The Song of the Dead

by Carrie Patel

  And that was all she was taking now – information. What could be the harm in knowing more about what was happening in Salvage?

  She’d made up her mind. Holding Carmela close to her chest, she fumbled at the capsule around the bird’s leg until something came loose between her fingers.

  The paper that slid out was coarse and rugged like old cloth, and rolled into a tight spool. It unrolled and expanded quickly, soaking up the damp ocean air.

  Even so, she had to hold it close to her face to read the message flapping in the breeze.

  “Kennedy agitates. Refuses petition to interrogate the bounty. Demands privilege of salvage. Avise.”

  Jane read the message two more times, forcing herself to slow down. The words were all familiar but obscure, like so much of what was said on Salvage. She couldn’t be entirely sure of their meaning, but several of them stood out nonetheless.

  Agitates. Demands. Interrogate.

  She didn’t know for sure that the message referred to Roman, but she couldn’t pry the notion from her head, either.

  If they were going to be stuck in this floating city for another two – or more – weeks, she needed to warn him. And she needed to do something about the message.

  She couldn’t let it fall into the hands of Leyal or the capitans. Whoever had written it might send another, but she could at least delay its receipt and whatever consequences it would set in motion.

  After reading it one more time to commit it to memory, Jane wadded it up and dropped it into the splashing, lapping water between the hulls. It disappeared in the foam.

  The only question that remained was what to do about the bird.

  She couldn’t let the bird return with an empty message capsule – Leyal would know someone had tampered with it, and she would be the obvious suspect.

  Maybe she could remove it.

  Yet several seconds of wiggling and tugging produced nothing but kicking and squirming from Carmela and a mounting sense of dread in Jane.

  Even if she could remove the capsule, no one would believe it had come off on its own. And Leyal would recognize a new pigeon, no matter what coop Jane put her into.

  Cold sweat moistened her palms.

  Carmela wriggled against her chest. Somewhere across the still-empty decks, voices rang out in laughter and conversation.

  There was little time.

  She stroked Carmela’s back again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Jane twisted the bird’s neck before she could reconsider.

  She dropped the pigeon into the churning water. It landed with a splash, its gray feathers mixing with the dirty foam and, somewhere, the remnants of the message.

  Jane swiped at her eyes, swallowed the queasy feeling rising in her throat, and turned back toward the cabin of the Nossa Senhora.

  Leyal was waiting inside, his sun-dried face creased with irritation. “What ess this corruption?” He pointed at the pile of feed on the floor.

  “I told you, I was feeling sick.” She knew she should apologize, but she just wanted to get away from the Nossa Senhora. She went to the cabinet and took a few slices of gingiber.

  “You did sujeira,” he said, thrusting a broom toward her.

  “I’ll make a bigger sujeira if stay,” Jane said. She popped a piece of gingiber in her mouth and prepared to journey across Salvage’s rolling, swaying decks.

  Chapter 13

  Civilized People

  Geist’s westward survey had taken them far enough out of the way that it was another day before they reached Meyerston. The sun was low when the borders of the commune crept over the horizon. Fields of grain shimmered in the late afternoon breeze, sewn onto the landscape in tidy squares and patches. Figures were already gathering in the distance below.

  As the Glasauge made its slow descent, its crew chattered and fretted amongst themselves. Geist waited on the lower deck like a man preparing to go behind enemy lines. He was no more pleased about the plan now than he had been when Malone had first suggested it, but there was no other way to find Arnault.

  It had been decided that a small escort would accompany him and Malone into town to look for Salazar. Lachesse and the rest of his crew would wait on the airship, prepared to flee at the first sign of trouble.

  Malone imagined she was supposed to feel bad about leaving Lachesse behind, but she couldn’t muster up anything more than a vague relief at being free of her and having solid ground beneath her feet. Besides, the old whitenail had apparently chosen to board the Glasauge.

  The Glasauge set down with a thump that almost knocked Malone over. Geist and his escort gasped and flinched.

  But then the outer hatch opened, and the rich, wonderful musk of the farm greeted Malone like a warm kiss.

  She was almost free.

  The ship had landed in a field just beyond the village, and a crowd of half a dozen had already gathered there.

  Salazar was waiting at the head of it, his eyes narrowed in the same stern gaze he probably used to appraise bushels of wheat or inspect sick goats.

  His surprise only showed when he set eyes on Malone.

  He looked to the scar on her neck. “Wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”

  “Me neither,” she said. “I hear you’ve been all over lately.”

  He grunted. “Nothing like a couple of weeks on the road to set your back aching for your own bed.” He regarded Geist for the first time. “And you are?”

  Geist’s face was ashy, his expression rigid. “Geist.”

  Salazar held out his hand. “Welcome to Meyerston.”

  Geist considered the proffered hand as though it were a dead rat. He bowed instead. “Plaisure.”

  Salazar met Malone’s gaze over Geist’s bent shoulders. One eyebrow quirked in question.

  “Let’s head in,” he said. “Can’t welcome guests without a proper meal.”

  As they continued toward the village, Malone glanced back at the Glasauge, stranded in the tall grass like a wounded bird. A handful of guards had taken up posts around the exterior to discourage any undue curiosity. Malone thought she saw Lady Lachesse’s face in one of the windows, ghostly pale with the heavy powder she always wore.

  She spun away quickly. It could have been her imagination. Though the sudden pang of guilt in her gut said otherwise.

  As they headed into town, Salazar turned to Geist. “Some of my people saw your flying cart.” He jerked his head toward the Glasauge. “This is the part where you tell me where you’re from.”

  Geist coughed delicately. “You were sprecking something about making welcome to your gasts with a ‘proper meal.’”

  Salazar’s feet found the well-worn grooves in the path. “I was talking about Malone.”

  Geist said nothing, but Malone watched his face go pale.

  The dirt path hardened into a cobbled street, and houses and meeting halls rose to greet them. The farmers were staring at them and muttering to one another with the same combination of wonder and suspicion that Malone remembered from her first visit.

  Only now, she saw among them a handful of city dwellers, their cheeks sunburnt and with borrowed farmers’ flannels loose around their shoulders.

  “We did good work,” Salazar said next to her.

  Malone hadn’t realized she’d been smiling.

  But then the evening breeze blew, and all of that was lost in the aromas of cook fires.

  Salazar led them past a porched building off the town square – the same building, Malone remembered, where they had first met and negotiated. He guided them toward the epicenter of the meat and smoke aromas, the inn with the ridiculous sign of the pig holding a sheaf of wheat.

  Geist hesitated at the threshold, looking like he had something stuck in his throat.

  “We’ll have some privacy upstairs,” Salazar said. He continued on, and after a quick glance around the square and its crowd of onlookers, Geist and his escort followed.

  Up the stairs and away from the guest rooms was a small
parlor. Two of Salazar’s people busied themselves opening the windows and clearing some of the derelict dishes. Salazar himself took up a position in the middle of the table, dug his elbows into the wood, and surveyed his guests. “Might as well make yourself comfortable,” he said. “Food’ll be up shortly.”

  Malone sat across from him, and Geist, taking a place beside her, gave her the tiniest expression of annoyance.

  But Malone hadn’t enjoyed a proper meal since before Sato’s death. Probably since the last time she was among the farmers. At that moment, she could think of nothing but the hot, fresh feast on its way.

  So it took her several long seconds to realize that Salazar and Geist were both staring at her in curiosity and impatience, respectively.

  She turned to Salazar. “We think Roman Arnault and Jane Lin may have passed through one of the communes recently. I was hoping one of your people might have reported two Recolettan fugitives.” It was all she could do to ignore the aroma of roasting meat.

  A smile played around Salazar’s lips. “Saw them myself. Not even a week ago.”

  The pleasing scent evaporated from Malone’s nostrils. “You – you did?”

  “Up in Ashbury. They looked to be in a big hurry. The – ah, food’s here.”

  A scruff-haired young girl arrived with a tray piled with cuts of something – a roast lamb or goat, perhaps – still sizzling from the cook fire. She set it down while others laid tureens of roasted and buttered vegetables on the table.

  It took every last ounce of Malone’s willpower to wait until the dinner plates had been passed around. But once Salazar gave the go-ahead nod, she pulled a hunk of flesh from the tray and tore into it. It was hot enough to burn her mouth, but she hardly cared. The crisp skin crackled between her teeth, and the tender meat melted on her tongue.

  And the blood roaring through her ears drowned out the drone of voices at the dinner table.

  But after a few moments of ecstasy, the sound of her name called her back like an alarm bell.

  Geist was speaking, his plate empty but for a few stray parsnips. “– und Malone will be aiding us to cherch for Arnault.”

  “No,” Malone said around her mouthful of goat. She didn’t care how rude it was.

  Geist blanched. But he had to have known this was coming.

  Salazar’s people were chewing their food with slow, careful motions. They held their knives and forks up as though they expected to use them on the people at the table. Geist’s, on the other hand, were pushing beans and cauliflower around their plates like children listening to the grownups argue.

  “We’ll be glad to have you,” Salazar said.

  Malone savored the flavor of the goat and the unquestionable rightness of the moment. Why hadn’t she gone with Salazar in the first place? The food was better and the people were hardworking and straightforward in a way she’d always admired. Here, she was the hero who had brought their new compromise to the cities. And here, she wouldn’t have to play the politician.

  What had Recoletta offered to make her stay in the first place?

  “You promessed to aid us.” Geist sounded genuinely wounded.

  “After Salazar tells you what he knows, I’ll have fulfilled that promise.”

  Geist had no answer for that, but his eyes and mouth narrowed with accusation.

  “You have an airship full of people. Hell, you have an airship,” Malone said. Even though she owed Geist nothing, she felt the sting of his disappointment at her failure to finish the job. “What do you need from me?”

  “You are a detectif. I was hearing you were a goot one,” he said. It sounded like a reproach.

  “And who would’ve told you a thing like that?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Your Lady Lachesse, of course.”

  She laughed, to cool the steaming carrot in her mouth as much as anything. “You should learn to approach her with some healthy skepticism.”

  “My friend’s said her piece,” Salazar said, polite but firm. “So why don’t you help yourself to some cabrito.”

  “I have little appetit,” Geist said. Sure enough, he was still harassing the same bit of parsnip with his fork. None of his crew had eaten anything on their plates. None of them had taken any goat.

  Well, that just meant there was more for her. Malone sliced herself another helping.

  “Then I’ll get right down to it so you can be on your way,” Salazar said. With that, he told them about Roman and Jane’s visit to Ashbury and their hasty departure.

  “But certainment they were having some destination,” Geist said. “Where were they directing?”

  Salazar gave Malone the barest of glances, but she took his meaning clearly enough.

  “I’m done protecting those two,” she said.

  Salazar shrugged. He was fidgeting with something under the table – Malone could see the movement in his upper arm. “They were headed east, so I gave them a pair of horses and directions to Redhill.”

  “Wass is in this red hill?” Geist asked.

  Salazar’s smirk was tight. Tense. “More horses. Redhill was just a stop.”

  “Wass was their ultimate destination?” Geist asked.

  “I was hoping you could tell me.” Salazar leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. Malone couldn’t see what he had in his hand, but she could see his fingers working furiously around it. “Only thing I know of out east is a dead, pre-Catastrophe city and a poison lake stretching far as the eye can see.”

  Now it was Geist’s turn to smirk. “Un superstition. I sure you it is not poison.”

  Salazar bristled. “Try drinking from it and then tell me.”

  Geist answered with a placating smile and held up his hands. “Malone sprecks they were abandoning an instable politique in Recoletta. Did they recount anything such?”

  “‘Bout the only thing they did tell me that’s looking to be true.” He scowled and slid something – a small metal disk with a hole punched through the middle – onto the table. He was watching Geist, whose face was as still and rigid as a mask.

  “Thought you might recognize it,” Salazar said. “Because the farmers in the easternmost communes see these from time to time, and the folk what carry ‘em aren’t farmers, but aren’t city folk neither. So I’m hoping you can set a few things straight for me.”

  Geist licked his lips. “It is alles complique.”

  “Then let me make it simple. We’ve got you surrounded. That flying cart of yours is big, but not big enough to carry more than a hundred souls, tops. And since you’re enjoying hospitality at my table,” Salazar said with a pointed glance at Geist’s mostly empty plate, “how about you give me a few answers.”

  The Continental gave him a thin, perfunctory smile. “There are being two gran lands. The Continent und this place.”

  Salazar shook his head. “This place – you mean Recoletta and the communes?”

  “Und more. More buried cities, more empty lands.”

  Salazar was still chewing this over. “You said ‘this place.’ Surely your folk have a name for it.”

  Geist folded his hands beneath a pained expression. “It does not translate.”

  Malone had spent enough time in politics to know an evasion when she heard one, but she decided not to press the point just yet.

  “What about the Continent?” Malone asked. “Is it like this place – big and scattered with cities and farms?”

  He laughed at this. “The Continent is plus bigger. Und our cities. Most of them are–” he broke off and meshed his fingers together. “More linked.”

  “So how did your spies get here?” Salazar asked. “I’m thinking a flying ship like yours would’ve been noticed long ago.”

  Geist blushed. “Ya, those are nouvelle. Entre your lands und the Continent is the sea. The poison lake.” He smiled, but Salazar did not.

  “So how do you cross it?” the farmer asked.

  “On a city of boats, naturalleesh. This is Salvage.”

  �
��So that’s how your old spies – people like Ruthers got here,” Malone said. “But not any more.”

  “It was imprudent to be still relying on Salvage for such voyages.” Geist’s tone and expression were carefully neutral.

  Malone recognized this from her politicking days, too. “You had a falling out with Salvage,” she said. “And a big one if it pushed you to develop something as expensive as your airship. The question is, what was it over?”

  Geist winced. “We digress.”

  Salazar jumped in. “Only so much a bunch of boats can make for themselves. Must be why they come round to the eastern communes every few years asking for tribute.”

  The Continental blanched. “We advised against this.”

  “But I’m guessing you weren’t supplying them, either,” Salazar said.

  Malone turned to Salazar. “How long has Salvage been taking tribute from the farms?”

  He shrugged. “Longer’n I’ve been around, that’s for sure. But they don’t have much of a schedule – one day they show up, clean a portion out of your storehouse, then they’re gone. It’ll be years before they hit the same place twice, which is a long time for tempers to cool. Especially when we were already used to paying tribute to the cities.”

  “The cities were supposed to protect the farms.”

  Salazar laughed. “How do you expect that conversation went? The few times they tried to report it, the city folk thought they were making it up to shirk their quotas.” He shrugged again. “Just got easier to pay up.”

  Geist was listening quietly, seemingly happy at having been forgotten.

  Malone pushed her plate away. “So we’ve got two lands, and in between is Salvage, friend to neither.”

  “Exactly so,” Geist said.

  “And if Arnault was heading east, then you think he’s on Salvage now.”

  “I fear such.”

  Despite herself, Malone had gotten the scent of the hunt. “What’s he doing on Salvage, then? Staying, or making his way to the Continent?”

  Geist scratched the back of his neck. “Also I am wondering this. Salvage is not an easy place for one not accustomed to it.”