Cipher Hill

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Coop, don’t you—” Mack began.

  It was too late. Coop squeezed the trigger, and a moment later, the air filled with black smoke, red flame, deafening explosions, and bits of what had once been the wailer ship. It wasn’t one blast but many. The black powder Coop had struck ignited first a handful more on the deck, then presumably a great deal more in the cargo hold. Secondary explosions utterly consumed the ship below, until finally the rigging released, sending the tattered envelope flitting upward while the gondola plunged into the violet fug below.

  The crew remained silent for a few moments, assembling one by one at the railing beside Coop. A distant crunch signaled the impact of the wailer ship on the unseen ground.

  “Nice shot, Coop,” Lil said.

  Captain Mack leaned low to the speaking tube.

  “Gunner. Up top. Take the helm.” He raised his head. “The rest of you, in the galley. Now.”

  #

  A few minutes later, Nita, Coop, and Lil were seated at tables in the galley. They were sitting in awkward silence, as though awaiting a stern talking-to by a feared teacher. Captain Mack’s heavy footfalls approached, as did the sweet smell of his brandy-soaked cigar. He stalked inside and cast his glare across the assembled crew.

  “Lil, you all right?” he said, his voice low and his jaw tight.

  “Fine, Cap’n,” she said.

  “You ain’t hurt. Ain’t shook up?”

  “No, Cap’n.”

  “Everyone else? Anyone take any hits?”

  “I caught some bits of kicked-up decking on the back of my head. Butch patched me up,” Coop said. “Ain’t nothin’.”

  “Anyone else?” Mack said.

  Nita shook her head.

  “Good.” Mack took a deep breath, then leaned heavily on the table before Lil, looming over her. “What were you still doin’ on the envelope, Lil?”

  “Sorry, Cap’n,” she said.

  “Plenty of time between when you took out that little wailer and when I fired the cannon for you to climb down,” he said, a fuming intensity behind the words.

  “I got excited, Cap’n. Ain’t never hit a pilot to take one of them down.”

  “What’s bein’ excited got to do with it?!” Mack snapped.

  Lil flinched. “I was doin’ a little jig, Cap’n.”

  He slammed the table. “On the envelope? Durin’ a fight? Just because I ain’t never had a finer rigging-runner than you doesn’t mean you can’t pay gravity no mind!”

  Coop snickered.

  “And you!” Mack thundered over to him. “What did I tell you to do?”

  “Take out the guns, Cap’n,” Coop said.

  “Did I tell you to shoot at the powder keg on the deck?”

  “No, Cap’n. But I did take out the guns, on account of the fact that I took out the whole rest of the ship.”

  Mack narrowed his eyes. “You see me smilin’, Coop?”

  “No, Cap’n.”

  “Then don’t make like we’re jokin’ around.”

  “With all due respect, Captain,” Nita said, “for the ship to blow up as thoroughly as it did from just that one shot, it must have been packed with explosives. It was a wonder the ship hadn’t exploded after the first cannon shot.”

  “Ms. Graus, you’re darn near the only one on the deck today who didn’t botch somethin’. I don’t need you talkin’ extenuatin’ circumstances. I told Coop to take out the guns, he got fancy, and the ship went down before we were ready for it. This ain’t a game. This ain’t us just fendin’ off an attack or keepin’ ourselves alive. We’re on the offensive. And we got things what need doin’. If this Tusk fellow is half of what people say he is, we ain’t liable to get two shots at him. We’ll be lucky if we get one. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and watch us blow our one shot at puttin’ down a man who needs puttin’ down because one of my crew didn’t listen to good sense!”

  Mack stalked to the doorway. “We’re walkin’ a knife edge,” he said. “Ain’t no room for missteps. You all seen your share of battles, but ain’t none of you seen what a proper war can be. Me and Glinda seen it. Gunner’s had a taste. You all got good heads on your shoulders, but they won’t be there for long if you hear me give an order and you start hemmin’ and hawin’ about listenin’ to your cap’n or your gut. Understood?!”

  “Aye,” came the unanimous response.

  Mack released a hissing breath, as though he was venting the last of the pressure that had been spewing out of him for the last few minutes. “Now that you been chewed out good and proper, what’d we get out of this? Anyone notice anything?”

  “The, uh… the ship was pert near packed with black powder and other suchlike,” Coop sheepishly observed.

  “We been through that, Coop,” the captain rumbled.

  “Must’ve been fresh off a raid, though, Cap’n,” Lil added.

  “True enough. And most folks ain’t been foolish enough to run somethin’ as useful as explosive through these parts. That’s somethin’.”

  “Might’ve been busted goods, though. Anyone else get a load of them spikes that hit us?” Lil continued.

  “They were awfully flimsy,” Nita observed.

  “I’ll said,” Lil said. “The ones they hit the envelope with barely left a scratch. There ain’t but three spots need patchin’. And whoever made ’em did a lousy job of cleanin’ ’em up after. All sorts of gunk stuck to the deck wherever they hit.”

  “Wasn’t nothin’ wrong with them explosives, though,” Coop said.

  “No… And the way they missed with the main cannon, aimin’ high at that distance. Remember when we first swapped in Dr. Prist’s new blend of powder? I missed a few shots the same way. More punch than I was used to.”

  “Stronger powder but weaker ammunition. It sounds like the wailers got their hands on something on its way from or to a proving grounds.”

  Mack considered this. “Could be somethin’, could be nothing. And ain’t no way we’ll know for sure, since Coop took down the ship. And we might’ve got off light on the damage, but I don’t want us going’ toe to toe with who we’re really after when we ain’t fully equipped and in good repair. So get your fresh air now, we’re dippin’ down, shakin’ anyone who might be spyin’, and headin’ to Ichor Well to refuel.”

  The captain stalked from the galley. Nita and the rest of the crew released sighs of relief. Coop leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

  “Cap’n may have some good points, but that was a dang good shot,” he said.

  Chapter 4

  The Wind Breaker’s five turbines spun down as the mooring lines pulled taut. Traveling to the Ichor Well was more complex than most ports of call. The route had been circuitous, requiring the better part of three days to reach it, and most of that travel was beneath the fug.

  “Cap’n?” Coop called, giving the mooring line a final tug. “I been wonderin’ somethin’ about the roundabout way you been takin’ to get down here.”

  “We been through this, Coop,” the captain grumbled, snapping his fingers.

  Wink scurried down the rigging and crawled onto his shoulder.

  “Sure, Cap’n, but… sometimes things don’t sink into the ol’ noggin’ unless they been through it a few times.”

  “We can’t afford to lead anyone else to Ichor Well. That’s why we don’t come here direct.”

  “Well sure, Cap’n. This bein’ the only place a ship’s liable to load up on phlogiston and burn-slow if they’re on the bad side of the fuggers, it’d be real problem if it got roughed up… but don’t folks already know about it?”

  “Alabaster knows about it, and he’s out of our hair.”

  “But if there was one thing he was good for, it was runnin’ his mouth. I reckon half the underbelly of the fug knows about this place. And the fug bein’ low as it is, the underbelly’s gotta be darn near the dirtiest bunch around.”

  “The folks who’ve come here lookin’ to take this place have been le
arnin’ the hard way that it won’t be easy. I reckon that’s why we ain’t seen much of ’em of late. And the heavy hitters know enough not to attack, because if someone puts a lick of fire in the wrong place, this whole well goes up and we all got more problems than we can handle.”

  “… Then why we got to—”

  “We’re doin’ it this way because I said so, Coop. Or ain’t you up to followin’ orders anymore?”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Coop said quickly. “I got it now.”

  “Good. Let’s see how long it’ll stick.” He found his way to a speaking tube. “Lil! Nita! You stay back and give the ship the once-over. Get the Well Diggers started on loading it back up. Then head on down and meet us all in Prist’s lab. Everyone else, head there direct.”

  “Sure thing, Cap’n!” Lil said in return.

  Captain Mack and Coop descended through the ship until he got to the gig room. For most of the Wind Breaker’s life, this room had been little more than the drafty place where they stored the heftier cargo and loaded and unloaded. The gig itself was held to the belly of the ship via a complex steam-powered winch, and the crew hatch with its rope ladder led down beside it. Ever since Nita had joined the crew, the gig room had been slowly changing. Space was at a premium in the ship, so she’d claimed one corner of the gig room as her personal quarters. From that day, the overall tone of the room had shifted. Little items from Caldera decorated the struts and walls. Sheer curtains strung from wall to wall gave her bunk a bit of privacy. Everything within eye-shot of the bunk was also repaired and maintained to within an inch of its life. Pipes gleamed, wood was stained and polished. As the single member of the crew who intuitively understood how all of the different mechanisms worked, she certainly found plenty of time to spiff things up.

  Lately things had taken a more chaotic swing. A second bunk was slung beside hers, and a good deal of Lil’s things had found their way onto the walls, struts, and shelves as well. The combination of Westrim and Calderan decorations was distinctive to say the least. Seeing what they’d made of the gig room rubbed Mack’s navy training a bit raw, but the crew had discipline when and where it mattered, and the storage space they’d lost to Nita’s quarters they’d more than made up elsewhere thanks to her steady improvements of the boiler and other systems of the ship. If the cost of that was some hand-painted seashells and the occasional dress hanging to dry, it was a bargain.

  He stepped stiffly into the gig. Coop pulled the lever, and the sturdy boat—which was a good deal newer than the rest of the ship thanks to having to be replaced for some extremely diverse reasons over the years—began to lower like a personal lift. Coop stopped it when it reached the ground, then slid down the chain to join the captain.

  Mack gazed about. Whereas the Wind Breaker had undergone an evolution under the careful designs of Nita, Ichor Well’s change from month to month was downright revolutionary. When they’d found it, it had been a faintly glowing pit filled with the surpassingly valuable substance called “ichor.” Now it was equal parts factory town and fortress. A small but dedicated staff of fug folk hustled and bustled around them. Most of the workers were the taller, heartier breed of fug folk known semiaffectionately as “grunts.” It was true that they lacked the fiendish brilliance that so often defined the aristocratic population of Fugtown—the only fug folk who had regular contact with the surface. But they made up for it in raw strength. Coupling that with the fact that more than a few of them had been given just as raw a deal from the other fug folk as the surface dwellers, and they made for valuable allies.

  “You get Tusk yet?” called a particularly formidable grunt wrenching at a malfunctioning winch.

  “Not yet, Donald. Anyone come knockin’ while we were gone?” Mack called back.

  “Not a peep from the usuals. I’m startin’ to fink those gents forgot our address.”

  “Just as well,” Mack said.

  Gunner caught up to them, eyes scanning the walls. “The fléchette guns are coming along nicely,” he said, eyeing the large mounted steam cannons lining the wall that surrounded the well. “It won’t be long before this place will be able to turn away anything short of a fleet. Or another dreadnought.”

  “Mmm…” Mack grunted.

  “I wonder if you’ve given any additional thought to the further armaments I’ve suggested for the Wind Breaker,” Gunner said.

  “It depends. They get any less cobbled together?”

  “Captain, with all due respect, at one point or another, every weapon we rely upon today was an untested bit of tinkering.”

  “That’s fine. So long as I ain’t the one testin’ it. A life-or-death battle ain’t no place to be crossin’ your fingers about which way a gun’s liable to fire. If we’re loading up more guns and cannons, we ain’t loading up anything the fuggers wouldn’t be usin’ against us.”

  “Aye, Captain. But—”

  “Bein’ the cap’n means I don’t have to wait around to hear the buts. Inside, talk to Prist.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Gunner quickened his pace irritably to approach a squat, sturdily-built structure ahead. It looked like it had been built to withstand a bomb blast from both inside and out. The dense black smoke rising from its chimney mixed here and there with wisps of bright blue and green mist. Shutter-covered windows flickered with multicolored light. Gunner seemed to almost have a bounce to his step as he slipped through the door.

  “I don’t know, Cap’n,” Coop said, gazing at a fresh plume of colorful smoke as it rose from the chimney. “I ain’t so sure it’s safe lettin’ them two work together. Gunner and Prist monkeyin’ around with all the doodads and whatnot the fuggers’ve made is a little like lettin’ a fox loose in the henhouse. ’Cept a fox ain’t quite as likely to blow the henhouse sky high.”

  “There’s two ways to get a gadget that’ll solve all your problems. The first is to find someone who dreams about that sort of thing every night and give ’em everything they need to tinker with it. The other is to wait around for someone like that to make a mistake. Between Prist and Gunner, we got both covered.”

  “Kinda makes you wonder how many folks invented the bomb before one of ’em lived long enough to tell folks about it,” Coop mused.

  #

  Nita paced through the claustrophobic halls of the ship, her eyes flitting from this pipe joint to that. Technically, this was a job meant for Wink. The aye-ayes were generally known as inspectors for a reason. They existed to survey the ship, inside and out, and identify things in need of repair. They had other more nefarious tasks as well, but both Wink and Nikita had been persuaded to set those duties aside. For Nita, keeping an eye on the workings of the ship wasn’t a chore, it was an opportunity. There was nothing quite so satisfying as finding a way to tune up the steam system of the ship just a bit better. The Wind Breaker was her masterpiece, after all. And unlike the sculptures and paintings that her family back home devoted their lives to, the ship couldn’t simply be beautiful, it had to run beautifully as well.

  Lil appeared from around a corner. “You find anything that needs tightenin’, darlin’?” Her perpetual grin, visible in her eyes despite the masks she and Nita had to wear here in the fug, widened a bit at the sight of Nita.

  “I don’t like the look of the feeder hose running from manifold three to the turbine distribution,” Nita said.

  Lil tipped her head. “So that’s the red whatsit that hooks up from the brass thingamajig with the funny lookin’ knob to the thing that looks like a bunch of metal cigars up by the head?”

  Nita smirked. “That’s right. Though your terminology could use some work.”

  She shrugged. “So long as you know what I mean and I know what I mean. We got some more of them red whatsits? Want I should swap it out?”

  “No. It think it will be fine for a few more trips.”

  “Sure thing. Let’s get up and check the envelope right quick so we can get down and visit with the Well Diggers. Last I checked, Kent said h
e found some of them chocolates I like in exchange for that bonnet that was too big for me.”

  Nita furrowed her brow. “What does Kent want with a bonnet?”

  “It’s fresh from Caldera, and he reckons his sweetheart’ll just be tickled to get it.”

  “It isn’t really the right color to accompany the dark hair and light complexion of—”

  “You think Kent gives two shakes about if the color is or ain’t right? Folks down here are used to takin’ what they can get. Come to think of it, folks up there are used to takin’ what they can get. Most everyone but you Calderans learned a while back it don’t pay to be too choosy.”

  “Even so. I think I’ve got some blue ribbon left. A nice blue bow will make it suit her, I think.”

  Lil smiled wider. “I reckon you tie a nice bow on it and Kent’ll be willing to throw in a bottle of that fancy brandy they got down here.”

  They climbed to the main deck. Lil hauled herself into the rigging as easily as she climbed the stairs, swinging and dangling this way and that as she navigated the complex network of ropes. Nita moved with a bit less speed, but no less certainty. Having had to repair this ship on the fly while under fire, climbing the rigging while it was moored was like a walk in the park.

  The pair rounded the curve of the ship’s envelope on either side and looked over each of the five turbines along the way.

  “Nita! Little help?” Lil called, her voice echoing strangely.

  The engineer finished inspecting the center turbine, then joined Lil. She’d practically crammed herself into the still-warm workings of the first starboard turbine, such that she was nothing but a pair of dangling legs sticking out.

  “Lil, you know you don’t have to crawl inside the turbine to inspect it.”

  “I thought I saw somethin’,” she called from within the turbine. “Give my legs a pull, would you?”

  Nita grabbed hold of the oversized hand-me-down boots of her fellow crewmember and gave a tug. “Boy, you’ve really got yourself wedged,” she said.

  “Just give a yank; it’s hot in here!”