by Joseph Lallo
“Eventually you people are going to figure out we aren’t anyone’s prey,” Gunner said. He finished untying the thug and got him to his feet. “Take him out and set him up with the steam cart. With the ship we’ve borrowed, he won’t be able to reach anyone to warn them before we reach them.”
Digger led Mr. P outside. Gunner stepped behind Alabaster and freed his hands from the chair but kept them bound together.
“This isn’t fair! I will not have that man succeed where I have failed.”
“Don’t worry, he won’t,” Gunner said.
“Listen to me, Van Cleef,” Alabaster hissed. The thoroughly defeated man paused and gathered himself, as though even forming the next words in his mind was causing him physical pain. “I… will help you.”
“The more typical order for bargaining is offering help, then vowing to murder someone after it’s been turned down,” Gunner said.
“Listen to me. The wisdom of collaboration should be clear even to your infantile mind.”
“That silver tongue of yours must win you legions of friends.”
“Clearly all you know about the plan of which you now learn I am only a small part is that a great deal of effort has been put forth to amass a collection of artifacts of or relating to your ship and crew. I shall share with you what I know.”
“Why, might I ask, are you suddenly willing to do so?”
“Because Tusk is your enemy, but he is my rival. And I cannot abide being placed beneath him either in the esteem of my fellow fug folk or in the pages of history. I would sooner join forces with you and strike him down than see him succeed, even if his success is, by extension, my own. Lucius P. Alabaster is not a puppet!”
“You’ve got until I get you up into the ship to convince me. Because once we get up there, a gag’s going in your mouth.”
Gunner guided Alabaster toward the door.
“Tusk has dispatched me to secure, through any means necessary, all the information and concrete evidence I can of your ship. He has not shared his reasoning, so I took it upon myself to conduct some further investigation. That Honey Umber was not related to my own assignments, but one associated with a midlevel black marketeer near Lock.”
“Dr. Wash,” Gunner said.
“You are aware of him?”
“It pays to know a thing or two about where your goods flow after they leave your hands.”
“An uncharacteristic piece of wisdom on your part.”
“If you’re hoping to prove you can be an ally, I would suggest reducing the personal assaults.”
“My apologies. Animosity has a degree of momentum. As I was saying, you inadvertently confirmed that this Honey Umber substance is itself associated with the ship. That substantial order was placed, as an addition to some unknown prior order, by Tusk himself through an intermediary. That Dr. Wash has been contracted to purchase items associated with your ship implies that others, perhaps many others, have been contracted for similar purchases.”
“It doesn’t seem as though someone who has successfully remained anonymous since shortly after the calamity would risk extending his tentacles out across the entirety of the black market all at once.”
“Not unless he were to, in a stroke of brilliance, release the most stunning luminary of our time from prison and unleash him upon the world in a fearsome crime spree of unprecedented proportions.”
“You were a distraction,” Gunner said. “That I could believe. Except now it seems like an overreaction. A black market harvest could raise some eyebrows, but not so many that it would be worth letting you out.”
“In this we can agree, because my unparalleled capacity for seizing the hearts and minds of the populace is more than sufficient to cast into shadow far more. Which suggests that there is a greater task underway.”
“Which is?”
“Fah! I cannot supply all the answers. The only suggestion I’ve found of further intrigue that may potentially relate is the supposed transport of an object of spectacular value, stolen from a museum’s warehouse.”
“What object?”
“If I knew, I would have spoken with greater specificity.”
“From where is it being transported, and to where?”
“The museum is somewhere in the south, near South Pyre. As for the rest, again, I would share this information if I had it. I would have unraveled the riddle personally if I had sufficient information to do so. You shall have to provide some insight as well.”
Gunner thought for a moment. “No. I’m sorry. You’ve done too much damage for me to start telling you secrets. Keep talking. Keep convincing.”
“What more would you have me say! I’ve given you all the pertinent information.”
“Then give me the impertinent information. I want to know everything you’ve learned about us, whether you find it useful or not.”
Alabaster grumbled in frustration. “As you see, I have determined your delivery timetable. I also see that you’ve missed some deliveries. That, coupled with your presence here in the absence of the rest of the crew and that you are gallivanting in a stolen ship rather than your own suggests that the Wind Breaker is on an extended journey. As I have not been tasked with directly clashing with the ship, the suggestion is that it is not accessible. Thus it can only be at that island your captain purchased with his ill-gotten gains or in Caldera. My guess would be Caldera, which would serve to support rumors that your visits there are no longer actively discouraged. I also know that your most potent source of income comes from your trade at Lock, and you are due for an arrival there in another week. So if I were to hazard a guess, I would suggest your crew shall return before then, no doubt with the goods from your extended visit to Caldera. I also know that in your appearances prior to this extended trip, you have been notably without the aid of your Calderan technician. All of this means exactly nothing in the context of the riddle we should be working at.”
“That is for me to decide. Is it safe to say that if you’ve worked all of this out, Tusk has too?”
“Tusk has established himself to be exceptionally well informed. I suspect he knew of your extended trip to Caldera before you did.”
“I’ll confirm for you that the crew has indeed gone to Caldera. Have you worked out the reason for this extended trip?”
“If I am to take the question to imply that it is for some reason other than the typical trade of insipid goods for insipid goods, then I will confess to being able only to speculate. Perhaps an extended negotiation to improve the quality of insipid goods you hope to provide?”
“So you don’t know. Do you think Tusk knows?”
“Again, I would not be surprised to learn that he knows what you and I are thinking at this very moment. He is, if nothing else, a collector of information and influence.”
“Fine. Keep talking.”
“There is nothing more to say.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
“What do you wish to hear? That he’s been hording Calderan sea salt? That he still maintains public face under the guise of the fire-tender at the Ruby Club? That he is spiteful and vindictive enough to hire away from me the only employee I’ve ever found to be even remotely effective?”
Their walking conversation had taken them out to the field where the ladder dangled beneath their stolen ship. Digger trotted up to them. Alabaster glared at a bejeweled walking stick hanging from his belt.
“Do you honestly have the gall to purloin my personal walking stick?” he growled.
“It seemed like an appropriate forfeit for the trouble you’ve caused,” Digger said. “Why haven’t we silenced this lunatic?”
“He has been sharing some interesting information,” Gunner said. “And a thought is beginning to form in my mind… Tell me, Digger. You said one of Alabaster’s crew said something about a new shipyard opening, right?”
“A dubious claim, but yes. Why?”
“Because a s
hipyard is far too big an enterprise to open in secret and expect to turn a profit. Which means Alabaster here might have been set loose specifically to keep people from noticing it was being constructed. Did the crew say where it was being constructed?”
“They gave a general location.”
“Specific enough that we will be able to find it?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Because I am starting to get a notion of what’s being done, and I don’t like it…”
Chapter 7
Digger, Gunner, and Alabaster crept along the uneven ground, Wink clinging to Gunner’s side as they went. It was midday, the bright sun casting the fug into a twilight glow that would have made their ship easy to spot. Fortunately for them, a shipyard was an even easier thing to spot. It was nearly impossible to fill an envelope with phlogiston without losing some, and every wisp of the lighter-than-air substance traced a brilliant line of green skyward as it escaped. Once they knew roughly where to look for it, the place was hard to miss, and keeping it from being discovered must have required some very careful positioning as well as every ounce of distraction Alabaster could provide.
Once they were certain they had found the supposed shipyard, they set down far enough to avoid notice and proceeded on foot. This was less than pleasant for Alabaster, who couldn’t be trusted to be left alone in the airship and certainly couldn’t be trusted to behave himself without some light encouragement from some rope around his wrists. More agonizing for him, though, was the gag around his mouth. Remaining silent was visibly distressing for him.
After a long trek they were finally approaching the jagged edge around a circular impression in the landscape about a half mile in diameter.
“Hanlon Crater,” Digger whispered as he approached. “You know, as a boy I wanted to visit this place? I had a precalamity book with pictures of the great natural marvels of Rim, and I thought for sure this one would have survived.”
“Let’s see what your people have made of it, shall we?” Gunner said.
They eased up to the edge and gazed over. A smooth slope led down to a bustling facility they’d only gotten a glimpse of before deciding they couldn’t risk bringing the ship any closer. It was a slapdash operation. Towers and cranes covered the ground, most with the telltale flimsiness of temporary constructions. The crew was a small one, but working feverishly. To call it a shipyard was a massive overstatement. It was ill equipped to do anything but perhaps construct a single ship at a time. Indeed, there was but one vehicle under construction. They were just putting the finishing touches on it, men with brushes applying what looked to be the third or fourth coat of stain to its decking. The vehicle was distinctive, but it was not unique.
The envelope was bright, beautiful red. Five polished turbines with etched detailing wrapped around the center of the envelope. A pair of offset cannons jutted from the front of the gondola, a third emerged from the back. Beautiful, intricate brass filigree decorated just about every inch of the ship where there was room for it, providing an artistic flair seldom seen elsewhere. It was, however, seen in one other place. Precisely one.
The ship before them was a perfect duplicate of the Wind Breaker.
“This is… astounding,” Digger said.
“This is why they were after anything from the Wind Breaker they could get their hands on,” Gunner said. “Swatches of cloth, scraps of wood. Photographs…”
Wink tapped out a message on Gunner’s arm.
“What’s he saying?” Digger asked.
“He suggests we go back to the ship and say hello to the crew. So the replication has got the inspector fooled. All the same, a good idea is a good idea.”
Gunner tugged Wink from his side and sat him down. “That isn’t our Wind Breaker, Wink. And the fact that it exists means they’ve got bad things in store. Get down there. Check it out. Learn what you can, but don’t get caught.”
What should I learned? Wink tapped on a nearby stone.
“I want to know if it is ready for travel and if there is anything inside that stands out as unusual.”
You owed me good food after this.
“All the good food you can eat,” Gunner said. “When you’re through, head back to our ship.”
Wink scampered off, cresting the edge of the crater and continuing toward the workers. Whether it was learned or instinctual, the aye-aye moved in a darting zigzag motion. He ran from tall stone to twisted bit of brush to discarded crate, always seeking cover and avoiding discovery.
“That creature is a better crewmember than I’ve given him credit for,” Gunner said, removing the sight from his pocket and sweeping it across the shipyard.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Digger asked.
“If Alabaster can be believed, something valuable was being delivered. If I haven’t missed my guess, this is where it was headed. It clearly wasn’t the ship itself, as it must have been built or at least refitted here. The Wind Breaker is built around delivering cargo. It is just too much of a coincidence to think this Tusk character orchestrated both the construction of a duplicate of our ship and the acquisition of some profoundly valuable object, and not have them be part of the same scheme. So something might be sitting out there waiting for us.”
“Couldn’t they have loaded it up already?”
“The could have, but if they’re still staining the deck, I suspect there is still further work to be done inside. The Wind Breaker is hard enough to service without cargo. If I were them, I’d keep it outside and under guard until the ship was ready to move out.”
“Does anything stand out?” Digger said.
“Nothing yet…” Gunner said.
He moved with the patience of a sharpshooter, scrutinizing every inch of the shipyard that was visible to him. While it was true that something valuable need not be large enough to spot from afar, there were certain precautions that invariably surrounded them. This was a construction site. As such, there were only two places he would have expected to see guns. The first would be at its edge, protecting it. There was no shortage of those. About a third of the manpower on the ground had been devoted to the armed guards around the perimeter of the work area. It may have been wiser to place them at the top of the rim, where Gunner and the others were currently. That would have allowed them to keep a better lookout, but Gunner knew from experience that it was better to keep closer to the thing you’re protecting. The last thing any guard wants is to learn of a problem that requires their attention and finding that a long, treacherous scramble down a rocky slope was the only way to reach it.
The only other places he would have expected to see weapons were around a brig or around something priceless. Sure enough, a partially covered shape, nearly the size of a small dinghy, was barely visible among mounds of crates at the far side of the worksite. Two men with guns lounged nearby.
“I think I’ve got something, but I don’t have a good angle on it. I’ll head to the east. That’ll be a good place for another view. It’ll also be a good place to cause a distraction if we need it. Digger, you remain here and keep an eye on Alabaster. If anything goes wrong, get to the ship and get moving. I’ll find my way to you.”
“You’re sure?”
“I can think of a few reasons why they would want a copy of our ship, and I don’t like any of them. So once Wink weighs in, we are getting back to the ship we stole and blowing a hole or two in the replica if we can, or finding someone to help us do it if we can’t.”
“So our next move is going to be determined by what the inspector has to say?”
“He’s a member of the crew. We can trust him.”
#
Wink scurried along, drawing closer to the ship that looked so much like his. The nearer he got, the more evident it was that this was not his ship. The smell was wrong, for one. The Wind Breaker smelled of burning coal, a thousand tasty meals, and the blood and sweat of its crew. This ship smelled like green wood an
d the awful stuff Nita smeared on the repaired sections of the hull to make them match.
The aye-aye moved with greater care as he got closer to the ship. Every step closer left him with more fug folk to contend with. His little mind flickered back upon a time not so long ago when he’d owed his loyalty to them. At every port he would tap out a message to them, betraying the actions of his own crew for the sake of the fug folk. And for his trouble, what did they give him? Nothing.
He hid inside an empty water cask and watched reproachfully as three fug folk walked by carrying a heavy wooden beam. They dropped a claw hammer on the ground as they passed, splashing flecks of mud on Wink in his hiding place. He wiped the mud away and scampered out to one of the mooring lines of the ship to scramble up, but he stopped and glanced at the fallen hammer. A quick shove concealed it, claw up, in the mud.
Wink dashed up along the mooring line and slipped onto the deck. Once there he paused, looking over the drying deck stain and the complex network of rigging and pipes leading up to the turbines above. He’d been trained from birth to check such things, to tap away at them and search for rot and corrosion. His race had a peerless memory, and there was nothing in this world Wink had more memories of than his ship. He knew every inch of it, and this ship was so very close. The differences were small, and scattered. Some things that were broken on the real ship were brand new here. Some of the looping, curling bits of metal that Nita had added weren’t quite right. But it was all so close to what he was used to that he almost wanted to stay.
He heard a yelp of pain from below and dashed to the edge of the ship to see a man hopping on one foot and cursing about the hammer he’d stepped on. Wink snuffed a breath out his nose and nodded his head, then climbed up into the rigging.
Up close, more differences were clear. This wasn’t the real ship as it was now. It was the ship as it was then. It was more complicated, the sort of twists and turns and fragile parts the fug folk included in their designs to make things difficult to repair.
