Roar of Sky

by Beth Cato

  The fae moths hovered mere feet over Ingrid. She had asked them to avoid encouraging plant life here, a request they found odd but had agreed to nevertheless.

  Ingrid felt better with that assurance. She didn’t want to worry that the sylphs were creating a new Eden in their wake.

  Cy, she knew, trailed a bit farther behind her. He’d keep an eye on the building as she went in. Fenris stayed with the Bug in case they needed to make a quick exit.

  “Amazing, how much kermanite is all around us. I see it like sparkling constellations in every building,” murmured the captain. He suddenly waved her forward. “Hide over here. Men are coming along the sidewalk across the street.”

  She stepped into the shadows behind a rain barrel. All was silent; the sylphs emitted no buzz. After a delay, she heard laughter and loud voices from the approaching group. She gave Sutcliff a nod of gratitude.

  When all was quiet, she continued along the street. She recognized the outline of the laundry building ahead and ducked into the nearest alley, beside a dilapidated mercantile. A cat yowled and scrambled from a garbage bin. She pressed a fist to her chest and willed her frantic heart to calm down.

  In the past, holding energy had left her feeling empowered in many ways. Now she felt terrified, wondering what the energy might do to her body, and what it might lure down from the heavens. She couldn’t help but study the sky every so often, in dread of Blum’s trackers.

  “What can you sense from the laundry?” she murmured.

  Captain Sutcliff walked to the head of the alley and tilted his head, as if listening. His transparent form had a wispy gray outline against the bleak night. Not even gaslights illuminated this street. “Minimal kermanite inside. No recent deaths have torn the veil within.”

  “What can you tell me about the living people inside?”

  “I can’t say for certain there are people inside. My new senses can do only so much. My apologies.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. Let’s do more reconnaissance.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He practically puffed up in eagerness.

  Back on the Bug, they had engaged in brief tests after he had tethered himself to her. As Sutcliff had observed, his hold on reality frayed if he tried to wander far from a familiar person or place. That boundary seemed to be at about twelve feet. At that point, the appearance of his spectral form faded, like a hot cup of tea cooling to emit only a trace of steam. Sutcliff had become addled, too, unable to answer where they were—though he could repeat his rank and deployment history. Knowing him, that hadn’t surprised her.

  The laundry building was shallow. That was to their advantage. Also an advantage: Sutcliff’s incorporeality.

  Ingrid clung to the shadows as she approached the building. As she reached the corner of the newer brick addition, Sutcliff paused for a moment, as if to take a deep breath, and entered the wall. Even though she expected his disappearance, it chilled her to see him pass through solid matter.

  She also felt a surge of sympathy for Captain Sutcliff. He often acted like his brash self, but he couldn’t hide how it perturbed him at times to face the fact that he was dead.

  She took slow, measured steps along the wall going toward the adobe side of the building. Sutcliff’s bond to her was like holding a dog on a leash. She knew where his cold essence was on the other side, how his steps kept pace with hers. Nearing a boarded window, she stopped. Sutcliff drew closer.

  “I’m going to lean through the wall to speak with you directly,” he said, voice muffled. Only his chest, head, and arm emerged from the bricks. Ingrid stifled a small gasp. His warning could never have fully prepared her for such an unnerving sight.

  He acknowledged her reaction with a sad, brief smile. “Don’t speak. Only listen. I found your Mr. Sakaguchi. He’s sleeping on the other side of this wall. I see no outward signs of abuse.”

  Ingrid nodded and blinked back tears. Ojisan was here. He was alive. This time, God help her, she would leave with him.

  “There are two young Chinamen playing a game in the room ahead. Another is sleeping.” No Uncle Moon, then. Good. He had demonstrated a strong awareness of the life forces of those around him; she would not have been surprised if he could see ghosts as well. “Lee Fong is not here,” he said in an oddly gentle way. “I studied his photograph in San Francisco. All of the men here are older, closer to your age. Tread carefully as you go forward.”

  She swallowed, forcing away her disappointment. No time to dwell on Lee’s absence now. Mr. Sakaguchi was here. Maybe he knew if Lee had indeed smuggled himself aboard the craft to Excalibur.

  She edged forward, dodging sticks, broken bricks, and more manure. As she stepped around the latter, she was keenly aware of her tether to Sutcliff and how thin it stretched. To her surprise, the thick adobe walls seemed to lessen some of Sutcliff’s chill.

  Sutcliff stopped moving forward. She felt him waver in place, as if suddenly confused.

  Oh, damn it. He was suddenly confused.

  Ingrid pressed herself against the wall. Sutcliff still wasn’t moving. She carried only a smidgen of power, enough to better communicate with the sylphs. She called on that heat as she grabbed the cold chains that bound her to the ghost, and yanked.

  Captain Sutcliff staggered through the wall and stumbled to the ground before her. He panted heavily, as if he still had need to breathe. “Thank you.” He rose with grace. “I apologize for worrying you. I leaned through another wall to check the far side. Apparently, adobe walls insulate against more than the weather.”

  “What did you find?” she murmured.

  “I confirmed that only four men are in the building. This door here”—he pointed ahead—“is the easiest entrance. Let’s go closer and I can examine it in more detail.” He withdrew inside the building without hesitation this time. He seemed to be acclimating to his spectral nature.

  Ingrid stood in a shadowed nook. Outwardly, the door looked as battered and abused as the door facing the public garden. Only when she was up close could she see the precision cuts through the boards that allowed the door to open.

  Captain Sutcliff walked through it to rejoin her.

  “There is a single hallway along this back portion of the building. Most of the rooms are empty, the laundry machinery gone. There are no traps in place on the door or elsewhere in the structure. I have always had an eye for such things,” he said, not bothering with modesty. “Therefore, I perceive your greatest obstacle to be the door itself. You said that your fairies can cover your noise, to some extent?” She nodded. “That will prove useful. I believe I can work the latches on my side.”

  “You can?” she dared to whisper.

  “Ghosts are known to fling about objects when they’re riled. I believe that with some focus, I can indeed manipulate the latches. The door is not within ready line of sight for the Chinamen—a strategic error on their part. Can your sylphs cover the door itself when it’s in movement? We then wouldn’t need to worry about any sounds that it makes.”

  Ingrid blinked. That was brilliant. She was beginning to see why Sutcliff had achieved the rank of captain while so young. And yet . . . “What metal is in the door and hinges?”

  “Brass hinges, I believe. Call forth the fairies so that they may inspect it for themselves.”

  She did so. The sylphs flowed along the door, like a fog seeking a way inside. They swirled around to rejoin Ingrid. A few hovered in front of her long enough for her to see their smiles.

  “The door has no iron,” she confirmed to Sutcliff.

  With a thought, Ingrid called on her held mana to shield her skin against the pain of fae magic. A blurred, gray veil fell over her.

  “This tether between us,” she whispered, showing them the bond with Sutcliff. “It must stay intact.” The sylphs hummed in the affirmative. They seemed to know something was there, but since Sutcliff was not perceived as a threat, they ignored him.

  Sutcliff stepped through the wall again.

  Ingr
id imagined the door for the sylphs, showing them how it would open and that they must make sure that no sound escaped. To her surprise, the veil around her thinned as sylphs siphoned away, finding crevices to penetrate the interior of the building. A series of soft clicks followed. She scarcely breathed.

  “Open it, slowly,” said Sutcliff. “I cannot see the door at all.”

  She did, with hope and dread twined together. The door groaned, the sound loud and agonized, like a banshee’s lament. She froze.

  “Incredible. I can’t hear a thing. Keep going,” hissed Sutcliff, his voice low from habit, not necessity.

  He truly couldn’t see or hear anything? The sylphs’ geas worked on ghosts? Incredible indeed. She hurried forward and shut the door behind her. Within seconds, the full retinue of sylphs resumed their circuits around her.

  “I see the door again. Good. I will leave it unlatched to allow you a quick egress, and hope that the guards persist in their ineptitude. Don’t tarry.”

  She nodded, though he couldn’t see, and walked forward.

  Ugly gouges marked where laundry machinery and massive tubs once stood. What couldn’t be moved looked as though it had been assaulted with sledgehammers. That included the walls themselves, which were host to what looked to be holes from cannon blasts.

  She moved down the hallway. The two men chattered softly in Chinese. An oil drum between them was covered in two-toned brick shards; she guessed they were playing the ancient game Go. She passed an empty room; the door had been ripped from the hinges, the wooden frame left jagged like a broken bone. Blankets and cases of items lined a wall, tidy and in wait of people to return.

  Another room with no door awaited her at the end of the hallway.

  Mr. Sakaguchi lay curled on the floor, his arm as his pillow. Sutcliff stood beside him, his ethereal illumination granting her a modicum of light.

  Sutcliff was right; Mr. Sakaguchi showed no outward signs of injury, but he looked so old. The past weeks had aged him by years. He seemed to be attired in the same cotton work clothes he’d had on in Seattle a month before, now stained and frayed by sweat and wear. She couldn’t see any shackles on him. The room had no window, nor had the one next door. A chamber pot on the far side of the room buzzed with flies and exuded a foul stench.

  She willed the sylphs to rest and let the shielding over her skin dissipate. The hive withdrew to the floor near her feet; despite their exertions, they weren’t hungry yet, which was good. Pastry time needed to wait awhile longer.

  “Marvelous creatures,” murmured Sutcliff. “A travesty that they are best known as a culinary delicacy.”

  “Watch the guards for me,” she whispered, low as she could. Sutcliff acquiesced with a crisp nod, stepping toward the doorway a few feet away.

  Ingrid reached into her pocket and pulverized a sliver of kermanite between her fingertips. She took in the ebb of energy with a shiver. Gripping Mr. Sakaguchi’s shoulder, she shook him gently as she constructed an energy bubble around them.

  “Ojisan. Ojisan!”

  He awoke with a gasp, lurching backward. He would have bumped into the wall but met the glass sheen of the bubble instead. Ingrid focused to make it absorb all sound.

  “Ojisan, it’s me. I’m really here.”

  “Ingrid?” Mr. Sakaguchi blinked rapidly, looking stunned. “But how?” Mr. Sakaguchi’s hair had grown out, tangled and shaggy. A black-and-silver beard obscured his jaw and neck.

  “I’m using a bubble to absorb our sounds, but I can’t keep it up for long. I need to be careful about how much energy I expend. Has Uncle Moon healed you recently? And do you know where Lee is?”

  “I haven’t been healed in two weeks. His ability to track me will have decreased by now. He’s not here, anyway. He went with Lee to board Excalibur.” He blinked, regaining his bearings. “Yesterday, I believe.”

  She thought of the qilin and guandao and Lee’s future, and shoved those thoughts away. She had other things to worry about now. “Let’s stand. Next, I’ll evaporate our protective bubble. I have Sierran sylphs with me. They are going to fly around us to render us invisible and mask our noise. Their magic might hurt you. If it does, clench my arm hard and I’ll create a shield over your skin.”

  “Which will drain you more,” he murmured.

  “You may not even feel pain. I’m the deviant.” Her smile was wry. “We’re also in the company of the ghost of Captain Sutcliff.” At that, Mr. Sakaguchi’s eyes widened. “I will speak with him at times. I’ll mediate a conversation between both of you later. He has a fervent need to apologize for how he treated you before.”

  “My goodness,” Mr. Sakaguchi murmured.

  Ingrid dropped the bubble and took in a deep breath of fetid air.

  Captain Sutcliff looked their way. “The ‘guards’ remain distracted. Will you use the sylphs for the door again? Or your own shield? You might even make yourself invisible, if necessary.”

  She shook her head. She knew she could make her bubbles do many things, but she also knew how much that effort took out of her. A motion toward the sylphs indicated her answer. They flew over, radiant with the happy scent of lavender. Mr. Sakaguchi barely contained a gasp. Ingrid allowed herself a small smile, even as she was sick with fear.

  She had reached this stage when she rescued Lee. She thought she had him, that she’d keep him safe. Then her attention had lapsed.

  She couldn’t let that happen with Mr. Sakaguchi. She wouldn’t.

  Ingrid twined her left arm around his, their hands clasped. They stepped forward as the sylphs encircled them. She glanced at Mr. Sakaguchi as she shielded her skin. He cast her a nod and smile; good, he felt no pain. More energy for her to preserve.

  The walk was, perhaps, fifteen feet, but it felt like a mile. She recognized the long and even nature of Mr. Sakaguchi’s breaths; he relied on his meditative practice. She relied on barely contained panic.

  The Chinese men didn’t so much as look up, but Ingrid took little comfort in that as she walked past. If the guards were alerted now, she and Mr. Sakaguchi could easily be stabbed or shot in the back. Energy writhed in her veins, ready. If the guards moved, she would bring up her shield.

  They reached the door. Sutcliff waited behind them where he could monitor the Go players. “Wait one moment while I check outside.” He took a few steps through the wall, and returned seconds later. “The street is empty.”

  She coaxed the sylphs to swirl around the door again, then opened it. Her hold on Mr. Sakaguchi was slick with shared sweat. They walked forward. Outside. To a dirt street and a sky of diamond-sparkling stars. She turned and shut the door, her fingers trembling. The sylphs resumed their full circuits around her and Mr. Sakaguchi. Soft clicks on the far side indicated Sutcliff fastening the locks again.

  The ghost joined them, silent, and waved them along. She pushed her legs to walk faster. Tears streamed down Ingrid’s cheeks. Had they made it? Had they? Her gaze raked over the sky, her ears wary for any whispers. She couldn’t assume they’d made it free and clear, she couldn’t.

  The sylphs, however, could not cloak them for the entire walk back to the dock, not with their current numbers. Their circuits had begun to slow. Oddly enough, they seemed distracted, too. More and more of them hovered, looking ahead while emitting a low, resonant susurrus.

  Ingrid guided Mr. Sakaguchi to the niche where she had hidden behind a rain barrel. Cy was almost invisible there in dark attire, his gaze focused on the laundry building.

  Sutcliff walked closely past him; their agreed-upon signal. Cy stood straighter at the sudden chill. Ingrid and Mr. Sakaguchi filed behind him as she willed the sylphs to disperse.

  “All well?” Cy asked. Sadness flickered over his face as he recognized Lee’s absence.

  “Yes.” Her voice was a dry croak. She let go of Mr. Sakaguchi’s hand to wipe tears from her cheeks. Her relief at making it this far was tempered by the reality that they still had a ways to go.

  “I’m delighted to make
your acquaintance again, Mr. Jennings,” murmured Mr. Sakaguchi with an abrupt bow.

  Cy offered a bow in turn. “Same to you, sir. We have maybe a quarter mile to the airship dock.” He stroked Ingrid’s cheek. The gesture held its usual affection, but she knew he was also assessing her body temperature.

  “I’m being careful,” she said. He granted her a tiny nod, the tension around his eyes softening. Mr. Sakaguchi took in the intimate exchange and said nothing.

  The sylphs hovered at her head level. go go go go home home home everyone home! Their tiredness seemed of little consequence now, nor was there the slightest hint of hunger.

  Ingrid blinked at them, alarmed at their sudden change in behavior. “Captain Sutcliff?” she whispered. “How does the way ahead look?”

  “Quiet, far as I can see and hear. If an officer of the law stops you, rely on Mr. Sakaguchi’s appearance. Make it clear that he’s Japanese. Play on him being a drunk and that you’re getting him back aboard his airship.”

  Ingrid murmured this advice; the men nodded. Mr. Sakaguchi took position between her and Cy in case he needed to develop a stagger.

  Captain Sutcliff walked ahead, his posture alert. His hand angled to his waist as if to draw the firearm that was holstered there in ethereal form.

  They walked fast, but not fast in a way that might draw unnecessary attention. The sylphs flew above Sutcliff, their eagerness adding an elated tingle to the air. They reminded Ingrid of a horse fighting the bit in an urge to gallop. More male voices carried from a block away. Dogs barked. Doors slammed. The dock lay dead ahead. Past it, the wide sky yawned over the desert. Excalibur hovered like a falling star frozen during its drop to the earth.

  At the dock’s gate, the man on duty granted them a curt nod and continued to carve a block of wood by lamplight. The sylphs couldn’t contain themselves anymore. They surged ahead. The Bug was a hundred feet away, fifty. They passed the neighboring mast and their airship was fully in sight.

  Immense magical pressure walloped Ingrid across the head like a plank.