The captain’s stare hardened. “No, major. I wasn’t kidding. The new rudders have to be properly hinged and attached to the cables for the plane to fly safely. We’re going to need Isoke, one of her fabricators, and a set of spare parts from Tingis. Halcyon isn’t flying until we get a team up here to fix her.”
Syfax chewed on that for a moment. “All right, then we need to quit jawing and start walking.” He went back to the open hatch called inside, “Everybody grab your gear and get out here.” He paused long enough to yank the survival packs from the rear compartment but not long enough to hear their objections. Then he got Kenan to follow him up into the woods to find a couple of small logs and large branches to throw up across the plane’s wings and fuselage. “There. That should be good enough. With all the glare on the ice, no one should see it here until we get back. Kid, how’s the arm?”
Kenan shrugged. “Just a big splinter, really. It’s sore, but not bleeding much. Captain wrapped it up for me. It’s okay, I guess.”
“Glad to hear it.” He looked up and saw Taziri fooling with the engine again. “Hey Ziri, I thought we weren’t going to fix this thing until later.”
“I’m not fixing it.” She stepped out of the shadow of the plane with a black box in her hand that trailed half a dozen cables. “I’m stripping the battery and leads. This way, even if the Espani find it, they can’t possibly use it.” She shoved the battery into her survival pack and shouldered the bag.
“Fair enough. All right, let’s move out!” Syfax started walking away.
“Move out?” Dante shouted from the side of the plane. “Where exactly do you think you’re going? I’m not walking the length of Espana in the dead of winter, you idiot. Get back here and fix this damned machine!”
With his tinted aviator goggles shielding his eyes from the sun, Syfax trudged across the thick powder on the ice with a sharp grin on his face. Taziri and Kenan quickly fell into step behind him and a moment later he glanced back to see all three passengers marching after them.
Yeah, that’s what I thought, jackass.
Stumbling along at the rear, the Eranian girl in purple motley was moving slowly and seemed uncertain about every step in the knee-deep snow. Syfax grimaced. She’s not dressed for the cold, or even for walking. I’m going to end up carrying her, probably. Unless we find some horses. And I’m not that lucky.
As they climbed the eastern ridge at the mouth of the valley, Taziri quickened her step to come alongside him. “Major? What’s the plan?”
“I saw a road a few minutes before we went down. We backtrack east, find the road, find people, and head southeast. We’ll try to hit the coast south of Valencia and hitch a ride back home. If we’re quick about it, we should be out of the country before any soldiers come looking for us. And if we’re quiet about it, you might even get back here with Isoke and get the Halcyon flying again before anyone finds out about it.”
“You really think so?”
“If we’re lucky.” He grinned. “And you know how lucky we are.”
When the slope leveled out they saw a muddy road in the distance running back east to Valencia and angling northwest to God knows where. They had just begun descending the hillside when Kenan stopped short and pointed at the road. “What’s that?”
Syfax didn’t bother to look. He knew his eyes weren’t good enough to see anything more than fifty yards away. “What’s it look like?”
The lieutenant fished the binoculars from his pack and peered through them. “People on the road. Maybe half a dozen of them. On horses, coming this way.”
“Anything special about these people, kid?”
“All men, in matching blue coats. Rifles in the saddles and sabers on their belts.”
Syfax closed his eyes for a minute to ask God why he had absolutely no luck. “How the hell did they find us so fast?”
“It’s like you said, major,” Taziri said. “People saw us pass overhead. I guess there was a garrison in that last town we passed over. But those soldiers don’t know who we are. They’re just coming to investigate. We can probably just walk right past them.”
“Walk?” Syfax looked back at the girl in purple, the woman in bright blue, and the scowling Italian. Then he looked at himself and the pilots in their regulation orange flight jackets. “Yeah, that’s not gonna fly. We don’t exactly look like locals. And if they hold us for even a day, they might get wind of what happened back in Valencia. These guys might not have telegraphs, but they still use pigeons. We’ll need to stay off the road. We’ll head south cross-country and hope we strike another road toward the coast.”
Taziri winced and jerked her head back at the passengers. “Cross-country?”
Syfax sighed and curled his freezing hands into fists a few times. “Nah, you’re right. Scratch that. These folks need a road, a short road to a warm bed, or else they’ll be dead on their feet in a few hours. What do you think, Ziri?”
She pointed at the road. “We head the other way. Northwest toward Madrid. On the map, it looks to be a day and half away on foot.”
“Wait, you want to go north? We’ll never get home if we start circling around the whole country trying to dodge soldiers while staying on the nice comfy roads.”
“But I know someone in Madrid, major,” Taziri said. “Do you remember the day of the assassination? The Espani fencer with that foreign woman wearing the feathers? They were in all the papers. I met him after the attack before he left the palace. His name’s Quesada. He personally saved the queen’s sister and children. If we can get to him, I think he’ll help us. He’ll at least feed us and point us in the right direction to get home safely.”
Syfax grimaced. Nah, it’s all wrong. Heading in the wrong direction, on the roads in plain sight, looking to rendezvous with a dubious asset? “Sorry, captain, I’m pulling rank on this one. We go south. It may be the worst three days of their lives, but if we take this bunch south then we’ll have the best chance of getting home alive, sooner than later.”
“It’ll be the last three days of their lives if we take this bunch south, cross-country, in the Espani winter. And rank?” Taziri looked at him sharply. “You may outrank me, major, but you’re only in command of security.”
“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure surviving in hostile territory counts as a security problem.”
“Wrong. I’m in command of transporting our passengers and all decisions regarding their transport are mine to make. As long as we avoid the soldiers and play this smart, there won’t be any security problems. We go north, and it will take as long as it takes.”
If it weren’t for the three stragglers with them, he would have insisted on the hard march through the woods to the south. That’s what we would have done back in the Atlas Mountains, back in the army. But this is the Air Corps where the chain of command is some sort of committee tea party. What the hell am I doing here? He spat in the snow. “It’s a bad plan.”
“It’s a reasonable plan,” Taziri countered.
Syfax peered at the road and the dark blurs that might have been soldiers. “What do you think, kid? Can you see anything we’re not thinking of?”
“No, sir. But whatever we’re going to do, we need to get down off this ridge and out of sight soon.”
“Hang on, I’ve got something for them.” Taziri shrugged off her jacket and started rolling up her left sleeve.
Syfax grimaced. “Really?”
“Yeah. Here, hold this.” She handed him the flare shell. With her sleeve up around her elbow, the entire medical brace was exposed. The long aluminum plates encased her forearm down to her wrist and the small rods connecting the brace to her glove held her hand immobile. He’d seen her take the brace off once to wash her arm and change the gauze wrapped around the hideous burns, and he’d made the effort to avoid seeing it a second time. He glanced away now, too. Taziri shoved the top plate down into her arm and then let it spring up with a soft pneumatic hiss. The long brass tube popped up and clicked into place. She hel
d out her hand for the shell and he gave it to her. Taziri slipped it into the tube bolted to her arm, closed the chamber, and aimed at the southern sky. She pulled the trigger and the flare streaked up into the air, leaving only a thin trail of gray smoke as it rocketed away from the ridge. Several seconds later the flare erupted into bright red flames, spewing dark red smoke into the wintry wind.
Taziri carefully sealed up the device in her arm, rolled down her sleeve, and pulled her coat back on. “There. That should at least lead them off in the wrong direction for a few hours and leave the road clear for us. Come on. Let’s get moving.”
Damn it, Ziri, you’d better be right about this Quesada fella. Syfax gave the southern horizon one last tired look before turning to the northwest road. “All right, everybody move out.” And if there’s any justice in this world, we’ll find a nice clean barn where we can freeze to death tonight.
Chapter 5. Shifrah
Someone was shaking her shoulder. She hated that. She hated any method of waking her up, but she hated shaking the most. Like she was a dog or a doll or a pepper mill. And it created a dilemma: Do I endure the shaking to steal a few last seconds of pretend-sleep, or open my eye and start the first argument of the day?
“Get up, Shifrah,” Salvator said in that infuriatingly calm, velvety voice of his. The Italian reached over her to grab his belts and sheathes from the shelf over the bunk. “We’re going on a little trip.”
“What are you talking about?” she muttered, her eye still closed. She knew the ship was too large for her to feel the movement of the deck, but she could feel it. And she hated it. The only thing that made it bearable was staying in bed. “I’m not going anywhere, and you’re supposed to be teaching some children how stab each other, aren’t you?”
“Not anymore. It appears I’ve worn out my welcome.”
“Already?” Shifrah blinked and sat up, letting the blankets fall off her bare chest to reveal the corded muscles of her arms and stomach and the thin knife scars on her hands and forearms. “What did you do this time, sleep with the admiral’s wife?”
“No. Some Mazigh fool just frightened the old man out of his small clothes and he wants me to hunt him down.” Salvator sighed as he belted his sword around his slender waist. “It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. An airship, but with no air bladder. More like a bird, with wings. It was tremendously fast, but Magellan managed to wound it all the same. It’s heading west, and the old man wants us to find it.”
“Mazighs?” Shifrah scowled as she crawled out of bed and began selecting her attire from the clothes scattered across the floor. “What the hell are they doing out here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask them before I kill them.”
She smiled. That’s my Sal. “When will you be back, do you think?”
He smiled and leaned down to kiss her. He bit her bottom lip gently as he pulled away. “Not me. We. The good admiral seems to have noticed you sniffing around the officers’ quarters.”
Shifrah pushed him away. “I didn’t take anything.”
“I don’t believe that anymore than Magellan does.” Salvator carefully slipped his folded clothes into his bag along with his books.
Well, it isn’t the first time we were kicked out of a warm bed. Sighing, Shifrah dressed and began shoving her things into her bag. “So, where should we go next? Back to Italia? Or maybe Carthage for the winter. I’m tired of the cold.”
“We’re not going anywhere. We’re going to do exactly what the old man wants,” Salvator said as he slipped into his long coat. “We’re going to track down this Mazigh spy and bring back his head for the admiral’s pleasure.”
“What for?” Shifrah rolled her eye. “Who cares what the Espani want?”
“I don’t give a damn what the Espani want,” he said quietly. “But I’m not about to leave them in possession of the Arkangel. A single warship like this could rule the entire Middle Sea and destroy any coastal city in just a few hours, and as I recall, most of Italia is still coastal.” Salvator inspected his rapier’s hilt. “It galls me to think that we have been here three months and I still have no idea how to steal or destroy this monstrosity. It’s simply too large. And God save us all if they build any more.”
Shifrah flopped back onto the bed, still only half dressed, her glorious black mane draped over her shoulders. She shrugged in agreement as she adjusted the patch over what used to be her other eye. She had been considering having a jeweler make her a new one cast in silver and set with a sapphire where the iris should be, but the idea had seemed too conspicuous even for her. “If you still want this ship, then fine. But why bother with some Mazigh spy? Let’s go back to Rome and see what your friends have drummed up. Maybe they’ll have some ideas about how to sink this whale.”
“No. I’m staying right here until the Arkangel problem is resolved. And who knows? Maybe if we do retrieve this spy’s head, the good admiral will grant us a little more leeway and we’ll begin to make some real progress.”
It’s always about the job, isn’t it, Sal? Shifrah stood up, letting her unbuttoned trousers fall to her knees and she shoved him back against the wall. “Well, if this is our last hour in a heated room with a real bed, let’s not waste the opportunity.”
Salvator glanced at the bunk. “Another time. Get dressed. We have a flying spy to kill.”
Spoil sport. She scowled and turned away to finish dressing and packing her bag.
The long hours on the road passed slowly. The Espani countryside plodded past them, field after house after field. It reminded her of home, of ancient Nablus in faraway Persia (or Eran or whatever they’re calling it now, she sniffed), only poorer and colder. Much colder. Salvator paused to question most of the people they met on the road, or near the road. Most nodded yes, they did see the strange little airship or the strange roaring bird pass by overhead. But on the afternoon of the second day the heads stopped nodding. The farmers and masons and furriers gave Salvator curious looks and shrugs, leaving the Italian to glare at the distant ridges and hills in silence.
When they came to Villanueva, the local soldiers told them about a strange machine they had found at the edge of the frozen lake just beyond the next ridge. So Shifrah endured the rough ride over the cold, windy ridge and saw the metal bird for herself.
Wings. Tail. Yes, it looks like a bird. So what?
The empty aircraft told her nothing except that no one had died inside it. In fact, she was certain no one had died at all, despite the dents and rents in the metal body. The Mazigh had tried to hide his machine under some branches, which told her that he intended to return to salvage it. But the fresh snow had covered any hint of which way the man had gone. Salvator ordered the soldiers at Villanueva to report their find to Admiral Magellan, and to haul the strange aircraft itself to Valencia, and then he and Shifrah continued on the road west in search of the pilot.
The Italian sat glaring in his saddle, lost in thought.
Ah yes, the exciting life of the dashing Salvator Fabris. Why did I ever come back? Shifrah called out to a little man driving his cart of beaver pelts away down the road. “You there! Are you coming from Madrid?”
The furrier turned. “I am.”
“Did you see any strangely dressed people on the road? Maybe wearing orange?”
He nodded. “Yesterday afternoon. Three of them, and some circus people, I think.”
Shifrah glared at Salvator. “Three of them. And a circus. How fun for them. You’re a spy, Sal, why don’t you travel with a circus? Maybe you’re doing it wrong.”
Salvator snapped his reins and they trotted on to Madrid. It was late in the evening when they spotted a slouched rider coming toward them, descending a small hill where the icy road wound its careless path through a skeletal forest. Salvator smiled. “Rui!”
Oh, excellent. Just who I wanted to meet. Shifrah shivered under her coats and muttered, “What the devil is he doing out here?”
The approaching rider perked u
p slightly and called out, “Fabris? Is that you? What the devil are you doing out here?”
Salvator glanced at her. “Great minds think alike.”
She scowled at him.
“An exciting expedition,” Salvator called out. “We’re looking for a Mazigh airship crew. The good admiral wants to have a word with their corpses.”
Rui Faleiro reined up beside them. “A Mazigh airship crew? Can’t say I’ve seen anyone like that around here. But then again, I haven’t been looking ahead so much as back over my shoulder.” He winked.
“What did you steal this time, Rui?” Shifrah asked.
“Just a book.” The older man grinned. “A sort of treasure map, if you will.”
“Treasure? I do so love treasure. You can buy so many wonderful things with it.” Salvator exhaled slowly, letting the pale vapor swirl around his face for a moment. “Is this treasure of yours anything I should steal from you, Rui?”
Faleiro blinked, his smile suddenly frozen and his eyes rather uneasy. “I doubt it’s anything that would interest you. It’s just an old Espani relic. A magic rock, if you will.”
Salvator shook his head. “You people are absolutely stunning in your faith in such profoundly stupid nonsense.”
Shifrah tugged her scarf away from her mouth. “What sort of rock?”
Faleiro shrugged. “Legend says it was bright and shiny, and the angels sang, and some nun saw it fall from heaven. A friend of mine likes these things. I thought he would enjoy the book.”
“A friend of yours?” Shifrah raised an eyebrow. Maybe this trip won’t be a complete waste of my time after all. “Would this be that gentleman from Aegyptus who came onboard the Arkangel last month?”
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