The Clockill and the Thief

by Gareth Ward

  Dropping to his knees, Sin frantically searched through his discarded clothes. Perhaps his medicine had been haphazardly abandoned. Stanley joined him, picking up the scattered garments and returning them to his trunk.

  Folding one of Sin’s shirts, Stanley asked, “Who do you reckon did it?”

  “Dunno,” muttered Sin. He gave up his search; it was pointless. He still had the vial in his keeper – that would tide him over. He patted his chest and a sickness gripped him. He wasn’t wearing his harness. The new flight suit had prevented it. He scrabbled through the strewn clothes, his search even more desperate now. Beneath the bunk he spied the harness, but the keeper was missing.

  Sin slumped onto the floor with his back to the bunk bed, the empty harness resting on his lap. His arms trembled. He’d never cope without the injections. Sometimes the thought of his next dose was the only thing that kept him going. He had to find the missing vials. Who would have done this?

  Sin ran his fingertips absentmindedly around the hollow gap in the harness where his keeper should be. His skin brushed against something coarse and he was jolted from his thoughts. He lifted the harness closer to his face. There, trapped in the joint between two of the straps, was a single curly white hair.

  “Jasper!” Sin surged to his feet.

  He strode to Jasper’s cabin and kicked the door open. The top bunk was empty. On the bottom bunk sat Esra, polishing his boots. He started at Sin’s entrance.

  Sin’s hands balled into fists. “Where is he?”

  “Where’s who, chap?” said Esra, a look of surprise on his face.

  “Jasper. Where is he?” Sin spat.

  “I’ve not seen him for hours. Someone left a secret note on his bunk and he cleared off.”

  Sin smashed his arm into the bedframe, his flight suit absorbing the blow. “Who left the note?”

  Dropping his boots, Esra held up both hands. “Steady on. What’s got your dander up?”

  “Jasper has. Who left the note?”

  “I don’t know. That’s pretty much the meaning of secret.”

  Sin slammed the door behind him and flexed his fingers, trying to ease the tingling in his arm. Where would Jasper go? His only real friend was Zonda, so that was the best place to start.

  The Panoramia was an ironglass and litanium passageway that connected the port and starboard gondolas. The curved ironglass walls flattened out to form a transparent floor that gave a dizzying view of the ground below the airship. Despite knowing the material’s strength, Sin hated walking on the ironglass. It was, however, the quickest route between the male and female quarters, so he hurried along the passageway and onto the transparent floor.

  Near the port gondola Velvet slumped motionless, her forehead pressed against the ironglass. Sin sprinted towards her, ignoring the impression of nothingness beneath his feet. Had Velvet been a victim of the storm too, or was this somehow Jasper’s doing?

  He kneeled beside her. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  Velvet shuddered then mumbled, “He would have killed someone.”

  A thousand yards below them, wooded hillsides drifted past. A dizzying nausea giddied Sin. He forced his eyes from the view and focused on the shiny litanium deck plate where the passageway joined the gondola.

  “I wanted to have it out with Jasper.” Velvet lifted her head and twisted her neck, turning away from the view below.

  “Yeah. I’m looking for him too.” Sin eased Velvet into a sitting position, then, supporting her beneath the arms, hoisted her to her feet. “It’s all right. You’ve had a bit of a shock, that’s all. This probably weren’t the best passageway to use in the circumstances.”

  Velvet’s head jerked up and a tear trickled down her face. “Jasper. Falling.”

  “I know, but you’re safe now. I saved you, and Jasper’s been reprimanded.” Sin shuffled a few steps, encouraging Velvet to walk with him. Her boots scuffed across the ironglass, her legs trembling. She tilted her head down, gazing through the floor. Sin gently lifted her chin. “Nothing ’cept trouble that way. Let’s look ahead.”

  Several more paces and their boots found the litanium with a reassuring clank. “Do you think you can stand now?” Velvet sniffed and nodded. Sin released her. She swayed for a moment then her legs gave out. Sin caught her mid-fall and hauled her back up. “Maybe we’ll walk together for a bit.” He draped her arm around his shoulder and again they shuffled along.

  Pins and needles prickled Sin’s body. What was he doing? He needed to find Jasper. Velvet’s head lolled sideways, and her sleek black hair brushed across Sin’s face, filling his nose with the scent of lavender. He was helping a friend, that’s what he was doing. Except Velvet wasn’t his friend, was she? She was responsible for getting him infected with the blue blood. He shouldn’t even like her. Only, now he’d saved her life, twice, and somehow that made him feel responsible for her.

  A whistle sounded, and a voice spoke from the vocifertrump mounted in the ceiling. “All crew are to assemble for briefing.” Sin urged Velvet to pick up her pace. He wouldn’t have to hunt Jasper after all; he’d catch up with him at muster.

  The noisy banter of candidates swapping stories about the storm drifted from the galley. Sin walked into the hubbub, his arm wrapped around Velvet’s waist, supporting her. They eased onto a bench. The room fell silent, every eye upon them. Zonda sat at an adjacent table. Her gaze pierced Sin to his core like a steamdrill.

  “At last, some quiet,” said Captain Hawk. “Thank you for joining us, COG Sin, COG Von Darque.”

  Sin scanned the hall, looking for Jasper’s mop of curly white hair, but he was nowhere to be seen. The coward must be hiding. Searching the whole airship was impossible; Sin would have to bide his time and hope Jasper made an appearance before the worst effects of the blue blood kicked in.

  “Thanks to your excellent crewing, candidates, we have weathered the worst of the storm,” said Hawk. “But not without loss. The port steering engine is currently inoperable and Staff Stoneheart is seriously injured.”

  A murmur ran through the candidates.

  Hawk rattled her cutlass and quiet returned. “Some of you are thinking that because of these setbacks we should return to the palace. However, this is not training, where we endeavour to keep you safe. This is a real mission with real dangers. The storm has bloodied us and sure as steam, there is worse to come.”

  Hawk’s gaze strafed across the candidates. “COG Jenkins is to parade on the bridge and tell me why he missed muster. All crew are to ensure he gets that order, and if you’ve not done so already, check the roster for your new duties. Dismissed.”

  Benches scraped backwards and the candidates stood to attention. Hawk briefly surveyed the candidates then marched from the galley.

  Velvet hooked Sin’s little finger with hers. “Thanks, I owe you,” she said. Lifting her head haughtily, she joined the candidates crowding around the roster sheet.

  Stanley sidled over and loitered at Sin’s side. “Did you find him?”

  “Jasper? No.”

  Running his hand over his hair, Stanley leaned in closer. “It’s all good, brother, you can tell me if . . . you know.”

  “You know what?”

  “If you did for him,” whispered Stanley, his mouth hidden behind his hand.

  Sin frowned. “I didn’t find him.”

  Stanley winked. “I get it. Can’t lie about what I don’t know, aye?”

  “He wasn’t in his cabin, then I ran into Velvet.”

  “Yeah, course. Probably best to keep it on the down low, what with . . .” Stanley trailed off and nodded towards Zonda, who was across the galley examining the roster sheet.

  Sin threw his hands into the air. “What have I done to upset her now?”

  “You mean apart from waltzing in here with your arm around Velvet?”

  “Velvet was in shock,” Sin said gruffly. “I was helping her.”

  Puffing out his cheeks, Stanley said, “Yeah. Not sure that’s goi
ng to make a difference.”

  “I’m in Zonda’s bad books any roads. I’ll just keep well clear for a bit.”

  “Ain’t going to happen, brother.” Stanley placed his hand on Sin’s shoulder. “Nimrod’s rostered you and Zonda to help assess the engine bay damage.”

  Sin sighed. “Oh, deep joy.”

  The smoke was gone but the burned smell lingered in the engine bay. Dark trails of sooty foam coated the litanium ceiling where the fire had raged its fiercest. Sin returned to the gash in the floor caused by the lightning strike. Caught on the jagged metal was a scrap of turquoise NB3O. It shimmered in the daylight streaming through the rent in the gondola’s hull. Sin crouched by the gaping hole and examined the material. It couldn’t be from Stoneheart’s accident; she’d still worn her tarnished leather flight suit. He bent closer, and pain shot through his hand.

  A curved shard protruded from the fleshy skin on the heel of his palm. A residue of blue liquid glistened on the broken glass – it was from one of the spare syringes Nimrod had given him. They were old, and not made from ironglass like the ones he’d lost aboard the Swordfish. Sin leaned out, over the rip. In the melted mess of litanium struts rested his keeper. The ship shuddered, and the keeper rolled towards the ragged edge. Sin grabbed for the tube. His fingertips brushed the brassanium before it rolled further away. He lunged into the void and his hand curled around the metal.

  “Don’t let me stop you if you’re thinking of jumping,” said Zonda behind him. “In fact, I’m quite tempted to push you.”

  Sin hauled himself to safety and stealthily pushed the keeper inside a pouch on his work belt. “I ain’t apologising. I told Hawk the truth about Jasper.”

  “Oh, I’ve moved on from Jasper. I’m talking about you hugging Velvet.”

  “I wasn’t hugging her, I was helping her walk. She was in shock.”

  Zonda tilted her head. “What about on top of the stabiliser? Don’t try to deny it. Jasper told me.”

  Sin clenched his fist, a trickle of purplish blood leaking from the cut on his hand. “It’s not bad enough that he let her fall, he’s got to try to drop me in it too.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Velvet nearly plummeted from the airship,” Sin said. “She was emotional, that’s all.”

  The toe of Zonda’s rigair boot tapped against the metal deck plate. “So why didn’t you mention that earlier?”

  “It hardly seemed like the time when you were doing your swede at me in the galley.”

  Zonda looked at the ground. “About that, I was angry, and I didn’t . . .”

  A clanking sound rattled down the passageway, the commotion interrupting their conversation. A massive metal machine stomped towards them. It was humanoid in shape, like a larger version of the watchmek, and strapped inside its hollow frame was Nimrod. He skilfully piloted the logistical-loader, which seemed to mimic the movements of his own arms and legs. From one of the loader’s massive clawed hands dangled a sealed brassanium bucket, while clamped in the other was a stack of litanium sheets.

  With a hiss and a clunk, Nimrod brought the loader to a halt. Its chunky arms extended on pistons and it lowered the bucket and plates to the deck. “Let’s get these holes in the hull plugged. We’ll have her shipshape and Bristol fashion in no time.” Nimrod operated a switch with his thumb and the padded bars securing him into the machine withdrew. He jumped down and seized the bucket’s handle.

  “COG Chubb, Captain Hawk says you can pilot a loader?”

  “Yes, Sir. When father was still in the regiment, I spent one Easter holidays at the logistics depot moving munitions.”

  “Excellent. Grab a sheet and align it over the damage.”

  Zonda climbed into the loader and strapped herself in. She grasped the brassanium joysticks and skilfully peeled a single sheet of litanium from the stack. Extending the loader’s arms, she rested it over the gash.

  Nimrod removed the rubber lid from the bucket. “This is thermoweld, a blend of powdered aluminium, iron oxide and several secret ingredients of my creation,” he explained to Sin. The scientist gestured to the silvery-grey mixture in the bucket. “We’re going to use it to weld these plates in place.”

  He took a handful of the substance, which had a texture like bread dough, rolled it into a long sausage and passed it to Sin. “Squash this around the edge of the plate.”

  The thermoweld was pleasantly warm, and squishing it into the join where the plate met the deck was strangely satisfying. Sin dug another handful from the bucket and, making his own sausage, completed sealing the edge of the metal.

  Nimrod inserted a magnesium fuse into the mixture. “You may want to stand back for this.” He flicked open a ZAPO lighter and lowered the flame to the fuse.

  The magnesium burned brilliantly bright until it touched the thermoweld, which ignited with an orange-flamed WHOOSH! In its wake, the burning sausage left a glowing seam of fused metal.

  “The secret is to use just the right amount of thermoweld. Too much and you’ll cut straight through the metal,” said Nimrod. “Chemically speaking, it’s fascinating stuff. On their own the constituents are quite stable, but add a catalyst and you get fireworks.”

  Sin glanced at Zonda, who nodded earnestly from the loader. He and Zonda normally rubbed along well together, but add Velvet or Jasper into the mix and things got heated. Maybe that’s what Stanley meant when he said there was chemistry between them.

  Nimrod had taken the loader to see if the damaged engine was salvageable, leaving Sin and Zonda to finish up. With one last flaming flash of burning thermoweld they secured the final plate in place, making the hull airtight once again.

  “Damn it!” Sin’s arms trembled beyond his control, making the task of replacing the rubber lid on the thermoweld bucket impossible. The pins and needles had steadily worsened from an uncomfortable annoyance to sharp, constant pain, the afternoon of lugging litanium sheets having taken its toll. Now the agony was excruciating, and all the harder to bear knowing that tucked in his belt pouch was the only solution to his discomfort. All he had to do was steal a syringe from the sick bay and he’d be golden.

  Tutting, Zonda took the lid from his hands and secured it in place. Lifting the bucket, she marched off down the corridor.

  “Zonda, wait,” shouted Sin.

  She stopped and turned. Her green-eyed glower was as painful to bear as the pins and needles.

  Sin clasped his arms around himself, trying to control his jitters. “Please, I need your help.”

  Tugging at a pigtail, Zonda’s lips formed a narrow line, matching the crease of her brow.

  “I’m in a bad way, Zon.” Sin slunk up to her and placed a trembling hand on her arm. “I’m messed up. I need a friend.”

  “What about Velvet?”

  Sin looked at the floor. “Velvet’s never been my friend.” It was true. He’d worked undercover with Velvet and saved her life on several occasions, but they weren’t friends. He couldn’t deny that there was something between them, some sort of attraction, but it wasn’t friendship, and it probably wasn’t healthy.

  “And Jasper?” Zonda tilted her head.

  A pained smile crept onto Sin’s lips. “He’s never been my friend either.”

  “I know that, sillies. I meant what have you done with him?”

  “Why does everyone think I’ve done something with Jasper? I’ve not seen him since the top of the airship, and that’s the truth. Honest, Zon.”

  Zonda’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. “What do you need?”

  “My medicine’s gone missing.” Sin held back from accusing Jasper. He had no real evidence, and he didn’t want to risk antagonising Zonda. Reaching inside his belt pouch, Sin removed the keeper. “The vial in here is all I have left. I need you to inject me.”

  The vocifertrump’s whistle startled Sin awake. A dull ache worried his muscles. The result of helping repair the gash in the hull, it was the healthy twinge of work well done, and not the cl
awing pain of pins and needles. The injection Zonda had given him had put an end to that. For the moment, anyway.

  “Airship, ahoy! Five minutes to move,” barked the vocifertrump.

  Sin swung his feet from the bed, narrowly avoiding Stanley, who dropped from the top bunk.

  “You reckon it’s the Swordfish?” said Stanley.

  Sin pulled on his flight suit. “Can’t be. We weren’t supposed to catch them for another day at best. It’s probably just another false alarm.”

  Stanley grabbed both cutlasses from the cabin’s locker and chucked one onto Sin’s bunk. “Don’t reckon so. This time it’s got to be pirates. Hope it’s someone I’ve heard of.”

  “’Cos it’s heaps better to be killed by a famous highwayman of the sky than just some nameless thug.”

  “Nah, brother,” said Stanley, his eyes alight. “So much better to capture a name. Probably even get a reward.” He strapped his cutlass to his waist. “How do I look?”

  “As fearsome a pirate vanquisher as I’ve ever seen,” said Sin, punching him lightly on the arm.

  “Enemy, ahoy! Stand to. Stand to,” barked the vocifertrump.

  Sin hurried to the bridge and took his position close by Captain Hawk. In the event of pirates boarding, he was to defend the bridge, and ultimately the Captain, with his life. Although, with a cutlass at her side and a steampistol holstered on each thigh, Sin suspected Hawk was more than capable of taking care of herself.

  Velvet was Officer of the Watch. She leaned over the curved brassanium rail separating the bridge from the giant ironglass hemisphere that formed the airship’s nose cone, a pair of binoculars clamped to her eyes. “It’s definitely the Swordfish, Captain. Propellers are dead and there’s no smoke from her stack.”

  Hawk snapped open her telescope. “COG Sin, second watch. It could be a trap.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain,” said Sin, taking the telescope. He joined Velvet at the rail and raised the steel tube to one eye. What had been a mere speck in the distance turned into the Swordfish.