Still sliding out of control, Syfax rolled up toward the bar and used every frozen, aching muscle in his body to get his feet under him and then scramble along the apex of the roof, his back bent and hands climbing horizontally along the bar for safety. Every footfall echoed like a drumbeat on the roof, and every footfall threatened to yank his boot out from under him in the slick rain. His bare fingers were already numb.
At the end of the car he squatted above the edge of the roof and squinted through the heavy droplets clinging to his eyelashes. There was no ladder down, only a straight drop onto a narrow metal ledge between the cars. The only way forward was a long leap from one slippery sloped roof to the next. When the front door of the baggage car rattled open below, the decision was made for him. He jumped.
There was no time to stand or to back up for a running start. Syfax heard the door opening directly beneath him and he leapt forward, surging up into a wall of rain on two sore legs and two throbbing feet. He landed off-center but with the next car’s rooftop bar between his feet. His left foot shot out from under him and he fell squarely on the bar. The pain spiked up through his spine, but he clamped his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut until the misery faded.
As he lay sprawled on his back staring up into the black roof of the canyon with the tiny freezing diamonds of water pelting his face, he heard the men yelling back and forth through the baggage car. Again, he could understand only every fourth word, but that was enough. They had heard him land on the passenger car.
Everyone on the damn train must have heard that.
Syfax scrambled to his feet and again traversed the train car by gripping the dripping, frigid bar that ran along the peak of the curved roof. He had just squatted down at the far end when he heard the first gunshot.
The sound was muffled and distorted by the wind and rain and canyon walls, but it was enough for him to throw himself down flat on one side of the roof with his hands still wrapped around the bar to keep him from sliding off the edge of the train. He tested his grip and decided, based on very little evidence, that he trusted his right hand more than his left, so it was the left hand that released the bar and slipped down into his coat to pull out his revolver. The new revolver from Arafez, which he had yet to fire.
Now what, genius? Shout an order? Fire a warning shot? These guys know I’m a marshal, but they’re taking orders from Sade. Who knows what she told them. Hell, they probably think I’m a traitor or an assassin.
Syfax thumbed the hammer back and tried to find a target somewhere in the darkness at the back of the passenger car roof, but all he could see were faint afterimages and nonsense shapes that bloomed when he blinked.
Lightning flashed overhead and a man appeared just a few yards away, crawling on all fours along the bar at the top of the roof. In that instant of illumination, the major looked into his eyes and saw the barest hint of a gun swinging toward him. Syfax fired blind. He heard the man’s gasp followed by the metallic clatter of a gun rolling off the train roof, and then the dull thumping of a man rolling off in the opposite direction.
Syfax grimaced. Damn it.
He slipped his gun back into his coat. With both hands on the bar, he turned his head back toward the front of the train and saw the wind-battered hair of the other guard. For the second time, Syfax hauled his weight up toward the bar and swung his legs at the man. His boot caught the man’s head and he disappeared from view.
The major slid to the edge of the roof and lowered himself as far as he could reach, and then dropped to the narrow iron lip outside the car door. The guard had fallen on his rear and then rolled backward so that his legs were still on the ledge but everything above his belt was flopping and flailing over the edge, dangling all too close to the rails and rocky earth racing past beneath the train. Syfax grabbed the man’s shirt and hauled him up to a sitting position on the ledge and leaned him against the door of the passenger car. The side of his head was a dull red, his skin torn in a few places that were starting to bleed. The man blinked and shuddered, and his gaze seemed to focus on Syfax. His slack lips tightened into a frown and his right hand curled into a fist. Syfax punched him twice in the side of the head and let him flop down prone on the ledge.
The major grabbed the man by the lapels of his jacket, hauled him up onto his shoulder, and opened the door of the rearward passenger car. He dropped the man across the first bench seat. Straightening up, he found a dozen travelers all staring at him. Syfax glanced upward and he saw the dents in the roof. After a moment of silence, he pulled his dripping coat open to show the blood red interior. “Marshal business. Everything’s fine. Go back to sleep.”
Then he turned and trudged back up the train to his own seat. He sat down, suddenly very aware of how cold and wet he was. Every scrap of clothing on him felt ten times heavier and hotter, and chafed slightly as he moved. Kenan jogged back from the next car and slipped into the seat behind him.
Syfax said, “One’s dead and gone. The other’s unconscious in the last passenger car.”
Kenan nodded. “Sorry, major, I was going to came back to help as soon as they walked past, but then the ambassador came in and she just stood there, right next to my seat. I guess she didn’t get a good look at me back in Chellah after all. I think she was trying to see what her goons were doing and I figured I couldn’t move until she was gone. She just went back to first class, so I was just coming back to find you. Sorry, sir.”
Syfax blinked and a faint afterimage glowed behind his eyelids, the image of the gunman on the roof of the train, a heartbeat before he shot him. “You know, those men just now. They’re probably just Sade’s bodyguards. I know a lot of guys who went into private security after leaving the army. Decent guys taking whatever work they could find. ”
Kenan shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Men with families.”
Kenan shrugged again. “They chose the job, they decided to follow orders, and they knew they were looking for a marshal.”
Syfax grimaced. “The hell with that. Right now, one of them is bleeding to death, alone, lying on the side of the tracks in a canyon, in the rain, with a bullet in his chest. Freezing. In the dark. He’ll be dead in a few minutes, if he isn’t already. This isn’t a war, it’s…our people.” The major slowly pulled his revolver out and pressed it into Kenan’s hands. “Here.”
“I…” He held it awkwardly, not quite gripping it, letting it balance on his hand. “Major, I think you’re going to want this. And soon. Maybe we don’t have all the facts, maybe we don’t know exactly who’s guilty and who’s innocent, not yet, but we know that Chaou and her confederates are killing people. They might try to kill the queen. And since we can’t trust anyone to help us, we’re going to need every asset we can get our hands on between now and, well, whenever this ends.” He held the gun out.
“No.” Syfax stared straight ahead, lids heavy and drooping, back sore and aching. I wonder where those families in the forest are tonight? Did they make it to town? Did they get caught in the riots or are they huddled under a tree somewhere, starving and cold? “God gave me perfectly good fists. And I’ve shot enough people, enough of our people, whether they deserved it or not. Just put it away.”
He did. “What about the governor? What’s she going to do when her guards don’t come back? She’ll be suspicious. We need a plan. Maybe if we—”
“Shut up and wait. That’s the plan. Sade isn’t going to do anything. She knows we’re here. She’s also missing her guards. Do you think she’ll send those little kids back here next? Nah, she’ll sit up there and hope that we don’t make a scene. Which we won’t.” He thumbed his nose and hunkered down in his seat. “How much longer to Orossa?”
Chapter 38
Taziri gripped the edge of her console with clawing fingers. Every few seconds, she tried to relax her hands and her back and her legs, but then the lightning would flash and the thunder would roar and she’d be tense as an overwound spring again. The view through the forward
windows was a blur of glittering rain, black clouds, and blue-white afterimages all piled on top of each other like dozens of stained glass windows, except the images were all mountain peaks and parts of the Halcyon’s cockpit.
She glanced at Ghanima. In the darkness, she could just barely see the pilot swaying her shoulders from side to side and bobbing her head slightly. Her lips were moving silently.
Taziri grinned in spite of herself. Ghanima was singing and dancing, mostly in her head, but just a bit of the music was slipping out into her body too. Watching Ghanima navigate the storm while providing her own in-flight entertainment, Taziri released her death grip on her station and rested her hands on the chart table. Somewhere beneath her fingers was a map of Marrakesh under a hinged glass lid, but there was no light to see it. No cabin lights, no flashlights, only the sudden lightning that seemed to wait until she was facing something useless to strike and burn yet another blue-white image into her tired eyes.
The beacon light at the edge of the city hung low in the sky, its support tower invisible in the starless night. “How close, do you think?”
“At this rate? Maybe another hour, hour and a half. This crosswind is pretty stiff. We’re just creeping along up here.” Ghanima didn’t sound tired at all.
“Just let me know when you want me to spell you. You’ve been driving for a long while now. You should take a break.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Taziri frowned and her fingers crept back to grip the edge of her station.
An hour later, the last ridge slipped by beneath the airship’s belly and the tiny lights of the Lower City shone clearly across the floor of the valley. Countless candle flames danced in countless homes, filling the windows with unsteady yellow glows. The streetlamps sipped at their gas feeds, offering a steadier, brighter light at regular intervals up and down the city blocks.
Taziri peered down. “The airfield must be there, in that dark patch to the right.”
“I think you’re right.” Ghanima eased the controls to starboard. “I’ve only made this landing a couple times at night. We usually arrive in Orossa around mid-afternoon when we come in from España.”
“If you want, I can take us in.”
She shook her head. “I’m good.”
The landing approach began smoothly with only the murmur of the rain competing with the droning of the propellers, but as they descended over the field the Halcyon began to shimmy and shake.
“Just a little turbulence, folks,” Ghanima muttered. The airship dropped a yard, then glided swiftly to port, then nosed down and swooped over the grass. She kicked the pedals, rotated the props, and planted the Halcyon’s wheels in the soft mud. “Just like in the manual.”
Taziri smiled and patted her shoulder. “Nice work.”
Before she could say another word, the cabin lights flickered on overhead, and the heavy flashlight sitting in the tool rack threw its feeble beam up against the wall. Pilot and engineer exchanged a look, and laughed. Then the outside floodlights snapped on and the darkness blossomed into a field of brilliant green grass, and in that grass on all sides of the ship stood dozens of uniformed soldiers with rifles trained on the Halcyon’s cabin.
Taziri froze.
Ghanima whispered, “Shit.”
They held their empty hands high, gently woke the snoring doctor, and then calmly and quietly opened the hatch. Taziri winced in anticipation of the first blow. It was harder than she expected. The next few minutes were a blur of shouting and being shoved against the airship’s hull, kicked, shackled, and dragged out onto the wet grass to kneel alongside a wheezing Ghanima and a trembling Evander.
“Please, please! Who is in command here?” She heard herself speaking like it was someone else. Her heart was in her throat as she saw the dozens of gun barrels gazing at her like dead black eyes. The rain hissed all around them.
A square-faced woman loomed over them. “I’m General Demsiri. You are under arrest for the crimes of arson, murder, and treason against the crown. You will be held in an army prison until your trial and inevitable execution.”
“No-no-no! You’ve got it wrong! Chaou and Hamuy! It’s the ambassador and her bodyguard, they did it!” Adrenaline-fueled panic soaked through Taziri’s brain as she pictured her last few hours in a stone cell, far from her Yuba and Menna. “I watched Hamuy stab my captain, Isoke, right in front of me!”
“And I saw the ambassador shoot my captain in the back on the Crake!” Ghanima tried to stand and was promptly kicked back down by the soldier standing behind her.
The general frowned at them. “Medur Hamuy is the man who informed us about what exactly happened in Tingis. He barely survived the journey here, and he said you might try to blame him. He also said you might try to smuggle a foreign assassin into the Upper City. I assume he meant this Hellan.”
Evander stared up, baffled. “Assassin? I’m a doctor! The finest surgeon you’ll ever have the privilege to arrest, madam! And what’s more, I’m here at the request of the queen herself. I have papers! Check them! Here, in my bag!”
Still frowning, Demsiri took the bag and stepped into the airship cabin out of the rain. Taziri tried to turn to see what she was doing, but all she got was a rifle butt to her shoulder to shove her back again. A minute later, the general reappeared and handed the bag to another officer. Demsiri circled them once. “I’m having the papers checked. They’ll be verified with the Upper City within the hour. We’ll wait in the hangar.”
Taziri felt the soldiers lifting her by her armpits and then she stumbled through the slick mud with dark, shining rifles waving on every side. She shuffled into the hangar where the gas lamps were burning brightly to reveal a clean swept floor and a few collapsible tables and chairs. With her hands still tied behind her back, Taziri was pushed down with Ghanima and Evander to sit together encircled by wet, frowning soldiers, their long coats and trousers dripping with knives, grenades, and other little boxes and vials that the airship engineer assumed were lethal.
The general’s hour turned out to be nearly two hours, and they were spent in nearly perfect silence. The soldiers did not move, rarely blinked, and the officers seated at the tables made only faint scratching sounds as they filled out their paperwork.
Finally, a pair of young soldiers jogged into the hangar, their short hair plastered to their foreheads, and handed a slender document case to the general. Demsiri snapped the case open, perused its contents, and promptly snapped it shut again. “Doctor, your papers have been verified. I apologize for any inconvenience to you, but I’m sure you can appreciate our need for security here in the nation’s capital.”
The doctor’s hands were cut free and he was helped to his feet. “Actually no, I don’t give a damn about your security, especially since I’ve seen nothing but barbarism and madness since I entered this country. Now let these two go!” He pointed at the aviators. “They’ve been saving my life for more than two days now. They’re better patriots than that damned diplomat of yours, Chaou. And I heard Hamuy confess, too. They’re the ones you want, like the young lady here said. So let these two go!”
“I was about to.” The general nodded to her soldiers to free Taziri and Ghanima. “I’ve just read the Royal Guards’ incident report from Tingis and I know these two are not responsible for those crimes. Again, I apologize for the misunderstanding.”
Taziri stood up, gently massaging her wrists. All of her cold fears of dying a lonely traitor’s death transformed into a burning self-righteous fury. The desire to scream at the general filled her head with self-aggrandizing fantasies complete with exotic expletives she had learned in Carthage, but instead she only shivered and shook her head. “It’s fine. Can we go?”
“Of course. Doctor, my people will escort you to the Dawn’s Inn at the base of the carriage road. A room is waiting for you and you’ll be taken to the Upper City first thing in the morning.”
“Ah.”
Evander nodded and began patting his pockets. “Yes, well then, ah, my bag, thank you. Yes.” He turned and took Taziri’s hand. “It seems you managed to get me here in one piece after all, young lady. Thank you for that. Good night.” And he shuffled away with his escort into the freezing rain.
General Demsiri cleared her throat.
Taziri rubbed her eyes. “Is there something else, general?”
“Yes, there is. We still have the small matter of Medur Hamuy to resolve.” She tapped her toe while staring out into the darkness beyond the open hangar doors. “He’s here in the Lower City somewhere. My people will pick him up tonight or tomorrow. I’ll need you two to stay long enough to confirm his identity and sign a statement regarding the events in Tingis. For the record.”
“Not a problem, ma’am.” Taziri nodded. “I think we’re done flying for tonight.”
Thunder roared overhead. Ghanima jumped slightly. “Yeah, I think we’re done.”
“Good. You can stay with my people. There’s a building we’re not using, so you’ll have some privacy and some quiet.” The general indicated the opposite end of the hangar and they all began walking. Behind them, the soldiers collapsed and gathered the tables and chairs and the small office vanished into bundles under their arms as they fell in behind their commander.
“Quiet?” Taziri shivered. “I think we’ll be listening to this storm for the rest of the night.”
“Hm? Oh, no, I meant quiet from my people. This is a perfect night for spot inspections and surprise drills. Maybe a nice long run in the mud, up a mountainside, far from the lights of the city. I do love the rain.”
Taziri nodded in answer, feeling at once intensely grateful she was not a soldier and intensely sympathetic for the young women and men who would be awake, wet, cold, and miserable for the rest of the night.
Aetherium (Omnibus Edition) Page 39
