Tinker's Justice

by J. S. Morin

  “Jadon slumbers still,” Stalyart replied. “Perhaps afterward, we will drink in celebration. Until then, perhaps it is best you remain alert.”

  Everything was too tall. For a goblin, it was the plight of living among humans. But for all the inconvenience of tabletops above eye level and forks that barely fit into his mouth, there were advantages as well. The Jennai had the greatest workshop K’k’rt had ever seen, and Rynn had apologized for it being small and crowded. If only she knew what crowded was really like. K’k’rt had shared a space the size of the Jennai’s workshop with no fewer than fifty other goblins.

  Using an upturned packing crate as a stepstool, the goblin tinker surveyed the plans spread over the workbench. He had learned the Korrish style of draftsmanship from Madlin during her stay among his people, and was soon able to puzzle out that the device simply called a “lift,” was actually an arrangement of pulleys that lifted a box with doors up a shaft. Apparently the Jennai was in need of such a device. Stretching across the table for a sheet of the schematic that was barely within his reach, he winced in anticipation of the pain the act would cause in his shoulders and side.

  No pain came. K’k’rt chuckled, unable to get over just how much help that little potion had been. When Madlin had told him it would make him young again, he had hardly believed her. It was the lie of the legend, as his people would say. A great many old stories contained a pearl of truth at the core, but had been surrounded with lies too extravagant to be possible. Yet here he was, with the color returning to his hair and the aches all but gone from his joints.

  The opening of the workshop door drew K’k’rt’s attention from the plans for the lift. With hearing better than he’d had in years, he picked up the subtle squeak and squish of spring-stabilized legs. Rynn had arrived for the day’s work.

  “You’re here early,” she remarked upon entering. There was a tingling in the air around her.

  “Time shift,” he replied. On a hunch, he let his eyesight drift into the aether. “I wake up at odd times since I’ve been here. You’ve … been playing with magic.”

  “Anzik taught Madlin a couple tricks,” Rynn replied. “I’ve been practicing for her sake. I can barely rub two aethers together to make fire.”

  K’k’rt chuckled. “That’s not how it works, you know.”

  Rynn scowled down at him. Even standing atop the crate, she was a head taller. “I got it working, didn’t I?”

  K’k’rt took a moment to inspect the shielding spell she wore more closely. “Aligned to lightning. Are we doing something dangerous with one of your spark devices today?”

  “That’s what Anzik worries about, anyway. You can tell that by looking?”

  “It takes practice,” K’k’rt said. He muttered in the arcane language and weaved his fingers through the air. A shielding spell similar to Rynn’s sprang to life around him.

  “I see you’ve got the touch back.”

  “I don’t feel the bones in my fingers grinding together anymore when I move them,” said K’k’rt. “You’d be amazed how much that sort of thing gets in the way of spell-casting.”

  “Anzik and Dan always seemed to be able to manage without moving or speaking.”

  “Freaks, the both of them,” said K’k’rt with a sneer.

  There was a brief shudder in the ship, a tremor that worked its way from the steel floor through the crate, into K’k’rt’s feet and up into his belly. He looked to Rynn. “Does the ship do that often?”

  Rynn’s mouth hung open, as if she was waiting for an answer to form there before she spoke. Her eyes drifted to the wall nearest where the tremor seemed to have originated. “No. Never.”

  Without another word, she sprinted for the door. K’k’rt followed, wondering what it was about youth that made one prone to rashness. He supposed it was the lack of pain when moving.

  The daruu in their resplendent armor lined up like statues, awaiting orders. Danilaesis had never had troops quite like them. Though the armors they wore varied wildly in color, decoration, even material from one to the next, they all shared a similar glow in the aether. Runeforged. Not the tawdry runed weapons carried by the likes of Tanner, the daruu had hammered the runes right into the heart of the metal—or as in one case, dragon scale.

  “It is as you say, Warlock Danilaesis,” King Dekulon said. They all stood before the transport gate, looking through at the Jennai, where some lowly underling sat at the controls of one of the rebels’ machines. “Just as with the kuduks, we cannot allow these enemies of the daruu people to maintain possession of such dangerous devices.”

  Danilaesis glared sidelong at Kezudkan, the daruu who had built the machine, daring him to contradict the king. His time among the rebels had furnished him with Kezudkan’s name, as well as the knowledge that these humans hardly gave any other daruu a second thought. Put Kezudkan’s head on a serving platter for Cadmus Errol, and they’d have an alliance done within the hour. But so long as neither he nor Kezudkan came down with an unfortunate case of honesty, there was no need for that ever to become public knowledge.

  “My troops are ready when yours are,” Danilaesis said with a military bow to King Dekulon. The Kadrin soldiers looked shabby by comparison to the daruu Iron Guard. Not a single knight of the empire numbered among them. As far as Danilaesis was concerned, he was bringing them along as fodder. It had been a courtesy to their daruu allies to bring regular army troops instead of conscripts, but that was as far as he was willing to go. Had someone laid odds for him, he might have bet that a few of the Iron Guard might survive the assault. But as it was planned, he was likely to be the only survivor from either side.

  The king turned to Kezudkan and his other advisors. “Let us adjourn somewhere comfortable to await the results.”

  “Once we’re through, shut it all the way down,” Danilaesis replied. “One of our enemies can see the target locator even when it’s not open. I don’t know whether he can see through or not.” Danilaesis knew that nothing could be seen through from the far side when the transport gate was closed, but there were certain events about to take place for which he wanted no witnesses.

  “Yes, sir,” Gederon replied. Danilaesis found much about the daruu people to both like and dislike. Gederon never objected to anything he was ordered to do, and rarely asked questions.

  “When we get through, you’re going to find at least four machines like this one aboard the ship,” Danilaesis said. “These must be shut down; otherwise, they can use them to bring in reinforcements. You just need to break them enough that they don’t work. If we recover any that can be repaired, fine, but that’s not the goal here.” Danilaesis repeated the instructions in Korrish. It was bloody inconvenient that neither side had troops who understood a common language.

  Danilaesis had chosen their first target, the one that would put the rebels on the defensive the quickest: the main transport gate. More importantly, once all four were destroyed, it would trap Anzik Fehr aboard with nowhere to hide.

  “Open it,” Danilaesis ordered. He drew Sleeping Dragon and stood at the fore, ready to be the first one through. As the transport gate opened he charged through, releasing a blast of lightning that took out the operator of the machine as well as the control console. “No survivors!”

  Silverware clattered as a plate thumped down on the table. Greuder looked down at his early morning guest with a narrow gaze.

  “Since when do you take a breakfast anywhere but at that gutted machine of yours?” Greuder asked.

  Cadmus grinned, sizing up his eggs and bacon and making a quick estimate as to how hungry he was in comparison. He took a gulp from a tankard filled with coffee to brush aside what little remnants of sleep his excitement hadn’t scrubbed away. “Big day today,” he replied. “Can’t afford any distraction. Once I get to work this morning, I’m pushing through until I’m done.”

  “Oh?” Greuder asked. He set down a plate bearing his own meal and collapsed into a chair beside it. “Making any improvemen
ts? Or is this something to do with the hush-hush project Madlin’s been off working on.”

  “Blast me if I know where that girl’s gone. Only Rynn and Eziel know for sure. No, I’ve got something else planned. Something I’ve waited a long time for.”

  “Just spit it out, Cadmus. What’ve you got cooked up?”

  “I found Kezudkan.”

  “Where’s that daruu bastard been hiding?” Greuder asked with a mouthful of bacon.

  “He found daruu in Veydrus. They’ve got a world-ripper. All I’ve got to do is watch the machine, wait for him to show up, and …” Cadmus patted the holstered coil gun at his hip.

  “So you haven’t actually seen him?”

  Cadmus shrugged. “I see his footprints all over this. It’s the same model we built in his original workshop. Anyone building one fresh from the books would have made it differently. This had to be his work.”

  “How do you know he’ll show up at it? Maybe he sold it. Maybe he has a dozen or so, like we do now, and only comes once a month.”

  “You trying to sour these eggs?” Cadmus asked with a glare. “I’ll wait as long as I have to, but I don’t expect that to be long. You’re welcome to come watch. I wouldn’t mind a steady set of hands by the controls if I need to go through.”

  “What about Kaia?” Greuder asked. “She’s the best technician we’ve got.”

  Cadmus lifted a palm. “I’ll ask her if you’re not up for it. But we’ve been friends since before Kaia was even born. Figured you’ve earned it. Not like I expect this to be a multi-axis mid-air chase. The blasted daruu can barely walk.”

  Greuder bobbed his head, considering. “All right then. Right as soon as I clear up the dishes.”

  Half an hour later, Greuder entered the main chamber of the lunar headquarters. Cadmus had already dialed in the coordinates and begun his vigil, watching as a familiar young daruu sat fidgeting at the controls of an idle world-ripper.

  “This the daruu machine?” Greuder asked.

  Cadmus scowled in reply and pointed to the daruu sitting at the controls.

  “It was polite, that’s all,” Greuder said. “Forgive me if I’ve picked up the habit of asking easy questions to pop the cork on a conversation. I used to have a hundred customers a day or more at the bakery. Here I’ve just got you lot.”

  “That daruu there is Kezudkan’s nephew,” Cadmus replied. It had taken viewing the lad from a few angles before Cadmus was able to recall where he had seen the daruu: it was Gederon. He was the only one in the room, and kept checking a pocketclock every few minutes. He was waiting for someone. Cadmus had a good guess as to who it might be.

  “So what now? We just wait?”

  “We just wait,” Cadmus replied.

  However, waiting was more painful than Cadmus remembered it being. His foot tapped of its own accord, and his leg bounced beneath the console. Time passed more slowly than his pocketclock claimed; he was tempted to take the device apart and check its innards for slipped gears or a defective spring. Every fiber of him wanted to be moving, to be doing something. Normally he would have blamed his anxiety on having drunk too much coffee, but he knew better. It was the youth serum.

  A fifty-three year old Cadmus—in mind and body—had puttered away for years in servitude he could have escaped at any time. He had stayed to finish the world-ripper and then to steal it. With a body as fit and vigorous as he’d had in thirty years, there were too many impulses to ignore. He had energy to work all day, but also enough that he could not sit idle. Contingency plans began to form in his head, plans that didn’t involve a wait of indeterminate length.

  “I bet you that nephew of his knows where Kezudkan is,” Cadmus said, staring at the daruu lad in the viewframe. It was a strange parallel seeing Gederon checking his pocketclock as often as he was. Were they waiting for the same thing?

  “You’re thinking of grabbing the technician?” Greuder asked.

  Cadmus shrugged. “Just speculating.”

  A moment passed in silence. Greuder’s patience seemed better intact than his own. The baker had been judicious with his own supply of the serum. A few of the older rebels had held onto theirs for later, waiting to see how the others reacted, but Greuder had chosen moderation.

  “But if I wasn’t speculating …”

  “I’ll work the controls,” Greuder replied. “You’re not some hot-headed Veydran boy. I trust you know what you’re doing.”

  “Thanks.”

  Cadmus was up and ready at the viewframe, coil gun drawn and ammunition checked—all before Greuder settled himself into his seat at the console. His heart was working double-time; his mind at half-crew. At the last moment, he remembered his runed armor, but decided that he could handle a single daruu without the help. After all, an unarmed daruu was no threat beyond arm’s reach, and with a coil gun in hand, keeping one beyond arm’s reach was fool’s play.

  “Ready when you are,” Greuder announced, reaching up for the switch.

  “Now or never,” Cadmus replied.

  The world-hole opened, and the fidgeting Gederon spun in his chair, showing remarkable agility for a daruu. Cadmus hopped through and leveled the coil gun at his head. The world-hole closed.

  Gederon held up his hands. “Please don’t—”

  “One more word out of you and I will,” Cadmus snapped. “You answer what I ask, nothing more. You understand?”

  Gederon nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Cadmus asked.

  Gederon shook his head. “You c-c-can’t be … Erefan. He’s … d-d-dead.”

  “I’m surprised you even recognize me,” Cadmus admitted. Of course, it had been many years since Gederon had visited Kezudkan’s estate, and he looked a similar number of years younger now. He gestured with the coil gun toward the chamber’s only door. “Who you waiting for? Your uncle?”

  Gederon nodded, but said nothing.

  “When’s he coming?”

  “I don’t—”

  “You keep looking at that pocketclock of yours. I think you do.”

  Gederon’s breathing quickened until Cadmus feared the daruu might pass out. He wasn’t even sure that was possible for daruu; he had never heard of one succumbing to something so innocuous. “He’s late. He should be here already.”

  Stalling. He knows something. “Where is he now? Where was he going to be before he came to you?”

  Gederon shrugged and shook his head at once.

  “Listen to me. I need to talk to your uncle. It’s not going to be a pleasant conversation, since he made a rather unsporting attempt to kill me, but it doesn’t need to involve you. If you can’t get me to him in the next few minutes, I might just have to leave him a message. You would be that message, left in the wreckage of this machine. You following my tracks here?”

  Gederon swallowed. “Yes.”

  “And you’re going to take me to Kezudkan?”

  “What are you going to do to him?”

  Cadmus sneered. “Not a question you’re in any position to be asking. But for starters, I want answers out of him. The only choice you need to worry about is dying right here, or taking your chances.”

  Gederon raised his hands and stood away from the console.

  “Good lad,” Cadmus said. He waved the coil gun toward the door. “Now, let’s go find that uncle of yours.”

  A blast of lightning left Danilaesis’s fingers before the first of the Iron Guard piled through the transport gate. The technician’s flesh sizzled, freezing a shocked expression on his face as he died. Something within the machine sizzled as well, emitting a gout of smoke with a foul, metallic odor. Just to be safe, Danilaesis slashed Sleeping Dragon through the side of the target finder, just in case anyone was able to repair the damage done to the controls. It would be just like those tinkers to take two broken machines and salvage a whole one from the remains.

  “Fan out,” Danilaesis ordered. “If it moves, kill it. If it hums, break it. If it shoots, duc
k.” Elaborate tactics were for grand wars fought across rolling landscapes or at the base of city walls. This was to be an avalanche, an unstoppable offensive that struck with little warning and no means to fight back.

  Though he had eagerly led the initial charge, Danilaesis followed now. His shielding spell had been cast such that it was better suited to fast, physical attacks like the shots from those coil guns, rather than a general defense. Still, he would rather someone else take the shots than test those defenses. They poured through the ship: twenty Iron Guard, doughty and mighty, sturdy enough that one shot was unlikely to kill them; twenty Kadrin soldiers, mean and bloodthirsty and chosen for just those reasons, but ultimately expendable; and one warlock, intent on ending the life of everyone aboard.

  The Korrish rebels were outmatched. Unprepared for the sudden attack, they fell to spears and axes as they scrambled for safety. Here and there, a pocket of resistance formed, but as soon as his troops called out the locations of these, Danilaesis made short work of them. The metal armor some of the rebels wore was well protected against physical attacks, but drew lightning like a spire. Time and again, the same trick worked. It wasn’t that he could even blame them. The only ones who realized their mistake died before they could warn anyone else of the folly of trying to fend off a sorcerer’s lightning with steel.

  As he made his way through the ship, he would stop at particular locations, places he knew he would need to visit before he was finished with the Jennai. There must have been a thousand people aboard the Jennai, and with just forty warriors along, it would take forever to kill so many. As Sleeping Dragon hacked through the first of the Jennai’s levitation runes, the ship lurched. It wasn’t enough to bring the ship down, or even put it in serious jeopardy, but the weight of the huge vessel settled differently, the metal creaking in protest. And he was just beginning.

  It sounded like a riot had broken out aboard the Jennai. There was no question that they were under attack of some kind, but it wasn’t until Rynn saw an axe-wielding daruu that she knew what had happened: Kezudkan had found them, and now they were under attack via world-ripper. It had taken three shots from her coil gun—plus a fourth that had glanced off the daruu’s shield—before the invader stopped advancing on her. A fifth and sixth ended the writhing on the ground. Rynn had never killed a daruu before, and was surprised that their blood wasn’t actually muddy. In fact, they barely bled at all, though what they did bleed was as red as human blood.