The Waking Fire

by Anthony Ryan

  “Did they pay you so much then?” Lizanne’s fingers flexed on the Whisper as she felt the product in her veins begin to thin.

  “Pay me?” Madame’s sigh was more of a laugh this time. “Do you think I did all this for a bribe? They didn’t buy me, I bought them, and this city into the bargain.” She turned, raising her arm to the docks and the streets beyond. “You are privileged to witness the birth of the Carvenport Free Trade Company.”

  “If you think Morradin will just hand this place over to you . . .”

  “Morradin is a dog doing his master’s bidding. He’ll come to heel when whipped. My accommodation was never with the dog, but the master. In return for exclusive rights to the White, he’ll give me Carvenport and half the world if I ask.”

  Not obsession, Lizanne realised, her mind suddenly flooded with the image of the black web coiling through Madame’s mindscape. Ambition. “All on the promise of something that hasn’t even been found,” she said. “We don’t even know what power lies in its blood, if any.”

  “Oh, but we do, Lizanne. Or at least, I do, and now so does the Emperor. It wasn’t so very hard to deduce, once I had pondered the information from Ethelynne’s last trance. Wittler pursued her across the Red Sands, determined to kill her. But why? Was it simple madness, brought on when he breathed in the White’s powdered bone? Or was it more? ‘I ain’t gonna burn,’ he told her, and yet he did. As confirmed by Mr. Torcreek. She burned him, as he knew she would. The future, Lizanne. The ability to discern the future. For that, the Emperor will give me all I ask.”

  “And what will he do with it?”

  “As long as he leaves me in peace to run my new enterprise, anything he likes. Empires rise and fall, wars come and go. But, without the Board to fetter me, I’m confident we’ll weather the storms and profit in the process. Ironship has stagnated under the weight of its bureaucracy. It’s every bit as corrupt and bloated as the monarchies it displaced. It’s time for a new age, a post-corporate age where we no longer mire ourselves in the minutiae of governance.”

  Lizanne nodded at the bag. “You needed that,” she said, “to convince him. That’s why you sent me to Morsvale.”

  “At first the Cadre had no notion of who Truelove actually was,” Madame said. “Just that they now had a very useful stream of intelligence tranced to them via a well-paid and well-guarded intermediary firmly positioned in neutral territory. Convincing them to trust me wasn’t so very hard: designs for some of Jermayah’s more effective innovations, the identities of a few Exceptional Initiatives operatives in Corvantine territory, the location of an Ironship-sponsored pirate den in the Isles. Then, as time went on, reports containing subtle indications that the Protectorate had taken a renewed interest in the fabled White Drake. It all stoked the Emperor’s naturally avaricious tendencies to the required pitch. Your little excursion to Morsvale was a tricky thing to engineer, but I trusted your ability to navigate the various difficulties. After the Cadre’s spectacular failure to capture you, and prevent the successful retrieval of the solargraph, my intermediary reported that the Emperor was now much more amenable to negotiation. Especially since Captain Torcreek’s company had successfully negated a Cadre attempt to stop them at Edinsmouth and appeared to be drawing ever closer to their goal. Sadly, I was obliged to allow this military farce to play out for a time until I could trance with my contact. Still, all those infantrymen piling up outside the walls did focus their minds. With a global war to fight, they can’t really afford to prolong their campaign here.”

  Lizanne’s gaze returned to the approaching launch, now barely a hundred yards away. “Mr. Redsel?” she asked. “He wasn’t in Corvantine employ, was he?”

  “I needed a means of eavesdropping on your trances with Mr. Torcreek, or whatever unregistered ne’er-do-well we managed to scrape from the Blinds. It seemed I over-estimated Mr. Redsel’s abilities and under-estimated yours. Incidentally, is Mr. Torcreek truly dead? I find I can’t suppress the nagging suspicion that your veracity has been somewhat lacking of late.”

  The launch was twenty feet away now, a Corvantine sailor at the prow standing ready with a rope as one of Madame’s Protectorate guards moved to catch it. “Mr. Torcreek and I are in agreement regarding what needs to be done with the White,” Lizanne replied, taking a firmer grip on the Whisper.

  Madame glanced at her, and blinked.

  The Black gripped her instantly, no change of expression in Madame’s face that might have warned her. An effortless display of power and expertise that left Lizanne standing there, limbs flaring with agony as she strained against the invisible vice.

  “Yet more narrowness of vision,” Madame said, apparently genuine regret on her face as she came closer to cup Lizanne’s cheek. “I had hoped you might succeed me one day. The Carvenport Free Trade Company will need an intelligence arm, after all. You would have been a co-Director, destined for great things.”

  She removed her hand and plucked the Whisper from Lizanne’s frozen fingers, tossing it into the sea. “My finest student, and also my greatest disappointment. Unfortunately, I can’t kill you. My Corvantine associates are keen to speak to you regarding Major Arberus and his revolutionary comrades. I was going to call for you later today, explain that Miss Artonin’s continued good health depended on your agreement with my aims. The major would still have had to be handed over but I might have been able to save the girl. But I see now our positions are too far apart to allow for a workable arrangement.”

  She stepped away, her regretful visage transforming into a business-like smile as she turned to greet the Corvantine officers. Lizanne prepared to summon all the Red she could, but Madame’s control was so absolute she couldn’t even move her eyes. It would probably have been futile in any case. The two guards would have crushed her the moment she tried. But there was so much rage inside her and so much fear. They will take Tekela when they take Arberus.

  Sweat bathed her as she strained to move her eyes, expending all her remaining Green and managing a slight tick, just enough to catch the edge of Madame’s skirt. Lizanne’s gaze faltered as something flickered amongst the masts of the Corvantine fleet. At first she thought it a flare, but then saw it was fire. A bright stream of white fire. Another flicker, then more fire. It seemed to be streaming from several directions at once, converging somewhere amongst the mass of ships. The flash came first, then the flat, ear-splitting boom of an exploding ship accompanied by the red-black cloud rising from the sea. A chorus of whistles and sirens resounded through the fleet, guns traversing and water churning as engines sprang to life.

  Two more explosions followed in quick succession, accompanied by the thunderous boom of multiple cannon. Madame’s control lessened enough for Lizanne to turn her head, her gaze sweeping across the now-chaotic mass of ships then stopping as something caught her eye, something impossible.

  The Blue rose from the sea, crest flaring and mouth gaping, sending its fire down at the deck of a Corvantine cruiser. Lizanne had only ever seen dead Blues, and those the steel-net-enmeshed remains hauled from the hold of a Blue-hunter freshly returned from the southern seas. I never knew they grew so big, was her only thought as two more Blues appeared on either side of the cruiser, their collective fire descending with such intensity every crewman on the cruiser’s deck was instantly engulfed. The Blues’ fire died after a moment and they turned in unison, sinking back into the water, the snake-like bodies knifing through the waves towards another victim. The cruiser continued to burn in their wake and Lizanne realised with shock that it was the Regal, the same ship she had inspected in Morsvale harbour. Whatever novel modifications she might have gained wouldn’t save her now. The fires raged unchecked across the Regal’s decks for another minute then she gave a shudder, geysers of fire erupting from her stacks as the flames found her magazine. She blew apart a heart-beat later, the debris raining down all around, fragments of iron and men splashing into the sea and impac
ting the mole. The launch containing the Corvantine officers took a direct hit from a burning chunk of machinery, its own boiler exploding from the force of the impact, killing all on board along with the Protectorate guard who had caught their rope.

  Madame and the other guard shrank back from the destruction. She had never been given to shock but evidently this was a sufficiently close brush with death to slacken her control, just for an instant, but it was enough.

  Lizanne focused on the bag in Madame’s hand, lashing out with Black to drag it from her grip. She caught it then used the last dregs of Green in her veins to leap as Madame replied, Black churning the air where Lizanne had been with the force of a hurricane. Lizanne sailed over Madame’s head, unleashing a wave of Red that forced the woman to leap aside. The Protectorate guard hadn’t been as wise, lingering a fraction too long to aim his pistol at Lizanne and taking the full force of the Red. The fire covered him from head to toe in an instant and he whirled, screaming towards the edge of the mole and careering into the sea.

  Lizanne landed hard, clutching the bag to her chest and crouching as Madame rose to her feet some twenty yards away. “Give that to me!” she commanded in a rasping cry, all vestige of discipline seemingly having fled now as she advanced towards Lizanne with a face rendered ugly by frustration and malice.

  Lizanne depressed the first three buttons on the Spider, using up the small amount of remaining product and instantly unleashing the Black. Madame was ready for her, however, her own Black meeting Lizanne’s and birthing a thunder-clap of displaced air. Lizanne continued to use up her Black, seeking to prise open Madame’s defences, but it was like trying to batter her way through granite.

  “Give this up, Madame!” she called out, casting a hand towards the sea where Corvantine ships exploded with every passing moment and ever more Blues rose from the waves. “Look at what’s happening here! Your schemes don’t matter now!”

  Madame, however, proved deaf to all entreaties, summoning a blast of Red and forcing Lizanne to roll to the side as the heat-wave rushed past. Madame followed with a surge of Black, presumably all her remaining product released at once as Lizanne felt the blow like a hammer, the force of it sending her sliding across the mole. An involuntary yell escaped her throat as the agony of snapped ribs cut through the effects of the Green with dreadful ease. She could only cast the last of her Red at Madame as she lay there, but it was a feeble thing, just a shimmering passage of air the older woman side-stepped with ease.

  Madame came to a halt a few feet away, staring at Lizanne with a certain grim satisfaction on her face as she took a vial from her pocket and gulped it down. “You,” she said, shaking her head sadly as she looked down on Lizanne. “You were . . .”

  The Blue moved in a blur, snaking up from below the mole to grasp Madame Bondersil in its jaws. It slowed as it bit down, Lizanne fancying she heard a muffled scream from behind its jagged wall of teeth. The Blue shook its prey briefly then swallowed it down, throat bulging as the meal was conveyed to its stomach with a few convulsive jerks. It gave a satisfied rumble, nostrils flaring then angled its head to stare down at Lizanne.

  She didn’t hesitate, rolling towards the harbour as the flames streamed down, feeling the heat and a flaring pain as the fire found her hair, her clothes. A brief sensation of falling then the chill embrace of the harbour waters. Fatigue and pain conspired to prevent her kicking for the surface, though she held tight to Madame’s bag as she sank ever lower, what it contained being so very important.

  CHAPTER 35

  Clay

  He was watching the dolphins when the settlement came into view. These creatures were smaller than those he had seen in the waters off Carvenport harbour, their skin darker on top, but no less playful. Loriabeth gave a delighted laugh as one leapt clear of the lake just ahead of the River Maiden’s bows, spinning in the air before plunging back down. More could be seen shimmering beneath the water as they rode the boat’s wake.

  “A freshwater variety,” Scriberson said, adding yet another jotting to his note-book. “Their numbers must be curtailed through predation, but obviously they maintain a viable population. This lake is more well-stocked with marine life than previously suspected.”

  “And way too well-stocked with Green for my liking,” Foxbine said, eyeing the surrounding waters with carbine in hand, a habit she had acquired since they found the wreckage of the Briteshore vessel.

  “Look there!” Loriabeth called from the prow, pointing at a column of grey smoke rising from the shore-line a few points off the starboard bow. The land beyond the lake-shore rose in a gentle incline of green hills before abruptly transforming into the steep, steel-grey slopes of the northern Coppersoles. Clay had only ever seen pictures of mountains and found the real thing an ominous sight, the vast walls of rock ascending so high their summits were veiled in cloud. The prospect of navigating such a landscape was not a pleasant one.

  Braddon ordered the engine slowed then had Scriberson assemble his telescope on the fore-deck, wary of landing without reconnaissance. “It doesn’t look good, Captain,” the astronomer reported upon peering through the eyepiece. “It was a settlement of some kind. Defensive walls and a jetty. But now . . .” He stood back, gesturing Braddon towards the telescope.

  “Burned black and half–torn down,” he said after a moment. “Can’t see no Greens about though. No people, either.” He straightened, face drawn in contemplation.

  “Could be some ammo in there, Captain,” Foxbine said.

  “I’m aware.” Braddon raised his gaze as Lutharon swept low overhead, gliding towards the smoking settlement in a straight and unerring line. “Seems the choice has been made for us,” he said. “Mr. Scriberson, fire her up, if you would.”

  The jetty was a wreck of blackened pilings and splintered beams, forcing them to ground the River Maiden on the thin stretch of shingle alongside. “Seems a shame to just leave her here,” Scriberson commented as they clambered over the side to wade ashore.

  “What else we gonna do with her?” Skaggerhill said, though there was a faintly wistful note to his voice as he afforded the boat a final glance of farewell. “She served us well, right enough. Got me a mind to come back for her one day. See if we can’t find that treasure ship, eh?” He gave Firpike a nudge though the scholar seemed more interested in clearing the water as quickly as possible, as if a Green might come lunging up at him even in these shallows.

  Ethelynne stood beside Lutharon at the gate to the settlement, her face betraying a palpable distress. “I watched them build this place,” she told Clay. “Only a year ago.”

  “Briteshore Minerals, sure enough,” Skaggerhill said, nodding to the scorched sign above the gate. The lettering had been burned away but the Briteshore crest could still be made out. “Guess they built it as a port for their surveying ship.”

  Ethelynne turned and climbed onto Lutharon’s back. “I’ve no wish to see any more of this. We’ll scout ahead for a time.” With that, rider and drake galloped towards the edge of the lake where Lutharon spread his wings and they took to the air, soaring high in a wide circle before striking out for the south.

  “Woulda thought she’d have a stronger constitution,” Loriabeth commented. “Being out here so long.”

  “Get the sense this is all new to her,” Clay said, nodding at the smoking settlement. “Drakes ain’t done nothing like this before.” He stole a glance at his uncle who stood regarding the place with an unreadable expression. “Makes you wonder what could’ve forced such a change in them.”

  “Clay, Silverpin,” Braddon said, drawing his revolver and stepping towards the gate. “With me. The rest of you, watch the lake.”

  The gate had been barred and buttressed but its lower half lay shattered, probably by a flailing drake tail. Clay and Silverpin stooped low as they entered, weapons ready. The scene that confronted them had Clay fighting a convulsive retch. Bodies lay everywhere,
part-burnt and savaged, several in pieces. From the tattered remains of clothing he concluded they were a mix of labourers and Contractors. Spent shell casings were liberally scattered about, indicating that at least they went down fighting. The thin smoke still rising from the ruins was evidence that this had all happened recently.

  “Greens,” Braddon said, halting beside one of the bodies and eyeing the pattern of bite marks that had torn out the man’s insides from belly to neck. “Guess they dealt with the survey ship then came here. No eating, just killing. Just like the soldiers in the jungle.”

  Clay surveyed the settlement, seeing mostly just ruination. It seemed the settlement had featured a couple of bunk-houses and a meal-hall, all torn down and reduced almost to ash. The storehouses and workshops were in a similar condition though he did spy a large structure still standing towards the rear of the enclosure. “Warehouse, maybe?” he asked his uncle.

  “Let’s take a look.”

  The structure turned out to be another workshop, spared destruction by virtue of its corrugated iron walls and containing something Clay had never seen before. A great, multi-wheeled engine of some kind sitting on a pair of rails. It had another wheeled contraption attached to its rear, a large open-topped tender piled high with coal. The rails on which they sat traced to the rear of the structure and then under a set of twelve-foot-high doors. The engine showed signs of considerable burning, the metal covered in soot and some its workings part-melted. A blackened skeleton lay on a platform just behind the huge iron cylinder that formed the bulk of the engine’s mass.