Cipher Hill

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “All your jawin’ is doing a better job of puttin’ me to sleep than your man’s slap to the face.”

  Tusk’s jaw tightened. “He struck you?”

  “Right before I cleaned his clock.”

  “That is entirely unacceptable.”

  “Oh, well ain’t you just the most noble fella under the fug. You’re the one who had a gun to my head a couple hours ago.”

  “It was necessary to ensure my safety. There was nothing to be gained from striking you while you were restrained.” He crossed his arms. “But what is done is done. You punished that transgression personally.”

  “And just wait’ll you see what I got in store for you.”

  “I have questions, Ms. Cooper. If you answer them, and honestly, I shall see that you receive better treatment from this point forward.”

  “Don’t do me any favors. And don’t go pretendin’ you ain’t nothin’ but a kitten when all it takes is one look to know you’re a snake. We know all about what you done in your years. There’s all them stories of way back when. You fightin’ what’s his face, the admiral. And folks say you’re to blame for the sorry state of things up top.”

  “I took certain necessary steps to establish a position of superiority for my people despite our inferior numbers.”

  “You know how many folks can’t hardly survive up there thanks to them necessary steps? And how do you explain tryin’ to start a war with the Calderans usin’ our ship?”

  “Another necessary step. This time to maintain superiority. And, as you have no doubt surmised, to add to my wealth as the primary supplier of the weapons of war.” He shut his eyes and took a breath. “It is rather distressing the damage you’ve done to my facility. But a single dreadnought was more than sufficient to keep the people of Rim in line in the past. I shall use this one to do the same until I can establish a new center of power.”

  “Keep talkin’,” Lil said. “It’ll be real handy to know the whole plan once my crew shows up and gets me.”

  “This isn’t the plan. I haven’t been idle while you have been putting together this assault, you know. Things have been, and are, in motion. And I shan’t discuss what’s been done. Back to the point at hand. Your captain seems the pragmatic type. Surely if I were to leave him alone, he would afford me the same courtesy. He and Ebonwhite seem to have reached something of a truce.”

  “You got the cap’n good and riled, Tusk. And even if you didn’t, my brother ain’t reasonable like Cap’n Mack is. He’ll come runnin’ in and plug every last fugger on this ship. Don’t even get me started on what Nita’ll do to you. She might seem all fancy-like, but she’s real good at workin’ things out, and she ain’t shy about doin’ what needs doin’.”

  “Bluster all you like, if it will help you keep your courage up. You achieved something I never would have imagined possible, but you are out of miracles.” He stood. “Close your eyes and listen.”

  “I’ll listen with my eyes open, thank you very much.”

  “Do you feel the ship rolling? Do you feel even the slightest bump? Do you hear the patter of rain? No. It is storming out, worse than I’ve seen in some time, but this ship is a massive working of fug ingenuity. It is too large to feel even the worst that nature can hurl at it. It took a pounding, the best you and your ship could offer during that assault, and still it is more potent than anything you could hope to build on your own. Such is the nature of my own plans and designs. Yes, you have fouled matters. I shall have to start over, and I shall have to reassert myself as a figure far too dangerous to challenge, but I shall succeed. All you have done is made it necessary to spill the blood of hundreds, thousands who might have otherwise been allowed to live their desperate but peaceful lives.”

  Thunder rumbled. Then came a second booming sound, quieter but sharper. A moment later, wood crunched and voices roared. Tusk looked aside, face stern. Voices came over the ship’s speaking tubes.

  “All hands! We are under attack!” a crewman cried.

  Lil looked triumphantly to Tusk. “Seems like someone’s takin’ a run at another miracle,” she said.

  “No,” Tusk replied. “This is a final, desperate flail before you fall still. You are finished. You just haven’t had the sense to realize it.”

  “That’s the Wind Breaker crew. We ain’t never had no kind of sense.”

  #

  Tusk rushed to the main deck. Ten crewmen were attempting to tend to the needs of a ship the size of a small town. Wind scoured his face with pounding rain, but he squinted into the distance to the west. Darkness, made darker by the layer of fug, should have made it difficult enough to spot a following ship. The terrible weather should have made it impossible. But this ship, there was no mistaking.

  It was the second dreadnought.

  One of the forward cannons flashed. Its report rolled through the air. A cannonball produced a small rupture in one of the secondary envelopes. Not enough to ground the ship, but enough to send a fresh plume of phlogiston into the air and make them all the more visible. Tusk stalked over to the de facto captain.

  “How did they catch up to us?” he demanded.

  “Our propellers took considerable damage before we left the facility.”

  “And how did they find us. I told them we were headed to Fugtown. That is west. They should have been heading in the wrong direction.”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “What is the status of our armaments?”

  “Ship-to-ship cannons are almost fully equipped, but deck guns are running low on fléchettes.”

  Tusk wiped his face and gazed at the trailing ship. “Just as well. Deck guns will be of little use against that thing. Do we have any of the abrasive payloads?”

  “No, sir. They were loaded into smaller craft.”

  The second dreadnought fired again. This time the cannonball whistled by without hitting.

  “Same cannon,” Tusk observed. “No doubt they are running that ship even leaner than we are. And the equipment will be unfamiliar. We can use that advantage. If I recall correctly, you can navigate this ship with… three people, yes? And there are secondary stations for all major functions?”

  “We can navigate with three at minimum, sir, but for evasive—” the captain began.

  “Never mind evasion. They’re in better repair than us, we won’t be able to evade them. More to the point, they won’t try to destroy us utterly. We still have a member of their crew, and they’ve shown a pronounced unwillingness to sacrifice their own. Focus on attack. In fact, shift all available men to aft cannons. Focus on damaging the propellers. We simply need to get over a defended port and send word to…”

  Tusk trailed off. He looked to the rigging overhead. “Is this ship equipped with an inspector?”

  “Three of them, sir.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Where are they housed?”

  “The top of the main and secondary envelopes. Why?”

  “Because that’s how they found us. Do we have a communications officer aboard? Or perhaps a caretaker for the inspectors?”

  “No, sir.”

  Another cannon blast from the trailing dreadnought splintered the railing. Tusk’s own ship returned fire. Distantly, a plume of phlogiston curled forth from the scar it opened on the main envelope.

  “I’ll see to the inspectors. Keep those cannons blazing until they are near enough for crew to be visible on the deck, then shift one man to deck guns and try to kill crew. More than one or two losses and they won’t be able to operate it any longer. And get someone working on preparing the secondary navigation.”

  Tusk turned to the rigging and found a rope ladder. “One must never be frightened to get one’s hands dirty.”

  #

  Mack stood at the controls of the trailing dreadnought. Despite the unfamiliarity of the device, he looked like he had been born flying such a vessel. The fingers of his one good hand danced across switches and valves. It was an unwieldy vessel, more like flying a city than a
ship. But under his control it was like an extension of his body. And every bit of urgency and fury wove its way into its scything blades and rumbling boiler. It was as though the ship was a beast, finally set to the task it had been born to perform.

  “What’s takin’ so dang long on them cannons?” barked Mack as he spun valves to tease out a bit more speed.

  After a few seconds, Coop’s winded voice gasped out of the speaking tube.

  “Ship’s too big for this, Cap’n!” he said. “I may as well be headin’ to the corner store for how long it takes me to get from cannon one to cannon two. First ship I was ever on where a fella could get lost lookin’ for a porthole.”

  “When you get to cannon two, stay there then. I’ll keep that one aimed,” Mack said.

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Coop said.

  Gunner dashed up to the helm beside Mack. It was roughly central to the main deck and thus the logical place to store the ammunition. He snatched boxes of rifle rounds and explosive charges and stuffed his pockets.

  “Captain, if we rely on a single cannon, you’ll be hamstrung with regard to how to evade attack and—” Gunner began.

  “Ain’t my first day at this, Gunner. Can’t be helped. Unless you can do something to slow that ship, my hands are tied.”

  “Not at this range, Captain.”

  “Then quit pickin’ nits and get in position for when we are in range.” Mack glanced up. Nikita was huddled in the rigging above the ship’s wheel. “Any word?” he called to the little creature.

  Nikita drummed out her answer. Too much rain. And Wink said no more taps from others.

  “Figures they’d wise up,” Mack said.

  “Captain! Guy!” called Prist. Though her voice came over the speaking tubes, the whistle of wind suggested she was somewhere on the main or secondary deck. “I found something we may be able to use!”

  “See to it, Gunner. But if we hit range for one of your toys before you can make it work, don’t dillydally.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Gunner said.

  #

  Gunner slid to Prist’s side. She was tugging at a canvas covering on a piece of machinery in the center of the deck.

  “What have you got, Samantha?” he said. “Time is short.”

  “Look at the size of this bore!” she said, excitement in her voice.

  He rushed to where she’d indicated. While the rest of the mechanism was still covered with straps and canvas, smelling of oil and fresh from the factory, Prist had uncovered the end of a barrel. If the rest of the gun was to scale, this cannon was nearly the size of one of the perimeter cannons that kept Caldera safe. A small plate near the base labeled it Broadside C-1.

  “I don’t have the eye for it that you do, but it seems that is quite near the size of the portable cannon we sized all of the experimental charges for,” she said.

  He held his fist to the bore. “Not close enough,” he said.

  “But you can cobble together one of those things you use. For making it larger, yes?” Prist said.

  “A sabot?” he said, the beginning of a grin curling his lips. “Are you suggesting we improvise an untested weapon to fire an untested weapon, in the heat of combat? That isn’t terribly scientific or precise.”

  “What can I say? You are a terrible influence on me.”

  She finally dislodged the main strap and revealed the cannon in all of its glory. Gunner’s eyes widened, and his mouth practically watered. His eyes darted to Tusk’s dreadnought, then to the cannon. There was a mechanism for aiming it, but it offered only a few degrees left or right. The designers clearly intended it to be used by positioning the ship and simply adjusting the angle for distance. He drew a knife from his belt and handed it to Prist.

  “Slice this canvas up. Strips as wide as the charges and enough for three layers of wrapping,” he said. He dashed to the nearest speaking tube. “Captain! Turn us to port. Put us broadside!”

  “We’ll be begging to be battered with their cannons if we do,” Mack said.

  “There’s a middeck cannon that can put some of Samantha’s charges on target at this distance, I’m sure of it.”

  “Will it be worth the hits we’ll take?”

  “Worth the hits and more, Captain.”

  “You givin’ your word on that?”

  “Captain, if you give me thirty seconds of broadside, I give you my word we’ll have that ship all but dead in the air after two shots.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Makin’ the turn. Don’t make me regret it,” Mack said.

  “Aye, Captain!” he called.

  Prist hastily threw down the first of the requested strips and started on another. “What precisely did you just promise the captain?” she asked.

  The engines rumbled and the ship began to turn.

  “We have about sixty seconds to gain a proficiency with this weapon, and we’ll be under direct cannon fire the entire time.”

  “It may have been wise to allow for at least one practice shot.”

  “Wisdom is for before and after battles. During a battle, it’s equal parts desperation, improvisation, and blind luck. Now let’s get this ready to fire.”

  #

  Tusk stepped unsteadily back down to the deck. All three of the ship’s inspectors were now bound, gagged, and dangling from a length of cord over his shoulder. He marched up to the captain.

  “Inspectors silenced,” he said. “What is the status?”

  “The ship is turning broadside. I have all of our men on cannons, readying a salvo. We may be able to completely shear the steam system. They are on orders to fire when ready.”

  Tusk nodded. “A clarification. All men, or all available men?”

  “All men. Every crewman on ship.”

  “I had a man watching our prisoner,” Tusk said.

  “I gave an all-hands order, sir. Every able-bodied man is on weapons. We aren’t likely to catch them making a mistake like this again.”

  Tusk gritted his teeth. “Let us hope that your unwillingness to mind the dangers already aboard the ship hasn’t turned out to be a mistake of similar magnitude.”

  He threw the bound inspectors to the deck and rushed to the nearest steps. With each step through the corridors of the ship, he became more certain of what he would find when he reached the room in which he had stowed Lil.

  Tusk pulled a pistol from inside his vest and edged toward the doorway. When he reached the door, it was wide open. He cautiously peeked through to find the chair empty and in pieces. Not even the ropes that had bound her had been left behind.

  “There is little question how you have all survived despite the best efforts of some very capable foes,” Tusk said.

  He moved with care, stalking through the corridors. In the distance, he heard a ragged cough.

  “You do realize that the fewer options you have, the easier it is to predict your behavior, Ms. Cooper,” he said as he moved in the direction of the sound. “There is only one way for a single person to disable a dreadnought. We’ve been through this,” he went on.

  The whole ship was rattling and rumbling, but buried among the thousands of little noises was a sequence of sharp metallic clanks. Tusk quickened his pace and raised his voice.

  “You didn’t really think I would let a second dreadnought fall to the same weakness, did you?”

  He arrived at the doorway of the boiler room. It too was wide open. He kept his pistol ready as he moved inside. There was a significant difference to the room since he’d first caught Lil attempting to infiltrate it. All of the controls had been removed, and the door to the firebox had been locked. Valves were now little more than stems, switches little more than empty hinges.

  “It was a relatively simple design change,” he explained, eyes wide and ears perked up. “We’d foolishly believed no one would be able to board one of our ships, so we’d taken no security measures against tampering. A few hundred quick-release fasteners and a lock or two were all it took to make th
e boiler room as impenetrable as the rest of the ship if we deemed it necessary.”

  He reached the boiler and noticed a few silvery gashes in one of the stout pipes leading from it.

  “Really, now. Did you honestly believe that bashing a few pipes would do the job?”

  He heard motion behind him and shifted aside just before the broken leg of the chair Lil had been tied to would have bashed into his skull. He stumbled back to the door and pointed his pistol. Lil dashed aside and hid behind a cluster of pipes.

  “Whompin’ things works more often than you’d think, buddy,” she said, stifling another cough. “And don’t think you bein’ an old fella is gonna make me think twice about cavin’ your head in.”

  “I may be old, but you’ve got some ropes and a club, and I have a pistol.”

  “You ain’t gonna do any shootin’ in the boiler room,” she said.

  He aimed his pistol and fired, causing her to yelp and slip a bit farther back as the bullet ricocheted.

  “I suppose Nita hasn’t quite taught you the finer points of a steam system. To contain and route steam at the sort of pressure this ship requires, it would take something far larger than this weapon to do any damage. And certainly something larger than your club.”

  “Fine, then I’ll find some other way to take it down. Now I’m loose, and there ain’t a fugger alive that could catch a Cooper without sneakin’ up on one. And I ain’t fool enough to let any of you get behind me again.”

  There had likely been more to her defiant taunt, but it dissolved into a bout of ragged coughing.

  “I see. I do wish you would reconsider. That is a nasty cough, Ms. Cooper. Almost as though someone has tampered with your mask. A small adjustment to the filter. You would have been fine if you’d not gotten so agitated, but as it is, it can’t possibly clean enough air to keep you up and about. And the more you cough, the more you exert yourself, the worse it will get.”

  “I’ll find me a replacement, then,” she said.

  “This is a ship built in the fug, to be used by fug folk. Filter masks are not a part of standard equipment. There is one. I know where it is. You can surrender yourself or you can slowly succumb to the fug.”