by Beth Cato
“Just go, Fenris,” said Cy.
“Yeah, yeah, forgive me for some hesitance so that I might make certain we’re not flying straight into hot cannon fire.” The Bug’s engine slowly revved and the ship flew forward. Clouds dissipated but the sky was not pure blue. “Well, damn. I see what you mean. Time to sidle up to some gunships, then.”
“I hope you’re joshing,” said Cy.
“Being within a few hundred feet is sidling up. Under most circumstances, that coziness would be incompatible with staying alive,” said Fenris. He pointed ahead. “Hey, Captain. Is this the best place to park?”
Excalibur loomed closer and closer, the gunships surrounding it like points of a star. No matter how many times Ingrid looked at the flying alabaster castle, it never seemed quite real, more like some fanciful creation out of an N. C. Wyeth painting in a fairy-tale book, only missing a dragon perched on a parapet. Mooring masts crested the citadel at several levels. Only one airship remained docked at a mast—the last supply vessel.
“Yes, the kermanite is closest to this side,” said Captain Sutcliff. Ingrid relayed this news.
“Good. Those should be the main holding bay doors. Makes sense for the kermanite, large as it is, to be stored near the tanks and other equipment of size. That matches our map, too.”
During their last days in Los Angeles, the men had made several trips to view more newsreels of Excalibur, and then engaged in vigorous discussions to plot out the interior layout and points of vulnerability.
A minute of tense silence passed by as they crept closer. Ingrid could count the windows along the gunship’s hull.
No one in the other ship could have heard a sound from inside the Bug’s cabin, but even so, Cy, Ingrid, and Fenris said nary a word as they glided by. Ingrid knew the sylphs were concealing much of the Bug’s engine sounds, but there was still the risk that an alert crewman might detect a distortion in the air, hear some nebulous soft roar from the empty sky. She waited in dread for a klaxon, for gunfire, for a hailing light sequence.
The gunship passed from view. Ingrid released a rattling breath, a hand to her chest as if to prevent her heart from galloping away. The castle keep loomed large, too large. The Palmetto Bug was like krill drifting close to a whale’s maw.
“No one say a positive word right now.” Fenris’s voice was tight. “Don’t jinx this.”
“I never thought of you as the superstitious type,” Ingrid whispered with a glance at the image of the “saint” tucked among the dials.
“Well, yes, but I also decided years ago that there was no such thing as God—or gods. Being in your company has reintroduced the idea of faith to me in very real and complicated ways.”
“I’d like to ask a question of Captain Sutcliff, if I may,” Cy interrupted. She nodded for him to continue. “Captain, you’re able to manipulate physical matter to a degree. Do you think you could moor an airship?”
Sutcliff bowed his head. “The issue there is not with me handling the winch and cables, but of the distance it would take me from our lady geomancer here. I would lose hold of my sense of self.” Ingrid considered his words as she repeated them aloud.
“I can form a bubble and fling myself to the deck,” she suggested.
“When you flung yourself the distance of three stories, that action pulled a lot of power from you. Here, you have to account for wind as well as gravity.” Cy shook his head. “And once there, you don’t know how to moor us.”
“You can tell me—”
“It takes experience,” said Fenris, not unkindly. “And a strong arm on the winch.”
She looked to Captain Sutcliff. “Once I landed on the deck, you could tell me what to do next.”
His blond brows pressed together. “I cannot disagree with the other gentlemen in this. The risks of overextending your body, and perhaps overexerting your magical force, are high and add peril to the mission.”
Ingrid’s throat clenched in frustration. Sutcliff was probably more worried that she might die and he’d never find his peace. She recognized the pettiness of the accusation and couldn’t give voice to it. Even if it were true, his fear was legitimate with his immortality at risk.
Excalibur filled the window, a slight copperlike sheen beneath its white paint. The recently moored supply ship twisted slightly at its mast. Two other masts stood nearby. The deck curved out beneath the masts as if to form a bay. The points at either end were guarded by deck-mounted guns, unmanned. No people were visible at all.
“So much death,” Sutcliff murmured. “I cannot help but think of a lamp screen I made for my mother when I was a child. With the help of my uncle, I used an ice pick to puncture a sheet of metal. The intent was for the light to shine through the holes, the effect like stars. I punctured the metal too much, set the holes too close. The screen allowed through too much light.” His whisper dropped to an almost incomprehensible level. “There’s so much light leaking through.”
Cold chills crept along Ingrid’s spine, and not from Sutcliff’s proximity.
“Cy, take my chair.” Fenris stood, stretching his arms and legs as much as he could within the tight space between the seats. “I’ve gotten it nice and warm for you.”
“Where are you going?” Cy asked as he switched chairs.
“I’m going to jump out of my perfectly good airship. It’s troublesome, really, how everyone else has done that but me.” He thudded around in the storage cabinet along the hall. “I’ve always been slow to follow trends. Ah, here we are. Cap, goggles, jacket.”
“What?” snapped Ingrid. Wind caused the ship to quiver.
“Fenris! You can’t jump out!” said Cy. He set the Bug in a hover and angled himself to glare down the corridor.
“Why not? The only other option is for you to leap out, and you’re pretty important here. I’ve never met Maggie in person, and I’m not about to introduce myself as your old academy chum and then apologize for the fact you just jumped to your death from a few thousand feet in elevation.”
“I don’t like this,” growled Cy.
“Surprise! I don’t like it either.” Fenris stepped to just inside the control cabin. He wore a slim-fitted leather jacket that emphasized his narrow hips. A leather cap covered his cropped black hair, and he had a pair of goggles propped up on his forehead. “Do I look adequately equipped for an act of derring-do?”
Ingrid didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want Cy to jump either, and they had effectively argued against her taking action herself. She checked on the heat lingering in her veins. She had lifted Cy over a chasm in Olema, but this, as they had pointed out to her, was considerably more complicated.
“You hated when we had to practice ‘derrings-do’ at academy.” Cy guided the Bug to a gap between the masts. The curved wall of Excalibur looked to be only some fifteen feet away—not far at all. Wind shoved at the ship, relentless as a play-yard bully.
“‘Derring-do’ was the noble name our school gave to weekly athletic competitions,” said Fenris, casual as could be. “Wretched things. Climbing steep walls with ropes, running sprints, sumo bouts, that sort of thing. I was terrible at most of the drills, but! . . . I was agile. I could tumble and roll and land on my feet. I earned a medal once. I melted it down to make something. I forget what.”
“If you’ve been practicing your gymnastic exercises in the last decade, you’ve been sneaky about it,” said Cy.
“Bah, practice. I remember what to do.” Fenris stepped farther into the cockpit to study the gauges. “This wind adds a new level of difficulty, though. Ah, well. That’s life for you. Or death.” His hand glanced Cy’s shoulder, and he turned away. “Angle the ship around.”
Cy’s broad hands were tense on the controls as he pivoted the Bug in place. Their view changed from the sleek hull of the citadel to a span of blue sky gauzed in moving sylphs. Two gunships hovered at a distance.
Now Ingrid couldn’t judge how far away Excalibur was at all—or where the masts were on either side o
f them. She could move to view the exterior mirrors, but somehow she doubted that what she saw would provide any comfort.
Nor would she be able to see if Fenris actually landed.
“Ingrid, come here,” Fenris said. She immediately joined him at the hatch. The guandao in its leather bag bobbed against her thigh. She self-consciously checked the ties that secured it to her belt. “Here are some security straps. I’m belting you so you stay put. It’ll be awfully windy once I drop out. You have to haul up the hatch door again as soon as you can. It can’t be flapping around as Cy approaches the mast.”
He handed her a simple harness. Nervous as she was, her shaky fingers managed the broad buckles. Meanwhile, Fenris fastened another strap to the hatch door and tethered that to the wall.
“See this?” He tugged on the rope. “Lean into this rope with your body weight to bring up the door. Even if you only get a latch or two, that’ll help with the pressure in here until Cy can finish securing it. Got it?”
She nodded. “Don’t die.”
“I will, but hopefully not today. Give the sylphs some extra pastries for me.” He worked the latches.
The sylphs. Ingrid couldn’t see what was happening, but the sylphs could.
The door swung free. Wind roared inside the cabin. The heat of the sylphs’ magic flecked the icy wind that gusted into her face and prickled like nettles.
Fenris gripped the lip of the opening and lowered himself. His arms swung back and forth, back and forth.
And then he let go.
Chapter 22
Fenris dropped away, and Ingrid threw her awareness outward to the sylphs, ready to scream at them, only to find they were already alert. They had sensed the pressure change as the hatch door swung open. They had recognized the familiar, wonderful presence of Fenris, a person the first-sylphs strongly associated with the joys of pastry, a person whose scent was evident through every inch of their beloved home.
fenris fenris fenris! chanted the sylphs. you cannot fall from the nest. you have no wings! Their tone was playful, chiding as a small group ceased their rotations around the Bug, and, as a sinuous ribbon, dived after Fenris.
“Ingrid! Pull up the door! I need to turn us!” Cy shouted.
Without opening her eyes, she lurched belly-first onto the now-taut rope that anchored to the hatch door. Her mass dragged it down. She lay almost level on the floor. The door clattered, unwilling to completely shut, but the wind had been greatly reduced.
She wondered if she should seal the door, but the metallic banging reminded her of a metal jaw, ready to chomp down on a hand. She could shield her skin as a precaution—and likely damage the hatch if it did snare her. Better to just stay put. She heaved for breath, her lungs aching at the sudden shift of temperature and pressure. Her ears popped.
The sylphs’ happy hum told her everything she needed to know.
They had him. Dear God, they had him.
Ingrid folded over and sobbed in relief. “The sylphs! They got him!” she choked out.
“What? Did he miss the deck?”
She flashed that question to the sylphs as the airship began to turn. Images immediately entered her mind: Fenris falling, the cruel wind taking his trajectory just short of his goal. The lead sylphs caught him as he would have dropped past, the rest joining in to scoop him up and over a matter of feet to safety.
“I see him!” yelled Cy, a hitch in his voice. “He’s on the deck!”
All of the sylphs sang in a mighty chorus. They were not yet hungry, but they knew they had done well and would later feast for their efforts.
The Bug stilled. Rapid footsteps approached her. “I’ll seal up the hatch. One thing Fenris didn’t take time to mention is that the flapping door could easily slice off a hand or fingers if you don’t grab it right.”
“He was in something of a hurry.” Her voice rasped. The wind was gone, but she still felt especially cold. That’s when she noticed Captain Sutcliff was right beside her, his eyes squinted shut.
He was focusing to grant himself as much mass as possible to help her with the rope.
Cy jerked the door up the rest of the way and latched it to stay put. His hand brushed her cheek. “Oh God, Ingrid, you’re like ice, did you—”
“No, I didn’t use my power to grab him. The sylphs did that on their own. It turns out that they take good loving care of people who feed them. I’m merely cold from exposure, and the company of the captain. Does the ship still need to be invisible now?”
“No. The sylphs have earned their rest.”
She extended her gratitude to the fairies and bade them heed Fenris; when they’d planned this out, he’d promised to find a safe place for the sylphs to recover while the Bug was docked. The magical presence faded from around the ship.
As Ingrid’s limbs remained rubbery from terror, Cy helped her to stagger to the cockpit and to the copilot’s seat.
Fenris was climbing the mooring mast. A few sylphs—the first-sylphs, she realized—shadowed him all the way, as if to make sure he didn’t fall again. The other sylphs had retreated into the shadows of the wall behind the mast.
Cy pointed to the barely visible sylphs and nodded in approval. “Even the best spyglass from a gunship won’t be able to see the sylphs in such deep shadows.”
“He has made the effort to train them, though I think they’ve trained him in turn.”
Cy eased the Bug forward. “If we survive this, I’m praying the bakeries in town have replenished their stock. Those sylphs deserve all the baked goods they desire.”
“If we survive this . . .” she echoed. “Cy. If we do survive, and the fox isn’t sniffing after us, where should we go? Where can I find ‘my mountain,’ as Tacoma put it?”
The tip of the mooring mast grew larger as the ship glided forward. Cy snorted softly and shook his head.
“What?”
“You said that, and I had one specific place come to mind, though I don’t know if it’d do. It might be too geologically active. Down along the central California coast, there’s a little town called Morro Bay. It features this massive four-hundred-foot rock right in the bay. A veritable mountain, quite the landmark when you’re flying over.”
“I think I’ve seen pictures of it.” The central coast. It’d be wilder and more remote than San Francisco, sure, but also forested and green and foggy.
That thought spurred a deep yearning that brought tears to her eyes. “We’ll need to investigate the place. After.”
“Yes. After.” The Bug powered down. Cy sat slack in his chair. Ingrid stood and wrapped her arms around him and the headrest, her hands against his chest. The rapidness of his heartbeat reminded her of when she once cupped a baby bird in her hand. The wild thrum of its heartbeat made her feel as though she held a heart entire, not simply a small bird.
Cy tilted his head against hers, and they remained like that for a moment, taking in each other’s strength, only to be interrupted by banging at the hatch door.
“I suppose we should let him on board again.” Cy shifted, as if waking up. Ingrid remained behind the chair as he sidled past to the corridor.
“I can see why you survived the earthquake and your travails since.” Sutcliff’s voice caused her to turn in surprise. “You and your friends are audacious and brave. You’ve been blessed.”
His words caused her to hesitate as she walked past him. “I have been. Truly.”
“I’m fine. Don’t act like a mother hen.” Fenris’s voice sounded muffled as he clambered back on board, his sleeve pressed to his face. He gave Ingrid a nod and lowered his arm. His face was a grisly mask of blood, with fresh red still dripping from his nose. “Ingrid, for future reference, try not to have the sylphs catch you face first. I imagine it’s rather like crashing into a brick wall. You’d think they’d be softer, but then, we were all traveling quite fast.” He accepted some rags from Cy. “I’m not complaining, mind you. No. I take that back. Yes, I will complain, but I’m still grateful.”
<
br /> “Oh no. Is your nose broken?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe I’ll be lucky and end up with a permanent bump on the arch of my nose. It’ll make me look tougher.” His grin revealed gory teeth.
“We cannot dawdle,” murmured Captain Sutcliff. “To both A-and-A soldiers and Chinese guerrillas, this is an enemy craft.”
“Cy, Sutcliff says we need to move.”
“Fenris, will you be all right here?” he asked.
“As well as can be expected. I’ll feed the sylphs and see if I can adjust the angle of that gun to face the nearest doors.” He looked perky at the thought, even as he continued to mop his face. “I have the gun you bought for me in Phoenix, too.” He motioned to Ingrid as a reminder that she was armed as well.
“We’ll check on that airship moored beside us before we enter the hold. I’d like to know how the Chinese went about their plot,” said Cy. “Ingrid, can Sutcliff please take a gander inside the bay doors as we go that way?” He checked his pistol and holstered it again.
She listened to the ghost as she moved to the hatch. “He can, though he thinks orichalcum will be hard for him to move through. He theorizes that’s why he’s able to stay on airships without difficulty. Fenris.” She met his eye and gave him a nod. “See you soon.”
“Yes, well, take care of Cy. He’s likely to get into trouble.”
“I’ll do everything in my power to keep him well.”
Fenris offered her a brittle smile. “I know you will. Go. Shoo. Sooner you go, sooner we all go. Right?”
Right. Ingrid followed Cy down the mast. She tried to be wary of the placement of her feet as well as any threats that might emerge along the citadel’s deck below or from the sky beyond. Cy had prepared a pack for her with water, food, basic medical supplies, and more kermanite; the gun was in an outer pocket, within easy reach. All were essentials, but the extra weight added more strain to her body.
They reached the deck and headed across the open space toward the bay door. Cy angled himself to protect Ingrid, alert for any sound at their level and from above. They stopped to one side of the door. Sutcliff walked through; the chill of his presence dimmed, but she could feel where he was just on the other side. He returned seconds later.
