Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

  The woman’s face brightened. ‘Ah yes, Captain William Fitzwilliam of the Liberty Wind.’ She extended a too-sweet smile. ‘I’m afraid I cannot stamp the writ while the accident your airship was involved in is being investigated. Good day.’

  Fitz heard the window crack before he felt the cut on his knuckle. ‘I got a crew to pay.’

  The grin plastered on her face didn’t waver for a second. ‘Take it up with the Watch.’

  If Tiera had witnessed him walk away without another word, she’d have torn him a new piss-hole.

  Fitz’s fist hammered the door.

  A panel slid back, revealing a pair of glasses. ‘Hel- Oh Gods, Fitz. Come in, come in.’

  The door peeled open, revealing Guildmaster Roland. His greying skin hung looser every day. The man was about the same age as Fitz but the creases in his face belonged to someone much older. ‘You holding up okay?’’

  Fitz brushed past Roland’s feeble shoulder. ‘We need to talk.’

  A bare pine table, a few cheap wooden chairs and a pair of battered filing cabinets summed up the Guildmaster’s possessions. A large map hung on the wall, displaying the Royal City of Dalthea. A transparent plastic sheet was pinned atop it, displaying all 12 Spires and their respective sectors.

  ‘Can, um, I offer you some water?’ Roland muttered, scrambling into his chair.

  ‘You can offer.’ Fitz swiped his flask from his belt and tipped the liquor into his mouth.

  Roland’s mouth pursed. ‘Don’t think I need to remind you that taking alcohol is illegal between midnight and midday.’

  ‘Shove it up your arse.’

  ‘Last night…’ Roland’s voice wavered like a bad note from a violin. ‘What an awful, awful accident. How is your crew?’

  Fitz chuckled, but there was no humour. ‘Some bastard tried to blow me out the sky and everyone reckons it was an accident? Even the cow at the skyport reckons so. News travels, eh?’ Fitz took another swig and looked to the map. ‘Third water run of the day. Too good a deal… Shoulda known it wasn’t legit.’

  ‘Hang on, Fitz, I know you’re looking for someone to blame but-’

  Fitz hammered the table. ‘Somebody tried to kill us. That’s the long an’ short of it. And on top o’ that, I can’t even pay my crew until this shit is sorted.’

  Roland squirmed. ‘Who would want you dead? I signed the writ myself, I can assure you it was official.’

  ‘You can show me writs from here ‘til Nyr’s Day but that don’t mean I wasn’t set up. After we punched the access codes in, the bloody Spire fired up and pissed lightning from the sky. Barely made it back to the skyport alive. I lost men, Roland. I don’t do something, Tiera will carve my balls.’

  Roland shifted in his seat. ‘You have to understand, this is something quite unheard of, Fitz. I can reach out to Councillor Enfield, but he’ll be looking for proof that it was done on purpose.’

  Fitz sprung up and planted his fists on Roland’s desk. ‘How about the charred corpse of Matthias Smith, eh? That proof enough for ya? I hope so, because his body is still out there!’

  Roland loosened his collar. ‘I’m in charge here, Fitz. If this is true, we’ll get to the bottom of it.’

  Fitz eyed him with pure malice. His body tensed, and his jaw and muscles ached. ‘Enfield’s a cockless swine. There were explosions from inside the Spire before it charged, Roland—what do you reckon that means? Do you know where the safest place to be is when a Spire starts pissing lightning?’ Fitz didn’t wait for him to answer. ‘Inside the damn thing. Someone planted explosives and set the thing ablaze. That’s what killed ’em. When I was trussed up in the Idari prison camp, you know how I survived? I had one ignium charge—just one—and I used it to light their command tent on fire. I watched it burn and spread. Swept all over, running rampant. I ran and hid in all the confusion.’ Fitz’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I saw men’s skin melt and curl from their bones like meat from a skewer. Promised myself I’d never be responsible for that again.’

  Roland’s head drooped. ‘Captain, I really-’

  ‘Roarke’s in Anabelle Academy Hospital, half his face burned off. Dixon. You remember him, eh? Good lad. Got his legs blown off and died crying in the middle of the bloody desert. Oxbridge, he was inside when it blew. Smithy? He was less lucky—he stayed alive for a time. Came galloping out like a madman, running wild he was. See, his back was on fire. Went charging towards young Serena, howling his damn head off. I can still hear him, Roland. And I can still see my crew, their eyes pleading with me for answers.’ Fitz took another drink, but didn’t move his glare from Roland. ‘And I promise you, in front of the Great Gods and the Lesser, I mean to find the bastards responsible and cut their goddamn throats.’

  ‘I, I don’t have the words Fitz. I’m… sorry.’

  ‘I’m a damn fool. The last time we were to go on a water run, it was the Seven. I should’ve known.’

  ‘I, I don’t follow you.’

  ‘It’s unusual for a Spire’s reserves to get full, eh? Only during the heaviest thunderstorms. Can’t be predicted, but still. Takes a while. Sectors Five, Six and Seven are mine.’

  Realisation dawned on Roland’s face.

  ‘We were grounded last time we were setting off to the Seven—and someone else took our place.’ Fitz’s grip tightened around his flask, his knuckles whitening. ‘I should’ve bloody known. The Council told us we’d get paid double and we could keep half the take. Ha! And I fell for it like a merry fool. Bastard must have planted the bombs when he was out there. Against his own kind. Knowing full well what would happen. Knowing full well I got two youngsters on my airship.

  ‘That’s how you can help, Roland. That’s what you can answer: Where in all hells is Norcoté Vaughan?’

  Exhaustion tugged at the frayed ends of Serena’s eyes. It had been impossible to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time last night, and when she did drift off, pain tightened across her chest like a safety harness.

  Sister Catryn told her to give her lessons a miss, but that meant staying in the dorm room, alone with nothing for company but the echoes of last night’s terror. No, better to be around people.

  Sister Ingrid’s voice snapped like a rule against a desk. She spouted facts the same way a faulty water dispenser gushed fluid: Stop, start and full of shit.

  She was on the second floor. What the sisters called ‘classrooms’ on the ground floor were just wooden partitions between pillars, useless at separating the sound of kids’ squealing. At least they had windows up here.

  A smattering of birds dotted the sky beyond the barred glass—yellow-headed flickertails, her favourite. The flat ground was made up of broken stones and baked mud and clay. What had it looked it like before the war? Was the land ever as green and lush as they said? Did a river really rush through Old Town Square? There was a painting in the back of the classroom—Serena had dismissed it when she first arrived, but the more time she spent cooped up, the more she let her eyes wander over it.

  It depicted a sweeping view over the city, from west to east, expansive fields of green and gold just begging to be explored. It was weird to think that that was what the view beyond the window would’ve looked like just a couple of years ago. If only I arrived before the Night of Amberfire, maybe I'd have seen it.

  The artist—Aurien tal Varaldo, the guy who wrote those crappy Crimsonwing books—sat atop Terros’ Crown, the biggest hill in The Sands, when he painted it. Back then there would’ve been cedar trees, grass, starlings, even fresh water-

  ‘Serena!’

  Sister Ingrid’s voice jolted her.

  ‘Y-yes?’

  ‘Care to answer the question?’

  Serena squirmed. The world was watching her.

  ‘Um…’

  Sister Ingrid’s face didn’t give anything away, hard but peaceful in the way that only nuns and teachers can master.

  Serena hated it.

  ‘Pssst…’ The voice materialised behind her in
a faint whisper. Evelyn Drassler. ‘Aerulus, King of the Gods,’ she said.

  It wasn’t like Evelyn to do anyone a favour—but did Serena have a choice? She swallowed and tried to looked casual. ‘Um, Belios, Sister Ingrid,’ Serena answered. She ignored the sweat on her palms and tried to inject some authority into her voice. ‘God of War, a Lesser god, one of the winter ones and… stuff.’

  Sister Ingrid smiled and said, ‘Very good.’

  Serena’s whole body relaxed. That bitch wanted to make a fool out of-

  ‘Now if you’d care to explain exactly why you think Belios would take leave of his martial pursuits,’ continued Ingrid, ‘to unveil the Kingdom’s very first ignicite processing refinery—and kick-starting a hitherto floundering economy—we’d be all ears.’

  Serena’s face burned. The giggling behind her made her want to scream.

  Sister Ingrid clapped her hands three times. ‘Quite enough, thanks. The answer, of course, is Calton—the first of the so-called Ignicite Towns. Now, open Art, Music & Theatre in Pre-War Idar, chapter eight…’

  Bitch.

  The hours crawled by, and Ingrid didn’t give Serena peace. Why did she have to answer everything?

  Evelyn. She’d get revenge on her…

  ‘For tomorrow,’ the sister droned, ‘read Piety & Privilege, chapters eleven and twelve. And yes—there will be questions!’

  The sound of a brass bell heralded lunch time. It was enough to inject energy into the classroom. Serena barely ate anything at meal times here; everything came in cans and she could taste the metal in the food.

  She waited until Evelyn and her flock of sheep exited before she got up to leave, hoping Ingrid wouldn’t say anything.

  ‘You may wish to read those chapters twice, Serena,’ came the sister’s voice at her back. ‘There will be questions, oh yes!’

  She slipped out of the classroom and stalked along the wooden floorboards, making sure to take her time. The corridor was narrow and the whole place smelled of stale books and… Something else, almost warm but not quite. Incense, maybe?

  ‘Hi Rena!’

  Serena’s muscles tensed at the sound of Marrin’s voice. Without looking behind her, Serena said, ‘I’ve told you, don’t call me that.’

  Undeterred, the younger girl marched beside her, voice growing louder. ‘Sorry!’ she said, with a snort. ‘I just thought, since we’re friends, nicknames would be cool.’

  There was nothing else for it. The soft approach didn’t work—she had to be blunt. Tough love wouldn’t do her any harm.

  Serena spun around. ‘Look, Marrin, we’re not fr… Oh… Gods…’

  The whole world froze.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Marrin asked, uneven eyes magnified behind her thick glasses. She stood with her hands on her hips, displaying her freshly-dyed hair. Her freshly-dyed dark green hair.

  ‘It’s…’

  ‘Teal! The same as yours!’

  Serena’s mouth hung loose. ‘W… Why?’

  ‘I just thought, because we’re friends… Do you like it?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Hey, that was awful of Evelyn in class before, you didn’t deserve that. I’d have given you the right answer. Honest.’

  ‘Uh, yeah. Listen, your hair…’

  ‘Thanks! Are you on your way to the cafeteria? Me too!’

  ‘I...’ Serena turned, pounded her way down the corridor, and resolved to dye her hair blond.

  The common room of the orphanage was small and cluttered. Old, mismatched furniture lined the walls, one chair from just about every era of history. No windows in here, which was why Serena avoided it whenever she could.

  She found Angelo sitting on a pockmarked cushion, legs folded, his face buried in a book.

  ‘What is it today?’ asked Serena, dropping next to him.

  ‘Captain Crimsonwing and the Sky Pirate’s Daughter,’ he replied. ‘My favourite.’

  ‘Don’t you get bored of reading all the time? Don’t you do other stuff, like listen to music?’

  Angelo’s face squirmed. ‘My mum used to play Genevieve Couressa records. She’d dance in the kitchen. Other times she’d just sit and cry.’

  Serena offered a weak smile. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ Angelo resumed his place in the book, tracing the words with a finger. ‘We live in an orphanage. The subject of parents comes up a lot.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of other stuff to talk about. How… How have you been?’

  Angelo stared at the page in front of him. ‘Scared. Tired. Exhausted yet wide awake. It’s… Odd.’

  ‘Yeah,’ whispered Serena. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Keep going over everything. Keep wondering. There are stringent safeguards in place in every Spire. Security. Fail-safes. Emergency systems. I think… I think the Spire was activated on purpose.’

  A chill ran through Serena. She’d had the same thought, but it didn’t make any sense.

  ‘Adds up,’ he continued. ‘Safest place to hide during a spirestorm is inside the Spire itself. Yet there were explosions in the interior. Smithy-’

  ‘Shit, Angelo, do we need to talk about this now?’

  ‘Have to at some point. Still to be questioned by the Watch. Strange. They should have done that as soon as we reported it. Sending us home gives our brains time to jumble up details, get confused.’

  Not sure I agree with that. If anything, it seemed clearer in her head now—every ember, every inch of peeling skin, every molecule of Smithy’s blue eyes as they pleaded with her.

  She needed to change the subject.

  ‘Uh, so, you didn’t go to the dining hall?’

  ‘No,’ said Angelo. ‘No appetite.’

  ‘Yeah. Me neither.’ Serena twirled a strand of hair around her finger. ‘Hey—have you seen Marrin today?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, that’s something.’

  The murmuring which permeated the common room died off. Serena didn’t have to see her to know that Evelyn had swept into the room. She was flanked by two of her friends, Cecily and Zara. As if they were surrounded by an invisible ring of steel, kids backed off, trying not to draw their attention.

  The girls’ faces glowed devil-red from giggling. They sat themselves in their usual table by a big couch—the only big couch—shoving the chessboard lying there onto the floor. They spoke in a low tone, exploding into fits of laughter every few seconds.

  Evelyn caught Serena’s gaze and burst into hysterics.

  ‘They’re laughing at you,’ observed Angelo.

  ‘And I bet I know why.’

  Evelyn stared Serena in the eye, lips twisting into a vile grin. Slowly, she pulled a fistful of dark green hair from her pocket and threw it on the table. Zara picked it up and drew it against her own chestnut hair, mimicking Marrin’s snorting and sending her friends howling with laughter.

  It was Cecily’s turn next. She crossed her eyes, snorted, and said: ‘Will you be my friend? Will, will you be my friend?’

  They tossed Marrin’s lock of hair between them.

  ‘Assholes.’ Serena’s fists clenched. Before she’d even thought about it, she was on her feet.

  ‘Don’t,’ urged Angelo. ‘Things are bad enough.’

  ‘Yeah, well, they’re about to get worse.’

  The three pairs of eyes dug into her as Serena stormed towards the table.

  ‘What do you want?’ snapped Cecily. She always had a crust of snot on her nose and smelled like damp wood—Serena suspected the only reason Cecily followed Evelyn around was so she didn’t pick on her.

  Serena stood, hands on her hips. ‘What did you do? Marrin. Where is she?’

  Evelyn beamed, standing tall. The other two exchanged quiet glances and smirks, relishing the sight.

  ‘We left her sobbing in the bathroom,’ said Evelyn, like a child talking about being awarded a gold star. ‘Clutching her books and half of her hair. She said her friend would come and save her.’


  Serena’s heart kicked up a gear, fire coursing in her veins.

  ‘Why don’t you just piss off?’ spat Cecily. ‘Everyone hates you.’

  Was this really worth the fight? With everything else going on, was taking on three immature bullies really a priority? Serena didn’t even like Marrin.

  Goddamn right it’s worth it. ‘You know,’ Serena started, ‘I work my ass off on a raincatcher, pull my weight more’n half the regular crew. I get zero respect because I’m young—and because I’m a girl. You know what I get instead? Treated like a kid. Stupid nicknames from older men. Sometimes I get looks across the kitchen table from guys old enough to be my dad, and you don’t need to have the Sight of Musa to know what’s going through their heads.’

  ‘And that has what to do with us?’ giggled Zara.

  If Serena was Tiera, the three girls would be on the floor already, bleeding.

  Sure, there were other women Raincatchers—Tiera, Captain Li, Captain Ashe—but what did they have to do to get where they were? If Tiera wasn’t with Fitz, would she command the same respect aboard the Wind?

  Serena peered into Zara’s eyes. ‘Girls like you make it harder for the rest of us. Do you think you’ll make it out there? In the real world? You think anyone outside of these walls is gonna be scared of you? Grow up.’

  Evelyn stood up. ‘I’m not going to end up cleaning a stinking raincatcher all my life. What, were there no vacancies with the whores in Scab End, or were you just too ugly?’

  Serena’s nails dug into the palms of her hands. Jozef always told her to control her temper. The old man’s voice whispered to her now: Stupid girl!

  ‘Evelyn, you ain’t even worth the skin off my knuckles.’ Serena turned away. Screw this—she’d find Marrin and help her.

  ‘Yeah, go disappear, you walking accident,’ Evelyn called. ‘Heard that’s why you’re here—your dad forgot to yank himself out one night, and your mother couldn’t put you up for adoption because no-one would take a green-haired freak.’

  Serena felt every pair of eyes on her. She squared her shoulders, like she’d seen Fitz do whenever the crew got rowdy.

  She turned and strode back towards Evelyn. ‘Pretty sure you’re stuck in here as well.’ She prodded Evelyn with her index finger. ‘Or are you too stupid to notice?’