by Kent Davis
Big Shem and Little Shem led a bucket brigade from below. Up on the forecastle Cram, Athena, and the captain beat at the raging fire with blankets, coats, whatever was at hand. Frog Jerky and Pol the Gizzard yelled at the bystanders, pleading for help.
Henry tottered down the stairs and through the crowd on the wharf. A giant hand of heat pushed at him. As he reached the gangway, someone grabbed him from behind and whirled him about. Skillet held his arm, soot-black face tracked with tears. “She’s lost!” he yelled. “Get back!” Henry could barely hear him over the fire. He struggled, but the old steward’s grip was stone.
“I must get closer!” Henry pointed up at Fat Maggie, the figurehead, just in time to see the captain, Athena, and Cram jump over the edge into the water below.
Skillet shook his head and dragged Henry back the way he came.
Then the mast cracked. It was a pistol shot, if the pistol was the size of the wharf.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the mainmast leaned. It was falling. Time slowed, and every eye on the wharf, even Skillet’s, tracked it. That was probably why he didn’t see Henry’s crutch fly up to strike him square between his legs.
“Sorry!” There was nothing else to say. At the edge of the gangplank, the heat of the fire stopped him. He had little time.
Henry wrapped his sleeve around his hand and drew a sealed pewter pot out of his coat, then popped off the little wax lid. Balderston’s Vapors was a complex equation, and he was drained already; but he had to risk it. He cleared his mind and triggered his Source, the force of it bringing him to his knees. A rushing sound surrounded him, and a whirling rope of fire—all of it—spiraled from the Thrift toward Henry and into the impossibly little jar. It was too much fire. Without a heat sink it would scorch him to cinders. He stepped off the dock. The water closed over him, the heat of the fire spreading from the little flask into the surrounding cool. The serpent of fire, however, still spiraled down into the jar, whirling through a cone of vapor moving so quickly it held the water at bay. Faster and faster he guided the fire and the air that fed it into the jar, now glowing an eye-searing crimson.
The tail of the fire hurtled over the brim.
The jar cracked and went dark.
Henry couldn’t breathe.
He sank into the sea.
CHAPTER 3
No trace of the package can be found throughout the colonies, despite the best efforts of numerous agents. We have exhausted our capacity for inquiry. I am sorry to report that the package has disappeared.
—Chemystral missive from M. Hearth, Bluestockings,
to Lord Godfrey Boyle, Sc.D., Worshipful Order of Grocers
“Apple, Ruby Teach?” Rool’s voice pulled her out of her doze into blackness. Rough fabric scraped the tip of her nose.
“Thank you, but something seems to be blocking my mouth.”
Rool chuckled. “Pride perhaps? Or a touch of anger?”
She made a face at the burlap. “A cursed sack, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Here.” There was a snick, and something moved toward her. Light crept in under her chin, and scarred fingers appeared, holding a slice of apple. She fought hard to not flinch. It smelled delicious, even over the soapy scent of Rool’s fingers. She considered biting them but didn’t. She had to cooperate.
The apple slice was sweet and crisp on her teeth, and then it was gone.
The carriage rattled and bounced. The hours ground past. The flip of cards sounded on the leather seat, punctuated occasionally by the two other reeves arguing over the stupid rules.
Finally the carriage slowed, and then it crept up a steep incline.
Horses whickered, and calls echoed outside. The carriage stopped.
Powerful machinery clashed and ground somewhere up ahead, and then the coach moved forward again but only for a few moments.
The door opened, and a chill wind rushed in, along with the bustle and noise of busy people about their business.
“Come, Ruby Teach. I have a surprise for you,” Wisdom Rool said, and held both of her hands in one of his. He guided her down the steps of the carriage onto flat, hard earth. “Look to your eyes,” he said, and whisked the bag from her head. She squinted as the sun shot in.
Through the blur she caught a glimpse of high gray walls and cold blue sky.
“Welcome home,” said Wisdom Rool.
The dirt yard was crowded with boys and girls standing in ranks, all in gray. They held a single pose with varying degrees of success: crouched on one foot, knee bent to chest, with the other leg stuck out long, heel hovering. Hands clasped behind their necks. Besides a chestnut-haired girl in the front who had the knack of the thing, the rest were wobbling and flopping like fish on a deck. One boy, about Ruby’s age, panted in and out through his clamped teeth, clenched hands wound up in his white hair. He fell over onto the ground but scrambled right back into position, grunting under his breath. All of them stared straight ahead, eyes on a woman with a blaze of red hair at the front. She held the same position, still as carven stone.
Beyond the crowd, two reeves were sparring, spinning and kicking with hummingbird grace. A mountain of a man rushed a slight, pale woman with short black hair. She was cornered, and Ruby was sure the man had her until she leaped up sideways and planted her feet on the side of the wall. Where she stood, parallel with the ground. It was an impossible thing, and no one in the yard gave it a second glance. As the man rushed past her, she planted her hand on his shoulder and spun over him in a cartwheel. Flushed with triumph, she looked up across the yard, and her eyes met Ruby’s. She nodded as if Ruby were an old friend. Then she turned away to help her partner up.
Ruby blinked. “All this for me? Kind of you. Do they do parties as well?”
Rool chuckled. “Not exactly.” He turned to the bald reeve from the carriage. “Cole?”
“Yes, Lord Captain?”
“Please take over for Ward Corson.”
“My pleasure, sir.” He gave Ruby a grin, ran up next to the woman, and folded into a motionless replica of her pose, save for the cool, clear smile on his face. The woman unwound herself and trotted over to bow to the lord commander.
“Edwina Corson, Ruby Teach,” said Rool.
Green eyes flicked over her, leaving Ruby feeling plucked, weighed, and shelved.
“You will be instructing Ruby Teach as a new Reeve cadet in all manners.”
“Sir—”
“She is our prisoner, yes, but I have spent time with this girl; she may be an asset to us.”
“Doctor Swedenborg—”
“Leave him to me,” said Rool.
“Yes, sir,” Corson said. “Trained in all manners.” Her eyes snapped back to Ruby’s, then to Rool’s. “Would you like us to begin now?”
Rool chuckled. “Tomorrow, I think. Are the quarters I requested ready?”
“The cell, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely, though I still believe bunking with the other cadets would—”
“This is how it shall be.”
“Yes, sir.” Edwina Corson bowed and made her way back to her charges, who were now performing some kind of hopping dance, aping the grinning Cole.
“I am so excited to learn from her. Soon I will be a whooooole new girl,” Ruby piped in her best urchin’s voice. Rool smiled and began to walk. She kept up.
“Who was that?” Bald-faced curiosity first. Who knew what stray information it could drum up?
“She is Ward Corson, one of your teachers.”
“Ward?”
“Call them all ward. And you are a cadet.”
Fair enough. “What is this place?”
The big man did not answer as he stalked across the courtyard. Ruby took it in, searching for weaknesses. The palisade walls were gray wood of some kind, patrolled by men and women in Reeve blacks. Next to the stable loomed a big three-story log building. There were no guards on the front door; that seemed good, until Ruby passed a few people in the hallway and reali
zed something: besides the gray-clad girls and boys Rool had called cadets, everyone else was in black.
This was a fortress of reeves.
Her mouth went dry as they passed two more reeves, who bowed to their lord captain. There were no official jailers here, no hardhearted overseers. What need was there for turnkeys when the entire place was a prison? Ruby chewed on that as Rool led her down a long hallway to a door.
“This is where you will sleep,” said Wisdom Rool, and he stood there, waiting.
He wanted her to ask him. Very well, she would. “What’s this about?” She could not bring herself to call him Lord Captain, and she wouldn’t be caught dead calling him Wisdom. “Where are my irons? My cage? Am I not an enemy of the crown?”
Rool matched her theatricality, glancing up and down the corridor, an overcareful conspirator. “You trusted me, Ruby Teach. Back on the Grail when you almost threw yourself to your death for your friends. I gave you my word that I would release your people. I took you under my care, and I want to train you. I am loath to waste an opportunity.”
“Opportunity?” He looked at her, waiting. “You said a war. You said you wanted me so you could win a war.”
He leaned back against the wall of the hallway. “All in good time.” His empty eyes ranged up and down the hall. “Think it through, Ruby. Freedom of movement. Your own cell instead of a crowded dormitory. The tutelage of the Reeve. If there is one thing I have learned since I met you, it is that you have the makings of a consummate spy. I have positioned you so that you may infiltrate the laboratory of Doctor Swedenborg, who will be leading the effort to extract the secret you carry. I want you to steal that secret for yourself. And for me, of course.”
“You want me to steal it for myself?” He nodded. “And then give it to you.”
“Yes.”
“And what will you do with it?”
He smiled. It stilled her breath. “I need a catalyst, Ruby Teach. Someone like me. Someone who starts fires. And since I need you”—he snapped his scarred fingers—“I must have you trained.” The way he was looking at her, like a prize pig at a fair: she did not like it.
He nodded, as if hearing her unspoken questions. “If you refuse, or worse, if you fail, well then, you will sacrifice your one protector in a den of wolves. There is more than one person in Fort Scoria who will be delighted if you fall short of the mark.” He crouched to chuck her under her chin like a grandfather.
She whipped her head back, avoiding his touch.
She swallowed her rage. Best to play his game for now. “No. No. I will do what you say.”
He showed her his teeth. “Excellent! I see great things in your future, Ruby Teach!” He walked down the hall, whistling a jig. “Great things!”
Ruby opened the door behind her.
The room was close, well made, and exceedingly secure. It reminded her somewhat of her hidey-hole on the Thrift, but it was no refuge. The gray wood walls had not been constructed to keep people out. They were there to keep her in. A single barred window hung above the straw pallet, which lay upon a flagstone floor. The view from the window was beautiful: a sheer vertical drop down to a river valley hundreds of feet below. Her hidey-hole had been a refuge, a calm, quiet secret in the heart of the Thrift, but its silence had lain surrounded by the steady beat of the waves, the creak of footsteps on the deck above, the scattered laughter of her father and the crew. Here there was no family. Her heart rang in the silence.
She pulled her feet up under her knees. The cold of the stone floor crept in. The empty walls stared back. What had she done?
CHAPTER 4
Place yourself at the disposal of Doctor Swedenborg, and assist him in his all of his endeavors. Despite his quirks, he is a Treasured Asset to the Crown. Please consider this an Order.
—Enciphered Letter, James Stanhope, Lord High Intelligencer,
to Wisdom Rool, 1718
There was no introduction. No orientation.
Someone pounded on her door. “Teach! Break your fast and hit the yard!” That was all.
Ruby struggled out of bed. She had slept poorly under the scratchy wool blanket, and she hopped from foot to foot on the cold stone floor. A gray getup had been left outside the door, and she pulled it on. It was simple: breeches and a homespun shirt. She got turned around in the twisting passages and lost precious minutes. By the time she found the dining hall a line of cadets was filing out the other door, already having broken their fasts. She cast a longing look at a half-eaten apple, rushed to the end of the line and then out into the yard.
No one spoke to her.
Ward Cole, head freshly shaved, waved Ruby over to the back corner of a formation of cadets. What followed was hours of grueling physical effort. Jumping back and forth on top of poles that had been sunk into one corner of the courtyard. Cadets in pairs, one carrying the other on their shoulders across the yard, then switching for the carry back. Ruby paired up with a wiry girl whose white hair matched that of the boy she had seen yesterday. They didn’t speak the whole time. Well, there wasn’t much time for breathing, let alone speaking. Perhaps if she just keeled over? She thanked Providence for Gwath and his training.
At least Gwath’s relentless instruction had made her body strong and her balance true enough to be able to survive the grueling pace. It still hurt to think about her former master sharping and thieving. He had been dear to her, an ally and a friend, and his loss was still an open wound. Worse, he seemed to have been the only one who could have explained a strange discovery: she had recently, completely unintentionally transformed into a barrel. Ridiculous and impossible, but it was true. Ruby was convinced that the changing was part of the secret everyone was so keen to get at.
All morning her mind kept returning to Gwath. Her teacher had fallen to Wisdom Rool defending her escape from the Thrift months ago. Was he alive, imprisoned somewhere like her? Was he lying at the bottom of the ocean, food for fishes? Rool had hinted that he knew more about Gwath but had said nothing since Ruby had turned herself over to him. She used the anger to push herself harder, to help her run faster.
The unsettling part? Even with her training and her anger, she could barely keep up.
A few boys and girls shone, lifting more and running faster than all the rest. The girl with chestnut hair was one of them, long limbs flashing, curls pulled tight on the back of her head. The rest of the cadets formed a kind of pack, jockeying for position behind the leaders. All morning long Ruby fought with all her will and all her fire to stay out of the rear.
What was this madness? Some sick joke? Bring children to a far-off mountain just to turn them into piles of quivering paste? And where was Rool? She snuck looks at the walkways atop the palisades, but no sign of him. Was he watching from some secret platform? Weighing her worth? Testing her mettle? Ruby had no idea, but whatever this test was, it would not find her wanting.
Someone else looked on from a walkway, however.
Thin. All in white. The turned-up collar of his long coat and his broad-brimmed hat screened his face, but he was watching her. She could feel it. After more than an hour he disappeared into the main building.
With the sun high in the sky, Ward Cole called them all over to a corner between the main hall and the thick gray wood palisade. The cadets moved like a school of fish or a herd of deer, shifting as one. Covered in sweat, legs shaking, Ruby followed at the back of the crowd. She found a perch on some boxes so she could see.
Two ropes snaked down the side of the building. Ward Corson and Ward Cole stood at the bottom facing the cadets. They were of a height, but the muscled red-haired woman was half again as wide as the skinny bald man.
Ward Corson stood with one hand on the rope. “Are you tired?”
Nods traveled the group. Several cadets were bent over, hands on their knees. Two had been sick while jogging over. No one paid it any mind.
“Tired is good. Focus on that. Let everything else drop away. Let the work burn away your need for water, you
r yearning for your beds. Your anger at the wards.” Breathless laughter rippled through the herd. “It is the Void for which you search. It is the emptiness that fuels us. The Tinkers have what they call the Source, their name for the life energy that catalyzes their amazing works of science. But they use it like a tool, like a hammer or a saw. A reeve does not manipulate.” She twisted her hands like kneading dough. “A reeve channels. A reeve is a vessel.” She clapped her hand to her chest. “This. Is waiting to be filled. If you are not empty, the great deeds will not find you.”
For a pitch, it was pretty good. But the carnival barkers in New Roanoke were better.
Cole grabbed the other rope.
“Two goals. Firstly, climb to the top as quickly as you can. More important, you must reach the top together. Use the wall, your hands, your feet, anything and everything. Questions?”
An older boy, sturdy and muscled, raised his hand.
“Stump,” said Edwina Corson.
He looked scared. “Ward Corson, er—what if we fall?”
Corson turned. “Ward Cole? What if Stump falls?”
The younger man nodded, as if this were a very interesting question. “You should probably land on your feet.”
Ruby laughed. No one else did. The yard glared at her. She forced herself to stare back.
“Yes, well,” Cole said. The two wards turned to the wall. They scurried up the ropes like spiders and then over the top. Somebody whistled, a low, respectful sound.
The chestnut-haired girl clapped her hands. “You heard them,” she said, and she grabbed one of the ropes. The big cadet, Stump, went to grab the other, but the fierce little white-haired boy beat him to it.
Ward Cole leaned over the edge of the roof, high above. “Go!” he yelled.
The two cadets scrambled upward, the girl using her feet on the wall, the boy with his legs wrapped around the rope. Quick as two sailors before a storm.
Two by two the cadets raced up, until Ruby and the white-haired girl were the only ones left.
Ruby stuck out her hand. “Teach.”
