Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

  ‘So they can pilot ’em,’ Gallows replied. ‘They don’t need to get their feet on the ground.’ Tiera nodded, considering it.

  Lockwood’s laugh was rougher than sandpaper. ‘We’re to assault a secret weapons base with a force of roughnecks?’

  ‘Wait, wait… Gallows is right,’ said Tiera. ‘We can use the Raincatchers. Anton Tugarin—he does not follow Vaughan. He will stand against him and Thackeray.’

  ‘You’re not hearing me!’ barked Lockwood. ‘What if the castle defences engage us? The Overseer would never get close.’

  ‘Land it before we strike the warship,’ Gallows suggested. ‘Before anyone knows what’s going on.’

  ‘We can get through this with minimum casualties,’ said Valentine. ‘Put your fancy new wireless tech to good use—use your warship’s broadcast system to hook into the Info Towers on the ground—you did it for Genevieve Couressa. Make that asshole N’Keres confess for everyone to hear. Take command, order the AA silos to hold fire.’

  Lockwood stayed silent. She’s considering it.

  ‘Raincatchers aren’t permitted guns,’ said Tiera. ‘If they run into trouble, they’re dead.’

  ‘Leave that to me,’ said Damien.

  Gallows was impressed. ‘You got a secret stash of military hardware?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking. Eun-til Ra.’

  Tiera growled at the mention of the weapons dealer’s name.

  ‘What about him?’ Gallows asked. ‘Wait—do you know him?’

  ‘Where do you think I purchase my materials?’

  ‘Damn the Gods,’ muttered Lockwood.

  ‘Can you find him?’ Gallows asked.

  ‘I can. In exchange for his weapons and co-operation against Thackeray, he will want immunity.’

  ‘That man is a bastard.’ Tiera’s voice rumbled like a rupturing volcano.

  ‘What’s more important?’ asked Gallows. ‘Getting vengeance or getting Fitz?’

  Tiera scowled and turned away.

  ‘Immunity.’ Lockwood shook her head. ‘Shall we be arresting anyone on this mad crusade?’

  Valentine tossed her knife and caught it. ‘Sure hope not.’

  ‘I can arm the Raincatchers,’ said Damien. ‘But we don’t know what the Hurtling Whimsy’s schedule is. It could be on a water run.’

  Tiera shook her head. ‘No. Vaughan prefers nocturnal water runs. Better to smuggle.’

  Gallows stood before Lockwood. ‘Once we get to One Three Seven, you can keep the Schiehallion in the air to dissuade Thackeray from escaping—Mathieson told me the site was used as a staging area for airships, so you can bet he has an escape route. I can use the Whimsy to get my boots on the ground with whatever RSF force you can muster.’

  Gallows told himself the kingdom needed justice—that Thackeray deserved what was coming. And he did—but with every word Gallows spoke, Lenis Cronin’s face became clearer. He was Gallows’ real target. He was responsible for Sera.

  If it came down to it, would you sacrifice Serena to get to Cronin?

  ‘We don’t even know if Thackeray’s there,’ said Lockwood.

  ‘Dalthea ain’t that big,’ said Gallows. ‘If he ain’t there, we burn it and work our way in.’

  ‘Commander,’ Damien started, ‘where exactly is the Gravehold entrance?’

  ‘There’s a cave in the rock,’ Lockwood replied. ‘The western face. It’s how the Prime Councillor bypasses the castle. An artificial waterfall used to mark it. Now it’s as dry as the rest of the kingdom.’

  Gallows recognised the spot. ‘Leaper’s Crown,’ he said.

  Tiera huffed. ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘King Rochefort jumped from the cave when the queen discovered his infidelity. Dalthea was just a coal mining town at the time. Apparently the gold of his crown shone so bright, the Royal Guard saw it glinting for miles as it spun into the black chasm.’

  ‘Y’all listen to some crazy shit.’

  ‘Thank you, Lance Corporal Valentine.’ Lockwood placed her hands on her hips. ‘Can we get back on track? The Overseer can land inside the cave, but it will be guarded. Likewise the Schiehallion—a handful of my troopers will not be enough.’

  Gallows looked at Damien. ‘So we send ’em one way while we infiltrate the COC. Tiera and Valentine hit the Gravehold with the Overseer and grab Fitz and Fallon. We hit the warship from the inside and disable the AA guns on the ground. When the Schiehallion is secure, we pick up Val and Tiera, get the Raincatchers on board and load their airships with RSF and hit One Three Seven.’

  Tiera drew her hands through her wild black hair. ‘I’ll need something to bargain with. It won’t be easy, the Guild is proud and-’

  ‘I’ll see they get paid a shitload,’ Lockwood promised.

  ‘Done.’

  ‘Tiera,’ Gallows continued, ‘check for a prisoner named Myriel An tal Lo—Serena said she’s been missing.’

  ‘The Mage woman. Got it.’

  ‘Remember,’ said Lockwood, ‘If Cronin is in the Gravehold, he lives.’

  Tiera shrugged. ‘Suits me—but I ain’t guaranteeing he’ll have all his fingers.’

  Lockwood turned to Valentine. ‘And we arrest Pyron Thackeray.’

  ‘Y’all are forgetting something.’ Valentine took her time looking at Damien and Gallows. ‘The last time we planned something like this, it went belly up.’

  ‘This time Enfield’s out of the way,’ said Gallows. ‘We have one shot, Commander. Major Fallon didn’t confide in you for nothing. You know Thackeray and N’Keres are corrupt. It’s your duty.’

  ‘Gods above and below,’ the commander muttered. She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘Alright. You have one hour to convince Farro Zoven and the Raincatchers. But remember: Thackeray lives.’

  Valentine yanked her knife from the wall and gripped it so hard her knuckles whitened. She glared at Lockwood, lips pursed. ‘Fine by me.’

  ‘Tyson,’ Damien began, ‘what makes you think Zoven won’t kill you as soon as you step into the Courtesans’ Guild?’

  ‘Easy,’ replied Gallows. ‘You.’

  Chapter Thirty

  DALTHEA VIATOR

  Liberty Wind Suicide Bomber Destroys Musicians’ Guild!

  Terrorists Still At Large!

  Viator Keeps Presses Rolling Amid Chaos!

  ‘I’m surprised you’re still breathing,’ said Damien. This was the second of Eun-til Ra’s bolt holes he’d infiltrated. The first one had a similar number of dead bodies.

  ‘Mister Fieri!’ Ra’s bearded face trailed blood. He clutched at the wound in his chest. ‘It’ll take… more than hired hands to take me out.’ An arrogant smile split his face.

  ‘Seems they gave it a valiant effort.’ Damien took a step closer.

  ‘You here to take a shot?’ Ra sounded cocky but his eyes betrayed fear.

  ‘Alas, no. You may be a war criminal who ensured the death of hundreds of people over the last few days—but you are not my enemy today.’

  ‘Only did… as I was told,’ breathed the weapons dealer. ‘The fools actually believed they were taking orders from Idar!’

  ‘But you’re loyal to Pyron Thackeray, is that it?’

  ‘Hells no! Val Candrians don’t suffer from delusions of “patriotism”.’

  ‘Loyal only to yourself?’

  ‘Always. I am bleeding out here, Fieri… If you don’t mind telling me why you’re here, I got people to kill and a city to escape.’

  ‘Quite simple, really.’ Damien looked Ra up and down. ‘I’m here to place an order.’

  Ra’s bottom lip stuck out. ‘I got a couple of revolvers I can sell you.’

  Damien took a step closer. ‘I rather had my eye on the Sterling & Galaphos hand-cranked gyroguns you keep beneath the floorboards.’

  Ra’s face paled.

  ‘Do we have a deal?’ Damien asked.

  ‘That’s serious hardware you’re talking about, Fieri. It will not come cheap.’

  ‘I
believe I can afford it.’ Damien fished in his pocket and handed Ra Lockwood’s writ.

  Ra brightened. ‘Throw in some ammo as well, shall I?’

  Hooded and flanked by two of Lockwood’s men, Gallows charged through the doors of the Courtesans’ Guild. ‘Wait here,’ he said.

  A sea of faces looked down from the hanging balconies and curving stairwell—male and female, young and old. The subtle zest of lemon caressed Gallows’ nose, almond milk too. Patterns on the marble floor crested like waves of red silk. Gallows’ feet sank into the sumptuous, snaking carpet as he marched through.

  And he knew exactly where to go.

  Anton Tugarin stared around his bare room, muscles aching. Stale sweat mingled with that old, sweet smell which every church in the world possessed. It was almost as bad as the Karina’s prison cells.

  He fished the bottle of Phadrosi pink absinthe out from the floorboard; what was there to save it for now? That clown was in charge and Anton saw the way the other captains looked at him whenever he spoke out.

  Still, one must be thankful. Every day spent avoiding the Karina’s hangman was a blessing—even if it meant he would never see his home again, never see the snow-capped mountains or the great icefjords of Frosthaven. He’d never taste pure Tarevian air on his lips, never feel it caress his skin. The sun shone too much in Dalthea, even when it ducked behind those vast mountains. Da! The price of freedom. The price of honest living for honest money, and the price of the bargain he’d struck during the war.

  Motes of dust danced around him, filling his nostrils. The pale rose liquid swirled in its bottle. He grunted and tipped it to his lips. It tasted sweet and hot, and he murmured thanks to the departed comrade who had given it to him. He would miss Fitzwilliam. They were not friends—who in this wretched city of vipers had friends?—but nor were they enemies, and that wasn’t nothing—not when the guild had that fairy tale-worshipping Ashe, who looked down on anyone not obsessed with the Eleven, or those McConnell boys, purse-snatchers both.

  Fitz was different. He was like Anton. He’d come from the old school. Knew honour. Knew hard work.

  ‘Here’s to you, Fitz. Fortune find you. And piss on you, Vaughan.’ Tugarin swallowed more of the absinthe. Ha! The way Tiera’s face had twisted when Fitz offered the bottle to stop him from mashing Roarke’s face into the ground. A sight to behold, a picture fit enough to hang in the Dusha Vystavka itself. He swore she’d have carved his heart from his chest in that moment. One of the many reasons Anton preferred the company of men—‘It is easier on the mule when a woman gets off the cart’, as the old men in the Motherland said. Of course, they had also said the Old Empire would last a thousand years. And perhaps it would have, had Taliana Konstantin not seized the throne with her bloody talons.

  Not that he held the men in higher regard—old jackals spending their days killing, thieving and pirating their way across half the world, then squawking like geese in an abattoir when a woman dared steal their empire from them. And damn her, she’s doing a much better job of it. That’s what pride and patriotism got you: Marching to the noose with a stiff upper lip and thinking you were a man because you didn’t piss your breeks in public.

  ‘Tugarin.’

  The bottle stopped at his lips. A bird whistled outside.

  ‘Thought you’d be on your way to Phadros by now.’ The fingers of his free hand reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and wrapped themselves around the hilt of the trench knife.

  ‘I don’t run.’ Tiera raised her chin. ‘Let go of the knife, Anton. I come with a proposition.’

  Farro Zoven did not fit the picture in Gallows’ head. Stories of a dashing aristocrat who paraded himself in finery had been exaggerated. Instead, he wore casual slacks and a pale green, threadbare string vest. His belly protruded from it. What hair he had left was as white as bleached bones.

  ‘So you’re Mister Gallows, uh?’ Zoven rasped behind his desk. It might have been grand once, but now it was the colour of dead leaves. It was bereft of contents except for a small potted cactus. ‘Pierro tells me you’re one of my Veronica’s favourites but you don’t touch her. We got boys, if that’s more your thing. Age is no object, long as you got the aerons.’

  Gallows’ stomach squirmed. ‘I’m here to talk—and you’re gonna listen. Pierro’s dead. Your men are done. Your empire is finished. And Pyron Thackeray’s gunning for you.’

  Zoven’s laughter rumbled like a collapsing wall. ‘I have too many assurances in place for the Prime Councillor to put me in the ground. Got no clue what V sees in you, boy. Certainly ain’t for your smarts, uh?’

  ‘Smart enough to kill your lap dog.’

  Zoven assessed him. When he was satisfied Gallows wasn’t lying, his palms smacked the table, skin hanging on his face like melting wax. ‘Pierro was a good boy.’

  ‘How’s your mind, Zoven?’ Gallows took a step closer. ‘Flown into any fits recently? Any blackouts? Been sampling too much of Vaughan’s medicine?’

  Zoven’s decaying, yellow teeth showed. ‘You looking to get your face stamped into the ground?’

  ‘Pierro told me he’d been slipping you drugs—right before I stabbed him through the brain. Said you were too stupid to realise. Said you were getting so paranoid you can’t even trust yourself. That’s why you keep yourself locked in this cellar. One way in, one way out.’

  Beads of sweat rolled down Zoven’s face, his wide eyes alive and alert. ‘You don’t lie so well.’

  ‘Ain’t lying, Zoven. Pierro and Vaughan were gonna get you out of the picture. And who do you reckon they take orders from? Because it sure as shit ain’t you.’

  Zoven balled his fists and strode towards Gallows, but the Hunter didn’t flinch. They stood an inch apart, old sweat reeking from Zoven.

  Still—despite the safety net Gallows had in place, he kept his wits about him. With all his injuries, he wasn’t sure he could beat Zoven if he flew into one of his rages.

  ‘When I was young,’ Zoven started, ‘all I ever wanted was to be at the top. I’d happily step on some bugger’s back to get there. Sometimes did. And now I’m here, reckon I prefer it in the muck. Folks’ll stab you in the heart for no more’n a penny, but least they’re honest about it, uh? I used to make deals and be beholden to ’em. Rarely did I have to carve people up to get what I wanted. I was more a businessman than a pimp. But after the war—now I’m up here and got a better view—I can tell you boy, the Councillors, the priests, the Watch—they ain’t as honest as us lowborn-’

  ‘Spare me the justifications, you grotesque little shit. You’re running out of friends, Zoven.’

  ‘Always had a lot of enemies, uh? Pyron Thackeray is removing everyone who assisted him. Kyatis, the Council—and as I hear it, the weapons dealer Ra—all gone. Yet I remain. Why is that, uh? Because I can’t be bargained with, can’t be bought!’ Spittle flecked Zoven’s chin as he coughed. ‘I have everything I could ever want and more! Even before the Guild, I had power—Thackeray simply made it legal. There are hundreds of men in this city who would gladly die for me. Thackeray knows this! Would not dare to make a move!’

  ‘He’s coming for you. Even you can’t beat him—but I can. You’re a businessman, right? First and foremost? I’m coming to you with an offer.’

  ‘An “offer”, uh?’ Zoven regarded Gallows like he was a turd on his new carpet. He turned and snatched a bottle from his desk drawer, tipping it to his mouth and swallowing half a dozen pills. His fingers looked almost as delicate as Genevieve Couressa’s.

  ‘You know, twice a day I have one of the girls come in here. Make her take me in her mouth. Twice a day! If they’re lucky I’ll give ’em a cushion to kneel on. Twice a day! Been doing that for years. You know something, Mister Gallows? I haven’t washed my member in near six months and still they go down there without complaint.’

  Acid lurched into Gallows’ throat.

  ‘You can’t offer me anything I do not already have,’ Zoven continued. ‘Reckon I’ll hav
e V take me in her mouth. Yes, yes, I’ll make you watch before I cut your balls off. Yes. Easy, it would be! Vaughan’s mind drugs, uh? Can you imagine the amount of goddamn money I’d make? Men would line up to buy it before using it on my girls! I wouldn’t even have to pay ’em! A grand empire I’d build on the back of that.’

  Gallows closed the gap between them. ‘You know, a man once told me that if you’re the kind of guy that’s gotta tell people you’re scary—then you ain’t. You’re a rapist, a bully and a coward, Zoven. I ain’t offering you a deal out of choice—the world is better without you. You should die in your own filth, down here, forgotten by the world.’

  The veins on Zoven’s arm rose. ‘I don’t normally dirty my hands with upstarts like you—reckon today I will. Reckon they’ll never find your body. Reckon I’ll put your skull on display here on my desk. I have friends in high places, boy, and-’

  ‘Good for you.’ Gallows took another step. ‘I’ve got friends in low places.’

  The blade glinted before it caressed the back of Zoven’s neck.

  His face knotted with fear.

  Gallows angled his head. ‘Has anyone ever got that close to you before, scary man?’

  Pearls of sweat ran down Zoven’s face. ‘H-how did you get in here? There is one way in and out of my cellar, how did you get in here?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter how,’ whispered Damien, ‘only that I can. Whenever I choose.’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told, Zoven,’ said Gallows. ‘You’re gonna give us everything you have on the Watch. The Council. The Fayth. Everything.’

  ‘I’ll kill V, kill her-’

  ‘You got nothing to bargain with. Not any more.’ Gallows’ heart drummed in a steady rhythm. ‘Veronica told me you keep a ledger.’ Gallows stepped around Zoven’s desk. He clawed out at Gallows but a twist of Damien’s blade halted him.

  ‘My ledger is everything I am!’ Zoven howled like a whimpering dog. ‘Everything!’