Skyborn

by Eric Asher

  * * *

  On the ground, standing below the Titan Mech arm, Gladys was at a loss for words. Someone near the top of the tower noticed them and waved a large red flag. The arm stopped moving, and Gladys smiled when she saw Jacob’s face pop out the side of a small pilothouse.

  Massive gears churned, reaching down as the arm reversed. It didn’t quite reach the support below, dropping a fraction of an inch with the space, resulting in an enormous clang. The engine’s fires roared as the gears shifted and the arm descended, finally stilling some ten feet above their heads.

  Jacob hopped out onto a ladder and slid down the rungs. He wore a smile when he reached Gladys and George. And though it wasn’t the most royal thing to do, Gladys almost tackled him to the ground with a hug.

  Jacob ruffled her hair before exchanging grips with George. “It’s good to see you two. What are you doing here?”

  George looked up at the arm of the Titan Mech as it climbed again. “Is that bad?”

  Jacob frowned and followed his gaze before laughing. “Oh, no. I trained Cage and some of his people on how to pilot it. I think they’re getting used to it now.” A second later, a large steel beam hit the earth with a crash. Jacob cringed. “They could use a bit more practice.”

  “The princess came to ask you a favor, in person,” George said.

  “We need help,” Gladys blurted out, wringing her hands from a sudden bout of nerves. She’d felt determined after they were attacked in Midstream, but now, seeing the good Jacob was doing here, how could she pull him away from that?

  “Well?” Jacob asked. “You came all this way. Ask me anything.”

  Gladys frowned and then hurried through what she had to say. “We need help building defenses in Midstream. I know you don’t like building weapons, but we need help, Jacob. We can’t defend the city on our own from Fel.”

  Jacob slowly crossed his arms, looking up at the contraption on the tower. “I want to help the cities rebuild. Ancora needs help too. I can talk Archibald into getting you some bolt guns to make the reconstruction faster.”

  “I do not believe bolt guns will help with adobe construction,” George said with a small smile.

  Jacob blinked. “Right. Hadn’t thought about that.”

  Was he saying no? Of all the outcomes Gladys had thought might happen from their trip to Dauschen, Jacob saying no wasn’t one of them. “Please,” she said.

  Jacob’s face wrinkled at that plea. “I can’t. I … I have to do some good in this world. There’s been so much killing, Gladys.”

  “The princess herself was almost killed early today. Assassins from Fel attacked us inside the city proper.”

  Gladys felt that was a rather large exaggeration. They’d killed their would-be assassins quite readily. Except for the one … She remembered the iron grip on her throat and shivered. Maybe it wasn’t such an exaggeration after all.

  “What?” Jacob snapped. “Dressed in black with masks over their eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  Jacob’s hands turned white as they clenched into fists. He looked toward the edge of the cliff.

  Gladys frowned at the brownish stains splattered across the stone. “What’s that from?”

  “Assassins,” Jacob muttered. “They came here too. They’ve been regularly attacking the survivors. Cage and his soldiers have kept the worst of the attacks at bay, but Archibald doesn’t think they’ll stop until there’s a regular presence of airships.” He gestured back to the Titan Mech arm and the support structure.

  George gave a slow nod. “If their focus is split between Midstream and Dauschen now, it will be entirely on Midstream should Archibald’s plan succeed.”

  Jacob cursed. “I didn’t … that’s not what I wanted.”

  “Help us rebuild,” Gladys said.

  Jacob rubbed at his face. “Okay. Okay, I’ll help. I’ll help with the defenses. I can’t say no to you.”

  Gladys thought that was an odd thing to say, since he’d been saying no to them since she first asked.

  “I need to go to Bollwerk. The city tinkers can help, and Frederick. He’s a tinker from Belldorn. One of Targrove’s people. Helped me with the arm, in fact.”

  A small hope kindled in Gladys’s chest. If they could build adequate defenses around Midstream, they’d be able to rebuild the city in earnest. In time, it could become the jewel of the desert, like it had been nearly a century before.

  “Let’s go,” Gladys said. “We can take you now.”

  Jacob smiled. “Let me tell Cage and the others. I need to gather my things.”

  “Meet us at the airship when you’re ready,” George said. “It is one of Archibald’s extravagant vessels. Fast, if somewhat small.”

  Jacob nodded, and they parted ways.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Jacob said, holding down the button on the airship’s transmitter.

  “Well, it would be helpful if—” Archibald started.

  “Archibald. Gladys may not be asking you for soldiers, but they need them. Assassins attacked Midstream today, and I need time.” Jacob angrily released the transmitter button.

  Archibald remained silent for a time. “Very well. I have two skirmishers I can send that can land on sand. I do not expect the presence of smaller ships to draw much attention. But Jacob, if you form a perimeter around Midstream, it will draw Fel’s eye.”

  Jacob shook his head and clicked the transmitter again. “They sent assassins today, Archibald. They’re already focused on Midstream.”

  Another pause, and Archibald didn’t protest again. “If you think it’s for the best.”

  “Tell Frederick I’m going to need his help. And the city tinkers’ help, for that matter. We have three cities to rebuild, so this needs to be done quickly.”

  “As you say. I would normally require a more formal request, but I do feel Midstream’s preservation is in the best interest of all involved. Archibald out.”

  “Oh, he’s mad,” Gladys said.

  Jacob smiled. “He’ll be fine. He’s getting some of what he wants, anyway. More weapons.” He bit the last word off and ran his hand over the old leather journal. If Midstream needed protection, they had options.

  * * *

  After docking in Bollwerk came a rough ride on a crawler. Its treads cracked against worn cobblestones, delivering them to the factory where the first arm had been constructed. George insisted on seeing the facility, as he’d never been inside before.

  Jacob hadn’t seen much of it either, outside of the main hangar. But when they walked inside, he was greeted by something he didn’t fully understand. “Two arms?”

  “Jacob!” a familiar voice called.

  He turned to find Frederick, the old tinker, making his way across an iron catwalk before taking a ride down to the floor on a smooth hydraulic lift.

  “Frederick, what’s going on?”

  “Archibald gave the order as soon as you left for Dauschen. We’re building another arm for Ancora.”

  “Then what’s the third arm for?”

  Frederick grinned. “We aren’t waiting to finish the docks at Dauschen. We’re sending a second arm to Dauschen to rebuild the tracks that lead to Ancora. Archibald didn’t want to, I could tell, but I convinced him the increase in trade would benefit both. It will also be faster to move materials across the tracks while the airships have fewer drop points.”

  Jacob’s smile widened the more Frederick spoke. These arms would do good. Ambrose would have one for the walls within the week, if his estimates were right.

  “Who are your friends?” Frederick asked.

  Jacob stiffened. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Frederick, this is George and Gladys. Gladys and George, Frederick.”

  Frederick stood a little straighter. “The Princess of Midstream? I apologize on behalf of Jacob, my lady. So familiar a tone with such a royal should never be tolerated.”

  George raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should execut
e him, My Princess?”

  Gladys narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, studying Jacob as she tapped on her chin. “Not today. He may yet prove useful.” She held her royal mask in place for all of ten seconds before erupting into laughter. “We are friends here, Frederick. Leave the formality of the courts behind. I appreciate your kindness.”

  Frederick inclined his head. “As you wish. It is lovely to meet you both. Smith told us stories of your trials and adventures. It would make a grand play for the stage.”

  Gladys grinned at Frederick.

  Jacob flipped to the back of one of Charles’s notebooks. Over half of it was blank, so he’d started some of his own sketches inside of it. “Frederick, I was thinking we could do something like this to the bolt cannons.” He held it up so the other tinker could get a clear view.

  Frederick eyed the sketch. It was essentially a wide box with twenty-five bolt cannons anchored to it. But instead of the regular triggers and individual crank, a series of lighter springs sat around each side, attached to a lever. A latticework of bronze was placed over the bolt cannons in two layers, serving two purposes. One, they would be held upright, their aim always true, and two, the uppermost layer doubled as a pressure plate, mounted just above the barrels of the cannons.

  “This is fascinating, Jacob. Where do you hope to use it?”

  “Buried in the sand around Midstream. Traps for anything coming from Fel on the ground. They’ve had trouble with assassins.”

  Frederick gently closed the journal in Jacob’s hands. “You do not have to build weapons, Jacob. Your ideals are pure, and that is a rare thing.”

  But they weren’t pure, Jacob knew. He’d felt the rush of battle more than once. The satisfaction of throwing down his enemy. He only hoped he could offset those darker times with better intentions.

  “An ideal has to be worth the price. I can’t lose my friends because I wasn’t willing to help defend them.”

  Frederick paused and blew out a breath before nodding. “Work up a prototype. We’ll do some tests. Reloading something buried in the sands will be difficult. You’ll need an easier way to access the ratchets. And you’ll want more than one pressure plate. You want to stop an attacker, not cut them into puzzle pieces.”

  Gladys and George exchanged a look. Jacob wasn’t sure what passed between the two, but he hoped they’d feel like he was doing enough to help Midstream. The cities were pulling him in three different directions, and that said nothing for his concern about Alice off in Belldorn.

  George placed a hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “This means more to us than you know. Should you have need of our assistance, please ask. I will take Gladys to The Fish Head. I would like you and Frederick to join us later, if you are able.”

  When they turned to leave, Jacob was surprised to find Archibald waiting at the doors. He greeted them as they passed by.

  “Jacob, I’d like to show you something.”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Come, we must return to the workshop.”

  * * *

  But it wasn’t the workshop Jacob found himself standing in a short time later. It was a hidden room, littered with artifacts from ages past, and one of the largest Steamsworn monuments he’d ever seen.

  “What is all this?” Jacob asked.

  “Much of it is the history of the Steamsworn,” Archibald said, sifting through a trunk in the corner before frowning and standing up. “I could have sworn they were in there. Some of it was Charles’s, you know. He was resistant to the cause, in the beginning, but almost became a symbol to the Steamsworn over the course of the war.”

  Jacob looked around the room. Some of it was scattered with worn gadgets he couldn’t identify: long barrels that looked like cannons but had no opening at the end, only a spike, amulets with too many gears to be a simple amulet, and boots that had clearly been a weapon. Blades extended from the sole of one, and he didn’t miss the stains on the rough leather.

  Jacob made his way behind the Steamsworn monument, wondering if this one was the same as Gareth Cave. He reached down in the shadows and found the latch, pulling it to release the hidden drawer inside. Jacob froze when he met the gleaming eyes of a mask. A respirator was attached to it, with tubes flowing down to a pair of rusted air tanks.

  He picked up the helmet. At first, he’d thought it was soft leather, but the weight told him otherwise. It was armor, and beneath it rested more pieces. He recognized the basic design. It was the same principles he’d used in the Titan Mech arm. But here everything was smaller, hollow.

  “Ah, yes,” Archibald said, his face appearing on the other side of the monument. “I’d nearly forgotten that was there. Not a successful project, to be sure.”

  “What was it?”

  “A design Charles and Newton worked on. The idea was to make an exoskeleton, a Titan Mech that could be worn.”

  Jacob looked down into the eyes of the old helmet. Charles and the Butcher had worked together on it? That was hard to reconcile in Jacob’s mind, but he’d only known them decades after the Deadlands War. After the Butcher had earned his name in full.

  He recognized some of the design, having a sleekness that was unmistakably Charles. Jacob turned it over, finding small tears in the hoses that he didn’t think came from age. They looked blown out. Probably not heavy enough to survive whatever pressure had been flowing through them.

  He set the helmet down and lifted one of the arms, almost dropping it when he saw the brace. It was the same design as the one Charles had once had in Ancora, but the slot for a Burner was a ball and socket instead of a simple joint. It was nearly identical to the brace he’d killed the Butcher with.

  Jacob shivered and slid the drawer closed.

  “Aha!” Archibald’s excitement mercifully drew Jacob’s attention away from the exoskeleton.

  When Jacob stepped out from behind the monument, he blinked at the floor, now open to reveal a secondary vault. Whoever had crafted it had hidden it so well Jacob hadn’t had a moment’s thought there was anything beneath their feet.

  Archibald held out a small notebook. “You already have some of Charles’s notes on the Titan Mech. I thought you’d like to have the rest. Not that you need use them, of course.”

  “Of course,” Jacob said, not hiding the skepticism in his voice. He took the leather-bound notebook from Archibald, the spine cracked but not broken. The first few pages told Jacob it was different from the schematics he had. One schematic showed the leg construction was entirely changed, and he hesitated on the fourth page.

  The hip joint was intact, but below it was a locking ratchet, almost the same as what Jacob had done to get the arm working for construction purposes. He flipped forward, a musty scent rising from the pages. The first sketch of an arm looked exactly like the schematics he’d worked from, but part of the drawing had been scribbled out. On the following page, the arm had been changed, another ratchet installed below the elbow, the ratios nearly identical to those Jacob had used. Which meant Frederick’s math had been exactly right.

  Charles had taught Jacob almost everything he knew. Jacob didn’t think his mind worked that much in concert with the old man’s. From the schematics, it was plain to see some part of him thought very much like Charles had.

  “Great minds, eh?” Archibald said, as though echoing Jacob’s thoughts. “There may be something useful in there for you in the defense of Midstream. Charles burned the schematics for some of his deadliest creations, but I think he would have liked you to have these.”

  Jacob closed the journal and ran a thumb over the rough leather. “I think he would have preferred I’d never need it.”

  Archibald inclined his head. “Charles had workshops all over the continent, did you know? As the war expanded, so did the reach of our allies. He had bolt holes and benches from Ancora to Pirate’s Cove.” A small smile flickered across Archibald’s face. “Ancient history, I suppose, much like myself. Some of that can live on through you now.”

  Jacob s
lipped the notebooks into his backpack. He didn’t tell Archibald about everything they’d discovered in Ancora. The more the Speaker asked him for favors, the more Jacob grew worried that the best interests of his friends and families didn’t align with Archibald’s ambitions.

  * * *

  Jacob stood on the smooth stone street and smiled up at the rusted iron fish skeleton hanging above the sidewalk. No matter how many times he saw the X’s for eyes, it still made him chuckle. The crawler roared and churned out gray smoke as the pilot pulled away, leaving Jacob at The Fish Head.

  He walked through the doorway and was immediately hit by a breeze filled with smoked fish and rich oil. The restaurant was crowded for being an off time of the day, and Jacob was surprised to see George behind the pale bar, deboning fish as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

  Gladys sat on a stool, scowling at something George had said as she popped a handful of roasted seeds into her mouth. She swiveled back and forth, tapping her feet to some unheard tune as Jacob wove through the low tables between the door and the bar.

  “Busy today,” he said, throwing a leg over the barstool beside Gladys.

  Gladys grinned at Jacob. “Finally, someone who won’t call me princess.”

  “Anything you ask, Princess,” Jacob said without hesitation, trying to intone George’s formal use of her title.

  George barked out a laugh, dropping his head to hide his hysterics as Gladys’s smile hardened into a glare. Jacob smiled and took some seeds for himself. They were a bit chewy, quite salty, and just as addictive as almost everything on The Fish Head’s menu.

  “George,” Gladys said, slowly turning to her guard. “When we get back to Midstream, I believe the gallows should be the first thing we rebuild.”

  “Of course, Princess.” George winked at Jacob and slid two bowls across the bar. “Salmon from the southern tip of the Ridge Mountains. None finer, and I will miss it in Midstream.”

  “I’m sure Archibald would send you some,” Jacob said.