Roar of Sky

by Beth Cato

  “Looks to me like a Washman’s truck,” said Reddy. “One of those door-to-door sales folks vending soaps and household goods.” The truck slowed to take the turn into their driveway. The men remained in place. There was no point in hiding now.

  “Do you want me to greet them, sir? George?”

  The porch creaked ominously as Mr. Augustus started down the steps. “No, Reddy. If someone’s after us and our guests, perhaps they’ll be more reluctant to shoot me.”

  True as the observation was, it made Ingrid cringe—she and Reddy would certainly be regarded as more disposable.

  Ingrid couldn’t see the truck as it rattled and bounced its way down the drive. She checked on the sylphs. They read her mood and immediately retreated deeper into their walnut tree.

  The truck’s engine whined as it shut down. The scent of dust drifted forward and Ingrid pressed fingers to her nose as she resisted the urge to sneeze.

  “Howdy there!” Mr. Augustus called into the sudden silence. “Can I help you folks?”

  Folks? How many men could he see in the truck? Ingrid leaned forward a tad. Reddy had blocked the doorway with his body, but around him she could see Mr. Augustus standing vulnerable on the scrubby grass, the truck dead ahead. She slipped her hand into the pocket with filled kermanite. She teased a stone between her fingertips, aching to be ready, but terrified of luring in another of Blum’s hunters.

  “Hello there!” a deep baritone boomed out. “We’re here with a delivery.”

  That voice. Ingrid knew that voice. She stepped forward, a hand to Reddy’s arm to motion him aside. “That’s Siegfried!” she whispered to Cy.

  Roosevelt’s man hopped from the truck’s cab. He wore a light blue cotton uniform, the fabric threadbare but tidy, the very thing one would expect to be worn by a salesman of home goods. Another man sat in the cab. She recalled him from their flight in Roosevelt’s fancy airship. A heavy clang of metal indicated the back hatch of the truck dropping down. Fenris rounded the side of the canvas-back truck. Behind him strolled a stout, strong figure recognized the world over.

  “Dee-lighted to see the reunion has gone according to schedule!” said Theodore Roosevelt, his white teeth flashing in one of his signature grins. “George, your leg looks to be healing well. Reddy, I doubt you’ll need that shovel at the moment. No one needs burying today. Young Mr. Augustus.” That greeting was as curt as could be expected. “Miss Carmichael. Good to see you upright again. I trust you had a lovely visit to the old Sandwich Islands?”

  Chapter 15

  George, Reddy, and Cy froze in place, stunned by the ambassador’s arrival. Ingrid resisted the strong urge to swear.

  “Greetings, Mr. Roosevelt. Yes, I had a productive visit,” she said, her voice level, as if his arrival had been expected. Inside, she felt sick with worry. Did he know what she’d done to Warden Hatsumi? Did he even care? Why on earth was Fenris here?

  She glanced up, but saw no iridescent glimmers. Maybe, just maybe, her name alone wouldn’t draw in that thing again.

  “T.R. never shows up unless he wants something,” Cy muttered from beside her. She nodded. “And Fenris looks about ready to explode.”

  Indeed he did. As Roosevelt paused to chat amiably with Mr. Augustus in the yard, Fenris hopped up the steps to join them, his expression one of unrestrained fury.

  “They made me leave the Bug,” he spat.

  Cy inclined his head to indicate that Fenris should lower his voice. “Did they board?”

  “Of course they boarded. When that truck drove up, I pulled up the hatch. All the good that did. I couldn’t disengage on my own. His brutes came up the mast, and gave me an ever-so-polite request to open the hatch or they’d bring crowbars.”

  “Did they take anything?” Ingrid panicked at the thought of the guandao. It was up in its usual place in the sylphs’ bunk, but there were no sylphs to play guard right now. Then there was Mr. Sakaguchi’s box of personal correspondence; Roosevelt would be aware of many of the secrets contained therein, but not all.

  Fenris blew a raspberry. “As though I was allowed to oversee proceedings! They escorted me to the ground for a personal meeting with Ambassador Roosevelt.”

  “Damn.” Cy looked tempted to say stronger words than that.

  “How did that meeting go?” Ingrid asked.

  The concern of the sylphs lashed against her. are you safe? She flashed back at them a sense of heightened alert, but that there was no immediate threat.

  “Better than expected,” Fenris said. “He complimented the Bug on its speed, said he was impressed at the time we made from Portland to Seattle, even with inept pilots in command. He noted that the airship thieves remained in lockup in Seattle, too.”

  “I never told him the details of what happened on the Bug during its theft. He wants us to know he knows through other means,” Cy muttered. “Did he leave anyone at the dock?”

  “Yes. Three men with another truck. They are pretending to work freight.”

  “We’ll need to search the Bug carefully when we return.” Cy rubbed his face. “I hate to say it, but their strategy is smart. A second airship out here would garner too much curiosity, and they can’t risk Roosevelt being recognized on a mast. Trucks offer cover and blend in.”

  Fenris snorted. “Blend in, to a certain degree. On the drive, a farmer stopped us to buy some stain removal powder.”

  Ingrid sensed Roosevelt’s approach. The potent enchantments in his ring exuded heat and an onerous presence, though the man alone packed a wallop. There surely could be no one else in the world quite like Theodore Roosevelt. He was the sort of man who read a book a day and could recite much of the contents verbatim even years later, and could work a room in the same way—remembering names and details, and treating friends, enemies, and people of all walks of life with genuine courtesy. Even now, he greeted Reddy first, clasping his hand and asking after his welfare.

  Roosevelt faced Ingrid with a bright grin, his eyes intense behind pince-nez lenses. He was not a good-looking man. He had a large head accentuated by his shortly cropped brown hair, his teeth appearing too large for his mouth. His small frame was packed with muscle, his neck thick like that of a walrus. But his unattractiveness was inconsequential when he grinned and looked a person in the eye. He embodied the charisma and might of a fantastic without a drop of magic in his blood.

  “Shall we go inside and palaver?” Roosevelt asked, gesturing Ingrid inside first.

  “I’m sorry we don’t have more chairs,” said Mr. Augustus once they had again gathered near the table. With seven people in the room—Siegfried accompanying Mr. Roosevelt—the house felt even tinier than before.

  “Nonsense. You have no need to apologize,” said Mr. Roosevelt. “I set you up with the house. If anyone is to blame, it is me. Please, Miss Carmichael—”

  “Sir, I know this sounds peculiar, but you must avoid using my name. Just ‘miss’ is fine. And I’d rather stand for now, thank you. Mr. Augustus, please.”

  The elder Mr. Augustus sat, and after a moment of everyone staring at the remaining empty chair, Fenris claimed it. He crossed his thin legs and folded his arms over his chest as if he had just stolen a throne.

  Roosevelt studied Ingrid, taking in her walking stick and everything else. She stared back. Knowing him, he had already noted the elastic rig on her right boot. He knew her diagnosis had stated that it would be difficult for her to walk again. He didn’t look surprised to see her up and about, but then, his confidence in her abilities was perturbing at times.

  “Well then.” Roosevelt gripped his suit jacket by the lapels. “I confess, my presence here is selfish. I wanted to see father and son reunited after the travails of the past month.”

  “I am forever grateful for all you’ve done, my friend.” Mr. Augustus rose long enough to clasp Roosevelt’s hand. The cold shadow drifted over Ingrid once again. “It does my heart good to see my only living child again. Seeing him, my suffering means nothing.”

&nb
sp; Ingrid looked at Cy at once, taking in his horrified expression.

  George Augustus didn’t know that Maggie was alive.

  Mr. Roosevelt glared at them, his threat as evident as the reveal of a gun. Don’t mention Maggie. Had he come here, not to bask in his role in this reunion, but to make sure they focused on the positive—and avoided the subject of Cy’s twin?

  Ingrid did not respond to threats well. But she also wondered how Mr. Augustus would take the news of his daughter’s betrayal.

  Roosevelt opened his mouth, but she spoke first. “We’ve been following news about Excalibur, sir. The culmination of the Gaia Project is as astonishing and dreadful as you said it would be.”

  “Wait.” Mr. Augustus extended a hand. “I have seen mere drip-drops of news since coming here, but I wondered about this citadel. That is the Gaia Project? I recognized parts of it in a photograph—parts made by Augustinian, rush orders. But the sheer size of the thing would have required work by hundreds of companies across Atlanta and beyond. That must have been akin to herding cats as far as deadlines go.”

  “Indeed. An unparalleled effort in organization. I have had limited involvement myself, as this has been a special endeavor by my colleague Ambassador—”

  “Don’t say her name either, sir,” broke in Ingrid quickly. “She can utilize the power of names within her magic. We don’t know if saying her name will act as a kind of invocation as well.”

  His expression flicked from annoyance to wide-eyed alarm. “That’s why you don’t want your name spoken aloud? What might she gain from hearing her own name from afar?”

  “Our fear is that she might deduce who is speaking and maybe where we are. This is pure speculation on our parts, but we deem it a necessary precaution, in light of her interest in . . .” Cy motioned to Ingrid in lieu of saying her name. “We gave the matter long thought on our flight to the Vassal States.”

  “This brings about disturbing possibilities.” Roosevelt’s expression was dark.

  “This woman ambassador—the fox—seems to have her claws in every pot,” said Reddy.

  “This project is her biggest pot of all, her means to secure Japan’s dominance over China and to stop incursions by Britannia and Russia.” Roosevelt’s eyes smoldered, and she could tell he was readying himself for a tirade. “Here in America, even the Copperhead rags are praising Excalibur as the innovation of the twentieth century, the paragon of American technological might. Each and all ignore the fact that once it’s in Asia, it will be used to secure Japanese possessions. It will only return to America’s shores to be used here, upon our people.”

  Ingrid swallowed a comment on how Americans were already utilizing weapons against American people—Chinese citizens like Lee, who were born here, and others like Uncle Moon who had come here to live out their dream, not unlike immigrants from Ireland, Mexico, Italy, or elsewhere in the world.

  “You reckon that to be her end game, then,” said Mr. Augustus.

  “Yes. Without question. Maybe not for another twenty years. Maybe not for fifty. But her eventual hope is for Japan to realize its divine place as ruler of our world. The Unified Pacific is a means to an end. There is no room for allies at the table she sets.”

  “I recall discussions you and Mr. Sakaguchi had on this subject. The ‘sly invasion,’” said Ingrid.

  Roosevelt nodded. “Yes. The integration of Japanese people and culture within American society. Which, in moderation, is not a terrible thing. America has incorporated elements of cultures from all around the world. One of our great strengths is our ability to absorb, to adapt. Yet when schools teach Japanese alone, when Japanese people are automatically regarded with privilege without regard to their achievements . . .” He shook his head, his cheeks ruddy.

  “How are you working to counter Excalibur?” Ingrid asked, choosing her words and tone with care. Fenris had wondered before if T.R. might help them gain access to the citadel and Maggie.

  “I wield a powerful weapon of war—bureaucracy.” His grin returned. “I delayed its departure a month ago after a terrible fire at the assembly site. The incident did not harm any necessary equipment but—”

  “Or harm any people?” Cy broke in, clearly worried for his sister’s welfare.

  “Not to my knowledge. The citadel will make a long stop in Southern California to load soldiers and goods. I have already arranged for some vital shipments to go astray. I will seize other opportunities as they come.”

  No. He wouldn’t be so bold as to help them board. Damn it. “Sir, where is the fox right now?”

  His lips quirked, causing his mustache to twitch. “I don’t know her current location, but Excalibur is the sun that she orbits right now.”

  “Father, how are you doing?” Cy asked, crouching beside him. Mr. Augustus seemed shaken by all the news.

  “Oh, don’t fuss over me.” Mr. Augustus was rubbing his leg. “I’m old and I tire easily. I’m just so glad to see you, Barty.”

  Cy’s eyes met Ingrid’s, his expression troubled. She could see the question in his eyes—dare they tell him about Maggie?

  Ingrid turned to the person who would best know that answer. “Could I bother you for a glass of water?” she asked Reddy. “I’m parched.”

  Reddy ducked his chin, somewhat embarrassed. “I should have asked everyone. Water . . . ?” The men shook their heads. “Come with me, miss. The best drinking water is from the pump outside.”

  Oh, blessed Reddy. He’d worked in high society circles for a long time. He understood that Ingrid wished to speak with him alone.

  They walked out the front door and rounded the corner. Reddy stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh my.”

  Where only dirt had been before, garden plants thrived knee-high with scarcely a patch of mud visible. Even the scrub grass lawn looked greener. She could swear that the walnut trees were larger now, too.

  Her mind raced as she wondered how large a group sylphs typically formed in the wild. If they were anything like the pixies often found in city gardens, their family clusters usually consisted of only five or so members. Her group of a thousand or more sylphs—bound together through their shared time in captivity—seemed far too potent for its own good.

  Reddy raised an eyebrow at Ingrid. “Does this have something to do with your arrival, miss? I don’t recall Mr. Roosevelt’s visits ever being so . . . inspirational . . . for flora in the past.”

  “Would it be adequate for me to say yes, and plead for you not to ask how?”

  His grin almost seemed to glow. “I’ll accept that from you, as you have taken such good care of my boy.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” she said, and blushed at her poor choice of words. He only chuckled in response. “I wanted to talk to you, Reddy, about a serious matter regarding Cy’s family.”

  Reddy sobered. “Please, tell me.”

  Ingrid took a deep breath. “Maggie is alive. She faked her death to get away from Augustinian. Roosevelt knows that, but he has kept the secret at her request. Maggie is the genius engineer behind Excalibur.”

  Reddy took the news the way a well-rooted tree takes a blast of wind. He swayed, barely, his expression stoic. “I see.”

  Cy trusted Reddy. Ingrid needed to trust him, too. “We want to stop Excalibur. Not simply delay it with paperwork and mislaid deliveries, but prevent it from being used overseas. Cy grieves for his sister. He doesn’t want the extermination of a people on her soul.”

  “I love her like my own, but . . .” Tears filled Reddy’s eyes. “God forgive me for saying this, but when I heard that she had died, I was relieved that she would not guide Augustinian forward. She didn’t care a whit about making money. She simply wanted to create, and be the best at what she created. For her to be the head of a weapons manufacturing business . . .”

  “Mr. Augustus couldn’t see this himself?”

  “He saw her dark potential, yes. That’s why he groomed her to be an administrator instead. She didn’t take to that well. Neither
did the rest of the board. They didn’t like the presence of a woman in their space.” His smile was thin. “George knew she didn’t want to be there, but he thought he knew best.”

  That way of thinking reminded Ingrid all too much of Mr. Sakaguchi’s governance of her own life.

  An idea formed in her mind. “Mr. Augustus used to be a machinist himself, didn’t he?”

  “He can’t handle tools like he used to, but give him a blueprint and he’ll tell you what is what. He’s a lot like Barty, really.”

  “Are you both supposed to stay here on this farm?”

  “We’re not prisoners, but going out brings the risk that George might be recognized. Are you plotting, miss?”

  “I am.” George Augustus could help them figure out the best means to infiltrate Excalibur and perhaps recruit Maggie to their cause. He might be able to help with the development of Ingrid’s braces, too. “Everything depends on if Mr. Augustus is strong enough to take the news about Maggie. What do you think?”

  “You really want this to come out in our present company?” He pondered that. “You said Mr. Roosevelt has known the truth all along. George is going to be angry, and Roosevelt makes an ideal target. If you told him later, my fear is he’d fixate that rage on himself, on Maggie’s deceit and how he should have seen it coming, at how her death broke his wife’s heart. Eva was near catatonic for months until she died.”

  “Oh no. No, no, no. Don’t say that.” Tears filled her eyes.

  Reddy reached out an arm to steady her. “Miss?”

  “Cy. He’ll be devastated. He only just found out recently that his mother is dead.” She wiped tears from her cheeks. “He’ll blame himself for all the heartache he caused her, I know he will.”

  Reddy slowly nodded, sadness heavy in his eyes. “He would, that boy. I’ll talk to George about this again. They need to work through this together.”

  “Without any liquor at hand.”

  At that, Reddy’s nod was firm. “Amen to that, miss.”

  Ingrid steeled her resolve. Roosevelt was going to be very unhappy with her, but that was a risk she had to take. “Well then. Shall we go inside and light the fuse?”