“Hands behind your back,” said Ian.
He was holding a length of rope and he bound her wrists.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Kate asked him. “This ship is sailing Above!”
“I heard you,” said Ian.
He took hold of her arm and led her to Miri’s cabin. He shoved her inside.
“The commander says you are to wait here. He will deal with you after we have navigated the Aurora,” Ian told her. “They are taking us to Freya.”
“Freya?” Kate repeated, stunned. “But you and that other boy told Miri you were going to Kilean. To join the revolution.”
“We lied,” said Ian.
He left, shutting the door behind him.
He forgot to lock it. Kate slipped out of her bonds, crept soft-footed to the door, and put her hand on the handle. Green light flared. The resultant shock numbed her arm to the elbow.
Kate swore and rubbed her tingling hand. Now that she bothered to look, she could see the constructs glowing with a faint green light. She wasn’t an expert in contramagic, but she knew enough to realize that if she tried to tamper with them, she’d only get shocked again.
She had to resign herself to the fact that she wasn’t going anywhere. Not until someone came to let her out. She flung herself on the bed, stared at the beams above her head, and wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now.
“I stowed away, risked my life to rescue some kids who don’t want to be rescued,” Kate muttered. “And now, seemingly, I’m on my way to Freya! Unless the commander decides to shove me overboard!”
The temperature began to drop. They were nearing the Aurora. She rummaged through a chest and found Miri’s peacoat and knit hat. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she went to peer out the small porthole.
She could see the Aurora above the ship, shimmering with a yellow-whitish light, and the sun shining through it, looking like a copper coin. Kate looked down to see the city of Dunlow and the field where they had been docked. She caught sight of movement almost directly underneath the ship.
Dalgren was down below, flying after the ship.
Dismayed, Kate pressed her face to the porthole to try to get a better view. She knew well enough what she was seeing, however.
“No! Oh, no!” she said softly. “Damn it, Dalgren! Turn back!”
She had no idea how he had found her. Perhaps he’d been out hunting, perhaps Miri had told him. Or perhaps he’d just seen the ship leave and wondered what was going on. Kate hammered on the porthole with her fists, thinking she could break the glass and shout to him.
All she accomplished was bruised hands.
“You can’t fly through the Aurora again,” Kate told him. “You’re exhausted and half starved. You’ll never survive!”
Kate ran to the door and called through the keyhole, careful not to touch it.
“Let me out! I need to talk to the commander!”
The sunlight vanished. Gray mists closed around the ship, streaming down the porthole. They were entering the Aurora. No one came to the door, and after another few moments of shouting into silence, Kate realized that no one was coming. The young people were probably holed up in the crew quarters. The commander would be keeping watch, the corporal in the wheelhouse. Kate ran back to the porthole.
She peered down, trying to find Dalgren, but she could not see through the fog. She kept her face pressed against the glass, ignoring the cold that bit into her flesh.
The fog grew thicker. The ship shivered and shook as though it, too, was freezing. She could hear the airscrews turning, propelling the ship through the congealed layer of the Breath.
In her mind, she was flying with Dalgren. She pictured the ice forming on his wings, the cold creeping into his lungs. His flight would slow, his breathing grow labored, as he tried to gain altitude, claw his way up through the Aurora.
“He is sensible,” Kate said to herself. “He will realize this is hopeless and he will go back. Miri will explain what happened. He’ll be furious with me, but at least he will be safe.”
But she didn’t leave the porthole. The ship broke through the Aurora and the bright sunlight of the world Above flooded through the porthole, half blinding her.
She rubbed her eyes and stared down into the Breath, not knowing whether she was hoping to see Dalgren still pursuing the ship or hoping that he had given up the chase.
Those were the only two options she allowed herself. She chose not to consider the third.
She was still watching when she heard someone open the door. Another young man walked into the cabin. He was Garrick, Kate recalled. She glanced at him and looked back out the porthole.
“The commander says I’m to bring you to the helm,” Garrick said.
“In a minute,” Kate snapped.
“He said now,” said Garrick.
Kate suddenly wondered if the commander had seen Dalgren. Freyans hated and feared dragons. She remembered the commander had brought swivel guns on board. Bullets would not penetrate a dragon’s scaly hide, but they could tear the thin membrane of his wings. She turned away from the porthole, half frozen. Her face was numb from where she had pressed her cheek to the glass.
Once they reached the main deck, Garrick pointed to the wheelhouse.
“Commander Franklin is waiting for you there.”
Kate cast a glance out into the Breath. She longed to run to the rail and look over to see if she could find Dalgren. She didn’t dare, however, for fear she would draw the commander’s attention.
She continued on to the wheelhouse. The air was still cold, although not as cold as in the Aurora.
Commander Franklin and Corporal Roberts had discarded their Bottom Dweller clothes. Both were wearing the same uniforms as those worn by members of the Freyan army: blue jacket, white trousers. She longed to ask what members of the Freyan army were doing kidnapping young people, but she was in enough trouble and she kept quiet.
Franklin fixed her with a grim look.
“You left the ship and now I find you hiding in the storage closet. Why? What are you doing on board?”
Before Kate could answer with the lie she had concocted, the corporal interrupted her.
“Rate of ascent is slowing, sir.”
Franklin’s lips tightened. “The magic on the lift tanks is starting to fail. Our last crafter perished in a shipwreck. Corporal Roberts is also a crafter, but I need him at the helm. He says you can handle the repairs. Is he right?”
“How would he know?” Kate demanded, casting the corporal a baleful glance. “Unless he was the one who was spying on me yesterday.”
“Answer the question,” said Franklin curtly. “Can you repair the magic or not?”
“You know I can,” said Kate. “Promise me safe passage to wherever it is you’re going and I will.”
“You are hardly in a position to make demands,” said Franklin dryly. “If this ship sinks, you go down with us.”
“The Naofa is not sinking,” Kate returned with a snort of disgust. “The ship’s just slowing a bit and that’s the fault of your inept helmsman, not the lift tanks.”
Franklin regarded her in cold, narrow-eyed silence.
“I’ll take a look at the magic,” Kate said grudgingly. Franklin accompanied her to the port side, walking with his hands behind his back.
Kate leaned far over the rail and peered down into the Breath, looking for Dalgren. Seeing no sign of him, she breathed easier. He must have flown back to Dunlow. Now she just had to get back to him.
“The lift tank is not down there,” Franklin said.
“No, but the airscrew is,” Kate said, straightening. “Do you hear that rattling sound?”
Franklin listened and frowned. “No.”
“Well, I do,” said Kate. “I think one of the blades is bent. Could have been damaged when we set sail. I have no way to fix it, not while we’re aloft. How long before we reach our destination?”
“How long will it continue to function?”
Kate shrugged. “A few days, a year. Just depends.”
Franklin nodded. “Work on the lift tanks.”
Disappointed that she had not found out where they were going, Kate pulled open the access hatch and climbed down the ladder to the platform on which the lift tank rested.
Franklin remained on deck, watching her from above.
“You know how to use the seventh sigil,” he said.
“You better hope I do,” said Kate. “We won’t get far without it. The original magic on these tanks was contramagic. It worked, but it needed blood magic to enhance it.”
She glanced up at him. “I take it you’re not going to be slashing throats this voyage?”
Franklin was grim. “Such evil doings are not the subject for jest.”
Kate was relieved. Miri had said Garrick and Ian were both crafters. The thought had occurred to Kate that perhaps Commander Franklin was recruiting young blood mages.
“You were in the war?”
“I was,” said Franklin flatly. “I asked you about the magic.”
“Gythe and I used the seventh sigil to blend the magic and the contramagic. The problem is that the magic of the Aurora damages the constructs. I fixed these once. All my work wasted.”
“What is your name?” Franklin asked.
“Kate McPike,” she answered, borrowing her surname from Miri and Gythe.
“You are a Trundler,” Franklin observed. “What were you doing on Glasearrach?”
Kate recalled Morgan saying, If you want people to swallow a lie, feed them a morsel of truth.
“I lived in Wellingsport,” she replied. “Owned my own boat. I traded in goods that were … hard to come by.”
“You were a smuggler,” said Franklin.
He would find that easy to believe. Trundlers traveled the world over, owed allegiance to no country, and lived by their own laws. Most of them were smugglers. It was a way of life.
“When the Rosian navy came to clean up the islands, they put out a bounty on me,” Kate continued. “Dalgren was my partner. The Dragon Brigade was after him. He and I had to leave in a hurry. Miri and Gythe offered to take us with them to Glasearrach. I wasn’t particular about where I was going and Dalgren had to make himself scarce, so we left.”
“Then why didn’t you stay on Glasearrach?” Franklin asked. “You stowed away on this ship, leaving your friends behind, including your dragon friend. Why?”
“I had no idea you were sailing Above,” said Kate, aggrieved. “The boy told us the ship was bound for Kilean. I have business there. Business of my own that doesn’t involve anyone else. Where are you bound?”
“Freya, of course,” Franklin replied.
Kate looked up at him. “I was born and raised there, at least as much as any Trundler is raised anywhere. What city?”
Franklin didn’t answer. He was inspecting her work. Kate noted his intense stare as he studied the constructs on the lift tank. A person who had not been born to magic could not have seen them, yet he had said he was not a crafter.
“You’re a channeler, aren’t you,” said Kate. “Does my work pass muster?”
“You have done well,” Franklin conceded.
“I have a proposal. You need a crafter and I have friends in Freya,” said Kate. “I’ll keep the ship afloat, earn my passage.”
Franklin sat back on his heels. He seemed to be considering. Kate impatiently wondered what he had to think over. He surprised her with his response.
“Our army is sorely in need of crafters. The pay is ten talons a day and we provide food and lodging.”
Kate gave him a puzzled look. “Since when is the Freyan army short of crafters?”
“We are not members of the Freyan army,” said Franklin with a slight curl of his lip.
“You’re wearing their uniform,” Kate pointed out.
“You would be joining the Army of Royal Retribution.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Kate scoffed.
“Not now,” said Franklin gravely. “But soon the whole world will hear of us. Would you be interested in enlisting?”
“First, tell me this,” Kate countered. “What are you doing with these youngsters? You call them recruits. Did they enlist? And if so, what for?”
“You ask a great many questions that are none of your business,” Franklin returned coldly. “Ten talons a day.”
Kate considered. She had not yet given up hope of convincing the young Bottom Dwellers to seize control of the ship. She decided to play along, allay his suspicions.
“Ten talons a day. I’ll take it.”
“Commander Franklin,” called Ian, joining him on deck. “Corporal Roberts has a question about the route. Could you please come, sir.”
Franklin stood up and walked off. Ian remained, gazing down through the hatch at Kate. He was not accustomed to the bright sunlight. His eyes were slits, red-rimmed and swollen and streaming with tears.
“Come down here,” said Kate. “The light isn’t as bright.”
Ian hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder.
“It’s all right,” Kate added. “I’ve just joined your army. Commander Franklin hired me as a crafter.”
Ian climbed down the ladder. He looked relieved to be in the dim light of the platform. At least he was able to partially open his eyes. He wiped away the tears and looked with interest at her work.
“What is the purpose of that construct?” he asked, pointing.
“Miri told me you were a crafter,” Kate asked. “Do you know magic?”
“I know how to craft contramagic,” Ian replied. “I’ve been doing that all my life. But I want to learn magic.”
The construct she had selected was a basic one. She had been creating such magic on lift tanks since she was eight years old and no longer gave it much thought. She wondered how to explain it, then remembered how Olaf had explained it to her.
“If you think of the Breath in the lift tank as water in a kettle, then this construct acts like the flame beneath the kettle. It heats up the water so that it boils. The helmsman sends magical energy to the constructs on the lift tank through these cables. The constructs on the tank stimulate the magical energy of the Breath inside the tank, increasing the amount of lift.”
“I know what the sigils are,” said Ian. “Father Jacob taught us those in class. I have trouble putting them together. Can you teach me? I want to be able to use magic when I’m living in the world Above.”
“I can teach you,” said Kate. “Why did you join the army? What are you and the others going to be doing in the world Above?”
“I don’t know. The commander brought those of us who are skilled in contramagic. He promised us food and money in exchange for our work.”
“Contramagic? Why would the army need contramagic?” Kate asked, puzzled.
Ian shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Do you trust this commander to keep his promise?”
“It doesn’t matter. All we care about is that he is taking us to a new world, a new life.”
“Was your old life so bad?” Kate asked.
Ian gave a bitter smile. “You were only in Dunlow a day. You saw how wretched it was. Imagine living there all your days. Never enough to eat. I’ve seen little children starve to death. Any life Above is better than the life Below.”
“People struggle in the world Above,” Kate said somberly. “Children die there, too.”
“But not in darkness,” said Ian. “My eyes hurt. I’m going below deck with the others. Do you mind if I ask you more questions about magic sometime?”
“I’m glad to help,” Kate said.
He climbed back up the ladder and she could hear him walking across the deck.
Kate sighed. So much for convincing these young folk to seize the ship. If she proposed taking them back to Glasearrach, they would be the ones to throw her overboard.
She finished work on the port-side tank and then glumly walked over to start on the repai
rs to the magic on the starboard.
She had no idea how she was going to get back to Dalgren.
Once she repaired the magic on the lift tanks, the Naofa rose rapidly through the Deep Breath, so rapidly that the helmsman, Roberts, was forced to slow their ascent for fear the lines might give way.
She checked the rest of the magic on board the ship. She was alone on deck. Franklin had gone down below. The Bottom Dwellers were holed up in the crew cabin, keeping out of the sunlight. Kate thought she might visit with Roberts, see if he was more inclined to talk.
When she got to the wheelhouse, the door was open, letting in the fresh air and sunshine. Roberts was standing at the helm, his hands on the brass plate. He was younger than Franklin, but he had the same stern and humorless air about him.
“Having any trouble with the helm’s magic, Corporal?” Kate asked in friendly tones.
Roberts gave her a look of disgust, as though she was something he’d found soiling the bottom of his boot.
“A wanton woman is the devil’s handmaiden,” he said, and slammed the door in her face.
Kate turned to see Franklin crossing the deck, coming toward her.
“Let him be,” he said.
“I didn’t do anything,” Kate protested. “I was just asking him if he needed me to look at the magic on the helm. He called me the devil’s handmaiden or something like that.”
“You should dress more seemly,” Franklin advised. “I noticed your cousin left behind some female clothing that would fit you.”
“You try crawling around under the lift tank in a skirt,” Kate told him. “Is this army of yours fighting a religious war? Some sort of avenging army of God?”
Franklin ignored her question as he ignored most of her questions.
“Come with me to my cabin. You need to sign the contract of enlistment.”
Kate followed him to the berth deck below. Franklin walked with long strides; she hurried to keep up. She wondered if these two were Fundamentalists. She had met people who belonged to that sect before, including Sir Henry’s secretary, Mr. Sloan. But if that was true, why were Fundamentalists recruiting contramagic-wielding young Bottom Dwellers?
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