One by one, all eyes turned to Nita.
“Why are you all looking at me?” she asked.
“Of the lot of us, you’re the one most liable to not have a stomach for a shootin’ war, is all,” Coop said. “Most of the stuff you been a part of has been more about stayin’ alive than huntin’ a fella down. What with you bein’ all artsy and all, seems like you ain’t likely to be in the mood for soldierin’.”
“As a matter of fact, some of the most stirring songs in our culture are in celebration of military victories. And we are all taught the ‘Threnody of Sennica.’”
Coop and Lil stared at her.
“… A threnody is a poem in honor of the dead,” Nita explained.
“I figured it was one of them,” Coop said with a nod.
“Normally, I would find the thought of targeting someone appalling. But to be perfectly frank, Tusk launched an assault on my homeland and hoped to use the murder of my people to start a war. Such a man is beyond considerations of human decency.”
“He ain’t up for consideration for fugger decency either. Which ain’t the same thing, seein’ as how there ain’t too many good ones,” Coop said.
“All right then,” Mack said. “Coop, Lil, you’re off duty. Gunner, on lookout.” He leaned forward to a speaking tube beside the wheel. “Glinda, we’re through the rough bit for now. Heat up some of that slumgullion and send it up.” He raised his head. “Wink! Nikita!”
Above them, twin sets of scampering feet scrabbled through the rigging. Two monkey-like beasts that pranced preciously on the line between adorable and ugly descended to perch on either of the captain’s shoulders. They were aye-ayes, or at least what became of aye-ayes once the fug entered the equation. Wink was the larger of the two. He sported an eye patch and a level of bitter disdain that would have made an angry old man jealous. Her tail was missing a notch, and she seemed always to be in search of something to hide behind.
“You wouldn’t be worth a damn as inspectors if you didn’t notice it, but the job’s done, and we’re liable to have more ships after us than usual. Aside from having two sets of eyes on deck for lookout, I’m going to want one of you with your ears perked up at all times. That means shifts.”
The two aye-ayes looked at one another. Nikita was the first to act, diving from Mack’s shoulder. She dashed across the deck and scurried up Coop’s leg, burying herself under his coat. Wink whined irritably.
Cap’n Mack fished a bit of breadfruit from his pocket. “Just as well you take the first shift, Wink. Nikita’s better in the day regardless. The rest of you rest up when you can. Crew meeting at breakfast. And, Ms. Graus, stick around a bit.”
The crew hurried off. Nita waited.
“You pay much attention in there? Do much watchin’ how it went down?”
“I’ll admit, I was mostly concerned with working out the main load-bearing section of the roof.”
“The rest of the crew knows this backward and forward, but ain’t done too much in the way of wheelin’ and dealin’. It’s the art of negotiation.”
“I’ve bargained a bit. That didn’t seem like what I would call bargaining.”
“It’s all bargaining. Ain’t no chat you’re liable to have with somebody that stays away from bargaining for long. Gunner? He’s all about talkin’ up the quality of this and the rarity of that. Me? I go the easy way. Just two things to remember. The carrot and the stick. Just now? The carrot was helpin’ us out so they could get on our good side. The stick was them helpin’ us out to avoid gettin’ on our bad side. It don’t always work the first time. But once they seen the stick, it works pretty well from then on. Just keep it in mind. Handy thing to know.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Off to work with you then.”
Chapter 2
A well-dressed and rather skittish-looking fug man stepped quickly along a short hallway. He carried a folded newspaper and some slips of yellow paper. When he approached the door at the end of the hall, he hesitated.
“Easy, Mallow,” he said quietly. “You are the messenger. That is all. And Tusk doesn’t shoot the messenger. … Though I must have replaced some manner of other messenger. And what happened to him? No, no. He’s not Alabaster. He’s reasonable. Stable. Just don’t give him a reason to kill you and—”
The door opened to reveal a fug man of extremely advanced age dressed simply but sharply.
“Ah. Mallow. Do come in. I thought I heard you fretting about out here,” Tusk said.
“You heard that?”
“I value my peace and quiet. If nothing else, it serves to underscore those little disturbances that I might be better served knowing about. Inside please.”
Mallow nodded stiffly and followed his employer into his study. Despite having worked for Tusk for a number of months now, Mallow had learned surprisingly little about the man. The bulk of his knowledge still came in mildly trustworthy rumors and legends. Such stories traced out an image of a peerless chess master and puller of strings. If pressed, Mallow would have imagined a lair wallpapered with maps and ornate globes. Vast tomes of military strategies would rest in a neat row on a vast oak desk, and folios of photographs and detailed dossiers would lie in piles as he decided the facts of those within. Alabaster had constructed his quarters with a set dresser’s flare with that regard. He perfectly cast himself in the role of apex villain.
Tusk’s preferred quarters were quite different, and rather austere. Before him was a stuffed leather armchair set before a fireplace. Beside it was an end table with a teapot, a teacup, and a book of poetry imported from Caldera.
“I take from your hesitation that I am unlikely to find good news in today’s dispatches,” Tusk said.
“I haven’t read the dispatches, sir! I would never.”
“Mmm… The paper then. Let us see what the fine reporters of Fugtown have uncovered, shall we?”
He plucked the newspaper from the tray and unfurled it. An artist’s rendering of the Wind Breaker dominated the front page with the headline: “Infamous Airship Crew Launches Unprovoked Assault.” His eyes scanned swiftly down the page.
“‘The attack targeted a small public house called The Sieve, situated forty miles southeast of Lock. Patrons of the establishment—who wished to remain anonymous—claim the attack was preceded by a personally delivered string of threats from the captain of the Wind Breaker, the outlaw McCulloch West. He was transparent in his aim, demanding that he be given the location of Ferris Tusk.’” Tusk lowered the paper. “I cannot say I am pleased to see my name in print.”
“I was concerned you would be displeased, sir,” Mallow said.
“This crew has a frustrating capacity to improvise, Mallow. Very important skill, the ability to improvise. Plans well in advance can shape the world—as my own contributions to our grand society illustrate. But improvisation can make one a confounding pest to exterminate. And the best-laid plans can be spoiled by someone acting irrationally. The Wind Breaker is a veritable haven for irrational thinkers.”
“They are lunatics and barbarians to a man, sir.”
“No. Raider crews are lunatics and barbarians. The Wind Breaker wouldn’t be nearly the enduring source of consternation it has become if there wasn’t a thinker or two aboard.”
Tusk snatched the dispatches from the tray and looked them over. When he was through reading them, he tossed them in the fire.
“Nothing I couldn’t have inferred from the newspaper. Mallow, my man, if news relevant to your specific interests is making its way to you through the press, you aren’t acting swiftly enough. Any insight into your schemes that can make it through the clumsy fingers of a reporter, an editor, a typesetter, and a delivery boy before you find it out is evidence of improperly maintained surveillance.”
“What do you intend to do, sir?”
Tusk poured some tea and leaned back into his chair, eyes set upon the fire.
“What would you do, Mallow?” he asked.
“I woul
dn’t know where to begin, sir.”
“Speculate. Your own thoughts and expectations are likely more closely aligned with the common man than mine are. And the Wind Breaker, though by no means common, is nonetheless more common than I as well. What you anticipate could well be what they anticipate.”
“Well… Given the resources and connections you seem to have, sir, I would imagine simply filling the sky with hired guns—the navy, police, any ship you can muster—would be the way to go about it.”
“Mmm… A very ‘Ebonwhite’ method. And let us note that Ebonwhite was by no means successful. We are seeking to squash an ant. A thousand boots are no more effective at stomping than a single one. The only difference is the capacity to lose sight of the target in the stumbling and bumbling to find it. But I am quite certain they are anticipating a massive response. The question is, if they believed I would hurl the full force of my influence at them, why would they attack in the first place?”
“You’ve given them very good reasons to hate you, sir.”
“And better reasons to fear me. But then, hate and fear are cousins. One can only reliably inspire fight or flight. Which one our prey chooses depends entirely upon the prey.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Ah, but then, they have stated their intentions, and their intentions are to hunt me. They perceive me to be the prey. And thus, this act is somehow intended to flush me out.”
“Maybe they think you would come forth and challenge them, leading your own troops.”
“Entirely possible. That would indicate an utter lack of insight into my character, but there is plenty of evidence that the Wind Breaker crew operates on flawed assumptions. Still… let us give them the benefit of the doubt. What about an all-out assault would lead them to me?”
Mallow paused. “Is that a rhetorical question, sir, or are you asking?”
“Rhetorical. I already know the answer.”
“Of course, sir.”
“A properly organized assault requires a great deal of communication, and any bit of communication I send is another potential trail of breadcrumbs back to me. I shan’t take the bait. No. We are facing a single foe, and being a single foe, they cannot help to attack with precision. The proper response is a similar level of precision. A single hunter.”
“Shall I consult the file and contact one of your usual mercenaries?”
“By no means, Mallow. The three mercenaries I have made greatest use of in the past were the three idiots in The Sieve when they destroyed it. Either I have been imprudent in my dealings, or the Wind Breaker crew has access to someone with a greater level of insight into my operations than I realized existed beyond these walls. This, of course, means that Alabaster is still alive…”
Mallow’s eyebrows rose. “Are you certain? He never returned from Caldera.”
“That simply means he is being held in Caldera. All the idiot had to do was be distracting and get killed, and he couldn’t do that properly… And I shan’t have the opportunity to have him killed so long as he’s in Caldera.” He waved a hand. “What’s done is done. He scarcely had the time to dig much deeper than it would have taken to learn of my men. There shouldn’t be any further damage from that miscalculation. A pencil and paper, Mallow.”
The manservant hastily pulled the requested items from his jacket pocket. Tusk jotted down a name and address in a careful, precise hand.
“Find this individual. They won’t be present at that address, but no message left there will take more than a day or so to find them. Meet any price, and require only that the Wind Breaker crew be killed.”
“Shall I send the message via—”
“Deliver it personally, Mallow. Until the Wind Breaker crew is no longer a threat, all messages are to be personally delivered. The more hands that touch my messages, the greater the chance that I shall be found. If this entire endeavor results in fisticuffs or firearms between myself and any member of that crew, I shall be terribly displeased with myself.”
“Yes, sir. Will that be all?”
“Heavens no. I would be terribly surprised if a hit man is all it would take to remove this thorn from my side. It will put them back on the defensive and give me time to determine a weakness and how best to exploit it. But it would be wise to set several plans in motion. One moment.”
Again Tusk shut his eyes and tipped his head back. His lips moved slightly, as if he were whispering something to himself. “Give me the pencil and paper again.”
Mallow obliged and Tusk scratched down a few notes.
“Between here and the hit man’s address is a small shipping hub. I want you to put in the order described.”
Mallow glanced at the order. The language was dense and very technical, likely jargon specific to the shipping industry, but he recognized the destination. “Sir?” he said.
“Objections?” Tusk said with the beginnings of a grin.
“Er… nothing, sir.”
“Please, speak. Perhaps I have overlooked something.”
“It’s just that Alabaster once special ordered a cane from this town here. We never received it. Wailers are terribly common in those skies.”
“I see.” He shrugged. “It cannot be helped, can it?”
“… I suppose not, sir. Shall I meet you here when I am through?”
“I shan’t be here when you are through. Effective though you’ve been as a servant thus far, Mallow, having you know where I am will be a terrible liability.”
Mallow stood rigidly. “So is this… the end of my employment?”
Tusk sipped his tea. “No, Mallow. As you might imagine, it is well within my capacity to arrange for you and I to meet again when I have need of your service. Now go. Time is, as ever, of the essence. And bring plenty of money.”
Mallow nodded and returned to the hallway. Having once had the misfortune of being in the employ of Lucius P. Alabaster, a brilliant man hampered by his own flamboyant self-aggrandizing nature, he thought he’d known the nature of anxiety and stress. Somehow, despite the fact that Alabaster had been profoundly unbalanced and utterly demented by the end, there was a quiet coldness to Tusk that chilled him to the bone. Alabaster had been convinced of his greatness and driven utterly by the desire for adulation and control. Tusk simply was in control. There was no doubt, no ambition. One got the sense that his every thought, his every sentence, was a thing of crystalline certainty.
Mallow thought about his mental image of a mastermind’s lair again. Maps, files, folios, dossiers, and the thousand other little elements that came along with running a world. Only now was Mallow beginning to realize that all of those things were in that room. They were locked in the vault of Tusk’s intellect. The whole of the fug, the whole of the world, was arranged like chess pieces in his mind.
Mallow swallowed hard and resolved to ensure that he would remain a piece too useful to be sacrificed.
#
Nita paced slowly through the narrow corridor of the crew deck, tapping lightly on pipes as she passed. Coop’s distinctive snoring was rattling the walls, making it a bit difficult to hear what, if any, problems the pipes might have. She yawned and leaned a little closer, tapping again and listening.
“Pressure’s a little low,” she muttered to herself.
“You ain’t taught me that bit yet,” Lil said.
Nita jumped a bit at the sudden appearance of the energetic deckhand. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she said, smiling and giving Lil a shove.
“I ain’t sneakin’. It’s just that with Coop sawin’ logs like he is, I could be thumpin’ along like a goat and nobody’d hear.”
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Nita asked. “You’re off duty, and the captain said—”
“Off duty’s off duty. Cap’n ain’t got no say in how I spend my time when I ain’t on duty, so long as it don’t do me or anybody else on the ship no harm,” Lil said. “Until this whole Tusk business is through, we ain’t liable to see each other but at mealtimes and when I’m off d
uty. I reckon pallin’ around with you is liable to do me more good than forty winks.”
Nita yawned again and shook her head.
“Seems I ain’t the one folks should be worried about gettin’ her rest,” Lil said. “When’d you sleep last?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Some time yesterday. I’m the only engineer. In a way, I’m always on duty.”
“All the better reason for you to tell me what that tappin’ is all about.”
Nita gave the pipe a ring. “You hear that?”
“Sure.”
Now she tapped the pipe beneath it. “You hear that?”
“Sounds about the same.”
“But not exactly the same.”
“I reckon not. But about the same.”
“These two pipes are supposed to be at the same pressure. I replaced both of them not two months ago, so I know they should sound the same, all things being equal. They did yesterday. So if they don’t sound the same…?”
“… All things ain’t equal?”
“Right.”
“Where’d you pick up that trick?”
“The same place I picked up most of my tricks. My boss, back at the steamworks in Caldera.”
Lil and Nita paced along. Nita knocked at pipes on one side. Lil imitated on the other side.
“I bet you didn’t have to work half as long back there.”
“Not nearly.”
“I feel like a fink, draggin’ you out of paradise to mix you up in all our doings.”
“Trust me, Lil. It’s what I wanted. And it’s only natural.”
“Leavin’ behind sunny shores for a creaky ol’ ship and a personal war is natural?”
Nita took a breath and ran her hand over her braided hair. “Well… it isn’t natural. But it’s the sort of unnatural that always happens. The sort of thing that people find ways to justify. Going all the way back to the Call of Roh…”
“The what now?”
Cipher Hill Page 3
