by E. W. Pierce
The strangest thing about the toy was its manner of dress—dark trousers, a finely-stitched button-up shirt, and a pair of leather boots—or even that it was dressed at all. Why would you put clothing on a clockwork man?
Mel closed the lid.
Jarvis was chewing on his nails. “See, it’s nothing. A toy.”
“You called me a thief.” The anger was gone now.
“Apologies, Captain. I’m not used to such heights. My stomach has turned riotous against me, and I didn’t know what you intended when you summoned me here.” He stood, smoothing back his hair. “I dealt with the stress rather poorly.”
“No, that’s not it. Seems to me you know something about me. Seems to me our meeting wasn’t quite the happy coincidence you made it out to be.”
“Whatever do you mean, Captain? I’ve never met you before this morning.”
“Never said you did. You seem a sharp man. The kind to do your … what’s the word, Taul?”
“Diligence.”
“Right—diligence. I think you came to my ramp because you knew times were hard for me and mine, and that we’d likely take any contract without looking twice at it. Especially if you paid well enough to discourage questions. Most men don’t like to examine a good thing too closely lest they scare it off. But maybe you’re realizing now for the first time that I’m no man.” She took a step toward Jarvis. He held his ground but his eyes grew wide behind his spectacles. “You might’ve thought you were playing me for a fool, but I’ve been in business with liars far longer than you.”
Jarvis blinked furiously but didn’t respond.
“I’d have the truth from you, Jarvis. And I’d have it now, or you’re going over the side.” She leaned into him, and though he was taller, he shriveled and took a step back. “Try me and see that you don’t.”
“Perhaps I can better explain.” A new voice sounded behind them, cultured and as smooth as newly-churned butter. It was a voice she did not know.
The clockwork man sat on the rear console, legs crossed in the fashion of a gentleman at leisure. His face was fully expressive, and in his smirk was the self-satisfaction at a well-sprung surprise. “Anyway, I dare suggest that killing Jarvis would only serve to improve his lot, and I don’t think you are looking to do him any favors at the moment.”
Jarvis recovered his voice first. “Sildrian, get down from there.”
The clockwork man rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a bore.” Uncrossing his legs, he kicked them like a child on a swing. “This is my first flight, and I mean to see it pass in the clean air, not trapped below listening to you regurgitate your breakfast. To say nothing of the stink of the crew. You’d think none of them had heard of soap and water before.” He winked at Dee, who had half-turned in her chair and was gawking. "Don't worry, Red. I refer only to your comrades."
Taul took a step forward and then halted uncertainly. He looked back toward Mel but her eyes were only for the clockwork man.
“What are you?” Mel tried but couldn’t keep the wonder from her voice.
“That, my dear Captain, is a rather long and involving tale. Might we tell it with a bit of Thunderclap?”
CHAPTER 3
Things As They Seem
“There have been many strange happenings at the Ministry of Manifestation of late, but I can’t claim to know how Sildrian came to be." Jarvis paced within the narrow confines of Mel's quarters. "Nor, does he, I think. Does the babe recall the passage from the womb?"
Mel sat behind her desk, a mug of Thunderclap clasped in her hands. She’d poured a mug for the clockwork man, feeling foolish as she did. The clockwork man had said “thank you” and, lifting the mug with both hands, drank like a man sipping from a barrel. It'd been an outrageous and comical sight, but she couldn't find it in her to laugh.
“Where did you find him?” Taul occupied his normal place though he was leaning heavily against the door.
“The Ministry of Manifestation, of course.”
“You built … that?” Mel eyed the clockwork man in disbelief.
The clockwork man lowered his mug. Bright green liquid encircled his mouth and ran down his chin. “Pardon me, Captain, but I am not an It or a That. I am a He, as I can assure you. Keep the Thunderclap coming and perhaps I’ll show you.” His grin was suggestive, lined with perfectly shaped silver teeth. A tongue, pink and worm-like, shifted in the dark cavern of his mouth. “And it’s Sildrian, if you please. Friends call me Sil.”
“There are more like you?” Mel pictured a tavern of clockwork men getting drunk.
“No. There’s only me.” Sildrian went back to his mug.
Jarvis gave Mel an apologetic look. “The ministry received an order for a new batch of clockwork men. The children do love them. As head of Quality Assurance, it was I who first discovered Sildrian, running around the warehouse, beating his tiny fists on the walls, railing about clothing and decency. He was practically in tears, isn’t that something? I can clearly recall my first thought: ‘a clockwork man that talks and cries. My, we have truly built something wonderful.’
“It didn’t take long for me to realize something was amiss.”
Sildrian raised a skeptical eyebrow but did not interrupt.
“Poor fellow demanded a stiff drink to chase away the horror of being trapped in that warehouse with all his lifeless brethren. I daresay I was so startled that I gave it to him.” Jarvis chuckled under his breath. “Once I realized what we’d built, how marvelous he was … ” A dark cloud passed over his face. “Not everyone shared my enthusiasm. Brampton—he’s the head scientist of Manifestation—demanded Sildrian be destroyed. Can you believe that?” Jarvis looked away. “I couldn’t do it.”
Sildrian set his mug down, smacking his lips with a satisfied sigh.
“So this is a rescue?” Mel fought the urge to giggle at the absurdity.
Jarvis shrugged. “I could see no other way. Spirit us away, far beyond the Ministry’s reach.”
Mel wasn’t sure such a place existed. If the Ministry wanted this Sildrian, they’d find him. She needed to make sure they weren’t aboard her ship when it happened. “You’ve put my ship and my crew in danger.”
“I apologize … ”
“To the Pit with your apologies. They won’t save my ship from impounding nor my crew from chains. Or worse. Probably they’ll just send us to Joffrey Columns so that none but the mad might hear our tales of clockwork men that talk and drink Thunderclap.”
She pushed through the pile of charts spread out on the desk, finding the one depicting Waldron’s Gate and its surroundings near the bottom. She never had much use of it prior—even the greenest sky captain knew how to find the sky docks of Waldron’s Gate, and there wasn’t much interest in the small villages and settlements in the immediate vicinity of the city. “Here,” she stabbed a finger into the faded parchment. “Silver Springs. There won’t be a sky dock in so small a place, but it’ll do.”
Jarvis squinted at the map. “Pardon?”
“Drop and run, is it?” Taul’s long fingers traced the scar along the back of his scalp. It was a familiar gesture, one which meant the first mate was weighing the pros and cons of a course of action. He, like Mel, had moved out of their stupor and were assessing options.
“That would be ill-advised, Captain.” There was an edge in Jarvis’ voice that had previously been absent.
“We’ll bring her in low enough to ruffle the grass. Even drop the ramp for you. Waldron’s Gate isn’t far off, but,” she shrugged, “the flight would have bought you some time to make other arrangements.”
“We had a deal.”
“Well you haven’t exactly been honest, have you? I could tell you were running, but even I didn’t suspect you’d be quite so hot. Now we have the Ministry to worry about.” She eyed the clockwork man. “And probably the military. Be glad I don’t just turn around and deliver you to this Brampton you’re so frightened of.”
“Do you truly think he’d believe you w
eren't involved from the first? With your record?” He tisked like a disappointed schoolmarm. “You were correct, Captain—ours wasn’t a chance meeting. I did my research and knew that of all the sky captains, you would be the one desperate enough to take my commission with few questions. And now we share the danger. There is no going back, not now. You know how rigid the rules are. If they’re feeling generous, they’ll only take your ship.”
“Bugger that.”
“You may be brave, but you are a fool if you think you can fight and win. The Minister may have already sent Stensue’s cruisers after us. There is only one option. Run.”
Part fortress and part city, Stensue housed Alterra’s vast military armada. If Stensue’s battlecruisers had been set upon their trail, it was only a matter of time before they were run down. Melanie knew this for fact, but seeing that truth reflected in Taul’s widening eyes tightened her insides. She felt cornered, backed into a trap, surrounded.
Anger building, burning her cheeks, Melanie leapt to her feet. “Forget what I said about bringing you down gentle—you’re going over the side. Now.”
Taul seized Jarvis by the shoulders. The older man cried aloud in fright, trying to extricate himself from Taul’s iron grip.
“Enough.” Sildrian’s voice was loud, not quite a shout, cutting through the clamor as Taul hustled Jarvis toward the door. “Unhand him and step away, first mate of ugly.”
The clockwork man’s wrists had flopped sideways on hinges, revealing the fluted ends of a pair of miniature dragon pistols. He held one on Mel and the other on Taul.
Mel laughed, a humorless chuckle that came out as a growl. “You can’t take my ship with two pebble-shooters.”
“They might look small, but they've quite the bang. And I’ve one more surprise.” With a quick snapping motion, Sildrian flipped one hand back into place. Keeping the other gun trained on Mel, he started to unbutton his shirt.
Throwing Jarvis aside, Taul leapt forward, a blur of motion as he dove at the desk.
The clockwork man was faster. He paused, the fingers of one hand still clasped around a button as he shifted his aim. The pistol flashed, snarling. Taul flew in the opposite direction, striking the wall with a crunch. He sagged to the floor, eyes glazed. A red rose blossomed on his shoulder.
Mel’s advance was brought up short as the pistol retrained on her.
“Don’t be a fool.”
“You’ll pay for that.”
“Doubtful.” Sildrian shrugged. “It’s only a flesh wound. He’ll be fine, so long as you have a half-decent doctor on this tub.”
Mel chewed her lip. Hindral, the ship’s navigator, served double-duty as their medic. He was adequate enough at mending colds, wind burns, and altitude fevers, but had a strong aversion to the sight of blood. It was rarely a problem—airship crews didn’t usually get shot at in the course of commerce.
“Best see to your man,” Sildrian continued. “I can only stand his mewing for so long. But first, I have something to show you, to make certain we understand each other.” The last button came undone. He slid the shirt off with a sideways shrug of his shoulders. His torso was the same silvery metal as his face, fashioned in the manner of a well-made man, broken only by a black square in his abdomen. Green and amber lights flashed at regular intervals above a string of red block numbers which seemed to be very slowly ticking down. There was something unnerving about the numbers. What happened when they reached zero?
“I can tell by your look of stupor that you don’t know what you’re looking at. It is a bomb, captain. I am a bomb. Primed and ready to explode. I trust you don’t need another demonstration.”
“What are you?”
For the briefest moment, the clockwork man’s bravado shifted into something else. Confusion, sadness, disbelief—she couldn’t say for certain. Trying to read that sleek, smooth face was like trying to gauge the emotion of a doorknob. “I don’t know.”
Taul sat with his head slumped, legs splayed out. She struggled to pull him up, showing Jarvis her teeth when he tried to help. Crown, he was heavy. She tucked his good arm around her shoulder and, backing up, dragged him out the door, his boot heels skipping on the floorboards. Blood ran freely down the dangling, injured arm, collecting on his fingertips, splattering on the floorboards like drops of bright paint.
“I think we’ll take up residence in your chambers,” Sildrian said. “Seems safer that way.”
Wind buffeting her back, Mel threw a venomous look at them. “We’re not done here.”
“Do not test me. The Ministry won't have me. I will not allow them to destroy me any more than I will squander my life as their curiosity. Life is a gift. But I will end mine, and yours, if I must.”
CHAPTER 4
The Taste of Defeat
Nestled below decks in the ship’s midsection, the kitchen served as eatery, lounge, and gathering area. It was a place of rare warmth in the sky, womb-like in its insular quality. But the normally cozy heat felt suffocating today. It was all Mel could do to remain there instead of rushing above and screaming at the cold, uncaring stars. Or from kicking in the door on the criminals holding them ransom.
Brass lanterns hung from the low ceiling on black chains. They swayed gently with the movement of the ship, casting shifting shadows onto the ugly length of dimpled, rusty steel that served as the kitchen table. Salvage from another ship. From another life.
The crew sat around the table in mismatched chairs, unaccustomedly silent, eyes vacant or haunted, ignoring mugs of cafei that’d long gone cold. Kile’s shoulders were slumped, his hairy, ham-sized forearms resting on the table. He was frantically rubbing at some bit of dirt on his nail with grease-stained fingers. Lula, the Misty Morning’s contract negotiator by dint of her sunny personality and pretty face, stared at the floor, sullen rainclouds masking her normal cheer. Even the tail of golden hair draped across her shoulders looked lifeless.
Ton-Ton broke the silence. “Taul be okay?” Broad at the shoulders and hips, Ton-Ton was the ship’s porter and cook. He’d the mind of a child and didn’t respond to stress well. His chair creaked as he rocked anxiously. The battered, yellowing chef’s hat—his prized possession—slipped back on his head. A few strands of dark hair spilled free, standing in sharp contrast to his pale forehead.
“We’ll know more once Hindral’s done with him.”
Ton-Ton nodded bleakly. The motion spilled tears from his wide, brimming eyes.
“We need to kick the door in, make an accounting of them.” Young and full of fire, Sam Pitford was fast to talk, drink, and fight. His brown eyes shifted under dark coils of hair, tracking up to find Mel’s. “Just gimme the word, Cap’n.”
It normally got under Mel’s skin when Sam treated her like just another woman to impress with his bravado, but she didn’t have the energy to care. “No. They have guns. What do we have?” She shook her head, remembering the speed with which the clockwork man had moved. “We need a plan.”
“A clockwork man.” Kile shook his head in disbelief. He’d said little else since Mel had gathered them.
“Always wanted a clockwork man with arms and legs that worked.” Ton-Ton shook his head resolutely. “Not no more.”
“I can try reasoning with them,” Lula said doubtfully.
“Reason got left behind in Waldron's Gate,” Mel said. “They intend to make White Peaks or die in the trying.”
Hindral ducked under the bulkhead and entered the room. Red splotches stood out on his apron. His face was very white.
Everyone looked up expectantly. Hindral ignored them all. Hand trembling slightly, he pushed back the long strands of salt-and-pepper hair threatening his eyes. He poured himself a mug of lukewarm cafei, swallowed it in a gulp, grimaced, then refilled his cup. Lula kicked a chair out for him. Sighing heavily, Hindral melted down into it.
“Well?” If he made her wait any longer, Mel would have to slap the stupid out of him.
“I’m no doctor … ”
“
Hindral … ”
“I did the best I could.”
Mel didn’t know if he was being his customary, doubting self, or if he’d been unequal to the task. “Hindral!”
He shook his head. “Nasty scarring. Taul is going to be quite upset, I just know it.”
Mel sagged against the table, only sheer will keeping her on her feet. “He’s okay.”
“Did I mention the scarring?”
“I recall that you did. Kile, check on Dee, let her know.” The ship couldn’t fly without someone at the helm, and only Dee, Mel, and Taul were trained pilots. Dee had had to remain up top, with them.
Kile leapt to his feet. “Aye, Cap’n.”
As Mel watched Hindral sip his cafei, the beginnings of a plan sparked. “Hindral, if a clockwork man drinks, might that mean their insides are like our own?”
“It depends, I suppose. What’d he drink?”
“Thunderclap.”
The crew exchanged dark glances. Sam spoke first. “You shared our Thunderclap with a clockwork pirate?”
“My Thunderclap,” Mel corrected. She shrugged. “I was a little thrown-off by the sudden appearance of a metal man talking and walking.”
She stepped into the ship’s pantry—an open area adjoining the kitchen lined with half a dozen bare shelves. Reaching behind the corner of the shelf nearest the kitchen’s counter, her fingers slipped into a small notch and pushed. The shelf swung outward, revealing a dark opening three feet tall and about as wide. Mel crawled inside, mindful of the shocked silence at her back. None of them knew about the hidey-hole, not even Taul. A captain was due her secrets, and a female captain doubly so.
Mel crawled back out with a bottle of Thunderclap in one hand and a black rock of Crumble in the other. The crew erupted.
“Where did you … ”
“… hiding this whole time … ”
“… unbelievable, and … ”
“Thirsty.”
Mel stood at the table’s head, the last of her own personal wealth heavy in her hands. Crumble was a drug taken to lift spirits and lighten moods. Close proximity to the Fog, which fully surrounded Alterra, made this sometimes necessary. Being walled-in by a nightmarish landscape roamed by monsters had a way of darkening one’s outlook on life. Anxiety, desperation, and depression were especially common among those living closest to the Fog. Before Crumble, folk were oft as not to walk straight into the Fog with arms wide, eager to embrace their own demise.