Quill

by A. C. Cobble

  “I believe so,” admitted Raffles. “There was no sign her parents were capable of more than any senior adept in my organization. Whatever talents they had, they managed to hide until the countess arrived back in Enhover with the dagger.”

  The third man sipped his drink and rubbed his chin. “Hathia and her husband are dead now. Once the daughter is dead as well, that root of knowledge will be gone from this world. I worry, though. If this root ran deep through the generations, it is quite possible the estate will be fortified by whatever geas her ancestors have left behind. Was it wise to send her there?”

  Raffles coughed into one hand, nearly spilling the embers from his pipe in the other. “There was no time to send her anywhere else. She had to go somewhere. Her family’s estate was the only natural choice. Understand I had to act immediately. I had to get her out of the palace before Oliver confronted her. If he’d caught her, and she’d defended herself in the palace of the prince… King Edward himself would get involved. He’d have airships dispatched within the day to Ivalla to collect the cardinal and as many knives of the council as they could fit onboard. I couldn’t risk that. I had to act—”

  “It’s not ideal,” added the priest, “but he’s right. A confrontation in the palace would ruin everything we’ve worked for.”

  The third man grunted. “And who is this man who went with Isisandra? An elder in the Feet of Seheht, is it?”

  “He is,” murmured Director Raffles, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “He is of little note, though.”

  “He’s an elder, isn’t he?” snarled the third man before looking around the room and quieting. “He must have some skill if he rose to that position in your society, or are all of your minions entirely useless?”

  “He, ah, he has a few tricks, but I do not think…” mumbled Director Raffles. He glanced at the priest before continuing, “He is an elder in the Feet of Seheht, and he has the skills required to hold such a position, but I believe the priest Thotham will be able to counter him. Thotham’s apprentice, the girl, has also proven to be deadly. Between the two of them, they should be sufficient.”

  “Should be,” growled the former soldier.

  “We will ensure this ends,” stated the priest, “one way or the other. Until it is done, we will both be personally involved as much as necessary.”

  The third man sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers and glaring at his two companions. “I’m the one who said we need to move on, so I will let this drop, but if we are to continue as equal partners in this endeavor, I expect better of you, gentlemen.”

  “What needs to be done will be done,” declared Raffles. “I admit the Feet of Seheht needs tending to. When this is done, I will see to it. When the time comes, all will be in place.”

  “He’ll have my support, and I’ve put in place procedures to ensure all communication to the Church in Ivalla will go across my desk,” claimed the priest. “Whatever happens in Derbycross, however the Council of Seven responds, we will know about it, and we will be prepared.”

  “Good,” said the former soldier. Suddenly, he stood. “I’m leaving for Southundon tonight. See that you get things in order. When the dust settles from this little conflagration, we will speak again. One thing we have learned from Hathia’s contact with the great spirit, there are others pursing the dark path. I have my suspicions as to why the spirit acted as it did. I believe it is in league with another and has been since we started this journey. To succeed, we must work together, and we must move quickly.”

  The two seated men nodded, and the third turned on his heel and strode out the door of the smoking room, ignoring the upturned eyes, opened mouths, and raised hands as members of the Oak & Ivy tried to get his attention.

  “I wish he wouldn’t make his displeasure quite so obvious,” murmured the priest. “There are a dozen men in here who will be gossiping about this encounter, speculating on what we did to make him so angry. When I see Prince Philip on Newday, what am I supposed to tell him if he asks about it?”

  “Prince Philip isn’t the one we need to worry about,” stated Director Raffles. He set his pipe down and sighed. “A trinity, equal partners, we all agreed on it. I’m afraid he does not always see it that way.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” agreed the priest.

  “We need him, though,” reminded Raffles.

  The priest nodded but did not comment. There was nothing to say. They all needed each other if their plan was to work. If it was to work, Isisandra Dalyrimple had to be removed. She had to take the fall for the deaths of her parents, the deaths of the others. It was unfortunate, but such was the dark path to power.

  The Priestess XIV

  She looked at the old man, slumped in the chair, his head hanging between his shoulders, his breathing ragged and slow. His shoulders, gaunt and becoming more so, stuck out sharply as if the fat and muscle had evaporated. It was like he was boiling away, dissipating before her eyes.

  She asked him, “Are you sure you can do this?”

  “There’s no choice, girl,” croaked Thotham. “No choice except the one you won’t let me make.”

  “No, I won’t,” she agreed.

  “If we go after her, you’ll have to give me my spear,” complained the priest. “Without it, I may as well not be there.”

  “I will not let you kill yourself,” declared Sam. She leaned forward, putting a curled fist on the table in front of him. “Thotham, I will not allow it.”

  “It is my life, my choice,” said the man, his voice brittle like rusted iron.

  “Take your spear from me, then,” she said. “If you can manage that, then you’ll have your choice. If you cannot manage it, then I expect your promise that you will not do this. You will not kill yourself. Thotham, promise me.”

  His head stayed down and he didn’t stir. He couldn’t take the spear from her. He knew it, and she knew it.

  She sighed and turned her gaze from her mentor to the array of weapons, artifacts, symbols, and potions arranged in neat rows on the table, everything she’d been able to recover from her apartment, her mentor’s sparse dwelling in the city, the local apothecaries, and Bishop Yates. Since the fight in the courtyard four days prior, she’d been mixing solutions, carving runes, and sharpening her knives.

  She knew that in Derbycross, Isisandra would be doing the same. She knew that when it came down to it, most of this would be useless. The glass knife she’d used to scry Thotham was useful in that art but worthless in combat. The ouroboros they’d retained from the adventure in Archtan Atoll was useful to a sorcerer contacting spirits in the underworld but pointless for someone trying to stop them. Much of what they’d assembled was similar, useful only in specific circumstances. She sighed. It was all they had, so it would have to do.

  Knuckles banged against the wooden door of the room, and she called, “Come in.”

  The door swung open, and Duke slipped inside.

  “Is it time?” she asked.

  He rolled his shoulder, wincing as it moved in the socket. “It is. Raffles put up surprisingly little fuss, and I talked most of the crew into staying on with the airship, enough that they can get us to Derbycross. The crew is ready, and we’ve got the thing stocked as best as we can — swords, halberds, blunderbusses, cannon, shot, red saltpetre bombs, and some provisions. They’re hoisting the last of the wine up the airship bridge now. Then, we’re ready to fly when you are.”

  “The wine?” questioned Sam.

  “To celebrate after we kill her.”

  “Not interested in capturing her anymore?”

  Duke snorted. “Not after what she did to those footmen and what we found in her rooms.”

  Sam shuddered. They’d never found the one servant Duke spoke to, but they found the rest of the girl’s staff dead inside of a circle. Smaller but eerily similar to the one they’d found in Farawk. It gave Sam little doubt as to who was behind the activities of the corsairs there. Her parents had likely started her on the pat
h, and it was probably them who’d began the arrangement, but for years, the girl had been steeped in evil. It was time for it to end.

  “We’re ready,” advised Sam. She stood and gestured at the array of objects on the table. “I’ve done what I can, but since we don’t know what she’ll throw at us…”

  Duke nodded grimly. “We do what we can. If we fail, then Admiral Brach will have to finish the job.”

  Sam clenched her fist, letting her knuckles crack with the pressure. “We won’t fail.”

  “I don’t intend to,” agreed Duke. He looked over the table. “What is all of this?”

  “She’ll have her surprises. We’ll have ours,” said Sam. “Help me pack all of this up.”

  Grumbling to himself, Duke collected a large canvas bag from beside the table and started tossing items into it.

  Sam shrieked and grabbed his arm. “That is fragile!”

  He looked down at plain, gray river stone in his hand. “It is?”

  Delicately, she took the stone from him and, shaking her head, instructed, “Pack gently. Some of these items are older than this palace. I’m not bringing a rock because I think it’s pretty. I’m bringing it because it’s a weapon.”

  Duke looked dubiously at the rock in her hand, but he began packing again, slow and careful. Sam slipped the stone into a pouch on her belt and began helping him load their gear.

  The airship twisted as it rose from the dock, the bustling city of Westundon falling away below them. Sam gripped the railing, peering at the shrinking city, hoping she would see it again.

  “Come on,” said Duke, walking behind her. “We need to talk to Captain Ainsley, tell her about our plan.”

  “Tell her and try not to get tossed overboard,” muttered Sam under her breath.

  “What was that?” asked Duke.

  “I said, ‘try to get this over with. I’m bored’. Enough of the chase, right? It’s time to finish it.”

  Duke frowned at her but didn’t comment. He led them to the back of the vessel and they ducked into the captain’s quarters. The room was sparsely furnished, as Duke had just purchased the airship the day before, and the new captain had barely had time to discard her predecessor’s effects before they loaded the airship and took to the sky.

  Captain Ainsley was sitting at the table with Thotham, watching the old man sip a cup of water, his eyes fixed on the table. She turned from Thotham as Sam and Duke sat at the table. “Is this where you tell me your mission is going to be dangerous?”

  Sam coughed and glanced at Duke.

  “It will be very dangerous,” acknowledged the nobleman.

  Captain Ainsley chuckled. “Of course it’s going to be very dangerous. That’s why you purchased this boat from the Company and hired me away, right? The only reason you’d be doing that is because you’re up to something serious. What I meant was what kind of danger are we up against?”

  “Sorcery,” replied Sam. “We’re going after an active sorcerer.”

  “I see,” responded the woman, sitting back in her chair.

  “You’re the bravest captain in Westundon,” claimed Duke. “That’s why I sought you out. We need you.”

  “I thought it was because I had gambling debts and came cheap since the Company no longer needed me to captain the ship you bought,” replied Ainsley with a snort.

  “Is that a jest?” wondered Duke.

  “Ah, no…” replied Ainsley, rubbing a hand across her lips. “I’ll be honest, m’lord. I thought if I said no it would be a bad look, seeing as how you and the director were the ones asking. Couldn’t very well say no and expect another captain’s appointment with the Company, could I? If I’d known you were going after… after a sorcerer, I’m not sure I would have agreed. Not for the rate you were offering, at least.”

  Duke raised an eyebrow. “Learning fast?”

  “I’m only partially saying that to shake more sterling out of you,” continued the captain. “I’ve been around a while, m’lord. I’ve flown with fresh hands on their first voyage, and I’ve flown with gnarled, old sailors who crewed the first airships. I learned a lot from those old-timers, not the least of which was to avoid anything that’s even got the whiff of sorcery. Enhover lost a lot of airships, and a lot of good hands, chasing across the Coldlands.”

  “Airships went down?” asked Sam. “I was on an airship when Northundon was bombed. It was terrible, but none of the airships went down. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever heard…”

  “Oh, they went down all right,” interjected Captain Ainsley. “Not over Northundon, you’re right. We surprised the bastards there. I mean over the Coldlands themselves. William Wellesley, your uncle, m’lord, led the push across the sea into the heart of that dark place. He aimed to eradicate any trace of the barbarians who’d sacked Northundon. It started well enough until they figured us out.”

  “Figured us out?” asked Duke.

  “I wasn’t more than a deck swab, then,” remarked Ainsley. “Wasn’t even listed on the crew manifest. My pa was the second mate, and he snuck me on board. When the captain found out, it was too late, so he put me to work. I-I was there. I saw what happened.”

  Duke frowned at her. “The losses suffered on the ground were terrible, but I haven’t heard anything about losing airships in the Coldlands. I tried recently to find out more, but it seems most of the soldiers from that era are gone now.”

  Captain Ainsley nodded. “Aye, that they are. Fell in battle or fell shortly after. Ain’t many left, I don’t think. All my pa’s old mates are dead. The rumor amongst the enlisted troops is that it was a final hex placed on those who stepped foot in the Coldlands. Maybe that’s true, maybe it’s something else. I don’t know why there are so few, but I know enough to keep my head down and not talk about my time over there. It was… it was a tough time until William and the other commanders figured out what was happening.”

  “Tell us about it,” requested Duke.

  The captain stood. “We’ve got four turns before we reach Derbycross. Mind if I have a drink to steady my nerves?”

  Duke nodded. “Better make it three.”

  The captain crossed to a narrow cupboard and quickly found a glass bottle filled with an amber liquor. Then, she spent several moments rooting around looking for glasses. “Sorry. I had one of the men unload my personal effects, and now I can’t find a damn thing in this room.”

  Finally, she stood with three wide-bottomed copper cups and splashed a heathy pour in each of them.

  Settling back down at the table, she began her story. “My pa joined the fleet after the initial battle in Northundon. I was happy to stow away with him. We had distant family there…” She shuddered, sipped at her drink, and continued, “In Northundon, the marines faced steel, fire, and the ghosts. Nothing that could touch an airship, though. All the fleet had to do was maneuver overhead and drop bombs or, if they couldn’t get directly over, hammer the bastards with the cannon as they sailed by. The marines couldn’t do much about the spirits the sorcerers had called, but the spirits couldn’t do much about the marines, either. Whatever the magic that binds them to our world, it seems they can’t fly.”

  Sam nodded, sipping unconsciously at the drink the captain had brought her.

  “In the Coldlands,” she continued, “we had to face the real might of their sorcery. They quickly figured out how to bring down our airships, so we had to back off. The battle on the ground dragged out for two more years. At the end, Enhover gained territory and killed a spirits-forsaken lot of Coldlands folk, but I’m not sure we won. Not in any sense that matters.”

  “What do you mean? Of course we won,” responded Duke.

  “That’s what your uncle told everyone,” remarked Captain Ainsley. “From above, running resupply routes for the troops on the ground, I’m not so sure.”

  “Why couldn’t you use the airships as effectively?” queried Sam.

  “They broke the bindings,” answered the captain. “You know—”

&
nbsp; “I do,” said Sam, glancing at Duke.

  “From what I understand, it’s quite difficult to do, but if you snap the binding that connects the spirit to an object… well, it can be rather unfortunate if you’re high above the ground in an airship. Instead of levitating rocks, all you got in the hold is rocks. It’s why we couldn’t just carpet the entire Coldlands in fire and why the Company won’t venture within fifty leagues of the Darklands. Our technology is only as good as our means of controlling it, and a talented sorcerer, or druid I suppose, can break that control.”

  Thotham, startling them all, spoke up. “A powerful enough underworld spirit can have a physical effect in our world if it’s close enough. Sent into the hold of a vessel like this, it could sever the bindings as the captain mentioned or simply dump the water tanks all at once.”

  Captain Ainsley nodded. “Aye, these airships are near invincible against conventional foes, but against a talented user of magic… anything is possible.”

  “Perhaps we should revise our plan,” Sam said, glancing at Duke.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he began searching around the room until he found his worn-leather satchel, the one that contained his writing implements and maps. He flipped it open and began sorting through.

  “What?” she asked.

  The Cartographer XIX

  “Here,” said Oliver as he pulled out a folded parchment and spread it across the table. “Derbycross is the name of the village, the surrounding land, and the Dalyrimple manor. With what Captain Ainsley just described, I think it’s too great a risk to swoop in and bombard the place. If Isisandra disabled the airship, we could come crashing down and suffer at her mercy, assuming we survived the landing. I don’t think we can just fly in like we’d planned.”