The Song of the Dead

by Carrie Patel

  That only made her regret Lachesse’s plan more.

  The other engineer sat at the forward end of the deck, swinging her legs over the edge of her chair like a bored child. A bell rang on the control panel next to her, and she picked up two black objects about the size and shape of teacups. She held one to her ear and the other in front of her mouth.

  “Yah?” After a pause, the woman nodded to herself and muttered something with the general cadence of confirmation. “Gonzalo,” she called across the deck. Malone couldn’t keep track of what the woman said after that, but it was enough to send the other engineer – Gonzalo – ambling toward her.

  Malone followed, crouching low and extending her arms before her.

  Something banged against her shin. Malone stifled her grunt of pain, but there wasn’t anything she could do about the warbling note that carried through the scaffolding.

  Gonzalo looked up, but his companion urged him on with a few clipped syllables.

  Malone picked her way forward, more carefully now. By the time she had stepped over another ridge of scaffolding and pulled herself through the web of cables, Gonzalo and the female engineer were in the middle of a discussion. She couldn’t understand the words, but the sharp tone and waving arms suggested a disagreement. The female engineer pointed between the device she’d spoken into and a round gauge next to it.

  Gonzalo threw up his hands and shook his head. After a few more words from his counterpart, he raised his palms in a placating gesture and went back to the rows of machinery.

  Malone followed Gonzalo back into the wilderness of machinery. She was close enough to see the redness on the back of his neck.

  He studied the instruments before him. He twisted one knob with a furtive glance at the accompanying gauge. Emboldened, he twisted a little more.

  The words he called to the front were a hopeful question. The response that came back was an irritated negative.

  Gonzalo’s anxious sigh was loud enough that Malone could picture his puffed cheeks and puckered lips. He worked his fingers through his hair like a junior inspector puzzling through his exams.

  She didn’t know Gonzalo, but she’d seen that same look on a hundred callow trainees before him. He had no idea what he was doing.

  He tried a few more levers and wheels. Something in the gas bags groaned above Malone, and she tensed. But the other engineer made noises of approval, and Malone felt her body unclench, saw Gonzalo’s do the same. He marched back to the other end of the deck. She followed.

  Malone picked her way between the cables and through the scaffolding, careful to avoid another noisy – and painful – stumble. Yet as she stepped between two curving crossbars, her foot hit something, and that something skidded across the grating.

  Malone froze, holding her weight on one foot and holding the cables for balance. It was awkward, but she didn’t dare move.

  She slowly pointed her gaze downward and saw Gonzalo and the other engineer also frozen, staring up toward her feet.

  After what seemed like an interminable pause, the female engineer shrugged and resumed her end of the conversation. But Gonzalo still gazed up.

  He started toward the other end of the deck.

  Malone wanted to believe he was only going to check on equipment, but she had the sinking feeling he was heading toward the ladder.

  She needed to hide.

  As Gonzalo navigated the equipment, Malone considered her options. The walkway in the envelope was small and dark. If Gonzalo didn’t search too hard, she might be able to hide behind some of the scaffolding, or what little curved beneath the gas bags…

  Of course. The scaffolding curved along the side of the envelope, where most of it was hidden by the gas bags. If she could squeeze herself in the middle of it, she might be able to crawl out of view.

  The other engineer called out to Gonzalo, and he answered in defiance. He had almost reached the ladder. She was almost out of time.

  Malone followed the nearest rib of scaffolding and began pulling herself up the curved wall of the envelope, using the crossbars as rungs. Like most ideas, it was a lot sounder in theory than in practice. The space between the gas bags and the envelope was a lot smaller than she’d expected. She pulled herself into the center of the scaffolding and squeezed and writhed her way up, the cold metal of the envelope scraping her back and the thick canvas of the balloon pressing against her face. She tried not to think too much about how easy it might be to put her foot through one or the other.

  Or how she’d manage to get down.

  She stopped when she’d climbed high enough that Gonzalo wouldn’t see her unless he came looking with her hiding place in mind. And from what little she’d seen, she was reasonably confident he didn’t possess that kind of gumption.

  But she heard him searching below. His tread was heavy and clumsy, and he grunted as he pushed his way through the cables and scaffolding. His voice rose in a lilting question.

  He worked his way to the last spot she had stumbled. He was moving slowly – too slowly. Her arms and legs were starting to cramp from holding her position for too long, and her head was starting to ache.

  Quite badly, in fact.

  Gonzalo was still fumbling around somewhere below when Malone realized what an odd thing her sudden headache was. And she noticed something else, too – a sweet, heavy smell. Like overripe fruit.

  Malone had smelled something similar only three times during her tenure as inspector of the Municipal Police, but she recognized it well enough. It was the smell of high-grade explosives.

  She looked into the darkness above her. As her eyes adjusted, she saw two dark bundles like spiders’ nests, bound to the poles. They were barely five feet over her head – someone had crawled into this position and fastened them in place.

  And there was no telling how many others there were – in the envelope and elsewhere on the ship.

  Down below, Gonzalo had started whistling to himself as he searched. Malone seriously considered showing herself to the little twit just so they could both march down and alert Geist, but assuming the culprit was keeping an ear to the ground, that could turn out very badly indeed.

  So she waited, breathing as little as she dared and listening for Gonzalo’s retreat.

  At last, he tramped and grunted his way back toward the ladder, and Malone let out a shaky breath. When she climbed down, her muscles felt like they’d been sown with stones. Her back felt like she’d slept on a bed of them.

  And her head felt like she’d been pummeled with one.

  Suddenly, the idea of sabotaging the Glasauge seemed like an incredibly poor one.

  Chapter 18

  The Perfect Storm

  Jane was waiting in line for water when she heard a sound she hadn’t heard in two weeks: the warbling cry of a gull.

  The bird was perched on the railing of the stillship, preening its gray feathers against a grayer sky. The horizon had been dimmed with thick clouds all afternoon, and the seas stirred with more than the usual chop. The result on Salvage seemed to be a darkening of everyone’s moods and an agitation of their tempers.

  “Fresh bird afinal,” said the man behind Jane. “Only good thing about nearing the terrens.”

  The woman next to him grunted. “In a week’s time, ye’ll be lamenting the plumes in your teeth.”

  “Why no? Ess weeks of fish ee a week of bird. Only natural to desire variety.”

  “Don’t tell me of variety!” The woman’s voice took on an edge that sounded like it had been sharpened over many previous arguments. “Give you yellowfin, you desire sea bass. Give you sea bass, you desire skipjack. Give you a good, honest woman, you–”

  “Calm now,” the man said. The ends of Jane’s ears were burning, and she fought the urge to turn around to look at the bickering couple. Not everyone in line ahead of her was resisting that temptation.

  But the woman was still building up steam. “You could live on the Continent ee eat–”

  A collect
ive gasp shuddered through the line. The man in front of Jane spun around and glared at the couple.

  “Stow it or you’ll discuss with segundos,” he said. The line lapsed into an embarrassed silence, and for a while the only noises were the crying of the gull and the weird music the wind played on the cables.

  Jane considered – for maybe the hundredth time – going to the segundos herself about Roman’s disappearance on the Kennedy. But what would she say? That she’d lied about who Roman was and why he wanted passage? That they’d both been sneaking where they weren’t allowed when he’d been caught?

  She’d spent sleepless nights running through the scenario, and it always ended one of two ways. At best, the almirante and the other capitans stormed the Kennedy, seized Roman themselves, and locked him up even more carefully. At worst, they killed Roman and threw her overboard as a “perturber.” She’d seen enough power struggles play out back in Recoletta to know this one wouldn’t end any better.

  Her best chance, slim as it was, was to wait for an opportunity to get close to Roman herself. The Kennedy was just one ship, and from what she’d observed it was at odds with the rest of Salvage. And from the way its crew had talked about Roman, she knew they valued him enough to keep him safe and healthy, at least for the time being.

  She had carted the water halfway back to the Nossa Senhora when three long buzzes rang across the decks. After a pause of several seconds, the cycle repeated, and soon other ships were picking up the echo, spreading the signal across Salvage. Less than a minute later, flags were rising from half of the decks Jane could see, all bearing the same image: a black square on an orange field.

  The wind had started to pick up, and everyone else Jane could see on deck was speeding up too. She’d internalized enough of the native ethos by now that she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving a full cart of water to the elements and to chance, so she hurried back to the Nossa Senhora and, she hoped, to safety.

  Leyal was scuttling around with more speed and energy than she’d thought possible. His faded denim eyes widened as he saw her.

  “Go, companyera. Harbor yourself.”

  Jane secured the water cart in a way that had now become routine. “What’s going on?”

  “A churn,” he said, breathless as he cinched and double-latched the coops. “Big one. Got to segure everything ee prepare for cast-off.”

  A heavy feeling crept into Jane’s belly. “Cast-off?”

  “Separate the flotilla. Keep the boats from hitting one another too much. Prevent one sink from taking all.”

  Leyal’s explanation sent a charge of adrenaline through Jane. “Something’s going to sink?”

  He tied off the last of the cages and put his hand over his heart. “Let us hope not.”

  Jane followed him out to the deck and saw the mixture of shame and fear that crossed his face as he closed the door on all of his beloved pigeons. Outside, the warning klaxons were still sounding, and the orange and black flags snapped in the whipping wind. More people were out on the decks, all moving in the same direction.

  Leyal tugged at her elbow. “We harbor on the Oasis. Ess safer on the big ship – more weight, steadier in the salt. Come, pressa.”

  On the other side of the gangway, a steady stream of people was surging onto the big liner.

  But the Kennedy lay in the opposite direction. She would never get another distraction like this.

  “Don’t wait for me,” Jane said. She took off before Leyal could stop her.

  The shrieking wind and slapping waves soon drowned out his cries. Twelve decks bobbed between her and the Kennedy, and those she could see were clear – almost everyone was clustered around the Oasis. The only people in her path were too busy with the mooring lines to pay any attention to her.

  The decks rose and fell, and the gangways rippled like ribbons in the wind. Some dipped perilously low to the water, free now of the tension from neighboring boats that had held them taut. Jane tore across the heaving deck of a big schooner, loping and weaving in time with the motion beneath her. The hull of the Kennedy was finally visible, rising just a few decks away.

  She had almost reached the next gangway when a hand grabbed her arm and almost sent her crashing onto the deck.

  “Wrong direction!” he yelled, pointing back toward the Oasis. “Get to harbor!” The tendons on his neck stood out from the effort of his shouting, but even so his voice was a thin whine above the noise of the storm.

  “Let me go!” Jane said, trying to pull out of his grip.

  He shook his head. “There’s nothing – we’ve cast off!”

  Jane looked past him. Sure enough, the gangway – the one she’d planned to cross – was hanging limply from the deck of the next boat, which was already rising and falling with its own motion. They were drifting apart, but they didn’t seem to have drifted far yet.

  The man gripping Jane’s arm looked away and hollered something to his crew mates, who were now converging.

  Which meant he was distracted.

  Jane kneed him in the groin.

  He doubled over, his cry of pain muffled by the wind and waves. The other four men were running toward her now.

  Jane dashed toward the hanging gangway. It was drifting farther away by the second, but she didn’t dare slow down. The crewmen couldn’t be more than a few steps behind her. Her feet skidded and slid on the wet, rolling deck, and she prayed she wouldn’t slip.

  The edge of the deck was a few long strides away now; the gap in the railing still pointed toward the hanging gangway. It was farther away than she’d thought… five feet? Maybe six? She might make it.

  She had to try.

  Jane pushed herself off the edge and launched over the water, trying not to wonder whether, if she missed, the crewmen behind would pull her out.

  Jane flew through the air, her arms stretched out and her legs extended behind her. The lip of the next deck was getting closer, fast.

  But she was falling faster.

  She was halfway through her arc when she realized she wasn’t going to make the deck. Nevertheless, she reached with everything – arms, fingers, body – and hoped for something to grab onto.

  Sure enough, her fingers found the slats of the hanging gangway just as her body found the unforgiving hull of the ship. She grabbed tightly to the former while her body slammed into the latter, a wave of pain rolling through her chest, stomach, knees, and shins.

  But she was still holding on. Jane climbed, pulling with every ounce of strength until her dangling feet found purchase in the gangway. The slats were wide and tightly spaced, but under the circumstances, they’d have to do for rungs.

  A wave doused Jane, and she clung to the gangway as the water threatened to sweep her off it. With the Kennedy just a few decks away and the swells growing rougher still, Jane moved more slowly than she would have liked. It would be a shame to have made the jump just to fall into the sea.

  But as the crewmen shouted their consternation behind her, Jane allowed herself a small smile.

  She finally pulled herself onto the deck and held to the railing as she took stock.

  Her knees were numb with pain, and one of her hands was bleeding – she’d managed to pop off a fingernail somewhere during her climb.

  And something was pressing into her ribs.

  She swallowed her horror and felt her abdomen, relieved to find the familiar shape of her book. She’d kept it close since escaping the Kennedy the first time. Which was a good thing, because she didn’t think she’d be going back to her berth on the Lazy May any time soon.

  But the way ahead was clear, with ever-larger ships rising like stairs toward the Kennedy. Waves were washing over the decks now, tossing the boats against each other with bone-thudding crashes. The bigger craft would be steadier – she just had to make it to the Kennedy. And Roman. They could figure out the next part together.

  They wouldn’t get another opportunity like this, anyway.

  When she was sure her legs wer
e steady enough to carry her, she hurried onward, bracing herself against railings and bulwarks as she climbed the decks to her destination.

  The ships heaved from side to side, and Jane felt as though she were outrunning the ever-rising waves. The final gangway to the Kennedy billowed and snapped beneath her, but she kept both hands on the ropes and her eyes on the deck above and ahead of her. When she finally set foot on the enormous ship, she allowed herself a moment to get her bearings.

  The broad deck was empty as far as she could see, which was a good sign.

  Her problem now was where to go next. After all, a small city hummed and ran beneath her feet.

  A small city that was, like all the other ships of Salvage, currently in lockdown.

  And if the Kennedy was anything like the other ships, that would mean most of its crew were harboring someplace safe rather than manning their usual posts. After all, who would be running around in a storm like this?

  The deckhouse port was unlocked. She found the hatch leading to the lower levels and followed it the only way she could – down.

  The passageways were emptier and quieter than they’d been when she and Roman had passed through, and Jane found herself careening from one side to the other with the motion of the ship. The one she presently traveled seemed to run the length of the Kennedy. It was silent save for her footsteps and the muffled pounding of the storm outside, and room after room she passed was deserted.

  At the next stairwell, Jane descended another couple of levels, trying to remember the route she and Roman had taken before. The Kennedy was large enough to have a brig, which was the likeliest place for the crew to keep Roman. She just had to find it. And a good excuse to visit it.

  She estimated that she was headed toward the middle of the ship. Which might give her a better reference point for finding Roman.

  Or it might get her caught.

  Either way, the swaying deck beneath her reminded her that the storm was picking up outside.

  Presently, she heard the drone of voices – many people gathered together, murmuring and shuffling somewhere below –