Driftmetal II

by J. C. Staudt

  Driftmetal

  Segment Two

  The Skyward Realm

  J.C. Staudt

  Driftmetal is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 J.C. Staudt

  All rights reserved.

  Edition 1.0

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Afterword

  1

  There is freedom above the clouds. It’s the most weightless kind of freedom there is—lighter than being in love, or losing your stomach on a rollercoaster—and as the Galeskimmer sailed in over the snow-capped mountains and misty waterfalls towering above the Kalican Heights, I was feeling it. That sense of freedom was almost enough to make me forget about all the people who wanted me locked up, or dead, or both. It was almost enough… but not quite.

  I closed my arm and breathed in a lungful of the crisp, razor-thin air, my injured head throbbing with its sterile scent. Sable was at the helm, guiding us past a waterfall as tall as a skyscraper, condensation misting the deck amid its deafening roar. We landed our disabled craft near the riverbank, where the roots of massive trees climbed out over the water like gnarled fingers.

  There we buried Landon Scofield, the ship’s quartermaster and navigator, beside the eddies along a quiet section of stream. Before our recent heist, I had avoided making predictions about whether we’d all survive. Now that we were one fewer, I realized it was one too many. I hadn’t always gotten along with Scofield, but he was a good man.

  I wondered if Chaz would’ve mourned Mr. Scofield’s loss, if he’d been there. If any of the three men from Pyras was a true friend, I told myself, it was Chaz.

  But even that was a far-fetched possibility. I didn’t see how Lafe Yingler, under the guise of Clinton Vilaris, could’ve kept his two primitive companions in the dark about his true identity the entire time we’d been traveling together. They must’ve known all along. And that made them both backstabbers, just like Yingler was.

  “There’s a town called Lowell’s Market east of here, through the woods,” Sable was telling us, as we gathered around Scofield’s maps in the cramped navigation cabin. “We should be able to find a mechanic there who can repair our turbine.”

  “I’m a mechanic,” I reminded her. “And that turbine is beyond repair. We need to find ourselves a brand-flipping new one. And finding a turbine to match the one that still works isn’t going to be easy. We’ll probably end up having to buy a whole new pair.”

  “Well, I hope the people in this town are willing to accept unprocessed gravstone as payment, because that’s about the only thing we have that passes for money.”

  “Leave the turbines up to me,” I said, tossing a chunk of gravstone ore into the air and catching it one-handed. That little chunk of rock was worth more than I was. Not really, but I’d like to think that if I ever died and came back as an inanimate object, I’d be something too expensive for most people to afford.

  “No, we can’t risk sending you into town,” Sable said. “Someone might spot you. We’ve been afloat long enough for the Civvies to have gotten the word out about you. I didn’t park the ship all the way out here for the joys of sightseeing, you know.”

  “Relax,” I said. “I’ll wear a disguise. I’m sure I can duck a few townies if someone happens to recognize me.”

  “You’re bolder than what’s good for you,” said patch-eyed Thorley Colburn, winding one of the spare rigging lines into a coil around one muscular arm.

  “I agree with Thorley,” said Sable. “Except bold isn’t the word I’d use.”

  I wrinkled my mouth. “We’d better get started. The afternoon’s getting on, and I’d rather not walk home after nightfall.”

  “What’s the matter? Scared of the dark?” asked Dennel McMurtry.

  “No… I’m scared of ridgebacks,” I said. “Well, not scared. Just wary. Don’t know if you’re familiar with the Kalican Heights, but this place is crawling with them. Although if you’re coming along, I might be scared of the dark too. Those of you who are staying behind ought to keep an eye out—especially if we’re not back by sundown.”

  I donned my disguise before we left the ship: Thorley Colburn’s eyepatch; Mr. McMurtry’s previous top-hat, which he hadn’t gotten around to throwing away yet and which covered the bandage on my head passing well; and a fake mustache, which Sable had had in her cabin for some reason she hadn’t been willing to explain.

  We set off into the woods, Sable, Mr. McMurtry and I, leaving Thorley Colburn and Nerimund, our little duender, behind to watch over Neale Glynton and Eliza Kinally, who’d both been injured in the fighting. Unlike poor unfortunate Mr. Scofield, Neale and Eliza were in the midst of healing, their bodies rebuilding themselves the way only a techsoul’s body can. Mr. Scofield might’ve pulled through just like they had, except he’d been much worse off, and we hadn’t had the supplies on hand to replace the worst of his damaged parts with augments.

  The forest was thicketed in mist—the frosty, high-altitude kind that’s like walking through a freezer full of cotton candy. That made me think about cotton candy, and how badly I wanted some—though by then I would’ve settled for anything that tasted halfway decent. Eliza Kinally had been too weak to cook the whole way there, and Dennel McMurtry was to cooking what an elephant was to dancing ballet.

  “Do you smell that?” Sable asked, sniffing the air.

  “Yeah. It’s called mother nature,” I said.

  She shot me a look. “Someone’s cooking something. There’s a fire going nearby.”

  That must be why I’m thinking about food, I realized. The breeze caught me, and I started to smell it too. “I’d say we’re just in time for lunch,” I said.

  “I see them. Over there,” said Mr. McMurty, pointing through the fog. “Looks like two of them. Best we avoid any contact. The fewer people who see us, the better.”

  I smiled at Mr. McMurtry and patted him on the shoulder. “One of these days, you’ll get to know me better,” I told him. I turned and started off toward the campfire. “Hulloo there,” I called, waving.

  Two dark-haired gentlemen were frying sausages in a cast-iron skillet. The one with pale skin and a day’s worth of stubble on his cheeks stood up from his log bench as I approached. His companion, a thinner man whose skin spoke of a darker heritage, stood as well.

  “How d’you do?” I said, extending a hand. “Hal Nordstrom. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Thomas Smedley,” said the first, putting a firm grip on his handshake. “This is Rindhi Kulkama.”

  “Rindhi,” I said, shaking with him. I motioned toward my companions. “These are my servants, Beverly and Maurice.”

  Sable and Dennel could’ve cut down a tree each with the looks they gave me. We all gathered into a little cluster so everyone could shake hands with everyone else.

  “What brings the pair of you to this part of the world?” I asked, after the greetings were done.

  “Bit of a camping trip, I dare say,” said Thomas.

  I tried not to fall down laughing. Nobody I know goes camping in brocade waistcoats and morning jackets. I’m no fashionista, but these two looked more like co-conspirators bound for some upper-class dinner club than men out on a camping trip. And that’s not to mention the lack of tents, shelters, sleeping bags,
and blankets around. There was one small pack between the two of them, and they hadn’t even dug a pit for their fire.

  These guys weren’t camping. At least, they hadn’t planned it that way. They were running from something. Thomas was lying, and he was doing a piss-poor job of it.

  Instead of laughing, I nodded as though I believed him. “Well, I dare say this is a beautiful spot of woods to do it in, Tom. Planning to be here long?”

  “Only as long as it takes to get a breath of fresh air and a little rest and relaxation,” Thomas said.

  Vague answers like that are liable to get a man keelhauled where I come from. And I’d given enough vague answers in my life to know when I was hearing one. We sat down across the campfire from Thomas and Rindhi and made small talk for a few minutes. I decided these two were just the type of people I was looking for.

  “I’ll tell you what, Tommy,” I said. “I like you. I can’t put my finger on what it is I like about you so much, but you strike me as a trustworthy fellow. I’m in need of some help, and I was wondering if you’d consider obliging me.”

  Thomas was intrigued. “I’m a little out of my means, I’m afraid. But if there’s anything I can do for you, I’d be glad to help.”

  I plucked a small box from my webgear and tossed it to him over the fire. “Would you mind keeping an eye on that for me?”

  “What is it?” he asked, looking it over.

  “There’s a very valuable rock inside. Gravstone. We’re on our way into town, and I don’t feel safe carrying it around with me. Since you two are going to be here awhile, would you mind holding onto it until we come back this way? We shouldn’t be more than a few hours.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” said Thomas, “but we barely know each other. You’re prepared to leave me with something you’re afraid to carry into town on your person? That doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense.”

  “If you knew what we were going into town to do, it might make a whole lot more sense,” I said. “I’d sooner risk seeing you walk off with it than face what might happen if I keep it on me. How about this… if it helps clear your conscience about it, lend me something of yours as collateral. Something I can give back to you when we return. Then, if we’re not back in four hours, the gravstone’s yours. No questions asked.”

  “We don’t have much, I’m afraid,” Thomas said.

  “That’s fine. Any small trinket will do, as long as it has value enough to soothe your hesitations.”

  “There is this,” said Rindhi, speaking up for the first time. He drew a hand pulser from the backpack and pointed it at me. “Thank you for the gravstone. You would not happen to have any more, would you?”

  A couple of small-time crooks. Just as I suspected. Sable and Dennel put their hands up. I cleared my throat. “Listen. We don’t want any trouble. I just thought we might be able to do each other a favor.”

  “You can do us a favor by giving us all your valuables,” said Rindhi.

  Thomas stood. “Kindly remove your gear and empty out your pockets. Make it quick.”

  I smiled at him. “Tommy, ol’ chap… don’t say you didn’t have it coming.”

  The box in Thomas’s hand exploded. There was a concussive burst. Thomas and Rindhi flew apart like they’d been shot from opposite ends of a double-sided cannon. Thomas pegged a tree on his way through the air. Rindhi hit the ground and went tumbling end-over-end like a sprinter who’d forgotten to tie his shoelaces.

  Sable and Mr. McMurtry were both startled and yammering.

  “What was that? What just happened?” Sable asked.

  I flipped open the access panel in my forearm and disconnected the detonator I’d wired in before we landed. “Chaz’s custom-made gravmines,” I said. “The gift that keeps on cracking skulls.”

  I got up and walked over to Rindhi, who was on his hands and knees, trying to pick himself up. I kicked him in the head and he went down again. I rifled through his pockets, but all I found were a few chips, some lint, and an empty cigar tin. I picked up his hand pulser and shot him with it before I crossed to the other side of the campsite.

  Thomas was even worse off than his companion. The tree that had halted his flight looked like a tie-dyed pencil, blue-violet blood splattered across the trunk in place of the huge chunk of bark he’d taken out of it. He was moaning and groaning, rolling around on a bed of pine needles, his head wet in his hands.

  “What in Leridote’s blue Heights did you think you were gonna get away with?” I asked him.

  Thomas said something rude to me.

  I laughed, because it was exactly the kind of thing I would’ve said in his position. “Let this be a lesson to you, Tommy,” I said. “Always give explosives to strangers. It’s a more lucrative investment than giving them all your money.”

  When I searched Thomas’s pockets, I came out ahead by about a hundred and fifty chips and a nice folded letter in a cream envelope. “Hello… what’s this?” I read the letter. I was astonished by its contents. “Oh my, my. Thomas McSleazebag Smedley, you sly dog. Someone’s been taking naughty lessons. Why didn’t you tell me you were a poet? Your penmanship is magnificent, but the words are filthy enough to make up for it. If I were an innocent lad, I might swoon.”

  Thomas blinked, looking up at me. In an anguished voice, he said, “Give it back.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m gonna laminate it and pin it above my bunk. Who’s this ‘My Dearest Gretchen’ person? You know, the one who makes certain things happen to certain… things?”

  Sable gave me a disgusted look. Dennel gave me a curious one. I had to admit, I found Dennel’s the more appropriate of the two.

  Thomas was squirming in his pain. He didn’t answer.

  I squatted beside him and punched him in the crotch. He went fetal, squeezing his breath out, making a sound like air escaping from a balloon.

  “Tom, I really need to know who you wrote that letter to,” I said. “Who’s Gretchen?”

  Thomas said nothing.

  Gently, I cupped his cheek with my hand. “I’m feeling a lack of trust between us. If you can’t tell me who this person is, then I just don’t think we can be friends. Gretchen. Why does that name ring a bell? Anybody?” I glanced up at my companions, who shrugged.

  “I think we should go, Muller,” said Sable.

  Dennel agreed. “I won’t deny you got us out of a tight spot, Muller… but I don’t like this at all.”

  I tucked the note into my pocket and stood up. “That’s how we differ, you and I. I don’t think this situation’s potential has ever been greater.”

  “Leave them be, Muller,” Sable said, worried.

  “Oh, I intend to.”

  “You don’t mean you’re going to—”

  “Absolutely not. Thomas here doesn’t want anybody knowing who he’s writing these smutty love letters to. Five minutes ago, I would’ve rubbed these two right out. But now, I see more advantage in letting them live.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean what better way to blackmail someone than with a piece of mail as black as this one?”

  “We don’t even know who these men are,” said Dennel.

  “Oh, they’re someone. Thomas is someone, at least. He’s someone important. Mark my words.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  I sighed, then made a fist. “Tom? Do you want another shot to the cherries?”

  He closed up like a flower at sunset.

  “Someone bring me that little knapsack sitting by the fire,” I said.

  Like a good servant, Dennel ‘Maurice’ McMurtry followed orders. On the other side of the campsite, Rindhi was stumbling to his feet and attempting to run off.

  I shot him with the hand pulser again. “Your last friend in the world is trying to leave you high and dry,” I told Thomas, opening the knapsack. “How do you feel about that?”

  I dumped the knapsack’s contents onto the ground in front of him. There was a dented old brass kettl
e, a box of matches, a horsehair brush, three dinner rolls wrapped in a white cloth napkin, a quill pen and inkwell, an egg coddler, a small box with a sliding lid containing assorted food items, a gold necklace, a steel flask half-full of whiskey, and a set of silver teaspoons.

  It didn’t take a detective to see that these were not camping supplies, by and large; these were stolen valuables and hastily-packed getaway supplies. I happened to know a good detective who lived nearby, whom I was planning to pay a visit before we left this heap. Ol’ Sal would’ve been proud to see how I read these two like an open book, I thought.

  I had been exactly right about Thomas and Rindhi from the start. I spent a moment bathing in my own ego, giving myself a proverbial pat on the rump for how clever I’d been. How clever, how observant. How utterly grand his powers of deduction, folks. “You’re nothing but a common thief, Tom,” I said. “Who does a common thief steal such fancy clothes from, huh? Not from a lady named Gretchen, probably.”

  When Thomas still didn’t make any effort to answer, I started to get angry. I got down on my hands and knees and tilted my head to look him in the eye. “If I have to wait more than five additional seconds to get an answer out of you, your immediate future is about to make the past ten minutes feel like a trip to the circus.”

  Thomas made a slight whimpering sound, like he was about to cry. He had to get hold of himself before he spoke. “I fear I have fallen most grievously in love with a woman for whom my feelings would be judged… inappropriate, if they were to come to light.”

  “Gretchen. From the letter,” I said, flexing my deductive muscles again.

  Thomas gave a deep sigh. “Gretchen, indeed. You see, I’m an adviser to the Archduke of Finustria—”

  I pointed a finger at Sable. “Hah! Told you they were somebodies.” Then to Thomas, I said, “Isn’t the Archduke of Finustria like twelve?”

  “Fifteen,” he said. “And quite hard for a young fellow. Hard-nosed and hard-headed.”

  “It seems we’ve just earned ourselves a royal pardon,” I said.