Ichor Well

by Joseph R. Lallo

  “Anybody want to have a look?” Lil asked. “… Don’t everybody volunteer at once, now.”

  None of the fug folk moved, until finally Kent lowered his rifle and approached the wall.

  “This is what I get for ending up in charge of you lot…” he said.

  He straightened up a bit until he was just able to see over the edge of the trench.

  “What do you see?” Lil asked.

  He dropped back down. “It’s hard to tell with all this smoke and steam hanging over the camp, but I see a bit of good news and a bit of bad news. Good news is, the squirrels took care of our soldier problem. Bad news is, the soldiers did not take care of our squirrel problem. They’re looking bloody and angry. Even money says they’ll either limp away to lick their wounds or come looking to dig up a few more nuts to make the whole clash worth their while.”

  “How many bullets you all got? My pistol’s still laying somewhere over by the east wall,” Lil said.

  Kent and the others popped their weapons open and turned out their pockets.

  “Looks like… fifteen or so between us.”

  “Aw heck. With them critters already so full of holes, fifteen bullets should be plenty.”

  “For these maybe. But no gate and barely any bullets isn’t going to leave us in a good position to survive the next few days.”

  “So you reckon it’s better to die today saving bullets for tomorrow?” She tipped her head to the side, listening closely. “Lucky for you the cavalry’s arrived.”

  They peered up and saw the belly of the Wind Breaker’s gondola break through the fug. It was not quite centered over the well, with its starboard side roughly aligned with the trench. Gunner appeared at the rail and quickly assessed the situation. He manned the fléchette gun and dispatched the first of the beasts. The others, perhaps at the sight of one of their own finally falling, scrambled back through the gate and into the distance.

  “You keep that gun trained on the gate,” Captain Mack bellowed, his voice raised loud enough for those on the ground to just barely hear him. “I don’t know what those were, but if I ever see one again, I don’t want to have to see it for long.”

  “Aye, Captain. Agreed,” Gunner called out.

  “Lil, Nita! You down there?” Captain Mack called out.

  “Sure are, Cap’n,” Lil called in reply. “Nita’s hurt, and a couple of the Well Diggers.”

  “We’ll get Glinda ready. The gig’s a bit fouled. Are you folk going to be able to climb a ladder?”

  “Might be tricky for Nita.”

  “Seems this whole mess was a trap. And looks like it sprang. You folks had a run in with some fella named Lucius Alabaster?”

  “Lucius P. Alabaster!” cried a slightly unhinged voice.

  The voice came from near the center of the site. The Well Diggers popped up and looked to the central pit. A figure in purple, the much disheveled Mallow, stood with a small pistol and a pained look on his face. Beside him, almost invisible in his dingy white outfit enshrouded by the lingering steam, was Alabaster. In the chaos of the squirrel attack and the rest of the combat, he and his manservant must have found their way to the ground. For once his garish outfit had served him well in concealing him as he moved, though with the greater threat of the beasts and soldiers to worry about, the two men would have had to work hard to draw any attention at all.

  The mastermind of the entire plan raised a hand and flicked the end off a small black cylinder. A short, piercing-bright flame burst forth from the end, illuminating his maddened face.

  “This all ends now! Drop your weapons! You are beaten!” he said, holding the lit flare out over the edge of the pit.

  “You sure about that?” Lil said, snatching Kent’s rifle and raising it toward him.

  “Lil, lower that weapon,” Captain Mack ordered.

  “… Aye, Cap’n…” Lil said, reluctantly lowering the rifle. “But why ain’t I shooting this fella who tried to kill all of us and ain’t got nothing but a fancy candle?”

  “Oh, you wish to know? You wish to peer into the infinite brilliance of my machinations? Do you even suppose that you could comprehend—”

  Dr. Prist appeared at the railing of the Wind Breaker as the speech began and gasped. “You must stop him! If he is able to light the ichor, then—” she began.

  “You will shut your mouth, or I will drop the flare right now, Dr. Prist!” he cried, eyes wide with fury. “This is my ultimatum to deliver and you shall not steal my moment! That is the problem with you. With all of you. You do not know your place. Your place is at my beck and call! Your place is to obey my commands! Your place is under my heel. And I shall now do my best to tell you why.

  “Some of you may be familiar with South Pyre by now. The source of all the phlogiston, all the pyrum, and all the fug for the continent.”

  “What? You folk have been making the fug?” Lil said.

  “Oh yes… yes quite efficiently. The truth of the catastrophe is not known, of course. Perhaps it was a purposeful act, someone who knew what wondrous thing would come to pass if the world were to be bathed in the elixir that created my race. Perhaps it was a simple accident, or even the act of a god, the work of lightning, or a wildfire. Regardless. One pyre, burning bright for over a century, has made the world what it is today. And if I were to drop this flare into the pit, there would be two.”

  “So? The lowland is already drowned in the stuff. What’s a little more?” Lil taunted.

  “What’s a little more? Do you suppose the fug has only risen to its current level out of respect? Out of kindness? It has risen that high because that is as far as a single source of fug can achieve. With another source, it will rise higher. Not much, perhaps, but enough. Enough to wipe out whole towns, to kill, or at least leave homeless, thousands of you surface dwellers. So you would do well to do as I say.”

  Alabaster’s eyes swept to the Well Diggers.

  “And as for you, my useful little tools. The ones who so wonderfully played into my plot and made all of this possible. You may think to yourself, what do I care of the surface? What do I care of their homes and their lives? What is to stop me from eliminating this genius and once again seizing control of the precious well?”

  Lil gave Kent a sideways glance. “You better not be thinking that.”

  “Yes… yes he and the others had best not. Because one of the places certain to be claimed would be the Midland Plateaus. The breadbasket of our continent. The crops there would wither. The livestock would die. Slowly but surely, people would starve above and below the fug. What I hold in my hand is not a simple flare. Not a fancy candle as you so densely stated. I hold the very fate of the world.”

  Mallow looked to him.

  “You… you’re telling me you could kill everyone by dropping that flare?” he said.

  “Yes, Mallow. I’ve asked not to be interrupted.”

  “You didn’t say that at the beginning, sir.”

  “Oh, am I to clear the minutia of my machinations with my minions now?”

  “I’m not sure I can, in good conscience, continue to support you, sir.”

  “Now is not the time for independent thought or, for that matter, a conscience of any kind, Mallow. You are with me or you are against me.”

  “Then I am against you, sir.”

  The manservant turned the pistol to face him.

  “Must you be so penetratingly dim? If you shoot me, the flare falls and the world dies. Why do you suppose they haven’t fired?”

  “…”

  “Back away with the rest of them, you great boob.”

  Mallow paused, then somewhat dejectedly lowered the weapon and stepped away.

  “Your idiocy never ceases to amaze me.”

  Nita stood, somewhat unsteadily.

  “Easy,” Lil said.

  The Calderan tapped her leg, and Nikita, who had been cowering within her jacket, subtly climbed down and held tight to Lil’s leg.

  “Nikita says Wink told
her the captain’s got a plan. We have to keep Alabaster talking,” Nita whispered.

  “Shouldn’t be tough,” Lil said.

  “You there! Are you really so dim that you cannot pay attention to the greatest mind of your time while he speaks to you?” Alabaster barked.

  “Are you though? The greatest mind of our time? Because it seems you’ve forgotten about me,” Nita said. She leaned hard on Lil and Kent to boost herself up out of the trench and walked in slow, painful steps toward him.

  “And what have I forgotten about you? The injured engineer who made the Wind Breaker the wonderful nemesis I have been waiting for.”

  “I don’t care how much the fug rises. It will never reach Caldera. What motivation do I have not to grapple with you?”

  “You are a hobbling invalid. I am unconcerned. And even if you were able-bodied and might be a credible threat to me, do you think the rest of these people, who would see their world destroyed by any failed attempt to stop me, would stand idle while you made a disastrous attempt? They would sooner kill you than allow you to take that risk.”

  “Perhaps they would. But I knew I was taking my life into my own hands when I joined this crew. Maybe I’m ready to die. And even if I can’t stop you, at least I’m free to speak truth of your madness. What do you believe you can do? You can’t actually order us to do anything but stay away from you, because you hold only one card, and once played, the power is gone.”

  “Ah, but you are wrong! You believe this is about control. That I wish to be in charge… and that is a lofty goal, to be sure. With this flare in my hand no one—save perhaps you—can openly defy me. The heads of all great industries, Mayor Ebonwhite, and everyone above and below the surface must do as I say. It is intoxicating, and it has the capacity to make me the wealthiest man in all the world. … But that is not my aim… It was never my aim.”

  “What then?” she said, still limping ever so slowly closer as the Wind Breaker drifted overhead. “What is your aim?”

  “Is it not obvious? From this moment forward, I have already won. If I succeed and claim the world as my own, then I am the greatest man of my era, no question. … But if I fail? If I choose to drop this flare and end the world, then I am the most infamous man of all time. More infamous than Mayor Ebonwhite. More infamous than Ferris Tusk. The world is mine already! I hold it in my hand, right here! And at my mere whim I can snuff it like a candle. The people of the surface will flee, first to higher ground, then to those islands that will still be free from the fug. Islands like yours. And they will carry with them words of my deeds. And when the war is fought, it shall be written that I was the cause. And when the last breath of society is drawn, it shall be my name that is on its lips. I shall be the single most important figure in all of history! And I shall have done it all with nothing more than this simple flare!”

  He held the burning stick aloft and descended into positively demented laughter. The humans and fug folks in attendance watched with fear and a dash of wonder at the raw insanity that must be to blame for such a mindset. Then, one by one, their eyes began to drift upward. Had Alabaster not been reveling so thoroughly in the culmination of his plan, he might have noticed. Instead he was utterly transfixed by his own genius, attempting between breaths to properly articulate his glee.

  “I should drop it right now! Yes! If I were to drop it now, and start the long inevitable slide toward destruction, it would assure that no one could ever eclipse me. And surely that is the fate I’ve earned through my brilliance…”

  A faint whistling, like a bit of string spinning through the air, drifted down from above. Somehow, it was this sound that finally pulled him from his fixation. He looked up to see a one-eyed aye-aye, tied into a harness at the end of a long rope, swinging in a wide and precise arc toward the flare he held high. Alabaster acted quickly, pulling it out of the path of the swinging inspector.

  “Ah! Ah-ha! Did you think I would be taken in by so puerile a ruse?” he raved, watching the aye-aye swing uselessly past. “I’m am Lucius P. Alabaster! I cannot be out-thought!”

  His taunting of the swinging lesser primate would likely have continued if not for a minor oversight on his part suddenly becoming apparent. In his split second move to pull the flare free of Wink’s swing, he brought it well within Nita’s reach. She took both the flare and the fist clutching it in one hand and pulled it sharply, yanking Alabaster off balance. He stumbled toward her and received a well-timed wrench to the side of his head.

  Alabaster crumbled to the ground, his grip loosening enough to leave Nita holding his potentially apocalyptic flare. She threw it clear of the pit, then painfully crouched beside him.

  “I’ve seen a lot of madness since I joined this crew. I’ve seen obsession, blind greed, megalomania… but you, Mr. Alabaster…”

  “Lee-oo-see-us P. Alabaster,” he said slowly, managing to overenunciate his name even despite being at the brink of unconsciousness.

  “You, Lucius P. Alabaster, are utterly unique.” She sighed. “Or at least I genuinely hope you are. Because I don’t think the world could survive having two of you.”

  The job done, whatever mix of dedication and adrenaline had allowed her to push the pain of her ankle aside subsided and she nearly fell. Lil was there to catch her. The deckhand slid herself smoothly under Nita’s arm and steadied her, then walked her toward the Wind Breaker’s gig, which was already lowering.

  “Give ’im a kick in the ribs for me, would you?” Lil said as Well Diggers rushed past to deal with the delirious Alabaster.

  She turned to face Nita as best she could while continuing the role of makeshift crutch.

  “That was one heck of a wallop you handed him. I gotta ask. Do they teach that sorta thing back at that steamworks of yours? Because you sure do a lot of whomping with those things.”

  “It isn’t a formal class, but the more martial aspects of free-wrenching come in handy more often in Caldera than you’d expect. We’re artists. Artists are spirited.”

  Nita sat heavily on the edge of the gig and watched as the worst injured of the men were loaded on to be hauled up. There were three Well Diggers who wouldn’t retain the title of survivor for very long without swift medical attention.

  “Hang in there, fellas,” Lil said. “We got a medic up there who could sew a whole new fugger together out of spare parts if she had to, so patching you three up’ll be no sweat,” Lil said before turning to Nita. “Of course, with folks who need so much patching, it might be a bit before she can get to you.”

  “That’s fine… I’ve been hurt worse…” She leaned a bit more heavily on Lil, less out of need for support and more out of simple relief.

  The gig cranked up to the belly of the Wind Breaker. Butch, Gunner, and Coop were already on hand, ready to deal with the wounded.

  “There you are, you li’l runt, you,” Coop said, yanking Lil up and giving her a bear hug. “You two just can’t keep out of mischief, can you?”

  “Us girls know how to have a good time is all. Help me get Nita here up to the galley though. She had a bit more fun than she can stand.”

  “Sure thing,” Coop said, “unless you need me, Butch.”

  Butch dismissed him and revealed a needle and thread, much to the dismay of the man about to receive treatment.

  Coop helped Lil with Nita as far as the first speaking tube, then leaned into it. “We got ’em, Cap’n. Full crew complement again.”

  “Everyone in one piece?” Mack asked.

  “Yeah, but a few of them pieces need fixin’.”

  “Fine. Good to hear it. Let’s get the wounded tended to quick as possible. There’s four ships out there somewhere I’d like to put to bed. Near as I can tell, they ain’t got much in the way of crews, but now would be a lousy time for surprises.”

  As they attempted to navigate with three people side by side in a ship with hallways barely wide enough for one, Nita tipped her head to the side and listened.

  “Coop… would you care to
tell me why it sounds as though someone has been beating on turbine one…”

  Epilogue

  Several weeks had passed, and the Well Diggers and Wind Breaker crew had used them wisely. The first several days were tense, as the threat of additional attacks from man or beast loomed large in their minds. Mallow—now eager to underscore his abandonment of Alabaster and his cause now that the depths of the mastermind’s lunacy had been revealed—was quick to assure all that Alabaster had specifically kept the location and even existence of the ichor well secret. Even the crew of the destroyer was not informed of where they were going or what they would find there until they had arrived. Considering the source of this assurance, the Well Diggers were slow to embrace it. Nevertheless, days rolled by and the only threat came from the wildlife. An awful lot can be salvaged from a wrecked destroyer and four scout ships. Those parts went into a more permanent wall and a better defense system. Once the camp was in a state that could weather the occasional curious squirrel, the Wind Breaker began to make careful, stealthy runs to fetch supplies and crew. Now, though it looked a bit cobbled together, the place was at the very cusp of full functionality.

  Nita sat on a cot in the cozy little bunkhouse they had erected. A potbellied stove, formerly of Alabaster’s ship and sturdy enough to have survived the ship’s destruction intact, made the place nice and warm. Comfortable as it was, Nita had been spending an awful lot of time there with little to do while the others worked feverishly at the facility’s construction. She leaned aside and grabbed her crutches from where they hung beside the bed, then hauled herself to her feet. The moment the heavy cast on her left ankle thumped to the ground, Lil’s head poked in the door.

  “You supposed to be up?” she said.

  Nita smirked. “What are you doing? Hovering over me like a hawk just waiting to catch me?”

  “I reckon I got to do that, what with Butch sayin’ it’ll be another three weeks at least before that foot’s all healed up, and what with you havin’ your mind set on not listenin’ to her.” Lil stepped into the bunkhouse and began to guide Nita back to her cot. “You keep hobbling around on it and it’ll be ten weeks.”