by Steve Rzasa
Words came back to him, unbidden. Words he’d just read at the Saber’s Blade. Yes, Ifan had given his followers the ability to pull down the cythraul. But the rest of that passage returned to his mind…
“Even so, don’t get all excited about that,” Ifan told them. “Instead feel joy at the fact that your very names are typed out in eternity itself.”
Winch sighed. They were Ifan’s strengths to give, not his own. Had he presumed to tell Thel, the Allfather beyond Time, what to do?
They drove beneath the trestles, light interrupted by shadow briefly. Cope slowed the wagon as they approached the aerodrome, and that wretched white and green building. And speaking of wretched…
“Present your token!” The officious toad of an attendant stood stock still, his uniform finely pressed and wrinkle free. His hand extended like a flag.
Cope slowed even more. He guided the ’wagon right up to the attendant. “Good day, sir.”
“Good day. Your token.” The man held out his hands. “We must be careful. Peace Branch just sent us a warning that two young men are wanted for their crimes and may attempt…” His words trailed off, and his eyes bugged out of his head.
“Huh.” Cope slugged him across the jaw. The attendant spun in a half circle and collapsed into a tan heap. So much for the pressed and wrinkle-free uniform. Cope flipped the token out onto the unconscious attendant. “Number zero two nine one, right? There you are. Sleep well!”
Winch leaned back and made sure the motorwagon didn’t run over the poor sap. “Was that…?”
“Absolutely necessary? Yes.”
• • •
The aerodrome was as silent as when they’d arrived in Trestleway the other day. It was noon, and the midday sun gave the clouds of smoke and steam overhead a sickly yellow glow. Winch crept around the backside of the first hangar. Three TAB IV aeroplanes were parked against one wall. They were two-seaters with no adornment on their tan canvas fuselages save for the purple and black Trestleway flag. Cope’s Buzzard sat in the center of the hangar. Winch gritted his teeth. A trio of workers in grease-stained overalls were doing their blamedest to empty the fuel tanks using a hand-pump hooked with a black hose to the fuselage.
Cope spun his pistol. “Do you think you could make enough noise for me to get the drop on them? We need a diversion.”
“All right. Did you have anything in mind?”
A tremendous BANG and a sound like a long, rolling thunder cut off whatever requirements Cope wanted to voice. The workers went running from the hangar. Smoke billowed thickly across the mouth of the hangar, swallowing up the men as they ducked their heads.
Winch smiled at Cope. “Well, that’s helpful.”
“Huh. Not quite what I’d wagered on, but it will do nicely,” Cope said.
They hustled to the plane. “Did they get much of the fuel?” Winch ducked down by one wing, trying to present as small a target as possible. How long before those men returned?
Cope fussed over something farther back on the fuselage. “No, it doesn’t appear so. Glad they didn’t put any of that filth they call avo-gas here into my tanks. Do you know they don’t even mix their mastodon fats in the right proportion? How are you supposed to get an aeroplane’s flash steam engine purring? Talk about inept. Hang on, I’ll pump as much back in as I can manage. Keep a weather eye out.”
“I will.” Winch was glad he had the pistol he’d confiscated from one of the Peace Branch fellows. A figure in black and white burst through the smoke at the mouth of the hangar. Winch sighted down the barrel.
“Winch! Cope! Don’t shoot, gents!”
It was Oneyear. Winch exhaled. “Glad to see you. Though I think I should give you the same plea.”
Oneyear looked down at the Thundercloud Asp pistol he carried in one hand and the Trestleway militia carbine in the other. He grinned.
Jesca followed him. “We figured perhaps a distraction was in order, once we saw you arrive in your motorwagon.” She smiled. “And thought you’d approve, Cope.”
Cope grinned from ear to ear. He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips in gallant fashion. “Never thought I’d be as glad to see another explosion.”
Oneyear made a face like he’d found something crawling in his soup. “Another? Was that the smoke we saw…?”
“Never you mind for now.” Cope jerked a thumb at his aeroplane. “The fuel level’s all right. We caught a few trying to empty her. But unless you all know how to fly one of these other aeroplanes, we’ll be hard pressed to all fit in there.”
Jesca held onto Cope’s hand. “That won’t work, and you know it.”
“But lucky for you gents I know how to fly an aeroplane.” Oneyear walked over to the three TAB fighters. “Yes, one of these will do.”
“How good of a flier are you?” Cope crossed his arms. Winch recalled his fourth grade teacher, a particularly strict woman with a permanent scowl and similar demeanor.
“Well enough to get us out of here.”
“And I think I can manage the weaponry.” Jesca indicated the Keach gun secured to the rear seat.
“That’s a fine idea, if he can indeed fly it.” Cope didn’t sound convinced.
“Cope, this is the only way for all of us to get out of here.” Winch didn’t like this waiting around. He could hear men shouting outside, and a sharp hiss that sounded like spraying water. He prodded Cope. “Now let’s get a move on.”
Cope pointed a finger at Oneyear. “Get that plane started, and get it airborne.”
Oneyear got into the cockpit. With Jesca’s help, the engine cranked to life, coughed up a spurt of steam, and then wound into a healthy growl.
Jesca hurried back to Cope. She pulled him close this time. “Be careful. Fly safe.”
Cope tried on a grin, but it faltered. “Always do.”
She kissed him. Winch took advantage and tossed his and Cope’s rucksacks into the aeroplane. Bells rang not far away. Familiar bells. “Confound it! Cope, they’re here!”
The rumble of the TAB’s engine grew. Steam feathered in white wisps. Oneyear guided it slowly over toward them. “Didn’t think the Branch would get here so soon!” he shouted over the noise.
“They likely hurried when they saw your smoke cloud.” Winch turned his attention to Jesca and Cope. “Let’s get up there.”
Jesca ran to the TAB fighter and clambered up into the cockpit behind Oneyear. Cope mounted the wings of his Buzzard with ease and climbed behind the controls. Winch got into the aft cockpit and made sure he’d tucked the rucksack somewhere relatively safe. He struggled into his flight jacket. Come on, come on.
“Contact!” Cope yanked the cord. The Buzzard’s engine sputtered then roared to life. The prop dragged them forward.
Oneyear’s plane slid through the smoke onto the tarmac. It turned right, and Oneyear opened up with the forward Keach gun. The man had more bravery or stupidity than perhaps anyone he knew.
“Allfather protect you, Oneyear!”
“There won’t be one to take me from his hand, Winch!” Oneyear shouted. “Ifan save you!”
Ifan save them all. Winch waved to Jesca. She blew him a kiss.
“Let’s show Peace Branch how it’s done!” Cope shouted.
The wind shifted as they rolled free of the hangar, blowing smoke back toward the terminal building. Winch whistled low at the sight of two fuel sheds ablaze, the thick black clouds billowing skyward. Between the aeroplane and the fire were a row of three trucks.
“Skies above, I forgot!” Cope hurriedly rubbed his talisman as he guided the biplane onto the runway. “Winch! When I get her up, you be ready on your levers! Trestleway doesn’t put much stock in aerial defense, but I reckon we’ll see some pursuit!”
“Levers?” Winch searched frantically in the cockpit. Which ones? The ones stowed behind him? He hadn’t given them a second thought since they’d left Perch. His seat swiveled. Best if he strap in and get it steady.
Gunshots ripped through the tail of O
neyear’s TAB fighter. Beam, Taube, and several Branch officers fired their weapons. Beam had his right hand extended.
Suddenly the engine of Oneyear’s plane made an awful choking sound. Smoke spurted from the exhaust pipes. The steady hiss of steam sputtered out. “Cope! Do you see it?”
The Peace Branch men and accompanying militia turned their weapons on both aeroplanes, taking full advantage of the apparent malfunction on Oneyear’s craft. Winch ducked his head as bullets zinged by the cockpit. “We’ve got to stop him!”
He heard Cope hit something in the cockpit and a torrent of profanity pour out. “Winch, listen. Those levers?”
“What?”
“Turn your jo-fired seat around and grab the left one!”
Winch rotated the seat in a half circle and yanked down so hard on the lever he bruised his arm on the rim of his seat. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t the concealed hatch that split open or the well-oiled Keach gun that jerked up into his line of sight.
“You see the stick in the middle? That’s the swivel!” Cope yelled. “You turn that gun and fire with the right lever!”
“But we’re not pointed near the right way!”
“You let me worry on that one. Just shoot.”
Winch operated the levers with jerky motions that betrayed his anger. There was no way he’d sit idle and let that Cythramancer kill his newfound friends. The tail of the Buzzard swung aside, and Winch turned the gun, until those Branch officers were right there.
He gritted his teeth and cranked on the right lever.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD. The steady drumbeat of bullets rattled Winch’s body as the Keach gun spat shots into the hangar. Two Peace Branch men were thrown aside. Red burst into the air, a fine mist that exploded from their bodies. Horror filled Winch. He was going to be sick. But he let the rage burning in him overwhelm the disgust. It was his fuel.
He had to get Beam.
But even as he swung the gun, Captain Beam brought his hands up. Suddenly a strange circle or sphere of swirling, transparent light appeared. It covered the Branch officers and half the hangar entry. The bullets bounced and zinged off it.
No. Winch’s hands froze on the levers. It was the same thing Reardon Ray had done to Cope, only far worse on a grander scale. Beam’s impassive face shimmered behind the barrier. Nothing could stop him.
But something had stopped him before. Not at the bridge, but at the interrogation room.
Winch raised his eyes to the sky. “Thel, stop the enemy. Remove his power. Please, Allfather! Stop them!
The shimmering barrier remained intact. Cope glanced back over his shoulder. “Winch! Lay down more covering fire so we can get airborne!”
Ahead of them, Oneyear’s plane recovered from its engine trouble. The TAB hurtled down the runway and lifted into the air.
Cope’s aeroplane shuddered abruptly, like it hit a bump. Then it slowed almost to a halt. This despite the fact the engine roared and the prop was a blur.
“What in…?” Cope struggled with the controls.
Winch knew, though. The other cythramancers with Beam had their hands extended. The plane’s tires skidded on the tarmac, only in the wrong direction. Back toward the barrier.
“Ifan, save us!” Winch prayed. Why wouldn’t he eliminate the cythrauls’ power?
Something exploded in the hangar. Pieces of the metal and wood frame burst outward in a shower of razor-edged fragments. Beam flinched. The barrier flickered and disappeared. The other cythramancers turned, startled, and the Buzzard leapt forward down the runway.
“Hang on!” Cope yelled.
Even as the Buzzard bounced along the tarmac, something blew by them like a gust of wind in a winter’s storm. The force shoved the biplane sideways several feet. Cope shouted something harsh and managed to wrench the plane back onto its course.
Beam stood in the center of the runway, one hand extended, the other clenched at his side. He shouted something, anger twisting his face, and a ripple of shimmering light blasted through the air at them.
Winch gaped in horror. Great skies, it was nearly as big as the aeroplane! “Cope! Go left!”
Cope reacted without commentary. The light slammed by them and caught the corner of the right wings. Winch knocked his shoulder against the fuselage. He lost his grip on the Keach gun. More bullets pierced the fuselage.
“Come one, doll, hold steady!” Cope urged the plane onward even as they lurched toward the edge of the tarmac. “It would really help if you shot that man!”
Winch reached for the levers and hauled himself up. Had to get it aimed again. He sighted down the tarmac at Beam’s arm raised toward them.
Bullets kicked up slivers of tarmac. Beam and his men ducked for cover.
Oneyear’s TAB fighter came hurtling down from the sky. The Keach gun above the engine flashed and thundered. He soared down low over them, no more than thirty feet off the runway. As he passed, the rear gun opened fire. Winch caught a glimpse of red hair whirling in the cockpit, tossed by the wind.
Cope whooped. “Hah! Eat our exhaust, track-heads!”
The Peace Branch officers and militia managed to get back to their feet. Several men fired their carbines skyward. Winch wanted to shout a warning. It would do no good.
Holes peppered the fuselage of the TAB. They tracked forward into the front cockpit. Suddenly the plane tipped to one side and raced off on a new course. Away from the aerodrome.
And toward the ground.
“Cope! They’re hit!”
“What? No… No!” The Buzzard jumped off the runway and soared skyward. Cope put the plane into a dizzying bank that had Winch wondering which way was down. “Jesca!”
The plane soon righted. Winch wanted to jump from the cockpit. He had to do something. The TAB fighter spun out of control from the aerodrome toward a ditch at the side of the road. “Thel save them!”
At the last moment the plane’s nose tipped up. It looked like someone was trying to get it to straighten out, to land safely. But they failed. The plane slammed into the ground on its belly and came apart. Steam spurted from the engine.
Oneyear’s body went cartwheeling into the ditch. Black, white, and red.
“No!” Winch cried.
Cope flew them closer to the wreckage. There was so much smoke. “Let me land. Let me land. We can still get Jesca out. Oh, clouds above, Oneyear…”
Winch nodded. So far the militia and Peace Branch men still appeared to be regrouping. “Get us down to the road—”
The TAB exploded in a ball of fire.
“Jesca! No!” Cope put the plane into a dive. He brought it back around toward the crash site.
Winch couldn’t see anything among the wreckage save for burnt bits of the fuselage and wings. He had no idea where Jesca was in the flaming ruins. Oneyear’s body lay crumpled on the ground.
Winch clambered forward in his portion of the cockpit and grabbed Cope’s shoulders. He couldn’t believe they were both dead. “We have to go! There’s nothing to be done now. She didn’t want us killed. We have to get the photographs back to Perch!”
Cope’s shoulders heaved. Finally he wrenched the plane back around and gunned the engine fiercely. Winch flopped back into his seat.
It was eerily peaceful up there. The aerodrome was a miniature and could have been a toy set of buildings, save for the plumes of smoke and flame at one end. Winch tried to catch his breath. The TAB’s wreckage blazed in the distant ditch. Oneyear’s body was an unmoving blotch on the sage and dirt.
Just like a candle. Snuffed out. Oneyear and Jesca. Both gone.
He blinked back tears. No pursuit so far. No planes behind them. No matter. Cope had the throttle so maxed out that there was no way anything Trestleway had could catch them.
“They gave up their lives for us,” Winch said dully. He didn’t know if Cope could hear him.
“Where was your Thel then?” Cope snapped.
Friday
Captain Crittenden Beam was ready to kil
l.
Not that he was mad, mind. He was beyond anger. That rage had burned off when the aeroplane had taken off for Perch and the other one had crashed.
He stood still as a statue by the wreckage in the ditch. Smoke swirled around him. He didn’t cough. Smoke didn’t bother him.
“Sir?” Sergeant Taube held his hat over his face and coughed. The man looked worn out. There were dark circles under his eyes. When he removed the hatch, Beam could see his beard was striped through with soot. “We recovered the body of Oneyear Hines.”
“You don’t sound particularly happy with that, Taube.” Beam glanced over his shoulder. Two militiamen carried the body out of the ditch. Someone had draped a ripped canvas over the corpse. A dark stain soaked through.
“He was a good source of intelligence, sir.” Yes, Taube definitely sounded disappointed. And perhaps sympathetic. That needed to be quashed.
“He was a liar and a traitor,” Beam said softly. “You’d do best to remember that above all else, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
Beam stared into the raging fire of the crashed TAB biplane. This pursuit had cost him dearly, and not just in funds from his discretionary budget. Valuable information had left their city on that plane. “Are we pursuing the Sark brothers?”
Taube cleared his throat. Nervous? He should be. “We dispatched the other two TABs from the same hangar. But I don’t expect they’ll catch them. The top speed on that model of Hunt-Hawes Buzzard—”
“Far exceeds that of our own aerocraft.” Beam shook his head. “Nearsightedness and great pride have let us cede the technological edge to our tiny neighbor to the north.”
Taube was silent.
“It’s no matter. We already have evidence that they used a telegraphy office to send a covert message home.”
This time Taube swore.
“Yes, it is bad.” Beam wanted to paw through the wreckage of the plane himself. Instead, a pair of Peace Branch officers stood with the technicians from the hangar as they used poles to pry aside the ripped fuselage. A wing snapped and collapsed, sending a skirl of sparks into the blue sky. “Do you have some other concern, Taube?”