Mourningbird

by Brock Deskins

  The living, now fewer in number than the dead, exchanged angry, fearful shouts as Russel returned to his bag of deadly tricks. The quad barrel pivoted open on the breech’s hinge pin, allowing Russel to remove it and replace it with another multi-barrel assembly, this one also short, only about the length of his forearm, but bound together like a bundle of sticks.

  Finally realizing that they faced not a harmless escort and his simpleton brother but a very dangerous adversary, Fred’s men stayed hunkered behind shelter, occasionally firing their pistols and muskets blindly over or around the barriers. Russel took cover behind the doorway as shots thudded into the wood around him.

  For a moment, the battle appeared to be in a stalemate, neither side able to launch an effective attack since no one was willing to reveal themselves to the other’s lethal armaments. The impasse was about to be broken by the most unlikely of allies.

  Ashlea projected herself out of one of a dozen pieces of mage glass Russel had spent the entire day placing and connecting with techno-scribings and jury-rigged circuits of copper and shimmersilk wiring. Her ethereal form lit up the deck as she keened like a banshee, instilling terror in the intruders.

  Men fled and uselessly fired their weapons at Ashlea’s incorporeal body. Drawing on the power of her arcanstone hidden below, she unleashed tiny bolts of lightning through the various stones on deck. The strikes were not lethal or even debilitating, but they stung and, coupled with her ghostly appearance, served to drive the men out of their cover, giving Russel clear shots at their exposed forms.

  Russel shot the man nearest him the moment he exposed his position, dropping him to the deck.

  “Forget the ghost!” another man shouted, recognizing the greater source of danger. “Rush him before he can reload!”

  It would have been a successful move against an ordinary shooter with an ordinary weapon. Russel simply rotated the next barrel in the assembly in line with the breech, raised the weapon, and shot the man giving orders in the face as he charged forward. After the third man died in twice as many seconds, the charge turned into a retreat followed by a rout. The three remaining survivors sprinted for the railing, no longer willing to sell their lives on what was now a hopeless endeavor. Only one made it.

  Russel watched the lone survivor hurl himself over the rail. The man slid down the rope used to board the airship only a little slower than if he had simply jumped, heedless of the burns the line caused to his hands.

  The young techno-arcanist turned back to his rucksack, set the multi-barrel on the deck, and locked a long, single barrel into the breech. He walked almost sedately to the rail and searched the area around the airship, spotting the darker silhouette of a man just as he disappeared around a mound of rubble.

  Russel knew the position of every rock, skitter lizard nest, and pathway around the airship as he never forgot even the slightest detail of anything he saw, heard, or read. Calculating the easiest and swiftest path of retreat, he lowered a second lens attached to his leather cap in front of his bad eye. Several chips of mage glass lit up at a touch, and the dark landscape came into light as if it were noon on a dusty day.

  He only caught an occasional glimpse of the fleeing man as he darted between trash and rubble piles, but he held to the path Russel had theorized in his mind. Estimating his present speed, Russel took aim at a break between mounds another twenty yards farther out from his last sighting of the man, counted to four, and stroked the trigger.

  ***

  Kiera’s hand clenched and unclenched around the haft of her baton as she mentally urged the carriage to move faster than the breakneck speed at which it was already traveling. Half a dozen men clung to the sides riding on the running boards, swaying dangerously around every corner and bump in the road. She wasn’t sure if they would be enough to thwart a concerted attack, but it was all Cleary could arrange with only a few minutes’ notice.

  The carriage careened around the corner as it entered the large dumping area in which she lived. The driver reined in the pair of horses as the roadway, already in disrepair in keeping with the standards of Blindside, became a pathway of scattered stone and debris.

  The driver and some of the men riding on the running boards shouted a warning as someone burst out from behind a pile of rubble just a score of yards ahead of them. The man had a frantic look in his eyes as he raised his hands over his head and shouted for help. Kiera leaned through the window to look just in time to see the man’s head burst like an overripe melon.

  She heaved the door open, knocking a man from the running boards, and leapt out at a dead run toward the airship. “Wesley, Russel!”

  Kiera clambered up the hillock of broken rock, bricks, and timbers shouting for her friends, ignoring the dead bodies lying at the base in her fear-fueled dash. She aimed her grapnel gun at the mainmast, and launched herself onto the deck.

  She spotted Russel hunched over a large pack as he stowed items away. Seeing him unhurt, Kiera finally took notice of the numerous corpses littering the deck. She darted to the rail, leaned over, and counted the bodies she had passed in her hurried dash.

  “Russel, what in the Tormented Plane happened here?” she demanded as she strode toward him.

  Russel stood and shouldered his heavy pack. “They weren’t allowed on my airship. It’s mine. They didn’t have permission.”

  “Yeah, I get that, but—” she waved her hand at the bodies “—what the shit?” she screamed.

  Russel looked at Kiera, but his gaze seemed to drift out to the horizon. “They came to hurt us. No one gets to hurt us anymore. Father hurt us. They came to hurt us. Now they can’t hurt anyone.” He began rocking back and forth as his fingers danced. “They don’t get to hurt us. They don’t get to hurt us. They don’t get—”

  Kiera reached out and gently stilled his hands. “No one gets to hurt you, Russel. Not again. But how did you do this?” She released his hands.

  “You said I needed to secure the airship. I secured the airship. No one’s allowed without permission.”

  Kiera’s mouth hung open as she tried to come to grips with what had happened. Russel decided the conversation was over, turned away, opened the door to his kingdom, and disappeared.

  She ran to the portal and beat on the metal. “Where’s Wesley?”

  The door opened back up and Wesley stumbled out as Russel shoved him from behind. The barrier clanged shut once more and the locks slid home.

  Wesley peered over Kiera’s shoulder at the bodies lying on the deck as he brushed off his shirt with his hands. “Well, that was something.”

  “Yeah, it’s called a slaughter! What happened here?”

  “Russel. Russel happened. They got Russeled.”

  Kiera shook her head. “What does that even mean?”

  “He’s a verb now, and we’re just going to have to accept it.”

  “Damn it, Wesley, can you pull your head out of your drug-deluded ass and give me a straight answer?”

  “Apparently, Russel knows how to make guns. Really dangerous guns. And other things. And he has a pet ghost.” He raised his hands and let them fall back to his sides as he shook his head. “I really don’t know what else to say.”

  “Gods, if anyone finds out about this…” Gendarme whistles sounded in the distance. “Crap!”

  Kiera rolled the gangway out and jogged back to the carriage where Cleary and his men waited. They had obviously heard the gendarmes’ approach and dragged the nearest body away.

  “Are your friends OK?” Cleary asked as Kiera came bounding up.

  She shook her head. “They aren’t hurt, but I don’t know if I can say they’re OK. I don’t want to talk about it right now,” she said in answer to his curious look. “The gendarme are a bigger problem at the moment.”

  The gendarme wagon came speeding through the dump entrance and clattered to a stop a few yards away, disgorging several officers who held muskets at the ready. The senior man noted Cleary’s mask and approached him directly.


  “Sah, we had a report of a great deal of musket fire in this area. Can you tell me what happened? Were you attacked?”

  Cleary fumbled for words, but Russel strode out of the darkness and joined the nervous knot of people. “Fireworks. Whoosh, pop, sparkle.”

  “Fireworks!” Kiera hastily translated.

  “Fireworks?” the officer asked.

  “Fireworks.” Russel pulled a small, wooden tube from his pocket, tugged the string dangling from the end, and sent a tiny ball of fire streaking upward where it burst into motes of glittering light. Whoosh, pop, sparkle.”

  “Fireworks,” Cleary confirmed.

  “Can I get your name, sah?” the gendarme asked as he pulled out a small hardbound book.

  “Everly, Lawrence Everly.”

  The officer scrolled through the list of names until he found the name and compared the detailed drawing of the mask next to it with the one Cleary wore. Satisfied, he snapped the book closed and returned it to his inside pocket. “Sah, you know fireworks are a highly controlled item and purchasable only with a special permit. Do you have such a permit?”

  “I’m afraid I do not. It’s why I came all the way out here. I thought my friends and I could do a little celebrating without disturbing anyone. Obviously I was mistaken. Surely we can resolve this without official sanction?” Cleary held up a pouch of coins. “I do apologize for my foolish actions drawing you and your men all the way out here in such a haste. Perhaps I can buy you all dinner and drinks in appreciation of your dutiful service and inconvenience.”

  The officer looked at the purse for several seconds before taking it and slipping it inside his coat. “I think your celebrations are at an end, sah. Please get the required permits next time.”

  “Absolutely. Thank you again, gentlemen.”

  “Hey, boss, we’re still getting paid, right?” one of Cleary’s men asked as the gendarmes rode away in their carriage. “Because there’s a whole lotta bodies by that broken-down airship.”

  “Find a wagon and dispose of them. Send no more than two men to do so. I want the rest of you to keep an eye on the airship in case there’s another attack.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  Cleary turned, looking for Russel, but the boy was gone. “Your friend is certainly an odd little fellow.”

  “You have no idea,” Kiera said. “I thought I did, but now I don’t.”

  “It does not appear that your friends need help defending themselves.”

  “I’d still feel better knowing someone was watching over them.”

  Cleary nodded. “As you wish. We should return to the house.”

  “What do you mean we? No one said anything about me moving in.”

  “Kiera, you are going to require extensive training. We can’t have you trekking across the city every day and getting distracted by more mischief. You came to us because you wanted to learn to be the best you can be, and this is what it will take. Or would you rather try to take on Fred by yourself again?”

  Kiera sighed. “All right, but I need to tell Wesley I won’t be around for a while.”

  “It would be best if he didn’t know what you were doing. We aren’t just teaching you to fight and infiltrate. You will get a completely new identity, one that must be kept secret.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” she snapped.

  Kiera walked back to the airship and saw Russel loading the dead men’s weapons into a handcart. She called out his name, but he pushed the cart around a mound of rubble, and in the half a minute it took Kiera to reach the spot he was gone.

  She shook her head, too tired to dwell on the exhausting task of trying to figure out Russel. Kiera climbed the great mound, paused next to the airship’s hull, and ran her fingers across the dozens of nail heads sticking out of the wood in a wide swath.

  “Russel…” she whispered as she shook her head.

  Kiera clomped up the gangplank and walked into Wesley’s room. She stopped in her tracks at the sound of a gun cocking. “Hey, it’s me!”

  Orange light lit up Wesley’s face as he took a deep drag on his pipe. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”

  “Yeah, I can see why. What actually happened here?”

  “Russel and his ghost killed them all.”

  “How?”

  “With guns and…I don’t know what. I just know they’re dead and we’re alive.”

  “Listen, I’m taking a job.”

  “Maybe it’s time you took a break. Your jobs haven’t been working out well lately.”

  “It’s a different kind of job. It’s regular work with enough pay that we can eat real food, not that ration crap.”

  Wesley sat up straight on his bed. “Don’t tell me you’re going legit.”

  “No, it’s definitely not legit, but it isn’t freelance burglary either. I can’t really talk about it. I just wanted to tell you because I probably won’t be around a lot for a while. Those men I brought, they’re going to help keep an eye on you also.”

  “They can’t come on the airship. Russel will have a fit.” He let out a dark laugh. “And you can see what happens when he has a fit.”

  “No, they’ll be watching the outer perimeter. Just be careful.”

  Wesley said, “I don’t know how Fred is going to take this, but I can’t imagine he’ll take it well.”

  “I don’t know either, but I don’t think we can put ourselves in a worse situation.”

  “You say we, but…”

  “You’re the one who took a bunch of drugs from him and now can’t pay him back!”

  Wesley chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think the drugs or money is the biggest burr up his butt.”

  Kiera let out a long breath. “You’re probably right, and that’s just one more reason it’s better if I put some distance between us.”

  “You won’t tell me what you’re doing?”

  “Can’t.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll find a way you can contact me if you need me.”

  “Yeah, I could maybe leave a note…oh, no, that won’t work.”

  “I can read!”

  “I’ll stick to small words and big letters.”

  “I’ll stick my foot up your ass!” In a softer tone she said, “Keep an eye on Russel. He’s gone from weird to…crazy. Dangerous crazy.”

  Wesley looked down at the floor and nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

  “I’ll come by once I get situated.”

  “OK.”

  Kiera found Cleary at the base of the airship studying the nails driven into the hull. Neither of them said a word as they returned to the carriage. Only once they left the dump behind did Cleary speak.

  “What happened back there?”

  Kiera looked out of the window at the passing buildings. “Just…stuff.”

  “Stuff that got a lot of men killed.”

  “Yeah well, they had it coming.”

  “Do you want to tell me how they died and who killed them?”

  “Nope.”

  “You know you can trust us, right?”

  Kiera responded with a doubtful huff.

  “You have to be careful with keeping secrets,” Cleary continued. “Some are necessary to protect yourself and the people you care about. Others…they’ll eat at you from the inside until there’s nothing left but a hollow shell.”

  She turned her eyes to the man. “Yeah? How many of those do you have hidden behind that mask?”

  It was Cleary’s turn to gaze vacantly out of the window. “More than my share.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Bertram navigated the palace corridors, his boots tapping against the marble floors giving an audible indication of his agitation. He knocked firmly on his uncle’s bedchamber door and waited almost a full minute before it opened, revealing Rastus’ sleep-disturbed face.

  “Bertram? What’s the matter? What time is it?”

  “Late, I’m afraid, or early depending on one’s perspective. I’m sorry for disturbing you at
such an hour, but there was a situation recently and I need clarity before proceeding.”

  “What situation? What happened?”

  Bertram shook his head. “Nothing you need to worry about, and for which you’ll have an answer sooner or later depending on your response. Have you tasked men to follow me about, to keep tabs on me?”

  Rastus drew his head back and furrowed his brow. “Keep tabs on you? Whatever for?”

  “So your answer is no?”

  “Of course it is. Tell me what has happened.”

  The inquisitor wagged his head once more and exhaled loudly. “Something at work. I will tell you about it tomorrow. I need to rest and make some inquiries in the morning.”

  Rastus’ mind finally came fully awake and noted his nephew’s disheveled look and tattered uniform. “Were you in another fight? Who attacked you?”

  “Tomorrow, Uncle. I promise. Go back to bed.”

  Rastus sighed. “I’ll try, but now my mind is in a flux.”

  “Mine too, Uncle.”

  Bertram stalked to his room and undressed, tossing his ruined jacket in the corner before lying atop the blankets covering his bed. He stared at the dark ceiling for what felt like hours and woke in what seemed mere minutes without knowing he had fallen asleep.

  He donned a fresh uniform without bothering to take a bath despite being in dire need of one. His brain and his ego demanded answers, and neither was known for their patience. Skipping breakfast, he left the palace as quickly as he had arrived just a few hours previously.

  Bertram chose one of several cabriolets that frequently waited outside the gates to ferry functionaries about the city. He directed the driver to take him to a section of the city affectionately referred to as Little Thuum. Little Thuum was something of a city state within Velaroth where some four thousand Thuumian refugees had settled after the cataclysm. It occupied a large sector of both eastern Blindside and Midtown with the border of those two districts cutting it almost perfectly in half.