by J. C. Staudt
I wanted to tell my dad I cared too much about their safety to let them go to Roathea. While I was royally pissed him and Ma both for the position they’d put me in all those months ago, the image of the Galeskimmer getting blown to bits had been replaying itself in my mind ever since it happened, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything like that happened to them. If I had been a little less hot-headed when it came to my dad, I might’ve been able to articulate my feelings better. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. So I articulated my feelings poorly.
“That’s exactly what I expect you to do, Dad. I’m designating the Ostelle as my official command vessel for the mission. With Captain Kupfer’s consent, of course, I’ll be taking over as captain. I do technically own the Ostelle… if you want to get technical. Since we’re all a bunch of law-loving, boot-lickin’ straight-shooters around here, I assume you do want to get technical, as far as the law’s concerned. You and Ma feel free to stand out there and wave goodbye while we take off.”
Wisps of graying hair were clinging to Dad’s forehead. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought he might bust a row of teeth any second. “Captain Kupfer, you can’t mean to let him do this.”
Now that Kupfer had declared me the leader, he seemed to have grown somewhat detached from the proceedings. If nothing else, he appeared reluctant to go against my wishes when we were so close to getting the final details arranged. “I cannot argue with your son’s claim, Ulysses. From a legal perspective, the Ostelle does belong to him.”
I love it when the law serves my personal interests, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
Ma took the opportunity to say her piece. “Isn’t this the good you’ve been wanting to see out of your son, Uly?”
“Evelyn, this is not the time—”
“You’ve told me so often how you were waiting for the day he’d turn over a new leaf. When he’d stop acting out and do some good in this world. If that’s what you want from him, you’ve got to let him find his own way. Why not start now? Give him his boat… let him take it.”
Dad sighed. When he looked at me, I could feel those eyes like drops of liquid fire. Eyes I’d searched many times, looking for something I had never been able to find. I found no such thing this time, either. What I saw instead was the same look of contempt I’d seen a thousand times before. You’re not the man I wish you’d turned out to be, the look said. And you’ve got a long way to go if you ever want to get there… if it’s not already too late for you, that is.
“Alright, then,” said my dad, straightening. “Boat’s yours, son. No reason you shouldn’t take it. Best of luck to you. Your Ma and I’ll just need some time to gather our things. Wouldn’t want to trouble you with our clutter.”
I stood firm, dodging his guilt trip like a ninja. “Fine by me.”
I watched my parents push in their chairs and shuffle out of the cabin. I had appreciated Ma sticking up for me, and Dad for giving in, even though I could tell he was resisting the notion with every fiber of his being. Those two didn’t know the dangers that awaited them on Roathea. They, like Kupfer, seemed to think this was just some drill—some half-baked uprising they could scare away just by showing up. Maclin meant business, and now that they held the throne, they weren’t going to give it up without a fight.
“Right,” I said. “About the rest of the team.” I took a look around the room. “He looks good. And him. That guy. And this one right here. Yingler, you pick the rest. I’m just eyeballing it. Like I said, I don’t know who’s good and who isn’t. You do, so I’ll let that be your responsibility.”
“No problem,” he said.
“Before we adjourn this meeting, I should warn all of you. The Regent is safe, for now… but his family is locked up inside the brig on one of Maclin’s cruisers, the Highjinks. Given the synod’s low tolerance for messing around, I think it’s very unlikely that they’ll survive the night. I just want you all to be aware of that. The best we can hope for is to save the Regent himself. He’s been refusing to leave without his family, so we’ll see how that goes—”
My comm rang. Startled from my monologue, I snatched it up and answered. “Yeah?”
“Why, Mr. Jakes. It’s so nice to hear from you again.”
“You called me. Who is this?” I knew who it was, though. I could tell by the sharp electrical voice pattern coming through the comm’s speaker.
“We couldn’t help but overhear that you seem to have left the palace. We did caution you against that, did we not?”
“Yeah. So?”
“It would be best that you heed our advice and refrain from returning to Roathea.”
“Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“Because if you come against us, Mr. Jakes, the heavens will bleed.”
“If I come against you, it isn’t the heavens’ blood you need to be worried about.”
“The Regency is ours now, Mr. Jakes. We have taken the liberty of expunging your criminal record, as you requested. This is a gesture of goodwill on our part. Think of it as an advance reward for your compliance. Your other demands, however, will not be met. Leave us alone, and you have our word that you’ll be left alone. This is your final warning, Mr. Jakes. Run from here and never come back. The sooner you learn that your assistance in our affairs is no longer desired, the better off you’ll be.”
“Fine,” I said. “You win. If that’s the way you want it, I’ll run. We’ll all run. We’ll take our ships and leave you alone. Good luck ruling the world.” I mashed a button and slammed the comm onto the table.
Yingler gave me a quizzical look. “You’re not actually thinking about running away… are you?”
I frowned at him. “It’s me, Vilaris. Of course I’m not running. If those geriatric slimebags think they can bully me around… well, they’re right. I’m scared out of my mind. That’s why I’m going to screw them over so bad they’ll never scare anyone again.”
By the look on Kupfer’s face, the bluewave transmission from the synod had rattled him more than me. “It’s settled, then,” he shouted, getting ahead of himself. “We ride to battle two hours before dawn.”
“I ride,” I corrected him. “And not to battle. Remember? Part of going in covertly is that we don’t make noise or shoot people. When the Ostelle flies to Roathea, it flies alone. You’re going to have to leave the rest of your fleet here.”
Kupfer’s eyes bulged. “And leave ourselves vulnerable? They’re expecting a show of force tomorrow morning. Why shouldn’t we give it to them? We should be ready, at the very least, in case this secret little foray of yours fails.”
“I’ve already explained why that’s suicide,” I said. “You might as well load up your ships and dump them into the Churn, for all the good a head-on attack like that’s going to do you.”
“It’s becoming harder to take your advice by the minute, Mr. Jakes,” Kupfer said with a scowl. “This synod needs to be stopped, and I’m having a difficult time believing you’re the one to do it.”
Yingler, of all people, was the one who spoke up for me. “With all due respect, Ludolf… I’ve seen Muller get into these mindsets of his before. He’s about as determined a fellow as you’ll ever meet. In the brief time I was with him, he found his way into all kinds of impossible situations, but he never failed to get himself—and me—out of them again. Enemy of the Regency though he may be, there’s no denying his knack for getting results. Set him in motion, and there’s little stopping him. I recommend we do just that.”
Kupfer appeared reluctant to admit defeat. I guess that’s how he’d become such a highly regarded marshal in the Civil Regency Corps. “This is too large a gamble to take on the likes of a wanted criminal. There’s too much at stake.”
“How many different ways do I have to spell it out for you?” I asked. “I may be a gamble, but I’m the best one you’ve got.”
Kupfer straightened. “My marshals and I will be accompanying you, in that case, Mr. Jakes. I hope there’s extra room aboard you
r boat.”
Instead of vomiting all over the table, I said, “Fine. I’m sure we can arrange a corner for you to sleep in.” I knew better than to argue with Kupfer. There wasn’t time to waste fighting battles I couldn’t win. If the old blockhead wanted to come along, I was just going to have to deal with his pomp and swagger, just like I’d have to deal with letting a few dozen filthy Civs rub their law-loving stink all over my beautiful boat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me… I’ve got a few things I need to do.”
2
I knew how impossible it was going to be to take back the Regency while Maclin was entrenched on Roathea with thousands of troops and a fleet of gunships at its beck and call. But I wasn’t about to tell Kupfer and the Civs how hopeless our chances were. I’d warned them that the synod was powerful. They obviously had no idea just how powerful, but I felt as though I had given them an accurate enough picture.
I also didn’t plan on telling the Civs that I was more concerned with rescuing my friends than winning back the Regency. Now that my criminal record had been expunged, those nine people were my only reason for not turning tail and running. I would’ve been fine leaving Maclin in power as long as I wasn’t leaving anyone behind. But as it tends to go with these things, it pays to hold off making your intentions clear until the ballgame shapes up.
There was no time to think about new augments, so I settled for having one of Kupfer’s grease monkeys give me a tune-up. That meant re-pressurizing my hydraulic legs, realigning my enhanced eye, and a few other miscellaneous tweaks that could be done quickly and without extensive deepwork. Not an ideal setup, but a little goes a long way.
Civvies—especially the lower-ranked grunts—are notorious for being kitted out with tons of over-the-top mods, so many larger vessels employ at least one biomechanic in addition to the ship’s doctor. You see a different guy when you pull a muscle than you do when you blow a gasket. I saw the Vigilant’s doctor first, a fresh-faced young man by the name of Karl Nash, who fused metal plates onto the severed bones in my arm and locked me in an elbow-length cast before sending me to be tortured anew by the illustrious talents of a Mr. Crowley Woolf.
Woolf was the proud owner of a pair of bushy white mutton chops and a matching set of eyebrows, all of which seemed to be perpetually gray with oil and grime. His bedside manner was nothing to write home about. Since my home was right across the street, that made the prospect of writing to it more difficult than just walking over, which I was dying to do as soon as Mr. Woolf was finished with me. I couldn’t wait to set foot aboard my baby again.
I emerged from the Vigilant’s medbay with a spring in my step, thanks to both the miracle of hydraulics and my eagerness to take a good long look at the beautiful specimen docked a few yards away off her port side. I raced to the railing and leapt, beholding the righteous glory of my Ostelle as I flew through the air toward her. I grabbed a rigging line and swung in, landing amidships and rolling to a stand. I couldn’t help but laugh at the familiar clunk of metal decking beneath my feet, a durable, lightweight alloy I’d chosen myself.
I had no good reason for making such an excessive entrance, except to celebrate. The culmination of a dream long-suffered was a bright spot in the dull haze of my recent memory. Aside from my Ostelle, the only other point of light in my world was the one I was on my way to retrieve—Sable. Now, I had my boat and my medallion. And two out of three isn’t a bad start, I thought.
Half the crew stared at me like I was a showoff. They were right, and I didn’t care. The other half looked on as though they’d have strangled me as soon as followed my orders. You can’t manufacture that kind of utter distaste in a factory. If ever the stage had been set for a mutiny, it was on this ship, with this crew, and me their captain.
“All hands on deck, you scurvy dogs,” I shouted, climbing the stairs to the quarterdeck. I stood at the railing and looked down at the men and women of my father’s crew, waiting for them to stop what they were doing and fetch everyone from belowdecks. I picked out at least a dozen familiar faces—Leigam Irkenbrand, the chinny radioman; Doctor Ditmarus; Norris Ponting, the alcoholic gunner; Merton Richter and Dorth Littage, the two laziest stokers in the stream. They, along with a dozen other strangers, crowded in to hear what I had to say.
“For those of you who don’t know me, you’re about to be glad you didn’t. All you need to know is that I’m the new captain of this vessel. If we have met before, on the other hand, it’s because you were on this crew when the Ostelle turned privateer. You were here when the vote was taken to turn me over to the Civs. To all those people, I hate each and every last one of you, and I hold you personally responsible for the painful plummet which followed my near-capture. I’m giving you folks two options—you can get off my ship, or you can fly with us to Roathea and then get off my ship. We have a short flight ahead of us. If, on the way, you do anything to remind me why I hated you in the first place, I’ll toss you overboard. You can take your chances with me, or you can pack your crap and get off my boat within the next five minutes. To those of you I’m just meeting, thank you for your time. The rest of you, not so much.”
No one moved, as if they thought I was pulling some practical joke.
“Do I have to repeat myself? Once we shove off, everyone who’s still aboard is subject to my captaincy. Perform your designated jobs at a satisfactory level, and you have nothing to worry about. Are we clear?”
“Aye, sir,” came the half-hearted reply.
“Back to it, then. We’re airborne on the hour, or everyone but me and the cook skips breakfast.”
“Don’t ‘ave no cook, Cap’n,” a swarthy man in a tattered tricorn pointed out. “She left with the old cap’n.”
I’d forgotten Ma didn’t have an understudy. “Oh yeah,” I said. “Anyone know how to cook?”
No answer.
“Unless someone volunteers, we’re not eating until dinner tomorrow night.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Jakes,” said Kupfer. He was coming up the gangway with Yingler and the rest of the team, who were carrying luggage and a few other bags that looked like they were full of something heavy. “My cook Buncheon will be coming along. He’ll handle the kitchen responsibilities. It’s a slightly smaller establishment than he’s used to, but I’m certain he’ll perform admirably.”
I took one look at Kupfer’s luggage—two leather duffel bags; three suitcases whose latches were straining to stay closed; and a broad wooden chest, banded in brass and painted a deep red—and charged down the stairs to meet him at the gate.
“What is all this junk?” I asked.
“My effects.”
“And where in Leridote’s name are you planning to stow all these effects?”
“Why, in my quarters, of course.”
“If you mean my quarters, then you’re mistaken.”
“Allow me to clarify, Mr. Jakes. I am referring to the captain’s quarters. Where I’ll be staying.”
“You’re not the captain. Not on my Ostelle, you’re not. What do you need all this stuff for, anyway? We’re gonna be gone a day or two, at the most.”
“One must never neglect to be prepared, Mr. Jakes.”
“By my reckoning, you’re over-prepared by about seventy pounds.” I began grabbing luggage from Kupfer’s porters as they came aboard and tossing it over the railing. One of the suitcases burst open when it hit Grimsley’s hard ground, its contents spilling out in an assortment of clothing as colorful as Kupfer himself. “And you can be just as prepared in the crew’s quarters as you would be in the captain’s,” I told him.
“In that case, I’m sure you’ll manage,” he said with a courteous smile. “Gladstone… if you would be so kind.”
Gladstone slumped his shoulders and gave me a dirty look before he trudged down the gangplank to retrieve Kupfer’s discarded effects.
“For the heavens’ sake, you’d think I could set foot on my own boat one time without someone trying to steal the blasted thing out from un
der me…”
“I assure you, the amenities are all I’m after. I have no designs on this… boat of yours. The Vigilant suits me—and well, at that.”
“I don’t like you, Kupfer.”
“I reciprocate your feelings, Mr. Jakes. And furthermore, as soon as we’ve returned the capital safely into the hands of our Regent, I plan to make a full inquiry into your criminal records. Any such records which may have been tampered with during Maclin’s brief stint in power shall be given a full appeal, and any changes thereto treated as null and void.”
“Let me know when you learn to form sentences like a human being. In the meantime, where’s Pearson with my backpack full of tech?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”
“Yeah, well, he’d better be. He’s holding us up. If your guy doesn’t come through for me, Kupfer, I swear…”
“You swear what?” He turned to face me. “How is it you’d like to threaten me today, exactly?”
I took a step toward him, putting my face inches from his. “If your guy doesn’t come through for me, Kupfer, this mission is going to fail. Hard. And when it does, your only option will be to go back to Plan A, your little ‘run-and-gun blindly into the fray’ strategy. That’s going to end badly for you, and Maclin will have Pearson to thank for the many long and iron-fisted years of its reign yet to come. That’s not a threat I have to make; it’s Maclin’s, and it’s going to happen unless we stop it.
“Now, since you’ve exercised the option to inhabit the captain’s quarters, I’ll remind you that I do still command this boat. And I command you to round up Yingler and the rest of the team and invite them into your bedroom for a meeting. We’re shoving off soon, and we have a lot to talk about before we get to Roathea.”
Kupfer started to speak, but I interrupted him.
“I don’t want to hear any backtalk out of you, you mangy, law-loving prick. Now get your suitcase full of codpieces cleaned up and settle in. Meeting starts in fifteen minutes. Anyone who’s late washes dishes the rest of the trip.”