Roar of Sky

by Beth Cato

  Fenris grunted. “Another Pegasus is flashing lights at us as a reminder. Huh.”

  “What?” asked Ingrid.

  “Its guns are out, and I do believe I see smoke.”

  “The gunship shot down another airship,” said Captain Sutcliff. “You cannot see the wreckage from here. The citadel blocks the view. Five people died.”

  Ingrid looked at him, aghast. “How do you know that?”

  Cy jerked his gaze to where he knew the ghost stood.

  “I . . . I don’t know.” Sutcliff’s spectral visage looked frightened. He sank into a crouch, hands pressed to his head. “Dear God, why am I aware of these things? This is too much.”

  “Captain Sutcliff?” She moved closer to him, feeling the need to provide some kind of comfort.

  The ghost softly sobbed into his hands. “This is too much. My eyes are seeing too much.”

  Ingrid quietly repeated this to the others as Captain Sutcliff remained inconsolable. They all remained silent after that, no one sure what to say.

  With the airship dock in sight, Sutcliff stood again. He straightened his transparent clothes and regained much of his bearing.

  “Deaths seem to create puncture wounds in the living world, punctures that seep hints of the next life beyond. On Excalibur . . .” His voice quavered. “There are many such wounds on Excalibur. More than I can even estimate.”

  Ingrid thought Cy might argue against her suggestion to walk about town together, but to her surprise, he readily agreed.

  “Sounds good to me. Let’s scout out the place.” He had returned from his talk with the stationmaster, his pockets lighter. He didn’t wear his jacket. It was strange to see him openly carry a gun holstered at one hip and the Tesla rod on the other. Arizona Territory didn’t discourage such things.

  “No wanted posters?” Fenris called from the engine room.

  Cy shook his head. “Not a one, but plenty of others for local wanted men. This is a speck of nothing, far as the UP’s concerned. I doubt that even the fox would expect us out here, almost in the shadow of Excalibur. Smart folks would steer clear of a place with such a strong military presence overhead.”

  “Smart folks? Us?” Fenris guffawed. “She clearly isn’t considering everything we’ve done in the past month.”

  “We’re still alive,” Cy said.

  “Likely proof of divine intervention rather than intelligence on our parts.” He ducked back into the room and began to clang on metal.

  Ingrid cringed at the noise. “How many soldiers are out there?”

  “None. The local garrison was withdrawn in advance of Excalibur’s arrival, and right as curious folks invaded to take a gander at the citadel above. Those people are starting to leave now. That downed airship today isn’t the first.”

  She frowned. “The garrison actually left? It sounds like the A-and-A is saving their own in case the sickness spreads here. Why not warn the public?”

  “Because they’d riot, for one. For another . . . this is a geographically isolated area. If they need to impose a full quarantine, they’ll strafe the docks to destroy the airships and blockade the roads.” He said this matter-of-factly.

  Ingrid paled. “That extreme hardly seems necessary when the sickness has already spread elsewhere.”

  “That’s the very reason why they would go to that extreme. Whatever this is, it’s highly contagious with a high mortality rate. They’re trying to contain it however they can.” The worry in his eyes revealed he was thinking of Maggie and how she fared aboard. “Have you sensed any other magical threats?”

  “No, nothing since we set off.” She hadn’t held any power since their close call in Bakersfield, though she had faintly heard one of Blum’s things fly over Dominguez twice during her seclusion.

  Cy glanced behind him. “The sylphs are sure being loud.”

  The fae cloud advanced down the hallway. Ingrid had seen them abuzz when they had landed before, but never like this. They emitted an undulating trill as they wavered in place. She reached out to them, but found herself denied. The sylphs were fully engaged in whatever it was they were doing.

  “Are they trying to leave?” Cy asked.

  “No. It’s like they’re in a deep conversation right now, or some such.” Was this part of a mating ritual? Maybe she didn’t want to know.

  A few minutes later, she clambered down the stairs behind Cy.

  The combined brilliance of George, Cy, and Fenris had been almost frightening to behold. By the end of the weekend, they had worked through four more tin prototypes, and by Monday had placed an expedited order for the ori to be processed.

  The finished braces fit inside her boots, with strategically placed orichalcum reinforcing her from the arches of her feet to her upper calves. The sliver-thin plates added no extra weight to her step. Her stride felt stronger, though a bit strange. With practice, Ingrid hoped to soon walk down stairs without feeling as though she could fall flat on her face at any moment. Glory be!

  Four days of confinement in their airship hangar had left her restless yet ambivalent about venturing into public. Therefore, she had thought ahead to attire herself in a way quite unlike the staid auxiliary faculty photograph used in her wanted poster.

  Cy had acquired a broad-brimmed hat for her. The finely woven straw curved to one side, rather like an ocean wave, and was crested with a cascade of ostrich feathers. With it, she wore one of the smocks Lee had packed for her, an understated gray gown in Orientalist cut with kimono-styled sleeves and an obi to cinch her waist.

  “Perhaps my body has adjusted a bit too much to the new coolness aboard the Bug,” she said. “It feels awfully hot here.”

  Cy chuckled. “This is spring in Phoenix. You should see August, when the temperature doesn’t drop below ninety degrees at night and violent monsoons roll in during the afternoon.”

  “Don’t you ever bring me here in August, then.”

  The early afternoon breeze reminded her of peering into a searing oven. Sudden homesickness welled in her. She was a San Francisco girl. She wanted coolness and fog and greenery. From their vantage point, she knew none of those elements were available here. There was dust, so very much dust. The ground below the dock was paved over with bricks, but even those were yellow with dirt that swirled and choked the air as an airship at a neighboring mast lifted off.

  Downtown had only some five streets running east and west, the buildings of wood and brick with no evidence of Japanese influence. They looked like relics preserved from the days of early photography, before the War Between the States.

  “You lived here for a while, did you?” she asked, then sneezed.

  “Bless you. Yes, we were here for almost a year. One of the things I liked best was that folks here prize independence, don’t ask too many personal questions.”

  “Let’s hope that’s still true. Have you given thought to where we should look here? We were advised they’d be in a place that was obvious and clever.”

  He glanced at her sidelong. “I reckon we’re thinking the same sort of locale.”

  “A laundry,” she said softly, though acknowledging the stereotype made her wince. Laundering clothes had been the most common, socially acceptable job for Chinese residents across the western states and territories. She once heard some geomancers—white, wealthy men—state that Chinese were mentally suitable for no other line of work. She’d been about to open her mouth to retort when Lee kicked her shin. He’d been beside her, eyes downcast as appropriate, acting as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

  Later, when they spoke about it, Lee had let his true emotions show. “Let them underestimate us,” he’d said, his eyes smoldering with fury. “They’ll learn our hands can do a lot more than wash clothes.” She’d been too ignorant—too damned oblivious—at the time to realize he was hinting at the life-and-death fight ahead.

  “A laundry,” Cy repeated. “A place so obvious for the Chinese to be, no one would think to look there now—not if they took proper
care to hide their whereabouts.”

  “Do you know where to find the laundries in town?”

  He nodded. “I know of two.”

  Only five masts occupied this dock, so it was a quick walk to the gate. A group of men conversed there in the sparse shade cast by a booth.

  “Howdy there, folks,” Cy said, flashing one of his winning smiles. Ingrid stood back, head angled down, arms demurely crossed at her waist.

  One of the suited men shook Cy’s hand. “How are you? Just landed? Come to see our war machine?”

  “War machine, at war against whom?” grumbled one of the others. “Us?”

  “That crashed airship tried to get too close to the perimeter. They got what was coming.” The suited man shook his head. “Folks who can’t follow the language of lights shouldn’t be pilots.”

  Ingrid was confused for a moment, then realized they must be talking about the airship that was shot down by a Pegasus gunship.

  “Reporters should also know when to mind their own affairs,” added another man with a husky grunt. He wore dusty dungarees and a plaid shirt. “Tried to fly close to take photographs, he did.”

  “I heard it’s cursed,” added another man. He jerked his head toward the hovering white citadel barely visible above buildings on the far side of the dock.

  “Cursed!” scoffed the suited man. “Do you realize how much concentrated effort it takes to curse something? If the chankoro could have cursed us, they’d have done it a decade ago, when they still had numbers!”

  “Well, something’s seriously wrong, innit?” The man breathed out cigarette smoke. “That contraption didn’t fly like they said it would, and now it’s stopped here. They’re not pulling up supplies like they should either. Just one ship went up yesterday, and it hasn’t come back down. Any way you squint at the situation, it looks peculiar.”

  “Maybe you just need glasses,” said one of the other men, spurring a round of laughter.

  “I heard there’s sickness aboard. That influenza that’s spreading bad back east.” The man’s eyes were troubled. “That’s why I come down here to the dock. Buying the wife and children tickets down to Las Cruces to her kinfolk. I’m getting them away from that thing.”

  “I’m keeping my wife here. She could use some influenza, might help her lose some weight.” The men laughed again. Ingrid clutched her hands together, utilizing the calm she had so often practiced in the auxiliary. The men likely wouldn’t have engaged in such crude banter with a lady present, but then, to them Ingrid’s skin tone meant that she was no lady.

  “Thank you for the welcome, gentlemen.” Cy said the last word as if he meant it, but she recognized the annoyed undercurrent in his voice. He tipped his hat, and the others did the same in turn, continuing their talk. Cy and Ingrid moved on.

  “And people say women gossip,” Ingrid muttered.

  “Gossip makes for good currency for us. Few newspapers would have the gumption to publish anything less than patriotic about Excalibur. Angry men have looser lips.”

  “I wonder at his mention of one supply ship going up yesterday. We’d considered hitching a ride like that ourselves,” she whispered as they traversed a walkway into the modest business district. “If the Chinese used that method to infiltrate Excalibur, what can they do on board?”

  Cy remained alert yet nonchalant. “Depends on their numbers. I imagine Excalibur can stay aloft on its own with a couple crew, but to actually pilot it, you’d need dozens. Maybe a hundred. Maintaining balance on a craft like that must be tricky.”

  “It’d be far easier to crash it, then. Or try to blow it up,” she muttered.

  “Those would be easily achievable with a handful of men, especially if Sutcliff’s right about the number of dead crew up there.” He was silent, studying signs as they passed by. “God Almighty, I hope Maggie is all right.” He had voiced that thought many times since they had returned from Bakersfield.

  Ingrid grazed her elbow against his to offer brief, supportive contact. “If we make it up there, you’re going to experience a rather awkward family reunion.”

  “Yes.” He sighed. “But I think I can talk sense into her. Get her to walk away. Go with us. She likes a challenge, and helping the Chinese would be a fine mental exercise for her. Maybe she can eventually join Father. Start over, with no fuss about profits and board meetings and annual expectations.”

  “They could start a business making braces. There’s demand these days. Maybe we could all join in.” She had to lighten the mood; she didn’t want Cy falling into despair.

  “That’s a wonderful idea. Might be a good new angle for our trade.” He smiled, then nodded to motion past her. “There’s a German bakery across the way. We need to stop in as we return to the dock. Hopefully the critters won’t mind a new nationality of pastry.”

  “I’ll eat what they don’t. Strawberry strudel is manna from heaven, far as I’m concerned.”

  “Let’s hope strawberry is available, then. Perhaps we can find some tamales around, too.”

  Such light chatter, as if they were on a casual stroll together with no worries about Ingrid being recognized, even as other men appraised her the same way they regarded passing horses. Few women were about, and none of them made eye contact. She and Cy weren’t the only ones who were tense here. Excalibur’s literal shadow didn’t darken the town, but its looming presence cast a deep pall indeed.

  The roar of kermanite-powered machines warned them of a laundry just ahead. Ingrid and Cy shared a look.

  “Would any Chinese be working in the middle of the day?” she murmured.

  “I reckon not. Sentiments are too high right now. But let’s amble by and see.”

  A glance inside showed a white woman at the counter, while darker-skinned women worked around the machines. Perhaps more notable were the two signs in the window: hireing now and no chankoro here.

  “Figures; they can’t spell the word ‘hiring’ but they get the epithet right,” Ingrid growled, trying to hide her scowl.

  “Indeed. Let’s go on. I recall another laundry near the park.”

  They reached the end of the business district along Adams and walked south through a park with a small fountain in the center. Dozens of small trees featured strange green bark and green leaves, the colors washed out, the shade cover minimal.

  “This is the better prospect, I think. It was Chinese-run back before,” Cy muttered. “Let’s not get too close just in case there are folks inside who might recognize us from Seattle.”

  They paused beneath one of the green-yet-not-green trees. Cy angled himself to view the building and the street, and pulled out his pocket watch as if they were waiting for someone. Ingrid positioned herself behind him, knowing all too well that she was the more recognizable one. She fidgeted in place. Sutcliff’s chilliness had felt pleasant on her skin but caused her calves to cramp more often. This awful warmth did help her leg muscles flex.

  The laundry building was a single-story adobe brick structure with a more modern addition in red brick that looked as though it about doubled the floor plan. Paper trash and nuggets of horse manure mounded on the front stoop. Boards crisscrossed the entry door in a completely chaotic manner, as if to secure some dread demon inside. The windows were likewise blocked.

  Yes. This had to be the place.

  “We need to come back tonight. We have to hope they’re in there.” The thought of Lee and Mr. Sakaguchi perhaps being only thirty feet away made Ingrid’s heart pound with longing and eagerness.

  “I can’t help but think of Seattle and how it all went so god-awful wrong when you went in to save Lee.” Cy’s voice was low and hoarse.

  She couldn’t help but think of that, too. Of her slowness to create her energy shield. Of Lee, shot in the stomach, dying in Cy’s arms, continuing to die even as Uncle Moon poured more and more life into him, siphoned from his surrounding men.

  “I say that,” he continued, “but I also know you’re the most qualified of us to in
filtrate this building. You’ve been careful in how you’re been handling your energy. That . . . that is a comfort to me. Even so, in a crisis . . .”

  “That’s why we need to discuss our strategy now and be ready for emergencies.” She walked back toward Adams, Cy at her side. “First of all, this is a region with low geomantic output. Certainly no active volcanoes. I’ve never heard of earth-magic Hidden Ones in this vicinity. I’ll be sure to bring both filled and empty kermanite. The sylphs will be happy to help.” She felt a spike of worry and hoped that their strange trilling ritual would be done soon. “I have you, and Fenris. And I have something more, an advantage that I didn’t have in Seattle.”

  “More sense?” he said with a teasing smile.

  “God help us all, I hope I have more sense.” She wanted to reach up and kiss him, but too many people were around. Still, her intention must’ve been clear on her face, because his gaze turned even warmer. She cleared her throat. “But we have something else, something that will make a mighty difference. We have a ghost.”

  Chapter 19

  The night offered a mild reprieve from the heat of the day, and Captain Sutcliff’s presence granted Ingrid even more mercy. Binding himself to her for this journey meant she constantly felt the icy tendrils of his proximity.

  “I committed a series of grave injustices against Warden Sakaguchi that resulted in his current captivity,” Captain Sutcliff had said. “I’d be honored to assist in retrieving both him and Lee Fong, and to ensure your safety as well.”

  The sylphs’ motivations were simpler yet still profound. Ingrid discovered they were inordinately fond of deep-fried jelly-filled doughnuts from the German bakery, and so they were well fortified for the night’s espionage. She still wondered about the odd ritual they’d finished up earlier in the day, but her polite inquiries had garnered no comprehensible reply.