by A. C. Cobble
Panting, sagging against trees, his vision swimming with flecks, he kept going, ignoring the branches that slapped across his face, ignoring the piercing torment every time his broken arm brushed against a tree trunk.
From far above, a firearm barked and he heard the distinct thud of iron into wood to his left. Then two more cracks and more iron sang through the branches and leaves around him. It wasn’t the scattered blast of blunderbuss shot, and from such a distance, it was frightfully accurate aim. Spirits forsake it, what weapons of war had the Enhovrian madmen invented now?
“There he is!” shouted an excited voice from a hundred yards above. “That’s him, that’s the general! Bring us closer.”
“I’m as close as I can get. Just shoot the bastard!”
A smile splitting his face, de Bussy struggled on.
Whatever weapons the Enhoverians commanded, it took them time to reload. Too long, he hoped.
“There’s no clear shot through the foliage. Two points— what is—”
The hillside erupted in a cacophony of exploding power, wailing cannon balls, smashing timber, and the cries of broken men.
Fifty yards up the hill from him, blast after blast tore through the beautiful afternoon.
The general slumped against the trunk of a thick pine tree. The acrid smoke from exploded powder drifted over him. Exhausted, he looked up to take in the sight of one of Enhover’s vaunted airships being blown into pitiful bits of kindling.
Behind the majestic, falling vessel, two more rose higher into the air, pivoting in the gentle breeze out of cannon range, and then drifting over the emplacement. Barrels rolled, and the hillside erupted in fire.
Awkwardly, he drew his saber and reversed his grip. He knelt, his broken arm strapped to his side, the other holding the hilt of the blade to where his enemy could grip it.
With a scowl of distaste, Duke William Wellesley glanced at the kneeling general and the surrounding men. “No one thought to clean the blade?”
Silence greeted him.
“That’s the blood of Enhover on this weapon,” snarled the duke. “That’s our blood still on his saber!”
No one spoke.
Muttering curses, William snatched the weapon from de Bussy’s hand.
“Apologies, m’lord,” the general mumbled.
William Wellesley nodded curtly.
“On behalf of Finavia,” declared Pierre de Bussy, his eyes on Wellesley’s gleaming back leather boots, “I offer our surrender. My men, my people, myself are at your mercy, m’lord.”
“On behalf of Enhover, I accept your surrender, m’lord,” called the duke. In a lower voice, he said, “I’ll have my physicians tend to you, de Bussy, and I’ll receive you in my tent this evening.”
“M’lord,” was all that he could say.
“Wine, General?” asked Enhover’s duke.
“Please,” said Pierre de Bussy, though he was no longer a general, he supposed. What did that make him?
“Take a seat,” said William Wellesley, gesturing to a sturdy wooden chair across the table from him.
An aide busied himself pouring full glasses of wine for them.
The general sat, and remarked, “This is my first time on an airship.”
“I know,” replied Wellesley. “I wanted you to see it, to see what it’s like from up here.”
“I’m not to be executed, then?” questioned de Bussy.
“No, m’lord. Not yet, at least.”
“What is to become of me, then?” questioned the general. “What are your plans for Finavia? Are we to become another colony of your empire?”
“What would you suggest?” wondered William.
Pierre de Bussy blinked at the other man, not sensing a trap, but not understanding why his opinion would be asked, either.
“You know my father passed away?” asked Wellesley. He continued without waiting for a response. “He was not in favor of this war. He thought it was a foolish use of resources, and he did not expect us to win. My brother, though, was in favor, and he and I forced the old man to acquiesce. We knew we could win.”
Frowning, de Bussy waited.
“We knew the United Territories could not match us in the field,” continued the duke. “We knew our airships were the superior to any might on this continent. After the Coldlands sorcerers failed, there was little anyone could do to even slow our advance.”
The general picked up the wine Wellesley’s man had left and sipped it. He’d shot down one of those airships. He’d slowed the advance as much as anyone.
Smirking, Wellesley nodded his head as if he could read the former general’s thoughts.
“We have two dozen airships still in service,” claimed the duke. “A military force unlike anything this world has seen. No nation can stand against us, no trader can outrun our reach. Powerful tools, I am sure you agree. But to occupy the United Territories, to rule this land as a colony? How many of those airships do you think we’d need to post here to maintain our grip on the people?”
Nodding slowly, de Bussy guessed, “Half of them, I imagine.”
“My brother and I thought it might be close to that as well,” agreed Wellesley. “Half of our might, dedicated to this place. And what would that gain us? An administrative headache, to be sure. Constant meddling by the Company trying to gain monopolies to exploit your resources. The occasional rebellion. Surely a hysterical fit from the Church, trying to carve out their own spoils. None of it is attractive, is it?”
“If you don’t aim to occupy us, then why did you conquer us?” snapped de Bussy.
“A tribute,” suggested Wellesley. “War has been expensive for both of our nations. It’s always been the case though, here on the continent. Every generation, Finavia, Ivalla, and Rhensar poke and prod each other, testing. What if your lands could live in peace? What if the price of that peace was no more than what you’d spend on a standing army? What if you no longer needed that army because you were protected by the most powerful military force in the known world?”
“We’ve little position to negotiate,” murmured de Bussy, looking away.
“As a nation, I agree,” said Wellesley. “Finavia has been beaten. As an individual, though, there is more you can offer us.”
“You want me to bless an arrangement where Finavia pledges you a tribute?” questioned de Bussy. “In exchange for what?”
“Finavia, and the other United Territories,” corrected Wellesley with a laugh. “As to what we can offer, your life, for one. What else would you like?”
“Security for my family,” said de Bussy.
“Of course,” said Wellesley. “Security, income to support them, every man would want the same.”
“You cannot leave me here in Finavia,” warned de Bussy. “I’d be a natural magnet for these rebellions you are worried about. If I agree to this, I do not want others to break the pact and put my family at risk. I don’t want to have to run from you or your men, m’lord.”
“No, we couldn’t leave you here,” said Wellesley. “If you spoke in support of us publicly, we’d have no reason to execute you or your kinfolk. There’d be no reason for us to chase you about, to seize your ancestral lands, or to drive your family from those places they are comfortable.”
“Where would you have me go, then?” asked the general. “I would not be a popular face on Enhover’s cobbled streets. Even after bending the knee, there are many of your men who will remember me.”
“Finavia’s colonies in the Vendatts could use a steady hand,” mentioned Wellesley. “Finavia has lost much ground to our Company in the tropics, but the Company is limited by how much territory they can effectively govern. The right manager could still find a sizable income from what remains.”
“Governor of the Vendatts,” murmured de Bussy.
“It’s better than an axe on the back of the neck, is it not?”
The general nodded. No, not general, he decided. Never a general again. Governor, if he accepted Wellesley’
s offer. A bribe of epic proportions, in truth. As Governor of the Vendatts, he’d be well positioned to become the wealthiest man in the known world, outside of Enhover, of course. A rich bribe indeed. A bribe rich enough that he and his family would permanently lose any thirst for rebellion. His fortunes and position would be tied closely to Enhover’s health. Without the blessing of the Wellesley family, he could lose it all. All he had to do was bow to the Crown and then stay bowed. All for taking down an airship and becoming a hero to the United Territories. A hero who’s pledge carried enormous value to this man.
It was a rich bribe, and far more than he required.
Enhover was a might that he and his people could not stand against. He’d realized that in the years leading up to his last desperate gamble. He’d risked the lives of his men for one chance, one chance to negotiate a future for his family. And now, he had it.
“I’ll accept your offer, m’lord,” said de Bussy. “I’ll offer my support of the tributary arrangement. I assure you, if there is some faction in this land that rebels, it will not have my involvement. I’ll make that known from coast to coast. I’ll run our colonies in the tropics to the best of my ability, ensuring a steady stream of taxable income for you and your brother.”
“Income for us, and yourself… I’m glad you see it our way, Governor,” said Wellesley. “By all reports, you are a strong-willed, almost stubborn man. I was not sure you’d be willing to bend the knee.”
“Strong-willed, perhaps,” agreed de Bussy. “I’m a practical man as well, and you’ve given me a good offer. I warn you, though, Duke Wellesley. You and your brother are expanding your reach rapidly, and I’ve no doubt you’ll continue to do so successfully. Enhover’s might will grow, and in time it could become a true empire. But all empires fall. All empires crumble, m’lord. Enhover’s will as well.”
“Yes, but not today, Governor,” replied Duke Wellesley. He raised his glass.
Governor de Bussy raised his as well. “Not today.”
5
The Sailor: a Short Story
Joshua held a hand over his brow, trying to shield his eyes from the torrential rain. It swept in waves across the ship, drenching the deck, threatening to flood the hold. Below, men worked in shifts, pumping out bilge water, trying to stay ahead of the relentless downpour.
It wasn’t unusual to face fierce storms on the open sea, but the length and the ferocity of the tropical rain was something none of the sailors from Enhover had ever experienced. They’d attempted to find shelter in the center of Archtan Atoll, just a league off the Company’s new colony there, but there was no escape from the ceaseless rain.
Joshua looked up, blinking his eyes to clear them of water, and tried to spot the hanging islands that levitated hundreds of yards above the sea. Inexplicably, beneath the pounding rain, he’d noticed that they had dropped near the surface. He, like most of the men who sailed these waters, was fascinated by the giant, floating islands.
None of the Company men in the colony had an explanation, and all claimed the islands normally hung high in the air. The natives Joshua had attempted to question only gave him surly looks and stomped off, cursing him in their own tongue. The islands were beautiful, and a mystery, always hanging out of reach, floating like a fantasy world sprung from a dream.
“Mister Joshua,” growled a low voice from behind him.
He turned and saw the captain peeking out from the door of his cabin.
“Sir?” he replied, keeping his hand up so the rain stayed off his face.
“Update?”
He knew the captain wasn’t asking about the rain. No one needed to ask about that. “We’re still becalmed, sir. Not a breath of air stirs beneath all of this water. If we’re stuck here for another day or two, I recommend a return to the colony to restock supplies before we journey home. We’ve dry stores aplenty, but so close to shore it could be worth gathering additional fresh provisions. The men would appreciate it, sir.”
The captain scowled. “We’re already a week behind schedule as it is, Mister Joshua. The first mate?”
“Still in poor health, sir, but he has not died.”
The captain nodded, rubbing his chin. “Let me know if he does.”
“Of course, sir,” replied the crewman.
“I told him that girl wasn’t clean,” grumbled the captain, “but when he gets to port, the man is like an animal. He’ll rut with anything.”
“Yes sir,” agreed Joshua.
The captain gave him an odd look, and then turned back to his cabin.
Even though it wasn’t yet noon, Joshua would bet good silver the man had an empty bottle of sherry or two and a single cup resting on his table. Though, to be fair to the man, there was little for the captain to do while they were becalmed and battened down beneath the unceasing rain. Except… “Sir.”
The captain looked back at him over his shoulder, one bushy red eyebrow raised in question.
Joshua pointed into the rain, though the target of his gesture was obscured behind a curtain of water. “The floating islands, sir. I caught sight of one this morning. They’ve drifted quite low. I think we could reach them from the crow’s nest, sir.”
“Reach them?” wondered the captain. “You think they might strike the mast?”
“They could,” agreed Joshua, “but sir, they’re almost close enough we could touch them. We could climb up, find out what makes them float, sir.”
The captain blinked back at him, surprised, confused.
“I’d be willing to lead the party, sir,” added Joshua. “With the crew stuck below decks for so long, I don’t think there’d be any shortage of volunteers. It’d give the men something to keep them occupied and out of trouble, sir. It’d take just a few turns of the clock, and we can learn what makes these islands work.”
“Work?” grumbled the captain, shaking his head. “There’s nothing that makes them work, Joshua. The Company officers claim from the high points in the atoll that it’s quite easy to spy the tops of the formations from afar. There’s nothing there, Mister Joshua, it’s a natural phenomenon. Just barren rock and some vegetation on the larger examples. I won’t risk our crew on a misadventure like that.”
Joshua frowned, glancing into the rain, trying to see the nearest island that had drifted by hours earlier when he’d begun his watch.
“Sir,” he said. The captain crossed his arms over his prodigious belly and looked as if he was about to begin a tirade, but Joshua spoke over him. “Stone from those islands could be worth a bit of silver back in Enhover. For a novelty such as that, the peers in Southundon would pay a fortune, don’t you think?”
The captain’s arms fell back to his sides.
“We’re stuck here for the time being, sir,” continued Joshua. “Much longer, and the owners could lose money on this voyage. But if we could bring them back something, some trinket to—”
“You could reach the bottom of one of these islands from the crow’s nest?” interrupted the captain.
Trying to hide his grin, Joshua nodded. “Sir, I believe we could.”
“It’d be a difficult bit of climbing,” warned the captain.
“I was raised in Harwick, sir,” said Joshua. “I grew up climbing the cliffs there, looking for bird eggs. These rocks here aren’t any steeper or wetter than the ones back home. Besides, if we fall, we’ll land in the sea.”
“From a height,” muttered the captain, peering into the rain, evidently looking for an island to confirm Joshua’s claim about their elevation. Joshua, knowing the captain’s temperamental nature, particularly after a bit of sherry, didn’t respond. Finally, the captain said, “There are reports of corsairs in these waters, Mister Joshua. I can’t afford to spare crew members on a flight of fancy.”
“No better place to watch for approaching vessels than up high, sir,” replied Joshua.
The captain snorted. He eyed the crewman, then eventually allowed, “Talk to the boys. See if you can find half a dozen willing to acc
ompany you. Talk to the sailing master and ask if he thinks he can bring you close enough without risk to the mast. And Mister Joshua, I mean no risk whatsoever to the mast. And if you make it up there, you won’t go far. Just enough to collect some of those stones and then you’ll come back down. We’ve sailing to do, and corsairs to worry about.”
“Understood, sir.”
The captain turned and shut the door to his cabin.
Outside, standing shirtless in the rain, Joshua allowed himself a smile that stretched the breadth of his face. He looked out into the rain, wondering what he’d find, what he’d see.
Pellets of water pounded him, but with no wind and gentle seas, the top of the mast rocked slowly and easily. He hefted the boat hook and ran his hands along the smooth length, hoping he could maintain a grip on the thing. Far below him, the crew put their backs to the oars, and the ship nudged forward.
Suddenly, the pouring rain cut off, and it was only the fat drops dripping off the island above that splattered on his shoulders and head.
Behind him, a sailor named Crusoe adjusted the line looped around Joshua’s bare torso. The man tugged on the knots, making sure they were sound, then asked, “You sure about this, Joshua?”
He nodded. “Aye, Crusoe, I suppose I am.”
“Just a little bit, then,” said the other man. “If you catch it with the hook and manage to pull yourself up, climb a bit until you’ve got a safe grip, ey? Take your time putting in the spikes. I’ve got you plenty of slack here, and at the speed we’re going, I’d guess you’ve got two or three minutes before we lose you.”
“Take my time, hunh?” Joshua said with a laugh.
The man slapped him on the shoulder. “Take time, just not much of it. I’m coming behind you, so you’d better get it right. You get up there, you get the rope hammered down with the spikes nice and tight. Worst case, I’ll have the captain circle back if the rope spools out before we can climb after you. Just don’t you come dropping down onto the deck. From that height, you’ll splat like an egg. If you got to come down, drop into the sea. Point your toes, ey? Fall straight in.”