by B.J. Keeton
Sid’s Shipping Services was a tiny shack, made of different scrap materials. It was leaning to one side and Jude doubted it could withstand a powerful gale of wind, but Valencia insisted this was the place to use. Inside, the store was no different. It smelled like rotting garbage and cigarette smoke. Sid, a scrawny man with loose, wrinkled skin, stood at the counter. An employee, a young boy with no teeth, stood nearby, mounting a series of packages onto a rickshaw.
“Hello, Sid,” said Valencia as she walked up to the counter.
“Vale!” Sid cried. He threw up his arms, as if this was the most excitement he’d had all year. “It’s about time. I haven’t seen a pretty face since the last time you were here. How long has it been? Six or seven months?”
“More like two years,” Valencia said.
“Well, time flies in old age,” said Sid. He looked at Jude and smiled, but when his eyes came to Fritz, his face grimaced. Sid pointed a bony finger at him. “Is he with you?”
“Yes,” said Valencia. She put her crate onto the counter before Sid could say more. “I need to ship this to Burrow 23.”
Sid took out a crumpled notepad, and his voice was colder the next time he spoke. “Same address as before?”
“Yes,” she said. “But you don’t sound interested anymore, Sid. I guess I could use another shipper…”
“How are you paying?” Sid asked quickly. His voice was friendly once again, but it wasn’t nearly as cheerful as it had been. “Money or water?”
Valencia put three copper pieces onto the counter. “Money,” she said. “And I’ll know if they don’t get it.”
“Vale, my girl!” Sid said. He flashed a weasel’s smile. “I would never dream of stealing from you. Sid’s Shipping Services is a good business. We don’t take anything from our clients. You know that.”
“And don’t take anything from his either,” she said, nodding back to Jude.
“Where can I send that for you, my dear boy?” asked Sid. He was still smiling, but his hands were shaking slightly, as if he was afraid of losing a sell. “You can trust us here at my business. We’re good, honest people.”
“I need this shipped to Burrow 12,” said Jude. He put the crate onto the counter. “Send it to Joseph and Ressie Finley in Sector 7, Housing Unit 342.”
Sid quickly scribbled the address down in his notepad. “And how will you be paying, my dear boy? Money or water?”
“Water,” Jude said. It pained him to say it, but he didn’t have any coins.
“Ah,” said Sid. His eyes widened and his rotted, yellow teeth gleamed in the dim lighting. “Water…”
“How much do you take out?” Jude asked, fearful of the answer.
Sid shot Valencia a nervous, and slightly apologetic, glance. “Two bottles.”
“Two bottles!” Vale and Fritz said at the same time.
“That’s my deal,” said Sid.
“Two bottles are worth at least sixty gold!” Jude retorted. “You only charged Vale three copper. You can’t be serious.”
“Here,” Fritz said. He stepped up to the counter and put down three copper coins. He looked at Jude, who was about to protest. “You can pay me back later,” he said.
Sid eyed the copper coins and spat on them. “We don’t take hobgoblin money here! Take your filthy coins and get out.”
Valencia moved forward, but Sid waved her away. “I’ll put up with his presence because he’s here with you, but you can’t make me take his dirty money,” he said. “I like you, girl, and that’s why I’m not going to have Tony in the back come out and rough you and your friends up, but you better get out. Now.”
Valencia grabbed Fritz’s money and handed it back to him. She took three coins out of her own pocket and tossed it at the man behind the counter. “Make sure the Finleys get their water, Sid,” she said firmly. “All of it.”
Sid looked like he was about to protest, but thought better of it. Instead, he pocketed the money and the toothless boy by the counter added Jude’s crate of water to the stack on the rickshaw, along with Valencia’s.
***
“Don’t let him get to you,” Valencia said when they left. She patted Fritz on the back and tried to smile. “The man’s an idiot. The only reason I use him is because he’s too dumb to get away with stealing anything.”
“Forget it. I’m used to it,” said Fritz. “Everybody thinks it’s contagious—like they’ll look like me just for looking at me.”
“Why don’t we go grab a drink with everyone else?” she asked. “It’ll cheer us all up. Besides, we’ve been working hard.”
“Nah, I’m going back to the ship,” Fritz said. He handed some coins to Jude. “Buy me a book or something with that, will you? I need something to do when I’m not Hosing or I’ll drive myself crazy.”
Jude took the money. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”
“I’m not in the mood,” said Fritz. With his shoulders hunched, he headed back in the direction of the docks. The people on the street moved to one side as he passed.
“I’ll pay you back,” Jude told Vale. “I just didn’t have any coins with me today.”
“Think nothing of it,” she said. “I had plenty. I’ve been saving up for about a year now, selling a bottle of water here and there. You in the mood for a drink?”
They walked together down one of the more crowded streets, bypassing some of the loudest merchants Jude had ever heard. “Fresh tobacco!” called one. “Straight from the hydroponic chamber-gardens of the Spire! Great for smoking!” A pudgy merchant hawked fake necklaces their way (“Want to buy the lady a present? Want to show her you care?”), while a female trader attempted to woo onlookers with flowers she claimed she picked from Cloud Nine (“If they’re good enough for the High Prelate, they’re good enough for you!”). They finally came to the Upturned Tortoise, the Gangly Dirigible crew’s tavern of choice.
Nearly every Hoser and engineer from the Gangly Dirigible was already inside. Roebuck was too busy smoking and playing cards to notice Valencia and Jude enter, but Robert Thorne waved to them from a nearby stool.
“They say they’re out of ale!” he yelled. “Codswallop, if you ask me. Codswallop! This whole port is codswallop!”
“I’d prefer to sit somewhere else,” Jude whispered. “I hear enough of his garbage as it is. I’ll be hearing all about this for the next three months.”
Toward the back of the tavern, an old man played a stringed instrument and sang a song. Jude couldn’t hear the lyrics, because of all the noise, but the music sounded nice. It somehow reminded him of home. Maybe it was because similar instruments were played in Burrow 12.
“I’m going to go grab a mug of something,” said Valencia. “You want anything?”
“No thanks,” said Jude. As soon as Vale left, he started toward the old musician. He sat down at a table near the singer, but he still couldn’t make out the words. They were in a strange language he didn’t recognize, maybe one the people used before the fog ever came.
“You like the song?” asked a withered, bearded man. He sat down at the table with Jude. He wasn’t part of the Gangly Dirigible crew, but he was ugly enough to give the Shrew a run for his money.
“It reminds me of home,” Jude replied.
“Ah, you’re from underground then,” said the man. He spoke in a quick, stilted accent. “A Dweller.”
“No. I’m not,” said Jude irritably. He hated that term. It made them all sound like ignorant bumpkins. “But yeah, I’m from a Burrow.”
“That song reminds you of home?” asked the man.
“I’m sorry,” said Jude. “Do I know you?”
The man laughed. “Of course not, boy. I’ve lived around here for nearly fifty years, but I used to be a Dweller. Burrow 16 was my home—one of the Burrows just beneath Thunder’s Echo. The name’s Gough. Arnold Gough. And what might your name be, my friend?”
“Jude,” he answered. “Jude Finley.”
“And what migh
t you do, Jude?”
“I’m a Hoser,” said Jude. “I work on the Gangly Dirigible. Why are you so interested?”
“You were born in a Burrow, but you talk like a more educated man.” Gough took a sip from his mug and gave Jude a wry smile. “Are you educated, Jude? Are you learned?”
“I can read. And I know a little mechanical stuff.”
“Joined up with a crew, looking for adventure, huh? Couldn’t stand living in a hole in the ground for all your life? I know the feeling. That was why I had to get out. That’s why I joined up with the Pamson Skyhook when I was about your age.” He brought his arms up to the table. One was made of wood. “That’s how I lost my right arm. I was Hosing and the wind ripped my hose away, disconnected it from the central kiosk on the main deck. The hose wrapped around my arm and the gale was so strong, it took the hose and my arm with it.”
“Is this your way of warning me to get out while I can?” asked Jude.
Gough laughed. “Nah. It’s just an old man telling stories to young whippersnappers who’ll listen. Most people around here know me so well they don’t bother listening, but I love a fresh pair of ears. You said you like the song Old Jimbelly is singing up there. You know what that song is about?”
“Sailing the skies?” Jude asked. He was tired of listening to Gough, but he couldn’t find a way out of the conversation. Besides, Valencia seemed to have disappeared, which meant rescue was nowhere in sight.
“No,” said Gough. “It’s about the monsters that came out of the fog over a thousand years ago. Did they have stories like that in your Burrow?”
“You mean about the fogspawn?” asked Jude. He nodded.
“Well, that song he’s singing is about a young boy who went too close to the fog. A lot of the boy’s skin was ripped from his bones, and he was nearly dead, but something came over him. He had this fit and then he had superhuman strength. His eyes were red like fire and wisps of smoke came out his mouth when he spoke. In his weakened state, the fogspawn had entered his body and taken hold over it,” said Gough. He winced as Old Jimbelly finished the song. “He had no control over himself, then.”
“He died?” asked Jude.
Gough shook his head. “He was possessed by an immortal being, boy. His skin died and decayed, but the soul lived on. He was like a walking corpse—a puppet, until the fogspawn got tired of him.”
“Sounds like my kind of song,” said a voice behind Gough. The Shrew hobbled over to them, his perpetual grimace even more pronounced than usual. “You mind scootin over, old man?”
Gough slid down to the next chair and the Shrew took his place. “You’ve heard the song before?” asked Gough.
The Shrew shook his head. “Nah, but I could hear some of the words as I came over. It’s in the old language, ain’t it? From before the fog?”
Gough nodded. “I was telling my young friend here all about it.”
The Shrew looked Jude over with his one eye and scoffed. “You tryin to scare him? Tryin to give him nightmares?”
Jude was tired of listening to them. He wasn’t a kid, and he was sick of being treated like one. “I’ve got to find my friend,” he said, standing up. “You two try not to choke on your drinks.”
“And you try not to wet the bed tonight,” the Shrew said.
Jude could hear the Shrew laughing until he was out of earshot. He didn’t want a drink, so he decided he might as well go on and find Fritz a book before heading back to the ship. He was about to leave, but he spotted Valencia sitting at a nearby stool.
“Jude,” she said. “Where have you been? I tried looking for you.”
“I was just listening to the music,” Jude replied. He took a seat next to her. Robert Gwynn and Kathleen Burke were there also. On Burke’s other side was Macintosh, and he looked considerably better since the Shrew’s beating, though his throat was still a deep shade of red, and it was starting to bruise. “What have you guys been up to?”
“Drinking!” cried Gwynn. “It’s the Upturned Tortoise. What else is there to do?”
“You not up for drinking?” asked Macintosh. “Too poor or too weak?”
“You know, Macintosh,” said Jude, “I was just chatting with your good friend the Shrew. He said to tell you hello.”
That shut Macintosh up, but Vale and Gwynn both laughed. Gwynn took out a cigarette and lit it with a match. “You know, I just bought these fresh today. The lady at the marketplace said the tobacco just arrived from Garden Point. It smokes good, but if it’s really from that skyport, I’ll eat my left foot.”
Vale finished off her mug. “Well, I guess I’m outta here. I need to get some sleep before we sail off in the morning.”
“I still have to get a book for Fritz,” said Jude. “Do you want to come with me?”
She nodded. Before either of them could stand up, there was a commotion at the entrance to the tavern. Cal Reedy had just walked in with an angry look on his face. The first mate stood up on a stool and looked out at everyone in the bar.
“All the Gangly Dirigible crew get back to the ship!” he commanded. He cupped his hands around his mouth to make his voice louder. “You’ve got ten minutes. Anybody too drunk to Hose better just stay here. We don’t want you.”
There were several groans from all around the Upturned Tortoise. As Reedy stepped off the stool, the engineer called Patterson walked up to the first mate and put an arm around him. Patterson’s eyes were watery and he was shaking. “Ah, come on, boss,” he said. He let out a loud burp in Reedy’s face, which may or may not have been accidental. “We just got here.”
Reedy punched Patterson hard in the stomach. Patterson tried to get away, but Reedy slammed his head into the stool. Without so much as a groan, the engineer collapsed on the floor.
“He’s staying behind,” Reedy said. He looked around the room and shook his fist at the crowd. “If anybody tries to haul him back to the ship, I’ll make sure Patterson and whoever helped him are all thrown off immediately. Let the wind or the fog take you.”
With a few more groans, the crewmembers of the Gangly Dirigible started filing out of the tavern one by one. Some of the crew were furious, cursing and stomping in hopes Reedy could hear them, but Jude doubted a man like Reedy would be insulted by a few curses hurled his way, although it didn’t stop some people from trying. Before he walked out the door, Jude thought he saw Roebuck leaning over Patterson, taking coins out of the unconscious man’s pockets.
“I’m going to find out why we’re setting off so early,” Macintosh said. He pushed his way through the crowd, trying to make his way to Reedy.
“What do you reckon this is about?” Gwynn asked as they walked back toward the docks.
“I don’t know,” said Thorne, joining with the rest of them. “But it’s all a pile of codswallop. Just like this blasted port. I have half a mind to just stay here, but I think one more day in this place would have me looking worse than a naked hobgoblin.”
“Don’t let Fritz hear you say that,” said Burke. “He might infect you.”
“You know it’s not contagious, Kat,” said Jude.
“I don’t care,” she replied. “Why Schlocky let that man on our ship, I’ll never know. If you ask me, I think it was blackmail or something like it. Schlocky doesn’t seem like the kind who’d work with hob—”
“If you say that word, I’m going to punch you in the mouth,” Valencia said. Burke gave Valencia an evil look, but kept quiet. The distance between the two women grew slightly as they walked.
“I really do wonder why we have to leave so early,” Gwynn said. He fiddled with his moustache. “What do you reckon this is about?”
“Quit your worrying,” said Thorne. “All you do is worry. I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. Just give it a rest.”
“I bet it has something to do with the boilers,” said Burke. “Roebuck was supposed to fix that leak months ago. The whole ship has probably—”
“There’s a storm!” Macintosh shouted.
He ran to their group and kissed Burke on the cheek. “I just heard Reedy telling someone. They’ve got word that a huge storm is northwest of here. Schlocky was the only captain at port, so none of the other ships know about it yet. He wants to get there first.”
Thorne sighed. “Fantastic. More danger for us Hosers.”
“Yeah, but we’ll get enough water to fill the next three or four quotas,” Valencia said. “This is great. We’ll all be raking in wages again after this.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Gwynn said, still playing with his moustache. “It’s been a long time since we’ve encountered a storm.”
“Stop worrying!” Thorne said, and he walloped Gwynn in the back.
As much as he hated to side with Thorne, Jude agreed. “Try to relax. We’ll all be fine,” he told Gwynn as they boarded the ship. “And we’ll all have wages, too.”
“No, no, no,” said Gwynn, stroking his moustache so furiously he looked as if he were about to rip it from his face. “You mark my words, Jude. I’ve got a bad feeling about this, and my gut’s usually right. The last time I had a bad feeling, Trombino was killed during a night Hosing. He fell right over the edge.”
“I’ve never heard of Trombino,” said Jude.
“Exactly,” Gwynn retorted, giving Jude an appraising look. “You were hired to take his place.”
Chapter Four
You have greatness within you. It has been beaten down by those around you, but in time, others will see it like I have. When that time comes, I will guide your hand so that you do not ruin the moment.
***
The whirring and clanking had kept Demetrius Rucca up all night. For being the skyport that housed most of Nimbus’ noble families, Cloud Nine sure didn’t seem like much. Of course, Rucca had no idea what it was actually like down in the Burrows or on any of the other skyports, but he expected more out of a place that was home to the seat of the Assembled Court. If he were god-king, he would demand more from the seat of his government and his house of worship.
His ruminations were interrupted when the new day’s sunlight began to glint through the large windows of his bedroom. When the sun had completely risen, Rucca finally gave up any attempt to sleep. He went through his morning routine—washed himself, shaved, and then wheeled himself over to the desk that sat beneath the window. The morning’s light shone on the books he had stacked there, creating the perfect study environment, but try as he might, he could not concentrate on the words this morning. Probably one of the side effects of not sleeping well.
