Kingdoms of Ether (Kingdoms of Ether Series Book 1)

by Ryan Muree

  A pair of Kimpert’s men in perfectly pressed black suits nodded to them as they passed.

  “What’s the rest of the plan?” Cayn whispered.

  Kimpert’s crewmen actually patrolled and paid attention. They could probably read, too.

  “Get my money.”

  “No, I know. That’s a given. But how?”

  First, she’d clarify any misconceptions Bogweed Branson had made about her. Maybe she could lie? Maybe she could say that she’d met him at a destination point?

  “Hey.” Cayn knocked her hand from her mouth. She had subconsciously begun gnawing on her fingernails. “That’s gross.”

  “For someone who thinks a lot of body stuff is gross, you sure don’t seem to worry about that when you’re sleeping around—”

  “Don’t be angry at me. I’m the one keeping food on the table at the moment.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m going to try to get out of how I know Branson. He’s a talker, and he likes to look like he’s crazy, because it gives him a good excuse if he ever needs to not know anything. I can use that.”

  Cayn rubbed his chin as they rounded a corner. “And Kimpert?”

  Kimpert was the exact opposite of Branson. Well-dressed, hair done, flawless nails, she exuded confidence and wealth. She gave others inspiration that they, too, could wind up making it big and getting rich one day. No longer fighting in squalor in the dark, she had risen to the light by her own hard work and connections. And she wanted everyone to know it.

  “She’s not someone I can easily smooth-talk, but I’ll try.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?”

  She hadn’t thought that far. She couldn’t. She was getting her money, she was going to clarify the misunderstanding, and she was going to keep her job. “I don’t want to think about that,” she mumbled.

  They turned a corner, climbed a flight of stairs, and walked the final leg down Kimpert’s hall.

  Like Branson, two guards stood outside Kimpert’s closed office doors. They wore solid black suits with bald heads and sunglasses. Their arms were straight at their sides and within a hand’s reach of their ether-pistols. They didn’t even look at her.

  She crossed her arms in hopes of looking surer than she was. Dig deep, Clove. “I need to speak to Boss Kimpert.”

  No response.

  “I need to speak to Kimpert,” she repeated. “I’m her southern pilot.”

  “You don’t look like the new southern pilot,” the one on the left said.

  Rage boiled in her chest, kicking her heart into high gear. “I’m not interested in games. I just want to speak to her. I think there was a misunderstanding.”

  No response.

  She ground her teeth. “Can I please speak to her for a few minutes? Or maybe come back when she’s available?” She hadn’t wanted to say that last bit. Giving them an inch was too much, but she had to show she was willing to be level-headed…

  She had to try to look level-headed.

  “Boss said you might be mad. Take a deep breath and go home.”

  “Take a deep—?”

  Cayn rested a hand on her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go and—”

  “No.” She pulled away and pounded on the door. “Kimpert! Kimpert, I know you’re in there. You owe me money! You can’t fire me without talking to me first!”

  The guards went to pull her away, but she twisted and kicked, reaching for the door every chance she had.

  “She knows you’ve been working with Branson, or why would you be here?” one guard said.

  “Because she owes me money!” She roared at the door. “Branson is a liar! Do you know where Branson hides all his money? Because I do. He’s filthy rich and pays me well. You’re half the boss Branson is. You couldn’t even tell me to my face that I was fired! You lying, stealing bogweed!”

  The doors shook when she kicked them. She grunted and panted, trying to get out of the guards’ grip.

  “Clove, let’s go. Let’s let the men do their jobs.” Cayn was trying to pull her back, too, but she weaseled around him, throwing herself at the guard and kicking him in the shin.

  He tossed her back to the floor and laughed at her.

  She sat up and watched shadows pacing beneath the door on the other side of the office. “Give me your gun, Cayn.”

  “No way.”

  “Give me the gun.”

  He turned his hip away from her. “Let’s go. We’ll figure this out.”

  But they had no other plan. Her plan had been to talk to Kimpert and get their money. She hadn’t even had the chance to talk to her boss.

  Worse, she had confided in Kimpert. Once the previous year, they had shared a drink and talked about routes. She’d said one thing, just one little thing, about how hard it had been to make a living and pay for things without parents, and Kimpert had given her her most recent routes because of it.

  Kimpert had known that without those routes, they were barely making it, and now it all had been taken from her. The woman didn’t care. Clove was a fool for believing Kimpert, for trusting her.

  One thing after another was falling out of place. First, Branson, then this. Next would be their rent, food, the mines. She might even lose Pigyll.

  Cayn hooked his arms under hers and lifted her to her feet. “That’s enough of that. Let’s go.”

  She yanked her arms back to her side. “I will royally screw up your life, Kimpert! You’ll fall right back down to the bottom like the rest of us!”

  Cayn might have been pushing her back down the hall and away from the door, but she’d have the last word.

  “Come on, keep walking,” he urged. “We don’t need to be banned from the hangars. Cut it out.”

  She kicked a small plant stand in the corner as they passed. Metal pieces clanged and bounced down the hall with a mess of dirt and water splashing against the grainy wallpaper.

  “Or not.” Cayn gripped her arm. “That’s enough. Don’t be a baby, Clove.”

  “It’s bullshit! She screwed us over, Cayn. She knew! She knew it would kill us. She’s killing us, and she’s okay with it. We need that money.” The tears forming made her want to punch a wall.

  “Let’s go home. Take a nice, hot shower. Maybe soak in the bath with some nice smelling soaps.”

  None of those things were possible. They had a tin can for a home, and instead of a bath, it was a corner space with broken tile and a hose dripping out of the wall.

  “I don’t like playing the rich-game when I’m this pissed off.”

  Cayn wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Point is, we’ll be okay. We’re okay for right this second. We’ll come up with another way. We always do. So, let’s get home, we’ll sit back and relax, and we’ll figure this out.”

  Exiting the hangar through the back entrance, they stepped out into the bustling hive of Ethrecity.

  The ether-stained streets were packed, bumper to bumper, with hovering carriages driven by the elite’s private chauffeurs. Sidewalks were filled to the brim with salaried workers moving back and forth between jobs and appointments. The cement buildings yawned into the gray sky, fighting for airspace.

  Ethrecity was loud, overpopulated, choked by ether-smog, and had been their only home since they were kids.

  They climbed the flight of stairs to the shuttle platforms. Rusted and twisted, the tracks wound through the city several times over with every stop imaginable, including Dimmur—the Underneath, the shit-hole where the poorest Ingini scraped by.

  They pushed their way onto the platform and elbowed some fellow passengers into giving them room to stand in the shuttle car. Since no one could move an inch, there was no chatting, no eye contact, and no whining about seats. A young woman in front of her popped her head up and spun to slap the man behind her across the face. He chuckled and shrugged.

  The shuttle lulled back and forth with each stop until their car had dwindled down to the few grungiest of passengers for Dimmur. Metal spires and rock formations whirre
d past until the shuttle descended at a gentle slope and fell below the city line into the Underneath.

  Metal panels keeping the earth from tumbling in on either side had given way to a mini-city carved into the ground beneath Ethrecity and stuck in perpetual nighttime. The buildings in the Underneath were old railcars or rusted transport crates stacked on top of one another. The streets were always wet from something, but it wasn’t from the rain.

  The signs denoting different markets, pleasure houses, and bars glowed with vibrant ether.

  Several Ingini that lived in the Underneath worked at those establishments or the mines. For her and Cayn, it was the best they could afford, and she hated almost everything about it.

  They got off on their stop and headed for a small mart on the corner of their street. It wasn’t even large enough to shop in like the ones top-side. She had to tell the owner in the window what she wanted, and the woman spun in a chair and reached for the surrounding items. If it wasn’t within reach, she didn’t sell it.

  “Cayn?” A feminine voice called from a side alley. The woman pulled out a wad of swampgrass from her mouth and chucked it into the street before stomping it out with her boot. “You’re back?”

  Cayn pulled away from Clove’s side and went to hug the young woman and some guy in a frayed cap standing with her.

  Clove didn’t know them—and didn’t want to know them—but from the looks of it, they were probably a couple of Cayn’s customers.

  Clove turned to Becks, the shopkeeper. “Gimme two beers—”

  “Four,” Cayn called to her.

  “Four beers,” she corrected, “and six fried hol-sticks.”

  Becks had most of her teeth, and her mustache had been bleached recently, but she still stank of swampgrass and ethyrol most of the time. She placed the items on the counter in a small bag, and Clove passed her the right number of coin pieces. “Thanks.”

  Becks grunted and waved her off.

  “We’re going on ahead,” Cayn said. “You okay walking back?”

  She nodded, and he and his clients ran off toward home.

  Though she hated the Underneath, it had its perks. There weren’t many authorities regulating laws down there. They didn’t bother. They’d rather get the populace to work with them than against them when big stuff went down.

  It was also quieter. Not quiet, just quieter. Carriages were rare, and the shuttle was relatively smooth. With everything so jam-packed together, there wasn’t much room to fit in too many people, and tourists were usually Ethrecity upper-class hoping to indulge in a little fun or unique items smuggled in from Revel.

  She reached into her bag and pulled out one of the beers and a hol-stick to gnaw on.

  She needed to trust Cayn. He was usually right, and together, they were resourceful enough. Maybe she could go back to Branson and ask for more routes or visit Levi, her other boss.

  She laughed at herself. Levi wouldn’t give her any more routes. He was as ruthless as Kimpert but as charming as Branson.

  “Was it a good day?” Mack grinned from his perch on a nearby crate.

  Mack always managed to be in the way somehow. She stopped and glared up at him. “No, it was shit.”

  He grinned down at her.

  Mack and his brother had grown up five railcars down from them. His brother was older, but she, Cayn, and Mack had gone to school together, and she and Mack had even stupidly fooled around when they were younger. He’d quit school at some point to work in the ether mines to help his dad recover from ethyrol poisoning. He never did.

  The type of work in the mines did wonders for Mack’s body, despite leaving him gritty and dirty most of the time. His olive eyes were a little asymmetrical, which she liked, and his smile was kind of nice. His nose hadn’t been bashed in a million times like the other guys, either. That was a plus. If things were different, if they’d been born top-side, they might have had a chance at something.

  He frowned and hopped down. “You were laughing. What’s wrong?”

  “I was enjoying my hol-on-a-stick and thinking about how dumb you look every time you ask me these questions.”

  He smiled, which made the calm way he spoke more irritating. The problem with Mack was that he was annoyingly attuned to her for some reason. He always asked how she was, what she did that day. Mack was probably the worst of her neighbors if she didn’t count the young couple two railcars down loudly screwing at all hours and holding hands all the time.

  “I’m sorry you had a bad day.” He held his hand out for a sip of her beer.

  She passed the can to him. “The mines make you crazy? Worrying about my day, like—”

  “A friend?”

  “Like a nosy neighbor who can’t leave me alone.”

  “See, that’s the thing. I know you don’t really want to be alone.”

  “Oh? You know that?”

  “Yup.”

  She pointed to his ether-stained shirt. “You’re wrong.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Yep. Why do you think I want to buy a house up near Nilkham?”

  He drew in his eyebrows. “You want to buy a house in Nilkham?”

  “Yes, and it’s so I can be alone and not be bothered by neighbors like you.” She yanked her beer can back from him and took a sip.

  He looked down at nothing in particular, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “You could move in with me and save up money for your house.”

  She burst out laughing, wiping the beer from the corner of her mouth. “You have me confused with my brother. I don’t sleep with people for money.”

  He smiled harder and nearly laughed. “That’s not what I meant. My place is marginally better. It’d give your brother space to do his thing, and you could save up. I’m not bad to live with—”

  “As bad as it is living near you?”

  “I’m pretty strong, I’m handy…”

  “Probably more like handsy.”

  He laughed. “Not impressive enough?”

  She shook her head. “And I don’t need protection. Did you see what I did to One-Eye when he grabbed my thigh?”

  “No.”

  “He lost his other eye.”

  Mack laughed hard that time. It even made her smile. “Okay, if you won’t move in, can I at least go on a date with you? Just one?”

  “You’re kind of doing this in reverse, aren’t you?” She wagged a finger at him and backed toward the ladder to her crate-home two stories up. “That was a good try, Mack, but I’m going to give a hard pass on that invitation—both invitations, actually. Fair warning, it takes a lot to impress me.”

  “I’m glad you’re home safe,” he added.

  She faked a gag. “Don’t. I’ll throw up everything I ate.”

  “Clove, hun, is that you?” Old Man Ollie peered out from his crate right above them. “Is Mack flirting with you again?”

  Neighbors. Privacy was priceless, though Ollie was the best next-door neighbor their square could ask for. He sang at night in a long drawn out sort of way that made everyone shut up and the ether signs feel dreamy. Their whole corner would listen and let him go on until he’d get tired.

  “Yup,” she said, climbing up one rung. “You going to tell him to stop?”

  “No,” he said. “I actually like him. But I’m glad you’re home. I thought you’d taken one of those new shipping routes to the west. You think you and Cayn can come over some time and check my waterline?”

  West? There are no shipping routes west.

  Mack followed her around the corner to join their conversation. “I can look at it for you right now, Ollie.”

  The old man smiled without any teeth and waved a leathery hand at him. “That would be great—”

  “Wait,” she said. “What routes west? There are no shipping routes west. That’s the border.”

  Ollie nodded. “There are routes now. Delivering weapons and bombs to the wall for war.”

  Mack waited on the ladder behind her.


  She hurried up and stepped out on the ledge of their level in front of her door.

  “Cara—two streets over—her grandson took one of the routes,” Ollie said, still looking through his cut-out window. “They’re very dangerous, but he was able to move up from here after a couple trips. Bought an apartment top-side.”

  Mack was in her way enough that she had to stretch around him to see. “Are you serious?”

  The old man nodded again.

  Mack turned to face her. “Don’t do it, Clove. I’ve heard stories from some of the other guys. The mines aren’t as bad as some of those routes. I know we were playing earlier, but I’m serious. I can help. I can—”

  “I’ll take care of myself.” She opened the door, stopped, and peered back at him. “Actually, you really want to help me?”

  He tilted his head. His eyes grew serious. “Yes.”

  “Branson’s hangar in Mukdur. There are enough coins in the walls and cushions to buy five houses in Nilkham. He cost me my second boss. Get that money, burn the place down for all I care. That I would consider being pretty damn impressive.”

  She went inside and slammed the door shut behind her.

  Resting her backside against the makeshift metal door soldered together at the hinges, she took a deep breath. Mack wouldn’t actually do it. If he was any other hothead in Dimmur, he would have, but he was actually one of the good ones.

  “Routes…” She exhaled slowly. “Western routes.”

  It was something. It was a fallback. A plan. Cayn would go along with it, wouldn’t he?

  Bombs, weapons… sent to the west for war. Revel hadn’t let up, then. Revel might have had control of Scribes and grimoires through Stadhold, but it hadn’t worked completely. Ingini’s predecessors persevered. Instead of casting ether, they’d found a few spots where ether seeped into the rocks and mined it out for their machines.

  Revel wouldn’t be happy until it had all of them under their thumb. And if the war was starting, really starting, then it might be forever until she had her house in Nilkham anyway.

  She swallowed and scratched her forehead. They really had no choice, did they? Better to help end the war sooner, right? They’d have money. Enough money to leave their metal box.

  After placing her beer can and meat stick on the counter with the bag, she stepped over the one dingy mat in their putrid-colored crate and opened Cayn’s door.