by E. C. Jarvis
He hoisted the crossbow onto the wall and snapped the bolt into place as a dark shadow of a pirate airship hull flew overhead. Gunshot rang out from the soldiers atop the walls of the fort, splintering the wood above their heads and generally doing not much good at all. Kerrigan raised the crossbow, the pain in his shoulder screaming in complaint at the action. He ignored it and back-stepped along the wall until the balloon of the airship came into view. He took aim and held his breath.
A face popped into view over the edge of the ship—a pirate taking aim directly at him with a rifle. Without thinking, he lowered the crossbow slightly and released the trigger. The bolt flew through the air, and the pirate’s head disappeared in a spray of blood as the bolt shot straight through his face.
“Shit,” he said again as he realized he had no other bolts. “Bring it down!” he yelled to the gathering of soldiers still uselessly pelting the ship with gunfire.
Below, in the courtyard, the familiar sound of a crossbow firing caught his attention. He glanced over just in time to see the young Private had finally loaded the weapon and shot directly through the canopy of the ship.
“They’re coming about,” Kerrigan called as he spotted the Captain tugging on the wheel to try to steer away from the fort as the hole in his canopy affected his course. “Take out the rudder,” he yelled to the soldiers nearby. The men followed his instruction, turning their weapons toward the rudder and tearing it apart. “Man the turrets.” Kerrigan grabbed the nearest man and dragged him down the wall to a nearby turret, shoving him in front of the aging weapon—a cumbersome, ancient piece of machinery which hadn’t been updated for years. No one expected the city to find itself under attack, so far inland and usually filled with soldiers to defend.
Kerrigan grabbed another soldier and shoved him beside the first, instructing him to provide ammo and help reloading. More men filled the other turrets surrounding the fort, and the heavy guns and cannons fired at the other ships flying over the city. Ten ships in total, more than had escaped the battle at Sallarium, all pirates. Kerrigan glanced over the cityscape, the cries of people below ringing out between the sound of cannons and guns. The first airship dipped down below the fort wall at the rear, and an almighty thud rocked the ground as the ship crashed. He hoped to hear an explosion follow; the promise of a ship full of pirates burning to a crisp would help their cause. The explosion didn’t happen.
“Damn. Cover the back wall.”
A few soldiers followed his command, but as he glanced at his forces, the situation looked grim. They were outnumbered and outgunned. Even if they managed to bring down two thirds of the ships, the remaining pirates could take the city, and as the other ships turned in the skies heading directly toward the palace, away from the fort, he knew the battle would be pointless.
“Sir, are we to abandon the fort and protect the palace?” Saunders shouted to him from nearby.
“Yes,” he called back, still not convinced that doing so would be such a good idea. If he took his group of men and came across Larissa and the others, how could he stop them from attacking one group of misplaced people in favour of another? “Hurry up,” he whispered up to the heavens.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Cid grunted out loud as he reached the top of the staircase and found yet another door. He leaned forward and stuck his ear against it, straining to listen to anyone speaking on the other side. He knew it would be too much to hope to hear Larissa and Holt having a jolly chitchat nearby, but he longed for it regardless. After listening for a moment and hearing nothing, he pushed slightly on the door. It didn’t budge. For perhaps the hundredth time in the last half hour, he looked behind him and considered going back; the voice at the back of his head sounded warier than usual, but he dismissed it. He’d survived this far. What difference did yet another stuck door and dangerous path make now?
An unusual smell tickled the inside of his nose, and he scrunched it in circles to try to prevent a sneeze. It smelled similar to the smoky air he’d left behind in the basement of the citadel, only less normal.
He crouched down and plucked a tool from his belt, jamming it into the lock.
“Fucking criminal lockpicking…bugger.” The tool proved ineffective, and as he glanced at the small hole, he saw why. It was not locked.
He stood and tried the door again, giving it a shove with his shoulder. The heavy door shifted slightly, and he found the problem; something on the other side was blocking it. Two more shoves revealed the blockage—a dead body—but the open door revealed something far more shocking.
Cid faltered as he came face to face with a Machine. His jaw popped open. He didn’t swear or invoke the Gods. His entire mind fell blank upon seeing the colossal structure. His perusal of it lasted only a moment before movement below caught his eye. He crouched down, one knee perched oddly atop the dead man’s chest, though he had neither the time nor the inclination to care for the dead. He saw Larissa lying on the floor and worried he might be too late. Was she already dead? Pacing around her, walking in a slow circle, he saw the outline of Imago, the ghost Rifarin. The cat paused once and nuzzled its nose into Larissa’s neck, but it seemed the animal’s efforts couldn’t rouse her.
Cid reached out to grip the edge of the metal walkway as another figure came into view. Solomon Covelle leaned against the Machine, clutching at his chest with one hand as blood spilled from a wound. Smoke rose up from the contact between Covelle’s other hand and the Machine; the metal structure seemed to be melting under his touch. Covelle turned and placed both hands upon one of the large copper domes, and the surface lit up in reaction as though it had been placed inside a furnace. Cid couldn’t process the image before him—it was impossible, unnatural. He considered lurching forwards to capture the man, but his feet wouldn’t launch into action. He groped around inside his tool belt and found one of the heavy spanners Elena had given as a gift.
Cid let out a puffed laugh, kissed the spanner, then flung it down. It turned end over end and finally clocked Covelle on the back of the head.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment as Cid waited for a reaction. He had expected the man to fall forwards, preferably face-first into the melting dome. Instead, Covelle fell backwards slowly, arms dropped to his sides, and he crashed into the floor, out cold.
Imago turned and crouched down, growling first at Covelle and then towards Cid.
“Bloody cat,” he said as he leaned back, away from the dead body.
The Machine continued to melt, a line of white-hot fire steadily spreading in all directions along the dome. Steam and smoke fizzled up towards the gas lamps in the ceiling. Those same lamps rocked side to side as the dull thud of explosions outside the room became apparent. Before the nightmarish journey, Cid wouldn’t have been able to tell the sound of a firecracker from that of gunfire. Now he could place the sound even deep underground. Cannon fire.
He stood and made for the staircase. Imago placed his paw over Larissa’s body, protecting her as he had always done.
“It’s me, you stupid animal. Let me help her,” Cid said, the smoke from the fire tickling his throat and inducing a cough. The copper turned to liquid and pooled on the floor, melting through the wooden floor panels to reveal an iron underlay. The wooden flooring caught fire, flames spreading out in all directions and threatening Larissa’s prone form. He reached the ground as the heat and smoke intensified, caring little for Covelle, who lay unconscious on his back, blood soaking his shirt.
Finally, he reached Larissa, pulled the needle from her arm, suppressing the string of expletives that wanted to emerge. He grabbed her hands and bent down to throw her light form over his shoulders, just as he’d done before, a physical embodiment of the Professor’s greatest dream burning to ash around them.
His lungs filled with smoke. Tears sprang from his eyes, running in streaks down his face as he lifted Larissa into the air. She woke then, kicking out so hard he dropped her instantly.
“Cid!” she said as she scramble
d to her feet, backing away from the fire, gripping his hand and tugging him along. “How did you get here? I thought you’d been caught.”
“No, that bloody guard just wanted to know the name of my employer so he could write it in his report. I had to make something up on the spot. Then he started asking me advice on how to fix his sodding oven.” Cid coughed through the explanation as they both backed away to the nearest door, watching with horror as the Machine succumbed to the flames. Imago continued to pace up and down beside Covelle’s body.
“Imago,” Larissa shouted. The cat turned and headed towards them. “Narry and Sandy?”
“The Friar couldn’t handle the smoke, so I left him behind. Sandy stayed with him.”
“Let’s hope they don’t try to follow.”
More explosions rocked the cavernous room from above, and they both turned to run, leaving the burning mess behind and heading towards a door with a large tool chest beside it.
“Holt?” Cid asked.
“He went on alone,” Larissa said as they reached a door and pulled it open. “I think our plan has fallen apart.”
“Shall we try to get out of here?” Cid asked, hopeful she would finally see sense and give up her quest.
“Will this fire burn the whole palace down?” she asked, looking behind them again. The flames and smoke masked the entire Machine, and Imago was nowhere to be seen.
“Copper melts at one thousand nine hundred and eighty-three degrees Fahrenheit, but it seems this place has been built with safety in mind.” He gestured towards the door Larissa held and the layer of steel between wooden panels on either side. “If we shut that tightly, it should form a seal and the fire will run out of oxygen and burn itself out before threatening the rest of the building.”
“Good. Cid…”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re with me,” she said with a smile as she turned to exit the room.
An almighty yowl emerged from within the flames. Larissa stopped and turned back, calling for Imago.
Cid turned too, expecting to see the cat running to catch up to them. Instead, he saw Covelle. The clothes on his body had burned to ash, his naked skin mottled with black marks, but he seemed utterly undeterred by the burns. A curious smile played on his lips, and he raised both hands up as though he were a priest invoking the gods at a ceremony. The flames of the fire seemed to respond to his gesture, growing and rising up toward the ceiling, filling the expansive space in a matter of seconds. Behind Covelle, Imago emerged from the flame and pounced, pushing Covelle to the floor.
“Bloody hell,” Cid said as a strange sensation ran over his body. He should have felt shocked at the sight; instead, he felt calm and peaceful. The heat from the fire singed his bare arms. It reminded him of the impossible heat in Eptora. Elena’s face flashed through his mind just as he saw Larissa move to race forwards. She was screaming. Whether for her father or for her cat, he didn’t know. Perhaps she was screaming for them both. It didn’t seem to matter either way. Cid grabbed Larissa, using his entire body to pick her off her feet, and threw her through the doorway onto the staircase beyond.
The flames singed his back as he returned to the room. He grabbed the door and slammed it shut. The ground beneath his feet shook, but the sound of cannon fire was drowned out by the roaring inferno. With one heave, he pulled the heavy tool chest, the metal already too hot to touch, burning his hands. He dragged it across the path of the door, blocking himself inside.
Thick black smoke billowed around him in swaths, as though he had fallen into an ocean of flame. He fell to his knees, a final prayer echoing through his mind, and an apology to Elena for breaking his word.
CHAPTER FORTY
Silence surrounded the stairwell where Larissa found herself. There were noises, but her mind blocked them out with a deafening numbness. She’d pounded on the door uselessly until the heat from the other side hurt her fists. She stared at the fine grain of the wood, silent tears pouring from her eyes. For all her efforts, all her healing abilities and ideology, there was nothing she could do to help Cid, or even Imago.
Her veins still pulsed with the boost of Anthonium flowing through her body. She had no idea why Covelle had done that, but there was no way of finding out the answer now. Of all the tears running down her face, not a single one mourned her father.
She sat upon a step for a time, staring at the door, as if some miracle could still occur and Cid would walk through it, brushing ash off his arms and swearing complaints at the burns on his skin. She almost laughed at the thought of it, so vivid. She fantasised turning the clock back, to pick just one moment in the last few days and make a small adjustment which would lead to a different outcome. She should have asked him to stay behind. She should have told him to remain with Elena in Eptora. She should have done so many things differently which would have spared him such a horrific death.
Her shoulders shook as she sobbed. Lines of silver-tinted blood ran down her arm where her nails clutched too deeply to her skin.
Something behind her smashed—the sound of wood splitting followed by a loud, dull thud. More loud thuds drew her gaze from the door, and she arose just in time to dodge a cannonball as it rolled down the steps toward her. The black ball came to a stop thumping against the door, and the cacophony of noise suddenly burst into her awareness. She took in a heavy breath and placed her hands flat against the door, ignoring the burning heat scorching her skin. She hung her head low and said a silent prayer for Cid’s soul. If the gods existed at all, they owed him an eternity of happiness.
Through the stream of tears running freely down her face, she turned and headed towards the stairs, determined to finish what they’d started. There was at least one last foe to destroy.
It was as though someone had added lead weights to her boots; every step seemed harder than the last, and although she emerged into a brightened hallway, the path ahead looked darker.
The narrow corridor had rooms leading off to either side. A large hole had ripped through one of the walls, but it was at ceiling height, so she couldn’t see through to the outside world. She pulled the pistol from her pocket and pressed her back to the wall as she stalked down the corridor, peeking her head around each doorway to check inside. She passed a few storage rooms filled with boxes and devoid of life. The next room led to the kitchens. Huge ovens occupied the back wall; a large island in the center of the room had chopping boards and knives lying haphazardly across it. Half-chopped vegetables lay abandoned, and a pot on the stove bubbled furiously with no one around to tend to it. She presumed the staff had abandoned their posts due to the battle going on outside. It made sense, she supposed—no point making soup when you’re just as likely to end up with a cannonball in the pot.
There were no clues as to which way Holt might have gone, although she wasn’t entirely shocked—he wasn’t the sort to leave a trail. She’d assumed her aching heart couldn’t feel any worse, but the thought of Holt leaving because she had been too consumed by the discovery of the Machine made her chest ache even more. She wondered if her heart were bleeding.
After wandering to the end of the corridor and finding almost every room abandoned, she started to lose what little hope she had left. With no idea how to navigate through the palace, or where to find the President, her short burst of determination quickly gave way to the returning despair which sat in the pit of her stomach. A door banged shut somewhere up ahead, and a pair of soldiers marched from one side of the hall to the other, not stopping to look in her direction. Common sense told her she should have felt worried at seeing them, or excited, or something. Instead, she had barely any reaction to their presence.
When she reached the doorway where the two soldiers disappeared, she found a large stairwell leading up. The palace appeared to come into its own here, with ornate cornicing around the ceiling and delicate carvings in the dark wood bannisters. Two tall windows looked out to the sprawling city; one had been smashed, and shards of glass hung from the fr
ame, shattered remains coating the steps. She glanced out of the gap as another thump and rumble of gunfire echoed from somewhere nearby. Wherever the people attacking the palace were now, they did not seem to be on this side, for the view of the city below looked normal despite the holes poked in the walls.
She stalked up the steps, following on the heels of the two soldiers, who seemed in no particular hurry to get where they were going in spite of the obvious attack outside.
The next floor had wider hallways and more opulently decorated door trims. She slunk along the hall, ducking into alcoves as she went, coming too close to being seen once or twice when one of the soldiers cast a wary glance over his shoulder. For a brief moment, she wondered if the Anthonium shot had rendered her invisible until she thought of Cid. No, he had seen her quite clearly. He wouldn’t have shut himself in the room below in order to keep her out if she were invisible. A painful ache tugged on her gut. How could she live in the knowledge that her best friend had sacrificed himself for her?
Her head thumped against the frame of the doorway in which she stood. The soldiers passed from view, their route no longer part of her agenda as despair flowed over her like a wave. No matter how loudly the voice in her head kept shouting to carry on, her legs could go no further.
She stumbled into the room, reaching out for the nearest object to fall upon, her vision tainted by more tears and a dark ring threatening to close in and swallow her whole. Her hands found something solid—a table edge? It didn’t matter as she stared down, barely balancing on wobbly legs.
A boom erupted somewhere nearby, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Something trickled over her right arm and shoulder, as though raindrops fell on her flesh. She passed no more than a cursory glance at her arm; streaks of blood ran down where shards of glass had lodged into her skin. Slowly, she lifted her head to see the outline of an enormous pirate airship sailing directly past the window. Her mouth popped open as the cannon muzzle drew into line with her head. Something bumped into her from the side, sending her crashing to the ground.
