By Fire Above_A Signal Airship Novel

by Robyn Bennis

  Bernat went on. “They fancy themselves the best at everything—so if you beat them fairly, they think it persecution. And how can you expect their beneficence when you’re persecuting them?”

  “I don’t want their beneficence!”

  “Well, why the hell not?”

  Roland finally spoke up, saying, “I have rare enough occasion to say this, but my brother is correct. It is well known that you have enemies in abundance among the army’s upper echelons. You would do well to have friends with similar influence.”

  “Perhaps you wouldn’t have to lose at shooting,” Bernat said, in the manner of a lecture, “if you went to more dinners and excursions. And you will be going on the duke’s hunt next month, in case there was any question of it in your mind.”

  “Oh, give it a rest, Bernie,” Roland said. When Bernat looked away in furious disgust, Roland leaned in and told Josette in a hushed tone, “Although, you will certainly be going on the hunt. When Duke Royama invites you to anything, you go—unless you’ve died prior to the appointed date, and perhaps even then, if the funeral hasn’t happened yet. The man owns a fifth of the country, including Quah, which gives him particular influence over the affairs of the army. He’s second only to the king himself, in power and wealth.”

  “I’d heard,” Josette said, twisting around to look out the window. “From everyone. Multiple times, usually.” Outside, the first snow of the year—which had begun in the middle of their shooting match—was just tapering off into tiny flakes, drifting about on the wind.

  The carriage rode on in uncomfortable silence, until Roland spoke softly. “Did your father teach you to shoot?” he asked. “You do it well.”

  Josette watched the snow-dusted countryside as it went past. “My mother, actually.” Her breath fogged the glass. “Best goddamn hunter in the county. She would go out into the woods, in the freezing cold, for days at a time, ranging across Garnian and Vinzhalian territory like she didn’t know there was a war on. She kept the town fed almost by herself, during the worst of the winter. Not to mention, she brought in enough money to purchase a commission in the army for me. My father, on the other hand, was an assistant miller until he was conscripted into the Garnian army.”

  Roland’s eyes sparkled. “What a family you must make. Do you see them often?”

  Josette arched an eyebrow as she turned to him. Roland’s expression betrayed nothing but innocence. She asked Bernat, “You didn’t tell him?”

  But Bernat was asleep, or pretending to be.

  “My father’s dead and my mother still lives in Durum,” Josette said.

  After he’d thought about it, Roland frowned. “You mean the town the Vins took on their way to Canard? Is she well?”

  “She’s alive,” Josette said, and did not mention that she’d been made homeless by the new government. And in Durum, the snows would be coming thicker and colder than in Kuchin.

  Roland’s voice became cheerful. “Then you’ll see her again, after we’ve retaken Durum. Tell me, do people in Durum speak in one of those delightful border dialects? You know, the ones that are sort of half Vin, half Garnian?”

  She snorted. “They do not, and haven’t for hundreds of years. Not since Garnia first conquered the town and the new government started looking very hard at anyone with Vin leanings. And I don’t know why you expect us to retake Durum. The way things are going, we won’t be retaking anything at all, and Duke Royama will have to scrape by with one less duchy to his name. When the war ends, we could ask for Durum back at the bargaining table, passing it off as a mere pittance—a charity for the vanquished—but no one will bother to ask. No one will remember to.”

  Roland was less cheerful now. In fact, he was well on the way toward incensed. “We haven’t lost a war in three generations,” he said. “You can’t imagine we’re losing this one, can you?”

  She turned to look at him, and laughed. “You imagine that we’re winning?”

  “We’re wearing the Vins down,” he said, with so much assurance that she nearly believed him over her own experience. “It won’t be long now before they crack. Everyone knows that.”

  “Do they?” she asked. “Did they read about it in the papers?” She laughed. “I honor their bravery, in daring to read the news. They’re courageously risking an upset stomach.”

  Opposite her, Bernat stirred. “What the hell is going on?”

  Roland rolled his eyes and said, “We’ve lost the war.”

  Bernat frowned and said, “Good God, I was only asleep for a minute.”

  They were at the gates of the signal base now, and Josette banged on the roof to remind the driver to drop her off there, well away from the eyes of her men. But, as the driver had done three times this week, he turned the carriage and went on through the gates, taking them straight to the shed.

  She sighed. “I’ve told him not to do that. What will the crew think of me, if they see me being ferried everywhere in a carriage?”

  Bernat and Roland looked at each other, perplexed. “That you’re a person of importance?” Roland suggested.

  “That you’re yet more terrifying than they imagined?” Bernat added.

  Josette only grunted in response. They were coming up on the shed now. When they stopped, she opened the door, letting in a burst of cold air that had Bernat hurrying to get his coat on. She stepped out and said to the coachman, “Only to the gate next time, please. I’ve told you that.”

  “Ma’am,” he said, touching a rein to his hat.

  “Will someone help me?” Bernat asked, trying to pull his crutches out from under the bench.

  She ignored him and headed for the flatbed railcar she spotted, parked between Mistral and Shearwater. She walked around the car, unwilling to touch its cargo lest it prove an illusion. As she wondered at it, Roland strolled up and said, “Ah. I was hoping it would arrive today. It was supposed to be here three days ago, but you know how these things go.”

  She eyed first the cargo of spare box girders, then Roland. “I’m not sure I do. I’ve been trying to obtain the girders I need for weeks, and getting stonewalled at every turn.”

  Roland rested a hand on the corner of the flat car and leaned against it. “They’ve been sent over from Laurent Yards, where they’re building Levante and Ostro. Only, I heard a rumor that their construction has been delayed by a redesign of their tails or some such. And I thought, all those materials must be sitting idle. So I suggested, over dinner with a Mr. Laurent—you may know of him—that those materials could be put to good use elsewhere. And I may have suggested that, upon inheriting, I may make an investment in his enterprises, though of course we shall have to see where things stand at that time.”

  “Of course,” Josette said, too stunned to say more.

  “I believe we can find canvas, too.” He went on walking along the length of the flat car, dragging his hand across its dusty top. “As to luftgas and steamjack parts, I’ve had less luck. Laurent is hoarding his luftgas, and I don’t blame him. If he had to purchase it at the current prices, he’d never make a profit on the ships he’s building now. And they’ve reallocated the spare steamjack parts that were meant for Mistral to Levante and Ostro, to save money on construction.”

  She looked up at her ship, its superstructure looming above, shored up and empty of gas, tied to the ceiling to keep it from collapsing in on itself. “Well,” she said, “they won’t send a chasseur into battle filled with inflammable air. I don’t think we’re quite that desperate.”

  Roland grinned. “Then, it would appear, you’ll be stuck here until sufficient luftgas becomes available, and who knows when that’ll be?”

  As much as she appreciated the material, Roland was taking a bit too much glee in the fact that she was stuck on the ground with him. Besides which, she could not help but think of what he might want in return for his generosity. This was shaping up a bit too much like that conversation under the kissing lantern—a clumsy attempt at a shortcut on the path to her affectio
ns. She said, “To be frank, Lord Hinkal, I see you expending a great deal of other people’s resources on my behalf, but none of your own.”

  In an instant, his expression shifted to that of a child who’d been scolded. “To be frank, Captain Dupre, I haven’t many of my own resources to expend.” He laughed ironically, growing less petulant and more stern by degrees. “And if this doesn’t impress you, then I can’t imagine any expenditure that would, nor any within the power of mortal men. Perhaps if I went out this evening and won the war myself, and carried Durum here on my back, and laid it at your feet, that might merit a ‘thank you.’”

  Damn. She had only meant to check his expectation, not bring him that far down. “Pray leave Durum where it is,” she said, in a soothing tone. “The smell would attract notice.” When this did nothing to lighten the mood, she sighed and added, “And you’d have me think it’s the dukes who must be coddled.”

  With that, she stepped along the breadth of the flat car and hopped to sit on the corner of it. Her eyes now level with his, she pulled him toward her by his necktie and kissed him.

  Roland’s grim countenance came down like a falling curtain. As he leaned into the kiss, however, Josette noticed a strange silence behind her, where seconds before yardsmen had been busy along Mistral’s keel. She leaned back, turned her head just aside, and bellowed past Roland’s ear, “Back to work, you lazy bastards! This isn’t a goddamn peep show!” Activity aboard Mistral resumed instantly, and with even greater bustle than before.

  Roland was no less alarmed than they. He stood frozen in the precise manner and expression he’d had a moment before, except that his eyes were wide in alarm. She wiped a bit of spittle off of his cheek. “Thank you,” she said. “This is, perhaps, the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.”

  He finally blinked, and his face relaxed. “Oh, don’t thank me. I did it for Mistral.” He looked up at the ship, a devilish smile growing on his lips. “A true beauty, though not everyone has the eyes to see it.” He spared a quick sidelong glance at Josette, apparently wary that she might assault him. But she only sat with her arms folded across her chest, smirking.

  “Elegant lines,” he said. “An unwavering protector to her crew. Relentless in pursuit of her nation’s enemies. A warrior through and through, and all the more deadly for having such an unexpected form.”

  Though the subtext was clear enough, as Roland ran his eyes over Mistral from bow to stern, it was obvious that his words weren’t merely subtext. Surely, he couldn’t love this strange, misshapen airship as she did—who could?—but there was real admiration in his eyes when he looked at Mistral. In that moment, she wondered for the first time whether she might really be able to love this man. Not as much as she loved her ship, of course, but perhaps only a little less.

  “Her only flaw, perhaps, is being a bit too eager to attack.” His eyes returned to Josette. “I wish I could know her better.”

  She couldn’t see anyone looking out at them through the keel ports, but that only meant that her resourceful crew had found better hiding spots to watch from. So she resisted the urge to reach out and take his hand—and resisted a few other urges atop that.

  “In fact,” Roland said, returning to his examination of Mistral, “While she’s here, I’d like to go aboard her every night, if that could be arran—” He got no farther before she tackled him to the shed floor. “Help!” he cried, squealing in giddy mirth. “Do you airmen know nothing but violence?”

  *   *   *

  BERNAT HAD JUST managed to put his feet on the ground and sort out his crutches with the help of the coachman, when Roland returned, looking strangely pleased with himself. While Bernat stood there, Roland hopped up the carriage steps with a sprightly gait and settled himself.

  “Are you going to help me up?” Bernat asked.

  Roland looked down at him. “Why did you get out in the first place?”

  “I thought we were staying,” he said. “Neither of you thought to tell me otherwise. Her, I understand. She’s too distracted by her goddamn flying machine to notice the concerns of a mere human being. You, I thought better of—more fool me. Now, will you help me get up? And try not to bang my leg, like last time.”

  “Oh, is there something wrong with it?” Roland asked with a smile. “Sorry, I find I’m a bit distracted, myself.” He reached down to help Bernat up, while the coachman supported him on the other side.

  Between the two of them, they hauled Bernat back into the carriage. He settled onto the front seat with his leg propped on the rear, but the operation left him out of breath and in agony. “Good God,” he said. “Do you suppose we could stop for a drink on the way back?”

  Roland climbed in, reached under the seat, and came up with a wine bottle, which he handed to his brother. “Aren’t you going to ask what I meant, when I said I was a bit distracted?”

  “I know exactly what you meant,” Bernat said, and took a drink. “It’s my leg that’s faulty, not my senses.”

  *   *   *

  “DO YOU NEED help mounting your horse?”

  Josette eyed the mare suspiciously. The animal looked back at her with big, innocent, dark eyes, and whinnied. “No,” Josette said. “I only want to be sure it isn’t planning any mischief, before I make the attempt.”

  Roland, already mounted, walked his own horse alongside, and reached over to stroke the mare’s head. “You needn’t worry. The duke’s head groom assures me that she’s the sweetest, most thoroughly friendly creature yet bred.”

  Josette was unconvinced. “The beast may only be biding its time.”

  Roland chuckled. “If so, then she has maintained the fiction without interruption for this long, and will certainly not reveal her true nature to the likes of us.”

  While Josette was still working up the nerve to mount, Bernat rode up, wincing all the way until his horse clopped to a rest. “What the hell are you doing still at the stables?” he asked, as he adjusted his plastered leg in the stirrup. “They’re about to cast the hounds.”

  “Are you sure your leg is well enough to ride?” Roland asked him.

  “I’ll be just fine,” Bernat snapped, more testy than usual this morning.

  Josette mounted her horse without incident, much to her surprise. She settled into the saddle and patted the side of the mare’s neck, more in gratitude than affection. A servant handed up a hunting spear, which she slid into its holster behind the saddle.

  Bernat began, “Now to get her going, you must—”

  “I know how to ride,” she said. This was, if not a lie, then the nearest thing. It would have been more truthful to say that she knew how one was supposed to ride. The actual execution had always eluded her. But this horse really was as docile as Roland claimed, and certainly an experienced hunter, for it set off at a canter toward the sound of the horn, a moment ahead of Josette’s kick. Josette attempted to convince herself that the horse’s presumption was not a commentary on her skill as a rider, but found that it took a conscious effort to not resent the animal.

  “Nicely done,” Roland said, joining her on her left.

  “Indeed,” said Bernat, coming up on the right. “My compliments to the cargo.”

  Together, they crested a hill to find the rest of the hunt spread out across the landscape ahead. The pack of shikoku hounds was halfway up the next hill, and the majority of the horsemen just reaching the valley behind them. The pack suddenly veered to the right, began howling madly, and entered the woods. The horsemen skirted the edge of the trees, galloping through the snow as they steered a course around.

  “I’m not sure I entirely understand this sport,” Josette called, reining in to keep her mount from speeding to a gallop. “The dogs catch the scent of the deer?”

  “Yes,” Roland called back.

  “And the dogs catch the deer?”

  “When possible,” Bernat said.

  “And they kill the deer?”

  “They often do, though i
t’s considered an honor to get to the prey before they’re finished with it, and land the killing blow.” He patted the spear holstered against his horse’s flank.

  They were in the valley now, with the other riders out of sight, and her mount champing in distress at being left so far behind the field. “Then it seems to me,” Josette said, once she was reasonably convinced that the animal was under control, “that the dogs are doing all the work. Why are we here at all? Do the duke’s hounds not know the way home?”

  “You’re missing a critical component,” Roland said, laughing. “After the hounds have done all the work, we take the carcass away before they can eat it.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “This is truly the perfect sport for the aristocracy.”

  *   *   *

  BERNAT WAS HAPPY to have Josette along, as her timidity in the saddle left him an excuse to ride smoothly and not overtax his leg. If it were only Roland along, the swine would surely have pushed ahead to taunt him. As it was, they rode at an even pace and took no shortcuts over fences or difficult terrain, and Bernat’s leg was merely in agony—nothing more—by the time a spotted deer was scented, caught, and killed amid a thick wood.

  The antlers were awarded to Duke Royama, who had finished the quarry off with a spear thrust through the heart. He had been first to reach the quarry by virtue of everyone in his way suffering simultaneous confusion as to whether the deer could be found at bay amidst the pack of barking shikokus, or off in some other direction entirely.

  As Bernat’s little party of three approached the rest of the field, slowing to a walk, Josette stood in the stirrups to see what was happening. “Is that it?” she asked, as servants retrieved the deer carcass and hoisted it onto a horse.

  “You hoped for more?” Bernat asked.

  “I only thought it would go on longer. We spent more time waiting than we did chasing.”

  “It will be more engaging,” Roland explained, “once you become more comfortable on a horse. Then it’s a wonderful ride: all gallop and leap and tally-ho. Quite invigorating, really.”