Windsinger

by A. F. E. Smith

  Yes: if there was ever a right side, she was on it. That had to count for something.

  FOURTEEN

  With all the work on the murder investigation, it came as a surprise to Penn when he was assigned to a new task. The vast Parovian airship he’d read about in his news-sheet only the previous week was coming in to land at the airfield in Redmire, and Ayla would be there to meet it – which meant a contingent of the Helm to guard her. Yet Penn’s role would be a little different.

  ‘Marlon wants to see the airship,’ Captain Caraway told him. ‘I need you to make sure he’s safe.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I don’t need to remind you how important this is.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  And so he found himself heading off towards the eastern border in one of the larger Mirrorvalese airships, with six other Helmsmen and young Marlon riding in the gondola with him, and Ayla flying alongside in her Alicorn form.

  ‘Penn?’ Marlon fidgeted in his seat, testing the limits of the safety harness. ‘How big is the airship?’

  ‘I’m not sure, exactly. But I read that it can carry nearly a hundred people, passengers and crew combined.’

  ‘How many can this one carry?’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘That’s not nearly so much, is it? Is it, Penn?’

  ‘No,’ Penn said. ‘Hush, now. We’re about to land.’

  On the ground, while Ayla shifted back to human in a swirl of black dust and the other Helmsmen made an outward-facing ring to protect her while she dressed, he grabbed Marlon’s hand despite the boy’s protests that he was too old to hold hands like a baby. A crowd had already gathered around the edges of the airfield; it would be easy enough for Marlon to wander off or be snatched. And Penn wasn’t going to let that happen.

  He knew why Captain Caraway had given him this job. It was because three years ago, he had stolen Marlon with the intention of using him as a weapon against Caraway himself. Putting Penn in charge of the boy today achieved several things: it reminded him what it was he’d been working to atone for ever since, it proved the extent of Caraway’s faith in him, and it showed Ayla that he was to be trusted – though the lingering glance she gave him when she emerged from the centre of the circle made him think that trust was still some way off.

  ‘Penn!’ Marlon yanked on his hand. ‘I can see it! Look!’

  Penn followed the direction of the boy’s pointing finger. Sure enough, there was something in the sky. It could almost have been a normal airship approaching the airfield – but as time passed, he realised that what had seemed like a small airship quite close was actually a large airship far away. The thing was shaped like a bullet, like an elongated version of a Mirrorvalese ship’s envelope, yet there was no gondola underneath; only fins at the back and engines to the sides. As it got closer and closer, and bigger and bigger, he could make out the trimmings of Parovian royal purple against the brown of the outer skin.

  ‘There’s a name on the side!’ Marlon hopped from foot to foot as though controlled by wires. ‘I can see a W, but the rest’s a bit hazy. Can you read it?’

  Penn shook his head. At this distance, the name on the side of the airship was nothing more to him than a blur. He wasn’t sure if Marlon was already beginning to develop heightened Changer senses or if his own eyes simply weren’t up to the job. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know –’

  ‘Windsinger,’ Ayla said softly. ‘It’s called the Windsinger.’

  As the ship made its long descent towards the airfield, Penn was able to confirm the truth of that for himself. He also began to feel a little of Marlon’s dizzy excitement. Because the ship was huge. Bigger than any transportation he’d ever seen, be it airship or carriage or boat. Mirrorvale tended to favour small, fast vehicles. But this … it reminded him of something he’d read a long time ago, about the great expanse of water called the Bluegreen Ocean that lay at the western edge of the Ingal States, and how, once – before they’d lost their drive to do anything more than war with each other – the Ingalese had sent a vast boat out across the water in search of land on the other side, one that had never returned. He could imagine the entire sky as an ‘ocean’, and the Windsinger as a boat strong enough to search for adventure: sailing on and on, into the blue.

  ‘Penn?’ Marlon interrupted his thoughts. ‘Why doesn’t it have a gondola?’

  ‘It doesn’t need one. The people travel inside.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Um … the thing that looks like a giant version of one of our envelopes is divided into two compartments, using a wooden frame to keep its shape. A big one at the top for the gas cells, and a little one at the bottom for passengers and crew.’

  That was about the limit of Penn’s understanding of airship technology, but it didn’t stop Marlon asking questions. He kept asking them while the Windsinger landed and was tethered, while a gangplank was lowered, while Ayla and the Helm greeted the airship captain. Penn answered as best he could, but he was relieved when the captain invited them all aboard for a tour. That thrilled Marlon sufficiently that he ran out of questions for a little while, looking around him with wide eyes as they walked up the gangplank and into the belly of the ship.

  Determined not to be distracted from his task of guarding the boy, Penn didn’t take in a great deal of the tour. They visited cabins and a dining room and an observation deck, but after a while all the rooms blurred into one. Marlon seemed to feel the same way; when they returned to the entrance area, ready to leave, he piped up, ‘But Mama! We haven’t seen any of the good bits yet!’

  The airship captain smiled at him and suggested, in his accented Mirrorvalese, ‘Would you like to visit the pilot’s room?’

  So they all traipsed off to the crew’s quarters, where Marlon got to look at the controls and peep through a hatch at the gas cells above, and even walk out to one of the engine cars. He was directing his questions at the captain instead of Penn, now, which came as a relief.

  ‘Time to go, Marlon,’ Ayla said at last. ‘But you can come back another time.’

  The captain nodded. ‘I am sure we will have you on board again before we return to Parovia.’

  Penn already knew the Windsinger would be staying for a while, though the captain had been vague about how long. We will keep giving tours for as long as your people are interested, he’d told Ayla. We want them all to get used to the sight of our airship in Redmire. No doubt it will make many more journeys here once our trade agreements are completed.

  No doubt it would, Penn thought. People would want to ride in a big passenger airship like this just to say they’d done it. If Ayla wanted to encourage the flow of goods and ideas back and forth across the border, he couldn’t think of a better way.

  On the flight back to Arkannen, Ayla rode in the Mirrorvalese ship with Marlon and the Helmsmen, and joined in all Marlon’s excited chatter with a creditable amount of enthusiasm. To Penn’s dismay, the boy appeared to have memorised his hopelessly insufficient answers on the subject of the Windsinger, and offered them up to his mother with all the reverence of an acolyte quoting a sacred text. Penn says there’s enough gas in the Windsinger to fill twenty of our airships. Penn says you can go on an actual journey on the Windsinger and eat food on it, can we go one time? Penn says if there was a race between the Windsinger and an eagle, the Windsinger would win, but you’re the fastest of them all, Mama. It got so embarrassing that when Marlon stopped to say something to one of the other Helmsmen, Penn had to lean over to Ayla and say, apologetically, ‘I really don’t know that much about airship technology, I’m afraid.’

  She smiled. ‘It’s still more than I do.’ Her gaze rested on Marlon for a moment, and she added, ‘He likes you.’

  ‘I have two younger brothers,’ Penn offered uncertainly. Ayla gave him a thoughtful look, but said no more. Still, he hoped he was a little closer to earning her trust than he had been before.

  When they landed in Arkannen’s third ring, they found Captain Caraway wa
iting for them with a couple of carriages. By that time Marlon was almost asleep; he mumbled something about the Windsinger when Caraway gathered him onto his lap, then rested his head on his father’s chest and closed his eyes.

  ‘If he sleeps now, he’ll be up all night,’ Ayla said. Caraway looked ruefully down at the boy’s dark head.

  ‘I don’t think I can keep him awake.’

  ‘Probably not.’ She shot a sly glance at Penn. ‘New job for you, Penn. Spend the rest of the afternoon tiring Marlon out with more facts about the Windsinger so he stands some chance of being in bed before sixth bell.’

  Caraway smiled at Penn. ‘Sounds like I’ve been missing out.’

  After that, they talked about the Parovian airship all the way back to the seventh ring, and it was only when Penn saw Darkhaven’s big gates swing open ahead of the carriage that he realised he’d been talking just as much as his captain and his overlord. Not only that, but he’d actually been enjoying himself. It had been, he thought dazedly, a rather startling day.

  Then he saw the Kardise waiting in the central square.

  All of them were there: Giorgi, Resca, the two other aides whose names Penn had never been given. With them, wrapped and bound, was a long, oddly shaped package that could only be the ambassador’s corpse. They wouldn’t leave it here in Mirrorvale. They would take it back to Sol Kardis, to his family.

  Caraway handed Marlon to Penn, and he and Ayla descended from the carriage in haste.

  ‘Lady Ayla,’ Giorgi said, stepping forward to meet them. ‘We have stayed long enough and must take our leave.’

  ‘But the investigation –’

  ‘Has gone as far as it can, I think.’

  ‘You gave us a week,’ Caraway said.

  ‘Today is a week since Don Tolino’s death.’

  ‘That’s not what you said.’

  ‘Do you really think a couple of days will make any difference, Captain?’

  ‘It might. We know there is a dissident group here in the city who plotted the murder. We suspect they got a maid to supply the poisoned taransey and killed her afterwards. We also suspect the same maid may have administered an antidote to Ayla to stop her being affected. I’ve shared all this with you!’

  ‘And you provided no evidence to support it, beyond the second-hand account of a mercenary. Hardly the most incorruptible source.’ Giorgi raised his eyebrows. ‘Unless you now have something more solid to offer?’

  Caraway was silent. Giorgi nodded as if that were answer enough.

  ‘Very well, then. We will carry all this to the councillors and see what they say.’ He paused, then added politely, ‘If anything further comes to light, do please let us know.’

  Ayla hesitated, but she seemed to read in their faces that arguing would be futile, because after a moment she said, ‘Please, take one of our carriages.’

  ‘No need. Our own is on the way.’

  ‘Your airship –’

  ‘Ready to go.’

  ‘Then there remains nothing for me to do but wish you a safe journey,’ Ayla said. ‘May the winds carry you swiftly home.’

  They bowed to her, one after another: short bows that conveyed a certain amount of insolence. Lips pressed tightly together, Ayla stepped back.

  ‘Carriage approaching!’ called the lookout above the main gates. At a nod from Caraway, two of the Helm ran to swing them open for a second time. The luggage – and the ambassador’s body – was secured to the rack, before the Kardise filed into the carriage one at a time. The Helm saluted them, but received no acknowledgement. And then the carriage was gone, the driver flicking the reins, the wheels churning up dust in their wake.

  ‘Mama?’ Marlon asked in a small voice. He was still in Penn’s arms, blinking sleepily. ‘Why do those men hate us?’

  For a moment, Ayla appeared not to have heard him. She was gazing after the carriage, and though Penn wasn’t all that good at identifying the nuances of people’s expressions, he saw both sadness and fear in hers. But then she touched the little boy’s cheek and said quite calmly, ‘They don’t hate us, Marlon. They’re just angry their friend died.’

  ‘Ayla,’ Caraway said softly. ‘Do you want me to –’

  She looked up at him. ‘Just get them what they’re asking for, Tomas. I beg you.’

  Taking Marlon from Penn, she hurried away across the square. Penn glanced back at his captain, but Caraway was watching Ayla’s retreat – and sadness and fear filled his face, too. As if he were aware of Penn’s gaze, though, he turned and managed a smile.

  ‘Right, then. We’ve got evidence to find.’

  FIFTEEN

  After another long, fruitless day of research, Miles got back to his room in Darkhaven to find Art waiting for him. They didn’t see each other very much at the moment. Since the Kardise had left the tower, Art had spent most of his days – and some nights – down in the fifth ring, preparing for war. Meanwhile, Miles kept working on his collars and trying to convince himself he could atone for the secrets he was keeping. But now, here was Art, sitting back in one of their two chairs, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and a cup of ale in front of him – and Miles was seized by a rush of love almost frightening in its strength. I will not let you die.

  ‘You’re late tonight,’ Art said, pouring a glass of the Parovian wine Miles still preferred and sliding it across the table towards him. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Not well.’ Miles slumped into the other chair, taking a long gulp of the wine. ‘And the fifth ring?’

  Art sighed. ‘Turns out, even war is a load of bloody paperwork. We’ve written hundreds of letters to former students of the fifth ring. We’ve drawn up training plans and battle plans. We’ve prepared everything we need to requisition goods and weapons. And all the damn talking! I swear, if I have to listen to another argument about the most effective way to structure the bloody army …’ He shook his head. ‘I’d rather be at the border than endure any more of this.’

  ‘Would you?’ Miles asked softly. Art met his gaze, and a rueful smile touched his lips.

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  They sat in silence for a while. Miles poured himself more wine, hand shaking so violently that the bottle chinked against the rim of the glass. Maybe I should go back to the laboratory after Art is asleep. If I try again to make the third flame reaction work –

  ‘Miles.’ Art’s hand covered his, lowering the bottle gently back to the table. ‘You look exhausted. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.’

  ‘I am fine.’

  ‘You’re not fine,’ Art said. ‘I should know, I have to live with you. You’re working too hard on those damn collars.’

  ‘No,’ Miles snapped. ‘Not hard enough. If I can get them right, hundreds of lives will be saved.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Leave it, Art!’

  Silence. Art looked taken aback, as well he might. Miles had never raised his voice to him before. He never raised his voice to anyone.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, hunching his shoulders and looking down at the table.

  ‘Oh, Milo …’ With rare tenderness, Art hooked a finger under Miles’s chin and lifted it until they were gazing straight at each other. His grey eyes searched Miles’s face. ‘You’re not single-handedly responsible for keeping everyone alive, rishka.’

  Rishka. It was the Parovian word for sweetheart. Art must be concerned about him, if he was using that term of endearment outside the cover of darkness.

  I am going to lose you, one way or the other. Tears stung Miles’s eyes; he closed them so Art wouldn’t see. He should push Art away. End their relationship. Destroy what lay between them so that Art could no longer be used as a weapon against him. Maybe then he could stop the war and keep Art alive.

  But the faceless man wouldn’t believe it. Of course he wouldn’t. He’d kill Art out of spite, if the Enforcers didn’t get what they wanted.

  ‘War may not come,’ Art said, though he didn’t sound as if he believ
ed it. Miles opened his eyes and met Art’s gaze once more.

  ‘It will,’ he said dully. ‘We both know that. The Kardise party would not have left as they did, otherwise. The declaration will come, and –’ And it will all be my fault. Because I could have stopped it. Because I should have stopped it, and let you and Mara die …

  A tear escaped, despite his best efforts. He could still stop it. If he told Art everything, he could stop the war. He just had to be willing to sacrifice the people he loved most.

  Why could it not be my own life at stake? That would be easy. I would give it up in an instant, as the price of peace. But his …

  ‘Milo.’ Art brushed the tear away with his thumb. His voice was gruff; no doubt, Miles thought with an affectionate ache in his chest so powerful it left him breathless, that meant he was about to say something heartfelt. ‘Listen. We’re strong, you and me, all right? Us and Ayla and the children, Tomas and the Helm, all the people of this beautiful bloody country – we’re strong. We’ll take whatever the Kardise throw at us and we’ll come through it. Because we have each other, and we won’t let each other down. All right?’

  I have already let you down. The words were on the tip of Miles’s tongue, ready to break free at last. And I do not know if we are strong enough for this. Because I have something to tell you, Art, something terrible –

  Someone knocked on the door. Art took Miles’s face between his hands and kissed him, fast and fierce, before going to answer. A Helmsman stood on the other side, but Miles didn’t hear any of the subsequent conversation. He stared at his shaking hands and waited until, finally, Art turned.

  ‘I’m sorry. I have to go. Will you be all right?’

  Miles nodded. The words he’d been about to speak had gone, if they had ever really been there. He knew he wouldn’t try again. It was too late. Much too late.