by Philip Reeve
“With your sky-tramp aviator friends?”
Wolf shrugged.
The Kriegsmarshal turned away, hesitated, then shook his head and marched briskly down the steps and across the bridge. He had fought countless battles against the Storm; met Stalkers in hand-to-hand combat on the steps of his own home in the red winter of ’14, but his own son always defeated him.
Wolf stood alone and watched him go. After a while, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched, too. He turned, and there was the statue of the goddess gazing at him with her calm, blind eyes. Despite what he had told his father Wolf could remember how, as a little boy, he had liked to sit in the statue’s lap and look up at her while his father told him stories of Murnau’s glorious past. He drew his sabre and hacked through the slender neck with three furious blows, sparks flaring as the blade sliced stone. Then he kicked the severed head down the stairs into the empty lake, and strode quickly away through the gardens to start preparing for his journey.
12
THE SAND-SHIPS
It seemed to Theo to be raining. He could not feel the rain, for he was indoors, in bed. He could not see the rain, for it was dark. But he could hear it, the gentle hiss of steady-falling rain, and even the sound was refreshing after those parched days on Cutler’s Gulp. It rushed and sighed and soothed and shushed, and wove together his disjointed dreams.
And sometimes, briefly, he came fully awake, and knew that the hissing rain-sound was just the noise of the sand singing beneath the wheels of the black sand-ship.
“Don’t be afraid,” someone told him.
“Wren?” he asked.
“Was she with you when you were taken by Grandma Gravy’s boys? Were Wren and Tom with you?”
“No, no,” said Theo, shaking his head. “They’re far away. They’re in the north, on the Bird Roads. Wren sent me a card at Christmas… I hoped I might find her when we reached the north…” Remembering the wreck of the Nzimu, he struggled to rise. “Lady Naga… What about Lady Naga?”
A hand touched his face, gentle and shy. A mouth brushed his forehead. “Don’t be afraid, Theo. Sleep.”
He slept, and woke again, and saw that the woman who sat beside him was Wren’s mother. Above her head an argon globe in a squeaky gimbal swung to and fro, sloshing black washes of shadow up the cabin walls. When the shadows hid Hester’s face Theo could imagine that it was Wren sitting there beside his bunk, but when she saw that he was watching her she said harshly, “Awake, are you? You’d better pull yourself together. There’s no room for slackers on my sand-ship.” It was as if she hoped that he would not remember the gentle things she had said to him earlier.
Theo tried to speak, but his mouth was drier than Bitumen Bay. Hester reached out roughly and raised his head and pushed a tin cup against his lips. “Don’t drink too much,” she said. “I can’t spare it. I was only in Cutler’s Gulp for food and water and thanks to you I had to leave before I found either. That lout I shot was Grandma Gravy’s golden boy. She’s not best pleased.”
The sand went on singing against the hull of the speeding ship. Theo slept again. Hester stood up and climbed the ladder to the open cockpit, where Shrike stood at the tiller, his green eyes glowing. The ship was west of the sand-sea, running across plains of roasted shale. Away in the east a band of pale light showed on the horizon. The wind thrummed in the rigging. “He keeps going on about someone called Lady Naga,” Hester said. “I think she must have been with him when the scavs found him. Ever heard of Lady Naga?”
Shrike said, “THERE ARE SHIPS BEHIND US.”
“What? Damn!”
Hester had expected the old witch at Cutler’s Gulp to send someone after her. Grandma’s reputation for black magic meant that her men were likely to be more scared of Grandma than they were of Hester or her tame Stalker. She squinted at the horizon until she could see them too; the thin, sharp shapes of their sails, like the teeth of fish. She had expected one or two, feared three, but Grandma had sent six, ranging in size from a tiny cutter to a big, twin-hulled dune-runner. “I suppose we ought to be flattered,” she said.
The sun rose out of the ragged hills astern, and the lookouts on the masts of the pursuing ships saw the black sail ahead. A flare rose from the dune-runner, signalling “chase to leeward”. A few minutes later there was a puff of smoke aboard one of the smaller ships and Shrike and Hester saw a dune a few hundred yards astern explode in flames and flung sand.
“THEY WILL SOON BE IN RANGE,” Shrike said impassively. “IF THEY HIT OUR TYRES WHILE WE ARE TRAVELLING AT THIS SPEED THE VEHICLE WILL BE DESTROYED.”
“Damn,” said Hester again. She went below to the gun-locker and took out something she had stolen from a bandit she’d killed way out in the Djebel Haqir. It was an automatic jezail, taller than her, with pretty silver chasing on its walnut stock. If the bandit had been sober he might still have been alive; it was a good gun, with a range of several miles. Hester loaded big brass shells into the chambers and filled her pockets with more. She checked that Theo was still sleeping. He was; curled up like a child, gentle and vulnerable. Hester made herself turn away. If she wasn’t careful she would start to care about him, and she knew too well that when you cared about people you opened yourself up to all kinds of pain.
She climbed out into the light, which was hard and white. The scouring wind was full of sand, and the ships were closer. The one which had fired first was smallest and fastest; it was coming up quickly on the starboard quarter, and Hester could see the men on its hull taking aim at her with some kind of swivel-mounted cannon. It puffed out white smoke and she felt the shot whisk past her, exploding among a stack of biscuit-coloured rocks a hundred yards to larboard.
She wiped her nose on her sleeve and steadied her gun against the cockpit rail. “Be easier if you could do this,” she told Shrike, pushing her sand-goggles up her forehead and squinting through the jezail’s telescopic top-sight. “I can hardly see them…”
“I CANNOT,” said Shrike. “I HAVE TOLD YOU MANY TIMES. SOMETHING DR ZERO DID TO ME; SOME BARRIER IN MY MIND…”
“I wish I had your Dr Zero here right now,” grunted Hester, trying to focus on the little knot of men busy with their sponges and ramrods around the swivel-gun. “I’d put a barrier in her mind.” She squeezed the jezail’s trigger and cursed as the stock slammed against her shoulder. The empty cartridge-casing went tumbling astern. Where the bullet had gone, Hester could not say, but she had not hit her target. She was no sharpshooter. Her talent wasn’t shooting, only killing.
Luckily, the men on the other ship were no better than her; shot after shot went past her as she worked her way steadily through a pocketful of ammunition. She was about to start on the second pocket when the other ship suddenly veered off course.
“Did I do that?” she asked.
The enemy ship was out of control. Maybe one of Hester’s stray shots had severed a cable or pierced a tyre. It curved across the line of ships, and a three-wheeler close behind it swerved wildly and collided with a little armed yacht. Tangled together, both ships overturned and started to cartwheel impressively across the sand, shedding spars, wheels, sails and scraps of broken mast. The leading ship had overturned too, throwing up a billowing scarf of sand that hid the remaining three for a while, but they emerged again, vague at first, then sharp and clear and gaining fast. Bullets from a steam-powered machine gun mounted on the big dune-runner started thumping against the woodwork close to where Hester crouched. She said something filthy and lay down out of sight.
“THEY ARE TRYING TO CAPTURE THIS SHIP, NOT DESTROY IT,” Shrike guessed. “NOW THAT THEY HAVE LOST THREE OTHERS, GRANDMA GRAVY WILL NOT WANT THEM TO RETURN WITHOUT A PRIZE.”
“Well, that’s comforting,” said Hester, looking up at him from ankle-height as the bullets whanged off his armour. “What are you going to do when they board us?”
“IT WILL NOT COME TO THAT.”
“What if it does?”
“THEN I SHALL
DEFEND YOU IN ANY WAY I CAN,” said the Stalker patiently. “I WILL SNATCH AWAY THEIR WEAPONS. I WILL RESTRAIN THEM. I WILL STAND BETWEEN THEIR BLADES AND YOUR BODY. BUT I WILL NOT KILL THEM.”
“And if they kill me?”
“THEN I WILL KEEP THE PROMISE I MADE YOU ON THE BLACK ISLAND.”
Hester squeezed off a couple more shots at the dunerunner. Overhead, the sails were starting to fill with holes, but the silicon silk was tough and did not split. “Why did she do this to you?” Hester shouted. “I mean, tricking you into smashing that Anna Fang thing, fine, but why couldn’t you just go back to normal once the job was done?”
“I AM SURE THAT DR ZERO HAD HER REASONS FOR LEAVING ME WITH A CONSCIENCE.”
“Well, I miss the old Shrike.”
“AND I MISS THE OLD HESTER.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
But she never found out, because at that moment the dune-runner pulled alongside, and grappling hooks came hurtling across the narrowing gap between the two ships, and it was time to drop her jezail and pull out her pistols and fight.
The hammer-blows of bullets against the hull got into Theo’s dreams, so perplexing and out-of-place in the quiet green spaces he was drifting through that he had to wake up to find out what they meant. He lay on the bunk for a moment, wondering where on earth he was and why it was jolting about so. The row of portholes on the wall above him were shuttered so that it was shady in the cabin, but just above his head someone had stretched a golden cord right across from one wall to the other. Theo wondered why anyone should do such a thing. Was it a washing line? If so, it was more beautiful than any washing line he’d seen before; so bright, so shimmery. He put his hand out to touch it, and his fingers slid straight through it. It was made from warm light.
Theo sat up. There were more of the cords stretched all across the cabin, like a cat’s cradle. Every now and then there would be a thud against the hull and another would appear. They were shafts of sunlight, poking in through the bullet holes which were appearing in the cabin walls.
Dizzy with sleep, Theo rolled off the bunk and landed on the deck. The smooth wood bucked beneath him as the sand-ship sped over the rough desert floor. Theo started crawling towards the metal ladder at the rear of the cabin. He could hear shouting above him, and the slam and cough of handguns. As he reached the foot of the ladder a man came down it head-first, dead, his turban smouldering where the flash from Hester’s pistol had set it on fire. Theo looked up the ladder, through the open hatch. A confusion of struggling shapes blocked out the sun.
He climbed the ladder. Out on the deck in the white, blinding light a scruffy battle was taking place, almost silent apart from the stamp and scuff of feet on the deck-boards. A ragged brown dune-runner was keeping pace with the sand-ship, attached to it by ropes and grappling hooks. Men had jumped across the gap, thinking it would be easy to overpower a one-eyed woman and a Stalker who would not kill, but three of them were already dead, tangled in the rigging or draped across the rail. A fourth was struggling with Shrike, who had taken his gun and was holding him away from Hester. A fifth circled Hester, who had thrown her empty pistols aside and was holding a knife, jabbing it at the man each time he lunged at her. He had a sword, much longer and heavier than Hester’s knife, but he had not yet worked up the courage to get close enough to use it.
Theo stood unnoticed in the cabin hatchway. The fight and the desert swirled around him, the heat and light came down on his head like a fall of bright water. On the deck at his feet lay a boarding-axe, and the light seemed to pour from its blade. He picked it up and hacked at the rope which stretched from the nearest of the grappling hooks. The rope was old and greasy and parted easily after a few blows. The sand-ship lurched, starting to pull away from its attacker. Theo scrambled towards the next hook. “Theo!” he heard Hester shout. He looked up. A man stood in the dune-runner’s rigging, grinning at Theo and aiming a blunderbuss. Hornets were buzzing past, and Theo felt one sting his arm. A knife appeared, sticking out of the man’s neck, and he dropped the blunderbuss and fell out of the rigging into the storm of sand between the two ships.
Theo looked at Hester. She had flung her knife at the man with the blunderbuss, now she was defenceless. Without thinking he swung the flat of his hatchet at the swordsman who was attacking her. The man still hadn’t noticed Theo and the blow caught him by surprise. He crashed sideways against the rail and over it, away into the swirling dust. Shrike dropped the man he had captured after him, and Theo saw them clamber to their feet in the sand-ship’s wake and stagger painfully away, waving at the surviving ships, which were slowing and starting to turn, dismayed by their losses and abandoning the chase.
“Good work,” said Hester.
Theo nodded, still dizzy, but proud that he had won her respect.
“You all right?” she asked.
He looked down at his arm, where the hornet had stung. It hadn’t really been a hornet, of course, but the wound was a scratch, not deep. He knelt on the deck and watched Hester pick up the hatchet and cut the remaining ropes. As the dune-runner veered away pilotless she turned and said, “Stupid! I didn’t rescue you so you could get yourself killed.” But Theo sensed beneath her scorn a sort of rough kindness, and remembered the gentle way she had sat with him in the night, and knew that she was not so unlike Wren after all.
The dust was clearing. The black ship ran on, slowing now, because its sails were full of holes. It began to pass through the shadows of tall towers of rock around whose summits hopeful vultures wheeled. Some of the towers looked like crude, wind-worn statues, and perhaps they were, for all sorts of civilizations had made their mark on the old earth and some had left some very strange things behind. The towers filled the desert ahead, whittled by the wind into flutes through which the dry breeze moaned. In their crisscross shadows Theo began to feel safe again.
The sand-ship slowed, slowed, and came into a shady place where dwarf acacia trees grew. Shrike flung out the anchor and furled the sails. He jumped overboard and scaled one of the smaller towers, climbing the fissured rock quickly and easily like a steel lizard. He stood for a while on the summit and then clambered down, calling out that the pursuers had turned tail, and that nothing else was moving in the desert. The sand-ship creaked under his weight as he came back aboard. Theo, who had always hated Stalkers, recoiled from him.
Shrike sensed the boy’s unease. “I WILL NOT HARM YOU,” he said. “EVEN IF I WANTED TO, I COULD NOT.”
“Why?” asked Theo, remembering how Shrike had spared the man he caught during the battle. “That’s what Stalkers are for, isn’t it? Harming people?”
Shrike’s steel teeth gleamed as he tried to smile. “NOT IN DR ZERO’S OPINION.”
“Dr Zero? She built you?”
“I WAS BUILT BY THE NOMAD EMPIRES. I AM OLDER THAN THE STORM. OLDER THAN MUNICIPAL DARWINISM. THE LAST OF THE LAZARUS BRIGADE. BUT I WAS REBUILT BY OENONE ZERO, AND SHE MUST HAVE ALTERED ME. NOW, IF I THINK OF KILLING ONCE-BORN, MY HEAD FILLS WITH PICTURES OF ALL THE ONCE-BORN I HURT AND KILLED BEFORE, AND I CANNOT DO IT.”
“Dr Zero’s here!” said Theo eagerly, remembering his promise to protect Oenone. “She’s aboard Cutler’s Gulp! She’s called Lady Naga now. They said she was being sold to that trader Varney… We have to go back! We have to help her!”
Hester, coming out of the cabin with food and the makings of a fire, looked coldly at him. “We don’t have to do anything, boy. We’re not going back. And if you mean Napster Varley, I saw his Humbug lift off from the Gulp as we were pulling away. Anything he bought there he’ll have taken with him.”
Shrike hissed like a thoughtful kettle. “WE COULD GO AFTER HIM.”
“Not you as well!” cried Hester angrily. “For all the gods’ sakes, Shrike, she’s the vet who neutered you! What do you care if she’s been ’slaved?”
Noises came from inside Shrike’s armoured skull. Theo wondered if they were the sounds of thoughts whizzing through the Stalker’s brain
. “IF I CAN FIND HER, SHE WILL TELL ME WHY SHE HAS DONE THIS TO ME. WE COULD GO NORTH, SELL THE SAND-SHIP AND BUY AN AIRSHIP. NAPSTER VARLEY’S VESSEL IS SLOW. ITS WIDMERPOOL-12 AËRO-ENGINES ARE INEFFICIENT. WE COULD CATCH IT UP DESPITE HIS HEAD START.”
Hester turned away from him and kicked the gunwales of her sand-ship. “I like the desert,” she said angrily. “It’s good. It’s simple. It’s clean. I can make a living here.”
“YOU ARE NO MORE ALIVE THAN ME,” said Shrike.
“No?” Hester glared at him. She was good at glaring; she could glare better with that one eye than most people could with two. “Well, isn’t that what you wanted? Didn’t you always want to make a Stalker of me, so we could wander about dead together?” She appealed to Theo. “Shrike wants to make me like him. That’s the only reason he’s stayed with me since Cloud 9 came down. He’s not got the stomach any more to kill me himself, so he’s been waiting for one of these sand-rats to do it for him. Then he’ll take my carcass to his old friends in the Storm and get me Resurrected.”
“Oh!” said Theo, horrified. Resurrection was the worst fate he could imagine, yet Hester spoke of it as if it was nothing.
“I won’t care,” she said. “I’ll be dead. He can do what he wants with what’s left.”
“NO,” said Shrike. If he could whisper he would have whispered it, but all Shrike’s words came out the same, loud and sharp and scraping. He wished Oenone Zero had done something about his voice instead of tinkering with his brain. He said, “WHEN YOUR DEATH COMES, I WILL HAVE YOU RESURRECTED, AS WE AGREED LONG AGO. BUT I CAN WAIT. I WANT TO SEE YOU LIVE AGAIN AND BE HAPPY. YOU WILL BE NEITHER WHILE YOU STAY IN THIS DESERT.”
Hester sat down and hid her face in one hand. She was only in her middle thirties but she looked ten years older, and very tired. Theo felt sorry for her. He wanted to put his arms around her, but he didn’t think she’d like that. He glanced at Shrike, but the Stalker seemed to have said all that he was going to.