by Steve Rzasa
“I’d wager.” Gil cleared his throat. “But she’s not concerned like that. Now, shoo. You won’t be any use to me here if you’re moping. I need you good and cleared up for later.”
“Later?”
Gil looked suddenly solemn. “For whenever this invasion begins.”
• • •
Home was unchanged.
Winch stood on the front step, marveling at the familiarity. The frosted pane of the door, the trees lining Pine Street, the greenhouses sprawled out beside the house. A light glowed warmly behind the cotton curtains of the parlor. Someone was awake.
The sun had not yet risen. The sky was still deep blue, with a hint of purple and pink just beyond the mountains. It was bitter cold, colder than usual. Winch clutched the collar of his coat. He opened the door slowly.
It was quiet inside. He closed the door. The stairs before him were dark. Wood creaked upstairs. One of the children shifting in their beds, perhaps. Winch turned the corner into the parlor.
Lysanne sat on the red cushions of the window seat curving around the bay window facing Pine Street. She looked up from the thick book set in her lap. “Hello.”
“Good morning.” He couldn’t detect any malice in her greeting.
Winch crossed the parlor, taking care not to stomp on the wood floor or bump into the sofa or Lysanne’s grandmother’s rocking chair. The walls out here were papered simply in a pale blue pattern. His favorite painting—a dirigible over a stormy sea—hung on the wall to his left. It reminded him of growing up at Przystan, on the western coast of Galderica. The vent box on the wall to his right made a clinking sound as warm air from the steam furnace in the basement blew into the room. “We should shut that off for the season.”
“Soon. But it was so dreadfully cold when I awoke.” Lysanne folded her hands across the book. She wore a dark blue robe over her nightgown. Her hair hung loose at her shoulders. “How did the special edition turn out?”
Winch tried not to grin like a schoolboy. He leaned in and kissed her. “As well as can be expected for the pinch of the game. Your interview turned out well.”
“Yes, well, Gil was insistent I provide an eyewitness account,” Lysanne said dryly.
“What’ve you been reading?”
“The Caudex.”
Winch felt a pang of guilt. He’d forgotten to read last night before he’d rushed off to the Advocate office. “Which portion?”
“The Book of Insight. The fourth chapter, the one that starts off speaking of being ‘quick to hear and slow to declare.’ I figured it was appropriate.” Lysanne’s eyes bored into him.
Winch sighed. He plunked down on the window seat beside her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more about what we did at Trestleway. But you had nothing to fear from Jesca.”
“I wasn’t afraid, Winch. I was upset.” Her expression hardened. “Upset that this city was under attack, that our children could have been in peril, and you were off on your adventure with a woman I didn’t know.”
“She was the mayor-general’s niece, and our job was to contact her to find this intelligence concerning Trestleway.” Winch didn’t like what she was insinuating.
“Then tell me what she was to you.” Lysanne’s words were short and blunt. “I saw the expression on your face when you said she was dead. You…you miss her.”
“Yes. But only as a friend lost.” Winch leaned his head back against the wall. It was true: Jesca had been beautiful. He pushed that thought aside. The clock on the wall near the hallway tick-tocked loudly in the silent house. “It’s Cope who went and got his heart broken. I’ve never seen him like this, Lysanne. He didn’t say a word to me on that whole flight. Did you know that? Hours with nothing but the drone of his aeroplane’s engine.”
Lysanne put her hand on his leg. She smiled sadly. “I did notice him knock the mayor-general on the tarmac, yes.”
“You never doubted me, did you?”
“No. But you can’t blame a girl for her imagination.” Lysanne arched an eyebrow. “We do know how much trouble you can be.”
Winch smiled. She slid closer to him and he put his arm across her shoulders. “Jesca was a fascinating woman. Those are few and far between. But you, dear, are my partner and my love. There’s none like you.”
Lysanne kissed him. “I thought as much.”
“I thought I’d never see you again. You or the children.” Dark images cascaded through his mind, like a flip book. “People tried to kill me. And…I may have shot a man. I don’t know. The Peace Branch told me I did.”
“They tried to kill you, though. They could be lying.”
“I don’t know. I prayed for forgiveness.”
“And you know Thel will give that to you.” Lysanne brushed her hand under his chin. “Something else is different about you…”
“Fear, Lysanne.” Winch reached over for the Caudex. “His Writ is true. We know that, of course. But for the first time in my life the fear that’s pressed up against me lessened. It’s grip is released. I can’t explain what that feels like but…they looked to me for plans, Lysanne. They looked to me to lead.”
“And you can. I’ve always known you can. The Allfather just waited for the right time to show you.”
“His timing is always mysterious.”
There came a knock at the door. At this hour? Winch sighed. He really wanted sleep. He rose from the seat but Lysanne was already moving toward the hall. “Stay here. Let the one who actually slept some last night be of service,” she said with a smirk.
“Too kind, dear lady.” Winch leaned his head against the wall again and closed his eyes.
A few minutes later Lysanne shook his shoulder. “Winch? It’s a message from the aerodrome. You’re needed.”
“That’s tremendous.” He refused to open his eyes. He had to get upstairs to his room and shut the door before the children awoke. The clock chimed. Five thirty. Oh, clouds above.
“It’s from Daisy.”
Winch’s eyes flew open. Lysanne looked worried. She handed him a piece of paper. “She says Cope isn’t acting himself and, well, she wants you to talk to him. Quickly, though. They’re flying out soon.”
“Then I’d best be going.” Winch pushed to his feet. That was when he noticed Lysanne already had his coat in hand. He took it from her. “Aren’t you efficient.”
She kissed him full on the mouth. Winch dropped his coat.
“Go whip your brother into shape, sir.” Lysanne retrieved the coat. She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “And perhaps we’ll send the children to grandmother and grandfather’s this morning for breakfast. My mother did offer, so that you could rest.”
Winch’s anxiety for Cope fled for the moment. He grinned.
• • •
The hangar for Cope’s air militia fighters was swarming with activity. Men in coveralls climbed all over, under and some cases inside the aircraft. Winch put the brakes to his motorwagon and clambered out. There was Cope, standing beside his fellow pilots Daisy and Treadwell Krol. All three had on their heavy flight jackets and held their caps in hands folded behind them.
The gentleman in front of them wore the dark green cap of the Perch militia. He turned and looked at Winch. His single eye pinned Winch where he stood. The eye patch was equally unnerving.
“Can I help you with something, Señor?” The man’s voice was all business.
“Leave him be, Colonel. That’s my brother, the famed journalist Winchell Sark.” Cope’s comment carried a sharp edge. Winch gave him his best what-was-that-all-about look, but Cope just glared back at him.
“I see. Welcome them, Mister Sark.” He shook hands with Winch. “We’re in the midst of a briefing here, if you don’t mind.”
“I need to speak with Cope for a minute, sir.” Winch averted his gaze from Daisy. Cope wouldn’t like knowing his fellow pilot was playing older sister.
“Ah. Copernicus?” Cuthbert brushed lint off his sleeve. “Make it swift. You have a mission to
fly.”
“I didn’t forget, Colonel, Sir.” Cope stalked off from the group.
Daisy caught hold of Winch’s arm before he could follow. “You see what I mean?”
“It’s not very surprising, Daisy, given how badly our mission to Trestleway ended.”
“I know that. But you have to get his head turned back around. He won’t be any good to me—to us up there if his thoughts are grounded in Trestleway,” she said quietly.
She had a point. Winch jogged off into the hangar after Cope. He found him ducked under the wing of his bright blue Vigilante biplane. Winch slowed to a walk.
“If you’re here for an uplifting speech, you can dump it in the canyon,” Cope said sullenly.
All right. So much for Winch’s plan to approach the matter subtly. “You’ve got to pull yourself together before you go flying off again, Cope, especially if Colonel Cuthbert has you on some kind of sortie.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” Cope stood. He folded his arms and frowned. “Will it make a better story to your Crims boss if you get the daring pilot to offer bold quotes? Something like how Perch aeroplanes valiantly buzzed the heads of Trestleway’s troops as they marched north?”
Is that what they were up to? Surveillance? Winch shook his head. Nice wasn’t working either. Time to be brotherly. “Don’t be a jo-fired fool. You keep moping around down here, and especially up there, you’re bound to get yourself killed.”
Cope snorted. “Fat chance.”
“And then you’ll get Tread Krol killed too.” Winch took a step nearer. He poked Cope in the chest. “And Daisy. Sound like a good idea?”
Cope shoved him. Winch bashed his backside against the wing. He pushed off and came right back. “Good idea?” Cope snarled. “Lemme show you a good idea!” He punched.
Winch dodged to the left. The blow caught his arm. He elbowed into Cope’s midsection, slamming him against the fuselage. Boot steps echoed in the hangar but Winch ignored them. “She’s dead, Cope! You’re going to have to accept it,” he said. His words rushed out in a torrent. “It’s not our fault. Jesca and Oneyear chose to give up their lives. They wanted us to escape. We had to get word back to Perch, to defend what we have.”
“And now I have nothing!” Cope glared at him. “You brainless sack of branter dung! Do you have any idea? I…she…”
It was like watching a dirigible deflate. Cope sagged against the biplane.
Winch felt awful. Forgive me, Exaltson. No brother should do say what Winch just said. He reached out for Cope.
An iron hand grabbed his arm. Tread Krol loomed over him. He shook his head very slowly, but said not a word.
“It’s all right, Tread.” Daisy stood at Winch’s other elbow. “I think the boys are done.”
“Almost.” Winch gave Tread a dirty look and broke his grasp. That felt good. His stomach churned as per usual but he wasn’t afraid to continue forward. “Cope…”
“I know, Big Brother.” Cope’s face was tired. There were dark circles under his eyes. But a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Look. I didn’t mean all that about the stories.”
“I figured.” Winch leaned up on the fuselage next to him. “This wasn’t the way I wanted it to turn out, either.”
“How do you do it?” Cope asked quietly. He stared at the stone block floor. “When everything goes into a tailspin…how do you pull out? I’ve seen you scared, but you never lose control at the outcome.”
“That’s because I’ve never been in control, Cope. It just took me forever to figure it.” Winch smiled. “Everything I do is in the Allfather’s hands. It’s not like people. They will always let you down, in small ways and big ways. But He cannot fail us.”
“Even when it seems as if he’s not paying a lick of attention?”
Winch thought of the attempts to stop Beam’s powers. The lack of a response. Was that Thel failing him? Was that the Exaltson refusing to aid him? “There’s no answer I can give you for that one, except this: His ways are not our ways. And Ifan knows that’s the hardest thing for me to remember.”
Cope seemed to mull that over. “The more I think of it, the more I don’t like any of the blamed beings that supposedly run this world, Winch. The Consuls, Nature, the cythraul…”
“They don’t run branter-spit, Cope. There’s only one who does. And He loves you.” Winch poked him in the arm. “And you remember that, no matter what else comes your way.”
“Thanks.” Cope smiled dryly. The smile slipped. “I miss her, Winch.”
“So do I. Not as badly as you do, I know.” Winch eased off the fuselage. “Just be careful out there. You’ve still got a family and friends who want you back in one piece.”
Cope nodded. Some of the old spark reignited in his eye. “Good to know.”
Winch walked off. He could feel Daisy and Tread staring after him. Let them. It didn’t bother him in the slightest. His mind roiled with more questions for Ifan and about Him than it could hold. It felt like a barrel bursting at the bands.
He had a man to find, to get some answers.
• • •
“Cope?”
He blinked twice. Daisy stood nearby. She watched him intently.
“Colonel Cuthbert’s waiting, am I right?” Cope asked.
She nodded. And grinned. “Wouldn’t be the first time you made someone in charge wait on you, flyboy.”
Cope grinned back. His heart still hurt, but he could cover it up. For now. “Let’s not disappoint. Are you prepared, Tread?”
Tread nodded silently. He made a circle with his forefinger and thumb.
Cope led them back to where Colonel Cuthbert stood tapping his booted toe against the tarmac. “I’m pleased all seems well with your kin,” he said sourly.
“Family comes first.” Cope pushed extra cheer into his voice. “Anything else we need to know about this mission?”
“No. You fly out to Fort DeSmet, observe the enemy, and return. Report numbers of everything, including the number of troops, number of cannons, number of wagons, number of motored vehicles, todos las detalles. I want it all.”
“Of course. You’d expect anything less from me, Colonel?”
Huh. That was a mistake. Cuthbert didn’t share his enthusiasm. He stepped up until he was toe-to-toe with Cope. He had to look up at Cope, but between his steely one-eyed glare and the blank eye patch, Cope wished he were in the cockpit instead.
“Listen. The men coming here won’t care much for your jocularity, comprende? They want this city. And if that requires your blood—or the blood of your brother or your woman or the messenger boy who brings your post—they will take it,” Cuthbert said softly. “How I yearn for real soldiers like they have, but you and the rest will have to do. When this is over, the mayor-general and I shall have words. Si. Words about a standing army.”
Cuthbert walked up and down their short line. Cope stood stiffly by. He resisted the urge to trip the crazy midget colonel.
“You know your assignment. Count and count again. Protect your comrades. Dismissed.” Cuthbert stalked off into the hangar.
Cope blew out a breath. “Where does he get off, running over us like dirt clods on the street?” He started toward his biplane. “We take our flight orders from Rebekah Hawes.”
“We’re facing war, Cope,” Daisy said. “The militia colonel takes precedence in the chain of command.”
She could be so infuriatingly calm and practical. Cope valued that. It made her the perfect foil to his—ah, unpredictable nature. He grinned and patted her on the shoulder. “That’s why I keep you flying around me, Daisy. You’ve got a steady headwind.”
Her cheeks reddened and she smiled. “Thanks.”
Her blush made Cope think of Jesca. Again. For the thousandth time since that TAB fighter exploded in a ditch at Trestleway’s aerodrome. His smile slipped.
“Are you all right to fly, Cope?” Daisy zipped up her coat and started donning her gloves.
He nodded. “You know, Daisy, i
t always seems I’m in someone’s crowd, whether here at the hangar, with Winch and Lysanne’s family, at a tavern or at a festive. Even then I wind up being by my lonesome.”
Daisy fastened her glove. She looked him straight in the eye. “That doesn’t mean you’re alone. Feelings can lie.”
“Huh. Think so?” Cope donned his flight cap.
“And if I may say so…I won’t ever leave your side. Neither will Tread,” she added quickly. “We serve Perch together. And we’ll fly together.”
Cope smiled. It was good to have a friend like her. “Let’s get to it, then.”
• • •
It took them the better part of an hour to get over Fort DeSmet. The skies were overcast south of Perch. Clouds lined Wright Valley, seemingly stuck between the peaks of the Sawteeth. Cope adjusted his scarf with one hand. It was blamed cold up here. And the bitter crosswind from the west was bucking his aeroplane around like an unbroken branter experiencing its first saddle. Good thing she was a nimble craft, easy to get back on course.
Daisy flew off his left wing. He saw her gesture forward with a gloved hand, twirling two fingers in a spiral. Huh. She’d spotted something.
Cope gave a salute, then signaled for them to descend. He led both Daisy’s plane and Tread’s. There was Fort DeSmet. He knew the city well from above, with its walled-in perimeter and lines as straight as the paving stones of a tarmac.
And Trestleway was already there. Cope swore. He counted two dozen of those infernal armored wagons he and Winch had seen at the South Rail Yards—with Jesca. He threw that thought off. He recognized the flags fluttering well enough. They were the purple of Trestleway. There was no mistaking that black cross of rails and black falcon. Soldiers milled about, climbing into motorwagons, marching down Fort DeSmet’s streets, mounting branters. Flash steam engines chugged to life, sending up feathery white clouds. Cope did his best to count them, to see if it squared with the number he’d heard already: 1,200. A battalion.
There were more than that. At least four hundred more, by his rough estimates. He hoped Tread or Daisy got a better count. “Track-heads,” he muttered.
Cope angled his wings and zipped across the sky over Fort DeSmet. There were dirigibles. His eyes went wide. Free fliers of Sternabend? In eight dirigibles? Great blues skies above. That was one tarnal aero force sitting down there.