Cipher Hill

by Joseph R. Lallo

  Before Digger could ask what the deckhand had in mind, Coop had pulled his knife from his belt and leaped off the rooftop. He plunged the knife into the envelope when he struck. The material was too thick and tough for him to completely pierce it, but a long, jagged rip through the first layer opened as he slid down. When he finally came to a stop, he grabbed the rigging and slid to the deck.

  There were three men aboard, all of them armed, but rare is the man who is prepared for the sudden appearance of an angry Cooper while in flight. A swift swipe of his knife sent the first crewman to the deck. Two quick shots from the fallen crewman’s gun ended the other two.

  Coop rushed to the wheel and kicked the former helmsman aside. The second ship attempted to slip by. Coop took the wheel and spun it aside. In a chorus of creaking metal, tearing cloth, and splintering wood, the two ships struck. Spinning propellers tore envelopes to pieces. He dropped down into the hatch leading to the lower decks of the ship and braced himself against the buckling walls. A pipe dislodged and thumped against his temple. He shook his head and tried to focus his eyes as the grinding smash of two ships dropping a short distance to the ground happened around him. The ship lurched sideways and came to a sudden stop, no doubt striking one of the other buildings.

  When all was still enough to risk it, he climbed to the shattered remnants of the deck. Blood trickled from his temple, but he’d taken enough blows to the head to know this wasn’t anything to worry about. Far ahead, at the end of its rails, the gantry’s spinning turret slung its hook onto the deck of the rising dreadnought. The winch drew taut, and the dreadnought came to a stop, tethered to the ground by one of the very machines that had built it.

  Coop smiled as he saw the dashing form of a squarrel dart out onto the line, racing toward the dreadnought.

  “Atta girl, Lil. Atta girl.”

  #

  Lil held tight. Her steed navigated the taut crane line as though it were on flat ground. Ahead, the skeleton crew of the dreadnought gathered around the splintered wooden decking where the hurled claw had been embedded. The massive, straining engines threatened to rattle the deck to pieces. That shaking was likely the only reason Lil hadn’t been killed, as every one of the fug men had rifles ready and were firing madly.

  They were just yards from the end of the line when one of the attacks finally met its mark. The squarrel squealed and faltered. It attempted to turn to flee back down the line, but presenting its broad side to the gunners proved a fatal mistake. It took two more shots and slipped from the line. Lil barely managed to catch the line as her squarrel fell away.

  Bullets whistled by her as she dangled from the shaking, creaking line. Her wild eyes darted about. There was no way she could reach the ship without being shot, and even less chance that she could reach the boom arm again.

  Her eyes turned to the line. Aside from the thick cable affixed to the claw, there was a bundle of tubing that operated the claw. When a bullet hissed near enough to tousle her hair, Lil knew she was out of time. She grabbed tight to the tubing, drew the machete from her belt, and sliced the tube.

  Pressurized oil sprayed everywhere. The tubing, and Lil with it, fell away from the line. When the slack between Lil and the claw pulled tight, her fall turned into a swing. She struck the hull of the dreadnought two decks below where the claw was embedded.

  Lil dangled and flailed, kicking at the thick glass of an oversized porthole. Her hand was slipping on the oily tubing. Without the pressure from the hydraulic line, the claw’s grip was slipping. She dropped her machete and drew a pistol. A quick blast shattered the window. She swung wide and launched herself through the opening. A heartbeat later the disabled claw pulled free. It plummeted past the porthole.

  Boots echoed through the tight corridors. The crew was rushing down from the main deck to find her. Lil spared a moment to look out the broken window to the ground below.

  “They done killed my critter.” She reloaded her pistol. “As if I didn’t have reason enough to teach ’em a lesson. But I reckon a shootout ain’t likely to go my way. And it’d do more good to take the whole ship down, regardless.”

  She dashed along the corridor until she came to a hatch leading down. A freshly installed sign of embossed brass identified the decks by purpose. Two decks down was engineering. She grinned.

  “I ain’t half as good as Nita at keepin’ a boiler runnin’. But I reckon I’m just as good at blowin’ one sky high.”

  She slid down the ladder and dashed through the halls as fast as she could. The thump and rattle of gunfire filled her ears, and every few moments the ship shuddered and rattled enough to nearly knock her from her feet. In the back of her mind, a nagging voice reminded her that she was planning to destroy the ship she was in, and she hadn’t even the beginning of a plan to escape with her life. She ignored it. One problem at a time.

  Lil turned a corner and saw the boiler room dead ahead. Already she was working out her complex, nuanced plan to disable the ship: turn every valve to full and shoot holes in anything that looked important.

  She didn’t lose a step as she entered the boiler room. The engineer was notably absent, no doubt called to the main deck to help defend the ship. Even better. She dashed for the control panel and made ready to spin valves at random until something gave. As her hand touched the first control, she felt the cold muzzle of a pistol press to the side of her head. She tried to take aim with her own weapon, but a hand caught her wrist and wedged it painfully behind her back.

  “It was a wise decision coming down here, Ms. Cooper,” Tusk muttered in her ear. “It was the only way you could have hoped to bring down the dreadnought. But the trouble with there being one correct decision is that everyone knows you are going to make it.”

  “Let go!” she barked, struggling in his grip.

  He clicked back the hammer of his revolver.

  “Do be careful, Ms. Cooper. I have plans for you, and they would be spoiled if I had to pull this trigger prematurely.”

  “This ain’t gonna work out for you! The rest of the crew will take you down whether you got me or you don’t.”

  “We shall see. We shall see.”

  Chapter 14

  Mack spun the wheel of the increasingly unresponsive Wind Breaker. Despite the best efforts of Wink and Nikita, the turbines were mired with the abrasive paste that Tusk had designed specifically to disable them.

  “I am running out of intact targets, Captain,” Gunner said. “Which is just as well, as I’m also running out of ammunition.”

  The captain swept his eyes across the facility below. Crackling flames and venting steam roiled from every building. The ships that hadn’t taken to the air to combat them were now shredded, ruined hulks on the ground. The place was all but in ruins. Their job was nearly complete. But there were three things left to be done.

  “I count two dreadnoughts, each of ’em still more or less in one piece. And we ain’t found Tusk.”

  “Attention…”

  The single word was spoken, not shouted. The voice was calm, even cold. But it still split the air and echoed off the nearby mountains, amplified and distorted by some manner of loudspeaker system aboard the airborne dreadnought.

  “Wind Breaker crew, and allies thereof. I entreat you to direct your attention to the main deck of this ship, just below the first of the secondary envelopes.”

  Mack raised his spyglass. Gunner raised his rifle and peered through the sight.

  “No…” Mack rumbled.

  “What is it?” Prist asked, wiping the rain from her eyes and dashing to Gunner’s side.

  “Someone’s got Lil,” Gunner said.

  Tusk’s voice echoed forth again. “Thus far, your greatest strength—with the possible exception of your more-than-evident fearlessness—has been your devotion to one another. The lives of all have been risked on behalf of one or two of your crew on more than one occasion. I have a member of your crew here. And she shall not leave my side until I am comfortable that my dem
ands have been met.”

  “You got him in your sights, Gunner?” Mack asked.

  “It’s no good, Captain,” Gunner said. “Ship to ship, in this weather, I can’t be sure I won’t hit Lil. I need something steadier.”

  Tusk continued. “I gave you the benefit of a great many doubts, Wind Breaker crew. I estimated you to be foes every bit the equal of the titans of history that I have faced, and bested, before you. But somehow I still managed to underestimate you. Impressive. Listen carefully. I shall take this ship to Fugtown. Upon my safe arrival there, I shall deliver Lil, entirely unharmed, to Mayor Ebonwhite. I don’t imagine he will be as gentle with her as I have been. By the time you extricate her from his grasp, I shall be gone, and you may rest assured, I am through butting heads with you. My long-term plans are in shambles. It will take all of my time and remaining resources to salvage what remains of them. Rim is safe from my workings for the foreseeable future. Well done. Consider this a truce. I shall focus my attentions to within the fug from now on. There is plenty left to conquer even among my own people.”

  Mack’s one good hand danced across the controls, but the Wind Breaker was all but disabled.

  “We’re through here. I’ve got to take her down,” he said.

  “You can’t let him get away, Captain,” Gunner said. “There is no way Lil will survive.”

  “It ain’t my decision. Wind Breaker’s given all she can give. Until Nita can whomp some life back into her with them wrenches of hers, we ain’t doin’ nothin’ in this ship.”

  “But Lil!” Gunner growled.

  “This ain’t turnin’ out but one way, Gunner. While he’s got Lil, we ain’t givin’ up until she’s safe and he’s dead. If he kills her, we still ain’t givin’ up until he’s dead. Pack up everything you’ve got left and be ready to haul it to another ship. We done a thorough job of tearing this place up, but there’s got to be one ship that’s still together enough to give chase.”

  “Aye, Captain…”

  #

  Nita’s hands were shaking as she pulled the lever to lower the crane beneath the gantry to the ground. She’d heard every word Tusk had said, and from her lofty vantage she could see the Wind Breaker setting down in the courtyard she’d launched the ship at earlier. Unless someone did something quickly, Tusk’s dreadnought would disappear into the inky void, and, very likely, she would never see Lil again.

  The crane’s hook clanked to the ground. She ran to the grating below and kicked it loose, then climbed through to the workings of the crane. Once she reached the cable, she slid down as quickly as she dared. She hit the ground running and rushed for the Wind Breaker. It made a heartbreaking crunch as its hull—never meant to touch the ground—scraped to a stop across the courtyard. All five turbines were squealing and grinding.

  She reached the Wind Breaker as it rumbled to a rest. Steam vented from deep inside. Whoever was running the boiler had pulled the main exhaust, shutting the whole system down for fear of it damaging itself further. The crew hatch and gig hatch were on the belly of the ship, inaccessible now that it had landed, but Gunner tossed a rope ladder over the side.

  “We’ve got to get after them, Captain!” Nita cried as he painfully navigated the ladder.

  “I mean to. But we need to gather everyone up and find ourselves a ship to do it.”

  Gunner followed, so heavily strapped with weapons it was a wonder he could move.

  “We are down to the dregs of our weapons. A few hundred standard rounds, some fléchette belts, and the bits and pieces of Prist’s formulations that we can’t be certain will work the way we want them to.” He dropped down the last few rungs and shed the weapons, then reached up to help Prist down after him.

  Coop, Digger, and the grunts filtered out of the torn-up surroundings, converging on the grounded Wind Breaker. Though there was still the crackle of burning wreckage and the whistle of escaping steam, most of the crew had been killed or retreated. The “air support” that had not been shot down was gathering up the survivors, the false call for evacuation suddenly having become a genuine one. Even the squarrel-riders had beaten a hasty retreat, having either stolen their fill or decided to return when the bullets were through flying.

  “Seems we ain’t got an airworthy ship between us,” he muttered. Mack raised his voice and addressed his crew as a whole. “Listen up. You all heard what I heard, I’m sure.”

  “You’re damn right. I’m gettin’ pretty sick of these fugger scum grabbin’ my sister,” Coop barked. He glanced at the grunts. “No offense,” he added.

  “Tusk’s pretty scummy, I fink,” Donald conceded.

  Mack continued. “You all already did more than I could have hoped. I’m fresh out of tricks myself. So if anybody’s got any thoughts, now’s the time to share ’em. First thing’s first, we need a ship. After that, we need a plan for takin’ out our second dreadnought.”

  Gunner looked to Prist. “I believe, if luck is with us, some of the more… optimistic formulations may be able to do appreciable damage to the dreadnought.”

  “Then we just need to get to it.”

  Nita and Mack gazed across the courtyard at the debris and remnants of dozens of airships. As their eyes settled on something near the southern wall, the same thought struck both of them at the same moment.

  “You reckon you can get it off the ground?” the captain said.

  “Do you think you can fly it?” Nita said.

  Neither needed to answer. They both knew.

  “All right, all. Keep your eyes peeled for stragglers, and give Nita every hand you can spare. The quicker we do this, the sooner we’re on Lil’s tail.”

  #

  Lil struggled against her bonds. Once the dreadnought had left weapons range of the facility, Tusk and the crew had taken no chances with her. She was practically cocooned in ropes and secured to a chair in one of the crew quarters. The chair itself had further been affixed to the bunk after she’d successfully upended it three times. The only parts of her with full freedom of movement were her feet and her head. Despite the dreadnought running with a fraction of the intended crew, a fug person stood at the door, pistol in hand, watching Lil as she struggled against the bonds. Thanks to her need for the filter mask to breathe, they’d been unable to gag her. She’d been taking full advantage.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Lil taunted between grunts. “Keep watchin’. Any minute now I’ll bust free of these ropes and bury a boot in your head.” She wiggled her foot. “You see that? That’s a hand-me-down from Coop. These boots have thumped more ornery fuggers than you’ve even met.”

  “Be quiet,” the guard barked.

  “Or what? You ain’t gonna do nothin’ to me. Even tied up, I’m more soldier than you are, and I ain’t even a soldier. You’re soft! Look at his room! It’s five times the size of my old bunk back on the Wind Breaker. You ain’t never had to know what it was like to be a real sailor.”

  The guard took a step closer. “I said quiet!”

  “I’ll knock your block off! Two more steps and you’ll be on the ground. You’re talkin’ to the lady that escaped from Skykeep, remember? Ain’t no ropes gonna hold me!” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Used to be I couldn’t tell you folk apart, but now a bunch of my friends are fuggers. Mark my words, I’m gonna remember your face, and when I get loose, I’m gonna rearrange it good and proper.”

  “I won’t warn you again!”

  “That’s right you won’t, because you’re too chicken to come over here and put your money where your mouth is.”

  The fugger stepped up to her and delivered a punishing backhand. Her head snapped aside, then slowly turned back. Blood trickled from a gashed brow. She smiled behind her mask.

  “Somebody must’ve left a window open. I’m pretty sure I felt a breeze just now,” she said.

  He reared back for another blow. She twisted the toes of her boots together, trapping his ankle. Considering how often she’d had to secure herself to the rigging using on
ly her feet, Lil’s ankles were strong as steel, and their clutch was enough to throw the guard off balance. He stumbled forward, and Lil met him with a well-timed head butt. He crumpled aside and hit the ground.

  “Hah!” she said. “Down like a sack of spuds. Told you you were soft.”

  “Really, Ms. Cooper.”

  She glanced to the doorway. Tusk was standing there.

  “How precisely did you manage to do that?”

  “Come over here and I’ll show you.”

  Tusk leaned into the hall. “Someone come here and fetch Mendrews. He’s had an accident.”

  While he waited for someone to aid the fallen guard, Tusk pulled a small tool kit from his pocket. He approached and held tight to Lil’s mask. For once, she dared not struggle, lest it be pulled free. A tool scraped and prodded at the mask, too close for her to focus upon it.

  “Tell me,” Tusk said, speaking casually as he worked. “What did you intend to achieve in knocking that man unconscious?”

  “Who says I was plannin’ somethin’? Fella deserved to get clobbered and he got clobbered. End of story.”

  A second crewman arrived and quietly gathered up the guard.

  “If he wakes up and he’s still spoilin’ for a fight, you send him back here for a second helping!” she cried after him.

  Tusk finished his work, leaned back, and stared at her.

  “What’d you do to this thing?” Lil demanded.

  “Behave yourself and you won’t have to find out.” He stowed the tools. “You know, I’ve been keeping a close eye on you and your crew.”

  “Spyin’ on young ladies, eh? Just what I’d expect from your sort.”

  Tusk continued as though she’d not spoken.

  “There is a great deal to be learned from the tactics and behaviors of successful crews, friendly or otherwise. But the success of the Wind Breaker is, frankly, impossible to replicate. You seem to be defined by the ignorance of your own limitations. You should be dead a dozen times over. You should have retreated in disgrace from every fight you’ve fought since you first crossed paths with Ebonwhite.”