The magnificent vista that served as the call to the sky for so many finally spread out around them once more. To the east the rising sun painted the sky yellow, gold, orange, and red. Above, the color deepened to purple and black, with the moon just slipping from the sky and the brightest of the stars fading. Far to the west and nearer to the north, hints of the mountains that almost perfectly circled the continent could be seen. Tiny lights twinkled there, marking cities clinging to the peaks.
“My heavens…” Dr. Prist said, shuffling aside until the shadow of some rigging shaded her somewhat. “Is this what you endure during your long journeys?”
“This is our reward for our life in the air,” Captain Mack said, slipping the mask from his face to take a long-overdue deep breath.
“Reward, bah!” She wavered, dizzy, and put her fingers to her lips. “Everything is so stark and bright. And so sprawling. I feel adrift. Unanchored. It’s… it’s profoundly unsettling. I think I’m going to be ill.”
“If you’re going to make an offering, do it over the side. Right about now we could use the luck.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand…”
“An old airship tradition. If the sky’s making your head spin, may as well head downstairs and work with Gunner and Lester. We won’t be on the surface for long. Then you can have your black skies and toxic soup back.”
She nodded and shakily headed for the stairs.
“If you don’t mind, Doctor, leave the coat.”
“Oh. Yes, yes certainly. Thank you very much for its use.”
She slid the heavy coat from her shoulders and handed it over to the captain, who donned it in between adjustments to his heading. He dug his hand into his pocket and made good use of the fresh air by selecting a brandy-soaked cigar from its tin and striking a match. The way he performed the whole task while still wrangling a ship that was overburdened and lopsided was something akin to a plate spinner hard at work.
Coop reappeared shortly after with a plate of small, dense cakes and a steaming tin cup.
“Butch had this all ready for you, Cap’n. Sometimes I think she knows what you’ll be doing before you do.”
“Spend a few years married to someone and they start doing that,” Mack said.
The cakes and coffee joined smoking and navigation in his complex juggling of tasks, but none seemed at all impaired by the presence of the others.
“With that gondola on our belly, we’re about nine hours out from the trade route we’re after. Another three hours from where that Thicket of theirs starts. If I’ve got it figured right, it’ll be two or three days to cover that whole distance.”
“Seems pretty slow, Cap’n,” Coop said.
“Strapping another ship to yours’ll do that.”
“You reckon we ought to cut it off?”
He puffed his cigar. “On one hand, that’d speed us up from here to The Thicket, but it’ll take us near six hours to strip it clean. Once we get there, cutting it free won’t help much since we’ll have to take it slow to give Wink a chance to deliver the message and Nikita the chance to get it back. That and, since this is one of the longer shots we decided to take, we can’t afford to cut that ship loose until we’ve cleaned it out and found every scrap of what it can teach us. And we can’t be sure Alabaster ain’t the sort who’d bargain away our people for his ship, if they’re prisoners by now.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Get all your deep breathing done in a hurry, and get yourself something to eat while you don’t need the mask. First glimpse we get of another ship, we’re going under.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” He turned to take his leave, but turned back. “You, uh… you think Nita and them are okay?”
“They survived being locked up together in a prison with a couple dozen fuggers. This ought to be nothing for them.”
Coop grinned and nodded. “All the same, maybe next time we gotta split up, we don’t put them together. Lil and Nita ain’t got very good luck.”
The captain gave a noncommittal grunt.
“Oh, and Cap’n, Butch said you ought to get some sleep.”
“Can she keep the Wind Breaker on a straight line down in the fug with a strong crosswind?”
“I don’t reckon so.”
“Can anyone else on this crew?”
“No, Cap’n.”
“Then I’m staying at the wheel. Get your food, Coop.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
The captain gulped down the last cake and tugged a simple, well-used pocket watch from his vest. A glance at the time and one at the sun did the work of half a dozen charts and navigational tools. All of that information translated down into twists of valves and turns of the wheel. His lifetime of experience forced all of these enormously complex tasks—each often the dedicated duty of an entire crewmember on a larger ship—into the back of his mind, as automatic as breathing or blinking. This gave him the mixed blessing of bearing the full weight of the situation without distraction. Another skill, one learned far later in life, was the ability to push this aside as well. Of course he was concerned for the safety of his distant crewmembers. Of course he worried that this whole gamble may have cost him more than he could afford to lose. But those were concerns for later. Right now, the task was to find the well, and to do it safely. Nothing else could be done until he’d achieved this task, and thus he wouldn’t spare another thought to the rest of the journey until he was through with this step.
#
In the mayor’s office in Fugtown, Mayor Ebonwhite stared intently at the message recently set before him. It was a priority delivery, sent for at least a portion of its trip via relayed tap-codes between the inspectors of various ships in the fug and surface fleets. Messages of that sort were exceptionally costly for individuals to send, so much so that even those in the fug tended not to be aware of the option unless they were particularly wealthy. That the message came from Alabaster was almost certainly meant as a heavy-handed reminder that he was a man of means and extravagance. Ebonwhite read over the message again, vague disbelief in his voice.
“‘To my esteemed colleague, Mayor Ebonwhite. If you’ve not been made aware, it seems a certain chemist has been kidnapped by our mutual enemies, the Wind Breaker crew. It is regrettable that you did not see fit to hire me to neutralize them, as I just so happened to be present when the capture occurred. One might chalk such a meeting up to good fortune or exceptional intuition. Had I been in your employ, I might have equipped myself properly to dispatch them and this terrible tragedy could have been averted. Now, it seems, they are in possession of one of the few individuals with intimate knowledge of how to generate phlogiston and burn-slow. I shudder to think of what their plans for this woman may be. Perhaps your plans to starve them may yet prove ill-conceived.’”
Ebonwhite pinched the bridge of his nose and set the page down.
“The message is charged by the word and Alabaster still sees fit to blather on,” he muttered before raising his voice. “Mr. Fross, would you come in here, please?”
The door opened before the request had finished echoing. Fross entered, pen and paper in hand. “Have you any requests, Mayor?”
“I may. First, have we received any information from our northern agent regarding Alabaster’s activities?”
“Nothing yet, sir. His most recent report detailed a small epidemic of delays and misdirections, which he attributes to individuals in Alabaster’s employ impeding his investigation. I have prepared a list of said individuals for your review. Has something occurred that compounded your concerns regarding Alabaster?”
“The man was on hand to witness the capture of South Pyre’s reserve chemist. He would have me believe it is a coincidence. Or rather, he would have me believe he would have me believe such a thing.”
“Complex tactics, sir.”
“No, Fross. Transparent as my office window. He has as much as confessed to his involvement. There are manipulations afoot. The man believes he can twist th
e wills of both myself and the Wind Breaker crew. The fool couldn’t hope to take on either of us individually and yet he imagines he can take us both simultaneously. It bothers me that I’ve not worked out the specifics of his plan, but one thing is clear. He is critically overestimating his own skill. My own plans for the Wind Breaker were not grand enough for him and were too likely to succeed. This message is evidence that he is attempting to sabotage them. Dr. Samantha Prist, given the proper materials, could produce those resources I wish to deny the Wind Breaker. And now they have her. Clearly Alabaster would have me believe that the crew intends to fill their own needs through her prowess. But to do so, they would require ichor. There is but one source.” He leaned back in his chair. “Have we acquired the rye?”
“We have, sir. It was difficult to find but rather inexpensive. We have three bottles. Shall I fetch one?”
“Please.”
Fross stepped away, leaving Ebonwhite to glare at the message for a few moments longer. When he returned, it was with a thick glass bottle bearing a poorly printed label. Fross splashed a bit into a shot glass and presented it to Ebonwhite, who took it in hand and regarded it with interest.
“As I understand it, this is the only spirit Captain West drinks.” He took a sip, then grimaced. “The man is a masochist.” He set the glass down. “We’ve not received any indication that the Wind Breaker or its crew are heading south?”
“No, sir.”
Ebonwhite hissed a breath.
“They need ichor. There’s but one place to acquire it. Samples don’t even leave South Pyre, let alone anything in large enough quantity to be of aid to them. They could certainly attempt an assault on the Pyre. It seems almost perfectly tailored to their list of conquests. I’d suggest greater security there, but I very much doubt any steps could be taken to bolster the security already in place. And yet… if this is all the result of the misguided machinations of Alabaster, he would have himself in position to strike. Where is he now?”
“He summoned a vessel to return him to Caer Fiona. If he hasn’t yet reached it, he will be there in a day or two.”
“North… Entirely in the wrong direction to observe or combat a South Pyre assault… Blast it… Though it turns my stomach to play into his scheme, Alabaster holds the cards. Until we can determine the details of his plan, we have no choice but to mire ourselves in it. At the very least it will enable us to have people on hand when something goes wrong.”
“You are certain?”
“Entirely. A man like Alabaster wouldn’t dare take his final step without a blasted audience. Draft a message to him. Wording is not important. Simply inform him that I am formally acquiring his services to deal with the Wind Breaker crew. And from this point forward we are dedicating all available resources to observing his activities, even at the expense of observing the Wind Breaker crew directly. He’s at least established a capacity to ‘predict’ their activity. If we follow him, we follow them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How quickly do you imagine that message can be in Alabaster’s hands?”
“Rather swiftly. Caer Fiona is home to a recently established high-priority message station.”
“… Is it now?”
“Indeed, one of several investments made by Alabaster in the months leading up to his initial visit with you.”
“Caer Fiona is not a terribly key city, Fross. Rather remote from even its local industrial interests. Not a valuable place for inspector-facilitated communication.”
“Another bit of vanity?” Fross suggested.
“Or a bit of planning… Alabaster, it seems, may be aware of the greater utility of our inspectors. I am not overly pleased with such sensitive information resting in the hands of such a volatile individual. Steps shall have to be taken at our earliest opportunity to preemptively seal the inevitable information leak Alabaster is to become. But that is a matter for future consideration. Deliver the message, Fross. That will be all for now.”
Fross hurried off to perform the required tasks. Ebonwhite picked up the shot glass and turned it in the light of the lamp.
“I truly hope this fool either succeeds long enough for me to take the reins and finish matters or else fails soon enough that he doesn’t end up handing that crew something we can’t take back…”
#
Lucius P. Alabaster shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The passenger compartment of his current vessel was markedly similar to the ship he’d recently had stolen, though each individual feature was marginally less luxurious.
“Poor foresight, Alabaster,” he muttered to himself. “Inexcusable. From this point forward, the prototype shall be upgraded to match the final version and serve as a backup.”
“What’s that, sir?” Mallow called from the pilot’s cabin.
One of the finishing touches that had not been applied to this ship was the door separating his personal chamber from the pilot’s chamber. The always attentive Mallow therefore interpreted every half-heard comment as a potential order.
“Nothing, Mallow, you great nincompoop. I’m engaging in conversation with the one and only person on board who is capable of intelligent discourse. Myself!”
He glanced out the window, which was shamefully without a curtain, and saw one of the two escorts he’d arranged for.
“Tell me, Mallow, have the escorts spotted our quarry yet? … Mallow, I’m speaking to you!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. What were you saying?”
“Has the Wind Breaker been spotted!”
“No, sir.”
“Mmm… they should be heading north. I suppose their stealth is one of their more celebrated skills.”
“What was that, sir?”
“Nothing, you great boob!”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Henceforth, if I require you, I shall… yes… I shall tap my glass, thusly.” He picked up his brandy snifter and gave it a flick.
“Yes, sir.”
Alabaster flicked it again.
“… Was that another demonstration, or do you need me right now, sir?”
“Did I say I would demonstrate it again?”
“No, sir.”
“Then that would imply I am attempting to put the policy to practice! I swear to you, if your penetrating idiocy were any more complete, I would be forced to hire a second manservant to help you remember how to breathe!”
“I’m sorry, sir. What did you want, sir?”
“How long until we arrive?”
“Just a few minutes. I can see the lights in the Ruby Club windows from here.”
“Brilliant. I’ll be able to have a proper meal at last. I feared I would waste away being forced to subsist on the gruel that passes for common sustenance these days.”
“There should be a physician waiting for you at the Ruby Club to see to your arm, sir. I hope it is not, er, vexing you too terribly.”
“It is a searing pain that would no doubt cripple a conventional man, but through sheer strength of will I shall endure it, Mallow.”
The ship rumbled forward on turbines weaker by a third than those in the proper vehicle. That much, at least, Alabaster didn’t know to complain about, and in truth it didn’t alter things too terribly, as the lack of modern amenities made for a much sleeker, lighter ship. In no time they were approaching the mooring tower.
Mallow opened the doors to the pilot’s compartment, which sent an icy breeze through the interior. He kicked the mooring line down and called orders to the crew below.
“Don’t bother too much about cinching it up tight, fellas. This rig’s heading back to dry dock for a refit to match the other one. … You know, the other one! The stupi… uh… the stupendous white one!”
“Would you finish your prattling and close the blasted doors, you ninny!” Alabaster barked. He stood and began to stalk in a circle in what little space there was. “Surely Ferris Tusk did not have to cope with such setbacks and irritations. But then, so often the brilliance of great achieve
ment casts so blinding a light that the dull glow of the impediments that preceded it are lost. Yes. Yes I have no doubt the exploits of Ferris Tusk were littered with the blunderings of small-minded nitwits. Knowing that, it makes the achievements history does record all the more impressive to me…”
“You should sit down, sir.”
“…When my story is written, I shall be sure that these pitfalls and travails are properly cataloged. They shall serve as the rising action to my forthcoming climax.”
“They’re taking in the slack on the lines. Things’ll get rough soon.”
“Yes, Mallow, you buffoon. This is not my first landing. I am quite familiar with—gah!”
His assurance was cut short as the mooring line drew taut and the swaying of the ship came to a sudden stop. As he’d not yet taken his pilot’s advice, Alabaster was thrown against the wall of the gondola, thumping his injured arm quite forcefully. The resulting outburst lacked his usual eloquence, though it was rather effective at illustrating his dismay.
“I’m sorry, sir. Entirely my fault, sir.”
“Clearly,” he growled. “I’ll tell you this. That Wind Breaker man who wielded the weapon… Mr. Cooper, if I am correct… his death shall be a personal project for me. Yes. It shall require all my considerable creativity. Something with insects, I believe. Small ones. In great quantity.”
A few moments of work from the ground crew pulled the ship to a steady, solid berth. Alabaster babied his injured arm as he pulled on his heavier coat. The wound had once again begun to trickle blood thanks to its rough treatment. Due to the theft of the vessel that had taken them to the academy, the many bags and trunks filled with the personal effects Alabaster deemed crucial were missing, so Mallow was free to trot along beside his employer. He opened doors, tipped crew and staff, and weathered a constant low-grade tirade.
The sound, smell, and warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth of the Ruby Club washed over them when they finally stepped through the door and stomped the slush from their shoes. The hour was late, and thus even the steward had retired for the evening. Only Tender, who seemed never to leave his post, was present to welcome them.
Ichor Well Page 26
