by J. S. Morin
With the coordinates entered, Kaia turned on the viewframe. One of the more welcome improvements the Mad Tinker had made to the controls was a single lever for turning on the twelve switches that fed the machine spark. It was hardly an effort to bring the view alive now. The image showed the interior of a sitting room fit for a daruu, except that the nicer things were made of wood, not stone. Kaia had grown up in a freeman household, with a cobbler father and a baker’s assistant mother; she had never seen anything lavish until she had joined the rebellion. Getting to see all the wonders of not just one world, but three, was worth everything she had done to join up.
The chair in the sitting room was filled to overflowing with an older man enjoying a glass of something golden brown. This was her target. With a nod to herself, she pulled the switch to open the world-hole. Normally, someone seeing one open next to them startled a person, even one who was expecting it. Anzik was different about it, and so was this Mr. Harwick. He just raised his glass to her with a wink and waited.
Kaia gathered herself, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from her shirt and trousers. “Mr. Harwick, my name is Kaia, and I am a representative of the Human Rebellion. I am acting on behalf of Mr. Cadmus Errol, who regrets—”
“Could you slow down a bit, my dear?” Harwick asked in halting Korrish. “Until a few days ago, I was aware of your language mostly in its written form.”
“Oh … yes … I’m sorry,” Kaia said with exaggerated enunciation. “I am visiting you to check on the books. If you have any completed, I would be happy to deliver them to Mr. Cadmus Errol.”
“So, Errol thinks he’s got me in his pocket now, eh?” Harwick asked. “I’ve half a mind to hold onto the translations until he comes in person to collect them.”
“But sir, I—”
“Then again, how could I trouble a pretty young lass such as yourself,” Harwick continued with a smile. “Please, come in. Have a seat and a drink.”
“I … I don’t think I’m supposed to,” Kaia said, blushing.
“Nonsense,” Harwick replied. “You’re on business; I understand that. But I am the business, and I insist you join me.” He waved a hand toward an empty chair. “And if you don’t mind, turn that view aside first. I don’t fancy a window into a bare stone cavern and a lot of clockwork trinkets while I drink.”
“Um … all right. I suppose.” Kaia turned the view around and stepped through. Harwick sounded like he was going to be trouble to deal with. It made her wonder if that was why Cadmus had given her the assignment instead of dealing with Harwick himself.
Once Kaia stepped through into Tellurak, Harwick rose and ambled around to the open side of the world-hole. In a flash, the hole closed. “What did you do?” she asked, her breath suddenly coming quick. She was stranded.
“Calm yourself, my dear,” said Harwick. He went to the side table, which displayed an array of colored liquids in fancy glass bottles. “Let me pour you a drink. I just have some questions for you, the sort that I’d rather have frank answers to, without worrying who might be listening from the shadows.”
“But how will I get back?”
Harwick shrugged. “All I did was lift the handle that turns the machine on. I can’t imagine it will be long before someone happens by and pushes it back into place. In the meantime … brandy?” He filled a glass and pressed it into Kaia’s hands.
She sniffed it and winced at the sting.
“Not much of a drinker?” Harwick asked.
“Mostly ale.” She took an experimental sip and felt a stronger burn than she was used to.
“Can’t say I keep much of that around,” Harwick replied, settling into a high-backed chair with worn upholstery. “They often judge a man around here by the quality of the liquor he drinks. That sip you took cost more than a horse.”
Kaia froze. She did a quick estimate and figured that there must be twenty or thirty horses left in her glass. She knew that Madlin had grown up rich, but Kaia could never get used to waste.
“Oh, have no fear,” Harwick said. “Your company is worth every lost whinny. Besides, you can’t spend all your money on horses, or you’d wind up neck-deep in horse dung. Now tell me, what does Cadmus Errol plan to do with what’s in these books?”
“I don’t know,” Kaia replied. She chose a chair across from Harwick and sat down on the very edge of it. “Aside from wanting to know the details on the world-rippers—”
“Travel gates,” Harwick corrected her.
“He doesn’t know what’s in them.”
“And you believe him?” Harwick asked. He watched her with gun-barrel eyes. Kaia remembered then that Harwick was a sorcerer like Dan. He was too old and slow to pose a threat physically, but he had used magic to turn off the world-ripper, and he could probably turn her “off” as well.
“I don’t see why I wouldn’t,” Kaia replied. “He’s not much of one for secrets, really. I think it helps that no one knows what he’s talking about most of the time anyway. I mean, Madlin and a few of the tinkers and machinists, of course, and the ones that see the other world.”
“You’re not like that, then? Twinborn?”
Kaia shook her head and tapped at her temple. “Just me in here.”
“You’re better off,” Harwick said. “I was twinborn once, until an uncle of mine decided I was more trouble than I was worth. I’m really just half a man now. Better I was whole in one world all my life.”
“Same thing happened to Mr. Errol,” Kaia said. She called him Cadmus to his face, but she felt the need to make him sound important to an important man like Mr. Harwick. “Except it wasn’t his uncle, it was a daruu trap that got him.”
“Really?” Harwick asked. “He neglected that detail when we spoke.”
“It’s not much of a secret; just about everyone knows. He just doesn’t like to talk about it. You’d probably understand better than most how that works.”
“Indeed.”
“So, you asking what he wants to do with the books makes me think you finished rewriting them,” Kaia said. “How many am I bringing back with me?”
“I have two thus far,” Harwick replied. “I didn’t undertake them in order. I started with the one that details the workings of the transport gates. I consider myself a learned man, my dear, and I will admit that the breadth of it washed over me like the waves of a storm sea. I trust that the Mad Tinker has a better background in practical physics for deciphering it.”
Kaia grinned. “I doubt there’s any better, at least among our kind.”
“The next book I chose at a whim, because its title intrigued me.”
“What’s that?”
“Calling for Help,” Harwick said. “It presented such potentially enlightening questions as: ‘help from whom?’ and ‘what sort of help?’ I simply lost myself to my own curiosity.”
“So did you find the answers?”
“To a degree, but not a degree with which I am satisfied,” said Harwick. “The book presupposes certain knowledge on behalf of the reader. I don’t know if it was simple oversight, or a means to denying that information to ignorant readers such as myself. But it does seem to indicate that with the device it describes, you can summon aid from beyond the barrier or worlds. It does not say from whom, nor does it specify the manner in which that aid might be supplied. It is also quite likely that even if such a device was to be made, there may no longer be anyone to answer the call.”
“Wow.”
“Indeed. This is why I questioned you in regards to Cadmus Errol’s motives. I have a great deal of experience dealing with men of power, and sound judgment of the repercussions of their actions is not always prominent among their virtues. The Mad Tinker reputation of his doesn’t help matters either.”
Kaia nodded. Unfortunately, there was truth to what Harwick said. Cadmus’s reputation was overblown, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t earned it.
“So you see, that’s why I needed to speak to you alone,” said Harwick. “And it’
s why you are worth every drop and more of that brandy growing warm in your hand. You are the one who is going to decide whether I can trust Cadmus Errol not to go building a device whose purpose and consequences cannot be foreseen. On your word, I will either send you on your way with both books, or I will withhold the second book, and you can truthfully report that I only gave you the one.”
“But I’m not anyone important,” Kaia protested. “I have no right to say whether Cadmus Errol can be trusted or not. He’s the brains behind the rebellion. He’s my superior.”
Harwick leaned back and closed his eyes. “Have they told you much of Acardia?” Kaia shook her head, but before she realized that he wasn’t watching, he continued. “King Gorden is the last of his kind, an old man who has seen the error not only of his own ways, but the errors of his father, grandfather, and all who came before him. His son will not inherit his title. We’ve spent years, he and I, setting up a government that represents the people, one that lets them choose their leaders, rather than mere heredity. Gorden is a good king, but that’s just luck for we Acardians. His son would be a good king too, but that’s not the point. The point is that wisdom is spread throughout the kingdom, not sequestered in the mind of one man by right of birth. People here have a say in their leadership, even now, and will only gain more influence with King Gorden’s death. I believe in that. I believe that the best way to learn the heart of a man is by talking to those who he holds in his power. What a man does with power tells you everything you need to know about him. But much of what he does is done behind closed doors, where few see it. You’re behind those doors. So tell me: is Cadmus Errol the sort of man I can trust not to do something reckless and astonishingly short-sighted with this book?”
Kaia sat still. My choice? Why do I have to be the one? He’s a good man at heart. It’s all worked out, too. The world-rippers … where would we be without those? And the cannon? Maybe that was a bit much, but it did the job. All right, fine … if it had misfired or anything had gone wrong, it could have killed us all. But it didn’t. That should count for something. Shouldn’t it?
“What’s in those other worlds?” Kaia asked. “Does the book say?” She knew that there were twelve total; Rynn had explained that much to her. Out of curiosity, she had spun through the world dial on the console, but had never been able to see any but her own, Tellurak, and Veydrus.
“It doesn’t,” Harwick replied. “Who’s to say what could be out there. The writers of these books would seem likely, or at least their descendants. Maybe the lost gods. Maybe something worse than kuduks. Honestly, I can only speculate.”
“Maybe it would be best if I only took the one.”
Kupe stood at the ready, along with a group of forty-nine other recruits. Davlin had told them they were part of Operation Potato now, but that didn’t explain much. The uniform felt tight when worn properly. Kupe had never been fond of the top buttons of any coat or shirt he wore, preferring a more fashionably lax look. The ladies had always appreciated it. Davlin less so. It wasn’t the first time he had stood waiting for Davlin to send him off into battle. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last. Back in the tunnels of Cuminol, he had held a rifle, and only knew the basics of what to do with one. Now, Kupe carried a coil gun with what felt like a lifetime supply of ball bearings weighing down his pack. At his belt, he had four of Rynn’s spark grenades, something that hardly ever got sent on raids, as far as he knew. A few of the rebel factions had been given some as last-resort defenses, but normally they seemed like a waste. Kupe assumed that Davlin was going to explain why he had them.
Pious Davlin looked out over Kupe and his comrades, eyes narrow as slits against the glare of sun in the plaza. “You all are now members of Operation Potato. We have word that our kin in Tellurak are being rounded up, killed or dragged off. We don’t know where they’ve gone, but we know where they have been taking their victims. Across the Telluraki kingdom of Acardia, there have been reports of farms attacked. There have been no witnesses, but we know who is responsible. In Kupak Deep, the newspapers are calling it the Human Replacement Plan.” Davlin spat on the deck. “We’ve searched Kupak, but none of the missing farmhands have shown up. They will, and when they do, we will make bloody sure they get home. Until then, we need to stop the kuduks taking any more of our kin.
“That’s where you boys and girls come in. You are the hands of Eziel, holding both sword and shield. Most of our activities have weighed heavily to the sword hand, and I admit to being partial to the bladed solutions myself. But we must not reject Eziel’s protection, and we must not fail to pass that protection to those who require it. You will be sent in squads of five, stationed at Acardian farms in a rotation that your squad leaders will go over with you prior to departure. Your job will be to keep out of sight, keep vigilant watch, and be ready to counter a world-ripper invasion at your designated farm, should there be one during your watch.”
I picked the wrong day to be a hero. The prospect of days outdoors in a backwater world like Tellurak was enough to make Kupe wish he had a drink in his hand. He was a deeper to the core. There was no malice in him toward humans who preferred living in the skies, but he had no desire to join them.
While Davlin’s speech wandered into details, Kupe’s attention drifted off. It wasn’t like he was in the front few rows. Kupe was all the way in the back, where Davlin’s view of him was blocked by a bunch of fresh-faced soldiers, all hanging on everything the old priest said. With a subtle turn of his head, Kupe tried to get a better look at a few of the women in the new division. It was coats and trousers for everyone, but even with the uniforms, a practiced eye like Kupe’s knew how to imagine the hidden details.
What’s Charsi doing here? It was her. He knew it. She was at the far side of the crowd, one row ahead. Kupe had ogled her often enough that no pair of trousers was going to disguise her. She’d cut her hair short, showing off the milky skin at the back of her neck. He had barely seen her since coming aboard the Jennai. It wasn’t until he had put two and two together that he realized that if Davlin was aboard, most of his followers would be as well. But Kupe had been living inside the moon most of the time since then. He hadn’t seen her or talked to her since the flashpop. Why had she done it? He needed an answer, and not some slick-talk from Davlin about everyone having a job and doing it.
Kupe’s musings were cut short when he heard the familiar litany and joined in midway. “Lord Eziel, grant us vengeance upon our enemies. Let us share our strength as comrades and become fearsome to our foes. I am your servant; teach me to kill in your name.”
Bloody Eziel. Grant me an hour alone with that girl, and I’ll kill all the kuduks you want.
Chapter 12
“Most large animals are edible, given proper processing. Refer to diagrams 7a. through 7h. for generalized diagrams of the edible portions of various classes of animal.” – Traveler’s Companion: Hunting and Farming
K’k’rt had been in larger caverns before. The underground complex below the human city of Raynesdark made this one seem miniscule in comparison. He had stood beneath the night sky and stared into the heavens, with stars so far above that the mind could not fathom. But nowhere else did he feel so small as a creature than standing beneath the looming gaze of Fr’n’ta’gur.
The summons had been perfunctory, which told him that the dragon was in a peckish mood. That was never a good sign. The priest who was sent to fetch him had been miserly with details, only willing or able to tell him that Fr’n’ta’gur had a problem that only K’k’rt could fix. That meant that K’k’rt had a problem. And thus he found himself before the mightiest creature he had ever met, wondering what he was going to be asked for.
“K’k’rt,” the dragon boomed. “Were you aware of any problems with the human city prior to our invasion?”
K’k’rt chuckled halfheartedly. Oh, that’s not a good sign. “Your Excellency, there were many deficiencies noted in the initial reports. Aside from the obvious infestation of humans, we
were aware that the upper mines were in fact devoid of useful minerals, and that while the lower mines produced occasional diamonds, they were primarily a source of common ores. There were concerns about the stability of the repair work on the glacier wall, but those have since been allayed. Your Magnificence, I know of no other deficiencies that would warrant your notice.”
“Indeed?” Fr’n’ta’gur said. He craned his neck to peer straight down at K’k’rt, who could imagine his own demise in vivid detail. “Then why have I received word that there is a geological issue that threatens the city’s very existence?”
K’k’rt was dead. He knew it. Better to have taken his chances killing the priest who came to get him and running as fast as his old legs could carry him, rather than answer the summons of a peckish dragon. He couldn’t even chuckle over his predicament. “That region has been stable during all recorded history, Great Fr’n’ta’gur. Perhaps this is a trick by the humans.”
“This is no trick,” Fr’n’ta’gur replied. “Goblins who have served me longer than you have confirmed that there is a volcanic pressure rising beneath the mountain.”
“I am sure I had no idea—”
“I want a solution,” the dragon said. “No excuses. Use the human girl, and have her create a solution. Her world must have seen this same problem. She will have an answer.”
“Of course, Great and Merciful Fr’n’ta’gur. I will see to it at once.” K’k’rt was bowing and backing away even before he finished speaking.
Rynn sat at a round table, crowded with ale tankards, coins, and cards. Heavy curtains blocked the windows, and a single spark bulb above the center of the table provided the only light. To either side, Rynn’s top officers guarded their hands as they jested and cajoled one another. It was the General’s Game, which had become a weekly ritual to keep relations among the rebellion’s leadership friendly. It had been Vaulk’s idea. He was the one who had pointed out the rivalry between Rascal and Davlin—Rynn hadn’t even noticed. It wasn’t that Rynn disliked Crackle, but it always felt as if they were betraying the trust placed in them by the rebels when they all idled at once.