by Frank Tuttle
“No pain,” Meralda said. She turned toward the speck on the horizon, and regarded it for a moment before pushing her focus out. The darkness remained a mere blot, though Meralda could clearly see movement among the spikes, somewhere deep in the main mass.
“It appears, at first glance, just as it did through the telescope.” She watched it for a moment, and then she slowly pushed her Sight toward the black mass.
It grew, becoming a monstrous writhing thing. The main bulk was segmented, glistening and wet, heaving and pulsing as though dragging itself across land. The spines moved with the body, tangling and reaching, their ends curling on empty air as they flailed.
“It looks like a larvae, not like an airship,” Meralda said.
“A larvae? Mistress, I’m liking this less and less.”
“I’m going closer,” Meralda said.
She extended her Sight, and in an instant she was within the cloud of smoke that surrounded the thing.
Magic filled the air, as thick as the smoke. Dark magic, Meralda realized, on a scale that shouldn’t be possible.
Nothing sparkled or shone. Instead, filaments of pure darkness filled the air, woven in a pattern so complex it seemed at first to be nothing but one great tangle. The darkness of each filament was unyielding and profound. No light could escape it, were the filaments to tighten and cover the bulbous central body.
“It’s absorbing light.” She concentrated on a short segment of a single dark strand. “Not just light. Heat. Life. Anything warmer, brighter, or more vital than the emptiness of space—it seems to be eating...everything.”
She shifted her focus from the filament to the heaving black bulk. Magic was woven into it too, dark magic, moving in and out of the pulsating segments like the beat of a great evil heart. There were periodic anti-flashes of the same pure darkness that composed the filaments, each dark flash triggering a convulsion of the segment, lending it a grim parody of life.
She pushed her Sight further, searching for any sign of human presence, any recognizable spellworks she might detach or interrupt.
It was then she felt the bulk’s attention fall full upon her.
It roared, issuing a long wordless howl that carried a single unmistakable meaning—I come.
Meralda stumbled away from the force of the black death’s mindless rage.
“Mistress?” asked Mug. Meralda found herself without air and nearly panicked before she realized she could draw a breath. She held up a hand for silence, and met the darkness.
“Why do you trouble me?” she asked. “I have done you no harm.”
A knock sounded at the bulkhead. “Mage?” asked Kervis. “The Captain and the King are here, and they’d like a word.”
Mug flew to the door. “Mistress is talking to the monster right now. Give us a moment, please.”
“I come,” replied the black death. “Unmaker.”
“I am not the Unmaker,” Meralda said. “What makes you think I am?”
“I come,” repeated the black death. It roared again, heaving its bulk toward the Intrepid.
Meralda reached out and took hold of a mass of dark filaments. It would be so easy, she thought. Take them and twist them and break them. Make them go away. Can I not wreak ruin on this awful thing? Can I not send it plunging down into the Sea, right this moment, with nothing more than a wish and a twist? And what if I do? What if I use this unmagic, which I don’t understand, to destroy a spellwork no one understands?
Meralda pulled her Sight back, then closed it, and leaned on the telescope mount.
“A moment, then let them in,” she gasped out.
“Your dark glasses,” Mug said.
“Still glowing?”
Mug regarded Meralda’s bright red eyes. “A tiny bit,” he said. “Why don’t you sit down and think about calculus for a moment.”
Meralda looked toward her faint reflection in the salon’s wide glass. Her eyes were crimson embers without pupil or iris.
She hastily donned her glasses.
“Open the door,” Mug said. The King came rushing in, Captain Fairweather on his heels.
“Come and see.” Meralda pointed wearily toward the blot on the horizon. “We’ll need to determine its speed and heading as quickly as possible.”
King Yvin grunted and sighted down the telescope’s brass tube. “Do you believe it’s Vonat?”
“It is,” Meralda said.
Captain Fairweather moved to stand close to the salon’s wide glass. He peered at the object, scowling, as though he could force it from the sky with mere disdain.
“Ugly bugger,” he said. “Still. I’ll get the bridge working on establishing its heading.” He turned to Meralda. “Is that an airship, Mage, or something else entirely?”
“It flies,” Meralda said. “I believe any similarity to an airship ends there.”
The Captain nodded. “Do you think it’s using your flying coils to stay aloft?”
“No. Of that much I am certain. It is not.”
“Good,” said the Captain. “Speed might be our best weapon. We can run for six days without taking on water if we start rationing now.”
“Do so,” muttered the King, as he squinted into the telescope’s eyepiece. “Coils to full. Vary altitude and heading at random for the next few hours. Let’s keep that monstrosity guessing.”
“As you wish.” Captain Fairweather saluted and then withdrew, leaving Meralda alone with the King.
“Never underestimate our friends the Vonats,” said Yvin, straightening and pushing the telescope away. “I suspected they’d take one last wild stab at us, but I wasn’t expecting that thing.” He pointed toward the west. “Any idea what that monstrosity is, Meralda?”
“They call it the black death,” she replied. “It is the culmination of centuries of work, all done with a single end in mind—to ensure that no craft of the Realms ever crosses the Great Sea.”
“So we can assume it is armed.”
Meralda laughed. From the way the King’s eyes widened, she surmised her own eyes might have begun to glow again behind her spectacles.
“We may safely assume just that.”
Behind the King, a pair of shadows took refuge along the ceiling, moving and darting just out of Yvin’s sight.
Yvin shrugged. “We’ve got one thing they don’t, and that’s a pair of five-hundred-foot-long Ovis Flying Coils,” he said. “I’ll need you to babysit them, Meralda. We’ve got to stay ahead of this black death, so we’ll need to run the coils as hard as they’ll go.”
Meralda nodded. “Of course.”
“I’m not going to ask about your, um, ocular situation,” said Yvin. “Unless you need medical assistance?”
“It’s merely a temporary side effect of an experimental spell,” Meralda said. “Think nothing of it.”
“If you say so.”
She tried for her best smile, realizing it probably fell short.
The shadows darted, obviously agitated. Be still, ordered Meralda silently. I shall attend you forthwith.
“I’ll double the telescope and lookout crews,” said Yvin. “We’ll get a fix on its heading and speed, and then leave it far behind.” The King smiled. “You probably saved us all a long swim, putting eyes on the sky,” he added. “Tirlin is again in your debt.”
Meralda inclined her head. Then she turned and made her way quickly back to her cabin, Mug and the Bellringers close behind.
* * *
Mug buzzed angrily about the tiny cabin.
“Strange magics?” he bellowed at the two staves. “A host of strange magics? That’s the revelation from your daring spy mission? Mistress, I should fly out there and have a look. I’m sure I can glean more than five words of description.”
Nameless and Faceless, again in crow form, shifted from foot to foot on her desk.
‘Tis unlike any spellwork we know, said a crow, probably Nameless.
Aye, said the other. A work of supreme darkness. We were nearly caught up ours
elves.
“Was it aware of your presence?” asked Meralda.
Yes, said Nameless.
No, said Faceless. The crows faced off and ruffled their wings at each other.
“This is pointless,” Mug said. “We might as well send real chickens next time.”
Have a care, construct, said one crow.
Our powers are boundless, added the other.
“Piffle,” observed Mug, before turning his cage away from the birds.
“Maintain your patrol. I’m far more concerned now with where the black death is, than what it is,” Meralda requested.
As ye wish, chorused the crows, before flapping and vanishing.
“Our powers are boundless,” Mug said, his tone mocking. “Bah.”
Meralda sighed. “You shouldn’t bait them so. One might strike at you before I could stop it.”
“Why didn’t you ask them about your eyes? You don’t trust them either, do you?”
Meralda sat and lowered her glasses, regarding her reflection in Goboy’s Glass. Her eyes still glowed, though the light was more golden than red, and it was faint enough that Meralda could see her own brown eyes just behind the radiance.
“It’s not so much that I don’t trust them, but they are very much Otrinvion’s staves. Admitting I can’t control my own body isn’t likely to enhance my influence over them, is it?”
“Try for a nice sky blue,” Mug said. “I believe you can do it.”
“I might also wind up blind,” Meralda said wearily. She tapped the mirrored face of the Glass, and called for Tower as Mug settled into the spot vacated by the crows.
“I am here,” said Tower, his voice broken and garbled. A loud hiss, like a heavy rain falling onto a pond, filled Meralda’s cabin.
“I can barely hear you.” She briefly described the sighting of the black death. “So it’s time to open the crate,” she concluded. “Have you devised a means of lifting the lid?”
“Indeed,” said Tower, through the hiss and roar. “Observe.”
The Glass flashed, and an image of the Laboratory appeared. The image wavered and shimmered, but Meralda could make out the crate’s shape, centered over the old burn where her first flying coil exploded in a shower of molten metal and hissing sparks.
“Not much of an image at our end,” Mug said, hovering close to the glass.
Meralda saw a hint of movement, a shadow fell over the crate, and then the image vanished altogether.
Words appeared on the mirror’s black surface.
“Contact is proving too difficult. We may have only hours left.”
“Can you hear me?” Meralda asked.
“Yes,” wrote Tower. “I have moved Ringot’s Deft Automaton into place, and equipped it with Hewton’s Clever Levers. Lifting the top now.”
A clatter sounded from behind Meralda as a silver bucket filled with ice fell to the deck.
“Success,” wrote Tower. “The crate is open. It appears to be filled with debris.”
“Debris?” asked Meralda. “Describe it, please.”
Words filled the black glass. “One spool of number 18 copper wire, half gone. Two antique Potter-variant holdstones. A sheaf of drawing paper, loose, bound with twine. Four latching wands. A stained coffee mug with a broken handle. A burlap bag of what appears to be cracked glassware. Five threaded iron rods, of varying lengths. A single wool glove, right hand.”
“That’s it?” Mug said, when the words stopped appearing. “Junk?”
“So it appears,” wrote Tower.
“Inspect the crate,” Meralda suggested, trying to hide her growing desperation. “Check for a false bottom or something hidden in the top.” The moments crept by.
“The crate lacks any hidden storage,” wrote Tower.
Meralda’s heart fell. What if Amorp and Tim and the rest were merely wisps of a fevered unmagic dream?
“No,” she said aloud. “There must be something there, something we aren’t seeing. Tower. Please describe each object again in as much detail as possible.”
Mug groaned. “Mistress, that could take all night.”
Meralda shrugged. “It will take what it takes. Tower. Start with the papers. Make sure they’re all really blank.”
“As you wish,” wrote Tower.
Kervis knocked softly at Meralda’s door. “Mage. Word from the bridge. They’ve determined the object’s heading and speed.”
Meralda motioned, and Goboy’s Glass once again returned a simple reflection. “Come in.”
Ben, the elevator man Meralda met during her first day aboard, stuck his head inside her cabin. “The Captain said you’d want to know, Mage. The black airship is now one hundred and two miles off our tail. We’re running with your coils at full plus twenty percent, about one hundred and forty-nine miles per hour, and the Vonat airship is keeping pace.” The young man lowered his voice. “The Captain stressed that last bit. About it keeping pace.”
Meralda rose. “Please tell the Captain I am working to establish an alternative defense other than speed. I will keep him apprised of my progress.”
“Yes ma’am.” He closed the door behind him.
“Secondary defense, is it?” asked Mug. “Mistress, what did you expect to find in that old crate?”
Meralda waved her hand over her reflection.
“The papers are all blank,” wrote Tower. “I have Morton’s Seeing Eye inspecting them for invisible writing. I shall now examine the five iron rods.”
Meralda sat, frowning at the words in the dark glass.
It wasn’t just a dream. Amorp hid something in that crate, something he believes could help us.
“What would Amorp hide, and how would Amorp hide it?” whispered Meralda.
“Amorp? What’s he got to do with this?”
“He filled and sealed the crate,” Meralda said. “Don’t ask,” she added quickly. “There isn’t time. Assume I am correct. What do we know about Amorp?”
“He was Mage to Tirlin from 587 until 609,” Mug said. “Revolutionized the practice of serial latching. Quantified the measurement of thaumic leakage during interstitial bonding. Invented the rolling desk chair. What makes you think he hid things in crates for you to find?”
Meralda rose again, hands clasped behind her back, and began pacing across her tiny cabin.
Mug flew to her side, bobbing as he matched her pace.
“Amorp’s Strident Horn has continued to function without measurable arcane decay for over fourteen hundred years,” Meralda said. “The man knew how to create stable, elegant spellworks.”
“No argument there,” Mug said. “You’ve read his personal notebooks. What were they like?”
Meralda thought back, picturing the man’s faded, rambling handwriting and his neat, intricate diagrams. His notebooks, all three hundred and six of them, were marvels of invention and description. He’d been fascinated by nature, finding inspiration in everything from spider webs to ripples in ponds. In Shadow, thought Meralda, he warned me not to take up Otrinvion’s vortex. He warned me that everyone who walked in Shadow was stained by it.
Stained I spoke, and stained I meant, he’d said. Shadow is not a game of riddles.
Meralda realized she was holding a cup of hot coffee to her lips.
Mug’s eyes held her in an unblinking stare.
“That one just appeared in your hand,” Mug said. “Nicely done.”
Meralda put the cup down.
“Tower,” she said. “The cup you found. Is it clean or dirty?”
“It is stained with dried fluid,” wrote Tower. “The bottom is covered with a thick crust of it.”
“Never met a wizard who liked washing dishes,” Mug said. “My present and admirably fastidious company excluded, of course.”
“Clean the cup,” Meralda said. “Do so gently. Then inspect it again.”
“That will take some time,” said Tower. “I shall make every effort at haste.”
“Thank you,” Meralda said. “I’m he
ading for the bridge. Mug, stay here. Bring word when Tower is done.”
“Certainly, Mistress. Once he’s done with the dishes, should he start sweeping the Laboratory floor?”
The Intrepid lurched. Her decks tilted forward, nearly tossing Meralda against the deck and sending Mug buzzing into the ceiling.
“Mistress!”
Meralda steadied herself, closed her eyes, and extended her Sight.
The Intrepid was enveloped in a ragged, tumbling spellwork composed of pale grey filaments tangled in a single massive knot. While Mug shouted and the Intrepid shook, Meralda pushed her Sight down further, expanding it to reveal details of the structure underlying each fiber.
There, she thought. And there.
“It’s a single massive unlatching device, fixed to a volume of air, propelled by a simple electrostatic process.” She frowned. “It can’t possibly unlatch any of the Intrepid’s major spellworks, nor interfere with the flying coils. What is it after then?”
It took her a moment to figure it out. “The spark arrestors! It has to be. They’ve snuffed out our spark arrestors, leaving us aloft with seven million cubic feet of explosive lifting gas.”
“Your eyes,” Mug said.
Meralda pushed further. “The spellwork was clearly designed with the original spark arrestors in mind. But does it affect the new ones?”
Meralda swept the Intrepid with her Sight, not having time to appreciate the ease with which she did so. She quickly located a dozen of the new spark arrestor assemblies, and turned her Sight full upon them.
All were still operating.
Meralda let out her breath, but kept her Sight fixed.
“They tried to ruin the spark arrestors,” she said. “Spellwork latched to a volume of fast-moving air. It failed. Staves, to me.”
A pair of shadows appeared, inky black against the sparkling of her Sight.
More of those spellworks are on the way, said Nameless.
“How many?” asked Meralda.
Twenty. More every moment.
Meralda fought back a rising wave of panic, and looked again at the fading spellwork that remained.
“How did it find us?” She caressed the grey filaments with her Sight, observing their weave and turns. “Show me,” she commanded. “Show me how you work.”
