The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2)

by Joseph Schembrie

  “How about flight status?” Matt asked. “Can the ship be ready in time?”

  “Therein is a problem. The starboard engine is stripped, we'll need to fill the cells, top the tanks, conduct an inspection. I don't know how we do all that without the Leaf's notice, what with their spies watching everything we do.”

  “I can put Savora in charge of the tasks,” Andra said. “She's not being watched. She's not a spy, and she's worth any two men on the work crew.”

  “I do not doubt her ability,” Prin said. “However, the fewer people who know of our plans, the better.”

  “I'll tell her the preparations are for a ground test,” Andra said.

  “Even so – “

  “I think Savora should help,” Matt said, surprised at his vehemence.

  “I will concede as I am outvoted,” Prin said. Shrugging, he glanced at the Leafmen patrolling outside the hangar. “What about the guards? Krobart has given them stern orders not to allow us to fly. A day ago I had angry words with a guard and a sword drawn on me for simply touching a mooring line.”

  Matt hesitated. On the way in, he'd noticed that the number of guards had been doubled. He didn't want to fight the Leaf, and that it would be Carrot who would be doing the fighting didn't make him feel better.

  Before he could say anything, Andra exclaimed, “Archimedes will be able to handle the guards!”

  “He's rather old for fighting, don't you think?” Prin asked.

  “What I meant is, if anyone can, he can conceive of a way to steal the ship despite the guards.”

  “I knew what you meant, dear.”

  Andra patted Prin, and said to Matt, “Matt, you know what you want to do. You should be the one to speak to him.”

  “Who? You mean, Archimedes?”

  “Yes. I then will speak to Savora. Prin, perhaps you could speak to Geth? I think it would be good to have him along too.”

  “This is Matt's affair, dear. He should make the decisions.”

  “I agree with Andra,” Matt said. “Talk to Geth, Prin. I'll talk to Archimedes. Let's do this.”

  “Imagine, Prin!” Andra exclaimed. “We are about to journey to the other side of the world!”

  “Or crash into the sea,” Prin murmured.

  “Dear, will you hold my hands as we go down?”

  Matt didn't think that was as funny as Prin did.

  Matt immediately went to the hut that Archimedes was using as an office. The door was closed and barred. When he knocked, he heard a hasty rustling of papers within. Bok opened the door with a cold appraisal while Archimedes stood at the table, whose top other than a lantern was bare – which made no sense to Matt, as he knew that Archimedes lived for clutter.

  “I'd like to speak to you in private,” Matt said. “It's very important.”

  Archimedes bade Bok to depart, and Matt explained their intentions. As he spoke, Matt noticed the old man's sagging expression, the labored breath, the weariness in the eyes. There were times he forgot how old Archimedes was. Since his coming to Britan, however, the years seemed to have caught up.

  Matt concluded: “So, do you have any ideas about how we can pull this off?”

  Archimedes stroked his beard. “A few thoughts.”

  He took a blank sheet of paper and began making sketches, providing a running narration as he did so. When he finished outlining the plan, he went behind the stove and grunted as he dragged a satchel into view. He opened the drawstrings to reveal a mound of silver coins imprinted with the image of the former Emperor Hadron.

  “I had this hidden amid the ballast of the ship,” Archimedes said. “Alas, thanks to Geth, the other two thirds reside at the bottom of the Yuro Sea, but there's over a hundred kilos here. You should find it to be of use on your journey.”

  Matt caught the inference. “You're not coming?”

  “I'm an old man, Matt. The journey here heavily exhausted me, I cannot imagine the stress of an expedition to the other side of the world. It is an opportunity that I have dreamt of and would almost give my life for, but at the same time I can clearly see that I would only be in the way.”

  Matt sensed the fatigue in the earnest look. Prior to Ne'arth, he had never been in the presence of people old enough to die of 'natural causes.' Back on Earth, people died from accidents or because they wanted to die. No one died against their wishes simply because their body was breaking down.

  In addition to empathy, Matt felt more than a little terrified.

  “Are you sure you'll be all right alone here?”

  “I won't be alone, Matt. I have Bok and Senti and Tret and Layal and . . . well, I suppose that's all I have. But it's enough to take care of one old man. You and Carrot are who we need to worry about, going off on these dangerously unknown adventures of yours.”

  Matt stared at the floor, realizing that Archimedes might not be there when he came back, trying to think of something appropriate to say. “Meeting you was one of the best things that has happened to me since – ”

  “Don't start with that, Star Child, or Carrot will become jealous.”

  Archimedes rolled out a small wagon and with more grunting attempted to place the satchel on top. Matt ended up doing all the lifting. Archimedes handed him the sheaf of sketches.

  “Good luck on your journey, Matt.”

  Archimedes clasped Matt's hands and smiled. Feeling horribly awkward, Matt smiled and bowed back, and that was their parting.

  In that evening's twilight, Matt met with the others in the seclusion of the woods north of the base and they reviewed the plan that Archimedes had developed. Andra reported on ship preparations, Prin reported that Geth refused to come on the principle that he had a sworn duty to the Leaf. Carrot was downcast at that news.

  Mirian sniffed and cried, “Silver! Sweet silver!” She opened the satchel and kneaded the coins. “Haddies, Norian! Did you ever see so many?”

  “They're for the mission, Mirian,” Norian said.

  “I know that. I know that.” Mirian sighed and sealed the satchel.

  Past midnight and with 'shadows' evaded, they made rendezvous at the edge of the woods by the hangar. Mirian knelt, opened a jar, and dipped an arrow halfway into it. With a flick of flint, the arrow head and shaft caught fire. She aimed high. Loosed, the flame arched through the dark sky and embedded onto the thatched roof of the supply hut.

  The fire rapidly spread across the roof and the interior of the hut belched smoke. Guards scurried and shouted. Archimedes had said to Matt that the guards were greatly fearful of the explosive reputation of hydrogen gas, and he hadn't exaggerated.

  Norian's turn was next. He raced across the clearing to a portion of the fence facing away from the fire. With a few deft chops of an ax, he splintered a plank, creating a gap before the others caught up. They slipped through, Carrot with the coin satchel slung over her shoulder. There was no need to chop a hole in the side of the hangar, for Matt had left a window unlatched earlier that afternoon. He climbed in, unbarred and opened the rear door for the others.

  The workers had quit for the day hours earlier and the guards had evacuated with the alarm of fire. The airship gondola rested on the floor, its balloon grounded by ballast and tightly secured by a score of mooring lines. Light from the fire flickered through the front doors and played against the envelope, which reflected a dim glow through the dark interior of the hangar.

  With the benefit of Ivan's sensors, Matt's eyes saw into the infrared. He readily perceived that a figure was standing near the starboard engine, working with a wrench inside the open housing. Savora started at his approach and squinted in the darkness.

  “Is that you, Matt?” she asked.

  “What are you doing here?” Matt asked.

  “I told Andra I wouldn't leave until the engine was fixed and I found more problems.” She glanced at the others. “I knew it! You're planning to steal the ship, aren't you?”

  “Not steal,” Norian said. “It's rightfully the property of Carrot and the
Wizard.”

  Matt knew there was no time for debating legal points. “How much longer will it take to repair the engine?”

  “Hours,” Savora said. “The piston rings are a mess and they all have to be replaced.”

  “We can't wait hours,” Prin said, glancing toward the burning hut. “The guards may return before then. Matt, what are we to do?”

  Before Matt could respond, Savora said, “You can still leave now. The engine can be repaired while the ship is in the air. Take me with you and I will do it for you.”

  “I don't – “ Matt began.

  “Take me with you! I want to go! I can help!”

  Matt felt that he was being pushed into something. More, he sensed that it was highly improbable that Savora would 'just happen' to be working on the engine at that very moment when they were attempting to hijack the ship. Despite his suspicions, however, he felt an overwhelming sense that even without the pretext of the engine repair, Savora would be needed on the mission and that they had to bring her along.

  “All right, you can come,” Matt said, yet somehow it felt like someone else was saying it.

  Savora slammed the housing and Andra helped her carry the tools inside the gondola. Mirian stood watch at the threshold while the men and Carrot undid the lanyards that secured the Sarkassian-silk roof. The foil limply slumped to drape against one wall, revealing a sky of stars blotted by clouds whose bellies were lit orange by the supply hut conflagration.

  While the others boarded the gondola, Norian drew his sword and hacked at the mooring lines, one swift swipe for each. The ship's structure creaked with the shift in stresses. Mirian left her watchpost and joined her husband to contemplate the looming underside of the balloon.

  “It looks top-heavy for a ship, Norian. Does it really fly?”

  “Get in and you'll see!” Norian snapped.

  He scooted her with himself inside the gondola and Matt gave a shouted, “Go!” and Prin released the ballast levers, spilling water onto the hangar floor. The ship groaned as the hangar doors burst open wide and, silhouetted by fire, several sword-wielding guards burst in.

  They were too late. The gondola swayed as it ascended past the walls of the hangar and into the open night. Inside the forward cabin, Matt steadied himself and slipped forward, helping Prin and Andra with switch and valve settings. He almost bumped into Savora, who was assisting as well. Norian and Carrot stowed the satchel of silver and inventoried the other gear. Mirian was the only person aboard who was not busy. She pressed her face to the window and stared with wide eyes at the expanding view and had nothing to say.

  Soon there was nothing for any of them to do but watch. The base dwindled below as a bucket brigade tackled the supply hut fire while a scattering of soldiers of the Leaf helplessly gaped upward at the receding ship.

  Archimedes was standing by the entrance of his hut. He watched for a moment, then turned and walked back inside.

  This is it, Matt thought. We're on our way. He wondered if any of them would see Ravencall again. He felt he was sending them all to their deaths, and he had never wanted more to not be the Wizard.

  Higher they rose, with sparks from the fire serving as escort. The breeze drifted them away from the base, above the moonlit forests that spanned all around to the horizon. In the preindustrial silence, the stars gleamed crisp through the cold air.

  9.

  One of the plants in the upper tier of the Abbey garden looked dry. Lachela tilted the water can and sprinkled a sip. Watching the moisture seep into the soil, she reclined in the lounge chair and nodded with satisfaction at another afternoon's work well done.

  Down in the valley, the orphanage girls were gathering the harvest. Since sunrise, they had ascended ladders, stretching to pluck apples from the highest branches. Lachela remembered what the labor was like, for she had done it every season since she was eight. They would work until sunset, then the next day do it again.

  As she reflected, Lachela nibbled on the cookies that Cook had baked upon request. Not quite sugary enough. She could change her sensation of the flavor with a mere wish, but that seemed the lazy way. She would have words with Cook. It was only justice for the times Cook had harangued her while Lachela had peeled potatoes on kitchen duty.

  Finishing the plate, Lachela waved to the Superior, who was passing by on the path one level below. “Naress, be good and return this to the kitchen, would you?”

  The Superior bowed and hastily retreated with the plate.

  Lachela arose, gazing about the landscape of the Abbey. Klun's gardens were so lovely from above! She had only seen its fences and hedges in her previous life, and she pitied the girls she saw walking together on the lowest levels of paths, who had never a chance to see a better world.

  She descended the steps to speak with them, but they rapidly dispersed with her approach. She felt a twinge of loneliness, but shrugged it off. She had never placed much value on friendship, for who had cared about her when she was plain and sickly and of no account?

  As she strolled among the roses, she heard the tower bells ring for chapel. Would she attend? She decided not. She had no interest in listening to an old priest prattle about demonism while casting sharp glances in her direction.

  She reached the main path and returned to the orphanage. Instead of the common sleeping rooms, she headed upstairs to what was now her private room, formerly the assistant superior's room. Flopping on the bed, she moaned at the luxury of the soft mattress. Then she heard a girl talking below, a distance from the window. I wish I could hear what she is saying.

  “. . . And she's so full of herself now, she's even got Superior running errands for her. But do you know what she really is? Nothing but a slut and whore!”

  I no longer wish to hear her voice. Lachela continued to hear the girl, however, for to cease wishing something is not the negation of a wish – and, like any genie, the demon was one for the literal.

  I wish that my hearing would return to normal strength. There, that did it.

  Reflecting on the evils of gossip, Lachela contemplated revenge against the girl. An outbreak of hives? Perhaps only a wart . . . perhaps it would be best to let the matter go. Rumors were already flying that Lachela was a witch, and the little ones were frightened. And anyway, what punishment could she inflict that would rival being stuck in the orphanage in the first place?

  In the quiet, the demon spoke: “Lachela, I would like to discuss the release of Matt.”

  Lachela pretended not to hear. She gazed at the floral pattern of the curtains, the wisps of cloud in the sky, the feathers of a bird perched on the building next door. After all these weeks, she still found wonder in the newfound acuity of her vision.

  The demon was persistent: “Lachela, I would like to discuss – “

  “Can it wait?”

  “It has waited.”

  “I have commanded you not to discuss this subject. Why will you not be silent?”

  “I am sorry, Lachela. He is my primary host, and my directive to serve him overrides my directive to serve you.”

  “I'm still thinking of what to do. Now, be quiet. It is very difficult to think when a demon is constantly chattering in one's head. I can't help you if I can't think. Understand?”

  “Understood,” the demon replied. “However, again, I am not a demon. I am a neural implant matrix.”

  At least he shut up, granting Lachela time to think. What to think, that was the problem. Surely not about the Matt! The reason not to do so was precisely because he was the primary host. If she enabled the Matt to escape, the demon would go over to him, leaving Lachela as before to the mendacity of the world. And that was unthinkable.

  What to think, what to think. Well, she all but ruled the orphanage, so perhaps it was time to plot a takeover of the Abbey entire . . . .

  Lachela heard a light tapping. Interruptions!

  “Come in!”

  The maid entered and bowed. With eyes averted, the girl said, “You are requested
at the Archbishop's Residence this even at five, for the entertainment of a guest of importance.”

  “Inform the Archbishop that I will come. You are dismissed.”

  The girl backed away, almost stumbling in her nervousness. Summoning her personal servant, Lachela had a bath poured. After toweling herself, she spent a moment surveying the selection in her closet, choosing a vermillion dress with lace and frills. She combed her hair, spritzed her neck, and smiled at the reflection she'd almost become used to.

  The guard at the Residence had seen her many times before, as she was the Abbey's most popular 'Girl.' He bowed respectfully, acknowledging her higher if unofficial 'rank' in the hierarchy of the Abbey. Lachela sauntered into the Archbishop's office. Today's client was an older, well-dressed gentlemen.

  Lachela glazed a smile and sought to make eye contact rather than dwell on his wrinkled and blotched skin, thinning hairline, drooping jowls, and worst of all, leering smile.

  “This is Sir Kenwol,” the Archbishop said. To the man: “And this is the one whom you requested, the Lady Lachela.”

  Kenwol grinned a row of crooked teeth and kissed both her hands. “My dear, the descriptions in Victoriana do not do justice!”

  “Why thank you, sir!” Lachela replied musically, resisting the urge to clench her jaw. She delivered her stock line: “I do so enjoy the company of a distinguished older man!”

  Taking his arm, she led him into the 'Entertainment Parlor.' She cast a sharp glance at the Archbishop. He coughed and excused himself.

  As soon as Lachela closed the door, her client lunged, clutching her with a smothering embrace, breathing hotly and pungently upon her face.

  “I've heard so much about the marvelous things you do!” he cried. “Let's do them all!”

  Smile vanished, Lachela touched the side of his neck and thought, I wish he was in a trance.

  Kenwol shut his eyes, lowered his chin and dropped his arms. Lachela guided him to the couch and shoved him into sitting position. While he remained frozen in pose, she patted his pockets. The wallet was in his vest. She counted seven kilo notes, put five back. She took a business card; it would go into her collection.