He leaned his elbows on the map and cradled his head in his hands. “We can still turn tail. We got Nita on board. She’ll get us back to Caldera. Tusk might leave us be if we head there and stay there.” He gritted his teeth. “Dang it. A man can’t fool himself. He’s already taken a swing at Caldera once. They could hold off an attack for ages, maybe forever. But sooner or later, even the friendliest port is going to turn away the folks who brought a war to their shores…”
He looked to her. “Cat got your tongue? Ain’t like you to keep your notions to yourself.”
Butch cleared her throat, something she normally only did when she was about to give Mack a piece of her mind. While she'd stubbornly refused to abandon her native tongue, most of the crew had learned to understand at least the broad strokes of her statements. Captain Mack had spent quite a few more years by her side. He thus had the luxury of experiencing her wisdom or ire precisely as she intended it.
“It isn’t like you to sit and hang your head like a scolded dog,” Butch said.
“Look what I done to my crew, Glinda. Best crew I ever had. Best crew anyone ever had. And I led us right into the jaws of the biggest shark in the sea.”
“They’re not dead yet.”
“Well, do you see any way out of this one?”
“No. But I haven’t seen any way out of half of the messes you’ve gotten us in. That’s not my job. My job is keeping you all healthy and fed so you can get us where we need to be. And it’s your job to decide where that is.”
“I made the decision. That’s the problem.”
“No. The problem is you’re second-guessing yourself. I’m the medic, and I can tell you that at your age, your mind’s starting to go.”
“That supposed to settle my nerves?”
“Just shut your mouth and listen. You’re an old man. By captain’s standards, you’re a decade past dead. So if you’re on your way toward doddering, you’ve got to realize that the idea you have tomorrow is an idea from a man another step closer to senile. And what’s that teach you?”
“Teaches me it’s about time to hang up the hat. Teaches me it’s a decade past time to hang up my hat.”
“It teaches you that your first idea is the best idea you’re going to get. So no second-guessing. The McCulloch West who got us into this mess was thinking clearer than he’ll ever think again. Trust him. And make the plan now to get us out of it, because otherwise we’re trusting tomorrow’s McCulloch West. And he’s a step slower than this one.”
He furrowed his brow. “Still ain’t much of an inspiration, Glinda.”
“I’m no spring chicken either, you damn fool. I’ll get a pot of coffee started. Want me to heat up some biscuits and gravy?”
His lips curled into the faintest of grins. “May as well. If we’re destined for an early grave, may as well get a little taste of heaven now. Lord knows that ain’t where I’m headed when the lights go out.”
“All the better reason to keep the lights burning.”
She slipped behind the counter and got to work. Mack turned her words, and those of Nita, over in his head.
“If what they say is true, Tusk is the fella that beat Admiral Maxwell. We ain’t had a better military head than Maxwell. And he knocked down Rigel Tower. Better built and better armed than anyplace in these fug-drenched mountains. I ain’t no Maxwell, and the Wind Breaker ain’t no Rigel Tower.”
“True enough. But Admiral Maxwell was no Captain West. And Rigel Tower was no Wind Breaker.”
These words sank into his mind.
“True enough… True enough…”
Chapter 8
Mallow tossed a small tip to the crew tying up his ship. He had been traveling virtually without rest since working for Tusk, and he’d quickly learned that crews had a very good memory for those who treated them well.
“Finally, a real city.” Mallow breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d forgotten what civilization felt like.”
The city of Naval Junction was, in many ways, the southern equivalent of Fugtown. Like most cities in the fug, it coincided with a large city in the mountains. In this case the surface city was called Brandt’s Peak, and it was home to Westrim Naval Academy. A navy needed ships, ships needed maintenance, and unless they had someone like Nita Graus, maintenance required access to the fug.
He smiled as he looked over the buildings of the town and hauled his heavy case. Home to a hundred or so fug folk, which was a sizable population by fug standards, it was that rarest of things, a city built entirely by the fug folk themselves. Most of the time, fug folk huddled hermit-crab-like into the husk of a city destroyed by the Calamity. In this case there simply wasn’t a suitable city in a position to take advantage of the naval academy’s needs. So Naval Junction was built. The buildings were spread equally between warehouses of parts, simple, sturdy houses for grunts who did the heavier labor, and elegant townhouses for the supervisors and higher-level workers.
Mallow sifted through his memory for the address he’d been told to memorize and destroy. He’d prided himself on having an excellent memory, but Tusk’s penchant for secrecy had put him to the test.
“Number twenty-three,” he muttered, squinting at the nearby doorways in the green glow of scattered phlogiston-powered streetlights.
“Over here, Mr. Mallow,” called a familiar voice.
He turned to find his employer approaching from down the street. He was accompanied by three surface folk, faces covered in filter masks. As rare as it was to see surface folk in the fug, outside of the notorious willingness for the Wind Breaker crew to lurk about, the more immediate concern Mallow had was the outfit Tusk was wearing. Mallow’s brilliant and inscrutable employer typically dressed quite simply, but when he was dealing with those for whom his true identity was best kept a secret, he dressed even more so. Right now the man who wielded inconceivable influence over people on both sides of the fug wore a wardrobe more suitable for a chimney sweep. It was a not-so-subtle sign to Mallow that subterfuge was in use.
“Yes. I was wondering where I might find you, sir,” Mallow said.
“May I introduce you to Mr. Bonney and Mr. Grawhill. They are quartermasters for the Westrim Naval Academy.”
Mallow and the surface folk regarded each other with similar levels of distaste, no hands offered for shaking.
“Your timing is impeccable. These gentlemen are in a rush. Are these the samples?” Tusk said.
“They are, sir,” Mallow said.
“Wonderful. Then inside.”
Tusk fumbled with some keys and unlocked the door to one of the finer homes. There was a stillness and coldness to the inside that suggested the house had not been used in some time, if ever. It was entirely furnished, but from the doilies on the tables to the seat cushions on the couches, every last thing had the shiny, creased, bleached appearance of something fresh from the craftsman who’d made it.
“Set it here, will you?” Tusk said, indicating the large desk in the study, not far from the front door.
Mallow did as he was told, taking care not to scuff or mar the pristine surface of the desk. He clicked the latches on the case of which, until this moment, he’d neglected to peek inside. He knew better than to do so unless instructed. He was now quite glad that he hadn’t. The case was filled with a carefully arranged and well-secured assortment of explosives, ammunition, and firearms: two types of pistols, a disassembled rifle, shells, bullets, canisters of powder, and a half-dozen other implements of war, showcased with a traveling salesman’s flair for presentation.
“These gentlemen are interested in outfitting some of their lower-level sailors with something a bit more potent than what has been standard issue until now,” Tusk selected a powder canister. “This is our latest mixture. This is a powder mix reserved for fug usage, of course, so it will cost a good deal more than what we call ‘surface grade’ munitions.”
Mr. Bonney nodded stiffly. “The sort of men we might have in our sights aren’t beyond doing business do
wn here. If we are going to be matching them, we’ll have to be willing to get our hands dirty.”
“How much more money are we talking about?” asked Grawhill.
“As you are the first I’ve met with, I believe we can see our way clear to a sixty percent increase over the cost of current munitions.”
“The first you’ve met with?” said Bonney.
“Yes. When I am through with this meeting, I shall be heading north to conduct similar discussions with representatives of Circa.”
“You’d sell arms to both sides?” rumbled Grawhill.
“Certainly. We here in the fug are entirely neutral. We do not play favorites between the people of Circa and Westrim. It simply isn’t economical.”
“Economical.” Bonney crossed his arms. “So it’s a manner of money.”
“When one boils them down, all things reduce invariably to either time or money, which are effectively interchangeable.”
“And how much would it cost to keep this high-grade equipment out of the hands of the enemies of Westrim?”
“Enemies of Westrim?” Tusk said, an impressively genuine tone of surprise coloring the words. “I was under the impression that Westrim and Circa were still enjoying the peaceful coexistence afforded by the Centrum Accord.”
“And how much would it cost for you to… set aside the details of the Centrum Accord for the purposes of this exchange?”
Tusk opened the desk and pulled out a small ledger, then pulled a pencil from his jacket pocket. “Naturally, the size of Westrim is a consideration in a potential exclusivity agreement. We stand to make a great deal more from an agreement with Westrim than Circa. Nonetheless, there will be a net loss if there isn’t a further price increase.”
He jotted down some figures, then looked them over. “Speaking strictly in hypothesis, as I am not in a position to make decisions of this nature without higher-level consultation, I think we could comfortably permit you special consideration regarding ammunition and firearms for… double the standard price.”
Bonney and Grawhill whispered between themselves.
“That’s acceptable,” Bonney said. “When do we start talking real numbers? I want this equipment in the hands of my men as soon as possible.”
“I shall discuss it with my superiors directly. Of course, the matter can be expedited with a small down payment.”
Bonney nodded to Grawhill. He pulled a fat sack of coins from the pocket of his overcoat and handed it over.
“I hope to have your answer within the month, sirs. Thank you for your business.”
They exchanged some stilted farewells, and the surface men took their leave. Tusk arranged the contents of the sample case, returning it to its proper order.
“Take this, would you? We shall require it again for a similar meeting with representatives of Circa.”
Mallow gathered the case. Tusk dumped out the coins and began counting them out.
“While I appreciate your taciturn tendencies, you seem more pensive than I am accustomed to, Mallow. A heavy mind?”
“It’s nothing, sir.”
“At the moment, yes. But the seed has just been planted. You know something? Two years ago, there wasn’t a single person above or below the fug who had the very special mixture of stupidity, insanity, and competence necessary to upset the current peace between Circa and Westrim. Certainly no one in Circa would do it. They’ve lost ground to Westrim in every prior clash. And Westrim wouldn’t dare, because Circa is absolutely in the best position to secure and defend Ray Island, which is a linchpin in the economy of all of Rim. No one down here could do it because, fearful though they may be of upsetting us and losing access to the services we provide, the surface world harbors a more than healthy distrust for any overmanipulation from down here.
“Then came the Wind Breaker. In fact, to be more precise, then came Amanita Graus. With her, the Wind Breaker was liberated from our control. And with that liberation, they became the one variable in a world otherwise locked down. Capable of anything. And as much as that can position one to be a hero, any power that one man has and another doesn’t is a source of fear, and fear is a source of hate. Hate, fear, uncertainty. Those are tools for men like me, Mallow. I’d hoped for a war against Caldera. But I’ll settle for a war between Circa and Westrim. If we are lucky, the Wind Breaker will reach out to Caldera themselves. Bullets and ships will fly. And whoever wins, the money and power all flows back to us, the ones with the skill and resources to keep the war machine running.” He noted the tally of the coins and swept them back into the bag.
“This is all about money?”
“Heavens no, Mallow. It is about power. But like time, money is a ready replacement.”
#
Captain Mack stood at the helm like a priest on his pulpit. His crew stood before him, joined by Digger, Dr. Prist, Donald, and Kent.
“I been thinkin’ long and hard,” he said. “Our target is Fort Cipher Hill. Best we can figure, nowadays it’s a shipworks, but the old name is liable to hold true. It’ll be a fort. Plain and simple. It was a fort before the fug, and a hundred or so years of it bein’ in the hands of folks like Tusk ain’t likely to have made it any less sturdy. But Tusk took his jabs at us. And there ain’t no man, woman, or child down here or up there that ain’t felt his fingers around their throats once or twice without knowin’ it. I don’t know about you all, but I ain’t too fond of havin’ my strings pulled. I mean to cut ’em. And that fort? That fort’s where all our strings are tied. I don’t know if Tusk’ll be there. If he’s got half a mind, he won’t be nowhere near it. But that don’t matter. We take that place away from him, at best he’ll be toothless, and at worst he’ll know there ain’t nothin’ he’s got that’ll be safe from us. It’s leave us be or get the same again. And again and again until he does leave us be.
“But that don’t change the fact that we’re dealin’ with a fort. And a fort ain’t the sort of thing that a ship takes out. It’s the sort of thing that a navy takes out. That an army takes out. You all are some of the finest folks I ever worked with. The best crew I ever had, and the only allies I ever had. But you all ain’t a navy. And you ain’t an army. And worse, this fella we’re fightin’? He’s got a good head on his shoulders. Smart as Alabaster, and he ain’t half as off-his-rocker, so we can’t count on him trippin’ over his own feet. So far he’s been a few steps ahead of us whenever we crossed paths. Playin’ catch-up ain’t no way to win a war. But I reckon I can solve both problems at once.”
He stepped down from the helm. “To take a fort, we’re going to need numbers, we’re going to need firepower, and we’re going to need somethin’ we ain’t never had before—a ground force. And to do it, we’re goin’ to need thinkin’ better than I ever had. So startin’ today, and goin’ until this job is done, we ain’t a crew no more. Not just one, anyhow.”
He turned. “Gunner, Dr. Prist, you’re on firepower. Best you can muster. Most you can muster. I want things out there Tusk ain’t ever dreamed of. Because if he ain’t ever dreamed of it, he ain’t got a defense for it.”
Gunner raised a singed eyebrow. “Are you giving me permission to deploy Samantha’s experiments?”
“So long as you got half a notion you can handle them if they go wrong, load them up and point them at Tusk. Have ’em ready to be heaved from the deck, the fléchette guns, and the cannons of the Wind Breaker. But be ready to outfit another ship if needs be.”
Prist clasped her hands. “This is going to be a tremendous opportunity to advance the field!”
Mack turned to Lil and Nita. “You girls have spent as much time down here as any of us. You were the first to work out that Ebonwhite and his ilk weren’t the only fuggers out there. I’m puttin’ it on you to put together a ground force. Somethin’ quick. As many as you can get. And, again, somethin’ Tusk ain’t gonna see comin’.”
“I’m not sure I’d know where to start, Captain,” Nita said.
“It ain’t my concern wher
e you start. All that matters is where you finish. Fort Cipher Hill. Three weeks from today. Sundown. Me and Butch’ll be on the Wind Breaker. Lil and Nita’ll bring the troops on the ground. Gunner and Prist’ll bring the heavy artillery. … And then there’s Coop.”
He turned to the taller deckhand. “You and whoever you can scare up to help you are in charge of finding us some sort of air support. It don’t matter how good I can fly or how good our guns are. If there ain’t but one thing to shoot at, we’re going down.”
“Who you want I should recruit, Cap’n?” Coop asked.
“Ain’t my concern what you do. Ain’t my concern what any of you do. All I need is for you to get your piece done and show up at Fort Cipher Hill in three weeks at sundown. That’s how we beat Tusk. He’s more than I could ever be in the thinkin’ department. He bested Admiral Maxwell, way back when. A military mind ain’t gonna beat him. He’ll work out what we’re doin’ if we only got one plan. But if there’s a team of us, each with our own plan, then he’ll have to be onto all of us to be ready. Maybe he can manage that. Maybe he can’t. But even if he can, that’s still a stack of plans he’ll have to handle instead of one. And if he gets one of us, works us over and tries to get us to rat the others out, ain’t gonna do him much good, because all we’ll know is the time and date and what we were up to. The others are on their own.”
“And what do we do when we get there?” Gunner asked.
“Work out how to make sure it ain’t there when we leave,” Mack replied. He climbed back to the helm. “I want you to beg, I want you to borrow, I want you to steal. Promise the world to anyone who’ll help you. Fight this one like there ain’t no tomorrow, because if we lose it, there may as well not be. And one last thing. I don’t want you askin’ yourself ‘What would Cap’n Mack do?’ I’ll be doin’ it. I want a stack of different plans from a stack of different minds. I want the unexpected. I want crazy ideas. Stupid ideas. I want him expectin’ us high and gettin’ hit from low. I want him expectin’ a fire and gettin’ hit with a flood. This ain’t the first time we been outgunned or out-thought, but it’s the first time we been outgunned and out-thought by this much, so the old ways ain’t gonna work. Let’s show Tusk somethin’ new.”
Cipher Hill Page 12
