Tinker's Justice

by J. S. Morin

  A rustling of branches took him by surprise. Whirling around with his coil gun leading, Kupe caught himself short. “Charsi!” he whispered fiercely. He wrapped his arms around her and held her for too brief a moment.

  “Thrum’s down,” Charsi whispered back. “They tossed his grenade back at him.”

  Kupe winced. “How many left?”

  “Dunno,” she replied. “Not the easiest place to take a count. We’ve gotta get that hole closed. I know we’re supposed to save one to keep from getting taken—”

  Kupe snorted. “I threw all mine.”

  “But I’ll toss my last one through to finish the job. Will you cover me?”

  No, I can’t let you do that. Give it here, and I’ll do it. Kupe wanted to say something like that. It sounded brave and soldierly, the sort of thing he was here to be. “You can count on me,” he said instead.

  Kupe and Charsi kept under cover as long as they could, until they reached the last row of trees, their fruit picked bare. From there it was a run of nearly two hundred feet to the world-hole. If Kupe had been a great crashballer, he might have tried the throw from the tree line. But he doubted there was a newsman alive who had the arm to make a throw like that with a four-pound grenade.

  Charsi holstered her coil gun and took the grenade in both hands, cradling it against her chest like a baby. She dashed across the open field, dodging the bodies of the fallen. There was no thought to stealth, just the element of surprise and all the speed Charsi’s legs could summon. She was a thing of beauty. Mud-splattered. Short hair. Uniform cut like a man’s coveralls. She was everything right about the rebellion. To the incinerators with the kuduks, the whole lot of them. They weren’t going to stop her, not today.

  Charsi stumbled. Kupe heard the click a split-second later, just as he saw the blood spray. She fell to the ground.

  A kuduk crashed through the tree line at the far end of the row, heading for the world-hole. Maybe he thought he had finished off the last human. Maybe he was just hoping for a gap to escape through. The kuduk’s run was nothing graceful, not the bounding, triumphant run that Charsi’s had been a moment before. Kupe’s first shot went wide. His second clipped the kuduk but didn’t slow him. But Kupe was past worrying about conserving his ammunition. By the time the coil gun stopped launching a ball bearing with each click, the kuduk had been torn to shreds.

  Kupe ran to Charsi’s side. If he was making the same mistake as the kuduk, so be it. He was past caring. If he couldn’t get to Charsi, he’d die trying. Everything moved like mud. He couldn’t run fast enough. Beneath his feet, the ground grabbed at him, sucking at his boots. The world was blurry until he wiped at his eyes.

  “Charsi!” he shouted as he reached her. She was moaning on the ground, still alive. Her left arm was covered in blood. Dropping his coil gun, Kupe pulled his shirt over his head and tore a strip of cloth free. He was no doctor, but he knew bad cuts had to be tied up tight to stop the blood. He did the best he could to patch up Charsi’s arm where the kuduk coil gun had hit her.

  “Kupe,” she grunted out between gasps. “Close it.”

  Lying at Charsi’s side was the grenade. They were close enough that Kupe could probably have made the throw from right there. Taking the grenade in hand, he twisted the dial.

  “Do it,” she whispered.

  Five … Charsi needed a doctor, and soon … Four … they’d fought for too long without reinforcements to think any help was coming from the Jennai any time soon … Three … Kupe couldn’t wait any longer. Reaching back, he threw the grenade as far as he could into the orchard, then shielded Charsi’s body with his own until the blast shook them both.

  “Why did …”

  “I ain’t lettin’ you die here,” Kupe said. He scooped Charsi up in his arms and headed for the world-hole.

  The scene inside was a mess. There were the remains of a shattered glass wall and three kuduks on the ground; none was in good shape. They might have all been dead, but Kupe wasn’t in the mood to check right then. They weren’t moving, and for now that was enough.

  Using his boot, Kupe swept a spot clear of broken glass and propped Charsi up against the wall. The world-ripper controls looked so much like the ones aboard the Jennai and in the secret base that Kupe felt familiar around them. But Kupe had never used one before. He had only watched, and he’d mainly been distracted by the image in the viewframe. The kuduks had log books, charts, and maps, but none of that did Kupe any good. Charsi needed a doctor, and there was nothing that said where to find one.

  There was only one thing he could think to do. One dial on the console was labeled “world.” Right now the viewframe was showing Tellurak. If he turned it to Korr, he could at least be a few miles outside Cuminol, where he might get her to a doctor in time. A dial only turned in two directions, so Kupe picked one and gave it a twist.

  A howling wind arose, sucking everything toward the viewframe, as the image shifted to the swirling blue-white that lay between worlds. Kupe realized in a momentary panic that he had left the hole open as he moved it. Kaia would never have made a brick-headed mistake like that. But Kaia wasn’t there, and Kupe at least knew which lever switched the viewframe back to a harmless image. He managed to revert it to that state before the swirling vortex ate all their air.

  Kupe didn’t know how far to turn the dial, so he went slowly, not wanting to zip past without realizing. Charsi moaned from the side of the room, prompting him to quicken his pace. After a few full turns, the image resolved itself into a landscape similar to the one they had left. Kupe hadn’t seen much of the Korrish countryside, but it looked like a sky to him.

  He picked up Charsi and carried her to the viewframe. I should have saved that last grenade. Swallowing back the guilty lump in his throat, he stepped through.

  Had Kupe been thinking with a clear head, he might have realized how many more trees there were than any portion of Korr he had ever seen. Had he been in a positively clever mood, he might have realized that the relative setting to Korr from Korr ought to have been zero. But if Kupe needed proof positive that he had, in fact, not found Korr at all, the appearance of a twelve-foot, leather-skinned demon with glowing red eyes was enough to get through to even a befuddled Kupe.

  The creature grumbled something, looking down at them with what Kupe’s imagination told him was a puzzled expression. If Kupe hadn’t wrung all the scared out of his system already, he might even have fainted. But Kupe’s brain was too numb just then to properly assess the horror of his predicament.

  “Sorry,” said Kupe, “I was looking for Korr.”

  “You dundering imbecile,” the creature boomed. “You just came from Korr. What is the meaning of this?”

  “Them back there,” Kupe said, jerking his head toward the world-hole, “they been taking humans from Tellurak for slaves in Korr. Replacements for killing off our humans. We set out to stop ‘em. Me and her are the only survivors, but she ain’t gonna survive long if I don’t get her to a doctor.”

  The creature smiled, showing off a set of teeth like thunderail spikes. “You oppose those creatures?” it asked, pointing at the bodies of the kuduks in the world-ripper room.

  “Yeah, doin’ all we can,” Kupe said. “You know ‘em?”

  “They have pestered me,” the creature replied. “And you have given me a small opportunity for recompense.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Your mission appears to have ended in calamity,” the creature replied. “How might it be resolved?”

  “I need to get Charsi to a doctor, and we was supposed to blow up that there world-ripper. Um, if you’re looking to really help out, all them papers could be a big help. So would a prisoner—you know, to interrogate.”

  The creature’s grin broadened. “I declare that these creatures are responsible for a breach of my kingdom’s peace. I will not set foot off my land, but I will send you on your way with what you need.”

  The creature took Charsi’s arm in one clawed hand
. Smoke rose with a sizzling hiss, and Charsi cried out. “I have not the skill to heal her, but she will not die quickly.”

  One of the kuduks in the world-ripper room drifted up from the floor, trailing a soft tinkling of broken glass as he floated through the world-hole and came to rest by Kupe and Charsi. All the documents joined the kuduk soon after. The creature presented a hand, palm extended, toward the open world-hole, and a ball of flame gathered there. It strained against an unseen barrier, roiling and thrashing, growing brighter and hotter until Kupe had to turn aside against the heat. Like a shot from a coil gun, the ball of flame leapt from the creature’s hand, slamming into the world-ripper console. The hole was gone.

  “Um, thanks,” said Kupe. He looked down at the kuduk who was to become his prisoner. “I think this one’s dead.”

  “A pity,” the creature said. The corpse erupted in black flames, and in seconds there was nothing left but ash and a scar on the ground to mark where it had been. “Your people will be along shortly to collect you. I have alerted them to your presence here. I am Xizix, Supreme Ruler of Azzat. Warn your kind to keep clear of this place. Make it known.”

  Chapter 14

  “Before eating an unfamiliar plant, either observe a mammalian creature eating it first, or irradiate it thoroughly—preferably both.” – Traveler’s Companion: Flora Safety

  The Sudden Blade wobbled over Kadris Harbor, fighting a headwind with the help of Danilaesis’s magic. It was the long way around to the docks, but it spared the warlock and his crew the indignity of being seen returning in a derelict ship by half the populace of Kadris. It was not the worst return Danilaesis had suffered in his service to the empire. He had brought back one ship that drifted like a cloud; its hull carried on the breeze without so much as a single sail remaining. Twice he had returned on stolen horses, commandeered after finding himself afoot with no ship capable of lift.

  When the Sudden Blade settled into its drydock berth, Danilaesis quit it at once without a word to captain or crew. He was done with them. Whether Sudden Blade or another vessel would next carry him into battle, not a soul among them would be by his side. The army and navy needed bodies, and the warlock would not deprive the Empire needlessly, but let other commanders suffer the fools, not him. It was a shame that Captain Waenrok had not survived the destruction of the Falcon’s Claw; of all who had captained an airship for him, Waenrok was the one best suited to Danilaesis’s service. Wily, quick-tongued, and with an air of bravado that suited a pirate, Waenrok never questioned Danilaesis, and when the warlock sought it, Waenrok provided sound advice.

  If he’d been born in Tellurak, he’d have been a pirate for sure, that one. He’d have been a better pirate than Zayne, make no mistake. If only it were so simple. Madlin had done that sort of thing, taking people to places that they didn’t belong, and using skills she shouldn’t know. It was warfare Uncle Rashan would have approved of. Danilaesis would have taken a crew of pirates over the limp washcloths the navy sent him.

  There was an idea somewhere in there. If Madlin ever slipped up, and he got a chance to steal a world-ripper from her, he might give serious consideration to recruiting among the pirates. His musings were short-lived, as a man in palace livery stood waiting for him. Few enough palace servants wandered outside those black marble halls, and rarely did those errands send them down to the docks. Even fewer people in the empire warranted such attention, but Danilaesis was among those—none of the crew could possibly have earned a palace messenger’s visit.

  “What do you want?” Danilaesis snapped before he had come close enough for the messenger to initiate a polite greeting. “I’m in no mood for the shit you’re about to shovel in my path.”

  “High Sorcerer Axterion feared as much,” the messenger replied with a bow. “He bid me inform you that he has pleasant news, news of a sensitive nature to which I am not privy. He did assure me that whatever inconvenience it may cause you shall be forgiven once you find out what it is.”

  “Oh, piss on that newly-young old codger,” Danilaesis spat back. “What does he want from me?” He strode toward the messenger. The thin, weaselly creature had until Danilaesis reached him to explain.

  “A fresh change of clothes, a bath, and an appearance in what was until recently a spice cellar.”

  Danilaesis stopped short. “Bloody winds, that old relic knows how to stir an imagination. Fine. Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I find something to wear. I haven’t magic enough to get all the blood out of this fabric.” He held his arms out to his sides, smirking as the messenger blanched at the sight of his blood-stained sleeves. The black cloth hid the blood well, but having been forewarned, the messenger knew what he was seeing. Danilaesis wished that everyone else would have the same reaction without him having to explain.

  Kezudkan sat waiting, his hand running idly along the underside of the table. The top surface was ground smooth and treated with polish, but the bottom was rough cut stone with a pleasant texture. It eased his mind as he waited to meet the newcomer human. It had taken days to acclimate himself to the idea that humans here were powerful, self-confident, and in charge of a rather large swath of the world. Even the Korrish rebels had a furtive quality to them, striking, running, and hiding. These Kadrins of Veydrus suffered him like a nuisance guest. Perhaps they thought that a daruu would not pick up on the nuance, but Kezudkan had owned humans since before any of them were born. The forced smiles, the lilting, patronizing speech that transcended the need for translation; they wanted an alliance, but they bargained from a position of power.

  Now, there was word that High Sorcerer Axterion’s grandson had returned. The Kadrin had kept coy about the whys and hows, but the boy had spent time among the Korrish rebels and learned their language—his language. There would be no more furtive side chats on the daruu side of the table once the boy arrived. The candid comments that conveniently went un-translated would boil away in the boy’s presence.

  The room was quiet, with a few hushed conversations around the periphery of the room. Everyone was there from the Kadrins’ side except the High Sorcerer himself and Empress Celia—whose dignity did not suffer waiting.

  The Pillar of Runes leaned close. “Anything you need to say before their translator arrives?”

  “I’m not certain he’s just a translator,” Kezudkan replied. “Look at them all. You’ve been around these humans for four days of negotiations. Have you seen them this nervous even once?”

  “I can’t say I would have. You’re the expert on humans here, Citizen Kezudkan.”

  Kezudkan snorted softly. Expert. These humans are dripping with fear … except perhaps that General Varnus. Probably not a sorcerer with that kuduk brawn on him. Maybe he’s just dumb as a crashballer and doesn’t know what’s good for him. Kezudkan found himself caressing the stone of the table with more vigor, trying to summon his own peace of mind from its surface. The humans’ fear was contagious, and he found himself envying the Pillar of Runes his obliviousness.

  The door burst open. Axterion Solaran was preceded into the room by a younger version of himself. The boy’s resemblance was unmistakable, from the thin, lanky build to the perpetual furrow of his brow. Even their black attire matched. The young newcomer spoke something Veydran over his shoulder and High Sorcerer Axterion replied in kind. An insipid smile spread on the boy’s face. “Greetings, I am Danilaesis Solaran,” the boy said. “I am Warlock of the Empire and blood-stained right hand of the empress. I think we have some common enemies.”

  Kezudkan could hear the echoes of Kadrin speech in the boy’s accent, but the words were clear enough. It felt oddly personal to communicate directly, rather than waiting for the Pillar of Runes to repeat whatever was said. But Kezudkan was not the leader of the daruu delegation.

  “I am pleased to greet you, Danilaesis Solaran, protector of your people,” replied the king’s successor as he rose from his seat. “I am Lunjak, successor to King Dekulon.”

  “That mean you’re his son or
something?” Danilaesis asked.

  The successor smiled mildly, as close as Kezudkan had seen the man to poking fun at someone. He had to be twice the king’s age at the least. “No, I have simply been chosen as the next king, should anything happen—”

  “Yes, yes, I understand that sort of arrangement,” Danilaesis cut in. This direct communication was going to prove much quicker. “Which one of you built the world-ripper?”

  Kezudkan blinked. The boy had no grace or tact. Even Draksgollow had shown a modicum of civility as a businessman. The old daruu drew himself up in his chair. “Well, that would be me.”

  Danilaesis turned to Axterion and said something incomprehensible. Kezudkan spared a glance at the Pillar of Runes, but saw no sign of comprehension there; it must have been their own language, and not the common language of the rune-throwers. After a brief exchange with his grandfather, Danilaesis continued. “I want to see it.”

  “You mean now?” the successor asked.

  Danilaesis shot a glare at the successor that had the daruu shrinking in his seat. “I wasn’t talking to you. You’re not king, and you’re not the one with the machine I need. I’ve got a war to fight, and if I’m going to take time away from it, it’s not going to be to shovel words down a pit with you diplomats. If we’ve got something you want, and you’ve got something I want, I can assure you we’ll all be happy in the end. In the meantime, I want to see the gutted machine.”

  Kezudkan suspected the boy was mixing Veydran slang into his daruu, because the guts of the machine were staying intact as far as he was concerned, sorcerer or no sorcerer. He rose from his chair with an audible crackling of joints. Hefting his cane, Kezudkan gripped it and twisted it in mid-air, giving the day’s prearranged signal to Gederon. The world-hole opened seconds later.