“We’ll talk later.”
“I will count the moments,” Gunner said.
“Cap’n! Nita found something you need to see!” Lil said, bounding up the stairs to the ship’s wheel.
Coop paced quickly toward them.
“You boys stay on watch. It don’t take five sets of eyes to look at something,” Captain Mack said without ever taking his eyes from the horizon.
Coop stopped in his tracks, then paced back to the railing of the ship, but he kept his ears trained on the conversation at the wheel. It wasn’t easy hearing conversation over the constant wail of wind, but a few years on an airship has a way of training that particular skill into you.
“Captain, this was in the gig. As Wink said, it was a bit loose. I think someone must have thrown it in while we were at port in Lock. Or maybe they dropped it in after Gunner finished unloading but before it was hauled up.”
“Either way, sounds like I’m going to have a word with you folk about keeping a tight watch on the ship. Now’s not the time to be slacking.”
“Well sure, Cap’n, but look at it!” Lil said.
Coop glanced up to see his sister holding a small canister in front of the captain. Mack took it and turned it about.
“A top-off canister of phlogiston,” he said, handing it back. “Looks like one of ours.”
“It looks like one of ours, but it isn’t,” Nita said. “I checked the inventory on board and they’re all accounted for. You taught me that the fug folk punch a date and a port code into every one of these canisters so they know where it came from and when. Ours don’t have them because we stole them directly from the Fugtown stronghold. But this one doesn’t have a date or a code either.”
“Could have been scrubbed. Bently and Jameson up in Clifton like to scrub theirs. Keeps the sneaky sorts from figuring out where they been getting their supply and cutting out the middleman.”
“I thought that too, but look at it,” Nita said. “No grinding or sanding marks. It hasn’t been scrubbed. And it’s still sealed and heavy enough to be full. Whoever got their hands on this has a source from within the fug.”
“I’d say that’s a bit of a leap,” Captain Mack said.
“There was a note, Cap’n,” Lil said, retrieving the scrap of paper and waving it. “Have a look.”
Mack took one hand from the wheel and snatched the flapping bit of paper. He pinned it skillfully against the wheel to steady it enough to read. “‘Dear Wind Breaker crew. We have all become great fans of your exploits. Rumor has it you are having trouble keeping yourself in phlogiston. Consider this canister a gift, and a sample of what you can expect if you are willing to share your skills with us. Meet us at the base of the northwest mooring tower at Springcrest on the eighth if you are interested. We will be waiting. Your friends, The Well Diggers.’”
“What do you think, Cap’n?” Lil asked.
The captain handed back the page and held out his hand. Nita gave him the canister again. He hefted it, then glanced over his shoulder. “Coop, grab a phlo-lantern and run it up here. I want to see how pure this stuff is.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Coop called back.
He jogged over to the bit of piping running along the rigging that supported the envelope. It was a phlogiston line, used to pump spare gas into the sack when it inevitably began to get slack. While not being used for that purpose, a bulb of treated glass was screwed into the input valve, such that if any additional light was needed on deck, a twist of the valve would allow the residual gas in the line to illuminate the bulb. He closed the valve good and tight and unscrewed the head to take it to the captain.
Mack took the lantern and screwed it onto the opening on the canister, breaking the seal. When he twisted the knob, the bulb illuminated with brilliant green light. Despite its smaller size, it was at least three times as bright as the tube that had lit the gig room.
“That’s some pure stuff, Cap’n. Just as pure as what we got from the heist and a damn-sight purer than what we been getting from the black market,” Coop said.
The captain nodded. “If the wind ain’t too hard against us, we’ll be able to make Springcrest by the eighth, but only just. I don’t know who these Well Diggers are, but if they were trying to make an impression, they made one. I’d say they earned themselves a sit-down to talk shop.”
Chapter 2
Captain Mack’s navigational skill retained its almost uncanny accuracy, as the Wind Breaker was just pulling into port as the sun was setting on the day of their intended meeting. Springcrest had a delightful name, the sort that conjures to mind a pleasant town with friendly people and scenic vistas. As tended to be the case, the name had little to do with the town itself. Most towns on Rim were precarious, sparsely populated little clusters of buildings clinging to the top of the mountainside. The best of them were relatively low and had access to plateaus that could serve as grazing for goats or a few fields for farming. While it did have a flatter-than-normal stretch of mountain to call home, Springcrest was not the best of them. The only reason it existed at all was the white line that was barely visible along one edge of the eastern end of the boardwalk that ran the length of the city. That marked the border between Westrim and its smaller neighbor, Circa. And when it came to borders, nations liked to have a few people nearby to make sure everyone stays on his or her own side.
To serve this purpose, Springcrest was home to a few dozen airmen for the Westrim military, the entire staff of a small mining company, one goatherd, six goats, and a rather large stockpile of fuel and water. The northwest mooring post was the most remote from the city, jutting far out over the ocean on the off chance someone with an airliner too large for the three main piers would dock at the jerkwater burg. The Wind Breaker pulled into port and found the tower unmanned, with no one eager to rush out across a dozen yards of icy wooden catwalk to man it.
“Always a fine sign when the ground crew can’t be bothered to pull in the lines. Coop, Lil, get down there and tie us up before a crosswind makes the old girl fussy,” he said, feathering the throttle to keep the Wind Breaker relatively in position.
“Aye, Cap’n,” declared both Coopers.
“Gunner, keep a bead on the catwalk and let me know if anything seems off. Plenty of folk would be pleased as punch to see half our crew defenseless at the end of a rotten pier.”
“Aye, Captain. Way ahead of you,” Gunner said, flipping up the optics on both goggles and gun to get a clear view of the short range.
Lil and Coop each dropped down the coils of rope that would secure the Wind Breaker and launched into an inadvisable display of aeronautical acrobatics that most people would pay to watch. The correct thing to do when no ground crew was present was to signal the port and wait until a ground crew was deployed. In an emergency the correct thing to do would be to drop a ladder and lower a single crewmember down to handle the lines one by one. Lil and Coop chose a third option, which was to slide down the mooring lines. Coop, the heavier of the two, was able to heave himself back and forth until he swung near enough to snag the port-side tower. Lil didn’t quite have the weight for that. Instead she slid to the midpoint and fished in her coat for a length of cord with a weighted end. She spun it up, let it fly, and in two tries snagged one of the cross-struts of the starboard mooring tower. Once she was properly grappled she hauled herself over and climbed up.
The two stunts took about the same amount of time and delivered a deckhand to each tower. When lines were as taut as they could manage, Captain Mack let the turbines spin down. At no point was there even the suggestion the port office had been planning to send someone.
“Coop, Lil! Meet me on the pier,” Mack called out. He turned to Gunner. “Gunner, keep an eye on us and call out if anything smells funny. Wink, get down below. And where’s Nikita?”
“Where do you think she is?” Gunner said.
Mack gritted his teeth and shook his head. “I ain’t never met a boy with so many horses and so few reins.” He leaned down to the speaki
ng tube. “Miss Graus, keep the boiler warm. Don’t waste too much coal, but keep us ready to move.”
“Aye, Captain,” Nita said. “Though I have been on the crew for nearly half a year, so I think I know how you like your boiler when you’re preparing to meet with some potentially unsavory individuals.”
“Maybe so, Miss Graus. And you being such a veteran member of my crew, maybe you’d like to tell me what I expect to hear coming back through this tube when I give an order?”
“Aye, Captain.”
“And what else?”
“And nothing else, Captain.”
“Thank you, Miss Graus.”
Captain Mack marched down from the wheel and into the bowels of the ship. “Glinda!”
Butch answered, bellowing through the corridors.
“Helm’s yours. If you hear any gunshots that ain’t answered back by Gunner, you get this ship out in open sky and wait for a signal, same as usual.”
He didn’t wait long enough for a reply, slipping through the various decks into the gig room and dropping the crew ladder. Though Captain Mack was not a young man, and a rope ladder hanging beneath even a moored ship was a devil of a thing to climb, he navigated it like he was born to do so. It wasn’t until his boots struck the pier that he wavered, as though his body objected to a floor that didn’t shift quite enough with the breeze.
Lil and Coop were already beside the ladder by the time he fished a silver tin from an inside pocket of his long coat and plucked a slender brandy-soaked cigar from inside.
“Coop,” he said, lighting the cigar and taking a draw, “how many inspectors we got on our ship?”
“Two, Cap’n?”
“Not by my count. By my count we got one on the ship and one in your jacket.”
Coop winced. “Aye, Cap’n. Forgot to set Nikita aside.”
“Yes you did,” he said, smoke curling from his lips. “Now personally, I don’t mind much what you keep in your jacket, so long as it doesn’t interfere with the job you do. But how many inspectors does everyone else think we have.”
“None, Cap’n.”
“That’s right.”
“You want I should run up and hand Nikita off?”
“No. This being sunset, and us having a deadline, I’d say it’s better we get moving. But you keep her quiet, you keep her out of sight, and you keep her still. Stay back when we do our dealings and let me do the talking.”
“Like always, Cap’n. Where do you reckon we’re to meet these Well Diggers?”
“They said the northwest tower, and that’s where we are.”
He scanned the city. From their distant vantage nearly the entire place was visible. The slope of the mountain was shallow, giving most of the city no more than a yard or so of piling to keep it level. It was more stable than most cities could hope for, and it probably would have been a much larger settlement if not for its low altitude giving it more of a whiff of the fug than most people, crops, and livestock could stomach for long.
The reason the border between Circa and Rim had been drawn here was that it was the beginning of a long, low stretch of mountain. The gap between peaks was wide enough and ran near enough to sea level to risk dipping down below the surface of the fug. Even now the vast sea of twisting purple mist could be seen spreading off to the south and east. The whole of Rim was little more than a continent-size bowl filled to the brim with the toxic fumes. Here in the city the air had the subtle but undeniable stench of the stuff. Even a dozen feet lower and any surface dweller who wanted to keep breathing would need to do so through a mask more often than not.
As Captain Mack’s eyes came to settle on the only stretch of town hidden in shadow by climbing mountains to the east, a figure stepped out into the light. The stranger, the only other person out and about aside from the Wind Breaker crew themselves, was at least a match for Coop’s height. Whoever it was wore layer upon layer of winter clothes. Hoods, scarves, and goggles hid every bit of his or her face. There wasn’t an inch of flesh exposed to the cold. Despite the cold-weather gear, the person barely looked bulky. Whatever was hidden beneath those layers was more skin and bone than anything else.
“Captain West,” the figure said when it drew near.
It was a man, his voice clear, and his diction impeccable.
The captain cast a measuring look and breathed deep, barely suppressing a cough from a cloud of fug that curled around from the east.
“Would you be the generous would-be benefactor seeking our service?”
“One of several. I cannot thank you enough for coming. I wasn’t certain you would.”
“I wasn’t certain of it either, but I must say you made a rather strong argument.” He puffed at the cigar again, more to overpower the lingering hint of fug than anything else. “Since there doesn’t look to be room under those clothes for enough compensation to make it worth our while, I imagine you’ve got a place in mind for us to talk shop?”
“Indeed I have. I’m not local to the town myself…”
“Ain’t nobody local to Springcrest,” Lil said. “Except maybe some of them goats.”
“But I’ve taken lodging in a spare room of a miner. This way.”
He turned and led them toward the town. Coop and Lil kept pace. Without being told, they scanned the surroundings. Coop kept the rifle over his shoulder and one hand on the grip of a pistol at his belt. Lil had no weapon in hand, but if today was like most days, she had at least three knives and a pistol hidden in the endless tangle of hand-me-downs, and wouldn’t take more than the blink of an eye to get to them.
“You sure are a fancy talker, Mister,” Coop said.
“Why thank you. My father will be pleased to know my education did not go without notice,” he said.
“What do they call you?” Lil asked.
“Of late I’ve taken the sobriquet of Digger.”
“Does he know you took it?” Coop asked.
“He means that’s what folks call him, Coop,” Captain Mack said.
“Oh. Better that way I reckon. Sobriquet sounds expensive if someone was to take it.”
As they walked, they passed by houses shut tight against the cold. If not for the glow of fires and the smell of their smoke, one might have imagined the whole town deserted. Finally they reached a narrow two-story house beside a notch carved into the gray stone of the mountain. Digger fumbled with some keys and unlocked the door. Inside was a cramped entryway with two more locked doors. Digger unlocked the one to the left and revealed a staircase barely wide enough to climb.
“I’ve got the room upstairs,” he said.
“Coop, you stay down here. Make sure we have our privacy,” Captain Mack said.
“Sure thing, Cap’n,” he said, swinging his rifle down and leaning against the wall.
The rest of the group continued up the stairs. Digger stopped at the top, where he fiddled with a freshly installed padlock on the door.
“You’re a careful man,” Digger said, breathing heavily at the effort to climb the stairs.
“So says the fella who needs three keys to get into his room,” Mack said.
“It wasn’t a criticism, my good man. Merely an observation.”
He clicked the lock open and led them inside. The room was toasty warm thanks to a potbellied stove against the far wall. It was a rather austere, little more than a table, four flimsy wooden chairs, and a rickety bed caked with dust.
“Have a seat,” Digger said.
“I’d just as soon stand until you give me reason to stay long enough to sit.”
“Likewise,” Lil said.
“Well I certainly hope you don’t mind if I do,” he said.
“Not my place to say what a man can or can’t do in his own home.”
Digger sat.
“I’ll be plain, Digger. That can of phlogiston is the only reason I’m here. And the knowledge that I might be able to get more like it in a steady supply is the only thing that’s liable to keep me here, so if you’re inter
ested in retaining my company, I suggest you start with that.”
“Of course, of course,” he cleared his throat, “it just so happens I’ve got a source for phlogiston, but—”
“'‘But’s’ not a word I like to hear so early in a discussion of this sort, Digger. What’s your source?”
“That’s a sensitive matter.”
“It’s the only matter that matters, so I’d say quit being so sensitive.”
“All will be revealed in time, Captain West, but—”
“There’s that word again, Cap’n,” Lil said.
“Indeed it is, Lil.”
Digger tugged at the loop of scarf around his neck. “Do I detect a note of distrust in your voice?”
“I’m talking to a man selling goods he shouldn’t be able to get. A man who tries to deal with his face covered. A man who says he’s renting a room with a bed that ain’t been slept in. The note of distrust you’re detecting ain’t nothing to the song you’re singing.”
Lil’s hand slid into her coat. The captain’s hand slid to his belt. Digger glanced back and forth between them.
“Captain West, what is this all about?”
“That’s what I’m hoping to determine. Like you say, Digger, I’m a cautious man. I’ve got plenty of enemies. I’d rather not walk out of this room with one more, but I wouldn’t mind walking out with one less, and there’re a few ways we can go about that.”
A conspicuous click came from within Lil’s coat. Digger looked to her nervously.
“So where do we go from here?” he said.
“I’d say showing me your face and looking me in the eye would be a good start.”
“I fear that might sour relations by a fair margin.”
“Judging by the current state of relations, that’d be quite a trick,” Mack said. “Let’s see that face, or I walk.”
“Can you offer me your word your gunwoman won’t fire her weapon?”
“Can you offer me your word you won’t give her a good reason to?”
“Of course.”
“Then let’s just say my word’s as good as yours. Now let’s see that face.”
Ichor Well Page 4
