Choose Omnibus (Choose: An Interactive Steampunk Webserial Book 3)

by Taven Moore

  Jinn clenched his jaw. Remora’s promise to help him rescue his brother now seemed impossible. A fleet of warships might stand a chance against Ursa Luna. An attempt by a single, ramshackle airship manned by a patchwork crew was laughable.

  “Almost, I would like to see you try. Alas, I am not authorized to make such a decision.” At Ebin’s side, the notch-eared cat barked a peculiar, wheezing laugh.

  Jinn pushed aside the thought of his brother in Ursa Luna. He could not help him from here. Remora, however, would not even be in trouble if it weren’t for him. She had been kidnapped and ransomed for the dresl girl, and he knew the cat standing next to Ebin was involved.

  Which meant that Ebin was involved, which meant that she would be free were it not for Jinn’s troubles. The thought of her, alone in some cell, watched over by Ebin-who-liked-to-play-games and the notch-eared cat with shining eyes stiffened his spine.

  He would find a way to rescue her.

  “Where is Remora?” Jinn asked.

  Ebin cocked his head to the side, surveying the other Shinra’ere from a different angle. “Ah, so the human girl has a name, does she? Remora. An odd sort of name. Is that not a fish? Yes, I believe it is. The sort of small, unassuming fish which swims among the dangerous sharks. An apt name for a human traveling with Shinra’ere.”

  “Very well,” Ebin said, nodding. “I shall trade you this information if you will tell me precisely what information your brother hoped to learn from the white leopard dresl. In detail, if you please.”

  Jinn closed his eyes, as if that would keep him from seeing his opportunity whisked away. “I cannot say.”

  “Can not? Or will not? Come now, what is the location of your dirtsider sweetheart worth?”

  “She is my employer!” Jinn barked back, stung into speech.

  “Interesting. Then the rumors that you are a sell-sword now are true. My, how the mighty have fallen.”

  Jinn bit his tongue. In his temper, he was giving away too much. “Cannot,” he said, answering the earlier question. “My brother did not share with me the details of his plan.”

  Ebin’s eyes widened, openly astonished. “You abandoned your Clan, left your post, and deserted your people without even knowing the details of your tradeoff? No, I cannot believe it!”

  “He is my brother.” It was truth that no one, not even Nolan, had ever truly understood.

  Ebin watched him for a moment, as if seeking a lie. Jinn let him, as there was no lie to hide.

  “This is most disturbing,” Ebin said finally, steepling his fingers “Perhaps your ignorance has bought a stay of execution for both your brother and the dresl girl. Temporary, of course,” Ebin hastened to add. “One must always reap the consequences of one’s actions, and your actions were quite naughty indeed.”

  “This does, however, leave us at an uncomfortable impasse. Your question remains, but mine is unsatisfied. I shall have to think of a replacement.”

  Ebin tapped his chin thoughtfully before brightening. “Ah, I have it! Rumor has it that you indulge in an entirely un-Shinra pastime, though I cannot myself fathom the attraction. It is said that not only do you eat food, you actively seek out a specific, frivolous treat. My question is thus: Why would a Shinra’ere warrior, knotted and bladed, waste his time on pastries?”

  For a moment, the memory surfaced in Jinn’s mind. He and Maza, so young they’d yet to display any of their features, as alike as two grains of sand, racing to the vendors at the wharves of their mother’s clan. Laughing and dodging, they called out mock insults to slow the other’s progress. The last to reach the pastry vendor would have to pay for both cupcakes, and neither had allowance to spare on both treats and a toy.

  Maza had won again. He always won, because he always cheated. This time, though, his cheating had earned Jinn a scraped knee and a raw elbow. By way of apology, he’d split his own pastry in half, handing over the larger portion to Jinn.

  “We are brothers,” child-Maza had said, long before his shoulders sprouted wings and Jinn’s forehead mark traced itself across his face. “And brothers look out for each other.” They had sealed their childish pact with sprinkles and frosting, but it had all the binding of an adult’s blood-oath.

  Jinn sucked in a breath and shook his head. “No deal,” he said, banishing the memory.

  “Come again?” asked Ebin, shocked.

  “I said, ‘No deal.’” Jinn closed down his expression, refusing Ebin any hint of the emotions stirred up by his innocuous-seeming question.

  “You will not trade the location of the human girl for the reason that you eat pastries with sprinkles?”

  “No.”

  Ebin stared at Jinn, open curiosity burning in his eyes. Jinn stared back. He would not give this man a cherished memory to tarnish and sully.

  “Some day, Jinn of No Clan, I will learn the answer to that question.”

  Jinn said nothing, though the brightness in Ebin’s eyes was more than a little disturbing. The other Shinra’ere was clearly not accustomed to having his curiosity thwarted.

  Scowling, Ebin sighed. “Very well then.” He frowned, then made a show of searching for another question. Jinn was becoming accustomed to Ebin’s theatrics—he wondered just how many questions the man had prepared in advance of this meeting.

  “Why did you return to Helion? Thus far, my employer has assumed it had something to do with the white leopard, but I am not so certain. You made no attempts to contact or find her. What could be so important that you would come back to Helion, yet ignore the hidden dresl that your brother gave his freedom to liberate?”

  “I agree to this trade,” Jinn said immediately, unable to keep the smile from curving his lips.

  Ebin’s disappointment at his swift agreement was almost comical.

  “Your answer,” said Jinn, savoring the moment, “is thus: Remora was shopping for groceries. As her bodyguard, I was compelled to join her.”

  Ebin laughed at that, a short, surprised burst of honest merriment. “Groceries? You have returned to your homeland, outcast and sell-sword, to pick up a dozen eggs and some bread? Ah, fortune smiles upon me! Not only have you returned sooner than I had hoped, you turn out to be a singularly worthless bodyguard. Your own past reaches forward to endanger your charge. I wonder that you still draw breath, given what appears to be a unique attraction for catastrophe.”

  Immediately, Jinn’s own enjoyment drained. He could not deny that, thus far, his stint as Remora’s bodyguard had been less than exemplary. He could not manage even to best this Shinra’ere at a single question in his game. The Shinra’ere were supposed to be warriors, protectors. He had failed his brother, failed the dresl, and now failed Remora. The reminder stung.

  “And now for my turn!” Ebin clapped his hands together. “The red-headed human you call Remora is currently being held on deck three of the Swan class airship Hyperion, under light guard. The Hyperion is docked in Reveille Bay and departs at 12:30 this afternoon, bound for Bespin.”

  Light guard? And still docked on Helion? Hope rose in Jinn’s breast, only to be tempered by suspicion. “You seem remarkably happy to give this information,” Jinn said. How could he know that Ebin told the truth?

  “Indeed I am,” said Ebin. “I do so love games. Can you escape this cage and reach her in time for a dramatic rescue, I wonder? It seems a harmless enough diversion, given your ineptitude.”

  Dimly, the sound of deep-voiced bells reached Jinn’s ears, muffled by thick clay walls. Twelve times, the bells tolled before silencing.

  Ebin cocked his head to the side, tapping his wrist. “It would seem you have only a half hour, Jinn of No Clan. Try not to disappoint me.”

  With that, Ebin twisted a knob on his lantern, dousing the light and plunging the room into darkness. Jinn heard a swirl of cloth overhead, then silence. He was alone.

  Blindly, he walked to the nearest wall, one hand deftly pulling his weapon from its black-wrapped scabbard across his back. He twisted the hilt once and
a spark of light jumped from the tip of the arc to the seat, a thin blue line humming and weakly illuminating the bare wall in front of him.

  The door had been metal. Cutting through that would have been nearly impossible. The thin metal bars crisscrossing the blackened windows, on the other hand, were much weaker.

  He twisted the hilt again, then again. The sword’s hum wound higher as the wavelength of its energy arc grew tighter. Sharper.

  Jinn applied his sword to the edge of the metal bars around the window, feeling seconds pass through his fingers like grains of sand.

  He needed to hurry.

  20. Lessons

  Ever so gently, Jinn pressed a dark hand against the now-unscrewed air duct cover. The brass grate made no sound as it gave way, allowing access to the empty room next to Remora’s cell.

  Boarding the Hyperion had been comically simple. The gangplank may have been heavily guarded, but the entrance to the air duct system was only monitored on the longest arm of the outer guard’s patrol.

  Once in the system, he was able to make his way to deck three, where he found only one room that did not have direct air duct access. If he were right, that would be Remora’s cell.

  If he were wrong . . . well, he hoped he was right. They were running out of time if they wanted to make their escape before the Swan class airship took flight.

  Jinn crawled from the narrow duct shaft and muffled a sigh of relief as his spine unkinked. The first five minutes crawling through the duct had been uncomfortable, at best. The following ten had lifted him to new heights of misery. He now fully understood the choking, crushing terror that some felt towards small spaces. His frame was built for battle, not for crawling through cramped passages.

  Jinn reeled in his arcblade, wrapped in black cloth to keep it from banging against the metal ductwork as he dragged it behind himself. It had slowed him down, but leaving it behind had not been an option.

  Armed and ready, he surveyed his room. One door, closed. Two air vents: one that he’d crawled in, and one on the wall between this room and the next.

  He moved closer to the second grate, listening. He couldn’t hear Remora’s voice, and prayed that meant she was sleeping. He couldn’t imagine that she might be awake and not verbally berating her captors.

  The only sound he heard was the incessant chitter of shonfra, spilling from the copper grate like rainwater from the mouth of a gargoyle.

  Arcblade at his side, Jinn angled himself so he need only glance up to see the door, then flattened against the floor and looked through the grate.

  The grate itself had small screws on this side—nothing for those on the other side to pry, but quick work for him to loosen from this room.

  A neat row of cages against the other room’s far wall held captive shonfra, their brightly colored skins painting an absurdly cheerful backdrop to what was obviously a prison cell.

  Remora sat in the center of the room, knees folded beneath her. Jinn let out a low breath, the muscles across his back and shoulders reflexively relaxing. He had found her.

  Remora gestured, her fingers twining into a complex shape, and for the first time, Jinn noticed her companion, nearly out of sight from his current vantage. White fur, with black rosettes. The white leopard dresl? Both of them, alive and in the same room? Surely, the Mark smiled on him this day.

  Remora looked paler than usual, and a pair of angry red lines traced the curve of her cheek. Her red hair spilled over shoulders held a little too square and back held a little too straight.

  Looking at the scratches on her cheek, Jinn’s jaw tightened. He would find the person who had scored her cheek and return the favor, tenfold.

  An odd brass ring encircled Remora’s neck, but Jinn saw no other signs of manacles or chains. That was good. He still had about five minutes before Ebin’s promised departure time for the ship. With no chains to slow them down, their escape was as good as done. His arcblade would carve a path, and they would follow.

  With Ebin likely aboard the ship, a quick exit was their best bet. Jinn was not certain he could both protect Remora and defend against a Shinra’ere with his full dresl team. Not in a fair fight, anyway, and he rather doubted Ebin would be willing to give him honor’s handicap.

  Remora gestured again to the dresl, fingers held oddly. The snow leopard woman reached forward and corrected her, separating the fingers a set distance and straightening the human’s forefinger. Remora repeated the gesture and Jinn recognized it.

  It was the dresl gesture for “Thank you.”

  Remora was learning dresl.

  Jinn smiled. Kidnapped, injured, and imprisoned, Remora turned her situation into an opportunity.

  “You can thank me later,” he whispered through the grate, loud enough that she could hear.

  Everyone in the room jerked at the sound of his voice. The shonfra immediately began to chatter and screech. Remora waved a hand at them, fingers forming the word “Quiet!” followed by “Please.”

  They stilled, a miracle in and of itself. How, in the name of the Mark, had she found a way to communicate with those brainless frograts? The wild-born shonfra were intelligent, Jinn amended with a thought to Hackwrench, but the captive-born lot were little better than lorakeets.

  The dresl crab-walked backward until her tail hit the wall, then she curled into a ball. Jinn’s stomach dropped to see her cowering, this woman who had once been so proud. He had done that to her by failing to protect her after liberating her. She had traded everything she knew, and in return she had been turned into a refugee. It did not matter that he had trusted Nolan to take care of her. All his thoughts, all his energies, had focused on his brother.

  He had done her an immense disservice. Jinn owed her, and he did not forget his debts.

  Remora stood and stepped closer, peering through the grate. Her gold-flecked eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak.

  Before she could say anything, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. She gestured at Jinn, a hastily formed but still understandable, “Quiet!” then hurried to the dresl’s side, where she adopted a fearful expression.

  Surprised, Jinn amended his opinion of Remora. She was quite the actress. Had he not just seen her calmly taking dresl lessons, he would have believed her ruse, believed her to be the cowed prisoner.

  The door opened, and Jinn’s hand tightened around the hilt of his arcblade. He should be in there now, protecting them instead of stuck in this side-room where any sound might betray him and endanger them. He must bide his time until they could escape in truth, under cover of surprise.

  21. Trapped

  Remora huddled against the cold wall and tried to look frightened, but the farce was dreadfully difficult while her mind raced and her heart fluttered.

  How had Jinn found her? It didn’t matter. He was here. A rush of warmth: bone-melting relief mingled with flutters of happiness. He was here. He had come for her.

  Some part of her had wondered if she would ever see him again, which was ridiculous. After all, she did have her own escape plan, fragile though it might be.

  Remora gathered her scattered wits and tried to remember that she was supposed to be acting frightened. The sound of footsteps grew louder, then stopped.

  Almost too late, she flipped the tiny switch on the back of the silencing collar’s control box. She hoped Jinn had a better plan than she did, but it would be foolhardy to assume so. Besides which, she’d gone to rather a lot of trouble to alter the silencing collar to suit her needs. It would be a shame to waste the effort.

  The door creaked open. Remora reached over and put Snow’s hand in hers. She didn’t know the dresl’s real name, but she was so delicate and her fur so very white that Remora had taken to calling her Snow. Her pawpads felt rough and leathery against the pink skin of Remora’s hand, and Snow squeezed once, a silent thank-you.

  Remora squeezed back, grateful for the contact. It felt good to not be alone.

  Remora kept her gaze downcast. Three set
s of feet entered the room. A set of buttery black leather boots, cast about with silver buckles and sporting a wicked-looking knife sheath. She knew those boots. They belonged to Mack Craft, the dreadful human with the eyepatch who had collared her.

  Just behind him, a set of feet wrapped in dusty white cloth. The man’s toes were a dusky gray and his exposed toenails curved to wicked black points. A Shinra’ere, like Jinn. Most likely the one who had been with Notch when Remora had been taken.

  The third set of legs ended in gold fur with black rosettes. Remora’s mouth tightened, the freshly-scabbed scratches across her cheek pulling.

  Notch.

  Selfishly, she hoped Jinn’s plan involved some sort of violence toward the dresl man.

  Snow’s paw tightened, this time not in camaraderie. She was afraid. Remora couldn’t blame her. If she had ever been in a worse situation, she could not remember it. This trumped even the time she had been forced to endure a private tea at the Duchess of Northington’s estate, where not one but four different suitors begged her hand in marriage. At the time, she’d quite believed she would rather die than go through that again, but now she wished herself faced with a dozen greedy-eyed suitors and days of languid dinners filled with insipid conversation. Anything but standing here, facing these men and submitting to the tiny trickle of concern that she might not finish her mission.

  “This is quite the cozy scene,” said the Shinra’ere. “Is that a silencing collar on the human girl? I’ve never seen one in use. Fascinating. Tell me, how does one know if the collar is truly working?”

  Remora swallowed and kept her eyes downcast, hoping they didn’t look too closely at the collar. She had tried to make the modifications difficult to spot, but she had only so much to work with and had been crafting blind, unable to see what her fingers were doing under her chin.

  “The test is simple, Ebin.”

  So the Shinra’s name was Ebin. Remora fixed the name in her memory.