Skykeep

by Joseph R. Lallo

  Matthews stepped out from within the hospital. It was clear in moments that he was a miner. Certain characteristics of the profession were unmistakable, and Matthews had them all. Despite obvious attempts to correct the issue, his fingernails weren’t quite free of grime. He had a subtle stoop to his walk, as though the fact that there was a rough stone ceiling an inch from his head was, at best, a rare departure from the norm. His skin had an almost ghostly pallor, and most sentences ended with a stifled cough. That said, he was dressed nearly as nice as the mayor and had a closely cropped beard and head of hair that suggested he took his appearance seriously.

  “This way please,” he said, not waiting for introductions.

  Matthews paced along the front of the hospital and onto a narrow but well-maintained ledge of stone. The platforms that held the rest of the town extended outward from this ledge. The captain stepped inside the hospital with the mayor, leaving Lil and Nita to follow Matthews to their task.

  “See what I mean about no one paying me no mind?” Lil said. “The captain gets this whole ‘you’re so great’ speech. You’re ‘the intrepid engineer.’ The best I get is a nod.”

  “I’m sure if the captain hadn’t cut him off, the mayor would have had something to say about you,” Nita said.

  “You’re sure of that, are you?” Lil said doubtfully. “Hey, Matthews. You have any idea who I am?”

  “You’re part of the Wind Breaker crew, I assume.”

  “He assumes. See that?” Lil said, more pleased to have proved her suspicions than displeased at not being known. “I’ll bet you know Nita though, right?”

  “I should hope so. I’m supposed to get her to fix the pump for shaft seven,” Matthews said.

  Lil gave Nita a wide “I told you so” grin.

  “I’m glad you’re taking this in stride. I wouldn’t have imagined this would be a smiling occasion,” Nita said.

  “Just because that’s the way it is now don’t mean it won’t change. I got a lot of living to do. Plenty of time to notch up my belt with things worth doing. Until then I’ll spend my time getting ready.”

  The trio circled around the mountain until they came to an impressively large, perfectly flat stretch of stone. It seemed absurd that such a prime piece of real estate would be completely vacant until one noticed all of the tracks and tool marks on the ground. This was clearly a staging area for the mines, and sure enough, not far from where the courtyard began was the first of a series of precisely cut passageways into the stone, some with cart tracks, others without. Matthews led them to the third of the openings, by far the widest, and stopped just inside, where the sun dropped away to blackness. There he grabbed three helmets from hooks on the walls and carefully screwed fist-sized canisters into receptacles in the back. He then grabbed three tags from within a cabinet and pocketed one, handing one each to the others.

  “What’s this?” Lil asked.

  “Everyone who goes in takes a tag. Everyone who comes out puts it back. The number of empty hooks is the number of folks still inside,” Matthews explained. With a twist of a valve and the roll of a knurled knob, a bright blue flame sparked to life behind a glass lens on the front of the helmet, casting light into the darkness. “Watch your heads and watch your step. This shaft has been out of use for some time. There may have been some minor collapses.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open,” Nita said, donning the mining cap and looking over the walls.

  This was the first time she’d been in a mine, but as the steamworks where she’d learned her trade had been bored out of the side of a volcano, she felt strangely at ease surrounded by tool-scarred stone walls. Lil was not quite so comfortable, looking with concern at the retreating point of sunlight behind them as they moved deeper inside.

  “Something wrong, Lil?” Nita asked.

  “I don’t like the idea of being anyplace where there’s only one way out and it ain’t anywhere nearby. I ’specially don’t like it when that place has had ‘minor collapses’ and such, because I don’t much trust ol’ Matthews and me to have the same idea of what counts as minor.”

  “If it sets your mind at ease at all, there are plenty of ways in and out of this shaft. It links to six other shafts, each with their own entrance,” said Matthews.

  “Still don’t do me any good with a mountain sitting on my chest,” Lil said.

  They progressed a bit farther, and the tunnel opened out to reveal an excavated alcove that branched off into a series of other tunnels. This section of the mine seemed quite well made. There were even wooden doors separating carved-out rooms to one side. Matthews stopped in front of one such door and pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, searching for the proper one.

  “What exactly are we meant to repair?” Nita asked.

  “We get most of our fresh water from springs that run throughout this mountain. Unfortunately, sometimes those springs pour right into a shaft. We keep the active shafts drained by using pumps powered by the windmills, but there’s only so much power to go around. This is easily our most productive shaft, but it’s so deep we can’t spare the power to drain it. If we could get one of the old steam-powered pumps going, we could probably double our production.”

  “And you folks can’t fix it yourself?” Lil said. “Seems to me, what with you not having anything else to lose, you’d start trying to figure out how the things work and just get them running on your own.”

  “It’s been tried,” Matthews said.

  “What happened?” Nita asked.

  He shifted his head toward the far wall of the alcove and pointed a finger. They each turned. The combined light of the three helmets revealed a room quite similar to the one they were trying to access, though the word “room” couldn’t really be applied anymore. It looked like a bomb had gone off, rubble from the ceiling piled into the center of the room and the thick front walls were blasted away.

  “Same thing happens just about anytime someone has a mind to work on something the fuggers built. Sometimes they get it running, but never for very long. Once you lose a few friends to faulty workmanship, you stop trying that sort of thing. And in a mine, you can’t afford to have things exploding or you might lose a whole shaft. We are hoping someone with a firm expertize in boiler repair might be able to rebuild the pump without risking another explosion,” Matthews said. He turned back to the door and finally found the key. “There are also those in town who hold out hope that if they walk the line and obey the rules, they can get back in the good graces of the fuggers.”

  “Good luck with that. We’ve had a lot of dealing with the fuggers, and they aren’t the forgiving types. You gotta do them a favor before they’ll so much as look at you,” Lil said.

  Matthews opened the door to reveal a carved-out chamber large enough to fit half of the Wind Breaker inside. About a third of the room was mounded with equipment. Some of it was old and tarnished, some brand new. Mostly it was a jumble of brass piping, with a few massive vats and canisters standing tall in the center. The moment the door had opened, a blast of wind had hit them, rushing out of a darkened tunnel that branched off the main room. As they stepped inside, Lil started sniffing the air.

  “You smell that? I swear I’m getting a whiff of fug in this place,” Lil said.

  Nita sniffed. “Yes… I do get a hint of it myself.”

  “This shaft was dug down deep enough that we punched through to a cave system. It must have an opening in the fug, because the whole system is flooded with the stuff. Shutting the door helps because it cuts down the cross breeze,” he explained, closing the door. Sure enough, the wind settled and the scent of the fug became much more tolerable. “We’ll have to get some men down there to block it up and then try to clear the stuff out, but there’s no sense going through the trouble if you can’t get this gadget working again to keep the work area dry. Can you do it?”

  Nita looked over the mound, taking a mental inventory.

  “You may have all of the parts, but this isn’t reall
y repairing an old pump, this is assembling a new pump,” Nita said.

  Their host removed his helmet and flipped open the lens, then turned a valve on a pipe running along the wall and lit a gas lantern with it.

  “Are you able to do so? The mayor has authorized us to pay you whatever you feel is a fair price.”

  Nita eyed up the equipment. “I suppose with Lil’s help we may be able to get it done in a day. But for a boiler and pump this size, it really isn’t a two-person job. We’ll need some people in here to move some of the larger stuff in place.”

  “It would be a tremendous help to the town,” Matthews said. “If you can get started on the finer tasks, once the current shift in the mines is complete we’ll get a crew in here to help with the heavy lifting.”

  “I say we give it a try, Nita,” Lil said. “Worst we can do is leave them with half a pump or whatever instead of no pump.”

  “There’s no question we’ll try, but we’re only in port for a short time, so if we’re not through by then, it will have to wait for the next time.”

  “Anything you do will be enormously appreciated,” Matthews said. “I’ll leave you to your work. I or one of my associates will be at the entrance of the mine. If you need anything at all, just shout.” He took a step toward the door, then stopped. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was supposed to ask you if there was anything you’d like to eat.”

  “We actually ate not long ago, so—” Nita began.

  “So it can wait a bit, but give us a couple of them big, thick sammiches you make here. With the roasted meat. Fresh stuff, not corned or like that. And put some cheese on there, too. Thick, crusty bread, toasted. And a big glass of milk for each of us,” Lil proclaimed. She turned to Nita. “Always get yourself a glass of milk when you’re on shore leave, because you won’t be getting it on the ship, that’s for sure.”

  “Do they even have cows here?” Nita asked.

  “Nope, but they got goats. Goats do good in the mountains. I grew up on goat’s milk. Good stuff.”

  “Anything else?” Matthews asked.

  “If there’s anything you think goes good with that, pile that on there, too. Thanks a bunch, Matthews!” Lil said.

  Their host nodded and took his leave, shutting the door behind him and retreating with an echo of footsteps. Nita removed her helmet and shut off the flame, Lil following suit. She clipped it to one of the many hooks and clasps on her belt.

  “You should know better than to turn down a free meal on the mainland, Nita,” Lil said. “Good as Butch is, it never hurts to get some fresh stuff in you when you have the chance.” She rubbed her hands together. “Now let’s get started. How do we do this again?”

  “Just break the big job into smaller jobs. In this case, the first job would be identifying all of the pieces to see if we have enough to do the repair.”

  “Right, right. Lemme see if I remember this stuff from last time. This here’s the firebox, right? And that’s the kettle bit. I don’t think I ever seen this flappy part before.”

  Lil held up what looked like the wheel of a miniature paddleboat.

  “You wouldn’t have seen one of those before. That’s an impeller. That’s for the pump, not the boiler. Let’s get this all sorted out to make sure we have what we need…”

  The two women got to work, moving things into piles, chatting happily between pauses to identify and organize.

  #

  Captain West followed Mayor Wilshire up a flight of stairs toward the administrative wing of the hospital, where the mayor kept an office for meetings such as this. The captain found himself pausing every few steps to catch his footing, not because the ground was moving but because it wasn’t. At this point in his life, he had spent more time off the ground than on it, and walking across a floor that didn’t lurch along with its own rhythm always took a few minutes to become accustomed to.

  They reached the appropriate door and pushed it open to find a small but neatly kept office. There was a desk with two chairs and an oil lamp. Most of the walls were hidden behind bookshelves that were used as much for knickknacks as books, but in the bare wall between them a few official documents were on display. The mayor took off his coat and hung it on a varnished wooden rack, offering to take the captain’s as well. Mack waved him off. Both men took a seat in cushioned leather chairs.

  “It is always an honor to host you and your crew in our fair town, Captain. I—”

  “Mayor, I appreciate the song and dance, but I ain’t really one for wasting too many words on patting each other on the back, so if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon get the brass tacks hammered out and be on my way,” Captain Mack said.

  “Of course. A born businessman. Time is money after all,” the mayor said. He cleared his throat. “Now I must say, I was surprised when you approached me a few months ago. It isn’t every day that someone expresses interest in buying an island.”

  “No, I don’t reckon it is.”

  “You’ll understand if I had my doubts regarding your wherewithal to do so. But… well, if what you’ve shown me is representative of the goods you’ve got to offer. Medicines, weapons… so many things the fug folk have never even entertained making available to us… I think it is a foregone conclusion that you’ll have what you need to make the purchase in no time.”

  “You say that, but I haven’t heard a price yet, Mayor.”

  “Captain, there is the matter of the island itself.” The mayor stood and opened a cabinet to find a bundle of long, rolled-up pieces of parchment. “I had to dig into the archives to find the relevant documentation. Ever since we had to shift from airships to traditional ones, we’ve begun to… deemphasize our more distant holdings. Particularly those of the size you’ve indicated.”

  Lock had become the catchall for those cast-off from airship-centric society largely because of its active harbor. Even before the steady flow of former airmen seeking to make a living on the sea, it had kept a small but well-maintained fleet of warships and merchant vessels. As effective as an airship might be, with the exception of the now defunct dreadnought nothing in the sky could ever hope to rival the power and size of a fully equipped battleship. Thus Lock had managed to stake a claim to and defend a scattering of islands stretching out into the sea. Initially those holdings were a part of Westrim, Lock’s home nation, but as more and more of the people who had angered the fug folk accumulated there, Westrim distanced itself more and more from Lock. These days it functioned effectively as a city-state.

  “Any of the islands large enough to support a worthwhile agricultural concern are doing so. The others simply can’t produce enough of any product valuable enough to warrant the time and resources of sending a ship out to them. I wasn’t entirely certain the island you’d indicated was even under our flag any longer.”

  “I can assure you, it’s still under your flag, since I brought the Wind Breaker down there for a spell and your flag was just about the only thing on it.”

  The mayor cleared some room on the center of his desk and unfurled a nautical map. “Forgive me, I’ve never been one for maps. Could you indicate the island to which you are referring?”

  Mack leaned forward and tapped his finger on a spot of black ink that was small and haphazard enough to be mistaken for a stray speck of fly dirt if not for the small, carefully lettered label identifying it.

  “Laylow Island,” the mayor read. He walked to one of the bookcases and selected a thick volume. “Let me see… moderate crop potential. Good elevation. Natural harbor sufficient for two or three large boats or half a dozen small ones. No natural resources to speak of beyond a few fruit trees. Well. It is easy to see why we haven’t been keeping an eye on the place. It is too far from the mainland to be of any use to any trade routes here on Rim. It is too far off course to be of any use to any potential trade with Caldera, even if they decided to open their borders again. It couldn’t support more than ten people by itself. That wouldn’t even feed the crew of the boat it would take t
o reach it.”

  “That’s why I reckon it might be in my price range,” the captain said.

  “We can certainly discuss it, but before we do, I’ve got to ask… not that I’m not grateful, but if you are so interested in it, why didn’t you just claim it and squat there? The chances were good it would have been years before we even found out.”

  “Because I’m an honest man, Mayor. And because it would be a mite troublesome if ten years from now you folks get it in your heads that you’d like a military base there, or this or that, and you come to the place with troops and cannons. Better for all of us if I just see if I can’t do things proper.”

  “What do you see in the place?”

  “I see a place to set down where I ain’t in nobody’s way. A little spot in a corner where me and my crew will be left alone to watch the world go by. The life I been leading is the life of a young man. Most folks don’t do what I do and live as long as I have, and I’m pretty near finished pressing my luck. Getting where I am, doing what I done, I made more than my share of enemies, so living someplace like Lock or Keystone where I’m shoulder to shoulder with folks who might think I done them dirty in the past and who’ve been waiting for a chance to return the favor isn’t likely to be a long-term arrangement. What I’m looking for is a place to hang my hat, warm my bones, and forget my troubles. I’m looking to retire. And my crew has done right by me, so I mean to find a place where they can do the same, if they’ve got a mind to. Laylow fits the bill.”

  “So long as you’re aware of what you’re getting into. Now, based on the relative value to Lock, the acreage of the island, and a few more factors, I believe I can let you have the island for…” He scribbled some figures onto a scrap of paper. “Seven million victors.”

  The captain’s face remained impassive, but he leaned back a bit in his chair.

  “I been working through barter for a bit, Mayor. Forgive me if I don’t remember quite how much, say, a bag of Calderan Sea salt stacks up to a coin with the face of an old man who lost his kingdom to the fug a lifetime ago.”