by A. C. Cobble
Duke Wellesley breathed deeply for several long moments, the fingers on one hand probing the back of his head. The other hand held his half-empty water cup. He finished the rest of the water and said, “You made the right choice, Captain. Pour me a bit of that grog?”
She watched the duke and her first mate standing together on the forecastle. Pettybone was loyal to her, and while the duke was clearly upset at the situation, he didn’t appear to be lying the blame at her feet. Still, the spirits only knew what men spoke about out of earshot of a woman. Smirking, she thought, the spirits and her.
She sidled up to the base of the stairwell that led to the raised forecastle of the ship and was bent, pretending to sort through a locker filled with spare supplies. Just a captain taking inventory, nothing to pay attention to.
“Pettybone, is it?” asked the duke.
“Aye,” responded her first mate.
“You’re a well-traveled chap,” said the peer. “What did you think of those lizards? Have you ever seen the like?”
“The like of that, no,” remarked Pettybone, scratching his head underneath his woolen cap. “I believe it was magic, m’lord. Something akin to the grimalkins that the Darklanders keep.”
“Grimalkins are not magic, are they?” questioned Duke Wellesley. “They are natural beasts, trained by sorcerers for protection.”
Pettybone shrugged. “Perhaps. They seem magical to me, though. There are many such tales of strange or wonderful creatures over the horizon. They all sounded fanciful when I was a boy, and of course everyone knows sailors have big imaginations, but now I’ve seen enough to know some of it is true. Grimalkin, fae, glae worms, those monsters that lurk beyond the walls of the Company compound in the Westlands… I wouldn’t have believed any of it until good men I trust swore it was true or I saw it with my own eyes. Who knows what lays beyond the lines of your maps, ey? Grimalkin yesterday, giant lizards today.”
“Who knows,” agreed Duke Wellesley. “Apparently, we don’t even know what lies within the bounds of a small colony. Maybe you’re right, first mate, and there was magic afoot. I wonder, though, was it sorcery, or the magic of the druids? Those lizards, they felt… warm, to me. Not cold, like the bitter clutch of a shade. They were… vibrant.”
“I’m a simple sailor, m’lord,” replied Pettybone. “I couldn’t tell you the difference between magic and sorcery. Far as I know, both are dead in Enhover, and in truth, with my own eyes, I’ve never witnessed anything I’d ascribe to either one. Not until Imbon, that is.”
“You know what we faced in Derbycross,” said the duke. “Sorcery is not dead, but perhaps it was in hibernation. What other wonders have been lost, just waiting to return?”
Pettybone shrugged and scratched his head again.
“Tell me,” instructed the duke. “What are you thinking?”
“The world is full of strange things, m’lord. Some were beyond belief when I was a lad, but we take them for granted now.” Pettybone rapped his knuckles on the gunwale. “We’re standing on the deck of an airship that’s supported only by floating rocks. The fae we import from the Southlands can’t even survive in our air, but contained within glass globes, they provide a light that’s safer than fire and never dies. You ever see a glae worm pod explode, m’lord?”
Duke Wellesley’s shrugged, as if he wondered whether Pettybone was saying anything other than nonsense.
Ainsley, still pretending to sort through the storage locker, shook her head. What was the man talking about? Magic?
Pettybone held up two fingers, pinching them close together. Then, he clapped his hands and spread his arms. “Glae worms are harvested in tiny pods. They may be no bigger than my fingernail, and the biggest are no larger than my fist. When the pod breaks open, their invisible, sticky bodies are flung everywhere. Outside of the pod long enough, they’re no longer sticky, and they can be stretched for leagues. I couldn’t tell you the science behind it, but some wit figured out how to vibrate those bodies and interpret it into words. It’s common now, but can you imagine what it was like for the first man to crack open one of those pods? That was a surprise, ey? Bastard probably got tangled up for half the day until the worms dried a little and someone could pull ‘em off. At the time, that man must’a thought those sticky little worms was magic.”
“I know how glae worms work,” muttered Duke Wellesley. “My family is the one who applied the technology and used them to build the transmission network, after all. Technology, first mate, not magic.”
“Is there a difference?” questioned the sailor. “We call it magic when we don’t understand it and technology when we do. It’s all one and the same, ain’t it?”
Duke Wellesley frowned at the first mate.
“I told ya, m’lord, I’m a simple sailor,” said Pettybone. “If there’s a difference between sorcery and druid magic, I don’t know it. I can tell you this, though, what we saw back in Imbon was unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed with my own eyes.”
“It seemed magic to us, but maybe it was common to the natives,” speculated the duke. “We think of the natives as primitives with no understanding of the modern world, of technology, but what if that misunderstanding goes both ways, Pettybone?”
The first mate gaped at the duke.
“Those lizards, whatever they were,” continued Duke Wellesley, “the tablets and figurines we have down in the hold… I don’t understand any of it, just like they wouldn’t understand a mechanical carriage or how use of red saltpetre speeds travel along the rail. We think we are smarter, wiser, but I’m not so sure. Our airships have allowed us the superior might to build an empire. We conquered Imbon with little difficulty, but in part it was because they didn’t unleash those monsters on us! What if they had?”
“Then I’m not sure Imbon would’a been a colony, m’lord,” speculated Pettybone. “I can’t imagine even the most dedicated Company factor would’a bedded down with those things crawling through the jungle.”
“I think you’re right, first mate,” said the duke. “The natives in Imbon let us take over their island, let us rule them, but why?”
“Maybe we didn’t have as much control as we thought,” replied Pettybone. “Seems they was up to some things the Company didn’t know a stitch about.”
“We put ourselves in charge,” said Duke Wellesley. “We thought we were bringing order, modernity to the place, but what if we weren’t? We think we’re advanced, but what if we’re down a trail that others have decided to forgo?”
“Aye, like the druids did,” agreed Pettybone.
“The druids?”
“Those old fortresses they built, you’ve seen ‘em, haven’t you?” asked the first mate. “They was building those buildings long before our people had the technology to match ‘em. Far as I know, there was never a war, never any reason the druids disappeared. They left, but their fortresses remain.”
“I used to live in one,” admitted Duke Wellesley. “The Crown’s keep in Northundon was built by the druids. We still rule from the bones of their throne. It’s been two hundred years since the last one of those magicians was on our shores. It’s a good question, Pettybone. Why? Why did they disappear? Why did the natives in Imbon hide their capabilities?”
“Your father holds the reigns of the empire,” murmured Pettybone, his voice barely carrying above the rushing wind, “but there’s more he doesn’t know than what he does. No offense, m’lord.”
The duke grunted and stared down at the sea passing below them. After a long break, he said, “I know a peer named Pettigrew. You have a bit of his look, though clearly you’re a man who has spent his years adventuring. This other man spends his time shuttling between his favorite pastry shops. Still, the similarity… Such an odd coincidence.”
“Aye, the Pettigrews,” boomed her first mate, regaining his bluster and drawing himself up. “No coincidence, m’lord. I would call them distant relatives. Cousins, you might say.”
“Alexander Pettigrew was
the finance director for the Company,” remarked the duke skeptically.
“That branch of the family has done rather well,” expounded Pettybone. “We’re right proud of how they turned out.”
“I’m sure you are,” said the duke as Pettybone begged off to hurry the men and prepare to lower the sails. They were approaching port.
Ainsley sniggered to herself and looked away while her mate scurried down the stairwell and began haranguing the men. She climbed up beside the duke and looked out below them to the bustling city of Southundon.
“Your first mate is an interesting man,” remarked Duke Wellesley.
“He’s an old sailor, m’lord,” she replied. “Men like him have been at sea or in the air more than they’ve had their boots on the ground. They travel to strange places, get odd ideas.”
“How long has he been in service to the Company?” asked the duke.
She shrugged.
He frowned at her.
“It’s his tale to tell, but he’s had a colorful past, m’lord.” She assured him, “It’s all behind him now. He’s a good sailor and as loyal as a pup raised from birth.”
“A privateer?” guessed Duke Wellesley.
She shifted, regretting getting herself into the conversation. He kept looking at her, waiting for more. Finally she said, “It’s not unusual. It’s why some of them get nervous when in Enhover’s ports. They’re worried the inspectors will come knocking.”
“Really?” wondered the peer, turning to her in surprise.
“What do you think makes a man go to sea?” she asked. “That’s where we do all of our recruiting, you know? We hire men and women who’ve got experience on the water. Makes it a bit easier to teach them the ropes up here. We can’t take ‘em all from the Company’s freighters. That’d mean the sea captains would always be losing their best hands. It isn’t good for the overall business, ey. So, we get ‘em where we can. Before they got straightened out, most of our hands have either fled trouble with the law or trouble with a woman. And Pettybone’s experience with women is about as extensive as his experience with that peer you think he’s related to.”
Duke Wellesley snorted. “You were listening in, then?”
She flushed.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I won’t say I appreciate it, and I won’t say I’ll act as kindly the next time you’re caught, but I understand. This is your airship, and you’re nervous about whether or not I’ll take it from you when we tie up to the bridge.”
“I—”
“If a man goes to sea to avoid legal trouble or because of a woman, what drives a woman offshore into the wild unknown?” he asked her. “Is she running from trouble as well?”
“More like looking for trouble,” declared Ainsley. “In my experience, at least.”
Duke Wellesley laughed.
“Do you intend to replace me as captain, m’lord?” she asked, forcing herself to keep her voice calm and steady.
“No,” he replied. “If I’d been in your boots, floating above Imbon while it was overrun, I don’t know what I would do. I don’t know if I would have lashed out and blasted the place with shot until the cannons were baking hot. I don’t know if I would have chosen to fly home as you did. Even now, I’m not sure what the right decision was. The Crown and Company cannot stand for such affronts, but we’re not outfitted for that type of action. We have women and children evacuees aboard. And there were more of those giant lizards? We would spend every ounce of our shot just taking care of them. So, Captain, I can’t tell you if you made the right decision. What is important is that you made one. A captain must master her ship and her crew, and even in the face of uncertainty, she’s still the master. Sometimes, it’s more important that something was decided rather than what was decided.”
Ainsley drew herself up.
“You know you’re the first woman airship captain?” he asked. “Neither the Company nor the royal marines have had a female captain in their fleets.”
“I’m aware,” she responded.
“You’ll always have to keep earning that role, Captain,” he advised. “Others will try to undermine you, to jostle for your position. There are men out there who won’t be able to stand seeing a woman at the helm. I can promise you, though, as long as you do continue to earn it, you’ll have a place as captain of my airship.”
“Thank you, m’lord.”
“Now,” he said, “it looks like there’s a wait to tie to the airship bridges. Spice season in the tropics and everyone’s coming back at once, I suppose. Take us around them, and tie us to the first open bridge.”
“The other airship captains won’t like that, m’lord,” worried Ainsley.
“They’re not going to like you no matter what you do,” claimed the duke. “Run up my colors, get around them, and if they have a problem, they can come tell it to my face.”
“Understood, m’lord,” she said, fighting to control a growing smile.
She turned to shout instructions to the men on the decks below. Swing around the other airships and take the first place in line, no matter what anyone says about it.
The Director I
He drew on his carved ebony pipe and slowly exhaled the blue smoke out his nostrils. Across from him, the bishop clutched a crystal glass of sherry in his hands like he was protecting the last of a mythical dragon’s hoard. He asked the churchman, “The girl is not giving up?”
“She is not,” confirmed Bishop Yates. “I’d thought… Well, I’d thought Bishop Constance would reassign her, send her somewhere else. We were close to being completely free of the Knives of the Council in Enhover.”
“We still could be,” suggested Director Raffles. “It wouldn’t take much to eliminate a young woman who no longer has backing of the Church.”
“And what would Duke Wellesley do?” questioned Yates. “The two of them continue to work together. If she goes mysteriously missing, it will only encourage him. Unless he also—”
“No,” said Raffles. “No.”
“Why not?” hissed Yates. “If you’re in favor of killing the girl, then the duke…”
“We’ve risked too much in a short time,” interjected Raffles. “We had to do it, to snuff out any line of inquiry into the Feet of Seheht, but it’s raised the suspicions of Prince Philip. You know whatever he is pursuing is shared with King Edward. I spent days chasing the boy between here and Southundon, trying to appear normal, making sure they had no reason to look at me. If suddenly Oliver is murdered, how do you think the king and prince will react? We cannot battle the Crown, Yates, not yet. We can’t touch Oliver, and you were right, we should keep our hands off the girl, for now.”
“We speak often of what we cannot do,” responded the churchman.
“At the summer solstice, we will be ready,” stated Raffles, gesturing with his pipe. “Then, we’ll call upon the dark trinity and bind them to our will. Then, we’ll control the second most powerful creature of the underworld, and then, not even the Crown can stand in our way.”
Bishop Yates didn’t object, but it didn’t look as though he agreed.
“We’ve succeeded so long because we operated in silence, Gabriel,” insisted Raffles. “Neither the Church nor the Crown know of our pursuit. It should remain that way until we’re ready to declare ourselves publicly.”
“And how do you envision we do that?” questioned Yates.
Director Raffles smiled. “In the days after the solstice, we bring down the Wellesleys — the dukes, the prince, and their father. We destroy them all. We crush your Church. We send all who oppose us fleeing. Blood will flow in the streets. The women’s lamentations will be heard from shore to shore. All of that, Yates, and whatever else the poets think of to ascribe to our reign. That’s not really the point, though, is it? Whether there is bloodshed when we assume control, whether there is not, does not really concern me. My only concern — my only one — is that we have the power to do it. Success is the only thing that matters to me.”
The bishop grunted.
“Revenge, that is all the matters to you?” asked Raffles.
Yates scowled.
“You will get your revenge. I’ll have my power, and our partner…” said Raffles, trailing off.
Yates sipped his sherry then asked, “What is it that our partner wants?”
Raffles shrugged. “I do not know. To be king?”
“The throne would be a crowded place with three of us upon it, don’t you think?” asked Yates. “And we are equal partners, are we not?”
“As far as I’m concerned, we are,” assured Raffles.
“Do you think our partner shares your democratic ideals?” pressed the churchman.
“We will find out when we unveil our new powers, I suspect,” said Raffles. “A wise man would be prepared for any eventuality.”
“You think we’ll turn on each other, then, and tear our pact apart? Without the three of us working in harmony, the dark trinity will find a way to throw off the cords we aim to bind them with. Without a united front, we’ll be in terrible danger. A danger far more permanent than either the Church or Crown presents.”
“I agree,” said Raffles. “I do not plan a betrayal, Yates. Surely you don’t think I’d be so foolish to mention this to you if I did? I’m simply saying that precaution is a means to ensure our alliance remains strong. We must trust each other and distrust each other.”
The bishop nodded slowly, his jowls jiggling with the motion.
“Besides, it is not our partner I am worried about. It is not our errant priestess or even the duke,” continued Raffles. “I am worried about who else travels the dark path alongside us.”
“That has always been a concern,” agreed the bishop.
“Of course,” continued Raffles, “but I have been thinking about it a lot recently. Hathia Dalyrimple contacted Ca-Mi-He, yes?”
The churchman glanced nervously around the nearly empty smoking room of the Oak & Ivy.
“Hathia, who fell to your agents in Harwick,” continued the merchant. “I’ve come to doubt her power. If she could command Ca-Mi-He, then certainly nothing your assassin was capable of would have damaged her. If she taught her husband and her daughter what she knew, then Oliver and the girl would not have been sufficient to defeat them either. Even with the help of the old man, they would not have prevailed against the strength of Ca-Mi-He.”