done that, it changes the cost of battle. The economics are different when you’re standing in a puddle of blood, unsure if it’s a friend’s or a foe’s. It’s worth remembering that not long ago, these people were part of our empire. They worked with the Company hand-in-hand. Technology has given Enhover much, Admiral, but it’s taken from us as well. I worry we’ve forgotten what it is to wade into the mud.”
“I speak the truth when I say I meant no offense,” claimed the general, “but I must say, m’lord, you are in a rather odd mood today. I’d thought you’d leap at the opportunity to avenge your friends in the Company who fell during the uprising.”
Oliver’s lips twisted and he nodded. “You’re right, Admiral Brach. I am in an odd mood. Shall we get a drink?”
“Yes, yes,” said the admiral with a slow release of breath. “That would be much appreciated.”
Oliver poured them drinks, and then they settled down around his map table in the center of his study. Spread out on the surface were all of the maps he could find depicting Imbon. It was a small place compared to Enhover, but several times larger than a typical island in the tropics, which was giving them some strategic concerns. For one, it was evidently large enough to hide lizards the size of an airship. They worried what else could be lurking beneath that jungle canopy.
Oliver had begun fashioning an amalgamation of the old maps of Imbon, the updates he’d made recently when discovering the sunken pool there, and his best guess of what it may look like now after the uprising. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best intelligence they had.
“You understand they’ve had several weeks to fortify the place,” he explained to Admiral Brach. “Construction in the tropics is quick if they’re organized. It’s bamboo and dirt for the most part. I have no way of knowing what we might find.”
“Fortifications are no bother,” responded the admiral. “Anything constructed of wood can be flattened within a turn of the clock. Earthen structures pose a bit of more difficulty, but the marines have faced such before. If you recall, Rhensar tried to dig in. They built bulwarks, tunnels, all of it. We found it was difficult to destroy the structures from above, but we could destroy anything on the surface and create a safe landing for the men. Once on the ground, they poured fuel down the tunnels and lit it. If the fire didn’t kill those inside, the smoke did. In Rhensar, we took a gamble and let some of the opposition go to warn the others. We risked them crafting more intricate defenses, but in the end, they understood they could not stand against us and surrendered. Of course, in Imbon, we’ll have no opportunity to grant quarter.”
Oliver winced, uncomfortable with the grisly thought of destroying a people.
The admiral studied the maps, evidently unaware of the discomfort his comments had caused.
“I agree, Admiral. It’s unlikely that the natives will be able to build anything that gives us trouble,” said Oliver, “but we should consider what capabilities they may have which Rhensar and our historical opponents do not. Pouring fuel into a tunnel system won’t be easy if we’re being harried by those lizards. Also, Brach, we must carefully guard against trickery. It’s my belief that above all, the natives will try to capture one of our airships.”
“Capture an airship?” questioned Brach dubiously.
Oliver nodded. “I believe it’s why they did not immediately kill Governor Towerson during the uprising. It’s why they didn’t overrun the compound in the days after the initial clash. When they attacked us, I think their purpose was to capture the Cloud Serpent.”
“To what end?” wondered the admiral. “An airship is a formidable weapon, but a single one flown by an inexperienced crew would cause little difficulty. You know as well as I that there’s more to it than raising a sail and pointing a cannon. I don’t imagine the natives know of our new rockets, but with such weapons, taking down another enemy in the air will be short work. Even without the rockets, we’ve drilled the royal marines on air-to-air combat. We can’t think of every possibility under the sun, but our men are better prepared for such things than anyone else could be.”
“That’s what worries me,” acknowledged Oliver. “Attacking our fleet would be futile, and if simple escape was their only goal, why not do it upon the sea right after the uprising? I’ve spent weeks mulling it over, and I have no answer. If I was a native on Imbon, what reason would I have to risk the very existence of my people in exchange for a single airship?”
Admiral Brach frowned, evidently not convinced, but he was a careful man, and Oliver knew his father had put the admiral in charge of the royal marines specifically because Brach considered every possibility. The admiral sipped his drink and thought.
Oliver stood and refilled his own glass, walking around the table and studying the maps of Imbon.
“We’ll be at the greatest risk while the marines are disembarking,” said Admiral Brach. “From hundreds of yards above the ground, there’s nothing they can do to board us. When we’re low, a savvy commander may put us at risk with a creative plan. Boarding us would be difficult even then, but we’re not invulnerable.”
“Is there precedent?” wondered Oliver.
Brach nodded. “In the final days of the war against the United Territories, Pierre de Bussy lured us into a trap. We came low, chasing the general himself, and he led us close to a nearby hill where he’d secreted a cannon emplacement. Dozens of the things fired before our airship realized the enemy was there. Under that kind of barrage, the vessel broke up, and… well, you can imagine what it’d be like on an airship that was splintering beneath your feet. We lost the airship and a good crew that day.”
“Pierre de Bussy, Governor of Finavia’s colony in the Vendatts?” asked Oliver.
Brach nodded. “He was the general of Finavia’s army back then. After the war, your family bought his allegiance with the posting to the Vendatts, and for the last twenty years, he’s been advocating for Crown control of the United Territories — and making himself a fortune in the bargain. I daresay, de Bussy’s wealth may rival that of our merchant princes here in Enhover.”
“I suppose I knew something about his past but not the details,” responded Oliver, checking the knot that kept his hair tied back. “I’ve met his son, but not the governor.”
“When the one man who had discovered a way to fight back against us bent the knee, it sucked the wind out of the sails for the rest of that continent,” continued Brach. “If de Bussy bowed, then who else had the courage to fight back? Pierre de Bussy understood more than the rest of them. He still does. He tricked us and brought down one airship, but we had plenty more. He knew there was no way to win against us in the field, so he proved his worth and then negotiated a fat prize. It set the tone for the last twenty years, you know? Don’t fight the Crown, join it. There are worse things than managing Finavia’s colonies in the Vendatts, and he’s harvested an income that could support his family indefinitely. He’s a living example of how the bargain does not have to be a terrible one.”
Looking down at the maps of Imbon, Oliver nodded. “There are far worse things than a posting in the Vendatts, Admiral.”
The Captain I
“Look sharp, lads!” Captain Catherine Ainsley barked. She strode the deck of the Cloud Serpent, her tall black boots banging hard on the wooden deck of the forecastle. She clasped her hands behind her back, feeling the hilts of her paired pistols bouncing against her elbows as she walked. On her back, she wore h
er two cutlasses, the leather sheaths high on her shoulders. Wooden-handled dirks poked from her boots, and she could feel their length as she walked. She drew a deep breath and then released it. She was ready for what was to come, though if all went to plan, it wouldn’t be much.
She reached the front of the airship and adjusted the brim of her tri-cornered hat, blocking out the morning sun. By the time they sighted Imbon, the sun would be a bit higher, almost directly overhead. Great light for coming upon land. Great light for bombing a place, she supposed.
Looking around the sailors stationed on the forecastle, she noticed with pleasure they’d already settled the two forward deck guns on their stands and had cleaned and polished the weapons. Two buckets of apple-sized shot sat nearby where they wouldn’t be stumbled over, and a canvass sack of powder was there and ready for use.
All was in order. The only thing that was left was moving the tins of red-hot embers into place. Those would be used to light the tapers, which would light the wicks, which would ignite the powder in the cannon. No sense setting that out too early, not on a wooden airship floating a thousand yards above the sea.
A quarter league ahead of them, five hundred yards lower, were the three airships under Admiral Brach’s command. They were packed full of artillery and marines. Three hundred of the well-dressed lads if what she’d been told was accurate. Good-looking fellows, for the most part, though she preferred a man with a bit of scruff on his chin and some scars on his skin. The kind of man you didn’t have to tell where to go and what to do.
Sighing, she glanced back behind her.
Her crew was working diligently. Mostly men, a few women. None of whom it’d be proper to tumble. Wouldn’t have been such a bad thing to have a marine captain onboard. Better a man who required a bit of training than no man at all, and she’d found there were some advantages to a man who’d built his life around dutifully following orders.
She frowned.
Climbing up the ladder to the forecastle was a sailor hauling two heavy buckets of water. It would be stationed around the deck for when the fighting started and the crew began frantically lighting wicks. The men were trained to be careful, but no one was fully prepared for a battle. Best to have the water nearby. But that wasn’t why she was frowning.
“Mister Samuels!” she cried.
The sailor set down his buckets and offered a sloppy salute. She wondered if the man was even capable of a smart one. Before this voyage, she’d never seen him try. Samuels, like many of the crew, was impressed by the rigid discipline of the royal marine airships they were sailing with. They were impressed, but her crew was not quite to royal marine standards of discipline.
“Mister Samuels, where are your shoes?” she questioned.
He scratched under his arm and glanced down at his feet. “Lost ‘em, Captain.”
“You lost your shoes on an airship?” she demanded incredulously. “How is that possible?”
Samuels kept scratching and shifted uncomfortably, his toes flexing and squirming on the wood.
“Mister Samuels,” she continued, “If we have need of those buckets you’re carrying, it’s because sparks and flame are threatening our deck. If we’re taking fire, in the heat of battle, do you really think it wise to run around barefoot?”
“Been working barefoot since I set to sea ten years ago, Captain,” claimed the sailor.
“Aye, and have you been in combat during those years?”
“Ah, not really…”
“Mister Samuels, go find First Mate Pettybone and ask him to find you shoes,” she instructed. “Whatever hell the first mate gives you is a small price to pay for losing the first pair.”
The sailor offered another salute, this one even worse than the first, and scampered back down the ladder.
From behind her, a voice remarked, “I don’t know if I’d have the temperance to keep men such as these in line. You’re a natural, though, Captain.”
Ainsley turned to see the strange priestess that accompanied Duke Wellesley standing behind her. She asked the woman, “How long have you been there?”
The priestess gave her a sly smile.
Grumbling to herself, Captain Ainsley resumed her position at the front of the airship, staring out at the sea and sky before them. The priestess joined her.
Finally, Ainsley asked, “The duke is pleased with my captaining, then?”
The priestess shrugged. “You’ve still got the position, don’t you?”
“Aye,” she said, waving behind her, “but what’s he going to do? Promote Pettybone or Samuels?”
Laughing, the priestess admitted. “That’s true.”
After a moment, Ainsley asked, “What is it you’re doing here?”
The priestess turned and blinked at her.
“Sorry if that was impolite,” said the captain. “I mean… I mean what I said. Your job is the fight against sorcery, is it not? Is that what you think is happening in Imbon? You think these lizards are spirits or something? Are we going to be facing anything like what happened with the sorcerers you hunted?”
“That was a bit impolite,” remarked the priestess, “but you’re the captain, and it’s your airship. It’s natural you feel concerned about what you’re sailing toward. As to why I’m here, it’s only a precaution. The truth? I don’t know if those lizards have anything to do with sorcery at all. If so, they’re nothing like any sorcery I’ve heard of, but last time you and Duke were in Imbon, there were artifacts recovered that were dangerous, things that need educated, experienced evaluation. You heard about the fire in the Church’s library?”
Ainsley nodded.
“That was from one of the figurines you brought back with you.”
“Spirits forsake it!” cried Ainsley. “We had several dozen of those things aboard the Cloud Serpent. What if—”
The priestess held up a hand. “Quiet, please. Both the Crown and the Church would appreciate that information being held by as few people as possible. There was little danger while you were flying back to Enhover. Unlocking the statue would not have been possible by someone ignorant of certain rituals and ancient languages. I don’t know that we’ll encounter similar items, but if so, it’s best someone who knows what they are doing is there to manage it.”
“Someone educated and experienced?” guffawed the captain. “Seems like that was sort of the problem, ey?”
The priestess grinned and flicked the brim of Ainsley’s hat with one finger. “You’re wiser than you look, Captain. Have no fear. I do not intend to do anything with any objects we find except sequester them in your hold. In truth, I suspect we’ll find nothing, but if we do, my intention is that it’s packed away safely and no one takes a look until it’s on the ground back in Enhover.”
“Sounds good to me, Priestess.”
“Sam,” replied the priestess. “You may call me Sam. Catherine, is that your given name?”
“I prefer Ainsley,” she replied, “or Captain.”
“I’m always willing to respect another woman’s preferences,” claimed the priestess. She waved at the men working behind them. “Let me know if you’d like some company while we’re traveling, Captain.”
The priestess walked away, and Ainsley stared at her back, wondering what the frozen hell the strange woman was talking about.
The Cartographer VIII
The verdant green hump rose like an emerald from the shimmering blue water all around it. As far as they could see, there was nothing but the bright blue sea, Imbon’s tropical forest, and a column of thick white smoke trailing from the peak of the island’s mountain. For a moment, it gave Oliver an uncomfortable reminder of what the island had looked like the last time they’d visited. He quickly saw this smoke wasn’t from burning structures but from the cap of the volcano that formed the island. Venting was common on tropical formations, but the echo of the smoke from before was difficult to ignore.
As they sailed closer, Oliver began to pick out the brown bodies and white
sails of ships anchored in the colony’s harbor. It wasn’t until they were just a few leagues away that he saw over a sharply sloped ridge to the colony itself.
It looked much the same as it had the last time he’d arrived, except this time, there was no column of thick black smoke. The buildings showed little evidence of repair, though, and several walls around the Company’s compound were still flattened.
“They moved the lizards,” remarked Captain Ainsley.
He nodded. He was looking at the corner of the compound where a cannon platform had once been. He’d been standing there when one of the giant lizards had collapsed on it. The bamboo walls were demolished, clear evidence of what had happened, but there was no trace of the massive green creature that had fallen. There was no trace of anyone.
“Looks quiet,” remarked Sam.
“They must have known we were coming,” said Captain Ainsley. “A lookout on top of that ridge with a spyglass could see us fifteen leagues away. Plenty of time to signal the settlement and get everyone into hiding.”
“But why?” wondered Oliver. “You think they mean to wage war from the jungle?”
“I’m not tactician,” replied Ainsley, “but I wouldn’t be standing in the middle of the compound when a bunch of airships from Enhover came seeking vengeance. Whether or not they mean to fight, only a fool would be standing in the open when we drift overhead.”
Oliver grunted. She had a point.
He ran a hand over his hair, feeling the leather thong that tied it back. He told Ainsley, “Let’s pick up speed and fly in above the marines. Admiral Brach is going to see this and think nothing is amiss, but something is. I can feel it. It’s not right.”
Ainsley turned and barked out orders.
Oliver leaned forward, his forearms resting on the gunwale, studying the quiet village as they approached. Signals were passing between the royal marine’s airships, and they began to descend, spreading out as they did. The center vessel headed directly toward Imbon’s settlement, the other two floating out to the flanks.
