Clockwork Scoundrels 1

by E. W. Pierce

  Crumble was parceled out freely in the big cities, a necessity like water or air, but in Alterra's vast open spaces it was rare. And so Mel had kept her supply in case of emergency, to act as a harbor against the storms of misfortune that always seemed to plague her. A rock of Crumble that size would fetch a pretty sum indeed in certain parts of Alterra. But now, she thought it might better serve her by its original purpose, as a buoy against temporary madness.

  After years of flying, often going weeks at a time between doses, Mel had started to quietly doubt the necessity of Crumble. She didn’t like to rely upon a substance to keep her head right. She rather thought she could get on just fine by herself in that regard, thank you very much. Over time, she’d gone longer and longer between doses. Now she wondered if that’d been a mistake. How was this business of the clockwork man anything but mad?

  Certainly, what she had in mind bordered on insanity. But then, most of her best plans had a healthy dash of crazy, come to think.

  The whining prattle of the crew set her teeth on edge. “Silence.” The single word lashed out like a whip.

  They fell into an uneasy quiet, eyes jealously stealing away to her bounty.

  “Not that I owe any of you an explanation, but I’ll give one so as you don’t think I’ve been cheating you of pay. This here is all that remains from my childhood.”

  Sam interrupted. “What kid has rocks that size just lying around?”

  Mel stared him back into silence. “What I was is none of your concern, no more than what any of you did before is mine. What matters is what you are, here and now.” It was a partial lie—Mel checked up on everyone before she took new crew on. But the checks were usually cursory, and they mattered little next to the impression she had about a person. Her method didn’t always work, but she was still flying, if barely, and there was something to be said for that, wasn’t there?

  She set the treasure on the table with a muffled, heavy thud and looked around, holding their eyes. They were hard folk, it was true. Hard to lead. Hard to like, sometimes, especially when they accused their mostly-honest captain of cheating them. But on the whole, they were hard to keep down. Hard to beat. They’d lived difficult lives. Mel realized that for some, this was the first time they’d even seen Thunderclap.

  “Sam, get us some glasses.”

  Confusion swam on the man’s sun-darkened face. Split lips cracked into a white smile as realization came. He was pretty, but Crown was he slow sometimes. “Aye, Cap’n!”

  Mel cracked the seal with an echoing pop. “This is an old vintage,” she said as she filled the dented tin mugs. “Older than some of you, even. Savor it. It’ll likely be a long while before we see such as this again.” Never, most like.

  She needn’t have said anything. The crew handled the cups with reverent, almost religious, care. She wondered fleetingly if they would even drink it. But she’d tasted the dark, thick ale Ton-Ton cooked up in smoking batches and knew that if they could stomach that sludge, they’d not waste a chance to taste the best.

  Mel held her cup aloft. “To the Misty Morning and the finest group of scoundrels a captain could call her own.” The Thunderclap tingled as it went down.

  She slammed the empty cup on the table. “Let’s get these scalawags.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Dancing

  “Well this is unexpected.” Lounging on the desk, Sildrian tilted his head toward the bottle of Thunderclap in Mel’s hands. “That for me?”

  Mel stepped inside. Jarvis was asleep on her bed. She resisted the urge to kick him. “Thought to smooth things over.”

  Sildrian arched a single silvery eyebrow. “Really?”

  She shrugged. “He’s paying me twelve thousand. Don’t see how that amounts to me losing.”

  The clockwork man’s tongue ran over his bottom lip. “I am thirsty, no denying that.”

  Mel handed him the bottle. “Drink up.”

  “Now, now Captain—what kind of guest would I be to refuse you a taste of your own supply?”

  The kind that would take a ship hostage.

  Sildrian poured, watching her closely.

  Mel drained it in a gulp. Unrefined Crumble was flavorless and usually employed as an additive, but she’d feared a fist-sized rock would leave a slight off-taste or a bit of grit. But it’d dissolved completely.

  He followed suit, smacking his lips in pleasure.

  “The rest is yours if you want it, but I’d like to have it back if you don’t intend on finishing it tonight.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I think I will pass the night in its company.”

  “Very well.” Mel stood. “Night.”

  Hindral waited in the dark kitchen, pacing. He startled as she entered. “Well?”

  “He took it.” Mel slid into a chair. She had a piercing revelation that everything would work out just fine. There was nothing to worry about.

  She shook her head. The Crumble was already working, forcing its fake optimism upon her.

  Hindral sat and pushed a cup of cafei toward her. “Then we wait.”

  “How long?” The cafei was bitter but hot.

  “Who can say? I don’t know the anatomy of a clockwork man.” He scoffed. “How such a thing is even possible … ”

  “Your best guess.”

  “An hour. Two at most. That much Crumble should render him harmless. Unless it doesn’t work, of course.”

  “It’ll work.” She didn’t know if that was her or the Crumble talking.

  The talkbox mounted to the wall rattled with a high, brassy ring. It was Dee. “Cap’n, you’ll want to see this.”

  “That was fast. I’ll be right up.”

  “It’s not that, Cap’n.” In the space between breaths, Mel tried to imagine what might be wrong, but her Crumble-addled mind only suggested optimistic possibilities.

  Dee’s next words shattered her false euphoria. “We have company.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Official Channels

  Mel stood in the command cabin, studying the line of orange lights arrayed against the black sky at their back. The ships were yet hours behind but were closing fast.

  “Stensue?” Dee stood beside her, letting the ship hover in place for a moment. Dark bags shadowed her eyes and she stifled a yawn.

  “Who else.” Mel wondered if they would be content to take the clockwork man and let her go. She immediately recognized Crumble’s influence—a man brings that many ships, he means to solve his problem only one way.

  Dee shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. "What do we do?"

  "Bring her in low, try to find someplace to hide until we know what we’re dealing with." Dawn was only an hour away. If they were caught in the open once daylight came, they'd have nowhere to hide.

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Dee swiftly worked the controls. The Misty Morning dipped her nose toward the ground. Under a moonless sky, miles from the closest city, it was as though all light had bled from the world. There was only the midnight sky and the unseen ground somewhere below. The Misty Morning raced through the black.

  Mel slipped into the co-pilot’s seat and activated the ship’s forward lights. A pair of golden beams illuminated the ground below in flashes of color—green hills and thin brown trees.

  They searched until the faintest hint of dawn brightened the sky. Nothing but pastures and farm houses and small thickets of trees. In one moment of insanity, Mel considered trying to fit the airship into a barn, but Stensue was sure to find them there. To say nothing of the outraged farmer they’d have to deal with.

  “Take her up,” Mel said. “High, into thick cloud cover.”

  Dee peered at her through a cascade of red hair that’d come free of its tie.

  “I know what I’m doing.” Mel punched the switch, turning off the forward lights.

  “Kile always says that Balack-class ships don’t take well to higher altitudes. Once the cold gets into the wood, it’s hard to get it out again.”

  “If I wanted your
husband’s opinion, I would’ve asked him.” She slapped a bank of switches. The running lights along the deck’s railing darkened. Just to be safe, Mel killed the command cabin’s interior lights too. The Misty Morning was one with the night. Long shadows cast by the instrument panel’s dim lighting stretched across the ceiling.

  Dee blinked. “Yes, Cap’n.” She returned to the controls.

  Mel sighed. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dee reassured her with a wink. “I don’t like to let Kile think he’s right either.”

  “I do know what I’m doing.” Mel gave her best Imp-may-care grin. “Trust me.”

  Dee rolled her eyes and laughed.

  The ship climbed swiftly. Mel stood and watched out the rear windows. The sky was restless with lights, as though the Crown had dumped out all the stars of heaven and they were still rolling about, trying to find a new home. Clusters of fiery red running lights traced the outline of Stensue’s massive cruisers as they spread out in search of their quarry, cones of white light temporarily sweeping away the concealing dark. Occasionally, a darting interceptor was illuminated by a search light, its steel hull flashing like silver.

  The Misty Morning passed into the clouds and everything below was lost to sight. Now they could only wait out the day. Mel sent Dee to rest. The helmsman only put up token resistance, fighting off a yawn as she allowed Mel to pull her from the seat.

  Mel settled into the pilot's chair, took a moment to orient herself. Set a new course.

  The talkbox rattled in its cradle, broadcast indicator flashing amber. Stensue. There was little risk in answering—broadcast transmissions ran in all directions, like currents of the wind. Answering made the transmission bi-directional, meaning they could talk. It also told them she was there, somewhere, which they already knew.

  She wasn’t giving up anything by answering, but she had much to gain. At the least, a little information on who was sniffing up their back trail. Mel knew some of the admirals by reputation and might be able to guess at their strategy. She was also hoping, and perhaps this was the Crumble talking, that there was a scenario here in which they handed over the would-be pirates and went on their way.

  Still, she let the talkbox ring a half-dozen times. No sense in appearing anxious.

  “This is Vice Admiral Brubax.” His was the voice of a man addressing naughty schoolchildren, irritating in its clipped precision. “To whom am I speaking?”

  Mel’s heart slipped down into the toes of her boots. Brubax. He had a reputation as an iron-fisted tyrant of the skies, holding to every face and facet of the law, with no room given for other “interpretations”. There would be no negotiation, then.

  Her immediate instinct was to hang-up, but she found herself curious nonetheless. “This is Captain Locke of the Misty Morning.”

  “Your record is quite the entertaining read, Captain Locke. Near collisions, charting unapproved sky lanes, accusations of theft … ”

  “I’m no thief.”

  “Your record would seem to disagree. What do you call it, then, if not theft?”

  “A difference of opinion.”

  “Indeed? You seem to have a lot of those, Captain.”

  “It’s mildly annoying.”

  “It is rather unfortunate that this is the first we’ve crossed clouds. I’d have cured you of such maladies long ago."

  "Another time?"

  The command cabin’s door banged open, bashing into the wall with a reverberating thud. Jarvis stood framed in the opening, the pale glow of the instrument panel casting a sickly glow on his thin face. His eyes were wild. He pointed with a trembling finger. “What have you done?”

  "One moment, Admiral." Mel held the receiver toward Jarvis. "Stensue, for you.”

  "Captain?" Brubax's voice issued from the receiver.

  Mel waved the receiver at Jarvis. "No?"

  Jarvis grasped her arm, ignoring the receiver. “What did you give him?”

  The Crumble must’ve finally taken its toll. Took long enough. Mel shoved Jarvis into the co-pilot's seat and put the receiver back to her ear. "Sorry, my guest is being a bit shy."

  Brubax's voice was ice. "No more games. You are flying under an expired license and you’ve intentionally broken regulation by transporting passengers aboard a bulk shaw. You have something I want. The man you took aboard. And his briefcase.”

  Stensue knew about the clockwork man, then. She briefly wondered if they meant to destroy him or add him to their arsenal. “Is that what this is about? How about I toss him overboard and we go our separate ways?”

  Brubax bored on as though he’d not heard her. “You will make your ship seen and allow us to board. All will be placed under guard on my ship. The courts will decide your fate, but I have their ear and can keep your crew out of prison. You might serve six months, perhaps a year.”

  “That’s quite the offer. You’ve really given me something to think about. One small detail—what about my ship?”

  “The tub will be scrapped. Your days of flying are done, Ms. Locke.”

  “Not sure I can square that, Brubie.”

  The line was silent for a heartbeat. “Consider your course, Ms. Locke. You can’t run.”

  She hung-up. "We'll see about that."

  “What did you do to Sildrian?” Jarvis’ tone had taken on a shrill note of hysteria.

  "Nothing."

  “Was it Green Gut? Spotted Oak Leaf? Poison is ever said to be a woman’s weapon. Tell me, I beg, before it’s too late.”

  She wanted to shut him up, needed to shut him up. She needed the quiet to think. So she told him.

  "Crumble?" Somehow, he seemed to sag even as he rose to his feet.

  “Just a bit, about the size of my fist.”

  “By the Crown … ”

  “I have small hands.”

  Jarvis fled the room, running into a bent, lurching shadow just outside the door. There was a curse and a brief scuffle. Taul entered a moment later, wounded arm pinned to his chest. He collapsed into the co-pilot's seat with a grunt. Shadows pooled in the cracks and crevices of his face. Crown, did he look old.

  “You’ve no business being here.” There was no iron in her words. Truth was, she was exhausted, and was glad for his company.

  Taul took in the dark cabin, the deck lost to the night. “So we’re finally going full outlaw, is it?”

  "Wasn't it only a matter of time?"

  “We’ve straddled the line long enough." He studied the dials for a moment. "Jarvis says you're going to kill the metal man."

  "It was only a bit of Crumble." Remembering Jarvis’ wild-eyed look of panic, guilt began to have its way with her. Had she killed the clockwork man? Probably he deserved it, but she was no killer.

  Light gradually crept back into the world. Mel picked up the talkbox and dialed Hindral’s room. He answered on the third ring.

  “Get up here, doc. Seems we might’ve poisoned our silver guest. Get Sam, too. Dead or alive, I want the clockwork man tied up.”

  "Happy to see we’ve only become outlaws and not murderers while I was out,” Taul commented dryly when she hung-up.

  "Day's just begun."

  CHAPTER 7

  Diplomacy

  Hindral was able to save Sildrian by pumping his stomach with his drunk kit, an odd assortment of pumps, gears, and hoses with a clear ‘collection’ bin. He usually only employed the kit when a deckhand ingested too much alcohol on leave, but he happily reported that it’d worked in this case and the clockwork man was awake but ‘rather foul-tempered’.

  According to Hindral’s breathless report, Sildrian could eat and drink and dispose of waste, but something in Crumble strongly disagreed with his anatomy, somehow undoing the magic of his existence, if one believed in such things. Mel wished she’d not used her entire store in the single dose, but tucked away the knowledge for future reference. Their guests didn’t know she’d used it all.

  Sildrian and Jarvis remained in her
chambers, though not of their own accord. With both Sam and Hindral keeping an eye on them, Mel’s room had become a holding cell. A temporary holding cell, just long enough for her to chart a path through this storm.

  Mel and Taul slept in shifts, curling up in the command cabin’s chairs. It was a fitful rest, the daylight peeking through her closed eyelids, but it was the best she was likely to see for some time.

  They flew on a westerly heading, diverting south or north where there were gaps in the cloud cover. And then, abruptly, the clouds ended. Blue sky, clear and wide as forever, all the way to the Fog’s storm cloud border. Hundreds of feet below, a pair of Stensue cruisers drifted in loose formation.

  Mel studied that expanse of sky, chewing her lip. They could circle back, stick with the clouds, but that would put them closer to the nest of Stensue ships. And what if the clouds continued drifting apart? Better to take their chances here on the fringe. Slip behind them and run, and hope they weren’t seen. Hardly foolproof, but she’d made do with much less before.

  She exchanged nods with Taul and punched the throttle’s brass knob forward. The Misty Morning rattled, lurching alarmingly. “Turbulence,” Mel said with more reassurance then she felt.

  Taul half-turned in his chair to watch out the rear windows. "Crown, there must be hundreds of them. All looking for us."

  “Not for us.”

  “What do you suppose they want with him?”

  She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. There could only be one reason why Stensue was so anxious to retrieve the clockwork man. He’s a weapon.

  Taul stiffened. “They’ve scrambled interceptors. Closing fast.”