Chimaera

by Ian Irvine

  ‘Cut their hamstrings so they can’t move,’ said Ghorr. ‘Then bind them and bring them to the bow. This is going to end right now.’

  THIRTEEN

  ‘Well, well, well,’ came a throaty, amused voice from the doorway. ‘What have we here?’

  Ghorr turned. It was Scrutator Klarm, limping so ostentatiously that he had to lift his calipered leg with both hands. He looked up at the chief scrutator, who stood more than twice his height, grinning broadly. ‘How did you catch these wretches? I saw them escape the collapse.’

  Irisis looked from Ghorr to Klarm. Had he been pretending all along, so as to bring them here and ingratiate himself with the chief scrutator? If not, and he was still on their side, his acting was worthy of the Master Chroniclers’ Medal.

  ‘They’d have to be mighty clever to escape my vengeance,’ said Ghorr. ‘Where did you spring from? I thought you were dead.’

  ‘No man climbs ropes as well as I do,’ Klarm lied in turn. ‘I trust you’re going to dispatch them right away?’

  ‘The instant all the air-dreadnoughts are free, I’ll order my shooting squad onto the front deck. Once they’ve taken a dozen bolts each, I’ll personally sever their heads from their bodies and toss them into the bogs of Orist like the vermin they are. Take care of these two, would you, Klarm? I must attend to Yggur.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ Klarm said with a savage grin, but Ghorr was already on the way out.

  The troops advanced on Irisis and Flangers. Irisis was readying herself to attack the leading soldier, the giant, when Klarm spoke.

  ‘What are you doing, fellow?’ said Klarm.

  ‘Chief Scrutator ordered us to hamstring them, Scrutator Klarm, surr,’ replied the giant, reaching for Irisis. ‘So they can’t escape.’

  ‘Not in here, you damn fool,’ said Klarm. ‘The blood will ruin the carpets. I’ll take care of them. They can’t escape.’ Sounds of fighting came from outside and above. ‘Go! The chief scrutator needs you.’

  They went at a run, though not without a backward glance. Irisis eyed Klarm warily. Was he for them or against them? ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘The battle went against us,’ said Klarm. ‘Ghorr had three mancers and they proved too strong for Yggur –’

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be helping him?’

  ‘A change of plan,’ Klarm said blandly. ‘He kept me back, just in case, and it was lucky he did. My skills wouldn’t have shifted the balance.’

  ‘Is Yggur –’

  ‘His men only took out five of the guard before they were cut down. He felled two of the mancers and injured the third, but Ghorr forced him up into the rigging.’

  ‘Is he all right?’ said Irisis.

  ‘I don’t think so. It took a lot out of him.’

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you for us or against us?’

  Klarm looked disconcerted. ‘I’ve given my oath.’

  ‘Precisely,’ she said savagely. ‘Which oath do you hold to – the one to Ghorr or the one to us?’

  ‘If I’d been against you, you’d be hamstrung by now. Come on.’

  Irisis gave Malien her arm. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘My age, doubled and redoubled,’ said Malien, pulling herself up, ‘but the circulation is coming back. What’s the plan?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do for Yggur,’ said Klarm. ‘You’d better go down to the thapter. Flangers, guard the rail while they do.’

  Ghorr slashed the rope and turned away. Nish fell hard until he was brought up, swinging wildly, by the other end of his rope, which was still twisted around the dead mancer’s. He rotated below the charred feet of the corpse as the windings began to unravel.

  Nish whirled around, swinging his legs to increase momentum, and shot past the side of the thapter, not close enough to grab hold of anything. He went around again, one eye on the nets, the other on his rope, which had only a couple of windings to go before it pulled free. There was no chance of making the top of the thapter. All he could do was try for the side of the nearest net.

  As he swung by, Nish threw his arms out as far as he could reach. Three fingers of his right hand slid between the meshes and the lower curve of the thapter. He closed his fingers on the net, knowing he wasn’t strong enough to hold his swinging weight with such a meagre grip. He flailed with his weak left arm just as his rope pulled free, but missed.

  The jerk almost tore his shoulder out of its socket and Nish felt a stretching, burning pain there. The net began to rip through his fingers. He flailed again, got his left hand and arm through the meshes, and locked his wrist around the net. It eased the strain, just enough, though fresh blood began to seep through the stained bandage.

  Taking a better grip, he pulled himself through a mesh, resting between it and the tarp while he kneaded his throbbing shoulder. He untied the dangling rope and climbed up the net underneath the tarpaulins, which had come loose and were flapping in the wind of the air-dreadnought’s passage.

  At the top, the tarpaulins had shifted again, partly covering the hatch, and he had to feel for it, then hack through the canvas. He looked up to see if he’d been observed, but saw no one at the rails.

  Nish lifted the hatch carefully and, seeing nothing to trouble him, crawled inside. He was just going down the ladder when he was seized from below.

  ‘That’s one,’ said a rough voice, binding him and whipping a dirty gag over his mouth. ‘Now for the others.’

  Irisis put her head around the remains of the door, where a hot tarry odour reminded her unpleasantly of Snizort. Something was burning off the bow, yellow flames and flashes lighting up the remnants of smoky mist. The deck was empty. She flattened herself against the outside wall and motioned to Flangers and Malien to follow.

  Stealthy creaks came from above the cabins – people creeping across the roof framing, hunting Yggur. She couldn’t do anything for him. Their first priority was to recapture the thapter, no matter who or what had to be sacrificed to get it. Irisis hadn’t been able to see that before, but it was clear to her now.

  She tiptoed to the rail and saw a world in chaos. A long way behind, smoke trailed up from the canvas-draped towers of Fiz Gorgo. To her left the ghostly outlines of three air-dreadnoughts, locked together by their airbag cables, spiralled slowly around each other. As she watched, the cabin of the lowest craft rolled onto its side, spilling people over the rails. A few clung desperately to the ropes but a sudden lurch of the doomed craft shook them free.

  She dismissed everything from her mind but what she had to do. The thapter hung below the keel of Ghorr’s air-dreadnought in its slings of nets, and the canvas no longer covered the hatch, which suggested that Nish had made it inside.

  ‘Are you ready, Malien?’

  Malien lurched along the rail, her knees wobbling. ‘I can’t get down by myself.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can. But once we’re inside, how do we disable the guards?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Malien said limply.

  Irisis had never seen her so listless. ‘Do you know how many there were?’

  ‘Two, maybe three.’

  ‘Can you fly the thapter?’

  ‘In the direst extremity, I can draw on a deeper strength for a minute or two.’

  ‘You might have to, to take care of the soldiers.’

  ‘If I do, I’ll collapse before I can fly the thapter.’

  Irisis hadn’t realised Malien was in such bad shape. ‘Can you climb down the rope?’

  ‘Not in ten lifetimes,’ Malien said.

  Irisis thought for a moment, then rigged up a line to the nearest stanchion, ran a couple of turns around it and tied the other end carefully around Malien’s waist. ‘This is the best I can do. Can you manage?’

  Malien had gone white. ‘You’d better be quick.’

  Irisis helped her over the side, holding the rope taut. Malien leaned out, her feet on one of the ribs of the keel. ‘Ready?�
�

  Malien nodded stiffly.

  Taking a firm grip on the rope, Irisis checked that the thapter was below them. It was swinging gently in its nets. ‘All right. Step off.’

  Malien pushed off with both feet and the rope jerked as her weight came on it and slipped around the stanchion. She was heavier than she looked. Bracing herself, Irisis allowed the rope to run and Malien dropped sharply. One arm shot into the air but she regained control and it fell to her side. Irisis couldn’t see her face – Malien was looking down.

  A scuffle broke out behind Irisis. She glanced over her shoulder. Flangers, his back to the rail, was fighting two of Ghorr’s guards. The line jerked again and Irisis turned away. She had to rely on Flangers to hold them off long enough to get Malien down. And herself.

  A brilliant flash lit up the rigging, followed by a hollow, echoing boom – an air-dreadnought exploding not far away. The airbags wobbled back and forth and the vessel followed more sluggishly, its cables creaking and groaning. The heavy thapter barely moved and, consequently, appeared to stand out from the vessel at right-angles before swinging back.

  Malien went whirling around on her rope. Another explosion sent the airbags dancing the other way. The ropes thrummed, pulling so tight that Irisis felt sure the craft was going to tear apart. Malien’s head came up and her mouth was wide open – she thought she was going to fall.

  Irisis gauged the swing of the vessel relative to the thapter, paying out Malien’s rope as fast as she dared. Malien was going to pass over the top of the thapter before swinging far out the other way. The vessel began to move again. There were only seconds to act.

  Irisis recalculated the trajectories and, just before Malien’s swing passed over the hatch, let go the rope. For one ghastly moment she thought she’d got it wrong and dropped Malien to her death. The thapter moved precisely as she’d thought it would and Malien landed hard on the top of the thapter, next to the hatch.

  Her knees collapsed but Malien caught the handle of the hatch with one hand while she looped a bight of her line around it with the other. She raised her hand to Irisis, lifted the hatch and slipped through.

  A youth fell past, his mouth open in a silent scream, so close that Irisis could see the spots on his chin. One second he was there; the next, gone to oblivion. She looked up instinctively. A length of smouldering rope came by, spinning end over end. It had just missed the gasbag above her. Should another burning fragment land on a gasbag, exploding floater-gas would blow the craft apart.

  Pieces of wood rained down, shreds of canvas and other unidentifiable debris that had once been a majestic air-dreadnought. It began to snow, though the flakes were black as soot. A little whirlwind spun through the air, split into two, rejoined and disappeared.

  Shadows moved up in the rigging; beams flashed and flickered. Yggur must still be alive, though how long could he last under such an attack? He’d been exhausted before they began it. Flangers had disappeared. He’d probably been killed and heaved over the side while her back had been turned.

  The thapter’s hatch had fallen closed so she couldn’t tell what was going on inside. Better get down to Malien’s aid. Irisis had one foot over the rail when the outline of another air-dreadnought appeared, straight ahead. It was hanging in the air in their path, buffeted by the breeze but not moving. Why not? Its dangling cable appeared to have tangled in one of the forest trees and the crew were struggling to cut it free.

  Ghorr’s air-dreadnought was drifting straight towards it. Why didn’t the pilot turn or climb? If she didn’t act soon they were going to collide. Irisis ran down to the stern, where she discovered the pilot’s chair empty. A woman in a pilot’s uniform lay unconscious against the wall – she must have been knocked down in the fighting.

  Irisis raced through her options. If she didn’t go to Yggur’s aid he was probably going to die, though if Malien was in trouble Yggur would expect Irisis to help her first. But at the rate the air-dreadnought was drifting, it would crash into the other craft before she could reach the thapter.

  There was no help for it. She’d have to try and take the controller, though Irisis wasn’t sure she even knew how it worked.

  FOURTEEN

  Before he’d realised what was happening, Nish had been grabbed and held fast. A second guard took his weapons, bound his hands, and pushed him down through the lower hatch of the thapter. He bounced off the metal ladder and landed hard on his backside on the floor below.

  Stifling a groan, Nish looked up. The lower hatch remained open, suggesting that they expected to be dropping other people through it. Ghorr must have assumed that Yggur would try to recover the thapter. Perhaps he’d hung around Fiz Gorgo to lure the escaped prisoners back.

  He rolled over, looking around. The egg-shaped interior was empty and the guards would have removed anything that could be used as a weapon. However, they didn’t know the machine the way Nish did. During his time in the service of Minis the Aachim, and since then with Yggur, Nish had spent many weeks learning about the workings of constructs and thapters, honing his artificer’s skills on them. He could have taken this machine apart blindfolded, so surely he could create some opportunity to escape.

  Nish levered himself to his feet, which was awkward with his hands bound. He eased out one of the drawers, careful not to make a noise. It was empty. The thapter rolled like a ship in huge seas. He hung onto the handle until the motion eased, then opened one drawer after another. All had been emptied. The cupboards and other storage spaces were likewise bare. The guards had been thorough.

  Sitting down with his back to the wall, Nish tried to think of any concealed compartments that the guards might not have discovered. None came to mind. The thapter rolled so far to the right that he was dropped onto the side wall. He braced himself as it went back the other way. Above, the soldiers were swearing, uneasy. Well they might be, in such an uncanny and alien craft so precariously suspended in mid-air.

  Thump. It sounded like someone landing on the top of the thapter. Irisis? He crawled across to the ladder and looked up as Malien slid through the hatch, one hand raised as if to cast some kind of charm against the occupants. She did not get the chance, for one of the guards whipped a bag over her head before she could speak. They bound and gagged her too, but laid her on the floor out of the way, partly closed the upper hatch and waited.

  When Irisis came they would take her just as easily. Ghorr would have his public executions after all and, with the thapter, the victory might be enough for him to keep the chief scrutatorship. Yggur’s half-baked plan had turned a kind of victory into ruinous defeat.

  Not if I can help it. Nish grasped at a desperate idea. Edging into the far corner of the egg-shaped space, he crouched down and twisted the concealed, recessed knob above the thapter’s driving mechanism. Its hatch sighed open. Nish couldn’t make the mechanism work to drive the thapter, of course. No one could but specially trained Aachim, and Tiaan, wherever she was.

  And no one but Malien or Tiaan could make the thapter fly, for Malien had modified this one in a way that employed her own unique talent for the Secret Art, and she’d taught that to no one but Tiaan.

  But he did know enough to carry out the series of tests that Aachim artificers employed when maintaining and repairing constructs, and perhaps one of those might be used to good effect. Nish considered the tests in turn. One caused the ceramic thyrimode to rotate in an orbital fashion, producing eerie squeaks and squeals that might alarm the guards and bring them down to investigate. No; it wouldn’t be enough. He had to shock and terrify them.

  Another test heated the muncial gyrolapp, a series of thick-walled glass tubes connected in a spiral like a string of stubby sausages, until its metal case glowed red hot. What if he smeared grease all over the case, then ran the test? The grease would produce a lot of smoke and a horrible smell, and the guards might flee, thinking the thapter was on fire. It wasn’t much of a plan, and yet, the soldiers didn’t sound at ease. It might create an opport
unity, though he would have to be ready to act the moment one occurred.

  He wriggled to the opening and reached in with his bound hands. He closed his eyes, the better to sense his way in through the maze of tubes, coils, globes, wires and crystals mounted above the reciprocating mechanisms. Had he been sitting in the dark with it in front of him, Nish could have identified any part by feel. Here it proved difficult to get his arms into the tightly packed space, and when he tried his gashed arm hurt abominably.

  Nish went back to the centre and peered up the ladder. The soldiers were watching the upper hatch. Returning to the opening, he identified the case of the muncial gyrolapp, which was at the very furthest point he could reach. Scooping grease from a receptacle just inside the hatch, he smeared it all over the case, then set the gyrolapp to heat. Nish wiped his hands on the floor and, just as he was about to close the cover, noticed a prise-bar in its bracket on the wall of the compartment.

  Snapping it out of its mounting, he slid it under his coat. On a whim, Nish set the ceramic thyrimode to rotate as well. The eerie noises couldn’t hurt. He quickly closed the hatch, though he didn’t fasten it, and rolled to the other side of the cabin.

  The thyrimode gave a gentle whirr then began to run, almost silently at first. The thapter wallowed like a round-bottomed tub in a heavy swell, whereupon the mechanism emitted a brief, mournful squeak. Nish came to his knees, staring in the direction the sound had come from, waiting for a response from upstairs.

  ‘What was that?’ said one of the soldiers.

  ‘Just the prisoner whining,’ said the other. ‘He’ll do better than that when the master disemboweller gets his hooks into him.’ He snorted with laughter.

  The thyrimode emitted another squeak, longer and more shrill.

  ‘Didn’t sound like a man,’ said the first. ‘Go and have a look.’