Brown River Queen

by Frank Tuttle

  She bit the Brown and took hold, and damned if we didn’t back easily out into the river and make a flawless half-turn, putting the Queen’s face north.

  Her boilers burned and her pistons reached and her wheel reversed and we moved against the river, leaving behind a pair of smoke-trails and sparks.

  The deck exploded in cheers. I didn’t spot a long face in the crowd, despite the losses in the betting pool I knew many of them just suffered. Fists were raised and hats were waved and a pair of sooty firemen even danced a brief jig right there in the sun.

  Dutson, ever the model of polite decorum, observed the celebrations with only the faintest ghost of a grin. “As I said, sir, they know their business.”

  The breeze shifted, bringing with it a mist of spray from the Queen’s churning wheel. The sound of it, even near the bow, was that of ten thousand open hands all slapping the water over and over in some bizarre game of Splash the Finder.

  “I shall see to your table, sir. Please spend as long as you like above. This is a rare fine sight.”

  “It’s history.” Evis spoke, right behind me, and I turned to face him. “Welcome to the Age of Steam, Markhat. Let’s hope we live long enough to enjoy it.”

  He was clad in his usual daytime attire—yards and yards of black silk, which lent him the appearance of a storybook haunt, aside from the expensive leather shoes with spats, his hat, and his dark-tinted spectacles. Something in the way he slumped against the rail told me his face would be weary, if any of it were visible.

  A pair of uniformed engineers ran up, all smiles. One shook my hand though I’m sure he didn’t remember me and the other chattered to Evis about reach rods and doctor pumps.

  Evis raised a gloved hand. “Thank you, Mr. Blevins. Tell the bridge crew I’ll join them in the wheelhouse in a moment.”

  “The whistle, sir?”

  Evis hadn’t been listening either.

  “The Captain wants to know if we can sound her whistles, sir.”

  Evis slumped even further. “Certainly,” he said. “Blow it long and blow it loud. Our secret is out. Blow the damned thing until it explodes.”

  “Sir?”

  “I believe Mr. Prestley said blow the whistle, and good job,” I added. That only confused Blevins further, but his companion was quicker of wit, and he grabbed Blevins’s elbow and off they went, cheering and hooting like schoolboys.

  The spray from the Queen’s wheel cast infant rainbows all about us, even framing Evis briefly between a pair.

  “You’re awfully glum for a man who just revolutionized river travel,” I said. “The elders give you a bad time about postponing the supper cruise?”

  “Walk with me. Hello, Darla. Forgive my manners. It’s been a bad day.”

  Darla smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “You’re always a gentleman, even when you think you aren’t,” she said, winking at me. “I’ll be right here.”

  Evis made a stiff little bow and eased through the crowd, which parted as if by magic before him. I followed with some small difficulty, applying an occasional elbow to work my way through the milling throng until I caught up.

  Evis darted inside the casino and headed for the stairs, black silk flowing in his wake. I trotted and matched his pace.

  “You can always do this all over again, once the threat has been dealt with.” I panted a bit. “Surely they understood the need to put things off.”

  Evis cussed. “The House understood. And agreed. But our special guest insists that we proceed.”

  “What?”

  “We depart a full two days early, with all aboard. Our concerns were brushed aside. This is happening, Markhat. Despite my objections.”

  “Angels and devils.”

  “Just so.” Evis halted, listening for a moment I suppose. “This is insanity.”

  “I’ve never heard that person called insane before.”

  “Nevertheless. That is his intent. To proceed despite all evidence that doing so invites attack.”

  A graveyard chill worked its way down my spine.

  “You think you’re being played.”

  “I suspect all this is part of a grander scheme,” he whispered. “A scheme years in the making. Move the conflict out of Rannit. Take it to a time and a place of his choosing. Make the opportunity look so inviting those parties we spoke of earlier cannot resist making a move. Oh yes, Markhat. We’ve been played. And now we have no choice but to see it through.”

  The chill settled in for a nice long stay.

  I couldn’t leave the Queen. I couldn’t send Darla away. The only safety for us was the Queen and her arcane defenses, and now those defenses were surely going to be tested by creatures so old and so powerful they didn’t even have names.

  The Queen’s massive smokestack whistles blew. Loud as Buttercup and just as painful, and they blew and they blew and they blew until I imagined all of Rannit must have heard them, even the ones sleeping their uneasy sleep deep down in the dark houses, where the streets changed with every passing, and the sun and the moon shone only at some strange whim.

  “Shut that damned thing up,” yelled Evis, but his voice was lost in the sound. He leaned close to me and shouted “supper” loud enough for me to hear, and then he glided up the stairs toward the source of the Queen’s throatless, deafening howl.

  I rejoined Darla on the deck and shouldered my way to a place at her side. The man I pushed away gave me a look but then he saw my face and he wisely walked away.

  The shrieking whistles fell silent.

  “Bad news.” She wasn’t asking, but observing.

  “It wasn’t good. Lovely day, though. How does it feel to make nautical history, my dear?”

  “I’d rather be going home.” She hugged me, brief and tight, and then she was all smiles.

  A flotilla of curious fishermen headed our way, waving and shouting. We on the rail waved and shouted back, and the Queen’s pistons pumped, and we left every boat behind as Evis turned her south and let her engines sing.

  The evening meal was a dour affair. Evis barely spoke. Gertriss laid into the wine with a grim determination I’d never seen in her before. Darla moved her food around but ate very little, which led Dutson to fuss and hover until we were all ready to help him overboard for a brisk, invigorating swim.

  Only I managed the sacred task of cleaning my plate, because come wrack or ruin, roast beef cooked to absolute perfection and served on a bed of rice and carrots is not to be ignored.

  “I’m glad someone found the dish palatable,” muttered Dutson as he took my empty plate. “Would sir care for dessert? We have a very nice lemon meringue pie this evening.”

  “Sounds marvelous,” I said. “You have any cigars back there?” Evis was so distraught he’d forgotten. “Nothing like a good cigar after a fine meal.”

  “I’m sure I can procure one,” said Dutson, who briefly glanced at Evis before turning away with an injured look.

  “Bring two, if you please.” I leaned back in my chair and waited for Dutson to amble out of earshot. “Some party this is.”

  “Sorry, boss.” Gertriss drained her glass. “Hard to be festive after today.”

  “You should know that better than anybody,” grumbled Evis.

  “He speaks!” I caught Darla’s eye. “See, he wasn’t asleep after all.”

  “You’re hilarious.” Evis sighed. “Gertriss, how do you get any work done, what with laughing all the time?”

  “She manages. Look. I know this has been a blow, but I’ve got a plan.”

  Evis didn’t smile. Neither did Gertriss.

  “I can’t wait to hear it,” said Evis.

  “We sink the Queen,” I said. “Tonight. Right here, at the dock.”

  “Boss.”

  “Well, we can’t take to the river if we’re on the bottom, now can we?”

  “I think I may have wasted my thousand crowns.”

  “Why? Because sinking the Queen is a better idea than any other idea I’ve heard. Hel
l, it’s the only idea I’ve heard, and that, my old friend, is what troubles me most.”

  Dutson appeared, a saucer bearing a slice of yellow and white pie in one hand and two cigars in the other.

  He set the pie down before me, and I slipped the cigars in my pocket.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” said Evis when Dutson headed back to the shadows. “You can’t leave the Queen. I can’t abandon my place in the House. Certain other people”—he didn’t point at Gertriss, but he didn’t need to—“won’t listen to reason. We’re stuck here, all of us, and we’re being led by the nose right into the kind of epic dust-up that leaves people talking about the big holes in the ground a thousand years hence.”

  I took a bite of pie. “Best damned pie I ever tasted.”

  “One of the last, too.”

  I swallowed. “No. I refuse to accept that. We’ve been in some tight spots before. But here we are, not enjoying a truly remarkable meal.”

  “We got lucky.”

  “Maybe. Who’s to say we won’t get lucky again?” I took another bite. “What’s got into you, Evis? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Gertriss gave him a long hard look before speaking. “Spill it.”

  He sighed, right through his needle-sharp teeth, making a dry whistling noise. “Something I heard on the Hill. Right from the High House. The Corpsemaster. She’s dead, Markhat.”

  “We assumed as much. I’m still not convinced.”

  Evis started, as though kicked in his shin.

  “Tell him all of it,” whispered Gertriss.

  I put my fork down.

  “The Regent.” Evis kept his voice low. “He killed the Corpsemaster. Not the bunch from Prince. Angels help us all.”

  Darla blanched. I lost my appetite, possibly for the rest of my life.

  “Why?”

  “She got too powerful. Outlived her usefulness. Lot of that going around.”

  “So you think it’s true.”

  Evis nodded. “Makes sense. I never believed she bought it up the Brown. Those three from Prince were none of them her equal. Not even close. Hell, Markhat. You know where that leaves us.”

  The red lamps hidden by the ornate trim flared to life. Blood-tinged shadows flew. Horns sounded—one long note, half a beat, one short note.

  The air went cold. Breaths came out as gouts of steam. The fancy lights flickered and flared, sending shadows dancing about us. Some of the shadows lingered longer than they should have, and some massed at the ceiling, as though trying to come together and take on a monstrous many-limbed form.

  The empty casino filled with armed halfdead. Dutson and the wait staff joined them, their hands full of guns or knives, their faces a mix of trepidation or youthful stupid bravado.

  Evis rose.

  “Dutson. Take Miss Hog and Mrs. Markhat to the dunways.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Neither Mrs. Markhat nor Miss Hog made any move to follow. Darla produced her silver gun and aimed a defiant smile at me.

  Stitches stepped out of a fold in the dark. The shadows fled, and the winter chill with them.

  We are under a sustained arcane attack. Thus far, the Queen’s defenses have held.

  “Attack by whom?”

  Persons unknown. The method of their offense is archaic. I may be able to better ascertain their origin if I am given permission to engage them.

  “Silence the alarm.” Evis cast a furious glance toward Gertriss, who didn’t flinch. The blaring horns fell silent. “Will exposing yourself present additional risk?”

  The protection will hold or not. It was designed to allow for simple verbal commerce.

  Evis put his gun away. “Permission granted. If the protection begins to fail, what action should I take?”

  Pray, for all the good it will do you. Stitches pushed back her hood. You are as safe on the deck as you are within, if you wish to observe. The hull of this vessel will offer no protection if the protective spellworks fail.

  She headed for the doors.

  I know when to pick my battles, so I just offered Darla my arm. “Let’s take a stroll on the deck,” I said. “I hear there may be fireworks.”

  She took my arm but kept her gun handy.

  Evis frowned at me before turning to Gertriss. “After you,” he said with a sweeping bow.

  Darla, at least, had the good grace not to smirk.

  Outside, on the deck, we found chaos.

  Gone was the dock and the wharf and the water and sky. The Queen floated inside a bubble, and beyond that thin membrane all hell had broken loose.

  Dark masses, some distant kin to thunderclouds, boiled and railed against the spherical volume that held us just beyond their reach. Monstrous shrieks sounded from within the roiling murk. I heard voices cry out, shouting strange words across an echoing gulf. The words, if indeed they were words, made no sense, but even so my skin crawled and my hair tried to stand at the mere echo of them.

  Our bubble rang like a struck bell, and I saw Stitches wince and catch hold of the rail briefly before straightening and throwing back her hood.

  By the ancient rite of challenge, I demand your name, you who would trouble me and mine.

  Laughter—mad and wild—came leaking through the bubble. A wizened, cat-eyed face as wide as the sky pressed itself briefly upon the membrane as might a child at a candy-store window.

  “We are numbered beyond measure,” came a voice amid the thunderous roars. “We are we who shall crack thy bones and feast upon thy marrow.”

  Evis nodded toward the barrier. “That keeps magic out,” he said to Stitches. “Will it keep physical objects in?”

  What a fascinating query. I got the impression Stitches directed her response to Evis and I alone. I too am curious. Shall we conduct a brief test?

  Evis glided away. The boiling in the dark surrounding us intensified, and the bubble rang again.

  Stitches raised her hand.

  A second time I ask, you whose names are many. Who brings affront to my House, un-named, like a thief in the night?

  The bubble rang again. Lights began to play among the darkness, flashing too long to be lightning but sounding of thunder all the same.

  “We will have that which the Fallen One gave to her minion,” said the voice. “Give it unto us. Give unto us the mortal man who hath walked with it. Give them to us, and we shall trouble thee no more.”

  “Can they hear me, Miss Stitches?”

  Darla shot me a warning look.

  I shall take measures to ensure that they do. I can offer you no assurance that they will listen, though.

  I cleared my throat. Darla put a death-grip on my left arm.

  “My name is Markhat,” I shouted. “Not minion. I had your trinket, yes, but I destroyed it. It’s gone, and I couldn’t give it back to you if I wanted to.”

  The flashes and boiling continued with no apparent change in intensity or frequency.

  “Did you hear me? I can’t give you what I don’t have.” I took a breath. “But I’ll come out if you’ll promise to take me and leave these people alone.”

  “Hell you will,” said Darla.

  “Well, what about it? Do I get an answer?”

  The bubble rang loud enough to momentarily drown out the roar and the thunder. When the ringing echoes died, long vertical scratches began to appear on the surface of the protective bubble, and though they quickly faded, more and more began to appear and race through the membrane.

  “I asked you bastards a question!” I shouted.

  The bubble rang again, louder than before.

  It appears we have our reply.

  Stitches turned her sightless eyes toward us.

  Brace yourselves.

  She took hold of the railing. Darla put her gun away and did the same.

  Twice I have asked and twice you have denied me the courtesy of a reply. Mr. Prestley. Are you ready?

  “Almost,” shouted Evis from somewhere up above. I heard men up there too, cursing
and grunting, as though heaving something heavy into place.

  I ask a third and final time. What is your name, or names? Answer, or quit this place and trouble us no more.

  The slow lightning grew brighter and closer, illuminating oily, leathery masses writhing in the boiling shadows.

  “Thou art not worthy to invoke the rite,” shouted the voice. “Thou art—”

  Commence, Mr. Prestley.

  Thunder of our own sounded, and lightning of our own design streaked in racing lines from the Queen’s top deck before arcing out through Stitches’s bubble and into the dark void beyond.

  Not cannons. Guns—rifles from the sound of them—firing in such rapid succession I failed to count the individual shots. The firing sounded from at least three places on the deck, and the trails of light left by the rounds lit up the not-sky with strange glows and frequent, silent blasts of light radiance.

  “Told you there’d be fireworks,” I said. Darla swallowed hard, produced her pistol, and emptied it into the void.

  Something out there screamed. Not a scream of madness or insane glee or challenge, but a plain old scream of surprise and pain.

  Fascinating. Stitches let go of the rail and hurled a fist-sized ball of light through her barrier. It sailed serenely away, fading as though crossing a vast distance, and then Stitches clapped her hands.

  The boiling void exploded. One instant, there was the unsky, and the writhing things that rode the strange winds thereof. Then there was a silent white flash, and then—

  —then, the lazy Brown River, and the stink thereof, and a weary-looking moon, and the dock, and the wharf, and an army of black-clad Avalante soldiers, guns at the ready, giving us “What the hell looks?“ in the lamplight.

  Evis’s fast-firing guns fell silent. Stitches wobbled a bit.

  I believe I am due a raise.

  She fell, and neither Darla nor I were quite fast enough catch her.

  “If you ever offer to give yourself up like that again, husband of mine, I will shoot you myself.”

  “Seems a strange way to dissuade heroic acts of valor.” The ever-observant Dutson put a fresh beer bottle at my right hand, and I hoisted it so as not to give insult. “Although I suppose it would solve one of our immediate problems.”