Cipher Hill

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “No, no.” Fritz tapped a small, frightened face in the lower left-hand corner of the image. “That’s you.”

  “Oh… Yes. Did you know I was coming?”

  “No. But I recognized you.”

  “… From the background of an image on a newspaper from months ago?”

  “I read newspapers, and I have a very good memory. Those are two of my five primary skills.”

  “What does that have to do with Tusk?”

  Fritz arrayed the newspapers on the workbench and held them up one by one to highlight the reply.

  “Alabaster had his grand debut here. By this point he’d already fizzled. And by this point he’d burst from prison. No one who could go from up here to down here so quickly would be able to get out of that prison without help, let alone to cause this trouble and this trouble, and this and this so quickly after. And you aren’t in any of these pictures. That would imply Alabaster had a new backer. That you knew where to find me implies you found your way further up the chain, and that far up the hierarchy leaves one in rarefied air. Either Mayor Ebonwhite or Ferris Tusk. I know Ebonwhite’s men. You aren’t one of them.”

  “That’s a lengthy sequence of assumptions.”

  “I put pieces together well. Skill three of five.”

  Fritz flopped down into a leather armchair, several papers tucked under each arm. The chair had been so thoroughly patched with pieces of new leather it looked like some sort of horrible quilt. “So. Tusk wants the Wind Breaker crew dead…” Fritz said, shuffling pages. “Has something to do with what happened to The Sieve, eh?”

  “It has to do with a great number of things, which I also am not at liberty to discuss.”

  Fritz shrugged. “It doesn’t matter much. Doesn’t make the job any harder or any easier to know why I’m doing it. Don’t stand there.”

  Mallow took a step back and glanced where he’d been. There was a small puddle of viscous goop. It smoldered and fumed slightly, as did the bottom of his shoe. He hastily scraped the stuff off on the edge of a nearby trough.

  “What is that?”

  “I haven’t a clue, I’m afraid. There are little puddles of this and that all over the place. Nasty, nasty stuff. If skill three of five hasn’t failed me, then it’s something to do with the chemicals they used to tan the leather mixing with the fug once it showed up. Take something nasty and mix it with something nastier and you end up with something unexpected, but still nasty.” Fritz’s grin widened again. “Makes me feel right at home. That and the fact that I was born in one of those houses at the end of the street, back when the sun still shone on this place. I miss the flowers sometimes…”

  “But that’s… that would make you hundreds of years old. As old as Tusk. And no fug person remembers anything from before the Calamity.”

  “Skill two of five, Mr. Mallow. Very good memory.”

  “But you don’t look any older than I.”

  “What was that I was just saying about getting unexpected results?” Fritz cackled again. “I’m not like you, Mallow. You’ll have to measure me with a different ruler.”

  A kick and snap of Fritz’s legs flipped the lunatic up out of the chair amid a flurry of newspapers. Fritz turned on a heel and tugged open another drawer. Inside was a tin of gingersnaps.

  “Biscuit?”

  Mallow was quite hungry, but the thought of eating anything that had ever come near this place tamed his appetite. “No. Thank you.”

  “Then we’ll just get to it,” Fritz said, munching happily. “The Wind Breaker crew. That’s Captain McCulloch West, siblings Ichabod and Chastity Cooper, first mate and munitions officer Guy Van Cleef, Glinda West, who wears many hats, I believe. And then the dark-skinned troublemaker of an engineer, Amanita Graus. Seven targets. Tusk is aware I don’t give a bulk discount.”

  “Price is not an object.”

  “It jolly well is an object. It is my favorite object. And for this job, it is a very, very large object. An object payable in half before I even lift a finger. I don’t work on speculation.”

  “I am sure that is acceptable.”

  “Then I’ll just take what you brought as the first payment and you can bring the rest after.”

  “I… that’s not how negotiation works.”

  Fritz brushed away some cookie crumbs. “You said price was no object. That’s not negotiation, that’s charity. And I will gladly oblige.” The unbalanced assassin strutted toward the still-open door.

  “Now you see here. That is not what I—”

  Fritz pulled a pistol from its holster and turned, aiming it vaguely in Mallow’s direction while walking backward. “Don’t get cute, Mallow. Good aim is not among my five key skills, hence all of the pistols. I don’t do warning shots, as they are just as likely to lodge themselves somewhere important.”

  Despite walking backward, Fritz slipped through the doorway and continued toward Mallow’s ship as unerringly as if walking forward.

  “I really don’t think that you can realistically make a deal on as abstract a concept as ‘all of the money I brought,’” Mallow said.

  “It’s not abstract. It is a very specific amount, I just don’t know how much it is yet. But I am increasingly certain it is well worth my while, considering how you’re still trying to talk me down despite having a gun pointed at you. Won’t be a moment.”

  Fritz turned, crouched, and leaped. Very long limbs and a very light build allowed the jump to send Fritz skyward as if launched from a springboard. While in flight, the pistol was switched for one of the knives, which was then driven into the side of the ship to provide a grip to dangle from. A second knife slipped the latch out of place, and the door swung open.

  Mallow was still blinking and sputtering when Fritz slipped into the ship.

  “Ah… Ah ha. Yes, yes, yes.”

  Fritz cackled creakily and hefted three heavy cases out the door of the ship. They struck the ground and burst open, spilling a fortune of coins onto the ground.

  “Good enough, Mallow. Good enough. I hope you kept track of what there was, because it’ll be the same again when the Wind Breaker crew is finished.”

  Fritz reached into yet another of the innumerable leather pouches and pulled out a goggled-flight cap the likes of which wailers favored. When it was in place, the assassin dashed off into the darkness, continuing the demented cackle.

  Mallow looked down at the payment, still loose on the ground as if it were an afterthought. He crouched to snag a coin. A moment later, he heard a burst of pistol fire. He felt a hot pain slice across the back of his leg and fell to the ground. A bullet had torn his trousers and traced a painful gash across his thigh.

  “What did I say, Mallow? No warning shots!” cackled Fritz’s voice from darkness.

  Mallow crawled to the ladder and hurriedly pulled himself up to the airship. Once inside, he fumbled with a first aid kit and set about bandaging his leg.

  “Nothing but insane people. Why must I always find myself surrounded by people who are utterly mad?!”

  #

  On the Wind Breaker, Coop stood at the wheel and did his best to determine their heading by the look of the mountains and the setting sun. It was rare that he found himself responsible for navigating, and not without good reason. At the moment Coop was holding the wheel moderately stationary while eating the last few bites of a meat pie with one hand and scratching Nikita’s chin with the other.

  “I still don’t see why the cap’n lets you fly this thing more often than me,” Lil muttered, marching up behind him and resting her rifle on her shoulder.

  “It’s on account of you’re better at climbin’ the rigging, and you know it,” Coop said, spraying crumbs as he spoke.

  “Well sure, but you’re next best at that. And with all the flyin’ and watchin’ that’s been goin’ on up here, you’d think I’d be gettin’ my share of time behind the wheel.”

  “It is a moot point,” announced Gunner, stepping up from below decks. “You’re back o
ff duty.”

  Gunner was well rested, an increasingly rare trait aboard the Wind Breaker. They’d been in constant motion for days, making brief stays at five different ports and otherwise tempting the man they’d done their best to antagonize. Tusk had yet to bite, and there had been little to suggest he’d even noticed what they’d done.

  “Quiet afternoon,” Coop said. “Just about the only thing I don’t like the looks of is them clouds over there. The way they’re driftin’, they’re liable to line up with the sun before it dips down behind the mountains.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on them,” Gunner said.

  Coop stepped aside and let Gunner take the wheel.

  “You’re three degrees off our proper heading, you know,” Gunner said.

  “Dang it. I thought I was closer.”

  “Why didn’t you just read the compass?”

  “Cap’n does half his steerin’ by the look of the horizon and the seat of his pants. Us not havin’ a tight schedule, seemed like now was as good a time as ever to get good at it.”

  Gunner shook his head and spun the wheel to correct. “Just don’t let the captain know you’ve been doing it.”

  Coop scoffed and pulled a second meat pie out of his pocket. “No need to tell me twice. I don’t need an earful like that again.”

  “The cap’n’s been handin’ out an awful lot of lectures about us not doin’ what he says down to the letter, ain’t he?” Lil said. “Twice he chewed me out because I didn’t hit the sack right when I got off duty, and yesterday he showed me how to splice a line. Like I ain’t been tyin’ a splice since I got off Momma’s milk…”

  “It is the prerogative of a captain to ensure his crew behaves in a disciplined and well-trained manner,” Gunner said.

  “You know the cap’n ain’t here to pat you on the head for all that brownnosin’, right?” Coop jabbed.

  Gunner squinted into the sun, then pulled down his goggles. “… Well that’s about to change.” He leaned down and bellowed into the speaking tube. “All hands! We have a ship coming in from the west hostile posture. Prepare for combat.”

  A hazy blob of a ship was emerging from the cloud, dropping down into the glare of the sun. The ship must have been lingering in the cloud for hours, stalking them like a predator. Such behavior could only be the work of a crew with violent intent. Coop dashed to one of the deck guns as Gunner turned the ship head-on.

  “You reckon this is Tusk’s men?” Coop asked.

  Nikita scrabbled her way out of his jacket and clung to his side. She tapped out a message. Wailers. I heard them now.

  “Be ready! Nikita says they’re wailers,” Coop relayed.

  “Then that means you’ve been flying too high,” Captain Mack barked, emerging from below. His clothes looked slept in, but he was nonetheless razor sharp in his focus. “I told you to stay low. We’re trying to coax ships up from the fug, not down from the clouds.” Mack took the wheel. “Gunner, you’re on the forward cannons. Grapeshot, and immediate reload until I say otherwise. Coop, Lil, rifles first. Try to pick off the wailers before they get here. But stay by the deck guns and switch if they get in range. Where’s my engineer?!”

  “Here, Captain,” Nita called, springing from below.

  “You’re on reload. I don’t want them deck guns down for more than five seconds at a time. Tusk’s men or no, this here’s a dress rehearsal. You ain’t just sailors, you’re soldiers. I want wailer ships down before they can get off a shot, and I want that mother ship disabled but airworthy so we can question survivors.”

  The crew took their positions. Three tiny dart-like ships produced their eponymous whine as they streaked forward. Coop and Lil opened fire at the same moment, each taking aim at the nearest ship. After five shots each, streamers of dull green mist curled from the enemy’s envelope. The ship dipped and vanished into the fug below. Coop continued firing while Lil reloaded her weapon, then they traded off, keeping the attacks up until a second ship vanished into the fug. When blasts began hissing through the air, thumping into the heavy wood of the ship’s hull, Coop dropped his rifle and took up the deck gun. It buzzed and sprayed its lethal projectiles. At this range, even a single spike meeting the envelope of the wailer ship would have been enough to drop it from the sky, but it was near enough that its speed and small size were at least a match for Coop’s aim.

  Something smashed into the deck beside Lil, causing her to jump aside to continue reloading her rifle in the relative safety of a barrel’s shadow. When she had a moment to do so, she glanced at the deck where the projectile had struck.

  “What do you make of this?” she said, risking the butt of her rifle to scrape at the remnant of the attack.

  Rather than the metal spike she’d expected to find embedded in the deck, she found just a few shards of metal. There wasn’t nearly enough to account for a shattered fléchette. Instead, there was a splatter of dark gray clay of some sort.

  “Wonder later. Get that rifle ready or take the deck gun on the other side of the ship!” Mack bellowed. “Gunner! Where are we on cannons?”

  “Port cannon loaded with grapeshot, standard charge. Starboard in progress,” he replied through the speaking tube.

  Lil peered up, following the sound of the lingering ship. “Cap’n! They’re lingerin’ up over the envelope. I reckon I oughta get up there so I can pick ’em off,” she called.

  “If you’re going to do it, do it fast. I want you back down here before we start firing cannons,” he replied. “Because we won’t be able to wait for you.”

  “Coop, you comin’?” Lil said, tossing him his reloaded rifle before leaping into the rigging.

  “He stays on the deck in case they dispatch another wailer,” Mack said.

  Lil nodded and scrambled up and vanished around the curve of the envelope. Almost immediately the crack of rifle shots rang out above them, along with more thumping of projectiles striking the envelope and turbines.

  “What is the state of the ship, Ms. Graus?” Mack called.

  “I don’t see any stray steam. The turbines sound like they’re working a bit hard, but nothing worrisome,” Nita called back while loading a fresh belt of fléchettes into a gun.

  “Good. Quick work so far, everyone.”

  The captain eyed the ship ahead, which was approaching them nearly as quickly as they were approaching it. Head on as it was, it presented a sleek, streamlined target. Not much room for error.

  “Status of cannons?” he barked again.

  “Stand by,” Gunner replied.

  “Combat ain’t a time for standin’ by. That mean I’m still just on port?”

  “There! Cannons loaded and ready.”

  A final rifle shot rang out above, and the wailer ship above lurched aside in the distinctive fashion of a vessel suddenly deprived of a pilot. Captain Mack finessed the controls, easing the ship slightly starboard, then slightly upward. The whole ship had to be maneuvered to aim his main cannons. The distance closed. He squinted his eyes behind his dark lenses. If he fired too early, the scattering of shot would be too diffuse to be of any use. If he waited too long, it would be so dense the ship might not survive long enough to get answers. It wasn’t likely these wailers knew any more about Tusk than he did, but if their plan worked, before long Tusk would send his own men out, and they would lead the crew back to him. He had to practice.

  When the moment seemed right, he fired. A scattering of walnut-size metal balls ripped through the air. A dozen fresh holes opened in the ship’s envelope, and a plume of steam vented out the ship’s side.

  The Wind Breaker lurched backward, the gondola swinging violently back and tipping downward. From the envelope above, he heard a squeal, then watched as Lil tumbled off the envelope. She clung to a dangling bit of rigging and managed to keep from plunging into the mist below, but the rigging was dangling for a reason. It was badly frayed, and was unraveling under her grip as she tried to climb up. Thanks to the size of the envelope, she was well beyond th
e edge of the deck. If the rope failed her, she wouldn’t stop until she joined the fallen wailers in the fug.

  The crew acted as one. Nita and Coop dashed to the bow of the gondola. The wind was too strong for a thrown rope to reach Lil, and it already took both of her hands to keep her grip on the failing rope. Captain Mack pulled levers and adjusted valves. Turbines creaked and groaned. The envelope first righted itself, then continued to tip farther upward. Lil inched closer to the edge of the deck. Nita threw a rope around Coop’s waist, and he scrambled out onto the railing. He leaned out, Nita bracing herself and holding firm until he was standing almost straight out from the ship’s railing. He got his hands around Lil’s ankles just in time for the rope to give way. Lil plummeted. Coop was yanked from the railing. Nita slid forward, but held tight. She braced her boot against the railing and strained at the rope. After a heart-stopping few moments, hands appeared and grabbed tight to the railing. Lil had climbed up her brother to reach the deck, and once she was back aboard, she and Nita hauled Coop back up.

  Before they could breathe so much as a sigh of relief, the wailer ship fired its own cannons. The report was thunderous, even at this distance. A single cannonball screamed through the air. It missed, but just barely, sailing over the top of the envelope with inches to spare. Captain Mack took the Wind Breaker higher while charging toward them. Before the wailers could reload, he was too close and too far above them for the main cannons to be of any use. The distant sputter of fléchette guns started to pepper the belly of the gondola with spikes.

  “Take them guns out, or Nita’s liable to be working overtime patching us up,” Mack barked.

  The deckhands had already taken up positions at either side of the ship. The wailer ship was close enough for the details of the deck and crew to be visible. For a few moments, both Lil and Coop were able to unload their weapons on the deck. Crew scattered. Finally, they were near enough that the captain had to pull to port. Coop abandoned his deck gun and dashed to Lil’s railing. He raised his rifle.

  “Deck’s packed with loot, Cap’n. They must’ve just scored a big haul,” Coop called. “I see a couple powder kegs. I reckon this’ll send folks runnin’.”