by Adam D Jones
Marshal made his way to a wooden stall near the river rock, his aching legs protesting every step. Inside the stall, a frowning man was handing out boarding passes to customers.
“Four tickets, please.” Marshal said in a loud voice, getting the man's attention. “We want to head north to the Divide, then east to the next port.”
The frowning man didn't look up. “Fifty each.”
Marshal froze. Fifty what?
The man pounded the desk in front of him. “Fifty copper! That's two silver, if you can’t do the math.”
“I've got two healthy horses over there. And a good wagon. More than enough.”
The man finally looked up, his brow knitted. “Do I look like a horse breeder?”
“No, sir. Just seemed like a fair trade.”
“Trade?” The man rubbed a scratched monocle on his shirt and placed it over his eye. “Where you from?”
“Bremming.” Marshal said quickly, recalling his childhood home. “North of the capital.”
“I know where Bremming is. But only those Lodi trade things. It's Republic metal out here, and I happen to know they use the same currency in Bremming.” He shook his head and then waved at someone. “Over here!”
Marshal turned his head to see two Republic officers get up from their seats at a table, leaving their card game behind.
Marshal gritted his teeth. “What are you doing?”
“I lost every profit I made for five years when they caught me letting Lodi on board one of my ships.”
Marshal glanced over his shoulder. The soldiers were still ten steps away. “I'm no friend of the Lodi, but I need to get out of here.”
The man folded his hands and smiled. A gleam caught his eye. “Is that so.”
Marshal shook his head. Crooked as they come.
When the officers arrived, the man handed each of them a coin. “False alarm, gentlemen. Sorry to bother you.”
Marshal watched the soldiers take a good look at him before sauntering back to their card game.
The man in the booth put away his monocle. “See what you can get for your horses and wagon, and maybe all of it will get you onboard.”
“For the price I’ll get for those horses I should be able to afford this trip ten times.”
The man shrugged. “Or just once.”
Marshal growled. “I'll be back.”
◆◆◆
The tired horses didn't sell well as well as Marshal had hoped, but the wagon, Keld's pride and joy, brought them enough to get seats on the narrow riverboat.
The passengers sat back-to-back, packed into long, low benches. The ship smelled of sweat and hot breath, and Marshal knew it wouldn’t get any better over the next few days. They found an empty section where the five of them could fit if the girls sat in their parents’ laps. How many tickets did that crooked man sell for each ride? This is inhuman.
Across from them, a man laying on the bench shivered under a grey blanket. The passengers nearby, people he’d traveled with, patted him with reassuring words while he coughed. That’s just my luck. We got seats near the sick one.
Rion sat next to Marshal, keeping his long sleeves buttoned at the wrists and his coat bundled in his lap. He was sweating, but Marshal didn't think it was the heat.
“Not much Republic presence on board,” Marshal whispered.
“Yeah, but I probably should keep up appearances. Folks like to talk.”
A little hand gripped Marshal's. “Can we go home?” asked Agna. It was the first she’d spoken since Whitesand.
Marshal put his arms around her tight. Next to them, Cora leaned back into their mother. Marshal and Erianthe locked eyes. She was as sad as the girls, but a determined fire raged behind her eyes. I don't deserve her.
The day wore on, and darkness fell quickly through the small slatted windows.
In the night, the quiet boat nosed its way into the Divide, the wide river that cut the continent in half, and turned eastward. Somehow, the passengers fell asleep, their bodies leaned up against one another.
8
“He’s getting worse,” someone whispered.
Marshal opened his eyes a little. In the dimness of night, he could see the men across from him worrying over their friend, who still lay under the blanket. Despite his stoic efforts, the man’s body shook and his face tremored from time to time.
“There’s a doc at the next port,” said another man. He reached into a vest pocket and retrieved a gold-plated watch. “Six hours.” He tapped one of the others, a large man who barely fit into his shirt, and said, “You carry him when you get there. We’ll go on without you.”
“But you need a tr—”
“Hmm!” The vested man cleared his throat, casually putting away his watch while he looked around.
Trigger man! Thought Marshal. He’s was about to say they needed a ‘trigger man.’
Marshal kept his eyes mostly shut. A pocket watch. A tightly knit crew with a leader. It had all the earmarks of a heist. Crooks.
“Six hours,” repeated the vested man. “Carry him to the clinic. It’s really just an inn, but a fella on the third floor patches folks up and don’t ask questions. We’ll meet you there later on.”
The big man pursed his lips, pushed back whatever retort was on his mind, and quietly said, “Yes, sir.”
The Corsairs! Not a group of crooks, but just as bad. Rebels who never won a fight and excelled at getting people killed.
“He’ll be fine!” came a small voice from Marshal’s lap.
“Cora, hush!”
The men spun their heads toward Marshal’s daughter.
“He just needs medicine. Like the kind they gave my daddy!” She lifted Marshal’s hand, showing them his childhood scars. “Just take him to a doctor and they’ll have medicine!”
Dae medicine. Marshal smiled back at the man and squeezed his daughter’s hand. Girl, I wish I could explain it right now, but these boys can’t go to a Republic doctor, and no one else gets Dae medicine.
“We’ll let you get some rest,” said Marshal. “Go back to sleep, Cora.”
Cora curled up into her father and closed her eyes. Across the aisle, the man in the vest kept his sharp eyes fixed on Marshal.
◆◆◆
Marshal didn’t wake up when the morning sun pushed through the slats, but when the boat slowed down his instincts stirred him.
Shouldn’t be slowin’ down until afternoon. This can’t be good.
Next to him, Rion clutched his bundled coat as he yawned. The girls had been awake, apparently, and were sitting on the wooden floor with a book Erianthe had thought to bring. Erianthe snored while leaning against the man next to her, a kind-faced stranger who was taking pains not to move more than necessary. When he saw Marshal his face froze, but Marshal shot him a smile. Smart man. Let the woman sleep.
Some of the seats across from them were empty. The sick man and his large friend remained, but the other three had left.
“You see where anyone went, Rion?”
He yawned. “A few went up top. Out the back way.”
Marshal turned his head to the rear of the cabin where a set of steps led up to the deck. “I didn’t think we were allowed up there while the ship’s moving.”
Rion shrugged. “Soon as the boat started to slow down the crew all gathered near the front. I s’pose those fellas saw their chance to breathe. Can’t say I blame ‘em.”
“Do me a favor and stay here with my family. I need to see to something.”
“You got it.”
Marshal got up and strode to the rear of the cabin. He made his way up the wooden stairs and emerged in the glow of morning, feeling guilty as he took in a refreshing breath of outside air. The Corsairs, two men and one woman, stood at the very back of the deck, talking low and watching the shore.
Marshal followed their gaze to see what they were looking at.
A sandship.
It approached from the north on a path that would bring it alongside
the riverboat. Eight crewmen stood tall on the deck. Both vessels slowed, and Marshal realized the riverboat captain was obligated to let the Republic stop and search his ship. The crew of the riverboat dropped sail and steered toward the shore, all hands shaking their heads at the inconvenience.
Marshal approached the Corsairs and stood close among them. “Worried about something?”
“Just here for some air,” said the man in the vest. The others nodded quickly.
Marshal shook his head. The time for being subtle was past. “I know what you are.”
The vested man moved in a flash and suddenly a gun barrel poked into Marshal’s belly. “I’ve got my finger on the trigger,” said the man in the vest, “which means you’re gonna keep your mouth shut.”
“Shootin’ me will only give you away. Now settle down and listen...they aren’t after you.”
He kept the pistol in place. “You then?”
“My family. And my friend. Just came from a Lodi settlement they wiped off the map.”
The other man frowned and made his hands into shaking fists.
“A witness.” The man in the vest pulled the gun away and it disappeared. “We’ve been looking for evidence. Someone who’s seen what goes on—”
“And I’ll tell you all about it, but first you’re gonna help me. Get my family free of this, and I’ll go with you.”
“We don’t need you.”
“I must have heard wrong. I’m pretty sure you’re in great need of a trigger man. Help my family, and I’ll go with you.” He held up a finger. “Just one job. Then you’ll bring me back to my wife.”
They looked at one another, communicating with their eyes. After a few shrugs, the vested man extended his hand. “I’m Wheeler, the captain of this crew, but I suppose you’ve guessed that already. Next to me is Gant, our muscle.” He tapped the woman on the shoulder. “And this is Zoe, our engineer.”
“People call me ‘Marshal.’” He shook Wheeler’s hand. “Now, how were you planning to get away from that sandship?”
They shared an embarrassed look.
“Truth be told, there weren’t much noble about our plan,” said the big man, Gant. “We were just gonna swim for it.”
◆◆◆
A few minutes later, Marshal returned to his seat. The riverboat was still slowing down and approaching the shore to meet up with the sandship. “Rion, what are we doing?”
“What’s going on up there?”
“Later. I want you to tell me. What are we doing?”
Rion rubbed his eyes. “Going to Engle. Warning them about Sloane. Getting somewhere safe after that.”
“Good.” Marshal looked down at his daughters, who were fighting over whether or not it was time to turn the page on their book. “And you’ll stick with us?”
“Well, I don’t know anyone else.”
“Good enough. Now give me your coat.”
Rion clutched the bundle.
“Rion. I know what you’ve got in there. You’re clever, and you think it can help you.”
“Marshal, we’re in trouble, and—”
“It can help. Just give it to me.”
Rion slowly transferred the bundled coat to Marshal’s lap. “You know what you’re doing, buddy?”
Marshal stood slowly, holding the coat close. “Nope.”
◆◆◆
Marshal returned to the deck, staying at the back of the ship where he hoped none of the crew would see him and tell him to get back to his seat. Thankfully, the sandship and the soldiers provided enough distraction.
The boat came to a complete stop and dropped anchor close to the shore, right alongside the metal sandship. The riverboat captain lowered the gangplank and four Republic soldiers clamored on board.
Four. Just as Marshal had thought. Three rank and file soldiers and the captain disappeared into the riverboat, leaving two engineers and two ballistic officers on board.
Wheeler had been skeptical, but Marshal knew the procedure, and he was pretty sure he knew how to take advantage of a few other standard procedures. Assuming the Republic’s field guide hadn’t changed much in eight years.
Marshal waited, impatiently tapping the toe of his boot. The Republic soldiers disappeared below deck and soon he could hear the passengers below moving around and muttering about the inconvenience of the search. They’re gonna check every person and every seat. Just like procedure. They were out of sight, but Marshal could picture what was going on. Any second now they would look under the broken chair, where they’d find Rion’s coat along with the surprise he’d been hiding ever since they left Whitesand.
Marshal smiled when the whistle blew. There’s the signal! The ballistic officers left the sandship and headed for the riverboat, leaving only the pair of Republic engineers on board, both leaning over the railing to watch the boat.
Rion’s bomb was a dud. Marshal had taken care to remove the incendiary package and toss it into the river, but it still looked the part. It had long been obvious to Marshal what Rion was foolishly hiding in his coat. Rion surely thought his little alchemical bomb might help him defend the next settlement, but Marshal had his doubts.
The remaining two soldiers on the sandship watched the riverboat intently, and, to Marshal’s relief, never noticed the Corsairs pop out of the river and climb onto their ship, making their way over the back railing. When they finally heard footsteps on the metal deck, Republic engineers spun around to see Gant’s fists, Zoe’s pistol, and Wheeler’s cocky grin.
Marshal, watching from the deck of the riverboat, couldn’t hear what he said, but Wheeler’s words quickly convinced both Republic men to jump overboard. Glad you didn’t tell ‘em your gun powder’s wet. The woman, Zoe, took her place behind the sandship controls and started pointing around the deck and giving orders. The sandship moved, shakily approaching the river. Marshal watched, and he waited at the edge of the deck until the sandship was close. When it hovered next to the shore, right alongside the riverboat, the Corsairs started motioning toward him in a hurry.
Time to go. Only a few seconds before they’re out here with their guns.
He bent his legs and prepared to jump for it.
A little a hand grabbed his wrist.
“Where you goin’, Daddy?”
Cora!
He looked down into her wide, brown eyes, eyes that couldn’t understand.
“Baby, you can’t be up here. I need you to—”
She tugged. “Come back.”
“Baby...” Marshal looked up and saw Wheeler pointing a stern finger to the gangplank where the two Republic engineers were running into the riverboat and shouting about the sandship being stolen. “I’ve got to—just go down stairs!”
“Are we going home?”
Marshal threw off her grip and she fell back, her mouth shut tight in confusion.
Almighty, help me—I think I’m a terrible father. And so does my daughter.
Grimacing at Cora, he took a few fast steps and jumped from the ship’s wooden deck. After a moment airborne he landed squarely on the cold, hard metal of the sandship.
Wheeler caught him as he stumbled forward. “Nicely done, Marshal.”
“Talk later!” shouted Zoe. “I need you to work the bellows!”
Wheeler went to his task while Zoe turned the ship around and pointed them westward. Behind them, the Republic soldiers hurried off the boat and chased after their stolen sandship while the riverboat captain, thankful to be free of Republic interference, pulled up anchor and gangplank. The riverboat floated downstream, leaving the Republic soldiers stranded between both ships.
At the rear of the riverboat, Cora was joined by Erianthe, who held Agna in her arms. Erianthe’s eyes locked onto Marshal’s while the three of them stood like statues on the disappearing ship. He wanted to see them wave, or smile, or do anything to let him know they understood. But they only passed out of sight, fleeing to the east, while the stolen sandship carried him west along the north bank of the Div
ide.
9
The sandship wobbled as it moved along the desert, threatening to upset Marshal’s stomach.
He crouched a bit as the sandship cruised westward, in the general direction of Gamon. Zoe sat at the controls, staring at a compass, a steering rod, and two other dials, with a map spread out over her lap. In one corner at the front of the ship, Captain Wheeler worked a bellows pump. Gant waited in front of a pair of waist-high levers in the middle of the deck.
“That’s good, Wheeler,” said Zoe. “Temperature’s good. Now, Gant, open her up a little more.”
Gant nodded, pursed his lips in thought, then grabbed the two levers in front of him and pushed them forward. The ship rumbled as it picked up speed.
Zoe tapped at a slowly spinning dial. “Cap’n, the rear engines are warming.”
Captain Wheeler shook his head as he jogged to the back. “This is going to be a long trip.”
Marshal, feeling useless, turned and watched Wheeler run past him and work the bellows pump at one back corner and then the other. Wheeler looked up and Zoe gave him an approving smile.
“Ever been on a sandship?” called Wheeler.
“First time. I served...” Marshal clamped his mouth shut.
“It’s alright. You can say it.” Wheeler offered a calm smile.
Marshal sighed. “I served on real ships. But I suppose I was on the wrong side back then.”
“You’re not the only Republic man here. Most of the Corsairs did our time in the Republic’s military. Nothing to be ashamed of. Now, come here. I’ll teach you what little I know.”
Wheeler showed him the metal pump handle in the corner of the ship. “Look down, over the edge.”
Marshal leaned over and saw a disruption emitting from under the ship—a heatwave from the engine that sat somewhere under his feet.
“Got to pump the bellows when it’s too hot, or we’ll burn too much fuel. If that heatwave gets stronger, you’ll know it’s too hot. If it goes away entirely then we’re under efficiency. It’s a delicate balance. Sandships aren’t nearly as refined as people think, and it’s constant work to keep them going.” He pointed at Gant, who made a minute adjustment to his levers. “When those levers are pushed down, the engines push more fuel into the engines. If he keeps it within the parameters Zoe sets, then it’s smooth, but if things shake then she’s got to adjust them, just a hair or two, to keep things even.”