Only Broken Things Are Free (A Pygmalion Fail Book 3)

by Casey Matthews

  “But here?” He shook his head. “No one hides it. That I’m dangerous is just conventional wisdom, and there’s a tenor of moral authority behind hating me. Drawing weapons on me signals that you take a threat seriously and that you’re a good soldier who protects her friends. It’s… righteous, in their eyes. And apparently, Dracon’s orcs have earned the reputation that I’m stuck with. I wanted Northern Spine orcs to eschew fantasy stereotypes. They’re not innately cruel or stupid; their codes of law are rooted in justice. They’re a classic misunderstood people. Now I feel like I should print cards to pass out: ‘Yes, I’m literate. No, I don’t rape as a matter of habit. Your family will not be prepared as stew.’ It’s exhausting.”

  “At least no one’s made you apologize for the existence of Dracon’s orcs yet.”

  “I’m counting the minutes. And on top of it, I lost iSword. I could really go for my ‘Rage’ playlist.”

  “The one with hard rock and Alanis Morissette?”

  “I have many shades of anger to deal with.”

  I set my pencil down. “Let me see what I can do about iSword.”

  He frowned. “You’re about to do something bad, aren’t you?”

  “You bring out the worst in me.”

  “Flatterer.”

  I had to talk to Ronin first, which I’d been meaning to do anyway. I tracked her to a bunk where she was going over inventory, mask clipped on and door open, presumably in case the Akarri needed her.

  Fidgeting in the doorway, I considered whether to ask her about our encounter at the wheel, but chickened out. “I need the ghost stone.”

  She slipped it from a pouch and tossed it to me without looking up.

  I caught it. “You won’t ask what it’s for?”

  “It’s not to spy on me naked, so I don’t care.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I trust you.”

  Smiling, I pocketed the stone. “Any reason why?”

  “Because you trusted me first.”

  Turning intangible would make my clothes fall off unless I bonded them with my blood. Fortunately, there were scabs on my knuckles from foolishly punching a mirror in the Labyrinth, so I picked them, put a swipe of blood on each article of clothing, and mouthed the stone.

  The colors in the corridor around me washed out and I floated as if underwater. Remembering how to maneuver in ghost form took a moment and I bumbled into a wall. When I bounced off it, I frowned. Why aren’t I going through things? I pressed both hands to paneling, thinking it through. The float stones? They suffused the whole ship with a magical field that repelled gravity; maybe that enchantment interacted with my intangibility. I made note, in case Dracon ever sent wraiths after us. It only changed my plans a little, since I remained invisible.

  Dak’s sword was in Tammagan’s room. I waited outside, passing the time by rolling the sky-ship plans around in my head. Give me a good bone to chew on and I’m pretty much never bored. Sucking on the ghost stone, transferring it from cheek to cheek, I got to thinking on those impenetrable windows in the Palace of Ten Thousand Chambers.

  Tammagan’s door clicked open and she stepped out of her room. I shook off my jumble of thoughts and stepped straight through Tammagan’s body, into her bunk. The door locked behind me.

  Her cramped room held a tall cabinet and a fold-up writing desk along one wall. The furniture gave it a claustrophobic feel.

  Spitting the slimy ghost stone into my hand popped me back into reality, a familiar pressure settling in my gut. Reappearing pushed most of the air away from my skin, but a little got sucked into my digestive tract instead. I tried to fart as stealthily as possible—a skill picked up by most middle-schoolers, but at which I excelled. The trick was to form a breach slowly. I concentrated on the mental image of deflating car tires and I was there.

  I checked under the mattress and bunk, but no sword. The cabinet was my next bet, but it was locked. Uncle Scott had once tried to teach me lock picking—he knew the kinds of things that made the FBI nervous about rural weirdos like us—but I’d never practiced. I produced my sketchpad, scribbling a key. I added a skull motif to the bow, figuring it would help me summon a skeleton key. My imagination seized hold of the task and added the twist of an ice theme. The key’s blade would be made from magical ice that could melt and reform to the contours of the tumblers. Making a thing look icy in black and white required shading effects and eraser work, but soon I was lost in my craft.

  Footsteps in the hall made me tense and I blinked. How long had I been at it? Twenty minutes at least. Stupid! I blew on the sheet and snatched the key from the page, plucking it so quickly I rattled the paper. Jamming the frigid metal into the lock, the skull’s eyes glowed. A chilled mist drifted from the keyhole; a crackling sound indicated the icy blade had completed its transformation. I turned the key and the lock popped neatly.

  Just as I opened the cabinet and spotted Dak’s sword, the bunk door clicked open.

  I froze.

  It was only open a crack. From the other side, I heard Elsie: “We need to talk.”

  Tammagan held the door open a hair but was still in the hall. “I told you to stay in your bunk, officer.”

  While they argued, I plucked free Dak’s sword, silently shut the cabinet, and popped out the key. No sooner had I stuffed my things, sword included, into my magical vest’s Mary Poppins pocket than the door burst wide. I popped the ghost stone into my mouth.

  Tammagan dragged Elsie bodily through. I fled for the open door, but Tammagan slammed it shut. My ghost body thudded flat to the wood.

  I spun, realizing I was trapped and invisible.

  Tammagan planted fists to hips and looked at Elsie, who backed into a corner—but didn’t cower. Elsie’s fists balled tight, her hair was disheveled, and she fidgeted in a display of her normally buoyant energy made erratic. Her gaze zinged up her captain’s frame and finally settled unflinching on the older woman’s face. I couldn’t see Tammagan’s expression—her back was to me—but she stiffened in response.

  Neither spoke at first. Eventually Tammagan made to, but Elsie cut her off.

  “You want me,” she accused, with a quiet sureness and intensity that made me blush.

  “I want you to do your job.”

  “That isn’t all you want.”

  “It is.”

  Elsie glared and shook her head, a picture of confident disbelief. Then it was like she slipped on a porcelain mask: she straightened, shoulders back, and her skepticism vanished. “Yes, Captain.” Her clipped tone matched the one she’d used on deck earlier, the mechanical salute held suspended at her brow.

  “Stop that,” Tammagan snapped.

  “Stop what, Captain?”

  “That.” She surged into Elsie’s space, and I watched them in profile now, face to face. “Ever since I told you to shape up, you’ve mocked me with that clockwork soldier routine.”

  Elsie threw the salute to her side, eliminating the last thing between their eyes, between their noses. “Which do you want? The clockwork soldier or me? I’ve offered either. It’s you who can’t make up your bloody mind.”

  Their nearness filled me with anxiety. They looked ready to fight; ready to collapse into a scorching kiss. Maybe both. God, please don’t let them make out. If I voyeur that, I’m going to Hell. Ronin might escort me there personally.

  “I don’t want a mechanical soldier, and I don’t want whatever that was in the galley.” Tammagan chose each word carefully, but hadn’t backed away. Her voice softened: “Your spirit helps morale. All of our morale. But you have to stop trying to punish me for spurning you. It’s childish.”

  Elsie’s voice was softer still. “If you’d told me it was because you’re my captain, I’d have accepted it. If you’d told me I’m immature or too much trouble, well, I’ve heard that before. But you said, ‘I don’t want you.’ ” Shorter than Tammagan, Elsie fixated on the older woman’s lips only a handspan away. “Can’t get that out of my head. Because the way yo
ur eyes just dilated, I can tell you want me very, very badly.”

  “And if I wanted you but couldn’t have you?” Her voice was a tight rasp.

  “You’d have to admit it to my face. But I’d leave you alone.”

  “Fucking liar.”

  Elsie’s grin was mischief distilled, eyes glancing sweetly up in a way so inviting it made the air hard to breathe. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

  Tammagan shook her head.

  “You terrify me. You’re like living lightning. I want you to burn clean through me. Except I can’t do anything but stand here and wait like an idiot with a steel rod in the air. I’d give anything for you to just touch me.”

  That Tammagan didn’t ravish her on the spot was a testament to the Captain’s discipline. I turned around and banged my ghost skull on the door, but it made no sound. Plugging my ears did no good. I was embarrassed, aroused, mortified, intrigued—and subject to that tangle of emotions, all I could think to do was keep my back turned.

  “If I touched you, I wouldn’t stop.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to.”

  Their voices dripped with desire. The room’s air turned molten against my face.

  “Elsie.”

  “Yes?”

  “You need to leave my bunk.”

  Oh thank God. The floorboards creaked. I peaked and Tammagan had backed off, moving to one side.

  “Is that an order?” Elsie went briefly stiff, as before.

  Tammagan shut her eyes. “It’s a request. From your captain, but also your friend.” She kept them shut.

  The hard look in Elsie’s eyes dissolved. “I shouldn’t push so hard. I’m sorry. But even if I’m… even if I’m not the one, I hope you find her. I hope she’s pretty and amazing.” She tried to grin. “And totally within regulation.”

  Tammagan went to speak.

  “Don’t bother.” Elsie shook her head. “I know you like women. Maybe announcing it to the crew like I did would be stupid, but lying to me in private is like lying to yourself.”

  When Tammagan reopened her eyes, she appeared to be in control again. “I’m docking you two weeks’ pay for your outburst in the galley. I’d do more, but I need all hands.” She searched for the words with mouth partway open, and at last found them: “I don’t like the word ‘backwards’ for women like us. Makes what I feel sound unnatural, but… while I cannot touch you for a hundred good reasons, field officer, wanting to touch you is the most natural thing in the world. Magister Grawflefox informs me the term of art where he’s from is ‘gay.’ ”

  “Except you’re the least gay person I’ve ever met,” Elsie said flatly.

  Tammagan growled. “Even when I say what you want to hear, you mock me.”

  “I have a pet theory that if I infuriate you to the brink of losing control, you’ll jump me so hard the ship loses altitude.” Elsie beamed.

  “Get out of my bunk before I choke you.”

  “But Captain, you already steal my breath away.”

  Tammagan swung the door open. “Out!”

  I blew out of the room like it was made of fire, which it nearly was. I heard Elsie call slyly over her shoulder, “Good talk. Feeling much more prepared to soldier for you now. Think I just needed a firm hand.”

  Tammagan slammed her door.

  I returned the ghost stone to Ronin and then presented Dak’s sword to him, triumphant. He paced while listening to his “Rage” playlist. Meanwhile, I activated my computer stone and used my sketchpad to create a magitech pad and stylus for digital art. Using the stylus and pad, my itchy fingers blocked out the idea I’d had for our sky ships. Conceding on the sails, I sketched pylons for propellers and tried to ignore the aching sense of loss. I already had an aesthetic for the new ships: a combination of wood and riveted metal. I included a railed observation deck just behind the dorsal lightning cannon in case someone wanted to stand outside, but otherwise the whole ship was enclosed.

  To make up for this shortcoming, transparent panes composed the ship’s roof forward of the dorsal cannon and its entire nosecone, forming an unobstructed view from what had once been the ship’s weather deck. From the lower observation deck, it would be more spectacular than staring over the rails. The platform suspended its viewer over a transparent encasement, so they would feel as though nothing stood between them and the distant earth below.

  Dak examined my first pass and clucked. “Windows won’t stop dragons, dude.”

  “These will. They’re not glass. They’re durable metal alchemized for transparency.”

  He frowned. “I don’t think—”

  “The science works out? If Star Wars can have transparisteel, so can I. End of discussion.”

  One layer at a time, I honed the sky ship; I expanded on my ideas and took them from blue sketch lines to a final inking. I fell immediately into full-color painting, vaguely aware of Dak moving behind me and doing his own thing. At times, I was so focused it took me several minutes to realize he’d spoken and that I’d responded. At one point, blinking my sandpaper eyelids, I realized Dak was snoring from his cot.

  I wasn’t done, so I pushed on, losing hours until the urgency of my bladder and empty stomach forced me to come up for air.

  Loath to stop a project with so much forward momentum, I glanced it over and liked what I saw. My mind churned through possible backgrounds, considering another layer to try a different pattern of gleam on the metal and sheen on the windows. Maybe it needs a flag. Oh, or a banner!

  But my bladder pushed like a water balloon against my prostate. I had hot sweats and dizziness from running my brain ragged while forgetting dinner. My joints hurt and I guessed I’d been at it for six or seven hours. Noticing Dak had brought me a plate from the galley before collapsing, I snagged a stale dinner roll and shuffled for the bathroom.

  We hit a nasty patch of turbulence that nearly tossed me, but I reached the head intact. I couldn’t figure out whether I’d collapse from starvation or wet myself first, so in the midst of urinating, I risked a bite from the roll. Not my finest moment.

  Another nasty bout of turbulence. Thunder cracked and the ship vibrated. It skewed my tapering stream to one side, so I bit onto the roll, holding it in my jaws, and went two-handed on the old fun hose, vying for control. A second peal of thunder rattled me. My eyes widened. The cannons are firing. We’re under attack!

  The head’s door swung open and Ronin stood behind me. “Tuck it in. Dragons just took Eliandra.”

  Chapter Four: Never Bring a Sword to a Turtle Fight

  Still buckling my belt, I chased Ronin above deck, where my eyes adjusted to pale dawn. I’d drawn through the night. Akarri scurried through the rigging, and Elsie secured ropes nearby while our ship banked a wide turn.

  Tammagan rushed down from the ship’s wheel, saluting Ronin. “Sir. We’ve adjusted course to the dragon’s last known route. It dropped below cloud cover, though, and may have changed direction. It was just a twenty-footer, but quick. Oily beast hit the deck and had her in its claws before we spotted it. Our cannoneers tried to corral it, but couldn’t risk hitting the Queen.”

  A dragon had carried Eliandra away. Just like that. Gone.

  Ronin snatched me, looking me straight on, voice hard as steel: “How do we track her?”

  I reached for my sketchpad and checked my bracelet to gauge my magical energy—I was surprised to see I was at nearly full power. Apparently, last night’s creative spark had restored the reserves I’d drained in the Mirror Room.

  Kyra burst from the lower deck and tossed off a salute. “Ronin! We’ve been hailed, and it’s not good.”

  “Hailed with flares?” Tammagan asked.

  Kyra shook her head. “Through the imaging stone, by some elf aboard one of our sky ships. She works for Dracon.”

  “How did she get aboard one of ours?” Tammagan pressed.

  “Best guess? Dracon captured our ships in Amyss. All our craft have linked imaging stones. There are two vessels bearing
down on our location, and since they’re in range, they can track us. The dragon whelp likely hauled the Queen back to our pursuers.”

  “Which ships?”

  “The Valkyrie and Leviathan, Captain.”

  Ronin tensed at the news, and I could tell that wasn’t good.

  “Son of an ogre’s whore,” Tammagan snarled. “What did they say?”

  “They’re offering an exchange.” Kyra glanced at me with sorrow. “The Queen for Magister Grawflefox.”

  It dawned on Tammagan before me. “The dragon was after him all along.”

  “We’re twenty miles from the Leviathan and Valkyrie,” Kyra said. “They’ve ordered us to rendezvous for the exchange immediately. Otherwise, the Queen goes to Dracon’s sky keep.”

  “Stall,” Tammagan ordered.

  “No.” Ronin glanced at me. “They know what the magister can do. With an hour to prepare, he could destroy them. If we dawdle, they’ll flee.”

  “So we exchange him?” Tammagan asked.

  Ronin’s stance was tightly bunched. “Fly into their teeth. We fight.”

  “The Leviathan has forty cannons,” Tammagan said. “We won’t last thirty seconds.”

  “If Dracon gets the Queen, he has Amyss. If he gets Grawflefox, he wins the war. We fight.”

  Anxiety clutched my gut and tried to hold on to the words, but they sprang free anyway. “We make the exchange.”

  “No,” Ronin growled.

  “Hear me out.” It took a moment to control the tremble in my voice. “Two Akarri plus me and Dak will make the exchange.”

  “Will they let Dak on board?” Kyra asked. “They already specified Ronin can’t come. They know how deadly he is.”

  “They’re led by an elf. She’ll assume he’s the same as Dracon’s orcs and underestimate him the same way everyone else does. With Dak on hand, we double-cross them and steal Eliandra back.”

  “Say you survive that somehow,” Tammagan said. “What then? We can’t outrun the Leviathan or the Valkyrie. We’re sitting ducks once you’re back to the ship.”

  “We’re not coming back to this ship,” I said. “Float stones are volatile outside their containment field. We shut the field down and blow the ship while it’s docked to the Leviathan.”