Iron Jaw and Hummingbird

by Chris Roberson

  Huang longed for the undercooked rice and rancid fish heads of the convoy dinners, but he held his nose and ate the meager feast as quickly as he was able.

  Huang was left to sleep tied to the wall in the chamber overnight. He slept fitfully, if at all, sprawled on the hard stone floor, shivering in his thin uniform. The next morning, the scar-faced Jue came and untied Huang from the wall, and put him to work once more. Of all the bandits, Jue seemed the friendliest. Or, if not friendly, then perhaps the least threatening. Perhaps it was the scar that, though ragged and gruesome on its own, in place made the bandit look as though he were always smiling. Taken with his round, almost babyish face, it made Jue seem almost like an overgrown child.

  Friendly or not, though, he was a taskmaster when it came to assigning the bandits’ prisoner chores, and Huang found himself run ragged through the course of the day, doing great piles of reeking laundry, cleaning the kitchen after meals—pots and utensils as well as floors and counters—and helping a pair of mechanically minded bandits move spare engine components out into the hangar where the airship was parked. It was during this last task that Huang was taken to the place where the breather masks and thermal suits were stored when not in use, a locked cabinet not far from the airlock corridor. He made careful note of the cabinet’s location and watched attentively as the bandits unlocked and then relocked the cabinet door.

  Huang’s thinking was that, if he were able to get hold of a breather mask and thermal suit, having somehow slipped his bonds and eluded recapture, he might be able to make it out into the hangar and from there into one of the innumerous passages that opened onto it. With a considerable amount of luck, he might be able to find the old disused mining tunnel through which the cave complex had originally been discovered. If he found the tunnel, he might be able to get past the obstruction at the other end, and from there escape the mountain and the Aerie altogether.

  But in the hours leading to the evening meal, Huang found a much more pressing need for a breather mask when he was given the task of cleaning out the Aerie’s inefficient latrines. Hours spent up to his knees in offal and muck, trying unsuccessfully not to gag. When he was finally through, he was allowed to clean himself off as best he was able, but after dumping bucket after bucket of water over his head and changing from his soiled uniform into a set of ragged bandit cast-off clothing, he was still unable to get the stench of it from his nostrils. And when he ate the picked-over leavings and table scraps that evening, it all tasted of bile and dung on his tongue, so much did the lingering smell pervade his senses.

  That night, he slept once more tied to the wall, shivering in his ill-fitting cast-off rags.

  The following days passed much the same, with Huang greeting the day lying cramped and uncomfortable on the stone floor, spending the day doing various noisome and distasteful tasks, and ending with a bowl of scraps and greasy water.

  As his body was busied with mindless, repetitive tasks, Huang’s mind often wandered. He entertained elaborate fantasies of rescue, of a battalion of Bannermen rapelling down the Aerie’s skylight, guns and swords in hand, to arrest or kill all the bandits—depending on Huang’s mood when fantasizing—and liberate their lone prisoner.

  Of course, in his calmer, more reasonable moments, Huang knew full well that it was likely that no one knew that he was the bandits’ prisoner, since the hog-tied guards and drivers—if they’d survived even this long—would not yet have been found by a passing convoy. And even if anyone did know that he was their prisoner, the bandits’ mountain stronghold was evidently entirely secret, and if its location was known, it seemed well enough fortified, naturally and by design, to withstand most any attack.

  No, if Huang was to be freed from captivity, it would have to be by his own hand.

  One night, when delivering the customary bowl of greasy water, leftover rice, and half-eaten scraps of meat, the bandit chief Zhao lingered in front of Huang. He still wore the red saber at his side and fingered its hilt appreciatively. Across the room, Jue and a few other bandits still sat around the table, finishing a jar of wine.

  “Hummingbird,” he said, like a man addressing a dog, “I must admit that this is one fine sword you’ve given me. I can’t help but wonder where a simple solder of the Green Standard might have obtained such a blade.”

  Huang’s fingers tightened around the edges of his bowl. As if he had given the bandits anything.

  “Well, speak up, Hummingbird.” Zhao nudged him with a booted toe. “How did you come by this sword, eh?”

  When Huang spoke, it was in a voice barely above a whisper, as he always used when answering the bandits. “A gift from Governor Ouyang.”

  “Did you . . . Did you say . . . Ouyang?” Zhao tightened his fist around the sword’s hilt.

  Huang looked up, meeting the bandit chief’s eyes for the first time in the exchange. He nodded.

  “Ouyang?” Zhao repeated. His lips drew into a tight line, and his eyebrows narrowed. “That wretch? That foul pile of dung?! That Ouyang?”

  Huang answered instinctively, without thinking. “No, the governor-general is an honorable man.”

  Zhao’s face flushed red, and his eyes widened. “Honorable? Honorable?!” He turned and snapped his fingers at those still seated around the table. “Jue, turn your head this way.”

  Jue shrugged but turned to face them.

  Zhao looked down at Huang, stabbing a finger toward Jue. “See that scar? Do you? That’s what Ouyang’s honor is worth.” He held up his own left hand, and for the first time Huang saw that Zhao’s ring finger on that hand was missing after the second knuckle, ending in a knobby lump of flesh. “And my finger, in the bargain.” He turned and pointed to a bandit who sat opposite Jue, one of his arms twisted into a crab’s claw. “And his arm.” He pointed to another of the bandits, who sat with a cup held frozen halfway to his lips. “And his sons.”

  Zhao turned his gaze back to Huang. But while Huang didn’t answer, his expression no doubt made evident the lack of credence he held for Zhao’s words.

  The bandit chief narrowed his eyes. “What do you know of mines, Hummingbird?”

  Huang shrugged, not even bothering to speak. It was easier to say what he didn’t know about mines, which was essentially “everything.”

  “Miners work tirelessly,” Zhao went on, his hand still on the hilt of the red sword, “day and night, season after season, to extract all the substances society needs to function.” He held up his left hand, and began extending fingers one at a time, counting off. “Everything from heavy metals with which to fabricate buildings and vehicles, to hidden pockets of frozen water at the poles, to the chemical constituents of the very air we breathe. And it isn’t only with the sweat of their brow and back that miners pay. No. Some miners lose limbs in mining accidents, some lose sight in an eye or the ability to hear, some bear scars from faulty machinery or badly mended broken bones. And nearly every miner has lost a family member down in the mines, whether father, brother, or son, mother, sister, or daughter. They work hard and are rewarded only with pain and misery.”

  Huang couldn’t help himself. He scoffed and answered instinctively again, scarcely above a whisper. “What would thieves know of hard work?”

  Zhao’s hand on the sword’s hilt was a white-knuckled fist, and he snarled while drawing the blade partway from the scabbard, eyes flashing. Huang tensed, expecting a killing stroke to fall at any moment.

  “I worked in a mine.” The bandit chief spoke slowly, deliberately, like he was talking to a child or an imbecile. “That’s what I know of it. I was a miner until Ouyang forced me from it.”

  Huang’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  Zhao raised an eyebrow of his own. “You’re surprised? How little you know.” He glanced over at the bandits seated around the table, who were now following their chief’s conversation with mounting interest, their expressions dark. “Most of those living in the Aerie were once miners.” He motioned to Jue and the others with a dip o
f his head. “And the rest were cargo loaders, airship mechanics, and so on—skilled laborers every one. And all of us driven from our homes and jobs by the oppressive tactics of your honorable Governor Ouyang. The great governor-general, who harasses businesses that don’t pay his bribes and favors those that do. And may the ancestors protect any miner or mechanic who makes the mistake of trying to organize his fellow laborers against the unfair bosses who paid the governor-general’s bribes and haven’t the money left over to meet the payroll. Those of us who survived encounters with the governor-general’s strikebreakers still bear the scars, and we were the lucky ones.”

  Huang glanced over at Jue and the others, and saw that their eyes were half-lidded, as with remembered pain. The bandit holding the jar of wine slammed it down forcefully onto the table, sending a thin stream of liquid sloshing from the jar’s neck.

  “May Ouyang rot in hell,” one of the bandits cursed in a harsh voice, and around him the other bandits dipped their heads in agreement.

  Zhao drew the sword from the scabbard and held its red-tinted blade horizontally in front of him. The light glinted on the firebird engraved there so that it seemed to dance. Again Huang tensed, fearing the killing stroke, but instead Zhao just studied the blade closely, as though finding secret messages written on it.

  “If I’d known this was once the governor-general’s blade, I might not have picked it up.” He glanced to Huang. “And had I known you carried his blade, I might not have spared your life, after all.” He glanced to the other bandits and then back to Huang on the floor. “But I find I like the feel of the sword at my hip, and you’ve proven useful in doing the tasks none of us care to perform, so perhaps you both have your uses, at that.” He lowered the point of the sword, directed at Huang’s chest, and narrowed his eyes. “But if either you or the sword cease to be useful, Hummingbird, know that I’ve no compunction against snapping either of you in half and tossing you in the latrine.”

  With that, Zhao slammed the sword back into the scabbard, turned on his heel, and marched out of the chamber. When he had gone, the bandits at the table exchanged meaningful glances, shooting dark looks Huang’s way, and then followed their chief out.

  Left alone with his table scraps, Huang felt an icy lump of fear growing in his gut.

  Huang needed to escape, and soon.

  He had survived this long only at the bandit chief’s whim, and it seemed certain that it was only a matter of time before Zhao’s mood shifted and Huang found himself no longer a valued “pet” and instead ended up spitted on the end of his own sword.

  The key, he was sure, was the locked cabinet of breather masks and insulated suits. If he could gain access to that, he’d be one step closer to making good his escape.

  The problem, of course, lay in the word locked.

  On three different occasions Huang had been ordered to assist the mechanics working on the airship in the hangar, and all three times he had stood by while the mechanics opened the locked cabinet and broke out the necessary masks and suits. He’d gotten a good look at the lock on two of the occasions, but seeing what he was up against hadn’t made him any more confident of his chances.

  The cabinet was secured with a combination lock. There were three wheels, each with ideograms engraved around its circumference. The lock was shaped like a stylized dog, the wheels forming the dog’s belly and chest. As near as Huang could tell, the lock was forged steel, and therefore essentially unbreakable as far as he was concerned. The only way he’d be able to get it open would be to move the wheels in the proper combination to open the lock.

  There were several problems with that plan. First, Huang didn’t know the combination. If this lock was anything like the other combination locks he’d seen over the years, when the wheels were in the correct positions, the ideograms would spell out a word or phrase. Even if Huang knew the combination, though, he still had the second problem to contend with: he didn’t know where the wheels were to line up. Combination locks of this type had a second level of security beyond the combination itself, which was that there were no marks to indicate where the entered combination should be aligned. If the wheels were off by only a few degrees, then the lock would remain unopened.

  So all that remained for Huang to do was to find the combination, discover the proper wheel alignment, and get to the cabinet when no bandits were around to stop him.

  Of course, if he got that far, he’d still need to get the heavy steel doors open, get into the airlock corridor, open another heavy steel door, get out into the hangar, reach one of the cave mouths, navigate the caves, find the disused mine shaft, and hope against hope that he could remove the obstruction blocking the shaft entrance.

  And survive long enough once he was outside in the trackless wilderness that he could be rescued or reach civilization on his own.

  All without the bandits catching him.

  Easy.

  Well, easier than cleaning the latrines again, at any rate.

  Huang finally got his break a few days later.

  All morning the Aerie had been abuzz with activity. It seemed that Zhao had received word of a particularly valuable shipment in a convoy spotted a short distance off. It was a merchant shipment, leaving Forking Paths and bound for the Southern Fastness. Since these were merchants and not imperial bureaucrats safeguarding the shipment, though, the merchant convoy was much better protected and armed than had been the Green Standard convoy of which Huang had been a part. Instead of just the dozen bandits who had accompanied Zhao on the earlier raid, therefore, nearly the whole complement of bandits in the Aerie would be taken along on this foray.

  Huang was run ragged all morning, helping the bandits load and secure their arms and armament in the airship. Provisions sufficient for a two-day journey were stowed away in the gondola, and enough fuel to reach Tianfei Valley and back were rolled into the airship’s hold in great steel drums.

  Virtually all of the bandits were being employed in this foray—the cooks and mechanics, men and women, young and old. Only a few bandits, either too infirm or too injured to be of any use, were left behind at the Aerie. And Huang, of course.

  When Zhao and the others left the relative comfort of the cave complex to load into the airship in the hangar, the bandit chief stopped to visit Huang. The prisoner had been tied up in his customary position along the wall in the dining chamber, and a day’s worth of table scraps and a bowl of greasy water had been set in front of him like food left out for a dog locked at home while his masters went away for the day.

  “No nonsense while I’m away, Hummingbird,” Zhao warned, fastening the stays of his insulated thermal suit, his breather mask dangling from one ear. “Consider this a little vacation, a respite for a day or two from your normal chores. Generous of us, isn’t it?” The bandit chief laughed, and then strode out of the dining chamber to join the others in the airlock corridor.

  Muffled by the distance, Huang heard the steel door open and close. Now he was alone in the Aerie with only one or two bandits, and those so infirm that they were practically bed-ridden.

  If ever he was going to have an opportunity to escape, it was now.

  The first hurdle was the cord securing him to the wall. This was simple enough to manage, comparatively. Since the bandits had first captured him, Huang had been careful never to attempt removing the bonds or untying the knots while in their sight, but when he was left on his own, he had experimented with the knots as long as he still had feeling left in his overworked fingers. He’d found, after a few days’ trying, that he could untie and retie the simple knots securing him to the wall with relative ease. He had always tied the knots securely once more before the bandits returned, to cover the evidence.

  Now he had only to untie the knots and slip loose his bonds and he was free to leave the dining chamber and make for the locked cabinet.

  The infirm and injured bandits appeared to be abed, so fortune was with Huang. He reached the steel door to the airlock, and the nearby lock
ed cabinet, without encountering any resistance.

  Now he had only to accomplish the impossible and unlock the cabinet.

  It was not as impossible, though, as Huang had originally thought.

  He still did not know the combination, but on two different occasions he’d heard the bandits say something about wanting gold while opening the cabinet. Once the bandit had paused with the lock in his hands, evidently having forgotten the combination, and the other bandit prompted him by asking, “Do you want the gold?” Upon hearing that cryptic phrase, the bandit smiled and nodded, and then spun the wheels and opened the lock. On the other occasion, the bandit had chuckled ruefully when opening the cabinet, saying, “I sometimes wish there was gold in here, and not just these damned stinking masks.”

  Huang’s guess, then, was that the word or phrase that the ideograms on the wheels combined to form had something to do with gold.

  As he lifted the dog-shaped lock in his hands, its tail a thick loop of steel that connected to the back of its head, he saw in short order that he was right. One of the ideograms engraved on the last of the three wheels was in fact the symbol for gold. Whatever the combination, then, it would include that symbol.

  Which meant he was a third of the way there. Not counting the correct alignment, of course.

  There were eight symbols engraved on each of the wheels, it appeared. Even though he knew one, that meant there were still sixty-four more possible combinations. And something like a hundred possible positions in which the wheels could be aligned. A brute-force attempt of every combination, then, would mean thousands of attempts. He’d eluded resistance this long, but even if he was able to stumble on the right combination and alignment before the airship returned, he was bound to be found out by one of the few bandits remaining at the Aerie in the interim.