Beasts of the Walking City

by Del Law

  I’m sure all the hair on my face and neck has gone pale, and I can see Kjat’s eyes are wide with fear. The bearded man and the female mage clung to the seats, their faces pale and their eyes shut, but the short mage ignores his own advice. He stares back at each figure intently, eyes wide, watching everything.

  I shut my eyes and try to focus on the ship. The displays come back for a moment, flickering behind my eyelids, but they’re all hopelessly red, and they flicker out again.

  Whatever intelligence that’s in the ship is fading out. Navigation is useless, I just try and keep us level as best I can.

  I can’t judge speed. The ship bucks and kicks with the wind. There’s no way to tell if we’re gaining or losing altitude.

  When I open my eyes again, I get a glimpse through the viewscreen: we're surfing on the edge of the storm, and there’s a high range of snow-capped mountains speeding toward us, lit up by the sun.

  We’re either going over them or through them, I realize.

  We need more power, I tell the ship. One last time.

  I feel it struggle to respond.

  Then the engines suck in lei and surge, and we arc up above the storm. The green apparitions fade abruptly.

  But we must have crossed out of the lei lines, because the engines cut out, then. Everything goes deathly quiet.

  And there it is: a high gap, with a small, frozen lake and a broad stretch of deep, unblemished snow. We’re headed for it whether we like it or not, now. I’d tell everyone to hold on, but, well, it seems pretty damn obvious at this point.

  I hear the engines kick in at the very last minute—maybe some last bit of reserve power. Whatever it is, I think that’s what saves us.

  But we still hit hard, belly-down on the snow, and we skid what feels like half a mile until we come to rest half-on and half-off the frozen lake.

  The ice shatters from our weight, and the nose goes down beneath the water. We slide a little more until finally we come to rest, all of us staring out the viewscreen at some pretty freaked-out fish staring back at us, fish that had probably been trying to catch up on some winter sleep.

  7.

  For a long minute, there’s silence, broken only by a quiet, irregular ticking coming from that knife in the console of the ship, cooling. Just to be on the safe side, I pull it out with two fingers and slide it into my sheath with my other one. Can’t be too careful.

  “So,” I say. “That wasn’t exactly my best landing.”

  “Thanks,” says the bearded man. He unbuckles and climbs awkwardly out of the seat, stretches his shoulders, takes off his bowler hat and brushes dirt around on it. Then he sets it carefully back on his head.

  “Not a problem,” I say. It was one of my better landings, but I’ll keep that to myself.

  The man stares at me. “Thanks for ruining one of the best planned, carefully executed, most expensive operations that I’ve ever put into motion. What are you, man—a devil? A demon?” He takes his hat off again, scrubs at it uselessly with his dirty sleeve.

  I unbuckle too and stand up. The hair on the back of my neck ridges goes back, and my ears flatten against my skull. There’s a low growl low in my throat, and all of my fur goes jet black. I'm at least a foot taller than he is.

  The bearded man pales, and takes a step backward.

  “You know, he probably saved our lives, Ercan.” The female mage says. She’s as battered and dirty as the rest of us, but there’s something about her that still takes me by surprise. She has a round, dark face and large green eyes that are wide and clear, and her long, dark hair is bound back tightly beheath the bowler hat. Her arms are covered in thin metal bracelets, at least fifteen of them glinting on each arm, and they jangle as she moves. “You should at least give him that much.”

  She speaks Fhirlo with a slight accent, and her voice is calm and resigned as she stands up on the slanted deck. She offers Kjat a hand out of her seat, and after looking at it a moment, Kjat takes it and stands, but then she edges closer to me and takes out her knife.

  “And if he hadn’t shown up, hadn’t blasted his way in and woken up every damn Akarii mage in the complex, he wouldn’t have had to.”

  “He’s got a point, Mircada.” The fat mage stays seated. One of his legs is definitely twisted at a strange angle, but it doesn’t seem to concern him much. I realize now he’s covered in fine brown hair—definitely not human, though I don’t recognize the race. One of the helmets from the skeletons had landed in his lap, and he’s examining the carvings on it. “And that trick of steering right into the storm? Well, by Jhestet’s Tits, if I’d been trying to think of a better way to destroy a tremendously significant and valuable artifact, I would have to work pretty hard.”

  “An artifact with a huge strategic value,” Ercan said. “An artifact that could help turn the tide of the wars.”

  “Not to mention your career,” said the fat mage, smirking. “Let’s not forget your precious career.”

  “Gentlemen, and…” The woman looks quickly in my direction, and then looks away. “Gentlemen. First things first,” she says, taking charge. “Fehris, what’s with all the green spirits?”

  “Fascinating, weren’t they?” The fat mage blinks.

  “They could see me,” I say. “They knew I was there.”

  “Yes, exactly!” Fehris, the fat mage, sits up a little straighter and looks at us for the first time. “And they weren’t happy about it, either! The common theory is that they’re the ghosts of the dead of Tilhtinora—when the city exploded and fell, it happened so quickly that the inhabitants didn’t realize it was time to move on, and now there looking for where they’re supposed to be. The problem with this, of course, is that you have to believe in ghosts, which is an issue for me. Now, if you study them closely, and they way they reacted to this creature here? You’ll see a few things that validate my own theories of cross-dimensional…”

  Mircada cuts him off. “Why weren’t we supposed to look at them?”

  “Because they’d drive you mad, Mircada. Or at least scare Ercan. You know how freaked out he can get.”

  Ercan, the bearded man, sighs loudly.

  “Seriously!” Ferhis says. “You remember that time at the College, when we got caught under the matrix platforms with the Provost’s case of single malt? You shook like a …”

  Ercan clears his throat loudly. “So they’re part of the storm, then, and not really related to the ship.”

  “Mostly, yes. There is another report of similar phenomena from a Solingi Retriever ship six years ago, who made the mistake of trying to weather a Dead storm without warding. Similar apparitions. Three crew went mad and ran out into the storm and probably got eaten by something. Only these ghosts did seem particularly vivid around our furry friend here, and I can’t really determine if that’s because of who, or what, he is. I’m assuming that he’s a he, by the way. Am I being too presumptuous?”

  He looks at me, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “But it could also have been because he was connected with the ship, Ercan. The Solingi account didn’t lead me to understand there was a lot of shouting and commotion like that. Given the fact they’re not here now, I think we can predominantly link them to the storm, first.”

  "So we probably don't need to be too concerned."

  "Correct."

  “All right. More on that later,” the woman, Mircada says. “Could we have been followed?”

  Ercan shakes his head.

  I say, “Agreed, it’s pretty unlikely. Even the Akarii would have a hard time in that. But if it was me, I’d have some sort of tracking mechanism on the ship. I think we’re off-lei now, so it shouldn’t be an issue, but the minute we’re back on, we have to assume they can find us if they want to.”

  “Who’d want to find this battered ancient relic now, when it’s beaten beyond all hope of restoration?”

  “Fehris,” Mircada says, “I said enough. And is your leg actually broken?”

  “I suppose it’s possible.” F
ehris’ eyes had moved back to the helmet in his lap. He was using a short finger to trace the lines engraved there. "Walking is overrated."

  The woman turns to Kjat. “Can you help us find something to use as a splint? I think there are materials that might work back in the first compartment.” Kjat looks first at me. I nod—these three don’t look like a threat yet, and we’re better off working with them until we figure out where we are.

  She moves awkwardly up the passageway, and I wonder if she’s been injured? I’ll have to check with her later, when we’re alone.

  Mircada turns back to me. “What’s the condition of the ship?”

  “Not great. I’ve never seen anything like this …”

  “You’re damn right you haven’t,” mumbled Fehris.

  “…But we’re in pretty bad shape. Power reserves are entirely gone, though it's pretty amazing they were there in the first place. Displays aren’t working, most of the power conduits are probably fried. Some of the engines were barely working before that last landing, but I don’t know if they are now.”

  The bearded man, Ercan, is studying me. “What are you, exactly? What’s your connection with the Retriever ship? Are you some sort of Akarii splinter faction?”

  I look from the man to the woman and back. “Who, exactly, is in charge of your group here?”

  “I am,” they say at the same time.

  They look at each other, surprised. “He is,” said the woman, frowning. “Technically. He’s got the money.”

  Fehris sighed loudly from his corner of the room. “You’ll notice it’s clear who is not in charge.”

  “Fehris, shut up,” said Ercan and the woman, again simultaneously.

  “Well, then," I say to Ercan. “Thanks for the great rescue and all. But if you could all clear off my ship, and get started back to wherever you’ve come from, I have a lot of work to do here.”

  I put on a wide and innocent grin that is full of sharp teeth.

  Color rises up in Ercan’s face. It's kind of cool to watch. “Your ship?” he says. “What are you, a devil?” His hand is on his knife, still in the sheath on his chest

  “Don’t,” says Kjat, from the doorway.

  She has her own knife in her hand, and points it in Ercan’s direction. Her other hand held two sections of grey wooden slats from the ancient boxes in the hold. “Don’t try anything.”

  It’s a long, tense minute.

  Then Mircada says “Ercan, settle down. He’s not Akarii. He’d be using a whole different set of matrices. I believe he’s a Hulgliev.”

  “A what?”

  “A devil,” said Fehris, shaking his head. “You're both right.”

  “He is not a devil,” Kjat says, quiet but clear.

  “A creature of legend. A stealer of dreams,” Fehris says. “A story mothers used to use to frighten their children at night. A devil. What’s the difference?”

  “No, not a devil,” Mircada says, thoughtfully. “The Akarii would disagree with you, wouldn’t they?”

  “That would just reinforce my thesis.”

  I frown. “What’s that mean, exactly? And what are you three, if you’re not Akarii?”

  “Kerul,” Fehris says. He points at Ercan. “He’s pretty high up in the Family. Getting higher every day. Every hour, probably.”

  Kerul, I think. Well, it could be worse.

  Ercan sighs, and rolls his eyes. “Who do you work for, Fehris?”

  “Clearly someone very, very important. Sir.”

  Mircada looks at all of us, shakes her head, and throws up her hands. She crosses the room, and kneels next to the body of the mage who’d been their pilot. She places her hand on the dead human’s forehead and slowly closes his eyes. Her expression is solemn. “Dear Mishna,” she whispered. “Oh, you dear, sweet man.”

  There is long, embarrassed minute of quiet in which no one can meet anyone’s eyes.

  I’m thinking of Josik and Pirrosh. Josik had a sister in one of the better sections of Tamaranth. I'd need to find her and tell her about him. I don’t think they were close, but then I never actually asked. Pirrosh claimed to have several wives and many children, all of them living in blimps off-lei, far to the south. We’d never actually believed him, but now I wondered.

  I know they knew the risks, coming into Tilhtinora. We all did.

  And yet I was the one who had sold them on the plan. It’s going to take me awhile to come to terms with that.

  As I look at Ercan, I can see what might be similar thoughts moving across his face, too, as he looks at the pilot's body.

  Outside, wind leans in against the ship, rocking it. Ercan clears his throat again. And then Mircada stands and turns to us and claps her hands together. “We all have some work to do, I think? Let’s be practical. We need to get the ship to port before it’s even an issue who it belongs to, yes? I’d suggest we work together on that since we’re all stuck here anyway.”

  Ercan and I look at each other. Again, I think I could do worse.

  “I’m good,” I say.

  Ercan looks away, and then nods slowly. “For now,” he says. “If this is at all what Fehris believes it to be…”

  “It is,” Fehris said. “Have I been wrong before?”

  “…Then the Akarii won’t let it go lightly. We need to move pretty quickly.”

  “They might think it’s just another recovered ship,” Mircada says. “Wouldn’t it be easier for them to dig out another?”

  Ercan considers that. “Maybe," he says. "But we need to assume the worst."

  “What, exactly, do you think this ship is?” I ask.

  Fehris looks at Ercan, who shakes his head. Fehris says “What do you think it is, Hulgliev?”

  “My ship.” I grin my innocent grin again.

  I see Ercan’s eyes widen.

  And then, without warning, he throws back his head and barks three loud noises that I think are meant to be a laugh. I can see all the gold caps on his back teeth.

  “I think that I might like you some day, devil,” he says. “I think that I just might.” He holds out his hand to me.

  “I’m really highly likable,” I say, mostly to Mircada. “Once you get to know me. Ask Kjat.”

  The three of them look at Kjat who, startled, looks back at them with her pale violet eyes that clearly want to be anywhere else at this moment. “Um, yeah,” she says, sheathing her knife slowly. “I’ve heard that all the dogs of the Warrens are particular fans.”

  The Kerul group look puzzled, but I can’t help laughing out loud. Then I take Ercan’s hand, pigment myself back to my normal grey-brown, and I let them think we have a plan together.

  8.

  Outside, the ship isn’t pretty. Mircada and I walk around it, assessing damage.

  While it’s nose-down in the lake, most of it is still on shore, and the impact of the fighting, the storm, and the landing is pretty clear. Long scorch lines from the Grohmn spheres blacken the hull, dents and gouges have battered the smooth lines. The rear hatch door must have been ripped off, and a series of cracks stretch outward from each impact of the Retriever cannons. Much of the finish looks like it’s been scoured away by the storm.

  Now it’s looking more like something I’d actually own. Though it’s nowhere close to mine. Even if the Kerul weren't here, it's Capone who's paid my way out here.

  “Mircada tiKerul,” she says, shaking hands. All the bracelets on her arms jangle. “Kerul’s fourth line, if that means anything to you.” It doesn’t.

  “Blackwell,” I say. “Just Blackwell.”

  Mircada and I walk away from the ship, out through the cover of snow. She’s trying to figure me out, I think. Me? I’m looking for corpse roads. The Tilhtinoran continent is supposed to be rich with them, and I’m keeping my claws crossed.

  And, all right. I’m looking at Mircada too. Probably more than I should be.

  Earth has countries. Kiryth has families. Earthers might call them gangs, but they're really much more than that. F
amilies are houses, guilds, corporations, and governments rolled into one. They employ you, sell you things you need to live, feed you, entertain you, and bury you when you’re dead. Kerul is one of the big ones, like the Akarii. It’s supposed to be one of the better ones to deal with, if you have to deal with any of them directly. I’m not political, really, but you learn some things on the streets of Tamaranth. The Akarii are driven, direct, and vicious. Politics are fierce, assassinations are common, often carried out by poison, to the point that if a mid-level Akarii family operative dies, I’m not sure anyone would take notice. The Akarii hold sway over a number of other families, most of them on the far eastern continents, but it’s hard for me to keep track of all of the alliances, and to be honest it doesn’t make any real difference to me. I try and avoid all of them.

  The Kerul used to be pretty well thought of. They’re more local to Tamaranth, holding loose ownership over much of the south parts of the western continent with the exception of a few free cities that stand on their own. They’re pretty spread out, not very well organized, and I’m told they spend a lot of time talking over things like trade policies between one trade federation and the other without actually getting much done.

  In the current war, which is basically the Akarii against everyone else, different families are reacting in different ways. In the north, the Fjilosh are pretty staunch. They keep to themselves and kick most everyone else out of their lands, but they don’t seem to want to help anyone else out. To the far South, the Solingi are pretty much off on their own, and no one really seems to bother them. In the middle, the Kerul seem to debate on and on, and have left city governments to deal with Akarii incursions on their own. While that means more work for people like me, if there wasn’t an immense ocean in between the two big continents we’d probably all be living and working for the Akarii by now.