by E. C. Jarvis
“You’re clearly not admiring the moonlight,” Kerrigan said from behind. Larissa jumped a little, almost losing the spyglass over the edge. “What is it?” he asked.
“People,” Larissa said, mimicking Holt. Her heartrate rose again. Those people were clearly stranded out there and in need of assistance, but she could already hear the arguments in her head which both Holt and Kerrigan would offer against her suggestion of rescuing the strangers.
Kerrigan snatched the spyglass from her hand, pushing his way between the two of them. “Leave them,” he said, returning to the wheel, giving it a pointed tug to drive them further away.
“We can’t leave them. We need to help,” she said.
“It’s not our business.”
“What if they’re from a Daltonian warship that crashed, soldiers stranded and left to die?” she pleaded.
“What if they are Eptoran navy? They will have weapons and we have none. Will you insist on returning them to Eptora? I won’t allow you to waste time on such an undertaking. You said I had command under certain circumstances. this is one of those circumstances.”
“What if it’s Covelle?” Holt said, surprising them both by arguing Larissa’s side. “What if something went wrong and he crashed? We pick him up, question him, and…deal with him.”
“Fine,” Kerrigan barked after a lengthy silence, “but we approach with caution. I want them to assume we are pirates and that we’ll blow them out of the water for sport rather than being their saviours. I want them on their knees, begging for mercy, not on their feet hoping for a chance to take our ship.”
“Agreed,” Larissa and Holt said in unison.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
“Thank the Gods. It’s an airship.”
Saunders woke with a start. His face rested in water; the whole of his body was wet as he lay on his side on what remained of the deck. He sat up, squinting in the darkness, trying to orient himself. Eddy stood on a piece of guardrail raised out of the water, waving and shouting frantically into the distance.
Sandy held onto the rail at Eddy’s feet, her butt propped up on the orb and leather suitcase. She’d asked the men to dig them out of the water-logged hold and wrapped her legs around them hours earlier, vowing to hold onto both the orb—her greatest creation—and tools until the end. Simms lay down at Saunders’ side, though he too was awake now and leaning on his elbows, looking hopefully into the distance. Little of their ship remained above water. Their attempt at building a sail seemed half-hearted at best. Now, against all the odds, there was a ship in the sky.
The lights on the airship deck came into view in the distance and Saunders felt his stomach turn somersaults until he remembered they had made it almost two thirds of the way to Eptora. The likelihood of finding one of their own airships this far out, and not part of a fleet sent to begin the war, was minimal.
“Eddy, get down, you fool,” he said.
“But it’s a rescue, LT.”
The lights on the deck of the ship snuffed out, leaving little more than a blackened outline in the sky.
“I don’t think it’s a rescue.”
“Looked like a pirate ship to me,” Simms said, ducking his head down low with a groan.
Eddy splashed down into the water and sat beside Sandy. Rain splattered against Saunders’ head. Such a miserable choice—stay here and drown, wait to be used as target practice by the incoming pirates, or dare to hope that they might still be rescued. As he looked at the dark outline of his cousin’s body, his heart sank. Pirates would not treat her kindly.
“Here.” He pulled the pillbox out of his pocket. The metal case had survived being immersed in water. “Take one each, as a last resort. Better this than spend days being tortured for sport.”
The others grabbed a pill each, though the General had only provided him with three; he decided not to mention it. If they were picked up by pirates with a penchant for violence, he would endure it if it meant the others could slip away peacefully, especially Sandy. He shuddered to think what they might make her endure. As it was, he could see she now clung to Eddy’s arm. She reached out and grabbed Saunders’ hand, holding it with a vice-like grip as they silently watched the airship blob grow nearer. A vision of Saunders’ girlfriend Becky danced in his mind, her long hair and soft smile. He wished he’d spent his hard-earned savings on a wedding instead.
“Gods, why don’t they put a light on, show us who they are?” Sandy whispered.
Saunders could feel the wood beneath him shuddering as Simms shook violently. He reached out to pat the young Private on the shoulder, to try calming him down, but Simms toppled over, splashing face-first into the water. His body convulsed from head to toe. Saunders flipped him over and pinned his shoulders down, trying to stop the tremors. A sliver of light flickered over Simms’ face, foaming bubbles erupting from his lips.
“Fuck.” It was all he could do to swear and watch, holding Simms’ shoulders down as his body protested the drug coursing through his veins.
“What’s going on? Did he take the pill already?” Eddy asked. Saunders didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. He felt his heart thumping against his ribs. It was one thing to be prepared for death, but he had handed out death to the young man under his command, and no matter what, he was responsible.
He forgot about the airship, forgot about the fact that they sat in the ocean. For that moment, all he could think of was the young man he’d brought out here to his death. Simms’ shoulders slumped, a strange choking sound from the back of his throat faded to silence, and with that, he was dead.
“I’m not sure that’s a better option,” Sandy said grimly. Not even Eddy had a response to that.
“Identify yourselves,” a voice boomed from above. Saunders looked up, rainfall spattering his face. There was nothing to see save for a dark, black blob in the sky, but the voice did sound strangely familiar.
“They sound Daltonian at least,” Eddy whispered.
“We are Daltonian merchants. Will you give us aid?” Saunders called back. Only silence responded. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. He imagined those on board debating over whether he was telling the truth and what they would do about it.
“Lieutenant Saunders?” The response was followed by sparks above as the lamplight returned.
“Sir.” His response emerged in a croaky voice as wetness formed on his cheeks which had nothing to do with the rain or the sea. “We’re here to rescue you, Colonel,” he called up.
“I must say, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it. This will be going on my report.”
A rope swung over the side, and Eddy grabbed hold of it, immediately wrapping it around Sandy’s waist. For once, she made no complaint about him manhandling her.
“Make sure they bring my orb and case up as well, will you?” she said as she was hoisted into the sky.
. . .
Larissa stared down at the lifeless body of the man she now knew had once been Private Simms. Somehow, staring at a dead body, even one so gory, seemed less discomforting than looking at their newly acquired crewmembers. Colonel Kerrigan stood nearby, waiting for Cid and Narry to finish wrapping the sodden group in blankets.
“I will speak with Lieutenant Saunders in private,” Kerrigan said.
“No, you will not. Any discussions you have will be in my presence.” Larissa faced him, propping her hands on her hips. She wasn’t sure if this was a fight she would win. Their numbers were more evenly matched now, and as she looked at the confused faces staring up at her in bewilderment, the insecurity of inexperience started to seep in. Ordering Kerrigan about had been easy when he’d stood alone and she’d had a strong, healthy Holt to boost her commands. She didn’t much like their chances of winning. Three military men and a strange woman versus an ex-military man, an ex-pirate, an ex-Dolonite Friar, an ex-engineer, and an ex-sales clerk didn’t sound like a wise fight. She had visions of spending the rest of the journey locked up in one of the rooms below only to be handed to a
n executioner as soon as they landed.
Kerrigan stared down at her, his pale hazel eyes twinkling in the lamplight. She saw Holt standing just behind Kerrigan’s shoulder, poised like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey.
“You may join us, Miss,” Kerrigan said after a long pause. She wasn’t sure what confused her more, that he acquiesced to her ridiculous command or the fact that he’d not used her name.
Lieutenant Saunders stood, keeping the thick grey blanket from her bed wrapped around his shoulders. He was welcome to it. The two men, a Colonel and his Lieutenant, stared down at her in unison, their tall and imposing figures casting long shadows across her features, before heading below. She tried to tell herself that she deserved to be there, to be included on whatever discussion they were going to have. After all, that was what she had demanded, wasn’t it? As she followed them below, noting that Holt made no attempt to join her this time—she’d forgotten to include his presence in that demand—she had to forcibly ignore the small voice at the back of her head reminding her that she was at best a sales clerk and at worst a criminal, and these men had every right to dismiss her entirely.
They entered her cabin and Kerrigan relit a few of the lamps. “Take a seat, Lieutenant.” Kerrigan waved an arm at the bed, and Saunders looked too exhausted to argue. Kerrigan dragged the seat out from behind the desk and put it in the middle of the room, stiffly waving his arm at it, motioning for Larissa to sit. Finally, he propped his butt atop the desk, adopting a more relaxed stance than she would have expected.
“This,” Kerrigan began, addressing Saunders, waving a hand in her direction, “is the woman who Captained the ship that caused the Falcon to crash into the Hub in Aditona.”
Saunders’ shoulders stiffened. He looked about, ready to leap from the bed to pummel her face into the floor from the way his face twisted. Kerrigan couldn’t have started with a more incendiary introduction if he’d tried.
“She is also the woman who killed Doctor Orother.”
Larissa bit her tongue. He wasn’t technically correct on that part, but it seemed denying it would be redundant. Saunders looked from her to Kerrigan and back again, as though he were trying to figure out why she sat here so openly and not locked in chains. As if she knew where to start explaining that.
“She is also planning on assassinating the President,” Kerrigan continued. Larissa’s eyes rolled back into her head and she squeezed them shut. It was quite a condemning list of accolades.
“Um, sir?” Saunders started, but he was silenced with a placating wave of the hand.
“We are going to assist her in that endeavour.”
“Um…sir?”
“Why were you out here, Saunders?”
“General Gott gave me orders to come get you, sir.”
“And why is Private Simms dead?”
“Because he took the suicide pill.” Saunders flinched and shut his eyes, taking a moment to compose himself.
“Did you not think it odd that General Gott would send you, alone, on such a dangerous mission, with no help?”
“Of course I did, Colonel. I had a feeling there was something odd about it the moment he gave me those pills.”
“He wanted to get rid of you because you knew too much. There was no way you could have survived such a mission. He is eliminating everyone with even the slightest iota of knowledge of what the President and his cronies have been up to, in order to cover their tracks. The risk of exposure has become too perilous. If we go back now, they will just find another way to dispose of us.”
“Even you, sir?”
“Even me.”
“Why?”
“Because I made the mistake of having openly voiced objections to their methods for some time.”
Larissa felt her breath catch. All this time, she had assumed Kerrigan had always been on the side of the President, as a loyal soldier if not an open supporter. She never truly dared believe that he would turn to her side. She hadn’t even considered that he might object to the President’s scheming.
“It is time someone stood up to the immoral and underhand schemes of those in charge, and if we are to be condemned for one thing, I would rather it be for acting on the side of good than for being a meagre threat to their schemes. Wouldn’t you agree, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There is something else,” Kerrigan continued. “This woman is the direct descendant of Emperor Rafther. It seems her father, a man who goes by both Solomon Covelle and Professor Ronald Markus, is the surviving son of the Emperor.”
“Gods,” Saunders said, looking at Larissa with a new expression on his face. “I thought the whole family was slaughtered during the civil war.”
“Clearly not. There were always rumours that one had survived, but most people ignored such rumours.”
“The President has a lot of reasons to want her dead,” Saunders said. Larissa had to force herself not to feel awkward about being talked about as if she weren’t there.
“I don’t think he even knows who she is.” Kerrigan gave her an inquisitive look.
Larissa found her mouth hanging open. She snapped it shut and gave a small shrug in response. How would she know whether or not the man knew anything of her? It seemed unlikely. If the President was so hell-bent on wiping out anyone who opposed him in any way, even one of his top Colonels, he would have probably had her bumped off years ago. It would have been easy to get rid of her, depressingly easy, and no one would have mourned, except perhaps for Greyfort, and he would have been more mournful of the loss of income in his ledger.
“All right, Colonel. So what’s the plan?” Saunders said.
“I’ve been waiting to find out.”
Larissa stared at Kerrigan as he shifted on the desk. Of all the possible outcomes, this seemed the most unlikely.
“Well, Miss Markus…should I continue to call you that?”
“I think it would be best. I don’t know that I can cope with a change of name right now.” In any case, Empress Larissa of Daltonia seemed more than a little peculiar.
“Very well, Miss Markus. The plan?”
Larissa sucked in a lungful of air and thought back to the long list she’d written during the day. Return to Daltonia and not get killed. Obtain weapons—with no money and a likely warrant on their heads as pirates—and not get killed doing so. Find her father, put an end to his plans, and not get killed. Infiltrate the Captial and the palace, overthrow the Presidency, and make sure everyone survives. Put a stop to the war with Eptora by ensuring that whomever replaces the President isn’t a warmongering idiot. Find a way to save Holt. Live happily ever after.
She snorted an undignified and unladylike laugh at Kerrigan. A plan to cover all that? Not much of a tall order for a penniless sales clerk.
“I may need to think about it for a while longer.”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
A breeze disturbed the mess of curls on Larissa’s head. She puffed the hair out of her mouth, made a mental note to put her hair up sometime soon—a note she would no doubt ignore or forget---and set to biting on the flesh of her thumb.
Cid was high up in the air, his legs wrapped around the shaft of the starboard propeller, a wrench in hand, a bolt between his teeth, and a rope tied around his waist. Holt had the other end of the rope tied around his waist as he stood on deck beside Larissa.
Lieutenant Tobin Saunders was portside, similarly entangled around the second propeller with Colonel Kerrigan as his rope anchor, but Larissa was far less concerned about him. It had taken a lot of convincing Cid to accept any help at all. He’d conceded only by virtue of the fact that it would be far quicker to have two people adjusting the angles of the propellers at the same time.
So they were, as sitting ducks—if ducks could hover above water—staying afloat by the lighter-than-air gas in the vast canopy above, hoping and praying that Cid’s latest project would work.
With a lot of grunting and barking of expletives, Cid hauled the prope
ller into its new position—turned upwards instead of pointing horizontally. If she hadn’t already seen it work with her own eyes, Larissa would have considered Cid crazy. It seemed counterintuitive to have propellers pointing in that direction, but after listening to lengthy explanations of down force and all sorts of other terminology well outside her realm of knowledge, she’d resolved to simply trust Cid’s engineering skills. He did build the Machine, after all.
As the final bolt locked in place and the skin of her thumb grew back to replace the chunk she’d just chewed off, Larissa grabbed hold of the rail with a deathly grip to watch Cid try to climb back aboard. For all his genius, natural athleticism was not one of Cid’s gifts.
“Thank fuck for that,” he said as his feet thudded onto the deck. “Oh.” His shoulders slumped. Saunders had finished with his propeller far quicker.
“Now what?” Larissa asked.
“Turn it on.”
Cid disappeared below deck to the engine room. She shouldn’t have been surprised by his lack of enthusiasm; Cid was curt at the best of times, but he’d been miserable since they left Eptora. She’d hoped that working on the engine and the chance to test and see if it worked would cheer him up. Sadly, it seemed to make him even grumpier.
“Is he always this miserable?” Saunders asked.
“It would seem so,” Kerrigan answered.
Silence descended as they waited together on deck. A strange rumbling emerged from below. It was quiet, far quieter than she’d expected, and moments later, each of the propellers started to turn. It took less than a minute for the large rotors to spin so quickly they became a blur, and the ship developed a distinct shudder from the movement.
