“I don’t know. I mean, we’ve all heard of Alabaster, but he’s only ever been a name on a page. Not the sort who’d hatch a scheme.”
“Everybody’s gotta start sometime.”
“Imagine for a moment he was someone to hatch a scheme. What sort of resources could he be expected to bring to bear?” Nita asked.
“Oh, well, he’s all over shipping, so he’d have plenty of airships to choose from. Ever since you folk stole from that Fugtown warehouse, every ship’s been loaded up with extra weapons.”
“Yeah, we noticed,” Lil said.
“And like I said, he’s got an interest—that’s to say, he’s got money—in just about every place to earn a living in these parts. So he’s got plenty of folks to order around, if he was so inclined to order people around.”
“The man has, in effect, a fleet and an army. And you don’t consider him a particular threat?” Nita said.
“You’ve got to see things the way we see them. Anybody with two coins to rub together down here in the fug is planting them in some business or another. What could be said about Alabaster could be said about any of the folks who laze about in the cities down here. Everyone invests money in everyone else. I suppose that’s why we don’t do much fighting between each other. There isn’t much good in fighting with your business partner, and everyone’s a partner at some level.”
“Peace through mutual greed,” Nita said.
“Probably they’d say mutual ambition, but one’s as good as another,” Kent said.
“From what I seen, different folk are greedy in different ways. Maybe this is a fella who’s got enough money, and now he’s after something else.”
“Like what?”
“Fame? Power? Whatever else a body could get from a big hole full of stuff it used to be you could only get from one place? Point is, that’s the sort of fella who’d come with guns a-blazing to ruin all our plans for this place.”
“Captain Mack once sagely observed that, despite their claims to the contrary, the one thing all fug folk want above all else isn’t money, it’s control. That’s why they refused to sell me the medicine for my mother. Once taken, it would cure her, and that wasn’t enough for them. They would have wanted to dangle it over me forever. The same way they dangle the phlogiston and burn-slow over us,” Nita said.
“That doesn’t wash. They already control this stuff. If Alabaster were to get his hands on it, all he’d be doing is helping the other people in the industry keep control,” said Kent.
Lil chimed in. “Maybe that’s what he’s after then. Maybe this is his way in to the table with the big boys. Or maybe it don’t matter, because the fella already put a bunch of his lackeys that we know about into your little team here, and he got them to tell him right where we are, so he’s obviously interested. And since I had my heart set on us getting the fuel and phlogiston you folks promised us in exchange for our help, I sure as heck ain’t gonna let him come and take it away. So we got a fight on the way that we gotta be ready to win.”
Kent scratched his head, then turned to the others. “What do you boys think? Original plan was to get the walls up, then drop some pumps down and start pulling this stuff up. If Alabaster’s on his way, it’ll be all defenses and as much offense as we can muster. That last bit’s a real problem. We’ve got the guns from the three powered carts, plus the parts to build a few more, but I’d figured on them mostly being used to scare off any of the larger critters that might’ve given us trouble. We haven’t got the ammunition to turn back a full-scale attack. The way Digger had it worked out, we’d get this refinery up on a shoestring and rely on the industry not knowing where we are until we scraped together the time and money to harden it up, bunker-style. I’m not even sure how we’re going to use what we’ve got against airships. This pea soup hanging over us is going to make it impossible to aim at them. One scout with a few bombs’d be all it’d take to make mincemeat out of the lot of us.”
“You leave the thinking to Nita here,” Lil said, slapping the engineer on the back. “She’s smart enough to work out how to make this all work for what we need it for.”
Nita ran her gloved hand over her head and released a slow breath. “This is really more of a problem for Gunner, but I’ve worked with him long enough. Maybe some of his brand of inventiveness has rubbed off on me. If I understand the situation correctly, the issues are visibility, air superiority, accuracy, and firepower.”
“Heh. Yeah. That’s it. All we have to do is solve all those problems. Simple,” Kent said.
“If you look at it as a whole, certainly it can seem hopeless, but each little step is simple enough, and if every step is simple, then the whole problem is simple. Now obviously, regardless of our solution, we’ll need the guns operational.”
Kent turned to the others. “You three. Get cracking on the guns. No one sleeps until they’re all up and tested.”
“That’s one aspect of firepower. We’ll need fuel for the boilers as well. The coal we’ve got won’t last long.”
“Those branches you girls cut down will hold us for a bit. And we were looking to clear out these little trees and the brush. We can burn them too.”
“Good. Good.”
Nita paced over to the edge of the well and peered down. It was very deep, and not perfectly vertical, but the amber glow of the mysterious substance was clearly visible about twenty feet from the surface. Toward the bottom of the well, and entirely encrusting the surface of the ichor itself, a layer of translucent crystal had formed. Nita picked up a sizable rock and tossed it down. When it struck, the crust shattered like glass and the thick luminescent substance oozed through the cracks.
She looked to Kent. “It was demonstrated to us that all it takes is a bit of heat to make phlogiston out of this stuff. Does anyone here know how to make burn-slow or anything else out of it?”
“Nope. It was news to me you could even do that,” Kent said.
“Still. Phlogiston gives us options,” Nita said.
She rummaged through a crate and selected something they’d called “the sample bucket.” It was little more than a small container on a long chain, intended to be used to haul up ichor for their initial production until a proper pump could be installed. Tossing it into the well and hauling it back quickly rewarded her with a pint or so of ichor. Even in the short trip from the well to the surface it had begun to crust over with the thin crystal.
“Here, careful with that,” Kent said, stepping back. “That stuff doesn’t do any good to us fug folk.”
“Hey, that’s something, right?” Lil said. “We could just douse the folk attacking us with this stuff.”
Kent crossed his arms and looked at her sternly. “What goes up comes down, Lil. And I don’t think any of us are keen on being there when this stuff lands.”
“So don’t get hit,” Lil said with a shrug.
“No, he’s right, Lil. We can’t hope to win if we’re dodging our own attacks,” Nita said.
She walked toward the edge of the dome in the fug cleared by the presence of the well. After only a few yards it was visibly bulging outward, pushed away by the influence of the substance.
“This works at quite a distance,” Nita observed.
“Yeah. If there’s enough of it, anyway,” Kent said.
“… Okay. I don’t have the whole solution, but I’ve got enough to act. We’re going to need a few jars of this stuff. The pipes were wrapped in burlap, right? We’ll need that too. A layer or two across the top of a jar should keep this from sloshing out and being a problem, but should still let it push back the fug. And then we’ll need to get the kettles up so we can make some phlogiston. At least… five full canisters, if we can manage. I’ll need all the canvas we used to secure the cargo, and as much from the tents as we can spare. Plenty of rope, too…”
“That’s my girl!” Lil said.
“What are you planning?” Kent asked.
“I think if we can—” Nita began to explain.
“You’ll know what she’s planning once we’re done getting it ready. No sense jawing about it when we could be working. Now let’s go!”
“Oh, one last thing,” Nita said. “Nikita! I need you to listen for ships. If it’s a small one headed west, send a message to Wink. Lil, cook up a message to Captain Mack that will give him a chance at finding us. The same one as the traitors sent if you can’t come up with something better.”
I will do that, Nikita tapped.
“Me too,” Lil said. “Now let’s all get moving. This fight ain’t gonna win itself.”
#
Time began to creep by, with eyes across Rim peering anxiously to the skies above and around them. For the Wind Breaker crew, the hours they’d expected to spend reaching the trade route stretched into over a day. Fugger traffic perpetually threatened to reveal them, forcing retreat and evasion no less than seven times. Their water reserves ran low and had to be replenished. Fate itself seemed to be dead set against them reaching their destination. Better than thirty hours after they’d begun their journey, they finally reached the North Circa to Precipice route and began their search.
In Fugtown, the mayor busied himself with the affairs of the city, but bit by bit the consequences of his hiring of Alabaster began to trickle onto his desk. Alabaster was requesting funds and requisitioning ammunition and weapons. Reports of his activities, and requests for confirmation, clogged the inspector-delivered messages, stretching the clandestine system of communication to its limit.
The Well Diggers worked hard, piecing together ten fléchette guns and mounting them on hastily erected pylons. Five boilers were coaxed into operation, a steam shovel pieced together, and trenches dug. Their barbed-wire-woven walls were reinforced where possible; a heavy gate was added to allow crew in and out during rare trips for resources from the surrounding forest. Every moment and every last scrap of resources was put to the best use they could muster, and whenever a task couldn’t benefit from all available hands, those who drew the longest straw took the chance to rest, if only for a few moments.
In Caer Fiona, Alabaster bolstered his forces and made his plans. Every hour on the hour he had Mallow visit his personally funded messenger to see if any messages bearing his name had come through. When finally Mallow returned with the cryptic message in hand, Alabaster was fully equipped and ready to set sail for his destiny.
Chapter 10
Alabaster marched the deck of a ferocious ship. It lacked the size and apocalyptic firepower of the fabled dreadnought, but in many ways it was more impressive. Twice the size of the Wind Breaker, it was a triumph of design. Gondola and envelope were both wedge shaped, forming something that resembled a stout flying blade. Both port and starboard edges of the ship were lined with a row of deck guns on top and cannons set into the deck below. On the belly were four yawning ports, ready to dispense bombs at the order of the captain. It was an aptly named “destroyer.” There were a handful of such vessels in the loosely organized military that patrolled the sky beneath the fug, and this one had formerly bore the uninspired name Destroyer 3. Shortly after its arrival, Alabaster had demanded a rechristening. The recently dried paint on the side of the ship now proclaimed it The Fist of Alabaster.
The raw power of the ship’s turbines kept it slicing through the air with enough speed to leave the deck at the mercy of a constant staggering wind. Nevertheless, Alabaster insisted upon wearing his chosen uniform, a gleaming-white bowler hat, a matching cape, and a silver-tipped cane. Somehow the man managed to look smug and arrogant despite having to hold his hat to his head with an injured arm and periodically enduring slaps to the face from his cape. To look at him, one would imagine he had already won the battle that lay ahead. By his side, dressed in a more sensibly designed but still garishly purple outfit, hovered Mallow.
“I tell you something, Mallow. It is nothing short of inspiring to see the sort of power that is wielded by the mere mention of Mayor Ebonwhite’s name. Waving a certified correspondence with his moniker is sufficient to conjure, as if from nothing, this wondrous ship of war complete with crew.”
“If you were to ask me, sir, this ship is merely insurance. Your own ships would have had this battle handled,” Mallow said.
“Yes, yes. Obsequiousness noted, Mallow.” He gestured aside.
Struggling to keep up with the destroyer on either side flew smaller ships of less overtly warlike design. Two were simple messenger ships bearing recently installed deck guns. The other two were larger and more heavily armed, but still little more than escort ships. All of them combined couldn’t deliver the ordnance that could be volleyed forth from just the port-side weapons of the destroyer.
“I have no doubt that my makeshift militia would have risen to the challenge, but I think it is only fitting that an occasion as momentous as this be marked with the gravitas a ship of this sort brings to such matters. Yes. Yes, I believe the first purchase I make once the return on investment begins to flow will be a ship like this. Perhaps not so austere and artless, mind you. I’ll commission something more stylistically suited to my sensibilities. But a predator to be sure…”
Mallow glanced to the bow of the ship, where the helmsman was signaling.
“Ah, Mr. Alabaster, I believe we are approaching the site.”
“Oh?” he said, looking about to see nothing but the dark-purple canopy of The Thicket made nearly black by the green light of their sweeping phlo-lights. “Rather a mundane setting for so glorious an event. I had hoped the backdrop would be suitably epic in its scope and grandeur. It is bothersome that the Wind Breaker hasn’t yet made its appearance. I suppose I may have overestimated them. Bah, offsetting misfortunes, nothing more. We shall snatch up those members of the crew present at the site and use them as bait to lure the others to a grander venue. Problems solved.”
“Inspired, sir,” Mallow said.
“Yes, it is.”
Alabaster stepped up to the elevated deck at the bow and raised his voice, projecting in a rather operatic manner to address the full crew. “I have been informed that our destination is scant minutes away. Now that we are so near, I feel it is safe to reveal to you the nature of our target. You will find it below us. I am told it shall be rather difficult to identify, but an oddly rounded section of thicker-than-average fug is what we are hoping to spot. Once we reach it, we will take up positions surrounding it. I shall address those huddled within the obscuring cloud and entreat upon them to surrender themselves. We shall then deploy the mercenaries I’ve hired to clear away any who do not show the good sense to surrender. Of special interest is a pair of women, one a Calderan and one a Westrimmer. Each is a member of the hated Wind Breaker crew. The Westrimmer can die, though she would not be without use were she to survive. But it is preferable the Calderan be taken alive. She, perhaps secondary only to the site itself, is the greatest prize of this endeavor, if only for her uniqueness and rarity in these parts.”
“Ho!” called one of the gunners, pointing down.
Another gunner swung the powerful phlo-light in the direction of his gesture. The thick mound of haze revealed itself, completely opaque to the light but undeniably unlike anything else they’d seen in their journey.
“Ah! Wonderful. Precisely on cue!” Alabaster said, marching to the railing to peer down. “Downright theatrical in its arrival. Oh Captain! You may slow the ship. Keep it just beyond the edge and as low as the trees will allow, then cut your engines such that I might address these traitorous and villainous swine more clearly. Mallow, fetch the megaphone, would you? And hold my cane.”
The eager manservant produced a large, cone-shaped contraption from a nearby case. Like virtually all Alabaster’s possessions, it was perfectly white, save for the lettering of his name emblazoned across the side.
The Fist of Alabaster throttled down its turbines and coasted to a stop just short of the target. Each of the other escorts broke off and took up positions around its edge. Crewmen prepared themselves for a brief
but intense battle. Alabaster stepped to the bow of the destroyer and gazed down at the odd formation of repelled fug below.
“So… that is what destiny looks like. Again, a bit mundane, but beautiful in what it represents, if not in what it is… Ahem.” He held up the megaphone. “Attention below. My name is Lucius P. Alabaster, and under the authority bestowed upon me by my own inarguable genius and the sanctioning of Mayor Ebonwhite, I now address the misguided Well Diggers and nefarious Wind Breaker crew. You have operated with impunity for far too long. But, though you are resourceful and ruthless, I want you to now understand that your success is the result exclusively of good fortune.”
As he spoke, he waved his injured arm, twice nearly losing his hat. Despite his intended audience’s inability to see it, and the poorly hidden impatience of the crew around him, Alabaster simply could not bring himself to make the speech anything less than a performance.
“Your good fortune in having not crossed paths with myself, the brilliant Lucius P. —”
A distant chatter and hiss cut his proclamation short. A trio of spikes darted out of the churning dome of haze below. None came close to the target.
“What is the preoccupation with interrupting my oratory by shooting at me?” Alabaster said. “I feel certain there was a time when arch nemeses afforded each other the courtesy of their attention at least until a full ultimatum had been issued.”
“From the sound of it, they’ve got a fairly potent fléchette gun down there,” observed the captain from his post a few steps behind Alabaster.
“What possible concern could that be for you? And I have been assured that this destroyer can take everything short of a cannonball without so much as batting an eye.”
Ichor Well Page 29
