by Kevin Sands
I really didn’t think it was a trap. And anyway, if it was, the Old Man had taught me to spot that sort of thing a mile away. If this Mr. Solomon—or anyone else—tried to snap their jaws on me, I’d see it coming. Besides, what choice did I have? I couldn’t hide in Grey’s shop forever.
I tossed the newspaper back to him. “I’m going to need some new clothes.”
CHAPTER 4
Everything looked so small.
I leaned over the rail of the Malley, gaping down at Lake Galway. From four thousand feet up, the convoy of galleons below looked like toys. Even Bolcanathair, the Seven Sister volcano north of Carlow, didn’t seem so big anymore.
I don’t think I’d ever been so giddy. Regardless of Mr. Solomon’s offer, I’d have taken the ticket just to ride on this airship. The Old Man and I had spent our lives running from one city to another, but always on ground. Underground, even, through sewers when the chase got too hot.
The sky? Only in my dreams.
I’d asked him once why we never took an airship. We were riding out of Donlagh on a stolen horse, me in the front of the saddle, the Old Man squeezed behind me. We hadn’t slept in two days, so he let me lean back against him, keeping me from falling as I drifted in and out.
He whistled softly, an incredibly complex tune, as the horse moved beneath us. High overhead, a giant airship had floated against the dusk.
Can we take a balloon ride? I’d said, half dreaming, half wishing.
No, he said.
Why not? I won’t be scared, I promise.
He’d sighed. I couldn’t remember him sighing before. I don’t care for flying, he said, sounding sad. Now go to sleep.
I thought about him now, as I stood on the deck of that grand balloon. Wish you were here, Old Man.
I meant it to sound mocking, but it came out wistful. A knot of anger grew in my gut. He wasn’t here because he’d left me. Wistful wasn’t something he deserved.
I shook my head to get rid of the feeling and looked down until I felt the wonder again. I stretched my hand toward a steamer below, like a little child, as if I could grab it and place it wherever I liked. I’d always imagined I’d feel free up in the air. Like the sky was where I belonged. Now that I was actually here, it felt . . . right. It really did. And that made my stomach flutter. I couldn’t remember the last time something felt so good.
The Old Man returned to my mind again. I cut him off before he could speak.
I know, I know, I said. Don’t count your crowns yet.
You actually listened to me, he said sardonically. I’m touched.
I scowled—mostly, because he was right. I pushed him away and turned back to enjoying the ride.
I’d always thought airships were giant balloons with towers of decks hanging below, but upon boarding I’d discovered they were much more than that. What kept us afloat was a thin, impossibly large skin of leather wrapped over a frame of light but sturdy wood. The ship’s purser told me we stayed up because the skin—the helion, he called it—was filled with gas that was lighter than the air itself, though I had no idea how such a thing could be.
The ship was driven by three great windmills at the back of the helion, their blades angled to push us forward. When I asked what made them turn, the purser winked and said “Magic,” which I took for a joke.
The passenger tower hung below the middle of the airship, with the pilot’s cabin separate and farther forward. The floors were separated by class: fourth class and cargo at the top, first class at the bottom, a spiral staircase of iron leading upward in the center.
The ticket Mr. Solomon had sent me was first class, and I took full advantage of it. We had the best view and the best food, small bites of breakfast carried round on trays brought down from kitchens tucked away on one of the upper levels. I stuffed my face. If Mr. Solomon’s letter was a trap, there was no point in going down hungry.
It wasn’t easy keeping up a decent image with sausage grease on my cheeks. First class meant nobles and magnates, so I’d dressed for the occasion in full tails, waistcoat, and top hat, bought last night from a local tailor with the five hundred I’d made for cheating Bronwyn. Other than the aforementioned grease and a smear of white sauce that had dripped onto my trousers, I’d say I blended in quite well.
Fortunately, the weather was cooperating. We’d left at five in the morning, well before sunrise, so there wasn’t much to see as we’d taken off; a thick fog washing out the light from the twin moons. But as the Malley floated above the clouds, and the sun rose over the horizon to burn the fog away, the ride was smooth, the view stunning. Much faster than the galleons below, the airship crossed Lake Galway in less than three hours. And I’d have been perfectly happy to stare over the side for all of them.
If it wasn’t for that girl.
So taken by the thrill of the sky, I didn’t notice her until the Malley was approaching Carlow. She looked to be about my age, fourteen or so. Her hair was raven black, flowing in a half braid down her neck from under a flowered hat. Her dark eyes and warm complexion set off the emerald green of her dress, which crisscrossed in bands over her shoulders into a giant ruffle behind her neck. The silk was printed with a pattern in deeper forest green, though from my spot on the rail, I couldn’t make out the shapes.
As was the fashion, she wore tight gloves and carried a parasol, green to match her dress. She twirled the parasol playfully as she flitted from passenger to passenger, leaving a trail of gentlemen smitten by her charm. As for me, she caught my eye for two reasons. The first was that she was incredibly pretty, and I like that sort of thing. The second?
She was robbing everyone blind.
I watched, amazed, as she moved through the crowd toward a coat draped over a chair bolted to the deck. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching—the telltale sign of being up to no good—then stepped in close, using the parasol to block everyone’s view as she slipped her fingers into the coat’s pockets.
I had a hard time making sense of what was happening. The girl walked like a dancer, moving with extraordinary grace. Yet her pickpocketing skills were amateurish at best. This wouldn’t have been a problem if she’d stuck to pilfering pocket watches from unattended coats, but when she started lifting wallets, I was shocked she didn’t get caught. She practically fumbled at their lapels.
So far, she’d been saved by her appearance. No gentleman would imagine a girl of such obvious breeding to be a thief. She probably would have gotten away with it, too, if she hadn’t stolen one particular thing.
I decided to step in. Partly, I confess, because I wasn’t keen to see her get all banged up by the Stickmen. But mostly, I wasn’t interested in the drama that would unfold when the gentleman she’d just robbed called for her head. I had an appointment to keep.
I leaned against the rail and stared openly at her. It didn’t take long until she did one of her I’m-about-to-steal-something glances around the cabin and noticed me watching.
Her hand faltered in mid-swipe. Her surprise—widening eyes and a sharp breath—told the story of her guilt. She stepped away from the woman whose purse she was about to unclasp and strode off.
I followed her. She kept looking back at me, so often that she bumped into three different passengers. Eventually, she hurried behind the central cabin, out of sight.
When I turned the corner, she was waiting for me. I was close enough to catch her perfume, a faint scent of jasmine. I could make out the printed pattern on her dress now, too. The figures were dragons, heads reared back, about to breathe fire. She smiled, and it might have been lovely, but her smile was all teeth and no eyes.
“Can I help you?” she said. Her voice was high, with an accent I couldn’t quite place. That was odd. The Old Man had taught me just about every accent on the globe.
“Actually,” I began, “I think I can help you—”
She flicked h
er wrist. A dagger—a throwing dagger, in fact, small, thin, and balanced—slipped from the right sleeve of her dress into her fingers. She gripped the hollow hilt between her knuckles.
“Not to be rude,” she said, still half smiling, “but get lost.”
“Whoa.” I spread my hands, showing her they were empty. “No need for blood.”
“Then be gone, child.” She said it with such a superior air, she’d have made a good sister for Bronwyn.
“What do you mean, ‘child’?” I said. “We’re the same age.”
“Either way: shove off.”
“I’m trying to stop you getting thumped by Stickmen.”
“Thumped for what?” she said. “I haven’t done anything.”
“So that jingling under your dress is just a cowbell?”
“What did you say?”
“You have no idea what you’re doing.” I folded my arms, irritated now. “You’re so clumsy, I’m amazed you’re not already in irons.”
“Clumsy?” Her voice rose an octave. “Me?”
“Like an ox knitting a scarf.”
She shook her fist at me, forgetting she was still holding the throwing knife. “You little worm.”
I threw my hands up. “You know what? Forget I said anything. Enjoy your freedom. I’d say you have about two minutes of it left.”
“You’re turning nose, then?” she said.
Now that was a jab too far. “I wouldn’t give anyone to the Stickmen,” I said. “Even a silly little girl like you.”
I was going to leave her there. But I figured telling her would knock her down a peg, and I very much liked the sound of that. “It’s that fellow you just robbed who’ll cry foul,” I said.
She sniffed. “That pussycat? He didn’t suspect a thing.”
“Not yet. But he’s about to. See, if you’d have been paying attention, you’d have noticed that ever since he got on board, every ten minutes or so, he touches his left coat pocket. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but he does, just to reassure himself that the thing he values most is still there.”
I pretended to think about it, even though I already had a good idea of what it was. “Now, what could it be? It’s small . . . too small to be a wallet, but precious enough for him to be nervous about losing it. Something that size would have to be incredibly valuable. Say . . . a gem? A diamond, maybe?”
The girl drew a breath. I’d guessed right.
“So a diamond, then,” I said, like I’d been certain all along. “Now, in another couple of minutes, he’s going to touch that pocket again. And he’s going to know his gem is gone. He’ll look around, frantic—maybe he dropped it?—but he won’t see it anywhere. He’ll panic at first, but once he starts thinking, he’ll realize he couldn’t have dropped it: there’s no hole in the pocket, and there’s no way it could have fallen out. That means someone had to steal it.
“There’s plenty of people on board, so he may not realize it was you—yet. But the second we land, he’ll call for the Stickmen. And you’ll be left holding the bag.”
The girl stared at me, mouth open. “How . . . how did you . . . ?”
“I had a very good teacher,” I said. “Look, there’s still a way out. Return the diamond.”
“I’m not afraid of the Stickmen.”
“Then you’re a fool. Go back and drop the gem on the carpet. Step on it, then look down in surprise and ask if it belongs to anyone. The man will be so grateful, he won’t suspect you took it. But you have to do this now. Because, in one more minute, he’ll be crying—”
“Thief!” came the call. “Thief! I’ve been swindled!”
I shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t try. Now you’ll have to throw everything over the side.”
She smirked. “Why would I do that?”
“You think the Stickmen won’t pat you down? Why, because you’re dressed all highborn? Because you’re a girl?”
“They won’t search me,” she said, “because I won’t be on this floating bag when they come round.”
“Really? I suppose you can fly—”
She tossed her parasol at me. Surprised, I fumbled it before snagging its handle. She leaned against the railing and smiled at me, this time for real—and what a smile.
Then, with the effortless grace of an acrobat, she flipped herself over the edge.
I stood there, stunned, before rushing to look. Directly below us, the girl plummeted toward the water, arms and legs outstretched, dress fluttering madly in the wind.
She’d lost her mind. We were near Carlow; the city was just a few more miles to the west, close enough that the Malley had begun to descend. But we were still fifteen hundred feet above Lake Galway. From this height, she’d hit the water as hard as if it were dirt.
Except she didn’t hit the water at all. Halfway down, she tore away the shoulder straps of her dress. The bands came loose, and the giant ruffle at the back of her gown flew open into . . .
A parachute?
She swayed back and forth, her fall slowed by the dragon-printed canopy over her head. I watched, not entirely certain I wasn’t dreaming.
Behind me, the cry of “Thief!” became a chorus, as everyone checked their coats and discovered wallets, watches, and rings gone missing. I stayed at the rail, watching the girl float toward the coast, between the northern wall of the city and the volcano. And despite the outraged shouts, the hum of the spinning windmills, and the whistle of the wind, I swear I could hear her laugh.
CHAPTER 5
The Malley should have got me to Carlow with time to spare. But that girl’s antics set the airship in an uproar. Half of first class had been robbed—goodness knows where she’d kept it all—and were demanding the ship be searched. The other half were outraged at the thought of being manhandled—surely none of them were thieves—and refused to cooperate.
This was a big problem for the Stickmen. The sergeant in charge of the helioport, wearing the Carlow Metropolitan Police uniform, a blue jacket with red trim and a hardhat, did his best to mollify the passengers, but he was no match for sixty angry bigwigs used to giving orders, not taking them. He sent his constables immediately to the upper decks to detain the lower-class passengers—no one cared about their objections—and then waited nervously for someone else to arrive.
When a woman showed up, I was puzzled. She couldn’t have been police. She wasn’t wearing a uniform, and anyway, the Stickmen didn’t permit women in their ranks. Yet, to my surprise, the sergeant deferred to her like she was the emperor’s wife herself. I couldn’t get close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation, but when I saw what she was wearing—a silver, seven-pointed star pendant around her neck—I was even more surprised than before.
The woman was a Weaver.
She took command as if it was her due, which was awfully strange. As far as I knew, the Stickmen bowed only to the emperor—and then, only begrudgingly.
I watched the Weaver closely. Other than her star pendant, she wore an ordinary frock and a ring of jade on her left hand. She announced to first class that those who could identify themselves as citizens of Carlow were permitted to leave. The rest would submit to questioning.
The remaining passengers protested. She ignored them and calmly began her interrogations.
I wasn’t nearly so calm. If she ordered the Stickmen to search me, they wouldn’t find stolen goods, but they would see my scars. And then they’d know exactly what I was. I could only hope she didn’t have an enchantment that could detect lies. If such a thing even existed.
When it was my turn to be questioned, she didn’t introduce herself. “Good morning,” she said personably as I stepped forward. “Might I ask your name?”
I handed her the same forged patents of nobility I’d used to worm my way into the higher circles of Coulgen. “Alastair Quinn, seventeenth earl of Garman Mi
nor.”
“May I ask why you’ve come to Carlow, Your Grace?”
“My father was unable to make the journey. He sent me here to see to his interests.”
“You’re a long way from home,” she said. “I’d have thought the eruption would be keeping you busy.”
She glanced north toward Bolcanathair, and her forehead furrowed. It was the first and only time she showed any trace of nerves.
That was curious. Was she worried about the volcano? The Seven Sisters were supposed to be dormant, but half a world away, Garman was burning. If one volcano had erupted, might the rest of them blow, too? It occurred to me that coming to Carlow might be a mistake in more ways than one.
I shrugged, as if unconcerned. “Our lands, Artha be blessed, have been spared the destruction. My father wanted to show we’re still in business.”
She nodded, as if she understood perfectly. “Artha be blessed. Welcome to Carlow. Please accept our apologies for the delay.”
It appeared she had no truth-telling enchantments after all, because she handed my papers back, and with them, a ticket embossed in gold. It was identical to the one Mr. Solomon had sent me. “Your next voyage is our compliments,” she said.
I accepted it as if it were the least she could do, and disembarked. Inside, I buried my surprise.
Maybe the purser hadn’t been joking when he’d said the Malley was powered by magic. Was the airship really owned by the Weavers? I’d always thought the Airmen’s Guild ran the show.
I looked back at the craft that had brought me here, the great helion floating overhead. Maybe the Enchanters’ Guild had its fingers in more pies than I’d imagined.
* * *
As relieved as I was that the Weaver hadn’t outed me as a thief, my nerves returned as I left the helioport. The interrogations had delayed me by two hours, and while I found a carriage for hire quickly enough, the crush of traffic meant that by the time I arrived at Mr. Solomon’s place, my pocket watch read 10:19. My first job under my own name, and I was already late. Unimpressive.
