The Immortal Storm (Sky Chaser Book 1)

by Wilkes, S. D.

  Kite kept his distance. Every now and then Austerman would stop to check his compass watch before moving on. How did a Weatheren had come to know of such places? Unless Austerman made it his business to lurk around Port Howling for more than snapping up antiques. The more Kite thought about the more this explanation made sense. A Weatheren secretly observing the comings and goings for his masters. Austerman has to be a spy.

  The streets were sparsely lit now. Sour and desperate people huddled in the doorways of boarded-up poorhouses and looted-out lodgings, watchful of purposeful strangers on the move. Especially a Weatheren. Kite wondered if any of these faceless people might be Askian.

  Soon Austerman halted at the mouth of an alley cut between a boarded-up inn and the side of a smoke-windowed warehouse. Afraid of being spotted Kite crouched by a low wall a short distance away. His hand closed around a half-brick. He weighed it in his hand.

  One blow. That's all it would take.

  Austerman checked the time again before slipping into the unlit alley. After a count of ten Kite hurried to the corner of the inn. The pot-holed alley dipped slightly to the black mouth of a tunnel hunched beneath an old tramway. A battered, hand-scrawled sign on the mossy brickwork read Trencher's Gate.

  For a moment Kite waited, hoping to catch sight of the Weatheren again. Nothing. He dredged up some courage and slipped down the alley. The air here in the tunnel had a vinegar stink. Bottles and cracked kegs lay scattered with bedding and boxes. Some kind of yard lay further on, cluttered with mossy racks of rotten timber and a mound of sand the size of a house.

  Kite looked again. Not sand, but sand-coloured tarps. He began to make out the bulges of turbines and the line of the blunt prow up at the front. Under the tarps was a liftship!

  Just then Austerman walked out from his hiding place and stopped, framed by the black arch. “I thought your curiosity would get the better of you, Mr.Nayward,” he said.

  “I-I just want what's mine,” Kite said.

  “You already know the answer to that,” Austerman replied. “Ah, gentlemen, you are just in time.”

  Boots scraped on the road behind him.

  Three figures blocked the mouth of the tunnel. One was as big as a door. The other was a scrawny lad his own age. The third was on his knees between them, half-covered with a filthy canvas sack.

  Kite tensed, realising he was cornered.

  “Remain where you are, Mr.Nayward,” Austerman said, in the tone of someone used to dishing out orders and having them obeyed. “I trust everything is in order, Mr.Clinker?”

  Kite couldn't see much of them in the shadows but the big man, Clinker, appeared to be a mechanic with a bandolier of tightly secured tools stretched across his barrel-belly.

  “Oh aye, been a while since I've been called upon to do a bit of kidnapping, mind,” Clinker said, sounding gruff and far from happy with the situation. “Care to tell us what's this nonsense it about, Mr.Austerman?”

  Mr.Austerman. Kite picked up on the slight sarcasm in Clinker's voice. Who were these people?

  “Mr.Birdy, it is time reveal our guest,” Austerman said.

  The lad sprang at Austerman's order. He wore shabby overalls, the sleeves rolled over his elbows, and a loose cap. “Yes, Cap - I mean, Mr.Austerman,” he said and dragged away the sack.

  Underneath cowered Dice Clay. Hands bound with hemp rope, skin sheened with sweat, Clay looked terrified. Puffing against the gag drawn tight across his mouth he shuffled forward on his knees. “Noffwuff! Pleeth impth sorreth donth kith miff!”

  Kite didn't move.

  “As I told you, Mr.Nayward, sometimes you have to make your own luck,” Austerman said. “I trust you have my money, Mr.Clinker?”

  Clinker tugged a leather pouch from his bandolier. “Luckily we caught the toerag before he could spend it,” he said, and jangled the contents.

  Austerman nodded.

  With a muffled clatter the money pouch landed near Kite's boots. He stared at it for a moment.

  “Three thousand nine hundred royals,” said Austerman. “A little more than I intended to spend today, but you have yourself to thank for that.”

  Birdy whistled, long and low. “Now there's a pretty profit,” he said.

  Kite looked from the money pouch to Austerman. He didn't understand any of this.

  “I believe in old fashioned justice,” Austerman said. “You may decide the thief's punishment. It's only fair.”

  A few hours ago Kite'd gladly witness Clay drowning in his own blood, but exhaustion and fear had taken the edge of his hunger for vengeance. Or perhaps it was Austerman, appointing himself judge and jury, and expecting Kite to be grateful for it.

  “Let him go,” said Kite.

  Austerman seemed unmoved. “He cheated you did he not, Mr.Nayward?” he said.

  “He did,” said Kite. “All the same, let him go.”

  The Weatheren had the nerve to laugh. “Well, you heard him, Mr.Clinker,” Austerman said. “Let the man go.”

  The big man hauled Clay to his feet and slapping the dust from his frock coat. “Now then, Mr.Clay,” Clinker said, removing the gag. “Let's keep this little adventure to ourselves, right?”

  Clay nodded furiously. His expression see-sawing between gratitude and terror. “Knotwood, I -”

  Kite gave Clay a hard look. He wasn't forgiven, not by a long shot.

  “Off you go then,” Clinker said and gave Clay a friendly shove.

  The dealer took a few shivering steps, as if expected a knife in the back any second, then he bolted out of the tunnel and back toward the dusty lights of Port Howling. Kite was glad to see the back of him. If only to stop himself from changing his mind.

  “Don't forget your money, Mr.Nayward,” Austerman said. “In return I'd like you to tell me everything you know about the Clockwork Jinny.”

  Kite snatched up the money pouch. The weight of silver royals inside surprised him. Three thousand nine hundred royals. More profit than he'd ever dreamed of. Enough to make his way in Port Howling and beyond. Enough to buy a small liftship. He could fly anywhere he wanted. He could go to Skyzarke.

  Skyzarke.

  The things Ember had told him last night on the Tailwind came flooding back to him. Stories of stars and the planets and other miracles in the sky. Maybe there were just stories. But they were real enough to that little Askian voice. And real enough to him…

  “I'm telling you nothing. The mechanikin's mine,” he said, voice dry and tight. He held out the pouch. “Take your money.”

  Birdy snorted. “That must be one expensive toy,” he said.

  “Your consistency is admirable, Mr.Nayward,” Austerman said. “But I'm a collector of rare antiquities and this piece is very rare indeed.”

  The royals tinkled in the pouch as Kite's hand began to shake. In the other hand he still gripped the brick. “Take it,” he said.

  “Our business is concluded, Mr.Nayward,” Austerman said, with some finality. “Be sure not to speak of what you have seen here. Mr.Clinker we've overstayed our welcome.”

  Austerman began walking toward the hidden liftship. Kite swore and drew his hand back but somehow Clinker intercepted him, moving too fast for someone his considerable bulk. The brick was knocked away and two great arms seized him. Kite tried to wriggle free of Clinker's iron grasp, kicking and elbowing and cursing. And in the messy scuffle that followed his hood fell back.

  “He’s only an bleedin’ Grey!” said Birdy.

  Austerman came back urgently. This time stepping out of the shadows. The half-light caught on the hard edges of his face. His eyes gleamed, bright as chips of blue bottle-glass.

  “Port Howling is no place for an Askian, Mr.Nayward,” Austerman said, darkly. “There is a reward for your capture and here there will be no shortage of those willing to trade a life for profit.”

  Kite stopped his struggle.

  “Well, we can't let him go now,” Clinker said, still gripping Kite by the arms. “You'll know what she'll say
if we do.”

  Austerman considered his response. “Indeed, we have no choice. Bring him aboard the Windspear, Mr.Clinker,” he said, and turned away once more. “Mr.Nayward may yet be of use to me yet.”

  25

  The Corpusant

  Don't let them catch you, Kite Nayward.

  Too late for that. The Windspear had been flying for hours now. Wind scratched at the outer hull. Thunder droned in the distance, chased a few seconds later by its own echo. Kite knew that meant hills or mountains, certainly high ground at least. That meant they were headed inland. North most likely. Maybe Austerman was taking him to Fairweather. The idea made him sick.

  The Engine Room stank of grease and vinegar. An black engine thundered behind him, powered by a luminous battery of corpusant cells. Their iridescent light flickered with each punch of the drive, casting shadows over dozens of grain sacks and packing crates stacked between the riveted bulkheads, each branded with the First Light Foundation’s mark. Enough supplies for a small army. Kite scowled. Another sour reminder of his captor.

  Once again he tried to free himself. Biting hard into the foul, oily gag he pulled on the rope around his wrists. The braided hemp twisted across the tendons on the back of his hand. Skin began to pinch and stretch. If he pulled any more flesh would tear. So he relaxed, breathing hard. Somehow he needed more courage.

  Every now and then muffled conversation drifted down from the pilothouse. Austerman and his two accomplices. The big man and the boy. Both of them with Iron Hill accents. Since when did they serve the Foundation? None of it seemed to make any sense.

  Just then the hatch bolts snapped back and lamp-light spilled into the Engine Room. Boots slapped loosely on the ladder. Down the ladder came Birdy, carrying a tar-lamp and squinting through its halo.

  “He hasn't moved, Ray,” Birdy called back.

  “Best make sure,” came Clinker's reply from above. “He's a slippery one.”

  Birdy shuffled closer, holding the lamp ahead of him. The lad wasn't much younger than him. Thirteen or fourteen with bright, quick eyes. Hardly anyone's idea of a kidnapper.

  Maybe Kite had made him uncomfortable because Birdy glanced back at the ladder to the pilothouse. “Look, I got nothing against you lot,” he said, lowering his voice. “Askians I mean. Just so you know.”

  Kite stared back, breathing hard behind the gag.

  Birdy frowned. “All this,” he said, nodding to the stores. “It's not what it looks -”

  “Is that your mouth I can hear flapping, Birdy?” Clinker called down.

  Hunching his shoulders Birdy left the Engine Room, stumbling on the steps as he went. Once again the hatch was slammed and bolted after him, locking Kite inside.

  Sooner or later he'd have to deal with the three of them. Birdy wouldn't pose him much of an obstacle but Austerman and Clinker? He needed a better plan. But he was going nowhere unless he could free his hands.

  Kite sucked in quick rapid breaths, steeling himself. Adrenalin fizzed into his veins. He clamped his teeth on the gag and pulled as hard as he could. The cord snapped tight, raking his veins. He tried not to think of the pain. Instead he focussed on the bad luck that had brought him here. The thief Clay. That bastard Austerman…

  Kite pulled harder and harder still. The rope tightened and twisted and shaved through skin. Tears blurred his vision, soaking the gag burning his mouth.

  Austerman.

  With one final agonising tug his hand wrenched free. Cresting the spike of pain Kite doubled over and began to shiver with uncontrollable sobs. Blood and tears sparkled on his patchcoat.

  Slowly Kite brought forward his bloody hand. The rope had torn off a medallion of rust-raw flesh. Already he was proud of it. Feverishly he untied his ankles and pulled off the gag and wrapped his hand with it. He wasn't much of a mechanic but he did know one thing about corpusants - they needed cooling.

  Kite shuffled close to the engine. With his good hand he began to unscrew the three safety bolts on the hatch. The door hinged open. Coolant vapour poured out and he slipped his bad hand inside the icy hollow. Half-laughing, half-sobbing, a chill spiked his blood and began to tauten his slack senses.

  As he watched the four fluttering corpusants an plan formed in his mind. But for it to work he’d have to be quick and ready.

  Carefully he clamped his fingers on one of the translucent cylinders. About the size of a fat sausage the corpusant vibrated against his skin, ice-cold and hot all at once. He wouldn't have long before Austerman realised something had happened. Stealing a sharp breath Kite began to count.

  One. Two. Twik.

  The corpusant popped out of its cradle. Instantly the engine's pitch dropped. His stomach wobbled as the Tailwind dipped in the air. Almost immediately remaining three corpusants flared to compensate for the cell dimming in his hand and the liftship quickly recovered her altitude.

  There was a rush of activity abovedecks. Time to get ready. Kite closed the chamber door and hurried to the ladder, hiding the glimmering corpusant under his coat. He squeezed in behind the ladder rungs. Blood pulsed in his burning hand but he ignored it and waited for his moment.

  The pilothouse door clattered on its runners, letting in a rush of heavy wind. Someone heading outside. Footfalls gathered at the hatch.

  The bolt slid back and lantern light poured in. Birdy's boots thumped on the rungs. He stopped, his ankles level with Kite's eyes.

  “He's gone!” he gasped.

  Kite swept Birdy's boots off the rung. With a yelp Birdy dropped on to his rump. Kite swung out from his hiding place, barrelling Birdy sideways into the grain sacks.

  With the corpusant held aloft Kite scrambled into the pilothouse and bolted the hatch behind him.

  26

  Valkyrie

  “I may have underestimated you, Mr.Nayward.”

  Austerman had the helm, his stern face lit up by the dials and gauges of the Windspear's control panel. Kite guessed Clinker was on the liftship's deck. That was a stroke of luck. But luck never lasted long in this world...

  “Land!” Kite demanded.

  “Quite impossible, Mr.Nayward,” Austerman said, glancing at Kite's reflection in the black windows. “We are currently over the Scar - hardly a safe place to put down.”

  Austerman took his right hand off the bronze-handled wheel and tapped a lever. Once. Twice. Deck lights flashed from the pilothouse roof, illuminating the wedge of the rain-slick deck and a mountain of purple-black thunderheads. A warning for Clinker.

  Knowing he had only seconds Kite scanned the pilothouse for his gear. There. Shoved into a cubby near the rack of rolled-up charts. In another compartment was the leather bundle - the mechanikin.

  “If you try anything,” Kite said, edging closer. “I'll smash the corpusant. I'll sink the Windspear.”

  The storm lit up with tentacles of lightning. Thunder rattled the pilothouse window frames.

  “I very much doubt that, Mr.Nayward,” Austerman said. “The fact that you spared a man's life - a man who stole from you - tells me that you are not the killing kind.”

  “I'll make an exception for a Weatheren spy,” Kite growled, approaching the cubby.

  Austerman chuckled. “A Weatheren spy? Is that what you think I am?” he said.

  A voice burst from the radio set. “Windspear, this is Frostbite, over!”

  Another Weatheren voice. Austerman frowned at the receiver, then again at Kite's reflection.

  “Windspear, respond, over,” the message repeated.

  Austerman swore and snatched receiver.

  Seizing his chance Kite grabbed his gear from the cubby and clattered out of the pilothouse door and into a bruising wind. Lightning arced overhead, illuminating a seething sea of clouds and spearing rain.

  Boots clanged on the metal steps beneath him. Clinker. His sou'wester and poncho slick with rain. Kite swung the corpusant. “Stay back!” he shouted.

  “Watch what you're doing with that thing, lad!” Clinker shouted over
the Windspear's turbines, showing the crackled palms of his leather gloves.

  Kite sidled by the pilothouse to the foredeck, pulling on his patchcoat as he went. Over the side he could make out the smear of the land. A featureless tract of soot-black earth slithering with torrents of silver rainwater. Too high to jump without crippling himself.

  A flash between the thunderheads. Fast and too horizontal to be lightning. A zigzag vapour trail. An airmachine. The ones that had raided Ruster's Roost - the Murkers.

  Kite slapped the rain from his eyes. A second airmachine had appeared. Like carrion birds the Murkers circled the Windspear. Lightning seemed to whip at them but never strike. Mesmerised and terrified all at once Kite watched them draw closer until they were flying alongside the Windspear, one to starboard the other to port.

  One of them banked sharply, cutting across the foredeck. Suffocating exhaust fumes flew in Kite's face, blinding him for second. Nearby he heard the airmachine land on the deck with a clang. The fumes cleared and Kite watched the Murker pilot jumped off the strange airmachine’s deck and stalked toward him, leather flying coat flapping in the rain-lashed wind. Something about the stitched leather mask and the green goggle-eyes and the breathing apparatus wheezing away made Kite fear for his life.

  “I want him alive, Valkyrie,” Austerman's voice crackled from the pilothouse speaker.

  The Murker called Valkyrie lunged at him. Kite lashed out lash out with the corpusant, the skymetal casing cracking against Valkyrie's temple. The pilot staggered back, stunned by the blow. A gash beaded with blood beneath an L-shaped rip in his mask.

  Growling with anger Valkyrie charged, slamming Kite hard against the handrail and nearly tipping him overboard. Kite pushed back, arms flailing. They grappled wildly and in the chaos the corpusant sprang from Kite rain-slicked fingers.

  Kite froze. Valkyrie froze too. Both of them transfixed by the tumbling corpusant. By some grace of luck the fragile cylinder missed the railing and sailed overboard where the storm winds sent it twirling away. Down toward the rocks beneath the Windspear.

  Austerman must have seen the corpusant fall and realising his vessel was in danger swung the Windspear into a desperate turn.