by E. C. Jarvis
“One game,” he said after staring blankly for a while. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk, and she pulled the cards from her pocket. The Admiral pulled a pocket watch from the breast pocket of his uniform jacket and opened it out, laying it neatly atop the desk. “I’ll shuffle,” he said, holding his hand out to her.
She smiled and gave him the cards. “I didn’t think it would be very becoming of a Sky Force Admiral to know the rules of a pirate card game.”
“It is reasonable for a man to know the habits of his enemies, Miss Markus. Nothing more.” He tapped the cards on the desk, then shuffled them through his fingers with deft ease and a slight smile on his face. “You should know, if you try to escape, I will break your neck or put a bullet in your head. Do you think you can heal from those?”
“I haven’t tried those particular methods. I’m not sure I really want to test the outcome.”
“Then we have an understanding.”
The Admiral dealt a third round of cards, his pocket watch having counted the hour away. Larissa shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She’d at least made the right assumption in guessing his proclivity for card games, but besides that, the Admiral was dull. Every attempt she made at striking up a conversation in the middle of the game had been met with a scornful look, which reminded her of a schoolmaster with a talent for silencing a room full of children with one glance. At least she hadn’t attempted to show him her breasts; the notion of receiving such a look in response to that action made her embarrassed just to imagine the situation. Larissa felt somewhat grateful for the silence as she strained to listen to more than the sounds of the rotors or feet passing on the deck above. At one point, she thought she could hear the chugging of a steam train in the distance, but even if she had, it didn’t really tell her anything. She didn’t have an accurate map of the whole country floating around in her head like Holt and Cid seemed to have.
“You are waiting for something,” he said carefully as he laid the cards down.
“Hmm?”
“You keep glancing at my watch. It will be a long while before we reach the Capital… unless you are waiting for something else?”
“What could I possibly be waiting for?”
A whistle blew on deck above, followed by a shout and then more shouts. Though the words were jumbled to her untrained ears, the Admiral flew out of his seat, sending his handful of cards floating to the floor, and reached for his pistol and sword. He clicked the pocket watch shut and glanced down at Larissa, his moustache dancing on his lip as he scrunched his nose up.
“Come with me,” he said, grabbing her upper arm and forcibly wrenching her out of the seat.
By the time they reached the deck, scores of men raced to and fro, the frenzy of activity blocking her view across the dusky sky. The Admiral marched her directly to the wheel.
“Report,” he barked at the man steering the ship, whipping a spyglass from the man’s hands.
“Pirates, sir. Hundreds of the bastards.”
“How many ships?”
“At least eighteen.”
Vries growled and shoved the spyglass into the chest of the nearest Marine. He grabbed Larissa’s arm yet again and shook her once, hard. “What is the meaning of this? How have you conjured this up?”
“What?”
He pushed and pulled her across the deck, dragging her around men who carried rifles, swords, and cannonballs across the deck in a form of measured haste until they reached the rail at the bow of the ship. Larissa’s mouth dropped as she finally saw what had gotten them so worked up.
Sallarium City stretched across the horizon. Its familiar districts and buildings reached up toward the pink sky, marred by an ever-present smog cloud engulfing the atmosphere from one end to the other like a protective blanket of fume and ash. Gone were the memorable dome and towers of the Hub building—the start of her journey that came crashing down around her, signalling the end of one life entirely and bringing forth a new and disturbing chapter in her world. A few spikes of metal sticking up from the ground remained the only poor monuments to the realm of her beloved Professor. Still, a few parts of the city seemed to work on, a handful of lights twinkling in the residential district buildings, the people of the city going about their business, oblivious to the trials and tribulations she had faced. A train stood in the station; it lacked a plume of smoke from its stack as it waited to move on, the engine sitting cold. The familiar smells and sounds reaching her ears virtually replaced any noise on the deck of the RDS Eagle as tears stung her eyes, the ache of home tugging at her heart. But all of that paled in comparison to the utterly alien sight accompanying the vision.
Anchored in scattered points from one end of the city to the other were airships of all shapes and sizes. While she had become accustomed to seeing large vessels in the skies, the number of citizens in Sallarium City who could afford such transport were low—it was not a hub of rich elitist types like Meridina—and from the ragged and gnarled state of the ships she could make out at such a distance, it seemed probable that every last one of them was crewed by pirates, as the Admiral’s man had reported.
“I want an answer now, Miss Markus,” Vries whispered into her ear, his voice low and sombre.
“What makes you think I have anything to do with this?”
“You are a pirate captain with a crew of pirates, and you managed to get yourself out of the brig with your womanly tricks just in time to see this. I don’t know how you knew they would be there, or what your plan is, but let me assure you, I’m going to blast every last one of those ships out of the sky. Battle stations!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kerrigan snorted and woke himself up. He’d lain sprawled out along the length of his cell, the tip of his head resting against his toilet bucket and ankles turned out at awkward angles. A low groan came from nearby; someone sounded like they were in pain. An acrid smell tickled his nose hairs and settled in the back of his throat. He felt grateful for not having eaten much lately; otherwise, he’d probably be seeing the food again as the disgusting smell teased the inside of his mouth. At least the bucket was nearby.
“What are you up to in there?” the guard asked as he took a few steps towards the opposite cell. Lieutenant Saunders’ cousin Sandy remained in there, and as far as he was aware, Larissa had not returned. Kerrigan rolled onto his chest, then moved into a crouch at the front of his cell, peering through the bars. He couldn’t really see Sandy, the dull light in the brig casting long and awkward shadows everywhere. He stared for a while until the guard’s legs blocked his view as the man turned to face Sandy.
“I’m trying to relieve myself, if you don’t mind. Some privacy would be appreciated,” Sandy said.
“I’ve never smelt a stench like that,” the guard said.
“Well, excuse me! I can’t help what comes out of me or what it smells like, so bugger off and stop watching.”
“It’s not natural.”
“I already told you I can’t help it.”
“Dear Gods, leave the poor woman alone. What are you, some kind of pervert?” Cid yelled from the end cell. The guard’s legs parted, and Kerrigan squinted to look past. A small red glow seemed to light up for a moment then disappear.
“I have orders to shoot you if you cause any trouble, and I will do so if I have to.” The guard’s hand twitched towards the pistol on his belt.
Kerrigan stood up straight. “You can’t shoot a prisoner who is safely contained within a cell, Private,” he said, remembering his place as Colonel. “It is against the code.”
“I’m a Sergeant, Colonel,” the guard said, whirring around to face him. From somewhere nearby, someone snorted. Kerrigan presumed it to be Boswell, who would no doubt find it amusing to share a rank with the incompetent Marine.
“You are? My apologies. I don’t believe Vries will enjoy writing up a report to the President explaining why a twitchy guard murdered a prisoner while she was evacuating her bowels in a prison cell.” The sn
orting noise from Eddy Boswell returned as he tried to suppress his laughter.
“That is not what she is doing in there,” the guard said, his voice raised.
“I’m no expert on women myself, but I’m pretty sure it all works the same, well, at that end of business it does,” Kerrigan said.
“This is getting a little personal and uncomfortable, if I must say,” Sandy said.
“I’m telling you now, stop whatever you’re doing, or I will be forced to shoot you.”
“Gods, you can’t expect her to stop mid-flow, surely?” Cid yelled.
Whatever answer the guard might have given was cut short when a cry from above reached the brig—a call to battle stations. The guard twitched left and right for a moment, then finally gave up caring about what Sandy was or was not doing, as he raced up the stairs, leaving them alone.
“I hope for all our sakes Miss Markus has a plan and you are currently enacting it, Miss Saunders,” he said.
“I have no idea what Larissa is up to. All I do know is that if I don’t do this now, her boyfriend won’t last another minute.”
The red glow reappeared, and the acrid smell returned. Kerrigan finally saw what she was doing as the light illuminated her body and face. Sandy appeared hunched over, her robe pulled up to her waist, her legs crossed, forming a sort of circle, and in the center, something burned, her hands waving over it and creating heat. He watched in quiet awe as the red glow appeared to come from a small piece of silvery stone, which was rapidly losing its form. The light intensified, revealing Holt in the cell beside hers, slumped against the bar and groaning like a dying man, his skin almost translucent and bathed in sweat.
The stone finally gave way to the heat and melted into a pool. Sandy pulled a syringe from beneath her sleeve and instantly stuck it into the liquid, drawing it up. A moment later, she jabbed the needle into Holt’s arm and injected him with the substance.
Kerrigan tucked his fingers around the bars and held on, watching. Though it wouldn’t have bothered him to watch Holt die, he had seen and experienced first-hand what happened when Holt had that stuff running through his veins.
Moments ticked by, and nothing occurred. Sounds from above echoed down into the brig, thundering noises of heavy items being rolled over wood—cannons moved into place, feet thumping across the deck, and shouts and calls piercing the air. Whatever was going on up on deck seemed enough to keep the entire crew distracted, and that suited him just fine. He could only presume Larissa had staged some form of distraction, though he had no idea what she could have done to warrant this kind of reaction from the entire crew. Even if she had taken the Admiral hostage by some form of miracle, they wouldn’t react in such a way. He did wonder if she had managed to escape somehow and was now running away on foot, or in another airship. If she had been so dramatic in her desperation, he could only hope it wasn’t a step too far.
“How long did it take for the last injection to work?” Sandy asked. When no one had given an answer, Kerrigan sighed.
“Maybe it’s too late.”
“Are we breaking out now?” Sandy asked.
“I don’t know. If Larissa didn’t tell you her plan, you know as much as I do.”
“Should we try?” Sandy came into view. She tucked a piece of rope between the bars on her cell and carefully worked it around the lock.
“Can you get us out?”
“I’ll do my best, Colonel.”
“Am I still in trouble for bringing her along, sir?” Saunders asked as he stood by the door to his cell.
“I’ll have to note it both as a bad idea and a very good idea when I write my report.”
The lock on Sandy’s cell clicked, and the door swung open just as the shouting above increased in intensity. She took two steps forward and slipped the rope between the bars of Kerrigan’s cell, just below where his hands still gripped the bars. He could see now the drops of sweat forming on her brow as she concentrated hard to perform whatever skilled magic she used to manipulate the lock.
Another click sounded, and Kerrigan’s cell door swung open. For the first time since he’d seen the line of warships on the horizon, Kerrigan’s pulse quickened. The promise of escape, the unknown path ahead, and the consequences for failure in even the smallest measure flowed over his body like an unpleasant wave of both nausea and excitement.
“Saunders next,” he said, not caring if he adopted an unfounded authoritative stance over a civilian. Sandy didn’t seem to mind being told what to do, as she followed his instruction without question.
“Are we all coming out, sir?” Saunders asked.
Kerrigan headed to the steps, where their wayward guard had disappeared, to keep watch for his return, half expecting to see Larissa come racing toward him at any point. It seemed a good question—if they broke out everyone in the cells, such an act would be indication enough that he had been complicit in acting with the pirates. He could easily argue he and his military comrades escaped with the intention of helping fight a battle. It might even be enough to earn them some form of exoneration.
“Sir?” Saunders appeared at his shoulder, repeating the question with one word. Sandy worked on Sergeant Boswell’s cell lock. Kerrigan glanced up the steps then back down the line of cells once more, silently begging the Gods to give him the answer.
Boswell’s cell door opened with a click, and then the next cell along opened of its own accord. The fat, elderly Friar Narry emerged into the corridor and stood adjusting the cord around his waist. He’d managed to make a robe out of a spare sheet somewhere along the journey home.
“I’ll let Zeb out. You work on Cid’s door,” Narry said to Sandy. “You’re not the only one with skills in this group, child.”
“I guess that answers that, then,” Saunders muttered.
“Indeed.”
“So what’s the plan, Colonel?”
“We need to ascertain what is going on up there before we can decide the best course of action. I’d like to help if the ship is in some form of trouble. I have no intention of slaughtering our way off the ship, even if we’re condemned men.”
“I thought you might say something like that. Shall I go perform a recce?”
“No, I’ll go. You stay here and keep the others out of trouble. If a guard comes back, subdue him carefully and lock him up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Uh, Colonel Kerrigan?” Sandy called from behind.
“Yes?”
“We’re missing one person.”
“Explain.”
“Holt’s cell is empty.”
“Empty?”
“As in he’s gone. Disappeared.”
“Oh.” Kerrigan heard the growl emerge from the back of his throat before he had a chance to suppress it.
“What now?” Saunders asked.
“We stick to the plan. Holt, if you can hear me, don’t fuck everything up.” Kerrigan rolled his eyes as Saunders’ brow furrowed. “It’ll take too long to explain. Time to go.”
As his foot hit the first step, an enormous boom sounded from above, rocking the ship from stern to bow. Kerrigan gripped the step for balance and toyed with the idea of staying behind with the others and waiting it out. He shook his head, physically shaking away the fear shuddering through his veins, and took another step upwards. His foot slipped as his stomach dropped down into his toes and he hit his chin on one of the steps. More explosions followed, the bracing sound of cannon-fire echoing down to the brig. Saunders had fallen onto his backside. Kerrigan exchanged a worried glance with the man before he turned and climbed the steps.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Larissa’s arm ached. As odd as it seemed in the utter chaos erupting around her, all she could focus on was the pain caused by the Admiral’s iron grip on her upper arm, his fingers sticking into her skin and branding her with marks. Despite knowing the marks would heal quickly, it didn’t stop draining her focus away from the more pertinent situation.
The pirate airships reacted s
lowly to the Eagle’s arrival. One by one, they turned in the sky, their crews nothing more than fast-moving dots in the distance—dots which determinedly rushed about the decks and prepared for battle, much like the Marines on deck behind her.
“You’re not going to fight them all, are you?” she asked Vries.
“I will fight until every last ship is nothing more than a burning wreckage on the ground.”
“Over the city?” She felt her lower lip wobble. People had died when Doctor Orother destroyed the Hub, and even more people had died after her disastrous escape from Aditona. She simply couldn’t stand the thought of knowing hundreds, if not thousands, of people in the city streets and buildings below might perish in this crazy situation—another situation she seemed to be stuck in the middle of with no control.
“You are leaving me no choice,” he barked in her ear as he shook her slightly.
“I keep telling you I have nothing to do with this. Can’t you draw them out somehow? I understand if you insist on fighting them, but surely it can’t be acceptable for the military to show no concern over hundreds…thousands of civilian lives. Please, for the love of the Gods, tell me the President wouldn’t sanction such measures.”
Vries looked down at her, his brow mottled with deep lines.
“Ready, Admiral,” the ship’s Captain called from somewhere behind them.
“Head west,” he called back.
“Sir?”
“You heard me. Away from the city.”
“We’re running away?”
“Are you questioning my orders? We’re drawing them out over the plains. Ready the gun decks and travel slow.”
