The Kraken King

by Meljean Brook

  “Cooper’s out there,” she told the governor, and when he nodded she understood why he was still on the ground. He was waiting to make certain that everyone else was up first.

  She looked to Mara. The mercenary still hadn’t boarded the walker. Blanchett was urging her up, but she stood with her head cocked and slowly turning in a circle. Listening for her husband.

  With a sudden cry, she pivoted and broke into a run.

  “Mara!” Zenobia cried, then the governor was off, too, sprinting north across the clearing after Mara and shouting to Tsetseg, who started up the walker.

  Oh, that had to be a bad idea. The engine would heat up and attract the boilerworm.

  “Cooper, run!”

  Mara’s scream pierced Zenobia’s stunned immobility. Her friends were in trouble and she was sitting in a tree. No no no. Scraping over branches, sliding, she thudded to the ground, just missing her stool and landing on the dubious cushion of her pack. The impact slammed through her backside and rattled her teeth but she pushed up and raced across the clearing. The governor and Mara had already passed the tents and the canvas blocked her view, but Mara was shouting again and others were on the ground and running to help, too.

  Zenobia ran past the tent and skidded to a stop. There was Cooper ahead, running toward them through the low scrub, leaping over the brush in his way. The governor and Mara had almost reached him. It would be all right, then. They would all just end up racing back to the trees—

  Cooper fell knee-deep into a hole and plunged forward to the ground.

  Or so it seemed. Zenobia stared in confusion. Cooper, the man of few words, didn’t say anything or cry out in pain, though something must have twisted or broken. He had steel legs, but they were grafted onto flesh, and wrenching them like that must have hurt. And although he pushed against the ground he wasn’t getting up. The ground beneath him was rising, instead, like a mountain of dirt slowly erupting. His eyes locked with Mara’s, who was screaming his name as she fell to her knees in front of him.

  She reached for his hand and the governor reached for the other. They hauled back and pulled Cooper out of the ground.

  The boilerworm came with him.

  Sheer horror shoved Zenobia back a step, her hands flying to her mouth to stop her terrified cry. She’d expected something small. But the thing that burst out of the ground was as big around as a locomotive car—and at least as long, maybe longer. The tail was still anchored underground. Its head ended in a flat, eyeless circle, like the segment of a worm that had been cut apart and healed over. Encrusted by a thick layer of red dirt, the massive cylindrical body rose like a striking snake, jerking the governor and Mara up with it.

  They hadn’t let go of Cooper—and the boilerworm hadn’t let go of him. Two giant iron plates covered the flat face and his legs were trapped between the center seam.

  It would be all right, then. They would pull him free. She watched with her heart in her throat as, high in the air, the governor and Mara braced their boots against the face plates and hauled back again. Cooper didn’t budge.

  A loud click sounded. The plates slid aside, knocking them off, and they dangled from Cooper’s grip again. A nightmare opened up beneath him.

  Cooper hadn’t been caught between the plates. He’d been caught in the boilerworm’s jaws. Sharp iron teeth were packed together in concentric circles. In horror, she watched as another click sounded and the teeth all rotated, each circle in a different direction, pulling Cooper deeper toward the pit of its throat. Steel shrieked and Mara screamed with it. With flesh and bone for legs, he’d have already been free, Zenobia realized. He’d have lost his limbs, but he’d have been free. The steel wouldn’t shatter, though. Now it was slowly dragging him in.

  Mara and the governor hung from Cooper’s grip in front of the jaws. The governor managed to get his feet against the edge of the boilerworm’s face, beyond the grinding teeth, but Mara wasn’t tall enough. Her boots struck the jaws as the worm’s head tilted back.

  Cooper shouted at her. “Let go!”

  Mara didn’t answer. She wouldn’t, Zenobia knew. Cooper knew, too.

  He seemed to shake his hand. Mara’s scream of denial told Zenobia what he was doing: dislodging her grip and forcing her to let go. Tears sprang to Zenobia’s eyes when he finally succeeded, and Mara’s shattered cry followed her down to the ground. She jumped to her feet and screamed up at him, her voice breaking.

  But Zenobia wouldn’t cry. Because it wasn’t over. Cooper was trying to dislodge the governor. He must not have heard that the Kraken King never let go.

  And he’d also brought his soldiers with him. The walker scuttled up to the worm’s side.

  An electric engine whined.

  The coil gun was silent, but it fired a projectile half the size of a cannonball. Zenobia had seen one rip through the side of a wooden airship like tearing through paper.

  It slammed into the boilerworm with a dull thunk. Clods of red dirt fell away from its side, revealing the segmented iron armor below.

  Good God. The weapon hadn’t dented the creature. The boilerworm hadn’t even seemed to feel it. Another click sounded and its jaws rotated again.

  But it still wasn’t over. Even though the governor could barely reach the edge of the mouth now, and each click was pulling him closer to the jaws, too. Even though it was a cool day, and the hottest things attracting the boilerworm were apparently the humans running and shouting all around it.

  Zenobia could change that. Or at least distract it. She raced back to the tent and snatched the lantern. What to set on fire?

  A tree. Made of wood. That would be smart.

  A short line of trees stood a short distance from the tent, away from the camp. Heart pounding, she tried to ignore the sound of the next click and Mara’s hoarse cries. Never had Zenobia run so fast.

  She smashed the lantern’s canister against a trunk. Fuel splashed across the bark. Pungent fumes burned her nose. Desperately, she flicked the spark lighter.

  The whoosh of flames and heat sent her stumbling back. Arms shielding her face, she hit the ground hard. The dull thunk of another cannonball smashing into the boilerworm was followed by more shouts. The terrible grinding jaws rotated again, dragging Cooper deeper. The governor held on, his entire body straining as he pulled.

  Her heart almost stopped as flaps near the edge of the worm’s mouth lifted and the governor’s boots slipped. He dangled, still holding Cooper’s hands. The boilerworm’s head whipped around low to the ground, narrowly missing Mara, who cried out and flattened her body against the dirt. The jaws clicked and whirred back and forth, the grinding pit of its mouth opening toward the tree. Sensing the fire, she realized.

  The governor braced his feet again. The jaws clicked back and forth again. With a bellowing roar, the governor hauled back. Metal shrieked.

  Cooper’s legs popped free. The two men dropped. The governor’s back slammed into the ground, Cooper on top of him. In a swirl of dust, they rolled out from in front of the boilerworm’s body. Mara raced over to grab her husband’s hands and drag him out of the way while the governor lurched to his feet.

  Zenobia gave a wild laugh. The distraction had worked. Cooper had been released from the boilerworm’s jaws and it was coming in her direction, the iron plates clunking as it undulated swiftly over the ground.

  It was coming in her direction.

  Oh, dear God. She scrambled up and ran. The governor shouted to Tsetseg. The coil gun fired, and she heard that worthless thunk.

  A splintering crash sounded behind her. Zenobia stopped to look back and another laugh burst from her. The boilerworm had cracked the burning tree in half, and was rearing back to attack it again.

  Oh, it was so blessedly stupid.

  But so was the governor. Dark gaze focused, his expression set with determination, he was running toward the boilerworm. He passed the walker and Tsetseg tossed him a small round device. He caught it without a break in his powerful stride.

>   Tsetseg yelled after him. Telling him where to strike, hopefully, because otherwise the governor was a mad idiot, racing up to the burning tree where the boilerworm thrashed upon the flames, its deadly jaws opening and closing.

  Far too close to it, the governor waited for an opening and tossed the device in.

  An explosive, Zenobia realized. As he pivoted and sprinted in her direction, she dropped to the ground and covered her head. An instant later a big body smashed hers flat and the earth shook beneath her, the blast booming through her flesh and ringing in her ears.

  Endless moments passed before the governor’s deep voice penetrated the ringing.

  “. . . all right?”

  Yes. Except she couldn’t breathe. She nodded against the rough dirt.

  His weight lifted and she pushed to her knees, coughing. Her face felt hot. Dust pervaded her lungs with every ragged breath.

  Eyes stinging, she looked at the boilerworm. The thick iron plating had contained most of the explosion inside of it. The head lay beside the splintered trunk, the sharp jaws twisted and protruding from its round eyeless face.

  The tree was still burning. Smoke boiled into the sky. Dimly aware that the governor was calling for the others to bring buckets from the stream and shouting for a medical kit, she searched for Mara. Thirty yards away, the mercenary kneeled with Cooper’s head in her lap. Zenobia stumbled unsteadily to her feet and made her way over to them.

  Cooper’s eyes were closed and his teeth clenched in a grimace of agony. Her stomach lurched when she saw his legs. What was left of them. His knee joints had been torn apart; nothing remained below. The steel pistons above were twisted and broken. Blood soaked through his shredded trousers near the grafts on his upper thighs. Mara had already used strips of fabric to tie off the bleeding. Tears dripped over her cheeks and crimson streamed from her ear.

  Mara’s listening device had still been active when the bomb had exploded, Zenobia realized. Her chest tight, she said, “The governor’s coming with opium. What else do you need? I’ll get it for you.”

  Mara either didn’t hear her or couldn’t respond. Without opening his eyes, Cooper rasped out the answer.

  “Just the opium. Then more opium later.”

  ***

  Four more trees caught fire before the Nyungar arrived in their walking machine and dumped their cisterns, dousing the flames in a rush of water and steam.

  Ariq put away his bucket and returned to the women’s tent, where he had helped carry Cooper after administering the first dose of opium. Before he could enter, Zenobia pushed through the flap and almost ran into him.

  Though she stopped herself in time, he caught her arms in a steadying grip. Her expression was troubled, her green eyes dark.

  “How is he?”

  “Sleeping. He’ll be all right as long as he doesn’t take fever.” She stepped out of his grasp but didn’t go far. “You mentioned a mining town in this area. Do they have a blacksmith?”

  “Yes.”

  “May Mara and I take Cooper to the town in one of the crawlers? I know you still need to search for the marauders’ camp.”

  “I’ll take you myself. The camp can wait another day.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced up at him and just as quickly away, folding her arms beneath her breasts. Her gaze on the blackened trees, she added quietly, “And thank you for not letting go of him.”

  Of Cooper? He was a good man and worth saving. “I wouldn’t have.”

  “I know. That’s what everyone says: You grab hold and don’t let go. But it’s supposed to be a frightening thing, isn’t it?”

  Mara had overheard that, too? But he wouldn’t ask now. “Yes.”

  “Because whenever people hear it, they worry about what will happen if you grab hold of them.” Her throat worked. When she looked at him again, her eyes were bright and glistening. “But until today, I didn’t see how it might save someone. And I never considered how it might be terrifying for you. Because if you don’t let go, you might be dragged down into the jaws, too. So it was incredibly brave, and I thank you for saving my friend.”

  Ariq could only shake his head. He hadn’t been terrified. Fear had no place in battle; only an iron heart and a steel will did. He’d been determined to pull Cooper out, and he wouldn’t have quit unless saving Cooper had become impossible—and it would only have been impossible if the man were dead. As long as Cooper lived, Ariq would have hung on.

  But he wouldn’t toss her gratitude away or say that he’d only done what any warrior should do. Her speech staggered him, swelling his heart with unreasonable pride and humility all at once.

  And she deserved her own praise. “It would have been for nothing if you hadn’t distracted the worm,” he said. “The fire was clever.”

  Also reckless. He wanted to shake her for it. He hadn’t been afraid of the boilerworm, but he had felt fear: when he’d seen her beside the burning tree, and he’d realized that she’d sent the boilerworm on a path straight toward her.

  That was brave. Still reckless, but brave. No one would have thought less of her if she’d remained in her tree. She hired people to protect her. But twice now, she’d rescued them in return.

  “It was clever,” she agreed and glanced up at the tall walking man. “And the Nyungar are clever for carrying water around, so that when a woman starts a tree on fire rather than—oh, anything more sensible, such as a small bush—they can put it out before the entire wilderness burns to the ground. Tsetseg is clever for knowing where you should toss the explosive, and you are clever for listening to her. We are all bursting with cleverness in this camp.”

  Though Ariq was sorry that the raw emotion she’d briefly shown was shielded again, he would never tire of her wry smile and humor. “Don’t forget bravery,” he said.

  “Oh, yes. If we were even a little more brave, we would split at the seams and spill our courage across the world.” Her gaze lingered on his grin before she looked away to study the boilerworm. “And it seems I was wrong. I doubted the tales of larger worms. Yet they do exist.”

  “No,” Ariq said. “It’s the same size as those I’ve seen before.”

  She cast him a disbelieving glance. “You don’t understand the meaning of ‘small,’ sir.”

  “Perhaps not. But I know it means that my worm isn’t as small as you imagined.”

  A tortured noise wheezed from her, like a strangled laugh. She stared at him with wide eyes and her lips pressed firmly together.

  He would consider this a battle won. Laughing, Ariq retreated. “Gather your things from the tent, and tell your friends to do the same. We’ll bundle Cooper up and leave for the mining town immediately. The others can break camp and catch up to us.”

  And he would have time for more battles with her. Cooper was a good man. Ariq wouldn’t wish him any pain. But Ariq would take his advantages where he could, and a visit to the blacksmith’s meant at least an extra day’s delay. He would have more time to discover what Mara had overheard and why Zenobia had pushed him away.

  She nodded and disappeared into the tent again. Ariq started across the clearing toward the walker before noting the quick—almost guilty—looks that both his people and the French aviators kept sending toward the stream.

  He scanned the trees lining the bank. Sunlight glinted against gold near Zenobia’s abandoned stool. Her pack. She’d dropped it when he’d lifted her into the tree. It hadn’t been fastened and now the spilled coins served a temptation. He doubted anyone had taken any, but it would be wise to put the gold away so they would stop thinking about it.

  Dregs. Not just a few coins spilled. She carried a fortune.

  Shaking his head, he crouched and scooped the gold into the pack. Not only the coins had fallen out. Folded letters and loose papers littered the dirt beside the stool. All in English. After a glance at the stacked pages, he tossed them in.

  The name on the back of a letter caught his eye. Zenobia Fox. An address in Denmark had been written belo
w.

  So he hadn’t been mistaken about her name. She wasn’t Geraldine. He unfolded the letter. More English. But the name at the top was the same: Zenobia.

  At the bottom: Archimedes.

  Archimedes. Archimedes . . . Fox? Ariq had heard that name before. He couldn’t remember when. Trying to recall, he scanned the contents and his gaze slipped over another familiar name. Tension gripped his body in a cold fist.

  Temür Agha.

  His uncle’s name was written again and again, along with mention of his city, Rabat, and his personal guard, Nasrin.

  Unease coiled through his stomach. Few people know that Temür Agha was a rebel. Even fewer knew the name of his uncle’s guard. Nasrin was a shadow made of steel, an army in the form of a single woman.

  How did this person know so much about his uncle? And why would he send a letter about him to Zenobia?

  Ariq tried to read the rest, but the few words similar to those he knew in French offered little additional meaning. A glance into the satchel confirmed that the others had been written by the same hand. The pages were hers; the letters were all from the same man.

  Feeling as if he’d taken a cannonball to his chest, Ariq returned the letter to the pack. He hadn’t expected this. She had secrets. She’d known more about his uncle than she should have. But this. These letters. Did she know the danger she was in? Many people would kill for proof that the Great Khagan’s celebrated general had been a rebel. Many others would kill to keep that information secret.

  What purpose did the letters serve? Who would receive this information? Why was she carrying it?

  He didn’t know. But one thing was certain—whatever her purpose, she must have thought Ariq would stop her if he’d known about it.

  The Kraken King suspects me.

  He hadn’t. But he did now.

  Part III

  THE KRAKEN KING AND THE FOX'S DEN

  Altun Mining Camp, Nyungar Territory

  Southwestern Australia

  May 22

  My dear brother,