Brown River Queen

by Frank Tuttle

  “Hah. I’d shoot you in the ass. Which is where you must be doing all your thinking today. What were you doing, Markhat? What if they’d said yes?”

  I took a good long draught of beer. “Then maybe you’d be safe now. Maybe you could go home and polish that new silverware.”

  Darla cussed. Dutson, ever the gentleman, pretended not to hear.

  Evis was sunk so low in his chair he was nearly invisible. Gertriss was nowhere to be seen. I gather their after-crisis chat hadn’t gone as well as the one Darla and I were enjoying.

  “So, what word of Stitches?”

  It took Evis a moment to realize I was speaking to him.

  “She’s alive. Exhausted, that’s all. Her assistant has her in that fancy clockwork coffin in her room. Says she’ll be up and around by morning.”

  “Stitches has an assistant?”

  “Yes. She’s so scary she never goes out in public. Is that relevant? Do I need to produce her full dossier, maybe drag her down here in chains?”

  “Who put cranky in the beer?”

  “I’m not drinking beer.”

  “Could be why you’re cranky.”

  “Is that your answer to everything, Markhat? More beer?”

  I lifted my glass. “It’s as good as any.”

  Evis muttered something unintelligible and resumed his sulk.

  Men and halfdead scurried to and fro around us. The attack on the Queen hadn’t done any apparent damage, but engineers and boat-wrights and carpenters and wand-wavers were swarming over every inch of her regardless.

  “So why didn’t our special guest’s security crew make an appearance?” I’d waited until no one was in earshot. Evis surprised me by answering.

  “The body they are to guard wasn’t aboard, I suppose. They’re not exactly a talkative bunch.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I sent word to the House about the attack, you know.” Evis glared at a pair of engineers until they decided their report wasn’t really that urgent after all. “Got word back almost immediately. Proceed as planned.”

  “So that puts us taking on passengers and a full crew the day after tomorrow, and setting out the day after that?”

  “We start boarding tomorrow. Getting everyone through the security apparatus won’t be quick.”

  I whistled. “Rich people don’t like waiting in lines.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what they like.” Evis wasn’t wearing his spectacles since the lights were so low, and his halfdead eyes sparkled like dirty marbles in the candlelight.

  “Those new guns. Impressive. From the sound of it, you might have bloodied some old spook’s nose.”

  The vampire grinned despite his funk. “Was keeping those secret for just such an occasion. It’s actually a gun with twenty-two barrels, which are mounted in a circle and turned by a hand-crank. Each one can fire nearly two hundred rounds a minute.” He hastily closed his lips over his pointy halfdead teeth. “Sorry.”

  “Seems to me that you won that round, Mr. Prestley. So why the long, white face? They came, they threw their punches, they went home bleeding and empty-handed.”

  Evis sat up with a long worn out sigh. “We caught them by surprise. That likely won’t happen again.”

  “So come up with a new surprise.”

  “I’ve only got so many, Markhat. I just used my best dirty little secret and we haven’t pulled away from the dock yet.”

  Dutson came strolling out of the shadows. “Pardon me, Mr. Prestley,” he said, his expression a study in somber. “Your presence is requested in the wheelhouse.”

  Evis rose. “Bright and early,” he said to me.

  I winced. “Such language.”

  “Dutson, cut him off for the evening. I need you sober.”

  And with that, Evis was gone, blending easily with the shadows.

  “I didn’t quite catch that last remark. Did you, Dutson?”

  The man didn’t hesitate. “I believe he wished you a good evening, sir. Will you have a final beer before you retire?”

  “Now that you mention it, I believe I shall. Dutson, you are a treasure.”

  “So it is said, sir.”

  Dutson headed for the kitchen. I watched the Queen’s crew tend to her nonexistent wounds, and I wondered if Evis was telling the truth about being out of explosive surprises.

  I surprised everyone by rising with the sun, bathing, shaving, and feeding myself, and appearing on the Queen’s foredeck a good quarter of an hour before Evis or Stitches made an appearance.

  Darla still lay abed. I’d left a note and a crude sketch of a rose. With any luck, she’d be less inclined to shoot me in my fundament when she did rise.

  Stitches met me with a nod. She was in her customary black robe, hood over her face, sleeves concealing her hands. Nothing in her gait or posture suggested any injury.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  Greetings. I trust you slept well?

  “I did. You?”

  I am fully recovered.

  Evis joined us, wrapped in black silk, his eyes hidden by spectacles. He made an odd, dry, rasping noise behind the wrappings and it took me a moment to realize he was yawning.

  “Pardon me. Good morning. Ready to get this underway?”

  “No,” I said and was ignored.

  I shall raise the interface and prepare the inspectors and the wards.

  “Let’s get to it, then.”

  It only took them an hour.

  A single hour, in which to erect a monstrous brass ring, a good twelve feet in diameter, at the land-side end of the Queen’s private dock. It took six straining Ogres to set the ring upright and get the chains that held it vertical secured in place. As soon as Stitches began attaching cables to the thing, the space it enclosed began to shimmer and flash, which scattered the Ogres and made me wonder what might happen if I tossed a pebble through the middle of it.

  While Stitches and her little band of white-coated wand-wavers fussed over the odd desk-like affair to which they attached the ring cables, a pair of cargo wagons rattled up to the waterfront and began disgorging men and material. A festive golden tent was soon wobbling in the wind, tables and chairs were placed neatly beneath it, and finally an honest-to-Angels red carpet was stretched out from tent to dock to the foot of the ring, lest any of Rannit’s fabulously wealthy be forced to tread on mere stone or common cypress planks.

  Another wagon rolled up and a bleary-eyed, yawning mob of musicians spilled out, blinking in the morning sun, and sorting out their horns and fiddles and drums. They soon took their places under a second, much smaller tent and began to tootle and strum and tweet as they tuned up their instruments and adjusted their ties.

  Darla pulled up a chair beside mine. “Good morning,” she said. “Thank you for the flower.”

  “Best I could do,” I said, stealing a brief kiss. “Looks like the show is about to start.”

  She blinked at the sun and shaded her eyes with her hand. “What is that thing?”

  “One of Stitches’s little toys. I assume it turns anyone who is less than pure of heart into marmalade.”

  Evis joined Stitches at her desk, along with her staff. There was much pointing and nodding of various heads.

  “Gertriss wants me to meet her in the casino when boarding begins,” said Darla. “She plans to wander around and pretend to talk and listen to as many private conversations as she possibly can.”

  “Smart girl.”

  “She’s actually just avoiding being alone with Evis by having me there.”

  Stitches, Evis, and the crew of white-coats huddled behind the desk, all eyes on the brass ring. Stitches reached down and did something I couldn’t see.

  The ring flashed, like a mirror catching the sun. Everyone in sight of it winced or turned away.

  When I could see again, Evis was halfway to the tent, yelling at someone in a tuxedo, and Stitches had taken a seat while her crew milled around nearby with satisfied grins.

  �
�They’ll work it out, hon.”

  “I hope so. He makes her happy, even though…well. You know.”

  I didn’t, but I nodded sagely. That seemed to suffice.

  She smiled as the band struck up a dance tune so lowbrow even I recognized it. “So, what clever plan are you hatching today, husband, and how will it impact Dutson’s beer supply?”

  “Hardly at all. I’m going to watch. Mingle if the whim carries me. Hopefully if assassins board, one will get careless and drop a dagger and a signed confession.”

  “Let’s hope. Have you had coffee? I need coffee.”

  “Me too.”

  Darla rose and smoothed down her long skirt. “Back in a bit, then. If assassins show up save one for me. I haven’t forgotten my good red rug.”

  “I’ll leave you the big one.”

  Below, liveried Avalante staff were setting up a bar and an outdoor kitchen. Another tent went up, as festive as the first, and shortly after that the band began to play in earnest.

  The first of many sleek black carriages arrived. Doors were held open. Trumpets were sounded. Salutes were thrown. A pair of tipsy old generals, their dress blues hanging off them and rendering their appearance more scarecrow than soldier, tottered down the red carpet and toward the shadow of the first tent.

  Another carriage pulled in behind the first, and another after that, and soon the dock was swarming with well-heeled socialites and the polite but wary eyes of House Avalante.

  Drinks were poured despite the youth of the day. The smell of sausages cooking wafted up briefly from the makeshift kitchen.

  While the party found its feet and learned how to stumble, Evis’s gun crews busied themselves on the deck above me. No shouting or cursing this time, but in just a few minutes they erected three of the awful fast-firing guns that wounded a nightmare just a few hours ago.

  The men covered the snouts of the guns with clean white linen sheets and took positions around them, hands clasped at the small of their backs, eyes on the crowd below.

  If they let loose, I figured they could cut the dock itself in two after only a few seconds of firing. I hoped I wouldn’t see that.

  Carriages were lined up as far as I could see by the time the sun climbed above the bluffs. As horses shuffled and snorted and the band played on, a pair of tuxedoed Avalante staff removed the velvet rope that separated the carpet beneath the tent from that on the dock, and Rannit’s rich and famous made their way—drinks in hand and luggage behind—toward the Queen.

  Between them stood Stitches and her flashing brass ring.

  The first of the Queen’s guests was the old general who’d been first under the tent. He drained his glass, threw it in the river, and stomped through the ring at such a pace his trio of servants had to hustle to keep up.

  From my vantage point, I saw nothing but a brief shimmering in the air about the man, and he was through. The old general’s servants came next, one-two-three, their arms loaded with suitcases and bags hanging off every shoulder. The last dragged a trunk. Servants and trunks popped through the shimmering like bugs through a bubble, and Stitches nodded, and a white-coat motioned the next party through.

  I caught Evis watching from beside the tent. He saw me, waved, and vanished into the crowd.

  Darla returned, two steaming china cups of coffee in her hands, and sat.

  “The casino looks different,” she said. “They’ve taken the covers off everything. I suppose they’re open for business, even at this hour.”

  “I doubt they close until we finish the trip or sink.”

  Darla sipped coffee and closed her eyes.

  “Sorry. You know me. Always a Troll until noon, at least.”

  “There’s a grand ball tonight.” She opened her eyes. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

  I had.

  “Not at all,” I said. “May I borrow your red evening gown?”

  “You’re hopeless.” She took another long draught of coffee and stood. “Gertriss is waiting for me. Have a good morning, dear. I’ll see you at lunch. And the red gown will make your hips look like you’ve got pumpkins in your pockets.”

  “I treasure your frankness, wife of mine.”

  She blew me a kiss and sashayed away.

  I drank my coffee and when it was gone I held my empty cup and pretended to drink and I watched the rich folks board, one by one. The brass ring never did more than shimmer, and the guns just above me never spoke—never hurled down fire and death from their pitiless steel maws.

  For four hours, the band played and drinks flowed and the ring shimmered. At noon, the velvet rope was replaced, and a fresh wagon of musicians arrived, and another bearing cooks and trays of meat and bottle after bottle of expensive fancy wines.

  Stitches took to her ring, poking it with a long metal rod while strange shadows played across its empty face.

  Which made me jump, just a bit, when a second Stitches appeared in the empty chair beside me and spoke.

  Good morning, Markhat. Her tone was tinged with amusement. I am glad to see you vigilant.

  The other Stitches, a good sixty feet away, continued poking at the ring with her glowing metal stick.

  “Nice trick,” I said, just mouthing the words behind my empty cup. “You’ll have to teach it to me, some day.”

  I have completed the adjustments to the device. But I wanted to speak with you. When I leave, an object will be left behind. Take it. Keep it on your person at all times. And speak of it to no one. Not your wife. Not Evis. No one.

  “If I ask what it is, are you going to answer or just vanish?”

  It will appear to be a tortoise shell, sealed with black wax.

  I damn nearly jumped out of my chair and into the Brown. I did put down my cup so no one would see my hand begin to shake.

  “You found one? A huldra?”

  No. This is only a crude replica. It will not withstand intense or prolonged scrutiny.

  “You said you lacked the skill to even create a simulacrum.”

  I did and I do. As I said, it will not withstand scrutiny. But it might buy you a few seconds. What you do with those few seconds is entirely up to you.

  “Stitches, what the hell are you trying to say?”

  But she was gone.

  And there, in the chair, was a small brown tortoise shell, sealed with old black wax.

  I didn’t pick it up. Fake or not, it was a perfect physical replica of the thing I’d grasped when I thought Darla dead. I’d taken it up, and I’d told it my true name, and it had burrowed its way down deep into my soul.

  I remembered the nights I’d walked with it. I’d grown, until I looked down upon Rannit, until clouds had literally soaked my face and hair. I’d seen things, on those night walks—seen the magic that Stitches and her kin wielded, hidden in folds of shadow that had been right there, all the time.

  I’d seen things, and heard things, and most of all, I’d felt the power.

  I’d killed while I walked with the huldra. I’d loosed my rage upon the guilty, and I’d torn them limb from limb, without pity or remorse or hesitation. I’d taken what I thought was my vengeance, and I’d loved it. Though in the end I’d crushed the huldra and walked away, a part of me had never forgotten the power, or the sweet, sweet taste of revenge, justly extracted, and furiously applied.

  The huldra had taken my name. It had nearly taken my soul. Darla alone brought me back from that dark abyss.

  As I recalled those walks, recalled the blood on my hands, I wondered if perhaps some brief shadows born of that abyss now dwelt in me.

  Chapter Eleven

  I wasn’t allowed to watch the Regent board.

  No one was, save perhaps Evis and Stitches and anyone they deemed necessary to the boarding process. Instead, all aboard were all asked to gather on the casino deck for a grand welcome. Free libations were mentioned, and within moments the stampede commenced, and the Queen’s outer decks were clear.

  I kept hold of Darla and allowed myself to b
e herded along. A band started playing, waiters and waitresses dispersed throughout the crowd, and Rannit’s Minister of Commerce harrumphed and mumbled his way through a magnificently dull speech.

  I knew when the Regent set foot on the Queen, though. The air rushed for a moment as a subtle but potent spell took hold. I saw a few faces turn this way and that, searching for the source of the sudden brief breeze.

  Darla squeezed my arm.

  “Was that?”

  “It was.” I grabbed a pair of long-stemmed wine glasses from a passing waiter. “Here. Might as well have a drink while we wait.”

  Darla took a sip. “Wait for what?”

  “Best time to cause trouble would be right now. Before everyone gets settled in, gets all their goodies unpacked.”

  She knew who “everyone” was.

  Half an hour crept by, second by agonizing second. The Minister of Commerce shuffled off the stage.

  The Queen’s stained glass windows went black. The casino was plunged into sudden darkness. Squeals and laughter rang out—none from me.

  Candles flared to life on every table. Above us, the massive hanging lights flickered, and a burst of music sounded. As the music swelled, the lights came quickly to life, and the Queen was filled with ethereal, dancing starlight.

  Evis himself took the stage, blinking in the sudden glare.

  “Lords and ladies, sirs and madams, captains of industry, heroes of the War,” he began, and his voice sounded easily over the music. “I welcome you aboard the jewel in Avalante’s crown—the Brown River Queen!”

  Applause drowned out even the most strident notes of the song.

  Darla was clapping, her display of enthusiasm somewhat hindered by the gun in her right hand and the wary look in her eyes.

  “As we welcome you to a new era of entertainment and luxury, I am proud to reveal that we are accompanied by a very special guest. For you travel with none other than the Regent himself, who has graciously agreed to make the Queen’s maiden voyage truly historic by lending us his presence.”

  The crowd clapped louder and faster, even as they exchanged shocked glances.

  “On behalf of House Avalante and the crew of the Queen, I bid you all welcome. And now, by order of the Regent himself, let us be underway, and let the celebration begin!”