by Iain Lindsay
“Overseer,” Jekkers nodded, turning back to the Captain of the balloon, who was looking at both of them in unveiled disgust.
“You two done?” She said irritably, gesturing for them to follow her on board.
The City of Marduk
16. Water Landings & Ribs
Home. The words swam in Tal’s mind like a guiding light. It was a warm, comforting sort of word, but it was also shot through with melancholy and loss.
Home, Tal dreamt the familiar dream that he had every night aboard the Storm. He was swimming – or falling, he could never be sure – through a world of blues and soft greens. He was passing through veils of mist or water that were gossamer thin as he tumbled, soared, dove…
Where is home? He thought, his mind trying to find the right current, the right direction – but it was too confusing. There was no clear breeze directing him one way or another.
The light pulsed, and instead, he saw that there was a deeper shadow in the airs, a wedge of dark midnight-blue moving underneath him. It was vast and tear-drop shaped, like the body of an airship – only this was no airship. As Tal floated towards it, caught up in its wake, he saw the shadow bend and move, turning on its middle to spin massive fins like a deep-sea creature. It was huge, and it slid past him as if he were of no more consequence then a shrimp…
Who are you, to share my dream? The words spoken were as strong as the words in his own head, the words he had thought were his own thoughts until they were thrown back at him, not from him…
“Uh!” Talin jerked awoke to a pounding head, with his ears full of the sound of a sighing sea and endless blue. For some reason he felt melancholy, and the sort of fear that grips your belly every time that you climb out further than you have ever been before: a fear of natural calamities and storms and disasters, and the awareness that, if you slipped, then there would be nothing you could do to save yourself. “Just a nightmare,” he murmured groggily.
But then, before he could hold onto the fragments of his watery dreams, the pound of an almighty headache turned his world inside out. The Iron Rum had indeed been strong last night.
“Oh my ancestors…” Talin rushed out of his room, to be violently sick once more. When he had finally undone any goodness that the Chef’s food had put in him, he looked up over the side and past Odestin’s pained laughter at his misery, to see that they had arrived.
A city lay in front of them.
Marduk lay on one side of an estuary that emptied out into a dirty bay. The city sprawled like a three-time drunk, fat in places with clustered, flat-roofed buildings that stood only two or three stories high, and in others a pocked mess of walls and shacks. On the far side of the sluggish river sat marshy reed beds with odd, geometric sections missing as workers cut them down for building and fuel. Smoke rose over the city like fingers, and even hanging far above the scene, the crew of the Storm could hear the distant chatter of shouts and noises of a bustling city.
But none of these things were the most eye-catching of what stood in front of them. That accolade belonged to the high curving ribs that struck out from the estuary mouth, the river, and the shallow waters of the near bay beyond. The ribcages were of varying sizes, some being no bigger than a house, but the Storm could have comfortably flown through the largest with ease. Tal saw that the ribs nearest the city even had rope bridges and tattered, rotting banners hanging from their calcium.
“Welcome to the nefarious, cheating, stinking sack of a city called Marduk, airman Tal,” Odestin grinned as he once again sopped his red kerchief in one of the rainwater buts and tied it around his aching head.
Tal wasn’t in as bad a condition as the First Mate, but he shared his pain. “What were they?” He gestured to the rib cages that soared over the cityscape.
“Sweet Waters knows, son,” Odestin grumbled. “Some bloody ‘orrible pod of sea nasties swam up from the Abyss, I reckon, and forgot that the World Islands were up here now.” The man pulled a face, and hawked a spit over the side. “Ugh. I need a drink.” He grumbled, but his wishes went unanswered as the Captain emerged on deck, and looked dressed to entertain royalty with a fine black cloak with red trim, clean shirt and his usual buckled waistcoat with brass buttons gleaming, and his knee-length boots that shone in the sun. To this repertoire had been added a large-brimmed felt hat with a singular blue feather attached.
“There she sits, crew. But keep your wits about you as I want everyone back on the Storm by tonight.”
“One day?” Odestin spluttered. “Cap’ please, give a fella a break here!” The First Mate turned to Gulbrand on the side of the prow for help. “Quartermaster, c’mon!”
Gulbrand grunted and cracked his shoulders, giving his captain a stern look. “It’d be wise to let the crew have a bit of time, after the journey we’ve had.” The Quartermaster, in his official role as spokesperson for the crew advised.
“Fine.” Tremaine looked distracted, tugging on a pair of finely-tooled brown suede gloves. “Tomorrow morning then, but I need that starboard fan fixed and ready to fly when we lift off.”
“Pay?” The heimr added seriously.
“When we sell the silk.” Tremaine said.
“A day and a night,” Odestin sighed miserably, but still returned with “Aye Cap’n sir. Fixed and shipshape by tomorrow morning.” He shook his head miserably as he turned back to the youngest of their crew. “Sorry Tal, looks like I can only get to show you half of the best establishments in Marduk. You got any coin on you?”
The youth thought of the gold medallion snugged into his belt. The medallion that had frozen when near the Boreal Chamber. I do, but I’m not going to spend it. Not yet, anyway. He shook his head.
“Great. So I’m shouting you your first night in an inn too, am I?” Odestin couldn’t look more put out at the imposition.
“Ah.” The Quartermaster growled. “I want Talin with me.” Gulbrand shot a dark look at the Captain. “We have business to do, and the lad’s gotta learn some time.”
“Ha. Poor sucker,” Odestin patted Talin’s shoulder in commiseration, but the youth didn’t find that he minded. To Talin, the very idea of being a freeman in a city – even if he had work to perform – felt intoxicating. The things he would see, the stalls, the people, the languages that weren’t made up of ‘filthy Nhka’ or ‘do that now, or else!’
“Water landing, ladies and groats!” the Quartermaster barked, causing another groan from the much harried Odestin.
Talin had obviously never performed a water landing in an airship. In fact, he had never even seen open water before. There was so much of it, he thought where he crouched on the port side of the Storm. “Tal? Get that port air fan reefed tight.” the Quartermaster shouted, waking him from his reverie.
Odestin had showed him which pulley to work which ‘unlocked’ the mechanism, and then it was a simple matter to climber in through the porthole hatch to the lower deck, where it could be turned. It was stiff, but he heard a grinding as the metal cogs bit, and then a sudden wobble as the Storm lost a good measure of its maneuverability. Tal kept turning, seeing the struts of the working fan fold back in on themselves as delicately as an insect’s wings, before finally sitting snug against the boat.
“Tie her off, Tal!” the Quartermaster’s shout, and then it was back out the porthole (wind whipping at his hair and clothes) to lay knots and ties over the structure and back to the pulley to ‘lock’ her again. It was tiresome work, and by the time that he raised his head again the city was no longer below them, but was all around them.
They had descended to the level of the rooftops, aiming straight down the wide and sluggish river as geese and stranger looking birds with long beaks and long legs startled up from the reeds.
“Nice and steady now Lura,” Gulbrand called. The Rigger was up top, adjusting the sails to catch the wind, but also to gradually ease them up to decrease their speed. Without either of the side fans deployed, their descent was being guided by just the rudder fan and the ti
ght management of sail and wind.
The Storm shook on the breeze, with both Odestin and Tal helping on the ropes at deck level, bracing themselves against the railings and heaving the complicated lines. Square buildings made of mudbrick, built atop and next to each other flashed past, forming crazy labyrinthine avenues and plazas. Tal heard voices shout, dogs bark, and smelt cook fires.
They were aiming straight for the arches of the largest set of ribs in the river waters.
“Topsails only! Heave-to!” Gulbrand was shouting, and Lura reacted instantly, snatching the ropes and jumping from the mainmast top beam for her body weight to pull the main lateens closed. Tal watched as she swung to the mast body, catching it expertly before climbing back up to secure the ties.
The Storm dropped from the sky, her bowsprit still high and cutting through the air as she hit water. A great plume from either side like a landing swan, and the boat was shaking and bobbing. Tal felt the wood under his feet tremble with the pressure of the new substance, and then a stunned feeling rose inside of him.
Home. It was a thought that belonged in his dreams, not in his waking life, as an emotion not of melancholic homesickness washed over the youth – but instead one of relief and return.
“Tal? Tal – you alright?” Odestin was calling from the other side of the boat, looking at the youth who had dropped his rope and had fallen to his knees.
Talin felt like he could weep with joy, although he didn’t know why. This was where I was meant to be. The dream-words reverberated in his skull, before they receded, leaving him basking in their absence.
“Tal! Get that line secured!” Gulbrand was roaring, as the youth shook his head, realizing that the medallion snugged against his hip was radiating cold, before returning to its more usual, strange warmth.
Was it…? Talin had the uncomfortable feeling that it was from the medallion that the strange feelings and words had come from. But how was that possible?
“Odestin – help him out.” The Quartermaster was heaving at the wheel under the new pressures of the waves, directing the fast-moving Storm straight down the clear channel, as the two ribs swung overhead, with sea birds chattering from their surface.
Tal got to his feet as Odestin appeared at his side, tying down the ropes that he should have, throwing him an annoyed look. “Sorry, I must have lost my balance” Talin moved to finish the job.
“Just stand sharp, lad. First mistake’s free, but the next…” Odestin grumbled, before returning to his own line.
“Hull!” The Quartermaster called, and there were two loud thumps from below decks.
“Sound! All holding.” The voice of Sevesti called up the stairs, and it was only then that the Quartermaster visibly relaxed and let out a heavy sigh.
“We’re down and sailing in the wet now, scrubs.” He called, and there was an answering hoot from Odestin, Sevesti, and Lura. They had done it. They had finally arrived at Marduk after storms, piracy, riots, and escaping the Protectorate.
The actual business of docking was no less complicated than the water-landing had been, it seemed to Talin. They once more had to unfurl the fore sails to help them turn, before lowering their anchor so that it dragged through the silty waters but didn’t catch the mud of the bottom in order to slow them down, before they could negotiate a place at the stone docks and wooden piers. They sailed sedately past the larger, finer docks, instead sailing almost to the very mouth of the estuary before they found a pier that the heimr liked the look of. Far behind them were a couple other airships with their side-mounted fans reefed tight, like the ruffled wings of wetland birds. Tal watched as the Quartermaster gave them enough open water straight out in front of them to the next set of ribbed-arches, so that they could pull away without the use of complicated rudder work.
The main anchor was now let down all the way to sink into the mud, and then the smaller fore anchor was let down to stop them from swinging around in the current. The sails were all reefed and tied, and every porthole, doorway and hatch they weren’t using had to be bolted from the inside – and then began the work of hauling up the cargo that the Captain intended to sell.
If Talin had been worried that the merchants would baulk at the clearly stolen silks, marked with another ship’s mark and the Izantine royal seal no less, then he now saw that not one of the hurrying carts and barrow-urchins seemed to care. A ragtag collection of people had raced up the long pier as soon as it became clear which one the Storm had chosen, and now clamored from the wooden decking.
“Merchant Burandin’ll get you good prices.”
“Spices and Foodstuffs”
“Blue Princes. All items. Blue Princes.”
Each cart, wagon, or urchin with a bag was working for another merchant, and seeking to secure the trade over the others. Tal watched as a minor scuffle broke out between the delegation of Blue Prince boys and the Merchant Burandin’s. They look like I did at the Reach, he thought. Desperate.
“Shhh – witchling.” He heard one of the larger boys hiss to another, and Talin watched as he threw a hand-sign to avert the evil eye. Talin followed their gaze to where Lura stood beside him. She raised her chin just slightly, not betraying any emotion to the ignorant below, but behind them he heard her tail thump against the deck. Talin felt suddenly shocked and angry on the Rigger’s behalf, he hadn’t thought that the other races of the World Islands could be treated with the same mistrust as the Nhkari were. Maybe that is why she elected to sponsor me, he realized. He glared at the boys.
“Ignore them, Tal. I do.” Lura clenched her teeth, and turned back to stalk from the rails.
“Mind you purse and keep your dagger close,” Odestin interrupted Tal’s anger as the blackbeard heaved himself over the side, to start looping the heavy ropes to the mooring stanchions. He was pestered by the would-be traders of course, but he ignored them with the air of someone who had done this sort of thing a hundred times before.
“You ready, Tal?” The Quartermaster joined him at the edge of the railing. The heimr still wore his linen shirt, but he had added a sleeveless hauberk of part-chain over the top, and thick gauntlets over his blue scaled fists. At his hip was a satchel with a lock, and strapped to his back was his heavy war maul. The troll looked the Nhkari youth up and down.
“Huh,” he grunted, fumbling at his belt to pull out a long knife with a green gem at its scabbard. “Take this. Just to be safe.”
“I got my rope-knife,” Tal gestured to the small, curving blade that he had on his harness that he had used to sever the Her Grace’s anchor rope.
“I would feel better if you were standing at my back with a real blade, Tal.” The heimr pushed the weapon into his hands and waited for him to attach it to his harness.
“Where are we going?” Tal said. Behind them sat the – very small – mound of silks and grains that Tal, Lura, and Odestin had heaved from the lower decks.
“Who’ve they called?” the Quartermaster totaled up their trade.
“Sileesha, Blue Princes, Burandin…” Tal recalled.
“Sileesha I’ve never heard of. I wouldn’t trust the Blue Princes if I was on fire, and so that leaves good old Burandin. Again.” The Quartermaster turned and bellowed out the name that the Storm wished to trade with. The scuffles and recriminations grew even more intense, but in the end, the others hurried away to try their luck on other piers, leaving just the collection of children and their hand carts from the Merchant Burandin.
“We get these loaded up, and then they take us to the Merchant’s House, and…” Gulbrand explained, as another shape rattled along the wood towards them.
It was not a cart or a barrow or a set of urchins, but instead a full two-horse carriage painted black, and with delicate plum-colored curtains over the windows.
“Oh, hells. Here she comes.” Gulbrand groaned.
Here who comes, Tal thought.
As if summoned by magic, their Captain appeared from his state room in his fineries, now even with a dueling sabre in
a red scabbard hanging from his belt. He looked harried and annoyed as he moved to the gunwale.
“Have you seen her?” He whispered to his Quartermaster.
“Not yet, thank the gods,” Gulbrand said, not that the Captain appeared to notice. He only had eyes on the black carriage as it came to a stop, the driver a portly looking man with a short cap. Tal watched the carriage door open, and outstepped a woman.
Not a woman, a Lady, he corrected himself. She was fine-boned and pale-skinned, with mountains of russet-brown hair under a small, jaunty red hat. A black lace veil fell to half-cover her face, but all it did was make her look shadowed. She wore a purple-blue gown in panels, with trims of red under-dresses and lace at the cuffs. A cream cravat adorned her throat. The lady stepped down from the carriage, and in her hands, she twirled a fine black rod, too small for a cane, but too large for any other use.
“Joselyn!” her voice rose from the docks.
“Rathine,” the Captain said, his hands gripping the railing. There was no greeting in either of their tones, more of a declaration that they had indeed seen each other.
“Who’s that?” Tal whispered to the Quartermaster, but the heimr was pretending not to notice anything that was going on, instead brushing at the railing in front of him with one gauntleted finger.
“What a pleasure it was to hear that the Storm was seen heading for Marduk.” The lady Rathine announced, in a tone that Tal was certain had nothing to do with pleasure at all.
“I was thinking of staying on board, or Nockett Street has some very nice inns…” The Captain was starting to say, before the woman swished the fine rod in the air.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jos’.” She turned without a word, heading back into the carriage as the Captain flushed a deep, embarrassed red, and started to climb over the side.
“Don’t do it, Captain…” the Quartermaster muttered, earning a furious scowl from the descending Captain. After his boots had hit the deck, he bowled a little in that way that air and sea crews do after a long time away from solid land, but still hurried to the waiting door, to disappear inside. The portly driver clicked to his horses, turning the carriage around and clattered back up the pier.