by Joseph Lallo
He emerged to the sound of continuous rifle fire and short, sharp bursts of fléchettes from the deck guns. Gunner and Digger’s stolen airship was heading in their direction, but Digger’s inexperienced control of the ship had yet to bring either of its cannons to bear on the ersatz Wind Breaker.
“Megaphone, you louts! Megaphone!” Alabaster demanded.
He squinted at the approaching ship. The high-powered rifles and deck guns had done a fair amount of damage. More than a dozen holes had been punched into the envelope, each releasing thin streamers of luminescent green phlogiston. The brightness of the escaping gas made the ship’s deck clearly visible, and Alabaster could just make out the form of Gunner emerging from below decks.
A worker arrived with the megaphone and pressed it into his hand. Alabaster grinned horribly. Despite the pain in his arm, he raised the megaphone to his mouth.
#
“Gunner,” Digger called as he saw him climb out from below decks. “Take these controls, we’ve got to get out of here!”
Gunner limped painfully to the wheel and took it. From the first turn of the ship’s controls he knew why Digger hadn’t been able to aim the cannons toward their targets. One of the early shots from the guards must have damaged the throttle lines. The ship could do little more than pull to the port side no matter how far starboard he spun the wheel. The only thing to do was to bring the ship about, pulling a full rotation and firing when the ship came back around.
“Well Diggers and Wind Breakers,” echoed Alabaster’s distant voice. “You thought you could best Lucius P. Alabaster. And you had the temerity to send the weakest of your number to investigate the fruits of the labors of the greatest minds of the fug. I urge you to look upon me now, so that you may observe what comes of such impertinence.”
Gunner locked the wheel in place with his knee and pulled out his sight. He found Alabaster standing on the deck of the imperfect copy of his own ship. In the madman’s outstretched grip was Wink, barely struggling and already quite battered.
He watched as Alabaster strained to see if he was being observed. Once the lunatic was certain, he handed away the megaphone and accepted a pistol from one of the workers.
“No!” Gunner growled, eyes darting back and forth from the cannons to Alabaster as his weapons slowly rotated into position.
He leaned hard at the ship’s wheel, the wood groaning under his weight but refusing to move any further. Alabaster raised the weapon and pressed it to the inspector’s dangling body.
He pulled the trigger.
Gunner didn’t cry out. Instead his expression became hard. The ship continued to take hits, fresh holes opening in the envelope and fragments of wood splintering from the deck. The damage was beginning to affect how the ship hung in the air, and no amount of working at the controls would give him the precision he needed to fire an accurate shot. He waited until the first cannon was as near to aligned as he could manage, then fired. The ship lurched backward, and a solitary cannonball ripped through the sky, pulverizing a portion of the false Wind Breaker’s stern.
The damage wasn’t critical, but it was enough to require repair before the ship would be able to safely fly. The rocking of the stolen ship made the second cannon impossible to aim at all. He fired it regardless, driving a cannonball into the floor of the crater and spraying some workers with stone and mud.
With both weapons discharged and no time to reload, Gunner increased the throttle to maximum, and the ship began to curve away from the shipyard.
“Did he… did Alabaster…” Digger said.
“He killed a member of my crew. He put another signature on his death warrant… Listen, I need you to climb up that bit of rigging. Find the valve leading to the starboard engine and close it a bit. It wouldn’t have done much good for aim, but that might give us control enough to navigate.”
Digger hurried to oblige. “What do we do now?”
“We limp close enough to Ichor Well to patch ourselves up and reequip. Then we figure out what this is all about and how to stop it. Ideally with enough bloodshed to balance the scales for Wink.” He gritted his teeth as the rifle shots steadily tapered off. “And it is going to take a lot of those men to equal half what that inspector was worth…”
#
The last of the rifle shots died away as Gunner’s ship traveled out of range. Aboard the damaged copy of the Wind Breaker the workers were unhurt beyond a few scrapes and gouges from flying debris. One of the men was applying a bandage to Alabaster’s wounds as the well-dressed mastermind criticized his technique. The supervisor of the workers climbed to the top deck to survey the damage.
“Look at this! It’ll take at least three days with all our shifts working around the clock just to get this patched and back on schedule,” he said. “What happened, Alabaster?”
“What happened was an unavoidable result of the unavailability of worthwhile help in this forsaken land we call our home. And yet, despite this, I managed to deliver to you a key member of the Wind Breaker crew and the leader of the Well Diggers, and you let them get away!”
“They weren’t supposed to learn about this ship until it was too late. You endangered the entire plan by bringing them here! I am surprised you were even informed of its location.”
“For your information, we found this place as a result of their investigation. There were loose lips everywhere in this idiotic enterprise.”
“You were supposed to keep them too distracted to even notice!”
Alabaster lashed out with his good arm, gripping the man by the throat. “Listen to me. As I have said, the circumstances have changed. And as I am certainly the better qualified and most connected person in this shipyard with the freshest information from Tusk, you’d best open your ears and start taking orders.”
He released him, then straightened his damaged jacket. “Now I will tell you what shall occur. You shall find someone able to do an adequate job of binding my wounds before I bleed to death. You will have a proper meal prepared for me. And when I have eaten, you will tell me, in exacting detail, every element of the plan as you understand it. I shall then inform you of the changes that have been made and how we shall proceed.”
The supervisor backed away and, after a resentful look, began to hand out orders to his subordinates.
Alabaster reached for the pocket that would have contained a flask of brandy, then remembered it had been taken along with virtually everything else he’d been carrying. A pity. Now that the excitement had faded and with it the pain-dulling effect of exhilaration, he could have used a good stiff drink to restore his focus sufficiently to piece his circumstances together. From the context and clues thus far, it was clear that this ship had been an element in a plan that Tusk eventually intended to place under his own oversight. That Tusk had foolishly kept him in the dark about the plan was no doubt the reason for its near failure. But his rival mastermind had proved himself quite capable of assembling a worthwhile scheme. There was little doubt the pieces necessary for a great victory for the fug were already present. He looked forward to hearing what this supervisor knew. He looked forward even more eagerly to the improved adaptation to the plan that his own brilliant mind would inevitably produce.
Chapter 8
Time had flown during the Wind Breaker’s visit to Caldera. Nita had done the best she could to show each of the crewmembers the parts of her homeland she loved most, and the parts she hoped they would love most. But Tellahn was a big island, and a few weeks were scarcely enough time to show even a fraction of its wonders while still taking the time to repair and tune up the neglected Wind Breaker. The good news was that the constant discussions and meetings that had occupied the captain through much of that time seemed to have ensured that future visits to the heart of the island were a certainty, so while this was a farewell celebration, Nita knew it was only farewell for now.
The show intended to properly introduce the people of Rim to the people of Caldera was
well under way. When it was through, there would be a short reception and then the ship would be on its way back to their other home port, Lock. Nita sat front and center at the dinner theater. The captain and Mr. Graus were seated at one end, and her mother and sister were at the other. So far the night had been not unlike many shows she’d enjoyed in the past. There were solo performances of some songs of togetherness and peace, several of them instrumentals with a notable focus on instruments that had entered Calderan culture through its first contact with Rim over a century ago, as well as through the trade with the Wind Breaker itself. There was something transcendent about watching a man Nita knew had studied his entire life as a musician pick up a banjo and pluck out a maddeningly complex tune.
Next came Coop’s performance. To his credit, he performed marvelously and without anxiety. The audience didn’t quite treat him with the respect Nita would have preferred. They didn’t laugh at him, but at no point during the performance was there a sense that they saw it as anything more than a trained monkey trying to imitate a real performer. If Coop had been more aware of it, he might have been furious, but mostly he interpreted it as evidence that the people needed prompting. Some stomping of his foot and clapping of his hands finally got people invested, and then he was clacking along merrily, drumming against knuckles, knees, tables, and his head. Finally, at an almost arbitrary moment, he decided the performance was over and earned a smattering of not entirely sincere applause.
“That was… interesting,” Lita said. “Not precisely what I would call melodic, but unquestionably skillful.”
“I’m not certain this was the proper venue for that style of performance,” Mrs. Graus said.
“But his confidence is truly impressive,” Lita said, watching him step off the stage. “I’ve seen men three times his age who lacked the sort of command of the stage and the audience that he enjoyed.”
“Yes,” Nita said. “I don’t think Coop has ever second-guessed anything he’s done.”
“I simply must have a word with him afterward,” Lita said. “A man with that level of confidence and certainty, if he could discover an aptitude for one of the finer arts, could have the makings of a legendary performer.”
Joshua stepped out on stage. “Ladies and gentleman, I hope you enjoyed the percussive performance of our guest, Ichabod Cooper. We shall shortly conclude our evening with a performance by the younger of the two Coopers, but first, we offer to you all a meal prepared by Glinda West, resident chef of the Wind Breaker crew.”
Servers stepped out from the kitchens, each carrying steaming tureens or trays of biscuits.
“Oh, you are in for a treat!” Nita said, watching as they ladled out servings of the hearty mixture and set down a lumpy, flaky biscuit for each diner.
Mrs. Graus looked uncertainly at the meal. “It is… quite… lumpy,” she said. “And brown. Was there no time to garnish?”
Nita took a deep whiff of the glorious scent. “I’ve been waiting ages to see what Butch could do with some of our local delicacies.”
“She can turn them brown, it would seem,” Lita said, somewhat dismayed. “Not terribly pleasing to the eye. I would have expected, if she were hoping to make a proper impression, she might have chosen something with a bit more of an impressive presentation. We eat first with our eyes.”
“Maybe so,” said Coop, trotting out from backstage to take his seat between Lita and the captain. “But we eat last with our bellies, and this here will make your belly so happy it’ll make liars out of your eyes every time.”
“What do you call this dish?” Lita asked, picking up her spoon.
“This here’s what she’d usually call ‘slumgullion.’”
“That’s a lyrical name, at least.”
“But slumgullion’s kind of thin, see, and this is good and thick. So you ask me, this here’s probably slop-in-the-pot.”
“Ah… That’s… less lyrical.” Lita picked up her spoon and hesitantly sniffed the bowl. “It does have a complex scent.”
“It’s all just fancied-up stew. Here, lemme show you how to eat it,” Coop said.
“Oh, is there a special technique?”
He grabbed the biscuit. “This here? You bust about half of it up, so it crumbles down into the bowl. Then you stir all that up so it’s nice and thick. Then you take this other part here, see, and you take the spoon. You dip in the end here, where you broke it, then scoop some of the slop up on it, and then—” He shoveled a heap of stew and biscuit into his mouth.
“I think I’ll begin with the spoon, if you don’t mind.”
Nita, for her part, utilized the Coop-approved method and dipped her biscuit. She, her mother, and her sister all tasted it at the same moment. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Lita’s expression shifted through a spectrum. It began with trepidation, then surprise, then blissful delight. The flavor easily deserved such a reaction. It was perhaps not a subtle dish. The flavors were bold and the texture was hearty. But despite the fact that it was composed of many ingredients Butch must have never even seen until the last few days, they were all used to marvelous effect. It was balanced, combining sweetness and saltiness, firm vegetables and savory sauce. It was just the sort of meal you would dream of while working outside the ship as it soared through the icy skies during winter, and just the meal that would sustain you through hours more of doing the same.
“This is delectable!” Mrs. Graus said.
“No, like I said before, it’s slop-in-the-pot,” Coop said.
“What she means is it tastes wonderful,” Lita said. “And I must agree.”
“How come you got your eyebrows raised for that?”
“The sound of the name, and the look of the dish—”
“Don’t make no difference. Ain’t but two senses that matter come suppertime. And this here’s a treat for the nose and the tongue.”
“Expertly put, Coop,” Lita said.
Nita split her time between enjoying her meal and watching the rest of the room. While Coop may have been more of a clown than a musician to them, the meal was winning the audience over in a far more meaningful way.
“This,” Mrs. Graus said, “is precisely in the spirit of the night. Made from items familiar to us all, but transformed by the skills and experience of the people of Rim it has become something entirely new. Glorious.”
The room ate heartily of the meal. When most were finished with theirs, and Coop was polishing off his third bowl, Joshua took the stage once more.
“Ladies and gentleman, I hope you’ve enjoyed the meal and the show so far. If you are all ready, I would request that you step outside for the finale of our evening. The light is just right.”
Nita felt an odd flutter of anticipation as she and her family stood and paced outside. It was absurd, in a way. She had seen Lil do things that would unnerve the most stalwart of adventurers and never once feared for her. But now, with a performance that she’d specifically been barred from observing during its rehearsal, she was terrified on Lil’s behalf.
The audience moved to the city square, which, while the rest of the show had been progressing, had been quite transformed. It was like something from a circus, tall poles and flowing banners standing at regular intervals. Nets and ropes hung all about, along with painted scaffolds and props borrowed from other productions. The warm breeze caused the banners to flutter and lit them brilliantly from behind. There were blues and whites, giving the subtle appearance of the sky, and though it may have been lost on her people, Nita knew that the layout was quite similar to the rigging on an airship, albeit one a bit larger than the Wind Breaker.
In the center, her dress flowing in the wind, stood Lil herself. It was an elegant outfit, every bit a masterpiece. One would never know that costume making was at best Lita’s third greatest artistic interest. Though the dress came within a whisper of the ground, Nita noticed hidden just behind the gossamer fabric were Lil’s work boots. She covered her mouth
and stifled a laugh.
Lil saw and blushed a bit before shushing her.
“Howdy folks!” she said, waving. “If you all don’t know, my name’s Lil Cooper. Leastways that’s what you all can call me. I hope you all enjoyed the night so far. I been out here gettin’ ready, so I’m lookin’ forward to finishin’ up here so I can get me some of that supper you all just ate.”
This brought a smattering of laughter.
“What I got for you today is… I ain’t rightly sure. If it’s dancin’, it ain’t no dancin’ I ever seen before. But Josh over there says that’s what he’s callin’ it, so that’s what I’ll be doin’. The music is somethin’ he wrote just for this here show. It’s called… what’s it called, Josh?”
“Flight of Fancy,” he called, again with a smattering of laughter.
“Anyhow… I reckon I should get to it. I hope you all like it.”
A trio of musicians began, flutes and strings conjuring to mind a peaceful spring morning. Lil began to move, and at first it was a bit graceless. She had trouble finding a rhythm in those first steps, but after a moment or two she fell into the proper pace. It was clear on her face that she wasn’t comfortable with this aspect of the performance, which began as so many Calderan performances did with slow but grand movements of her arms and fluid sweeping steps.
Then the music began to quicken and her face lit up. She bounded toward a pole and grabbed the rope hanging from the top, swinging high and wide. Her costume drifted like a streamer behind her, tracing out the path she’d followed and making her seem to be floating.
The audience shifted from skepticism to rapt enthrallment. The deckhand moved from pole to pole, from high above to dangerously close to the ground, all without faltering. It was truly poetry in motion, and being coupled with the music made it nothing short of moving.
Nita’s heart soared along with Lil as she practically left gravity behind. She clasped her hands together at the joy she saw on Lil’s face as she worked through a performance no Calderan had ever dreamed of. At the peak of one of her arcing swings, Lil caught Nita’s eye and gave a wink, prompting a gleeful laugh from Nita.