by R J Theodore
Tisker ran for the wheelhouse. Dug cut through the bindings on Sophie’s wrists and handed her his blade since she’d returned from The Rose with empty sheaths. Dug always wore more than one. He ran forward along the starboard railing, severing the lines that tethered them to the Imperial ship. Sophie slipped the blade beneath her belt and dug in the large pocket over her thigh as she approached her captain.
Talis tried not to think about how close they might have come to losing Sophie. Her shoulders knotted up and she felt the burn of anger in her cheeks. She wanted to lash out, as if a swing of her arms could bat The Serpent Rose out of the skies.
The deck moved under her feet. A small shift. She knew Tisker wanted to be out of there as fast as she did, but he made it look casual. Good man. Don’t let them see you sweat. She wiped her brow on the back of her jacket sleeve. Try not to, anyway.
She cuffed Sophie on her uninjured cheek.
“Took your time,” Talis said.
“Had to pace it for effect, you know,” Sophie said, and slipped two objects into Talis’s hand.
Talis lifted the prizes up and grinned wide enough to expose her gold-capped canine tooth. A heavy bolt, as big around as her wrist, and a cannon fuse. Souvenirs from The Serpent Rose. Then the little imp hurried aft to help Dug cast off the last of the lines tethering Wind Sabre to the Imperial ship.
Talis strode back to the starboard railing, enjoying the moment. The consequences were coming, she knew. A man like Hankirk didn’t let an insult like that stand without an answer. But for now she could breathe again. Even if she couldn’t quite get the muscles of her jaw to unlock.
Wind Sabre leaned away from her would-be captor, her turbines chuffing, her engine purring, and her lift system hissing.
Across the widening distance, Hankirk’s order to pursue them sounded small and hollow.
Talis finally unclenched her teeth. “Push ’em, Tisker. They’re about to move.”
“They’ll try to, anyway,” Sophie said, and adjusted the navline while she watched the other ship with interest.
There was a coughing rumble. The Serpent Rose lurched. Then the hull shuddered. Talis winced involuntarily as the engine screeched a death rattle that would give a ship’s mechanic nightmares. Sophie pressed her lips together, leaning forward over the rail. The Rose’s aft port engine puffed gray smoke, and then it began to bleed oil from its joins.
Talis saw Hankirk turn to yell at his crew, and saw a confused gunman report their missing fuses. Then the Imperial captain pushed past the man in a pantomime of irritation, pulled the rifle out of someone’s hands and brought it to bear on Wind Sabre. The other riflemen did the same.
Wind Sabre was pulling ahead, but they still weren’t out of range. Talis ducked as she saw the rifle pull in Hankirk’s hands, saw the puff of smoke the same instant a bullet cracked the wood of the great cabin’s door behind her. Another mark on the tally. He could afford to buy her a new door.
The impulse to return fire was strong, but with the four of them on deck they’d be out of range before they could bring their cannons to bear.
The whizz and thwup sounded as Hankirk’s men started their volley. One bullet pierced the lower half of their lift envelope, and Talis grit her teeth.
“Push it,” she said to Tisker. Never mind a confident casual retreat; she hated patching canvas.
“Hankirk’s ordering them to cease fire,” Dug said, the scope to his eye.
The timbre of Hankirk’s voice was barely audible as he shouted at his crew, and the words were too tousled by the wind to hear.
Sophie squinted across the distance. “Why?”
“Save bullets? I don’t know. You prefer they shoot us and hit the top of the envelope, or the turbines?” Talis asked.
“I prefer they behave like I expect them to behave, Captain.”
“For good reason. But let’s say we take the only victory the day gave us, Soph.”
Talis stood at the stern railing as Wind Sabre lifted up and slid away. She knuckled her brow cheerfully at Hankirk, who turned away in disgust. She didn’t feel that cheer, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. And it wasn’t like being humble would stop him from hunting her down at this point. When Wind Sabre’s sails were unfurled to catch the slip winds, and The Serpent Rose still hadn’t made any progress toward pursuing them, she went below to reheat the rest of that pot of coffee.
Chapter 6
The slips carried them well away from where they’d left The Serpent Rose with hobbled props, impotent cannons, and toasted lift lines.
That evening, they grappled Wind Sabre behind a small island with the stars to their back so they could get a meal in and maybe let their hearts slow their pounding. They might have stayed on the move and rotated duty at the wheel, but as a group they’d decided their little ordeal called for a sit-down meal and a platter of Tisker’s famous glazed beef. It was a true bachelor’s recipe: rehydrated strips of jerky drenched in a bourbon reduction and served with spicy sautéed peppers. He steamed shredded cabbage and added the last of the ship’s butter, with Talis’s blessing. Comforting, quick, and satisfying. They ate at the table in Talis’s cabin, with a brass cylinder spinning cheerful pipe music from the alcove opposite her bunk. They’d all but licked their plates clean and were leaning back in the worn wooden chairs. Talis had relaxed enough to join in the laughter over Hankirk’s last furious expression as they made way.
But as Tisker brought in a round of coffees to finish off the meal, Dug brought up the topic that had been lurking in their minds all evening. “So there was no contract, then,” he said.
They’d kept the discussion off it until now. Sophie had recounted her solo adventure sneaking aboard The Serpent Rose to sabotage their engines and, after, they got her going on the subject of how the alien ship propelled itself or stayed aloft. But the contract had been peeking between the pauses of conversation all through dinner. Their bruises, and the wince from Sophie as each careful bite of her food crossed her split lip, were persistent reminders.
Everyone shifted in their chairs as Tisker distributed the hot mugs, and it seemed as though the heaviness of their predicament settled as extra weight on the protesting furniture.
Talis upended the velvet bag, retrieved from the hidden compartment in the back of the galley’s ice box, dumping the ring out onto the table. It spun, wobbling on the rough edges of its chipped surface, then settled to a stop with one of the pearl cabochons facing her. Glowing softly under the half-lit chandelier, its milky white surface stared up like a blind eye. Talis had the uncomfortable sensation that it was waiting for an answer as much as her crew was.
She leaned forward with her chin cupped in her hands and stared back at it.
“No contract,” she agreed. “So much for your captain’s business instincts.”
“You trusted Jasper on his word,” said Tisker, quick to defend her. Even from herself. “Normally that’s good as guaranteed.”
She gave him a brief, unconvinced smile.
“It will be guaranteed again after I’ve had a word with him,” she said, brooding into her coffee.
“We should move on.” Dug sat just outside the halo of the chandelier’s soft candlelight. His height forced him back from the table to avoid tangling his legs with everyone else’s. “It was a waste of resources to go down there.”
Talis took a deep breath. Dug was a fighter, not a trader. And now he was slipping into one of his moods. She didn’t appreciate the comment, but knew he’d eventually lapse into silence. It was easier to argue with him while he was still talking.
“I’m not so quick to abandon the ring,” she said. “He might not be planning to pay, but it’s clear Hankirk still wants it. Likelier than not, someone else will buy it. If not at Subrosa, then in other undercities.”
Across the table, Sophie tucked one arm under the other, and used her
knife to trace a pattern in the sauce remaining on her plate. “We can’t get much farther than Subrosa, Captain. That worn bi-clutch is going to leave us stranded if we push it more than that. Might not even get us that far. You promised me we’d replace it next stop.”
“We’ve gotta sell the ring, Soph, if we’re going to buy any new—”
“Then we’d better hope it sells at Subrosa.” Sophie’s chin went up, defiant. Her look was rebellious, made even more so by the angry purple bruise across the arch of her cheek. The imp didn’t back down when it came to the airship’s two steam-powered engines and their needs. “You put off this repair too long already.”
“To buy that descent gear, which opened up all kinds of new business for us.” Talis had already had this argument once with Sophie, and that had been back when the salvage job seemed like it would be a clean break. She hadn’t forgotten what she promised. There were, in fact, a number of promises riding on this job. She didn’t welcome having it shoved back in her face paired with a ‘told you so.’
“Not if we can’t sell what we dredge up.” Sophie still leaned back in her chair, but what had been a relaxed gesture before was now stiff and sullen. “Captain.”
Talis looked at her, hard. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She appreciated the care Sophie gave to her duties, but there had always been those moments that made it clear Sophie’s respect for Talis’s commands came in second, behind what the young girl thought was best for the ship. That was a good thing, most days. Didn’t have to worry if the engines might need a new gasket or a viscfluid change because, sure as salt, Sophie would tell her. Not something Talis was in the mood to deal with now, though. Not when she knew she was already on unsteady standing with the crew for the failure of the ‘sure thing’ contract that had nearly gotten them blown out of the skies.
That was another thing prickling her skull. Dug had gotten them deep in the blood of Hankirk’s men, but The Serpent Rose hadn’t perforated their lift envelope when they had the chance. Nothing about the day felt right. She took a sip from her coffee but kept her eyes on Sophie.
“We’ll sell it,” Tisker said with a confident smile, trying to cut the tension.
Sophie dropped the knife on her plate, letting it clatter, and re-crossed her arms. She glared back at Talis. Tisker’s charm wasn’t wearing down her arguments. She gave no indication that she had even heard him.
Talis turned to Dug, wanting to say something about the interaction with Hankirk. The prickle overrode her concerns about Sophie’s tired objections. The situation was upside-down, or at least sideways. She was missing something, something that should be obvious, like a familiar word that fails to come to the tongue when summoned.
But Dug thought she was still looking for an answer on whether to pursue the ring’s sale. “They hired a ship outfitted with the descent gear for the job. The number on that contract could have been anything, so long as it was high enough to tempt the risk on the salvage. They intended to capture us the moment the ring was pulled up on deck.”
Talis felt a pressure behind her brow as her temper flared. They had a treasure on the table in front of them. Nothing that ugly got so much attention for being worthless.
Before she measured the words, she said, “Like you intended to kill imperial officers as soon as you saw their bow point our way?”
Dug stared at her now, too. His defiant gaze joined Sophie’s on the opposite side of the table from Talis and Tisker. Like a wall going up in the middle of her cabin.
The cylinder ran out of music and everything went quiet, save for the rhythmic thrumming of Wind Sabre’s engines, and the creak of the lines tethering them to the lift balloon above. Those were the heartbeats of the ship, omnipresent when underway. Talis stopped herself from saying anything else. Tisker sensed the quiet power struggle and had the sense to keep his mouth shut. The silence formed into something solid enough that she felt it press in on her eardrums and her temples. Before her first mate stopped arguing, she could usually figure a way to placate him, soothe his anger and restore peace. Not this time.
He wasn’t getting away with ignoring her orders, whether stated or implied. Sure, she may have twitched as Hankirk provoked her, and the reckless part of her mind had been glad of the chance to smash his self-righteous smirk into the deck. But it was Dug who’d dropped his decorum and plunged them into a bloody fricassee with the gods-rotted Imperial service. He was her best friend, but he still called her Captain often as not, and she’d make him mark that title.
If she could browbeat Dug, Sophie might back down, too. Talis let her vision tunnel on him, watching the muscles move at the side of his jaw. Clenched, like he was clamping down on his own temper. A vein pulsed on his high forehead. The edges of her vision went dark and a headache started above her eyes, as though the willpower she was directing at him was a living thing trying to hatch from an egg. No chick—not a bird at all. A raptor, born with clawed talons and a hungry mouth ringed with pointed teeth.
Finally, Dug’s nostrils flared with a deep inhale. Something in his posture softened, and her friend was back. He nodded—a slight twitch in the angle of his neck—and finished his coffee, tilting back his head to break eye contact. The insolence was gone out of him. For the moment, anyhow.
“Besides,” she said, satisfied, returning to the point Dug had been trying to make as though they’d only paused to sip from their cups. “A setup doesn’t mean the ring isn’t worth having.”
Chapter 7
Talis didn’t press the issue of Dug’s violent carelessness any further. It was done. She knew they’d have to balance that scale with Hankirk and his crew someday. For her own crew and ship affairs, all she’d needed was to point out his own misjudgments. Looked like the message was received.
Blood still up, Talis was tempted to go to the cabinet for something stronger than coffee, but while they were still on the subject of the ring, she wasn’t about to have her wits addled. This was an argument that she intended to win. Sure, she had the same doubts as Dug about their ability to sell the thing. But that was something she couldn’t afford to admit, even to herself. Their cargo hold was empty, and their ship did need that blasted engine component before they could take another contract. Sophie didn’t have to remind her; it had been on her mind. She needed to make this a quick sale, and without too much loss. Maybe half price would be enough to get the ugly thing off her ship and let them move on with their lives. Placate the crew, put this behind them.
Tisker tucked a toothpick into the side of his mouth and spoke around it. “Right, why bother sending us after the ring at all if it’s worthless? There are other ways to entrap us that are faster and less involved. Maybe they wanted to make an arrest, but I agree with Cap. They wanted that trinket in the bargain. We’ll find a buyer.”
Sophie frowned. With Dug off the hunt, she was alone in her defiance of their captain. She was a smart girl. She knew those odds for what they were. “Not flashy enough to sell just anywhere, is it?”
The signet ring’s pewter surface was scratched and abused, but Talis could see raised motifs swirling around the bezel and halfway down the shanks of the band. It had probably been a handsome thing when it was made, but it was old enough that those days were long forgotten. The pearl cabochons to either side of the raised seal were chipped and wobbled in their settings like loose teeth. The center was worn at the edges, obscured by a dent in its surface that made it look like it had been assaulted with a chisel, so that the design was illegible. Sized for a large hand, the band was wide and solid. In contrast, its inside surface was barely damaged at all. As though it had been handled roughly but almost never worn.
The ring sat, silent, between them, refusing to divulge its secrets. Talis still felt like it was watching her.
She leaned both elbows on the table and cradled her forehead against the heels of her palms. No doubt the ring was ancient. Maybe pre-Cataclysm.
On the other hand, The Emerald Empress was nowhere near that old. From her captain’s uniform and the style of her winches, fittings, and lift system, Talis would wager the airship sank only a decade ago, no more than two. So maybe that captain had found the ring, and it had gotten lost again when they went down. But who sent them down? And how did Talis keep her own ship from sharing that fate?
“How did Hankirk come to know of it?” Dug produced a knife from one of the folds of his loose pants, and pushed its tip against the pads of his fingers. The skin paled at the pressure, but he knew what he was doing, and the flesh didn’t break.
Talis’s mind took a moment to come back to the conversation, and for a moment she thought Dug was asking about The Emerald Empress. She frowned, dredging up half-forgotten memories for the second time since Hankirk stepped onto her deck. He had been in her graduating class at the Imperial academy before she’d decided on a different career path. He was smart. Quick, mentally and physically. They might have been friends if they’d had a touch more in common, or if they hadn’t both been so competitive. They had dabbled in dating, but that relationship quickly reached its nadir. He always triggered her alarm bells when he’d talk about—
“Oh hells.” Talis sat up straight in her chair.
“What?” Sophie stiffened as though Talis’s curse had been a gunshot.
All three of them looked at her in confusion.
“That absolute bastard.”
“You’re just figuring this?” Tisker cocked a smile at her. “Thought you said you knew him.”
She ignored him as her mind furiously worked it out. “I’ve been sitting here feeling like I was missing something all night, and by The Five, I’ve got it now. Our man Hankirk grew up in the capital, privilege-fluffed, his career all rolled out for him like a carpet before the empress. Look at him. He’s already an Imperial captain, and The Serpent Rose is no insignificant ship. It’s barely been in the skies long enough to require a polish.”