Ichor Well

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “—don’t know what you’ve got in mind, you scoundrels and cads, but you’ll get nothing from me! I will not be intimidated by your beastly tactics! So you may as well—”

  “Hey! Shut it!” Coop barked.

  The suddenness of the outburst coaxed them into silence, if only briefly.

  “Do yourself a favor and take a look out that starboard window there.”

  They turned.

  “There’s nothing to see,” Lester said.

  “Not quite. It’s a bit dark, but a thousand feet or so away is trees and rocks and such. Behind me is the Wind Breaker. You got two choices. You can get out the starboard side, or you can get out the port side.”

  “You would shove us overboard and send us plummeting to the ground?!” Lester said.

  “I ain’t pushing nobody. But in a bit we’re going to siphon the phlogiston out of that envelope there, and if you’re still in here when we do that, you’ll start tumbling about, and these hatches here ain’t strong enough to stand on, usually. Especially not for a fancy delicate thing like this one. So one way or another you’re probably going to end up outside the ship. Since we got use for the two of you yet, I’d prefer you get out now. Cap’n would be awful sore with me if we got you this close and then you went splat.”

  “You have a ghastly way with words, sir,” Dr. Prist said, her face managing to become a bit more pale as he described their predicament.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you, Doctor, but I been off ship for a few hours and I’m itching for a proper meal. When my belly’s empty, I can get a bit short with folk. So, you folk want out now, or are you keen to take your chances with getting shaken up while we start working on the envelope?”

  “… I suppose boarding your ship is marginally less distasteful than the fatal fall,” Dr. Prist said shakily.

  “Glad to hear it. If you’ll just give me your hand, the ladder’s shimmying a bit. Might be dangerous for someone who ain’t got her air legs yet.”

  Dr. Prist reluctantly offered her hand. Coop took firm hold and tugged her as gently as possible through the hatch. Rather than dropping her to her feet, he simply threw her across his shoulders and began to descend toward the ship. She objected and struggled, but only briefly, as the moment she opened her eyes she was treated to the view beneath the ladder, which was primarily an inky void. As outrageous as her indelicate treatment might have been, she was intelligent enough to know that now was not the place and time to voice such concerns. After a mercifully brief trip over the yawning abyss, Coop set her down on the deck and returned to fetch Lester.

  If she’d known she was destined to be traversing the unsteady decks of assorted airships today, she likely would have dressed differently. Her skirt caught the wind, billowing out like a sail and making it rather difficult to preserve her modesty. Similarly her boots, which had a high and rather fashionable heel, weren’t overly stable on the uneven and pitched surfaces of the deck. Matters were made worse by the fact that her mind quite reasonably assumed the deck she was stepping onto would be level, but the awkward docking maneuver had forced it to list steeply to port. Thus, her first step sent her stumbling clumsily off balance.

  Gunner, predicting her unsteadiness, stepped into her path and gave her something relatively solid to grab on to.

  “Oh! Ahem. My apologies,” she said, pushing herself away and trying to steady herself.

  Owing to her race, Dr. Prist was a head taller than Gunner, but for her, that was not the most striking difference between them. Her interactions with surface folk had thus far been limited to Coop moments earlier, whose long, lean build was much closer to a fug person’s than Gunner’s. The armory officer, hardly a brutish mound of muscle, was nevertheless much more broadly built than anyone Dr. Prist had yet encountered. Even the grunts she’d had occasion to work with were comparatively stretched out. To her eye, Gunner was positively barrel-chested and thick. It was an oddly intriguing physique for her, much more powerful than she was accustomed to. That was sufficient to make it oddly difficult to gather her thoughts.

  “Not a problem, Doctor,” Gunner said, his eyes still lingering on Coop while he fetched Lester. “Are you well? Do you need any medical treatment?”

  “I… ahem…” She wrangled her skirt against the wind. “I am quite well, thank you. I would not dare subject myself to the butchers you barbarians must call physicians, besides.”

  “The fact our medic is also a butcher is entirely incidental,” he said.

  “…Your medic is actually a butcher…” she said quietly, her eyes a bit wide. “… You don’t… eat your wounded, do you?”

  “Butch is a better cook than that. She wouldn’t use substandard provisions like us.”

  Coop returned to the deck and dumped Lester unceremoniously to the ground.

  “Do you idiots want to kill us? Are you truly so—”

  “Mouth shut, Mr. Clear,” Captain Mack growled. “The lot of you, get up here. Seems like things didn’t go to plan down there. I want explanations.”

  Coop yanked Lester to his feet. Gunner somewhat more gently guided Dr. Prist, and the group made their way up the half flight of steps to the helm.

  “I’ll take the short version, Coop.”

  “We showed up. Lester went inside what I reckon was a restaurant. Two hours later this fancy fella showed up and started stirring things up. Said he knew we were there. I decided not to hang around too long, so I tried to find the doctor. Turns out she was in there with Lester. Got some of her books, though.”

  “Suits me, Coop. Go see to that ship. Save the phlogiston, and strap the gondola on good and tight. Might be some parts we can use before we cut it free.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Mr. Clear, Dr. Prist. Two hours is a long time. I trust you two had time to come to an agreement?” Captain Mack said.

  “I… er…” Lester stammered.

  “Come to an agreement regarding what?” Dr. Prist said, tapping her foot and glaring at Lester. “As I recall, you were dancing about some sort of a business proposition.”

  “Two hours and you were still dancing about?” rumbled the captain.

  “A proposed partnership is not the sort of thing one should approach indelicately.”

  “Dr. Prist, these fellas found themselves a new ichor well, and they want you to help them put it to use.”

  “A new ichor well,” Dr. Prist said, her eyes sparkling briefly before skepticism tempered her reaction. “Surely you’re lying. If there was another source of ichor besides South Pyre, it would have been found by the proper industry. I’m frankly disgusted that someone would have even revealed the existence of ichor to you and your kind…”

  “Show her the sample you got, Mr. Clear.”

  “Sample!” she said, turning to Lester. “You’ve got a sample of ichor?!”

  “I hope it hasn’t been broken by these ruffians…” he said, reaching into an inner pocket of his now badly rumpled suit.

  The very instant the faint amber gleam of his remaining sample jar could be seen, Dr. Prist practically attacked him, stepping forward and snatching the thick glass container. It was much larger than the one Digger had used for his demonstration, containing perhaps a teaspoon of the stuff rather than a few drops. Dr. Prist held it up, tipping the jar side to side to watch the honey-thick goo flow slowly.

  “My heavens…” she breathed reverently. “I’ve… I’ve only ever worked with samples three times before… And they were half this size. More precious than gold…”

  Her fingers, shaking as much from excitement as from cold, twisted the lid and raised the jar. The fug rushed away from the opening, leaving a small bubble of fresh air billowing and bulging against the wind. She positioned her nose near the opening and angled herself such that the wind would waft a measure of the scent past her flaring nostrils.

  “It… it is genuine… I’d know that scent in my dreams. Where did you get this? You must tell me.”

  “That is entire
ly classified, so—” Lester said.

  “Someplace in The Thicket. We’ve got crew on the way there now. Plan is to secure it and start making phlogiston and such,” the captain said.

  “I would have expected a greater degree of discretion from you,” Lester grumbled.

  “If I was you, Mr. Clear, I’d hold that tongue of mine. Because in a minute I’ll be asking you some questions, and I wouldn’t want you to use up all your breath complaining.”

  “So there’s more. You’re sure there’s more?” Dr. Prist said.

  “I had my doubts before. And this fancy ship showing up looking for us specific makes me doubt it more, but that’s the story we been fed. Supposing there is, our hope is you’d be willing to help these folk make the most of it, and sell us our share of your wares.”

  “May I ask you some questions?” she said, for the life of her looking as though she was locked in a heroic struggle with her own conscience.

  “Ask,” Mack said.

  “Will you kill me if I don’t?”

  “I don’t see much use in that.”

  “So if I were to say no, I would simply be free to go?”

  “As free as you were before we showed up, which I understand wasn’t much to brag about. Likely your people would want to have a word with you, what with you setting foot on this ship and making it back sill breathing.”

  “Is it true what they say about you and your crew?”

  “Ain’t sure what they say, but like as not it’s true. A crew like us, you don’t need to make much up to make us seem as bad as they’d have us seem.”

  “Did your people destroy the dreadnought?”

  “We did. Them trying to kill us, it seemed the thing to do.”

  “And the Phylactery. You killed everyone inside and destroyed it?”

  “Destroyed it, sure. Didn’t kill the inmates. Again, didn’t seem much reason to. Just as well, as some of the better folk from the prison are doing the heavy lifting for this ichor well venture.”

  “Did you burn those schools?”

  “I suppose they did see clear to make up a thing or two.”

  “Is it true you have a Calderan prisoner on board?”

  “Never a prisoner, and not on board. She’s slinging wrenches with the rest of the folk hoping to dig that well. That’s about as many questions as we’ve got time for, Doctor. There ain’t too many places down here where we could drop you off without having to dodge spikes, so the longer you wait to decide you want off the ship, the longer a walk you’ve got ahead of you.”

  She chewed her lip and gazed at the substance oozing in the container. Lester, at this point, felt it prudent to end his brief silence.

  “I realize this crew is not as sophisticated as myself or the bulk of our culture, Miss Prist, but—”

  Her head snapped to him. “Mr. Clear, I am Dr. Prist. As unsophisticated as you’ve observed this crew to be, my title is something none of them have failed to acknowledge and you have not once utilized. To be perfectly honest, I’m not overly impressed with your tactics in attempting to recruit me. Captain… I’m sorry, what is your name?”

  “Captain McCulloch West.”

  “Captain West, even if his infamy is deserved, has at least been straightforward and frank in his discourse, whereas you spent the better part of two hours prevaricating and discussing this vague ‘partnership’ and ‘endeavor’ without ever brushing on specifics. Did it not occur to you that as a scientist the real point of interest for the potentially traitorous enterprise you would have me engage in would be the academic value of working with this impossibly unattainable substance?”

  “It… I didn’t…”

  “This is literally the substance that has made every aspect of our society possible. The possibilities, Mr. Clear. Phlogiston, burn-slow. I’m convinced these are just the beginning.” She turned to Captain Mack. “You are… confound it, the rumors and legends I’ve been told would have me believe you are nothing short of the devil. And thus you are asking me to sell my soul…”

  She closed the jar and clutched it close.

  “Captain West, this could well be the one thing on this blasted planet I’d be willing to sell my soul for.” For a few seconds, she fought a mighty battle in her mind. When she came to a decision, one could see it in her eyes. “I’ll need equipment,” she said.

  “Gunner, take the doctor below decks and show her what we’ve got. Keep an eye on her. If Nita’s taught us anything, we’d be safer with a wild animal loose in the ship than a clever sort with an eye for mischief.”

  Gunner nodded and took her hand, steadying her as he led her down toward the lower decks.

  Lester turned to follow. “Thank you very much, Miss—”

  She shot him a sharp look.

  “—Dr. Prist. You won’t regret this.”

  “You’re not going anywhere just yet, Mr. Clear. I’ve got some questions for you as well,” said Captain Mack.

  “For me?”

  He pointed at the white ship, which Coop was now siphoning the phlogiston from. “Explain that.”

  “What, the ship?”

  “Anything else you reckon needs explaining more than that?”

  “It wasn’t my idea to steal it.”

  “I ain’t concerned about it being stolen. What’s got me curious is why the fella who brought it knew we were here.”

  “Why would you ask me that? Surely you don’t think I had something to do with it!”

  “He’s a fugger, you’re a fugger. The only folk who should’ve known we were heading here were my folk and your folk. I don’t reckon Coop or Gunner would be liable to let someone else know we were coming, so that just leaves you folk.”

  “Even associating with you and your people is an offense that would easily have been punishable with exile to Skykeep if you’d not blown it to bits. Why would I risk discussing our plans with anyone outside our organization?”

  “Because being the man who helped snare the Wind Breaker crew’d be looking at one hell of a reward at the end of the day, I reckon.”

  “If you are seeking to attach simple greed to an act, then you are vastly underestimating the profit to be gained from creating even a minor competitor to South Pyre in terms of resource production. Every last one of us stands to gain fortunes upon fortunes if we can establish phlogiston production alone. With burn-slow—”

  “That’s all well and good if there’s actually an ichor well, but if that’s a lie, then the only money or favor to be made is by ratting us out.”

  “But you’ve seen the ichor drawn from the well!”

  “I seen stuff you an your chemist call ichor. No telling where it came from. Could easily be the old well.”

  “If I wished to see you captured, why would I even risk being nearby when it happened? And for that matter, why would I entrust your capture to one ridiculous little vessel piloted by what looked like a ringleader at a circus.”

  “You being a coward is something I’m more liable to believe. But that still leaves us with the fact that there’s still at least one traitor in your group. Best case would’ve been if it was you. A bullet would’ve solved the problem then. If it ain’t you, it means the girls are probably traipsing through a forest with a dozen potential traitors. That’s a recipe for blood. Maybe ours, more likely yours.”

  “More likely?”

  “We been on the lookout for treachery since the start. It’ll be mighty hard to catch them girls by surprise. But that doesn’t set my mind at ease much. If all the folks down there with them are traitors, it could be more than they can handle, and if only a few are traitors, it’s liable to make things uncomfortable.”

  A loud snap rang out over the deck. Captain Mack turned to find the gondola of Alabaster’s ship swinging rather more quickly than he would have liked from beside the ship to below it. Enough phlogiston has been drained from the envelope that it was no longer able to remain aloft. The knots and slings that affixed it to the Wind Breaker, each of wh
ich were tied with a good deal more care than the hasty capture of the mooring lines, allowed it to swing down beneath rather than crash into the side. It was not a gentle maneuver by any means. The sudden weight shift caused the whole ship to lurch to the side. Captain Mack rocked lightly, reflexively absorbing the motion with his knees. Lester, less experienced in the ways of the sky, ended up flat on his back.

  “Coop! Keep both ships in one piece, will you?” Captain Mack said.

  “Aye, Cap’n. Sorry, Cap’n.”

  “Get that gondola slung proper under the gig, then get inside and start searching it.”

  “What for, Cap’n?”

  “If plans are leveled against us, there may be some sign of that somewhere in there. I want that thing cleaned out. But sling it proper first. Much as I hate having a bright, visible eyesore like that strapped on, at least it’s good and streamlined. Shouldn’t slow us too much if we align it proper.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  #

  Samantha Prist walked unsteadily through the corridors of the ship. Gunner had one hand on her shoulder, partially to keep her from doing anything inadvisable, but mostly to keep her on her feet. The sudden motion of the ship would have sent her stumbling into the wall, and though she probably would have been well served by steadying herself along the way with a hand to the wall, she was utterly unwilling to take so much as a finger from the jar of ichor clutched to her chest like a religious artifact.

  “I find it rather unlikely that you’ll have the proper equipment to perform even the most cursory of analysis on this substance. It is delicate, exacting work. I’m told your crew isn’t beyond throwing crewmen overboard for lack of room and resources, let alone equipment,” she said.

  “I suppose you’ll need flasks and burners? Perhaps a pressure vessel with an integrated gauge?” Gunner said.

  “… Those would be quite useful, yes. And a high-precision thermometer.”

  They reached the curtain-lined section of the ship that made up the crew quarters. Gunner pulled aside the curtain to his own.

  Samantha took a sharp breath as she saw the veritable armory hanging from his walls. Everything from polished, ornate swords to cobbled-together monstrosities, scorched and discolored from their overabundance of firepower. She backed away. Still she gripped the jar, shielding it as if it were a child in need of defense.