by Taven Moore
One of Mack’s black leather gloved hands encircled Remora’s upper arm, hauling her to her feet. She made an effort to keep her eyes downcast. She had more than one secret to protect now; her alterations to the collar and also Jinn’s presence in the adjacent room.
Worse yet, she was a terrible liar. Her uncle said she had honest eyes. At the time, it had seemed a compliment.
“She certainly seems quiet enough,” remarked Ebin.
“Ah, that is the trick, though. How does one know whether silence is voluntary or involuntary?” Remora heard the smile in Mack’s voice and tensed.
Something flickered across her vision—an upraised hand—then her head reeled back from a shocking blow. The sharp crack of the slap echoed through the chamber and a burning pain blossomed across Remora’s cheek.
She opened her mouth to yelp and only just managed to bite back the sound. She must be silent. She must. If she made so much as an audible gasp, they would know that the collar was not working as they intended. They would find that she had modified the collar. Her entire plan would be in shambles. Worse yet, Jinn might be endangered as well, if they chose to search the nearby rooms.
Even so, the unexpected horror of the slap prompted Remora to look up at last, meeting Mack’s amused, one-eyed gaze.
“Ah, you see? I knew she would not be so easily cowed, not with that Price bastard hair of hers.” Remora tried to jerk her arm away from his grip, but she might as well been shackled to a wall. “That, dear Ebin, is how you test the silencing collar. This one had quite the mouth on her before it was administered, and now just look at her. Meek as a lamb.”
The coughing bark of Notch’s laughter sounded, and Remora transferred her glare to him.
The cat-dresl pushed his whiskers forward in a grin.
“Well, not a lamb, perhaps, but at least she’s less annoying this way.”
Finally, Mack released her. She fell back to the wall and once again took up Snow’s hand. The dresl’s pawpads had gone cold with fear.
No longer bothering to pretend at being afraid, Remora glared at the three men openly. For the first time, she realized that Ebin held some sort of cogsmithing device in his hands. Something with a screen, bordered with dials and buttons. A small, red dot glowed in the center of the screen, but it showed no other signs of activity.
Mack turned to the Shinra’ere. “So, Ebin. You wanted to see them again, though I cannot imagine why. As you can see, both girls remain safely locked away and will be delivered to Bespin within the hour.”
“Precisely as you said,” agreed the Shinra’ere. Something about his eyes bothered Remora. They were smiling, but it was not a good sort of smile. Too bright. “Tell me, do you have the time, Mr. Craft?”
Mack lifted a brow in curiosity, then pulled a heavy silver pocketwatch on a chain from his breast pocket with an easy gesture. He flicked it open. “Three off the half,” he said, replacing it with equal ease.
“Thank you, sir.” Ebin flicked his fingers, gesturing something at Notch, who nodded and stepped away, leaving the room.
“If you would indulge my curiosity for a moment, sir. What will happen to them in Bespin?”
Mack looked bored. “The human girl will be sold off. She is of no interest to the Seraph. The dresl, on the other hand, has been a very bad girl.”
Snow’s paw trembled.
“She’ll be taken before the Seraph for questioning, and after that she will no longer be our concern.”
Ebin nodded, shoulders relaxed. He barely seemed to care what the answer to his question had been, though Remora could have kissed him for asking. Not that she truly would have kissed him, of course. He was a villain. Still, she had not been expecting this conversation to be so very useful.
Mack checked his pocketwatch again, the silver face clicking open and snapping shut in one smooth motion.
“You have delivered the white leopard in record time, but the human girl is really no substitute for your secondary target here. You have not delivered the rogue Shinra’ere, Jinn.”
“Ah, have you so little faith?” said Ebin.
Mack lifted his eyebrow again. “It is not a matter of faith, it is a matter of time. We leave as soon as I return to the helm. Much as I respect your skills, you seem not to have Jinn hidden beneath your wrappings.”
Ebin smiled, the slow, spreading smile of a predator. Remora’s heart froze in her chest.
Ebin consulted the cogsmithing device in his hands, the flipped a switch on its side.
Immediately, a metallic clang sounded from the adjacent room. The very room, Remora noted with a sinking heart, holding Jinn.
The smug smile on Ebin’s face left no room for doubt. He had known Jinn was there the entire time. He had been waiting for the right moment, for a theatrical flare.
Jinn was trapped.
Remora doubted that whatever plan he had for escape would work now. It was up to her. The little box on her silencing collar hummed against her skin, and she tried to convince herself that her plan was good enough to save them all.
22. Escape
A loud thud from the next room. Jinn. Ramming the door, from the sound of it.
Ebin’s smile widened and Remora’s heart clenched. Jinn’s breath, heavy and labored, sounded through the air vent between the rooms. Remora clenched Snow’s hand to keep from crying out. Even if Jinn were hurt, she could not help him now.
“Ah, Jinn,” said Ebin brightly. “I do apologize for the quality of the quarters, but I trust you’ll find them comfortable enough for your passage to Bespin. By now, you’ve likely noticed the handy little portcullis I rigged to close off your escape. I wouldn’t bother trying to cut through the bars if I were you. They’re pure vibranium. Who knows? If you behave, perhaps you’ll even be allowed to see your brother again. Assuming the Seraph doesn’t kill you outright, of course.”
Silence, followed by the soft scraping of cloth against metal.
“Speak up, friend. I know you are there.”
Notch re-entered the room, whiskers pushed forward and tail held high. A quick gestural conversation flashed between he and Ebin, one Remora might not even have seen before she started taking lessons from Snow. Her understanding was still imperfect, but she caught that Ebin asked Notch if there had been any problems, and Notch replied with a twist of the hand, “Locked,” and a dismissive, downward gesture. Ebin replied with the newest gesture Remora had learned, “Thank you.”
The entire conversation happened so quickly that she wondered if Mack even noticed it. Notch had been sent out to lock Jinn’s door, and to make sure that if he got out, he would find someone unpleasant on the other side.
“Quite sporting of you to hold on to that dagger I poisoned you with,” Ebin called to the silent Shinra’ere on the other side of the wall. “The gem in the hilt made tracking you through the city remarkably easy. Convincing you to get on board the ship in time took a great deal more work than I’d anticipated, but as soon as we knew you were in the ductwork, it was easy enough to prepare a welcome for you.”
Chillbumps rose across Remora’s spine. He had orchestrated this? The attack and kidnapping of herself, she had known, but he had lured Jinn here? The look on his face—equal parts smugness and cruelty, like a boy teasing a stray dog—curled her lip in distaste. How many games within games had this Ebin been playing?
A guttural growl, almost indistinguishable as Jinn. “Ebin of the Clan of Mogue, I swear on my Mark that you will pay for this.”
Ebin’s eyes fell, showing genuine sorrow. “Ah, I wish we could play more, dear Jinn, but our time together draws to a close.”
Mack spoke up. “Indeed it does. My apologies for doubting you, Ebin. You have delivered everything you promised and more. I shall pass along my congratulations to our employer.”
“That is appreciated, Mr. Craft, though I prefer a more tangible reward, if you catch my meaning.”
Mack nodded. “Of course, of course. Come to my quarters. We will begin the jo
urney to Bespin and I shall see that you receive promised payment and bonus.”
They turned to leave the room.
Remora thought quickly. She’d gotten enough information. This was her last opportunity.
It had to be now.
She lifted her hand to the box on her collar and flicked the switch on the back. The low-level vibration against her neck clicked to a stop.
Notch’s ears flicked back at the subtle sound.
Remora twisted the loosened screw on the bottom of the box, releasing it from the slender band. The box tumbled into her hand.
“Now!” she shouted.
She hoped the shonfra remembered their part in the plan. It had been difficult enough to convince them to stay in the cages after she unlocked the doors.
The men froze in the doorway at the sound of her voice, but they were too late. The shonfra leapt from their prisons. Their glistening dragonfly wings flashed, and suddenly they were a colorful whirlwind of squeaking fury. They dipped, zooming at Mack, Notch, and Ebin only to dart up to safety and prepare for another dive.
“Get them back in their cages!” shouted Mack, reaching up to swipe at a sapphire blue shonfra who got too close. “They’re worth a fortune!”
Ebin and Notch immediately began trying to capture them. For every shonfra they grabbed, another dove in to attack.
Remora reached into her bodice and began to hand off an array of cogsmithing tools. One by one, the shonfra dipped to take one—wrenches and screwdrivers becoming weapons of rebellion. The tools, which had seemed so tiny in her own hand, looked menacing in the hands and tails of the shonfra. Now armed, they doubled their efforts to swing, slice, cut, and shock the men. The tide of battle turned as the newly armed shonfra were able to put up a stronger attack.
The last to visit her was the oldest one—a black-furred shonfra with vivid purple patterning across his back. Of all the shonfra in the cages, he was the only one who had understood her language when she spoke, and he’d kept the rest of them quiet while she explained her plan. He perched on her shoulder, tail wrapped loosely around her neck and one tiny hand on her ear for balance.
To him, she gave the box that had been attached to her collar. He chittered at her, his clever hands turning the little copper device over and over. She flicked the switch to show him how to work it.
The box buzzed static, then began to speak in a tinny but clear recording of Mack. “As you can see, both girls remain safely locked away and will be delivered to Bespin within the hour . . . ”
Across the room, the real Mack Craft heard. A struggling purple shonfra in his gloved hands, he looked up.
“Get that black shonfra!” he snarled to Notch, who held a struggling shonfra under each arm. Notch’s ears dipped back in irritation, but he dropped the shonfra he was carrying and moved across the floor to her. With every step, he scowled and swiped overhead with unsheathed claws to ward off the brightly-colored dive-bombers from above.
Remora spoke to the shonfra in a rush, eyeing Notch’s steady approach. “Please, you must get this to Hank McCoy of the Miraj, at the docks.”
The shonfra patted her on the cheek. Notch got close enough to swipe at him, but an unexpected white attacker lunged at him from the side. Snow. The other dresl had been so frightened, Remora had not thought she would help with the battle.
While the two dresl scuffled, the black shonfra launched himself into the air, sounding an echoing battle cry. Immediately, all of the shonfra zoomed through the open door, heading for freedom.
23. Aftermath
Mack and Ebin chased the rainbow of escaped shonfra out of the room.
Forgotten for the moment, Remora darted after them. Immediately, she turned to Jinn’s room, grasping the heavy wheel of the door’s lock and set her weight against it. If she could release him, he could fight and they would stand a chance against Notch and the rest of the crew.
The door budged half an inch, metal squealing against metal. One furry arm closed around her midriff and another around her neck.
Notch hissed in her ear and she released the door. Further up the hallway, she heard sounds of panic—shouting, a few alchemist guns barking, tiny explosions as their bubbles burst against something.
Please. Please let the shonfra make it, she thought.
She hadn’t depended on just . . . running out the door. She had to admit, it would have been a lovely, tidy ending to her problem, though. She tried to console herself with the thought that perhaps with Notch preoccupied with her, the shonfra had a better chance of escape. She had to believe that.
Notch pressed his claws against her throat. She stood very still. With his other hand, he spun the door wheel until it clicked fully locked again, then slowly and deliberately walked her back to her room.
Snow lay crumpled against the far wall, eyes closed but chest moving evenly. She was alive, but unconscious. Remora breathed a sigh of relief. Snow had shown great bravery, taking on someone as skilled as Notch.
Notch released her. Remora stepped away and spun to face him.
Framed in the doorway behind him, Mack stood, two limp shonfra dangling by their tails from his black-gloved hands. She thought for one panic-frozen moment that one of them was the black. Her heart thudded painfully back to life as she realized the fur she saw was a dark, matted purple. Not black.
A small trickle of blood dripped from Mack’s salt-and-pepper hairline to trace the curve of his eyepatch. One of the shonfra had struck well.
“You, little shark-chaser, have been a very naughty girl,” he said, no trace of a smile on his face. “Impressive, turning your silencing collar into a recording device. I’ll have to dock Ebin’s pay for underestimating you and not searching you more thoroughly.”
Remora tilted her chin up to hide the thrill of white terror that thought sent through her. Had they searched her corset, they would have found far more than just her cogsmithing tools. They’d have found her wings.
She smothered her fear with a scoff. “That recording device holds all the evidence needed to put you, Ebin, and that Seraph Lord of yours in prison for a long, long time. Kidnapping? Plotting murder? Torture?” She lifted her eyebrows and pursed her lips. “Let us go now and I’ll beg the courts to go easy on you.”
At that, Mack laughed. Notch’s gold eyes did not laugh, though, and Remora knew she had fooled the dresl for the last time. He no longer considered her a toy. Now, she was an enemy.
Good. She was a Price, born and raised. It should always be a mistake to underestimate her.
Mack smirked. “The courts you speak of? They do the bidding of my master.” Remora’s courage faltered. He saw it, and smiled. “Also, just in case you still hold out some feeble attempt at hope—your black shonfra was killed before he could make it to the top deck. Your escape attempt failed, little girl.”
Remora’s stomach dropped. No, it could not be!
“Show me!” she said, her tongue heavy. “Show me the body. Prove it.”
“Why should I bother?” he answered.
Remora swallowed and straightened her shoulders. “I do not believe you. If you had truly killed him, you would be parading his body in front of me, crushing the recording device while I watched.” She watched his eyes darken, and she smiled, confidence returned. She had been right. “What is the matter, Mack Craft? Are you afraid?”
“No, but you should be,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Your little escape attempt earned yourself a trip to see the Seraph. You would have preferred slavery.”
Remora smiled sweetly. “Before you go, can I have another silencing collar? I just thought of the grandest modification I’d like to try.”
His lips tightened. “Sorry, no, we’re all out of toys for you to play with.”
She’d been bluffing anyway. The shonfra had carried away most of her cogsmithing tools, and she did not begrudge their loss. They had been traded for freedom, and for a message sent to Hank.
The black shonfra must have made it. If Hank
was in the harbor, he might already know of Mack’s plans and be planning a rescue.
She hoped. She had to hope.
Mack turned, his eyes shifting to the wall separating her from Jinn. He lifted his voice. “Out of curiosity, Jinn, exactly how long has it been since the last time you fed? Shinra’ere can go a long time between feedings, but seems to me, you’ve been awfully busy since your brother was taken.”
An odd thing to say, but she doubted it had been an idle comment. Remora looked from silent wall to blood-stained pirate, trying to make sense of it.
Mack’s eyes gleamed. “It’s a long trip between here and Bespin. I’ll make certain the only people near you for the trip are Remora and your little dresl friend here. Tell me, which one will be dead by the time we get there?”
There was no response, and Mack smiled—a slow, dangerous smile. Tossing a wink to Remora, he turned and walked away.
Notch flicked his ruined ear at her and moved to follow.
“Oh, Notch, I have a message for you,” said Remora.
He scowled his displeasure at the nickname, but paused.
She gestured at him. His eyes widened and the fur on his tail puffed out. The look on his face before he slammed the door shut told her she’d formed the gesture correctly.
Remora smiled to herself. Snow hadn’t wanted to teach her that particular gesture.
Unfriendly eyes and ears removed from the room, Remora quickly moved to the grate separating her room from Jinn’s. The other room was dark, but she could just make out a hunched figure in the gloom of the unlit room.
“Jinn?”
No response. “Jinn, are you okay?”
“I am fine, Miss Remora. Do not trouble yourself.”
He did not sound fine. He sounded dark. Angry.
“Jinn, what did Mack mean? About you feeding, that is?”
“It is nothing. Do not worry. You are in no danger.”
Remora frowned. That did not make her worry less.
She bit her lip. “What is wrong, Jinn? Please, talk to me.”
The sound of the ship’s engines starting up filled the silence between them. The floor jerked and she braced herself against the wall as the ship began to sway evenly.