Rigar swallowed. Throat aflame. But finally, the answer dawned on him.
“Osyrus Ward.”
“True.”
Another flood of relief. It felt almost chemical—like the wave of pleasure after the first drag on an opium pipe. He loved his master. If his master brought that feeling, then he was the only master that he would ever need.
“You’re doing well, Seven-Nine-Nine. We will now move to your mission debrief before applying the full barrage of chemicals. Wouldn’t want to foggy that memory up before we learned what happened at Fallon’s Roost.”
8
CABBAGE
Dainwood Jungle
Three days after leaving Floodhaven, Cabbage was still slightly hungover from their antics at the brothel. This was the first morning that he hadn’t begun by puking in the bushes.
“Pretty sure this is the worst hangover of my life,” Cabbage complained, finally able to choke down a few strips of burned bacon as his breakfast. “And given how deep I stayed in the potato liquor on Ghost Moth Island, that is saying something.”
“If I was stuck on the horrible island for years, I’d develop a bit of a drinking problem, too,” said Felgor, munching on his own bacon.
“You drank an entire cask of Atlas Coast cider by yourself,” said Cabbage. “I’d say that constitutes a bit of a drinking problem right there.”
“I bought the entire cask, but I had help drinking it from both you and the girl from the Gorgon River Valley. Yesmana or Yasamu or something.”
“Yesmine,” Cabbage corrected. He remembered her because she’d run a hand down his cheek and felt the slivers of artificial flesh that hid his blue bars. Cabbage had tensed up, thinking they had a problem, but Yesmine had just smiled and whispered in his ear that it would be their little secret.
“Yesmine,” Felgor said. “Right.”
They reached a high bluff, where Cabbage looked behind them. He could just barely make out the Gorgon Bridge, and the massive skyship that hovered over it at all times.
“I still can’t believe you talked your way across that without the proper seals,” Cabbage said.
When they’d reached the bridge checkpoint, Felgor had babbled on about being reassigned to one of the rubber plantations on the outskirts of the jungle at the last minute, and explained that they didn’t have seals because the Balarians who’d carried the official seals had been eaten by a dragon, his body snatched into the sky. There’d been no time to make replacements. He talked so quickly and in such great quantities that the border guards eventually let them through to avoid causing a traffic delay, which came with severe penalties from the higher-ups because rubber was in extremely high demand by Osyrus Ward.
“It’s not the fast talking and flimsy excuse that does it,” Felgor explained. “It’s the talking and the uniforms and our gray eyes and our long noses, all working together to form a picture that feels natural. Most people in this world will believe a lie if it’s shown to them in the shape of a convenient truth.”
“I guess so,” said Cabbage. “Being honest, I was never very good with words.”
“Nonsense. You did great back there in Floodhaven. The perfect straight-man to cover my antics. No way would Brutus have bought the con without you. No way at all.”
“Any chance that’s just the shape of a truth instead of a real one?” Cabbage asked.
Felgor sighed. “Okay, fine. The truth is, I mostly took you because of your accent. You got that middle-class ring to it that’s hard to fake, like you spent years apprenticed to some grunt of a workman in the Fifth District of Burz-al-dun.”
“I did apprentice to a clockmaker in the Fifth District. I told you that.”
“Makes sense, then.”
They hiked through the jungle for the rest of the day. Dampmire village—the place they were meeting Bershad—was famously difficult to find, so they followed a trail of mud totems that the Jaguars had left for them. The totems were all over, but the ones with blue stones for eyes each had an arm made from sticks that pointed them in the direction of Dampmire.
Around late afternoon, they summited a hill that looked over a valley of heavy canopy. There was a Gray-Winged Nomad circling the valley from among the high clouds above.
“Guess the village is down there,” said Felgor. “Looks like Bershad got here ahead of us.”
“I’ll never get used to that dragon following him around.”
“Smokey? She’s harmless.”
“No,” Cabbage said, remembering what she’d done on Ghost Moth Island. “She is not.”
“Well, harmless so long as you stay on Silas’s good side.” Felgor smiled. “C’mon. Let’s get down there.”
* * *
They’d barely made it halfway down the hill when two stumpy little trees came alive and pointed blades at their throats. Not trees. Jaguar wardens. This lot were all wearing black cat masks.
“Peace!” Cabbage squeaked, arms up. But he was so surprised that he said it in Balarian, which caused the two wardens to jerk their blades closer with a clear intention of ramming them straight through Cabbage’s chest.
“Stop.” A third warden melted out of the undergrowth. “Those are Ashlyn’s little spies. They’re expected.”
The other wardens relaxed their blades. “Aye, Oromir. Whatever you say.”
The warden removed his mask, revealing a surprisingly young face. Cabbage figured he was seventeen or eighteen. But he had the scars of a warden who’d been fighting much longer.
“I’ll take them in.”
Oromir led them down the hill without a word. His icy demeanor was even enough to silence Felgor, who was the most talkative person that Cabbage had ever met.
Dampmire was one of the canopy villages in the Dainwood—strung up between massive Daintrees in such a way that it was practically invisible from both the sky above and the ground below. These were the last safe havens for anyone living outside of Deepdale.
Oromir took them to a hidden walkway that wound around an especially large Daintree to form a ladder.
“Up,” he ordered.
Cabbage was winded by the time he’d ascended to the village, which spread out in all directions along the canopy. The little huts were made from clay and thatch, all of them nestled perfectly into the nooks and branches of the massive trees.
Oromir guided Felgor and Cabbage along the platforms and past the small, acorn-shaped huts until they reached a larger building hanging from the limbs of an ancient Daintree. He stopped at the door—which was just a woven flap—and motioned for them to wait outside. Then he ducked inside.
“Found the Balarians,” he said to whoever was in the hut.
“Good,” came Ashlyn’s familiar voice. “They can come in.”
“Course we can fucking come in,” said Felgor as he barged through the flap with a purpose. Cabbage followed. Oromir stayed by the door.
Inside, six people were sitting around a fire that had burned down to smoldering coals: Ashlyn Malgrave, Silas Bershad, Simeon, Kerrigan, Willem, and the boy alchemist who worked with the queen. Julan or Jorro or something.
“Did you assholes miss me?” Felgor said, spreading his arms as if he was planning to hug them all in one big embrace.
“Sure,” growled Simeon. “’Bout as much as I miss the cock rot after it’s cured.”
Ashlyn and Kerrigan gave little smiles, but Bershad kept his face unreadable as he appraised Felgor for a long moment, before finally breaking into a massive grin, standing up, and scooping Felgor into a strong embrace.
“Glad you made it back in one piece, you fucking thief.”
“Of course I made it back. I’m a professional.”
“My earless Balarian didn’t get in the way?” Simeon asked.
“Nope. Cabbage was instrumental to our success, actually.”
“Success?” Ashlyn asked. “I like the sound of that.”
She motioned for them to sit with her right hand, careful to keep the left hidden beneath
her yellow poncho. Cabbage knew why, and he was glad for it. Ashlyn seemed like a nice person, but after the things he’d seen her do with that metal arm, he was terrified of her.
Felgor took a seat around the fire. Looked at everyone with a huge grin.
“Well, what did you get?” Bershad asked.
“All kinds of shit,” Felgor said happily, motioning for Cabbage to hand him their first saddle bag of documents.
“First up … what is this one again?” He squinted at the maps. “Oh, right. These are the skyship drop-off and extraction locations for their combat teams, scattered all over the Dainwood. Each one’s clearly marked and ranked according to lizard safety and strategic value.”
“What?” Willem asked. “That’s a hell of a … let me see those.”
Willem took the maps and riffled through them for a few moments. “I’ve seen them use some of these before, but a lot are new. Places we don’t usually patrol.”
“Pretty sure that is the point,” said Felgor. “Clean exit and all that.”
“Where did you get this from?” Willem asked, moving to another map.
“They got all their cartographers holed up in a basement of a manse near Castle Malgrave, which I’d actually robbed before. Twice. So nicking those from their vault was pretty straightforward.”
Willem licked his lips. Looked up at Felgor. “I could kiss you right now.”
Felgor shrugged. “Your beard looks kinda scratchy, but maybe if you oil it down a bit?”
“Was there any news of my sister?” Ashlyn asked.
“Well, there’s a shitload of unsubstantiated stories floating around the city. Everyone’s firm on the fact that she’s alive, but things get pretty wild from there. Some people are convinced that Ward’s using her blood to make the grayskins. Others say he’s turning her into a goddess from some workshop in the top of the tower where all kinds of weird shit gets delivered. And others still say that she is Osyrus Ward, just wearing a disguise. I’ve seen Osyrus Ward before, and that is pretty far-fetched.”
“What else?” Ashlyn asked, motioning to the bag.
“Ah, don’t you worry, Ashe. I know you’re hungry for information on the grayskins, and once again, I have delivered. The schematics, Cabbage.”
Cabbage dug through the pack again—a little annoyed to be playing the part of paper jockey, but he had to admit that it was better than being Simeon’s murderous helper. He handed over the documents that Brutus had given them.
“Those are detailed material requirements, diagrams, and capabilities of all the Madman’s different grayskin creatures,” said Felgor. “Personally, I found the arachnid models to be especially unsettling.”
Ashlyn looked at the pages. “Oh, Felgor. I could kiss you, too.”
“Gonna have to make a hard pass on that one, Queen.” He glanced at Silas. “Don’t wanna have my head torn off. No, our agreed-upon fee is plenty of thanks for me. Fifty thousand gold pieces per each piece of valuable intelligence.”
“Of course,” Ashlyn said, already turning her attention back to the pages. “You’ll be paid when the war is done.”
Felgor frowned. “The cavalier nature with which you are referring to one hundred and fifty thousand gold pieces makes me nervous. As if you do not expect to actually pay it.”
“I am trying to deal with one problem at a time, Felgor. My debt to you is not very high on the list. Jolan, look at these.” She pointed. “See this model? Ballast acolytes. They’re some kind of stabilization unit to prevent skyship cores from overheating during long journeys.”
Jolan came over. “Huh. Yeah. But how is he getting around the heat cascades at high rotations?”
“I’m not sure. These pins that are inserted into the cores could do it, but he doesn’t offer detail on them.”
Those two descended into a prattle of esoteric conversation that Cabbage couldn’t understand. Willem and Oromir started poring over their sets of maps, mumbling to each other as well.
Felgor kicked his feet up on the table.
“It was difficult work, I’ll admit, but there were advantages of infiltrating our way into a bit of civilization. My favorite spot is the Eagle’s Roost brothel and restaurant. They have a real nice setup there. And the men from Clockwork love it because their cook uses Balarian spices, so that’s where we set up to find a mark. First few nights me and Cabbage were just doing field research. You would not believe the pork roast and scallops they were turning out for dinners. Perfectly cooked in butter and covered in fresh pepper and turmeric that must have been imported from beyond Taggarstan, but real fresh, you know? I wonder if there’s a spice skyship, because the way it blended with the pork was just—”
“Felgor, if you mention one more detail about food, I’ll murder you,” growled Simeon.
“What? What’s the problem?”
“We lost our supply line to Dunfar,” Ashlyn explained.
“Lost? Well, where’d you last see it?”
“Not funny,” said Kerrigan. “I watched four ships and a lot of good crew get incinerated. And seeing as the Balarians have made a point to burn and salt all the Dainwood’s farms over the last year, we’re currently in a bad way when it comes to rations.”
“How bad, exactly?” asked Cabbage. He’d been looking forward to a proper meal, now that they were back on allied ground. The long walk and horrific hangover had left him feeling thin. The only food he had left was a lump of salted pork that had been stewing in his pocket for the whole walk home.
“The men’s last proper meal was two weeks ago, when we left Deepdale,” Bershad said. “Since then, we’ve had to scrounge what we can from the jungle, but that’s dangerous with so many dragons about. Three wardens got eaten yesterday chasing after a fucking rabbit.”
“Wasn’t even a big rabbit,” Simeon added.
“Those deaths are a problem, but they’re not our biggest concern,” Ashlyn said. “It’s the crews who’ve taken to raiding and robbing the villages that we move through.”
“I dealt with the men who did that,” Simeon growled. “Won’t happen again.”
“Beating a few men to death with their own arms isn’t a permanent solution,” Ashlyn said.
Cabbage swallowed, glad he wasn’t around to see that happen. He’d gotten enough of that on Ghost Moth Island.
“You sure? Anyone turn to thieving since I dismembered those assholes?” he asked.
“No,” Kerrigan said. “But desertions have tripled since then.”
“Well, you should have said something, Kerri. I’ll track ’em down and deal with them, too.”
“No,” said Bershad. “You won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because we can’t win this war if you keep ripping our warriors’ arms out of their sockets.”
“Can’t win it if our warriors all fuck off into the jungle, either. Doesn’t matter how many scraps of paper the two Balarians have brought us.”
Everyone started talking at once—muttering and arguing and throwing out unhelpful suggestions.
But an idea occurred to Cabbage. Something he’d heard a few skyship captains talking about in that brothel on their last night in Floodhaven.
“Hey, wait, I might have a solution.”
Everyone ignored him. Cabbage took a breath and embraced the pirate inside of him.
“Hey, assholes! Shut up.”
That got their attention.
“On our last day in Floodhaven, I heard some captains talking about a skyship crash in the Dainwood. One of their big cargo models that was carrying a bunch of food. We could try to salvage it.”
“Ha!” Felgor shouted. “I told you one more visit to the brothel would be worth it, Cabbage.”
“How much food?” Kerrigan asked.
“They said it was meant to resupply all of Wormwrot for a month. Given how outnumbered we are, that’ll be enough to feed our wardens for … I dunno, exactly.”
“Through summer, at least,” Kerrigan said. “Longe
r, if we keep our rations strict.”
“And manage to live that long,” Willem muttered.
“If there’s that much food, why haven’t they gone in to retrieve it?”
“That’s what the captains were talking about,” said Cabbage. “They said the skyship went down near some big dragon nest, so they’re afraid to go in. They’ve had ships circling for weeks, but nobody can get through.”
“Which nest?” Ashlyn asked.
“Um … one of the captains had just come back from patrolling around it.” Cabbage tried to remember. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been extremely drunk while talking to them. “Southwest of Glenlock, he said. Due directly south of the ninth bend in the Gorgon.”
“That isn’t near a nest of dragons,” Bershad said. “That’s in the middle of the largest population of Blackjacks in the realm of Terra.”
“Like the ones around Deepdale?” Felgor asked.
Bershad shook his head. “More. A lot more. Leave it to the idiot Balarians to fly through there.”
“But we can sneak underneath, right?” said Felgor. “Same way the wardens get in and out of Deepdale?”
“No, it took hundreds of years to make those choke weed trails,” said Bershad.
There was a silence.
“There is a way through,” Bershad said eventually. “The Blackjacks will give the Nomad some distance if we come through underneath her shadow. We couldn’t take more than a score or so of men, but it could work.”
“Hold on,” said Kerrigan. “Am I to understand that we’re gonna hike through a dragon-infested jungle that Balarian skyships are afraid to even fly over?”
“Well, if you hadn’t gotten caught on the supply run we wouldn’t have to risk it,” said Simeon.
“Oh, you can fuck all the way off with that dragonshit. If you’d tried that run, you’d have turned yourself to flotsam on the very first voyage. You were always a shit sailor.”
“I’m a fantastic sailor.”
“It doesn’t matter how we got here,” said Ashlyn. “This is our current reality, and we have to decide how to handle it.” She paused. “I’ll go with Silas. Who else is willing?”
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