Ship of Smoke and Steel

by Django Wexler

  I shrug, uncomfortably. “You’ve got what you wanted.”

  “I have indeed. The Butcher was kind enough to wager the fate of Pack Nine on the contest, so she has grudgingly agreed to accept my terms. As of now, you are under my protection.” He repeats the bow in Meroe’s direction. “Welcome, Princess.”

  “Just ‘Meroe,’” she says, voice guarded. She still doesn’t trust Zarun.

  “Of course,” he murmurs, turning back to me. “As pack leader, you’ll be responsible for choosing your own hunts.”

  “With your … advice, I imagine.”

  “I strive to be helpful, with you being so new.” Zarun smiles. “To that end, Thora and Jack will be joining you.”

  Jack is grinning like a lunatic, which seems appropriate for her. “Pledges of eternal loyalty, pack leader!”

  “We’ll try to earn our keep,” Thora says, more subdued.

  I don’t think any of us doubt for a moment what’s really going on here. Zarun used my challenge to steal Pack Nine from the Butcher, and he needs to protect his investment. Thus he assigns me “subordinates” to serve as minders.

  I don’t object. He’s right that I’ll need the help, and if the time comes when we need to move against Zarun I’m sure we can evade them. Or kill them.

  “Thank you,” I tell the three of them. “I appreciate the assistance.”

  Zarun waves a hand at our surroundings. “The quarters are yours for as long as you want them. And if there’s anything else you need…”

  I bow my head respectfully. “Again, thank you.”

  “One more thing. Next week, the Council of Officers will meet in public session. My colleagues have asked me to say that they would be very pleased if you were to present yourself.”

  I’m sure the Butcher will be thrilled. But there’s no use trying to duck her. If I’m going to use my new position to get to the Captain, getting close to the officers is the next step. I give a quick nod.

  Zarun steps forward, unexpectedly, and takes my hand. I have to work not to snatch it away. “The public sessions are … somewhat formal occasions. You’ll need an appropriate costume.” He grins again, mischievously. “I would be honored if you’d let me assist you in finding something suitable.”

  I manage another nod. He stays close a bit too long, watches me a little too close for comfort. Then he pulls away, bows again, and turns to leave.

  “We’ll be back in a few hours,” Thora says, and she and Jack move to follow him. “Just need to collect some stuff.”

  “Various and sundry treasures,” Jack says, “looted by Clever Jack. Also more underwear.”

  I wait a few moments after the curtain closes behind them, until the footsteps fade into the distance. Then I look at Meroe.

  “Why am I feeling like I’ve stepped in something vile?” I ask her.

  “Zarun wants something from you,” she says.

  “I think he’s made that clear.”

  “Something other than just wanting to rut you, I mean,” she says, without a hint of embarrassment. “It must be something to do with the Council.”

  “I know.” I lean back in the chair with a sigh. “I need time. How am I supposed to play the game without even knowing what the sides are?” Back in Kahnzoka, I’d had years to learn the lay of the land, which boss controlled which streets, who was safe to cross and who to avoid at all costs. I’d been aboard Soliton most of a week, at best, and all I knew was that one officer wanted to kill me and another wanted me in bed.

  “Leave it to me,” Meroe says.

  I look up at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you focus on keeping us alive and I’ll make sure you know where to stand when it comes to the Council.” Her smile is broad and genuine. “I’m not going to just let you carry me everywhere.”

  “But…” I wave a hand weakly. “You don’t know anything more about it than I do.”

  “No. But I will.” Some of my skepticism must have showed, because she rolls her eyes. “Isoka, you grew up on the street, and you know about gangs and brawls. I grew up in a palace, and I know about people smiling and being courteous while trying to stick a knife in your back. I had my own food taster since I was six years old.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t talked much about herself, down in the Deeps. “I had no idea.”

  “Trust me. However nasty things are on Soliton, they’re not worse than the Royal Palace in Nimar.” She cocks her head. “Fewer pastries, though.”

  I laugh, and she smiles wider.

  “You don’t have to get me out of here,” Meroe says. “We will get us out of here. I don’t know what your plan is, but just tell me what you need.”

  “It’s not much of a plan,” I admit. “Not yet. But first of all, I need to get close to the Captain.”

  Meroe nods. “Then that’s where we start.”

  15

  I feel a chill, and threads of black magic shiver across my vision. Then Jack is standing beside me, arms crossed.

  “Our prey is there,” she says, “all unsuspecting.”

  “Good,” I say. “You’re sure you can keep its attention long enough for Thora and Berun to hold it?”

  “Of course. But also unsuspected. There are two of them.” She flutters her eyebrows. “Lovebirds, perhaps? But what shall we do, fearless leader?”

  Two shaggies, where we’d expected to find only one. That’s certainly a complication.

  “Any chance we can pull one of them away?”

  She shakes her head. “Doubtful. Close as two crows in a cage, those two. I suspect they will have to be taken together or not at all.”

  “Can Thora hold a shaggy, with Berun helping her?”

  “Perhaps,” Jack says. “She’s a mighty one, our Thora. But surely not for long.”

  “It just has to be long enough for you and me to take down the other one.” I raise one eyebrow. “I trust that won’t be long.”

  “Oh, delicious confidence,” Clever Jack says, “of course not.” But Clever Jack is never less than supremely overconfident in her own abilities.

  “Thanks for the assessment,” I deadpan. “Go back to Thora and tell her to grab whichever one looks smaller. When she does, you and I will take the other one, like we planned.”

  “Orders heard and understood,” Jack says. “Through this next hole, to the left. I will give you a few heartbeats to get into position.”

  The Center isn’t the only place the crew goes to hunt crabs. The Stern is enormous, extending down many levels from the paltry three the Council can claim some authority over, and even on those three large sections are barricaded and abandoned to the scuttling, squirming creatures of the dark. That’s where we are now. Instead of trekking across endless bridges and platforms, we’re stalking through broken-down corridors, floors and walls flaking with rust, with jagged-edged holes in addition to the usual doorways. Given what happened last time I went to the Center, it’s a relief that here there isn’t too far to fall.

  Meroe, much to her irritation, stayed behind, unable to keep up on her broken leg. I left the Moron with her. Now that we’re trying to work together as a pack, he’d only get in the way. That leaves me, Berun, Thora, and Jack. I’ve worked with worse gangs, in spite of a few … eccentricities.

  I duck through a rusted-out hole in the wall and turn left, moving just slow enough that my footsteps won’t echo. When I reach the next doorway, I pause. Unlike the Deeps, here it isn’t truly dark during the day. Enough sunlight seeps in through the holes in the deck to take the edge off the gloom.

  Up ahead is a dark silhouette, a long, low thing bigger than a horse. I stare a little longer, convincing myself that I can make out features that match the description of a shaggy—six fat legs, a long neck, hung all over with curtains of dripping moss and fungus. It’s hard to tell, but Jack seemed certain, and she knows what she’s doing. Probably.

  Thora and Berun are still getting into position. I grip the metal at the edge of the hole—When they�
��re ready, I—

  “Isoka…”

  I practically jump out of my skin, clenching my jaw tight to avoid a yell. My blades come alive with a snap-hiss and I spin, but there’s nothing but darkness behind me.

  For a long moment, there’s no sound but the crackle of Melos power.

  “Hagan?” I say, very softly.

  No answer. I turn back to the hole, and faint movement catches my eye. Gray motes, flowing in a stream through part of the wall, skirting the edge of the broken section. Hesitantly, I reach out my hand, laying one finger on the metal. The gray energy swirls around it.

  “Isoka.” It is Hagan’s voice, a little stronger now.

  Blessed’s balls. I’d just about convinced myself I was crazy.

  “Hagan, can you hear me?”

  There’s another pause, the faint crackling buzz that accompanies his voice rising and falling.

  “… not strong enough…,” he says. “… somewhere … power…”

  “I’m not strong enough?” I blink. “I don’t understand.”

  “Garden … anomaly coming … Garden…”

  His voice fades again. Before I can speak, I hear a bellow and there’s a flash of blue. Jack has made her move. With a shout of frustration I turn around and throw myself through the doorway.

  The room is a large one, with holes in the ceiling letting a few rays of sunlight dapple the chamber. As my blades add their light to the tableau, I see the shaggy is aptly named. It looks a bit like an ox, if an ox had six legs and were taller than I am at the shoulder. Where the head of an ox would be, there’s a long, flexible neck, ending in a small sphere equipped with a wide, toothy jaw. Along its flanks and neck, curtains of dark green moss hang like matted hair, swaying with every movement.

  Jack is standing in front of it, arms crossed, grinning like a fool. The shaggy gives another hooting bellow, swinging its head toward her. Jack bows, her shadow stretching behind her and up the wall. The shaggy bellows again, and lunges, its neck moving with the speed of a striking snake. Before it can hit home, Jack vanishes with a flicker of dark magic.

  Her shadow remains, skipping neatly away from the confused shaggy. Jack’s well is Xenos, the Well of Shadows. It’s supposed to be one of the rarest wells, to the point that there isn’t a full-fledged Xenos adept in the whole of the Empire. I don’t know if Jack’s an adept, but the little I’ve seen her do is impressive. With another dark flash, she reappears atop her own shadow, in time to attract the shaggy’s attention again.

  I have to admit it’s a thrill, fighting alongside other mage-born. I’ve spent my life in the certain knowledge that, no matter how much I trust them, none of my allies can truly match me. Now I have my pack. I wonder for a moment if this is how the Invincible Legions feel, going into battle, or the Immortals.

  Bands of blue light have materialized around the creature, spreading across its legs and along the curve of its neck. Thora and Berun, on the other side of the chamber, are both concentrating hard, wrapping the shaggy in bonds of Tartak force. Intent on Jack, it doesn’t notice until it’s too late. The thing tugs against the binding, and I see Berun flinch, but it’s stuck fast.

  Which is my cue. I come out from the doorway, running alongside the beast until I can get at the base of its long, curving neck. I duck forward, blades slashing, sending strands of thick green flying. Liquid spatters across me, beading on my armor, and starts to sizzle. I feel pinpricks of heat as the stuff tries to eat its way to my flesh. Charming. I grit my teeth and push forward, surrounded by crackling green lightning and acrid smoke. One of my blades makes contact with something solid, and I swing in that direction, barely able to see. I can feel the cut, though, and the gush of fluid. I hack at the long neck again, like a lumberjack trying to fell a tree.

  There’s another bellow from the shaggy, and I turn to get a glimpse of its mouth coming at me, the neck doubling back on itself. I duck, reflexively, but before it reaches me Jack is there, her shadow rising from the deck in front of her like a paper cutout. The shaggy’s head collides with the flat black shape and recoils as if it had struck a wall.

  “Finish it!” Jack says. She’s grinning, as always, in spite of the fact that threads of smoke are rising from her clothes where flecks of acid have landed.

  I leave her to watch my back, and turn to my task. It doesn’t feel like a fight. More like a chore, a butcher hacking apart a carcass with measured strokes, only with a lot more blood. Eventually, I hit something vital, and black blood spews forth in a torrent. The shaggy gives a despairing gurgling bellow. I skip sideways and it staggers forward and collapses to the floor.

  It’s getting hot inside my armor, coated as I am in acid, but I don’t dare drop it for fear of letting that stuff onto my skin. I glance at Jack, who is still smoking slightly. Berun is on his knees, gasping for breath. Thora kneels beside him, patting his shoulder.

  “There,” she says. “You did well, lad. Better than I would have given you credit for.”

  “What about me?” Jack pops up beside Thora, emerging from a shadow like a fish jumping from a lake. “Any praise for Clever Jack?”

  “You were brilliant,” Thora says, patting Berun’s shoulder again and getting to her feet. “As always.”

  “And my reward?”

  Thora gathers the slender girl close with a hand at the small of her back and kisses her thoroughly. My ground-in instinct to look away from such a display wars with an undeniable interest, and under other circumstances I might have left them to it. As it is, though, I give a loud cough.

  “A little help?” I spread my arms, which are still steaming with acid. The heat inside my armor is getting seriously uncomfortable.

  Thora pushes Jack away, ignoring the disappointed noise she makes. “Sorry, pack leader,” she says. She uncorks a waterskin and lets the stream play over my armor, the water making strange patterns as it runs along the flickering surface of the energy field. It takes two skins before I feel like I can risk letting my power drop, sucking with relief at the cool air.

  “Did you know that stuff burns?” I ask Thora.

  She shakes her head. “I hadn’t heard of anything like that. Maybe this one has something different growing on it than most shaggies.”

  “Maybe it’ll flavor the meat,” Jack says, looking the dead beast over. “Good eating on these.”

  I nod, then glance back at the doorway I’d come from. “Good work, all of you. Just … give me a minute, would you?”

  “I sometimes get like that after a fight,” Thora says to Jack behind me. “You get carried away and don’t realize how much you’ve been holding it in.”

  “The general Hespodar’s two greatest military maxims,” Jack says, in all seriousness, “were ‘never let the phalanx press into broken ground’ and ‘always piss before the battle.’”

  “You made that up,” Thora says.

  “Possibly.”

  Around the corner, I press my hand back against the edge of the torn metal. But the flow of gray light has faded, and Hagan’s voice is gone.

  Rot. Because what I need is more mysteries.

  * * *

  The aftermath of a hunt, I’ve learned, is as well planned as the system of tithes and protection payments that keeps the Sixteenth Ward running.

  When a hunting pack brings down large prey, we report where we left the bodies to one of the clades, who send out a scavenger pack to drag them back to safety. In return, the clade leader gives the pack etched bits of crab shell called scrip, which work more or less like ordinary money. Money without gold or silver in it still seems strange to me, but no stranger than everything else on Soliton.

  Pack leaders are free to choose their own targets, based on reports from scavengers and other hunting packs. When two groups want to hunt the same prey, the Council decides, either awarding it to one or ordering them to work together. The Council seems to decide everything, in fact. Berun told me the Captain doesn’t stick his nose in everyday life much, but as far as I can
tell he doesn’t intervene at all, except for occasionally sending the angels on mysterious tasks of his own.

  There’s not much everyone agrees on about the Captain—that he’s a man, that he lives in a tower that sticks up from the deck near the stern of the ship, and that he controls the angels through some means no one understands. He seems to have been here longer than anyone else; at least, no one I’ve talked to came aboard before him. Other than that, though, there’s almost nothing.

  It’s frustrating, because aside from my investigation of the Captain and how he controls the ship, things have been going well for a change. For all that Zarun sent them to spy on me, Thora and Jack can handle themselves, and between us we’ve been able to bring down enough prey that we have plenty of scrip for food and enough left over for furnishings. Our rooms, which I’ve learned are in a place called Tower Five, have grown steadily more comfortable. Mostly this is Meroe’s doing, since her leg keeps her out of the daily hunts.

  When we return home, she’s sitting on the floor in the common room, which is now equipped with several more chairs and a thick carpet. The Moron is sitting opposite her, cross-legged, and there’s a book open on the floor between them. I blink at the sight of the Moron—who, as far as I know, has never responded to any attempt at communication—pointing eagerly at the book, while Meroe stares intently.

  “What’s this?” Jack says. “Has the Princess managed to tame the savage beast?”

  “He’s not a beast,” Meroe snaps. “Or a moron.” She catches sight of me and grins. “Isoka! Come and see!”

  I drop my pack in the corner and flop down beside Meroe, and Berun quietly follows suit. Thora and Jack retreat to their room. Probably to rut; I swear, I’ve known dogs in heat that are more restrained than those two.

  “Welcome back,” Meroe says, a little belatedly. “Is everyone okay?”

  “No problems.” Aside from my encounter with Hagan. Thinking about it makes my palms itch. I’ll tell Meroe about it, but later, once I’ve figured out how to explain. Which may be a while.