by J. C. Staudt
The man blinked, giving me a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t believe those are in stock, sir, but I’ll certainly take a look. Just a moment, please.” He laid his newspaper on the counter, dislodged himself from his stool, and waddled through the doors to the back room.
When I heard him start to shuffle boxes around, I left. On my way out, I tore the wanted poster off the bulletin board beside the door, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the barrel trash can on the porch. “Time to go,” I said. “We’ve got some gravstone to steal.”
8
Chaz stood and shoved a pebble into his pocket, one bloated eye pulsating behind a triad of lenses. “What did the shopkeep say?”
“We’re practically right on top of them. Gilfoyle’s new mining operation is less than half an hour away. Dangit, Blaylocke, your nose for finding people appears to be more exceptional than I’m ready to give you credit for. I’m calling it now: this was a fluke.”
Blaylocke said nothing as we made our way back to the Galeskimmer, but he wasn’t fooling anyone with that proud grin he was barely holding back the whole way there. We skirted the town to avoid any other prying eyes who might’ve seen my wanted poster. By now, I’d be surprised if there was a soul left in the stream who didn’t know my middle name, or who hadn’t at least seen my unflattering likeness plastered across every town square.
When we boarded the Galeskimmer, I headed straight for the captain’s quarters and knocked on the door.
“Come in.” Sable was lounging in her chair with a glass of wine, the overcast sky filling the room with gloomy gray light. She rolled her eyes and crossed her legs when she saw me, bouncing her foot beneath the table. “What do you want?”
“We’re close,” I said, letting the door swing shut behind me. “I found out where Gilfoyle is.”
She shrugged. “Good for you.”
“Are you really still that mad at me?”
She tossed her braid, reached back and checked it with her fingers, chewed on her lip.
I cleared my throat. I’d told myself I wouldn’t blunder through this, but dispelling the silence seemed more daunting now than it had been in my imagination. “I’m sorry I… I touched you. Without your permission. I’m sorry I kissed you.” I felt my face go hot. “It was inappropriate.” I ground my teeth, my chest thumping like a scared rabbit.
The ten-or-so feet of space between us might as well have been a chasm. I didn’t know whether I was apologizing because I cared about her, or because I needed something from her. If I were honest with myself, it was probably a little bit of both.
Sable set her glass on the mantle beneath the windows. I expected her to get up, to come toward me. To look at me, at least. She didn’t. Just sat there, staring down at her fingernails as though she were as interested in the dirt beneath them as Chaz would’ve been to find a loose bit of driftmetal there. She still wasn’t saying anything.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my friends were primies,” I added, hoping it was what she’d been waiting for me to say. Apparently, it wasn’t.
“Did you mean it?” she asked.
“Do I mean what?”
“When you kissed me. Did you do it because you wanted to, or because you thought it would get you out of trouble?”
Behind her, the riverwood trees were swaying in the wind, their twisted, sinewy branches heavy with leaves as thick as shrubbery. A light rain began to patter on the windows. I wished I hadn’t come—that I had sent Vilaris to deliver the news in my stead so I could be below in my hammock, napping with the crew. It was too hostile for comfort in here. I wanted to lie, to say I’d done it because of the way I felt about her, but I couldn’t bring myself to preserve such an empty falsehood. I usually found it much easier to lie to the people who didn’t matter. Maybe my hesitance to lie to Sable meant that she was one of the people who did.
“I just wanted to get you off my case,” I said.
She nodded. Her lips tightened, a sharp line creasing her brow, and she turned away to stare out the window. She swiveled in her chair until I couldn’t see her face anymore. She was quiet for a moment. “We’ll wait out the storm and then head down there.”
I hesitated. My foot slid half a step toward her, but I didn’t let it go any closer.
I tried to be silent as I shut the door behind me and crossed the deck. The rain had become a steady downpour, and I was drenched by the time I reached the stairs and descended to the crew’s quarters. They were all inside, my people and the Galeskimmer’s, settling in and relishing the opportunity to get some extra leisure time. Neale Glynton was lying on his back, tossing a ball up to ricochet off the bunk above him. Big Thorley Colburn was carving a wooden figure with his rigging knife while Dennel McMurtry read to himself from a thick leatherbound tome with no title on the outside. Nerimund was sitting cross-legged on his bunk, biting his fingernails. Eliza Kinally was banging pots and dishes around in the kitchen, and Mr. Scofield was probably off somewhere studying his navigation charts and updating his maps. Blaylocke was writing letters to his wife, and Chaz was examining the rocks he’d picked up, scribbling notes about them in his journal.
Vilaris was sound asleep. I settled into my hammock and set about joining him.
It rained all afternoon and into the evening. By the time we ventured into the galley for supper, it was past dark. A fog had settled over the fields of Falkombe, shrouding the Galeskimmer in its dense blanket. Eliza had made us a hearty stew of carrots, onions and potatoes with chunks of meat, just the thing to warm our bones on a night like this. We’d eaten well since we came aboard; now that the money was flowing, Sable and her crew had bought enough food to keep the ship’s larder well-stocked.
After the meal, we paraded across the ship single-file and gathered in the captain’s quarters to discuss our plans. Everyone was included—not just those of us making the decisions. I had a role in mind for each person to play. After all, I’d learned the hard way not to get into something this big on my own.
“We have a bead on Gilfoyle’s location,” I announced. “I say we strike while the iron is hot. Get this done fast, so we can rescue your captain.”
“Don’t we have to turn the ore into chips first?” asked Landon Scofield.
“Ore into chips. Chips first,” said Nerimund.
“Mr. Scofield, that’s a very good question. I’ll get to that.”
He eyed me. “Very well. Then the next order of business is how, exactly, we’re to go about this whole ordeal.”
“If you’ll permit me to share a few of my ideas,” I said.
Mr. Scofield nodded. So did Nerimund.
When I glanced in Sable’s direction, she was staring at me, as if in a trance. She looked away, snapping out of it.
“You’re a talented crew,” I told them. “I’ve seen how well you run this ship. So I want you to do what you do best: fly the Galeskimmer, and fly her like there isn’t a more noble pursuit in all the world. Mr. McMurtry, how many guns can she bring to bear, and what kind?”
The quartermaster removed his black top-hat and scratched his head. “The guns’ve been packed away for quite some time now. We don’t like to present a threat most times, since we haven’t much to support one. I think of the ones we haven’t sold, there’s an old cannon or two down there. Four-pounders, I believe, plus a barrel of powder and a dozen rounds.”
“So no fleckers, lasers… nothing like that,” I said, ready to be disappointed.
Dennel shook his head.
“Okay. How many of you are trained to use them?”
“Just me and Cap’ Sable,” said Dennel. “Thorley here knows how, but… his depth perception ain’t the best, you know.”
I smiled. “Captain Sable?”
Her eyes were cold blue spheres, but she spoke with courtesy. “I’ll help man the guns, if it comes to that.”
“In the meantime, they’d better be brought above and set up. I don’t think we’ll need them, but it couldn’t hurt. Eliza, d
id you pick up everything you needed in town today?”
“Aye,” she said, her green eyes smiling.
“Good, good. There’s a warehouse on Platform 14 where they keep all the unprocessed ore. It’s where I found the gravstone last time. My mistake was not realizing that every hovertruck in the place is bugged. The mine operators want to know which vehicles are being used where, and by stealing the hovertruck itself I unwittingly led them right to me.
“From the warehouse, the ore is taken to Platform 22 to be processed. The layout of the processing plant is pretty complicated, but there’s only one section they use to extract gravstone. Whatever gravstone Gilfoyle possesses has to be in one of those two places—Platform 14, or Platform 22—I just don’t know which. That means that if my primary plan doesn’t work out, we’re going to have to strike both at the same time.”
A murmur arose among the crew, uneasy words.
“You’re wondering how we’re gonna pull that off with eleven people and a ship to fly. Easier done than said, I assure you. Alastair Gilfoyle owes the city of Bannock a great deal of money.” I made sure I said ‘Bannock’ instead of ‘Pyras’ this time. “He broke his contract and failed to pay us for services rendered. So before we bother with any of this gravstone heist nonsense, we’re going to do what grown men are supposed to do when there’s a disagreement. Talk to him, face-to-face.”
“Didn’t he try to kill you last time?” asked Mr. Scofield.
“Gilfoyle gave the order and his thugs carried it out,” I said, nodding. “But if we can get to him when he’s not surrounded by his goons, I don’t think he’ll be in a position to carry out violence.”
“Alright, enough,” said Sable. “This talk of killing is making me anxious. I hope Gilfoyle agrees to uphold his half of the contract and pay what he owes. There doesn’t need to be any more killing going on.”
You’re in the wrong profession if you’re afraid of killing, I almost said. “I hope he does, too. But in case he doesn’t, here’s my idea for a backup plan.”
It took two hours for me to explain my idea to the crew and discuss every minor point they were concerned about. We made alterations where necessary, shifting our little skeleton crew around to accommodate the various tasks, and working out a few timing and logistical issues I’d overlooked. I was convinced we were ready, but we’d plotted late into the night and everyone was tired, so we decided to get some rest and execute the scheme the following day.
I didn’t sleep much that night, and I got the feeling no one else did either. The rain had stopped by the time we woke, but the sky was gray that morning, and the fog still lay thick in the fields around the Galeskimmer. I tried not to think about whether all of us would live to see the end of that day. I didn’t want it to matter.
“How you feelin’, Chaz?” I asked him over breakfast.
“Ready,” he said, biting off half a strip of bacon.
“I’m gonna be counting on you today. Hard.”
“I’ve got everything you asked for. It’s all set to go.” Chaz’s straight black hair had grown out since we’d left Pyras. Now that his head wound had healed and he no longer wore the bandages, he’d taken to sweeping the drape out of his eyes and tying it behind his head, the way Vilaris often did. Chaz would’ve looked a right sailor if it weren’t for those goggles and the gadgets he was always tinkering around with.
I cuffed him on the shoulder and stood to leave. “You’re a better man and a better primie than I ever expected to meet,” I told him, and meant it.
While I was helping Dennel McMurtry carry one of the four-pounders up the stairs to the deck, Blaylocke passed us, going down. I was pleasantly surprised when he grabbed the middle of the cannon and helped us lug it the rest of the way. The thing was deceptively heavy for its size.
“Thanks,” I said, dusting off my hands. “So… have you decided yet?”
He nodded. “I’m coming to Gilfoyle’s.”
Blaylocke had been unsure whether his skills would be better served on board the Galeskimmer in the event that we needed to raid the platforms, or if he should do the brave thing and come with us to confront Gilfoyle. Rather than fighting him over it, I’d left it up to him. Giving Blaylocke a hard time had lost some of its luster. I’d seen the man get more homesick and despondent with each passing day. Instead of the retorts and angry challenges he used to give me, he’d started to ignore me or walk away whenever I tried to start a verbal sparring match with him. It made me feel like a real prick. But I am a real prick, so I figure it kept me grounded.
“Ding-ding-ding,” I sang. “Correct answer.”
“How sure are you that Gilfoyle’s going to fold? You think he’ll just hand over the chips he owes us?”
“Absolutely not. I think he’s gonna be the same old cigar-smoking, medallion-wearing, walking-cane-up-his-butt, ore-smelting donkey. He’ll be just as hard to deal with as ever. The only difference is that he won’t have his muscle around to give orders to.”
“Why are we even trying then? Let’s just go straight to Plan B.”
I threw up my hands and let them slap my thighs. “There’s only so much of this defeatist attitude of yours I can take, Blaylocke. We’re trying it this way because… why not? And also because, what good are death and destruction if you’re not having fun?”
Blaylocke frowned and started to walk away.
“Hey,” I said, halting him. “Nobody on this boat is dumb enough not to notice you feeling sorry for yourself all the time. Except maybe Nerimund. I actually don’t know if that guy’s dumb or if he just likes repeating what everyone says. Anyway, you’re crushing the mood around here. We’re supposed to be getting riled up for tonight. The people who crew this ship are a bunch of glorified mailmen; this is the most dangerous thing most of them have probably ever done. But you? You’re a City Watchman. You ride hoverbikes across the Churn like it’s an ice skating rink, for crying out loud. Take some pride in yourself. You miss your family? Great. When you get home, tell them the stories about how you fought to do right by them, for the good of Pyras—not stories about how you moped around the ship and cried the whole time. We’re doing this for them. Well… you are, at least. I’m in it for the chips.”
There was the hint of a twinkle in Blaylocke’s eye, as if a fond memory had swept over him. He started to walk away again. When he was halfway across the deck, he called back over his shoulder. “Let’s not screw this up, blueblood.”
I could hear the smile on his face when he said it.
I stood for a moment and looked out across the fields, laden with their thick blanket of fog. Rays of daylight had begun to pierce through. I hoped the sun would burn away the rest and give us clear skies before nightfall.
“Mr. Jakes, if you’ll accompany me for a moment…”
I hadn’t noticed Landon Scofield approaching, but he was there, standing behind me with a blank look on his face. Nerimund stood behind him, peering out around his arm like a child.
“What is it?”
“Ms. Brunswick would like a word with you.”
“A word,” said Nerimund.
If I’d had to guess the word Sable wanted to say to me, it wouldn’t have been one I enjoyed hearing. Still, I followed Scofield obediently, keeping my distance from the little duender trailing at his heels. Inside the captain’s quarters, Sable was standing near her table full of maps and charts. Dennel McMurtry was there too. He was sitting in one of the wooden armchairs, legs pressed together beneath the table, picking at the brim of the top-hat in his lap. His eyes had a cold, glazed look, and worry lines crinkled his forehead.
Sable waited for the door to close. “So, Mr. Jakes. Tell us about Pyras.”
I feigned innocence. “What’s Pyras?”
“Mr. McMurtry overheard you talking with Mr. Blaylocke outside. You said you were doing this ‘for the good of Pyras.’ What does that mean?”
“Just an expression,” I said. “It’s the name of the company we want to start som
eday. Once we have the money.”
Sable tapped the map on the table with her finger. “Show me where it is.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Where our company is?”
“Where Bannock is. Show me where your home town is on this map.”
I crossed the room and stood next to the table, looking down. The winds of the stream were fickle and ever-changing, so the positions and movements of inhabited floaters could only be tracked if they were emitting a bluewave signal. Maps had to be redrawn on a constant basis using the distances estimated by the ship’s receivers. The map showed everything on our side of the world, represented by a series of dots, with lines that showed the various distances between them and their average speeds in the stream. There were no altitude markers on most of them, and only a few had names—the ones Mr. Scofield knew from memory or had seen when we’d passed them.
I studied the map for a moment, trying to decide which floater to point to. Everything in the stream had moved since the last time I’d looked at a stream chart, floaters shifting and passing one another in their never-ending cycle around Esperon. In truth, I’d only been to Bannock that one time. So with my limited, out-of-date aerographical knowledge, there were a dozen different points on the map I thought could be Bannock. If we’d really lived there, as I’d told them, it would’ve been easier to narrow it down.
“That one,” I said, pointing.
Sable’s eyes followed my hand to the table. Her face hardened. “You’re not from Bannock. None of you are.”
I might have held up the lie a little longer, but there was no sense in it. The jig was up, and I knew it. “Here’s the thing… I may have lied a little.” I sucked in a breath, bracing myself.
Sable grimaced, deflated. She was too fed up with me to be enraged. “First it was your name, then the primitives… and now this. Where do the lies stop, Mulroney? Did Gilfoyle really steal something from your city—wherever that is—or did he steal it from you? Did he even steal anything in the first place? Or was this some elaborate ploy to get us to help you burglarize an innocent man?”