Storm Glass

by Jeff Wheeler

  Fitzroy joined her at the edge of the ship and, without saying anything, took off his long gray coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. The bottom of the coat dropped all the way to the floor of the sky ship. She gazed up at him, looking for any hint of cruelty or anger in his face. She was a good judge of people. One had to be in the Fells. But there was nothing in his expression that caused her to worry.

  “It’s rather cold up here, Cettie,” he said, squatting down to be eye level with her. Adults never did that.

  “Are you really a vice admiral?” Cettie asked him.

  A small smile quirked on his clean-shaven face. Light from the shining lantern hanging from a nearby ring revealed that his graying hair must have originally been black, or a very dark brown. He was much older than her, as old as a mountain probably. As he had given Cettie his overcoat, she could see he wore the coat, striped vest, and collar of an upper-class noble. His boots were an appropriate height, but they did not look overly fancy. He was still not wearing the customary gloves, and he kept worrying at his hands. There was a black tie at his throat, fastened tight with only a little slip of white appearing above and beneath it. The buttons on his dark coat were enormous, the size of coins. She fancied touching them but didn’t dare.

  “Yes,” he answered, meeting her curious gaze with one of his own. “I once served in the Ministry of War, but no longer. I’ve been put out to pasture, as they say about the sheep.”

  “And do you live in the sky?” she asked him, biting her lip and hoping.

  He nodded simply. “I do. My estate is called Fog Willows. We are going there presently.”

  Was this real and not a dream? No dream had ever felt so thrilling. No dream had ever made the wind run through her hair like this. But what if she awoke back in the tenements?

  “Are you really going to adopt me? How many children do you have?” she asked, unsure if this was, in fact, an actual dream that she’d awaken from. He had children of his own. She had sensed that immediately in the way he interacted with her and the other children.

  “I said I would try,” he answered sincerely. “My dear wife must agree, of course. And we have three children. You seem close in age to our youngest. How old are you, Cettie?”

  “I’m not sure,” she answered, wrinkling her nose in confusion. “None of us have any birthdays. I think I am twelve.”

  “You speak very well for one so . . . young,” he observed, and she felt a flush of pride.

  “My papa taught me,” she lied, giving him a smile. “He was the captain of a hurricane.”

  His eyebrow lifted. “Indeed? That is very impressive. Are you still hungry?”

  “Very,” she answered truthfully. She felt a twinge of guilt for misrepresenting herself.

  “Lieutenant Staunton?” he asked. That’s all he needed to say. The man obeyed him smartly, rummaging through the gear stowed on the sky ship for something to eat. That was real power, Cettie thought. To say a word and the thing was done.

  “How do sky ships fly?” she asked, rubbing her hand on the railing. “Do they harness the wind?” Though she’d always wondered, it seemed even more curious now that she was riding in one. Up in the sky, there was no noise except the wind. No groaning of gears or rattle of belts like the sounds emanating from the grimy factories down below. Entire buildings would thrum with the motion. No, the sky ship moved smoothly, as if carried by two cupped hands from one shelf to another. The fact that she was actually inside a zephyr made her giddy. She couldn’t stop grinning.

  The man, her new benefactor, held up his hands and shrugged regretfully. “I can’t tell you. It’s one of the Mysteries.”

  If ever there was a word she simultaneously detested and pined after, that was the one. The Mysteries. It was the explanation adults used for nearly everything that seemed inexplicable, and it made her want to swear, which she never did.

  “And it’s the same that makes your manor float?” she pressed.

  He nodded eagerly, not troubled by her sudden outpouring of questions.

  “Do your children know the Mysteries?”

  He shook his head no. “Only my eldest has begun to learn them, although the next will be starting school shortly. Would you like to learn them, Cettie?”

  “May I?” she said as meekly as she could.

  “I can’t make any promises now,” he said in his gentle way. “But if it is possible, I will try to arrange it.”

  “Why shouldn’t it be possible?” she asked with confusion. “If you were to sign the deed away from Miss Charlotte, you would become my master.”

  “I know that, child, and I intend to do it,” he said. “But a deed is different than an adoption, which is also encompassed by the Mysteries. The Mysteries of Law, to be precise. I’m not very good with that one. I will talk to my advocate soon, and he will direct me on the proper procedures. Adoption is a serious matter, Cettie. It is not undertaken lightly or granted quickly. Can I ask you a question now?”

  She bobbed her head up and down. Part of her still wanted to stare off the side of the open-air craft and feel the wind blow her hair back. How far up were they from the ground? It felt like they had been ascending for a long time.

  “Back at Miss Charlotte’s,” he said, giving her a penetrating look, “I used some of the Mysteries to protect the room where the children were sleeping. You said something to me. Do you remember?”

  Her heart began to shrivel. “You sent away my ghost. The tall one.”

  “Your ghost?” he asked in confusion.

  She nodded, the thrill beginning to lessen. But she felt safer up in the sky, safer with Fitzroy near. If anyone could protect her, he could. “Most places in the tenements have them. The spirits of the dead who cannot move on.”

  His eyes were deep and intense. “And you could . . . see it?”

  She blinked quickly, not sure how she should answer. But she had already confessed the truth, so lying now would be pointless. “I can. Is that wrong, sir?”

  “No, not wrong. Just very, very rare. Have you always been able to see them?”

  She glanced down and nodded, feeling embarrassed. That it was a rare ability didn’t make it a good one. When she glanced up at his face, she thought he looked disturbed by what she had acknowledged. “The tall one keeps following me. Every time my deed was sold, it would find me again.”

  “Here’s something for the lass,” said the lieutenant, returning with a crust of bread stuffed with some cheese and some sort of meat. She accepted it with relish and started to eat quickly, responding to the instant pangs of hunger in her weakened stomach. She hadn’t eaten for several days and felt a little dizzy from it.

  “What is going to happen to Joses?” she asked between mouthfuls, looking up at her guardian.

  “Is he the boy who was caught stealing?” Fitzroy asked.

  She nodded.

  “Well, he would normally be punished for the theft regardless of the circumstances,” he said, though his tone was by no means mean-spirited. “But since I am the magistrate at the moment, I can perhaps see to it that he is released . . . with a scolding?”

  She grinned at him, feeling her worry for her friend start to diminish. The vice admiral insisted she concentrate on eating, not talking, so she leaned up against the sidewall of the sky ship to enjoy her food. She looked down at the view, but there was nothing left to see other than darkness and a few pinpricks of light, and she pulled back when her fear of heights began to make her dizzy. Looking up was much better. Her hair whipped around her face until she smoothed it behind her and let it fan out. The sky was so swollen with stars that it felt like she could spoon them up with a ladle. All her life, she had only seen the night sky from a window, not daring to go out into the streets after dark. She rested her hand on her arm and stared up at the stars. She was very sleepy but didn’t want to miss the first sight of the floating manor.

  “We’re nearing Fog Willows, sir,” said Staunton.

  The words startled Cet
tie awake, and she realized she’d drowsed off while leaning on the rail. She was warm and comfortable in Fitzroy’s jacket, and she lifted her head sleepily. Her potential guardian was chafing his hands and breathing warmth into them since he wore no special coat for the heights.

  Seeing her blinking eyes, he motioned for her to join him near the front of the vessel. She walked down the narrow walkway in the middle, passing the small benches. Judging by the number of seats, a zephyr could hold up to ten people. She maneuvered past Lieutenant Staunton and reached the front of the vessel, staring up at the higher deck, where the officer was still holding the rigging ropes and viewing the way.

  “Can she join you, Benson?” Staunton asked.

  The man shrugged and patted the planks beside him. Cettie scurried up the ladder, feeling the wind cut around her as she sat at the prow of the zephyr. Surprisingly, it wasn’t as cold as she had feared. It was still too dark for her to see much, but she could make out the shapes of trees and the sporadic beacons of light from lanterns down below.

  “Are those lights coming from villages?” she asked Benson.

  “No, they are markers set down to help us pilot in the dark.”

  “Are they lanterns?”

  “Hush,” he said with a partly amused smile. “It’s the Mysteries, lass. I can’t explain it.”

  Ah, there it was again.

  “But they point the way toward Fog Willows,” he said. “Fitzroy’s estate here in the north. Gone and back quickly. We made good time. And there’s no fog this morning, which helped us find it.”

  “Could we have found it in the fog?”

  “Of course, lass! It sits above the fog. See it yonder?” he asked, directing his arm. “It’s difficult to miss.”

  Her breath caught on a gasp. He was right. She’d been looking up in the sky, but now that he’d directed her gaze downward, she realized that they were going to descend into Fog Willows. Even though it was still nighttime, the estate was aglow. She could barely make out the tops of trees far below. They were still high up if the trees looked so small, yet she had a perfect view of the enormous manor.

  Fog Willows was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen—so beautiful it brought tears to her eyes. She’d always wondered what the floating manors looked like. But this . . . this exceeded anything she could have imagined in her inexperience. She’d always thought they’d be boxlike houses, similar in construction—if not condition—to the ones on the crowded streets of the tenements. But this manor was the home of a king. The huge high windows of the estate shimmered up at her—an invitation to explore. It looked as if the home had been built into a mountaintop thick with huge pines and poplars, a mountaintop that had then been wrenched free by some titanic being and hoisted into the sky. She wondered what it would look like standing directly beneath it and looking up. Would it be like staring at an upside-down mountain? Surely the lights would be seen in the haze of mist . . .

  As they made their swift descent, the details became clearer. Her eyes took in the glowing wonders beneath her—sheltered gazebos and outer kitchens, all with slanted roofs and cupolas, and trails carved into the rocks crisscrossing the estate. The buildings were connected by various bridges, and a waterfall straddled two of them, the water tumbling down from the heights and turning into mist before it could hit the ground. Willow trees surrounded by a pool of water in a ravine that seemed as ancient as the mountain itself.

  Her heart cried out in wonder.

  The zephyr angled toward the main house, and Cettie noticed a paved circular veranda off the main doors. Benson adjusted his position and rose, then began bellowing commands to the pilot.

  “To port, hard as we go. Slow the descent by three stripes. Yes, three. More to the leeward. Aye, you’re coming into position. Let’s not broadside the vice admiral’s house, eh, Klem? I don’t think his lordship would appreciate that.”

  “Indeed,” said the gentleman good-naturedly. He, too, had climbed the ladder, and he now stood behind Cettie, nodding approvingly. He clearly relished being on the ship, part of the command.

  “Descend by three more stripes. Better make it four.”

  The sky ship lurched, and Cettie’s stomach did a delicious little squeeze that made her gasp and cling to the rigging.

  “My wife’s youngest sister pilots a tempest,” the vice admiral told her with an arch to his eyebrows, trying to impress her. He succeeded.

  “A tempest? Really? And she’s a girl?”

  “A woman, of course,” he corrected. “But, yes, she is female. Raj Sarin taught her how to fight as well.”

  “Who is Raj Sarin?” Cettie asked with interest.

  “You’ll be meeting him soon, I daresay. He’s, well, he’s my bodyguard officially. But truly, more of a friend. He is a Bhikhu. Do you know what that is?”

  She shook her head no, but she was hoping to learn everything she could. This new world opening to her was the stuff of her wildest dreams. A floating estate, built onto a mountaintop. A ship that rose through the air. How did it all happen? Of course, it was all explained by the Mysteries, which meant it wasn’t to be explained at all.

  “The Bhikhu are a people that can fly just by bringing in their breath. It’s quite amazing, actually. And a very handy skill to have when working from such heights. I must warn you, Cettie, to always stay on the paths. Some of the rocks below have loosened over the years. The power holds the stone up, not people. If you were to fall, you could fall clear off the estate.” He scrunched up his nose. “There are certain protections, but it is possible to fall, so it’s best to be careful. It’s quite a ways down, as you can imagine.”

  “Slow down, lad!” Benson shouted down. “Four more stripes. Slower, slower.”

  “Would you like to do it?” the pilot snapped.

  “I could, and I’d do it just as well as you!” said Benson, puffing his chest.

  “Let’s get the vice admiral home, lads; enough chatter!” Lieutenant Staunton said, his tone lacking patience. “It’s been a long night, and I’d like to be back in bed before sunrise.”

  The zephyr came to roost at last just above the semicircular landing area by the doors. Cettie could see that a few servants were lining up below to greet their master. Staunton went to the railing and then looked over before dropping the rope ladder.

  “I’ll come to the offices in three days’ time as promised,” Fitzroy told the lieutenant, climbing down to the main level. He signaled for Cettie to follow him, and she did. “Make sure the woman obeys. I’d rather not put her in irons, but I will.”

  Cettie felt a flush of gratitude. She wasn’t sure Miss Charlotte could stay sober that long. She secretly hoped she would end up in irons, so long as the children were kept safe. If Joses were released, he would undoubtedly take care of them and ensure they were fed.

  Fitzroy climbed over the railing—the lieutenant gripping his arm out of courtesy.

  “You come after me, Cettie,” Fitzroy called back as he started down the ladder. She clambered after him eagerly, and soon they had descended to the landing platform. The glow from the lights made it seem like early morning. She gazed up at the monstrous house, which was even more elaborate and finely decorated up close. The very shingles on the roofs appeared to be made from quarried stone.

  A woman stood at the head of the servants awaiting them. She was tall and very austere, with a perpetual scowl and cavernous wrinkles across her forehead, eyes, and cheeks. Her hair was combed back and secured with a silver pin. Her dress was plain, a dark forest green, and there was a brooch at her throat. She stood in a stately way, one gloved hand interlocked with the other, her elbows jutting out. Her stern blue eyes were fixed on Cettie. Was this the vice admiral’s wife? She looked so cold, so dignified, not at all like the type of woman who’d gladly accept an orphan into her home.

  “Mrs. Pullman,” Fitzroy said, reaching for Cettie’s hand and escorting her forward.

  Ah, so Mrs. Pullman clearly wasn’t the master’s wi
fe. Somehow, the revelation did nothing to settle Cettie. Judging by the set of key rings the older woman held, she was the keeper of the house—the most trusted position that anyone who wasn’t part of the family could hold. Cettie had heard that all the sky estates had someone in that position.

  The older woman sized up Cettie quickly, taking in every smudge, every ripped seam. The wrinkles in her craggy face stretched and smoothed in a way that clearly conveyed she did not like the look of Cettie. And Cettie instantly felt on her guard. She had trained herself to be wary and knew when people didn’t like her.

  If Mrs. Pullman had her way, Cettie wouldn’t be staying long at Fog Willows.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MRS. PULLMAN

  “What have we here, Master Brant?” Mrs. Pullman asked as they drew closer to the keeper. Her strong accent indicated she’d been born in a neighboring country, a land that pulled their words and put meaning into the tone.

  “Mrs. Pullman, this is Cettie. I just fetched her from the Fells, and she will be staying with us.” He put his bare hand on Cettie’s shoulder. Touching was a forbidden form of social intimacy in the upper classes, which was why the people who lived in the sky always wore gloves. That was what she had heard in her eavesdropping, anyway, but so far Fitzroy had proven to be an outlier. Glancing around, she saw that the man’s staff all wore gloves.

  The keeper’s eyebrows startled upward at the familiar gesture, the crags in her face deepening. “For how long, Master?” she asked brusquely.

  “Quite a while, it seems,” Fitzroy said. “She will be living with us. I’d like to take her to see Lady Maren, but neither of us has really slept, and I think a new frock and some breakfast would also do before an introduction. Will you arrange it?”