by Steve Rzasa
“You know there’s been no sign of the woman. Even before they started tearing into that mess.” Taube gestured at the aeroplane.
“Oh, I’m well aware. And mighty perturbed.” Beam closed his eyes. Cythraul, I serve you with all my ability, and still you deny me the ultimate sight of all things. I have failed in this war against the Thel-enemy.
You are incompetent. You serve us when we call upon you, not the other way around.
The words cut at his soul like knives. But he was acclimated to this. He tightened his resolve and froze out the offending emotions of fear, anguish, and despondency.
Especially fear.
“Face it, Taube: We must move up the timetable.” Beam turned from the wreck. It no longer drew him in like a moth to a light. He was ready. “I told the second councilor as much.”
“It looks as though he needs a reminder, sir.”
Indeed, Second Councilor Ehrlichmann was at that moment stomping his away down the road. A Peace Branch motorwagon sat waiting for him a few dozen feet back. It contained a young officer who looked abashed at Beam’s very presence.
Speaking of incompetent…
“Beam! Captain Beam!” Ehrlichmann staggered through the ditch. Mud splattered across the legs of his trousers.
“Yes, Second Councilor?” Beam hoped the nonchalance in his tone would disarm or enrage his opponent. Surprising, really, how often and how well that worked.
And it did work. “You let them escape! Your lackeys told me as much!” Spittle flew from Ehrlichmann’s mouth. His eyes were crazed with desperation.
That was a good thing for Beam. “I’d remain calm if I were you, sir,” Beam said. “No need to incite disorder.”
“Disorder? The only thing disorderly is your conduct in this entire operation! Our stratagem is ruined!” Ehrlichmann paused for several deep breaths. The fool was winded after his tirade and his walk. “What do you propose I tell the other councilors? And Trestleway Consolidated?”
“That is not my concern. I have an invasion to run.”
“Do you have the slightest whit what will happen when word of our operations leaks out? Mintannic will be at our doorstep with trade sanctions in hand. Trestleway Consolidated thinks it has problems now? This is not part of the scheme and it is unconscionable, Beam. Why I’m going to—”
“Quiet, please.” Beam held up a hand to Ehrlichmann’s face. The man went red. But Beam could not care less. He was interested only in the young officer running to him from the motorwagon.
“Sir! To the east, sir! They’re here!” He waved his arms in that direction.
Beam looked, and smiled. “Don’t fret, Second Councilor. I’ve made sure we won’t fail.” He pointed east.
Dark shapes grew on the horizon. Ehrlichmann’s eyes went wide in astonishment. Taube whistled low. Beam approved of the expression and the sight before him. There were twelve dirigibles, massive aeroships of black and dark blue. They came down through the white clouds clustered over the foothills to the north of the city. Their engine pods trailed tiny wisps of white steam.
“You see, Second Councilor, I took some precautions,” Beam said quietly. He could just hear the hum of their engines in the distance. “Much more than the four dirigibles I told you earlier. The Free Fliers of Sternabend have no fear of this death. They believe life after life is assured when they die fighting in the skies. And you see now they mean it. I’ve hired twelve dirigibles capable of carrying their airborne armada thousands of miles, with five fighters each on ten of them. The other two are laden with incendiaries and explosives, more than enough to bring Perch to its knees.”
Ehrlichmann’s jaw flapped, but his mouth issued forth no sound.
“Let me fill in those blanks,” Beam said dryly. “I did not wait for approval. We must act now, move swiftly to chop of the head of Perch’s leadership and get our own man Condor installed as the new mayor-general. We must marshal the men and have them ready to depart in the early morning tomorrow, while it’s dark.”
Ehrlichmann snapped from his astonishment. “What? We cannot fight in the dark!”
“It will not be dark when we arrive at Perch. And we will be early, on their day of rest.” Beam sighed. Give me someone with an ounce of brains…“You will also get me two more companies of men. I don’t care their training level—”
“Four hundred more? Are you mad?”
“Do not interrupt.” Beam kept his words neutral. But there was nothing neutral about unleashing the power of the cythraul on Ehrlichmann. With one hand aloft, he had the second councilor choking and on his knees in a matter of seconds.
Taube stayed frozen beside him. Good Taube. Well-trained.
“Worm,” Beam murmured. “We must change the rules and the timing of our so-called ‘intervention.’ The Sark brothers bring their people information, To win, we must change out stratagem so that their information is invalid. Now get me what I need.”
He flung Ehrlichmann aside. He stalked over to the burning plane. Someone had thought to bring a fire wagon from the aerodrome. The fuel tank blaze there was under control. Beam accosted one of the technicians. “Anything?”
“No bodies, sir. There was this.” He held up a lock of red hair.
Beam took it gingerly. It was part burned, and had a ghastly smell. He was loath to admit she’d avoided him, but perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps she really was dead.
Accursed woman. He’d see her bleed for this. He closed his eyes. The hair was silken between his fingers. Show her to me.
Insult us, and then demand our work? Fool. We will reveal what we will reveal.
Beam gritted his teeth. The cythraul were powerful, but control over them was tenuous at best. Their tarnal tempers were mercurial.
“Taube, come with me.” Ehrlichmann was back on his feet. He gave Beam a nasty glare. As if such things frightened Beam.
“Sir?”
Beam looked at the dirigibles. They’d be here soon. “We have plans to revise.”
He tucked the hair into his coat pocket.
Friday
Lysanne urged the branter Pearl over the rugged trail that led up the foothills of Mount Alight north of Perch that afternoon. Colonel Cuthbert had a cabin somewhere in among the pines, where this particularly unused trail ended. Lysanne had borrowed the branter from the Advocate office.
It was early afternoon. Her mother had agreed to meet the children when they walked home from school, and Miss Plank would shadow the house until Lysanne’s return. She burned with the need to do something to aid Perch, and there was naught she could do about Winch’s absence save to pray. This way, at least, she could support the effort to stop the invasion.
“And I’ll be blamed if I’m to cower from every shadow while others are brave,” she said.
Of course, now that she knew agents of the enemy might be watching her, she’d be especially vigilant.
Pearl tromped heedlessly over thistles and brush that choked the trail. She blatted her discomfort when a nettle branch flicked at her side. “Easy, girl.” Lysanne patted the mottled white and grey hide. “It shouldn’t be much farther.”
Such was her hope. The trail was slow going, and they’d left the city-state behind an hour ago. Lysanne adjusted the saddle pack at her side. The letter inside came accompanied with a slip of directions, and they estimated…
Aha. The trail opened up onto a broad, sloped hillside. The wide expanse of pale green grass speckled with violet flowers was a blessed relief after the tight confines of the forest. Pearl trotted out onto the hill and stopped, sniffing the air. She bleated an inquiry.
“On, girl.” Lysanne spurred her forward.
The cabin was plainly visible next to an outcropping of black rock. Though Lysanne figured that in a few years, its dilapidated grey boards and shingles that shivered when the wind gusted across the hillside would need major repair. No smoke came forth from a white and tan stone chimney. Was nobody home?
The only occupant was the black branter
chewing on the flowers near the cabin. He was a head taller that Pearl, shaggier, a fearsome looking beast. Horns cut through the air as it turned to pin them with an iron gaze. Fortunately the creature was tied to a lone pine on the other end of the cabin.
Lysanne dismounted at a stump not ten feet from the cabin. She tied Pearl’s reins and gave her one more pat. “Stay still.”
Pearl set out to graze on the flowers. Her tail swished back and forth across the grass. Lysanne dug into the saddle pouch for the orders from the mayor-general.
She stepped up onto the porch, letter in hand. Wood creaked underfoot. The door to the cabin was wide open. It banged occasionally against the frame in the breeze. “Hello? Colonel Cuthbert?”
She peered inside. By the skies above, what filth! Plates stacked hither and yon, discarded bones and half-eaten bread, dirty clothing. It was strewn about like the wreckage from an aeroplane crash. “If only Winch could see this,” she said aloud. “He’d never take the housework so lightly again.”
“Take it you disapprove, ma’am?”
Lysanne spun. Who’d said that?
“Out here.” It was a mellifluous tone.
She eased out onto the porch. At times like this she wished she’d taken her father’s advice to carry a firearm. But most times one didn’t need it in Perch. There was a Thundercloud lever-action carbine strapped to Pearl’s saddle, in case of saber-tooth.
“Hello?” Lysanne could see no one.
“’Round the corner of the cabin.”
Whoever it was began whistling a slow, mournful tune. Lysanne stepped down off the porch and took a wide loop around. She’d be able to run back to Pearl if needed…
A man sat just around the bend, back arched and face pinched in concentration. His skin was bronzed and wrinkled, his silver hair cut so short on top Lysanne could see the skin beneath. He had a white goatee and eyes as brown as the soil underfoot that sparkled as he worked with tools in his hands.
Well, make that a single brown eye. He stopped whistling and looked Lysanne’s way. A black eye patch obscured his left eye. “Good day, ma’am. Colonel Alonzo Reynaldo Cuthbert, at your service.”
“Good day, Colonel.” Lysanne brushed at her hair. Confound the wind. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work, sir.”
“Da nada.” Cuthbert held something brass in the air. A cartridge. “I’m simply carving my initials.”
Lysanne by now was close enough to see the “ARC” carved into the bullet and to realize that there was a large pile at Cuthbert’s feet. Propped at his side was a long, bulky Torino .60 caliber. It was the finest of hunting rifles, made for big game. She’d have expected nothing less from a man living on his own in the mountains.
“I am Mrs. Lysanne Sark. I’ve come with a message from Mayor-General Keysor,” Lysanne fingered the letter in her hands.
“Ah, Jonas. Did I ever tell you we fought together in the last war?” Cuthbert eased to his feet. Lysanne hadn’t realized he was a full foot shorter than her. He wore a red shirt, work trousers cut of a rough blue denim, and black suspenders.
Lysanne handed him the letter. “No, Colonel. Indeed, I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”
“Perdoname, Señora.” Cuthbert took the letter. His dark eye darted over the text. To Lysanne’s surprise, his smile didn’t fade at reading what she considered dire news. To the contrary, he grinned like a smilodon on the hunt.
“Muy interesante. I might have known Trestleway would try something like that. A full battalion on its way? And I have but two companies at my disposal. We’ll just have to call up more volunteers.” He stuffed the letter into his pocket. “Wait here, please.”
Cuthbert hurried inside his cabin. Whatever he needed, it involved a great deal of banging around and rustling of clothing. Lysanne turned aside to take in the view from the cabin, a breathtaking vista of Rock Creek Canyon and Perch the end. Wright Valley and the distant western ridge of the Sawteeth sat under the shadow of cloud.
“Could you be so kind, señora, as to fetch me my rifle?”
Cuthbert stood on the porch now. Lysanne had never seen such a complete transformation in a matter of minutes. He wore a dark green militia coat and sported a broad-brimmed grey hat that bore Perch’s emblem. Twin black pins of pouncing smilodons marked his rank on either shoulder. His black boots were shined to a finish that let Lysanne almost see her astonished reflection. A pair of lever action pistols rode in cross draw holsters.
“Colonel?” Lysanne hefted the rifle. “Do you need any assistance gathering your cartridges?”
“Thank you much.” They both stooped in the grass and dirt. Cuthbert scooped bullets into a pair of pouches on his belt in weathered handfuls. “Tell me, señora, why did you bring me this message? Are you a new courier for Jonas? What happened to the lovely Miss Plank? Though make no mistake, you are far lovelier.”
Lysanne blushed. “I volunteered while Miss Plank is on other work. You see, Jonas—ah, that is, the mayor-general—enlisted the aid of my husband and his brother to make inquiries into Trestleway’s plans.”
“In person?” Cuthbert raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Consules mio.” Cuthbert sighed. “Jonas has a penchant for the dagger and the cloak, as always. He never did appreciate the direct approach to problems.”
“I just want my husband back safely.” Lysanne stood, brushing the dirt from her own trousers. “And I will not sit idly by in my greenhouse while Trestleway plots to take this city from us.”
Cuthbert stood with her. He gave her that same dangerous grin as he lifted the rifle and started loading cartridges. “Señora Sark, do not be so eager to seek blood. I consider myself a man of peace who deals with war only when it comes. And deal with it I will, make no mistake.”
He cranked the lever and slung the rifle’s strap across his chest. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. The black branter, off behind the cabin, bellowed.
“Come,” Cuthbert said. “And you will see what this old colonel can do for his city-state.”
• • •
She rode with Cuthbert down Main Street as far as city hall. She left him with the mayor-general and urged Pearl back to South Street. The branter recognized the route home immediately. They made the trip to the Advocate’s stables in the alley behind the building swiftly.
Lysanne found Gil where she expected, up on the roof. His pipe smoke swirled as he turned to face her. “Your husband had best have a confounded good reason for not sending me a story thus far,” he grumbled.
“I think he may have been busy carrying out the mayor-general’s requests.” With Jesca. Lysanne kept a pleasant smile on her face but clenched her teeth behind pursed lips. “And speaking of which, he requests you be present for his Quince memorial speech in a few hours.”
“Ah, me.” Gil shook his pipe at something Lysanne couldn’t see in the distance. City Hall perhaps? “And here I’d thought to send Conrad out with a camera to give the lad some news gathering experience. I must say, it would be a sight bit better than staying stuffed in my stuffy office.”
“It would not be so stuffy but for your pipe.” Lysanne couldn’t resist. Winch had told him how much Annora and others teased him about his smoking.
“Bah! You’d better get me something worthwhile to do while I’m there.”
“Other than interview Colonel Cuthbert?”
Gil fumbled with his pipe. Lysanne winced at the mental image of it plummeting over the side of the Advocate building and shattering on South Street, perhaps being run over by a wayward wagon. But of course, Gil rescued the imperiled implement. “Well! By the Allfather, that would be something.” He chewed on his pipe. “Lots of questions for that man…”
“Then I’ll see you there this afternoon?”
Gil didn’t answer. As she left, Lysanne could hear him murmuring to himself even over the buzz of engines from long, forest green dirigible that cruised low overhead to the east.
&
nbsp; • • •
The Quince Memorial speech drew a few hundred onlookers to the city park at three o’clock. Mayor-General Keysor stood at a black pine podium in the band shell, his smile broad as his shoulders as he addressed the crowd.
Lysanne only half heard his words. Too many worries filled up her head—that her mother would keep the children occupied after school let children go home for the day, that whatever attacks Trestleway had planned would not affect her family, that this was where she had danced with Winch just days ago.
She missed him terribly. And she wanted to know exactly what it was he was doing traipsing around Trestleway with this Jesca. She didn’t care one whit if that woman was Keysor’s niece… She’d best keep her distance from her husband.
Well. There was Gil Davies, working furiously in the front row of onlookers with his notepad. Lysanne finally made herself tune in on the Mayor-General: “…and with no pretense, good citizens of Perch, we can mark this day as one of the greatest in the proud history of our city-state.”
The crowd rewarded him with hearty applause. A gentleman in a short bowler hat excused himself as he nudged by Lysanne. She smiled back and moved aside. He had blazing red hair and a very light complexion. Tirodani descent, no doubt. That explained the dark looks he received from a few nearby men and women. “Crims,” someone muttered.
“You hush,” Lysanne said sternly. A nearby woman frowned, but it did not deter her a mite. “There are plenty of Tirodani in our city.”
“I don’t trust any sons of slaves,” the woman said, her nose in the air.
“But let me not mislead you to understand that all is clear skies and smooth trails for Perch,” Keysor continued. He gestured mightily with his hands, as if he could mold the public’s opinion with them. “No, there are those who would see us fail. Nay, who would rather we fall. And fall hard.”
This was unlike any of the prior year’s memorial speeches she heard. Usually they tended to the uplifting, look-toward-the-future-and-glowing-prosperity variety. After all, they were meant as the harbinger of the summer months after a cold winter. Lysanne moved forward so she could listen better, and nearly collided with another man working his way through the crowd.
