A Mantle Of Gold (The Kingfisher Histories Book 2)

by R. J. Louis

  Thunder’s eyes narrow at her First Mate, looking out over the hull towards the shifting sands of Flare.

  “No.”

  “Hear me out—”

  “No! We’re not hunting a dragon, Mudge. That’s suicide!”

  “No. Not hunting. Burgling. It’s been done before.”

  “In stories, maybe. Myth and fables. Barrel-Rider and the Big Red. It’s a children’s story. Nobody’s—We’re not that good.”

  “I think you underestimate us.”

  “I think you’re going to get us killed.”

  “Well, there’s one thing you’re not thinking of, and that’s what the crew is going to say.”

  “Mudge. I trust you with my life. But I am not playing Good First-Mate, Bad Captain with the crew again. Especially not over a fucking Dragon’s Hoard.”

  “Fine.” Mudge throws his hands up in the air. “Then I guess we sell the Skyhooks.”

  “Unless we find an easy local job?”

  “What, through Lily’s network? You know we’re this close to being blacklisted. How is Lily anyway?”

  “Weak. Improving. Resting.” Thunder heaves a great sigh, then nods. “Fine. You’re right.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I’m not repeating myself, Mudge. Tell me your plan, and we’ll see. But I have to say, I don’t like your chances.”

  9 - Mad as Hell

  As the fierce sun rises over Flare, a cart of goods is delivered to The Kingfisher. Travil must have worked quickly the day before, and his team drops off a wrapped bundle of sail-cloth and a sloop, a small boat for water landings. He’s even managed to replace their flag, the Kingfisher emblem bold and noble on a field of sky blue. Lily takes the ragged, burnt remnants of their old flag, along with one of the spent Skyhooks with Thunder’s blessing, and packages it into a tight bundle. In the early dawn light, she takes it to the docks courier office, and pays the nominal fee to have it delivered to a small tavern on Evergreen, care of Elfie. A debt, paid.

  They spend most of the day working on the ship, and waiting for a Wilhelm who doesn’t arrive. By the time the late afternoon sun is beating down overhead, the ship looks far from as good as new, but not quite so close to the scrap-heap it resembled coming into Flare. Lily walks the boundaries of the ship, some colour working back into her naturally pale face. Her eyes watch the sky, lips drawn in a tight grimace, not necessarily from pain. Her fists clench with each new ship that drops toward the dock.

  Jonas watches the voyagers work, leaning back in the shade of the new sail, a wide brimmed hat tipped low. His sword is sheathed at his side, and his blistered hand bandaged. A cigarillo sits limp between his teeth, burning fitfully.

  In the Captain’s cabin, Artemis doesn’t pace. There’s not enough space for a good pace. Instead his jaw clenches and unclenches, casting the perfect symmetry of his face into stark relief as he argues with the captain.

  “We should listen to her.”

  “What do you know, Art? You Scythes evidently know more about this Archangel.”

  “She is, or was, one of us. She sat on the Table representing Mirror... more than three hundred years ago.”

  “Gods. Is she a ghost?”

  Artemis pauses, his eyes cold. “No. She’s all too real. She’s The Watchtower, or perhaps The Watchtower is her. They’re the same. The ‘tower was built to protect us from outside threats.”

  “Look around Art, we’ve been flying through the bloody cosmos for eight hundred odd years, not to mention the thousands before the shattering. The only threats worth worrying about are a lot closer to home.”

  “No. Captain. I’m sorry, but just because a threat hasn’t been seen before, or isn’t likely, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

  “What would you have me do? Drop everything and get this crew to deliver an innocent man to a haunted ark that doesn’t exist on any maps?”

  “It seems something this pack of vagabonds would be good at,” Art says, a curl to his lip.

  “Don’t forget you’re one of these vagabonds, Artemis, as much as you might try to distance yourself. I know why you’re not wanted anywhere else.”

  “And you’d do well to forget it,” Artemis snaps, his eyes cold. Thunder crosses her arms, her gaze heavy as a mountain. A chill breeze whispers between them before Artemis lowers his eyes. “Captain.” He hisses the word.

  “You’d do well not to forget that. Now go and check the runes, we’re taking off shortly.”

  “Running away again?”

  Thunder strikes him, the back of her hand cracking against his face. Artemis gasps, hand going to the pink mark on his cheek, his eyes furious. “I told you not to forget,” she says coldly. “Now take your place, Mirrorwing, or take your leave of my ship. I’m sure this stinking gilt city will be a good resting place for Illsyth’s Standard-bearer.” Artemis reels. He stares daggers at the Captain, who smiles bitterly. “Remember your place on board The Kingfisher,” Thunder says slowly. “And we’ll have no more trouble between us. We need a Raven, and you need a home.”

  The silence stretches thin between them, before Artemis finally nods. “Aye, captain.” He ducks out of the room, followed a moment later by Erin’s heavy footsteps.

  “Right, you lot!” The Captain’s voice lashes across the deck, drawing all ears. “Mister Mudge and I have been thinking. Thinking about our good man Wilhelm, who has been kidnapped.”

  A surly susurrus of a growl whips through the crew.

  “We’ve also been thinking about our boy Rico,” Thunder says, pausing. The growls falter, dissipating into confusing whispers. “He’s one of us, just as Wilhelm is. Didn’t he save all of us in Evergreen? Didn’t he shield us from the storm, even though it cost him his life?”

  “Don’t cost him ‘nothin!” One emboldened voyager cries. “He can’t die!”

  “Ain’t right,” another echoes.

  “No. It’s not right.” Thunder says, holding up a hand. “And I’m half-metal and powered by Widowgas. In Lincoln I was less than useless. We’re none of us right. That’s what helps us stick together. Rico might be different, he might be dangerous...” her eyes gleam as the crew hang on her words. “But we’re all dangerous. Is he too dangerous to be part of our crew? Is Jonas? Is Lily? Are you, Teran?” She levels her gaze on the last voyager who spoke, a gruff Solarii. “Any babe with a sword is dangerous until they learn how to use it. If we stick by Rico, he’s our ticket to greatness. We can become a power in the skies, and he our secret weapon.”

  “But we need answers. We need to know what he’s capable of, and we need our navigator back.”

  A cry of assent rips through the crew.

  “But in this city, nothing comes cheap. Especially with this bloody bastard we’re dealing with. I knew him, long ago.” The crowd hush, the Captain’s past is a closely guarded mystery. They hang on her every word. “Aye, I knew him. He was a deadly asshole then, and it seems not much has changed. If we want Wilhelm, and we want Rico’s secrets, we’ll either have to pay in blood or gold. And I say, we’ve bled enough.”

  “Aye!”

  “So we need money and we need it fast.”

  “Aye-aye!”

  Thunder narrows her eyes. “Careful,” she hisses. A guilty look whips through the crew. “Mister Mudge thinks you lot aren’t strong enough for this next task. He says you’d be mad to try it...”

  “We’re mad as hell, Cap’n!” In one corner of the crowd, Mudge shakes his head with a wicked grin blooming on his face.

  “Mad as all the hells,” Thunder yells. “So, what do we say to Mister Mudge. Are you up for it?!”

  Mudge presses his palm to his face, with a deep, theatrical sigh as the crowd jeers at him.

  “Then lets go rob a dragon!”

  The cheers and cries falter, burning away like fog under the sun, or like soft squishy people under dragonfire.

  10 - Home

  Rico sits sullenly in the brig, his head resting in his hands. There are no tears, but
as the noise of the crew above rises and falls, a deep shuddering breath rattles his chest. Normality is overrated, normally. But when you’re too weird to fit in with even the outcasts, it can be distressing.

  “Rico.” Artemis’s voice is a cool breeze in the muggy, cramped space.

  “Art?” Rico lifts his head tiredly, his eyes narrowing in the darkness. The shadows resolve into Artemis’s slim form, his hair perfectly parted, his eyes burning with an anger that frightens Rico. The ship’s Raven wears his dark robe over his usual black slacks and surprisingly neat collared shirt. His symmetry extends even to the travel packs he carries, one on each shoulder.

  “I couldn’t stand to see you locked up in here, a young mage of power like you...” Artemis sets down his packs gently, squatting on his haunches to stare eye-to-eye with Rico.

  “I’m not a mage, I’m dangerous,” Rico says, after a lengthy pause.

  “To wield magic is to be dangerous, Rico,” Artemis replies coolly. “Never mind the danger the Captain and her crew like to pretend they can wield. Swords and arrows and cannon-fire are nothing next to the powers of the Gods. It’s wrong that you should be punished for what happened. Jonas attacked you, and now he’s out breathing the free air.”

  “What do you want?” Rico asks.

  “I want to get out of here before our Captain kills us all. Wilhelm’s gone, Mudge has lost his marbles. She’s getting reckless. I want you to come with me. Together, you and me, maybe a few others.” His eyes glint in the dim port-hole light. “Lily would come, and others. Perhaps that new fellow Izaak.”

  “Even if I did want to leave,” Rico says. “How could I, I’m locked up. And not only that. I’m... bound.”

  “If you die, you end up back on the ship,” Artemis acknowledges. “But your power is growing... and if you never die...” He lets the sentence hang in the air. “I could kill you now, quickly, painlessly. You’ll be out of this cage in no time, then we leave, before this ridiculous dragon heist.”

  Rico thinks for a long moment before speaking. “This is my home,” he says finally. “It’s where I belong. Maybe it sounds silly, but I know that the same way I know which way is up.”

  “In the void, Rico, up doesn’t exist—” Artemis cuts in, before Rico can continue.

  “It’s where you belong too.” Rico’s words are more certain. “You’ll find your place here, before the end. I’m sure of it.”

  “Hope you two aren’t plotting mutinies down here?” Molly’s voice chimes in with a playful lurch, cutting the conversation short.

  “Of course not,” Artemis fumes. “I was just giving Rico my support, I think he should be free to make his own decision.”

  “Maybe he should,” Molly says, she turns her attention to Rico. “Hon, we’re going to take-off pretty soon and the Captain—” Her voice trails off as she notices the rucksacks on the floor. “Going somewhere?”

  “Dragons,” Artemis says shakily. “Not my cup of tea.”

  “Of course, slinking off without warning is more your style,” Molly says icily. “If you’re going, I’d get gone quick. We’re about to ascend, just came down here to check on Rico myself before we go.”

  Artemis reels as if struck. He turns on Molly, a hand raised. She doesn’t back down or flinch, but before the blow can fall there’s a flash of white light, blinding in its brilliance. He stumbles back. Molly startles, throwing up a hand as Rico’s light fizzles out.

  “Thank you Rico,” Molly says, scowling. “But you didn’t need to do that. I can take care of myself.” She draws a short sharp breath, then turns on her heel and stalks down the corridor to the engine room.

  “You bastard,” Artemis hisses. “I can’t see a thing.”

  A serene smile suffuses Rico’s face. “Guess you can’t leave then,” he says calmly, before lying back down.

  11 - A Canvas of Sand

  It takes a little longer to convince them. To convince us. The protests can’t quite compete with the lure of gold, and the expert way Thunder and Mudge ply the crew. In the end, Lily is the main holdout. Her connection to the Guild has always been the source for jobs on The Kingfisher, and now, between her recovery, and the unpaid debt lingering over their heads from Evergreen, she can’t reach out. It feels like she’s sitting in the centre of a web, as the strands surrounding her are slowly cut away. She casts her eyes skyward, narrowing them at the blurry green rock in the sky that is Evergreen. Her thoughts turn to the singed flag and Skyhook, it would be on board the next courier ship to Lincoln. But would it be there soon enough?

  The new flag flickers, crackling in the late afternoon wind as The Kingfisher ascends from the docks. Her hull still singed and pock-marked from Faerie Fire, now travelling towards something much more dangerous.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Jamala’s voice is steady as she chases the sinking light of the Dark Star across the desert. While the Captain steers, she seeks out landmarks with her eyeglass, great rocky outcroppings dot the desert, providing their only guidance between now and nightfall, at which point the great map of the stars may guide them.

  Kendra Stoutheart is one of the few voyagers not sweating as she stands, soaking up the sun. She breathes the clean, hot air in, and smiles. It tastes like home.

  “What’s our target?” Jonas asks, his eyes glinting toward the horizon.

  “Tribes of Solarii make their home out in the desert,” Kendra says matter-of-factly. “We were a noble people. Still are, and though the call of the gilded city is strong, some of us remember our roots.”

  “...and?”

  “And, Jonas, if you think with more than your sword for a moment, they make a living in the desert, where the dragons roam. Dragons are deeply territorial, so the tribes usually leave warning signs for themselves and travellers to ward people from flying willy-nilly into a dragon’s lair. Warnings we would do well not to ignore.”

  “Have you seen one before?” Lily asks, she paces back and forth across the fo’c’sle, still cleaning Evergreen mud and Wolfpack blood from beneath her long nails.

  “Once. And it’s a story I already regret telling to Mister Mudge, who clearly should have known better than to suggest this fool’s errand.”

  “Easy, Kendra,” Captain Thunder speaks, her cold blue eyes on the horizon. “Mudge made a suggestion, he had a plan. I’ve chosen this course.”

  “Recklessly, I might say, Captain.”

  “You might.” Thunders hands tighten on the wheel as the ship hums beneath her hands, the Widowgas engines flaring. “I’m growing tired of being careful,” she says finally. “I tried to play it safe on Evergreen, and we barely got out alive.”

  “But we did get out alive,” Kendra replies.

  “Yes. Just. But we are not mice. We shouldn’t hide from danger, and we shouldn’t cower.” Her voice is a growl now. “We can live in the shadows, or we can stake our claim in the sun,” Thunder says firmly. “And this is one hell of a way to change our fortunes.”

  “Or die trying,” Kendra says softly.

  Thunder nods, a bitter smile cracking across her face.

  We travel across the dunes. My stomach rolls and churns, my place on the ship unsure and unsteady. The breeze as we travel cuts through the day’s heat, and as the Dark Star sets behind the horizon, the air turns to a ghastly chill. I sit in the corner of the deck in isolation, watching what I can with my own two eyes, and seeing more. The voyagers work around me, their attention focused on the task. Each roll of the ship threatens to unseat my stomach, but the thrill of adventure, of the tale unspooling in front of my eyes, keeps me focused.

  Then I remember where we’re going. What we’re hoping to do... and my stomach churns for a completely different reason.

  Night falls properly, and The Kingfisher soars over an ocean of sand. Above, I see the stars shimmer, two nearby Shards are visible in the night sky, tumbling in their own slow orbit. Evergreen, my home, and Zeal, the home of the Wolfpack, are the closest, visible to each side.
The other four would be visible from the other side of Flare now. Our hemisphere instead faces out toward the void, and I dare not look to deeply, lest I see.

  A ship, in the distant darkness of space. Visible not by design, but only by my ability to infer. Missing stars, a shifting shadow, and a deep terrible weight that seems to grow ever stronger as it powers toward us through the interstellar dust.

  It is a scout, and it has found something worth investigating. A breadcrumb.

  * * *

  The moon’s light paints the desert dunes a cold silver. They shimmer with an eerie light under the stars as The Kingfisher cuts a swathe across the cloudless sky. Her new sails billow in the chill breeze, her new flag crackling as the Widowgas engines hum. An after-effect of violet light trails behind them as Molly keeps the engines to a steady purr.

  “Captain,” Jamala says, her voice a low whisper. Nobody barring their own crew would be able to hear them, but it feels right to whisper when sneaking up on a dragon’s lair. She points to a light in the dunes below, a pyre, made small by their distance. “Torches.”

  “People really live out there?” Jonas asks, glancing down into the darkness with a shiver.

  “Most Solarii,” Kendra says with a bittersweet air. “Rezir was once big enough for all of us, and it was beautiful. But we outgrew it, and it... changed. A city of glass and gold wasn’t going to stay pure for long in this hard world. So many made new homes, they began returning to a simpler lifestyle, and the city of gold became little more than a gathering of fools and gamblers.”

  “And pirates,” Mudge says with a grin.

  “Aye. And pirates.”

  “So those lights. They’re camps?” There were more visible now, as the waves of sand shifted beneath them. The night sky reveals dozens of glittering camp-fires. Where the tribes stay in the day is unclear from up on high, but the desert shimmers with their lights. The fires are a protest and a celebration, a people’s cry that they are worthy. They light up the sand like stars on a canvas.