NIghtbird (Empire of Masks Book 2)

by Brock Deskins

  Russel set several of the lenses attached to his hat in front of his left eye and adjusted them until the distant land beyond the wall magnified and came into focus. The first lens he made was to simply correct the vision of his left eye, which was so poor he was all but blind in it. As his work on a myriad of projects progressed, he added others in order to fill various needs.

  “Russel, you maniac!” Kiera shouted at him. “Are you trying to bring the gendarme to us? Get down here right now!”

  Russel ignored Kiera’s demands. There was a worm out there, and nothing was going to keep him from it.

  CHAPTER 4

  Bertram hastened down the hall with mounting irritation. His uncle had summoned him, likely to chastise him over his handling of last night’s duel. It would be the third such rebuke from the man he likened to a surrogate father since he began attending the naval academy. It was not the criticism that grated on his nerves but the implication that his actions were in some way wrong.

  He found his uncle Rastus standing on the balcony of his rooms overlooking his city. It was a clear day, and the view extended beyond the walls a mile away. Bertram forewent wearing his mask since he considered meeting his uncle an informal audience and found that Rastus had as well.

  “I am here, Uncle. Given the timeliness of your summons, I must assume you called me here to issue a rebuke regarding my conduct at last night’s event.”

  Rastus turned away from the railing and smiled at his impetuous nephew. “Please, sit with me. We have much to discuss.”

  Bertram took a seat in the chair next to the one his uncle was reclining in, the two separated by a small table. Bertram helped himself to the liquor atop it and poured a glass despite the early hour.

  “You think I called you here to berate you,” Rastus said. “Do you think you took the duel too far?”

  “Absolutely not. I have never given any man more or less than they deserved. It is one of the many things that make me an excellent officer.”

  “You surely do not count modesty amongst those many things.”

  “Modesty is an emotion for lesser people who are wise enough to recognize their weaknesses.”

  “And you are insulted because I think you lack wisdom?”

  Bertram turned his head toward the duke and frowned. “Uncle, you insult me by implying that I might have weaknesses.”

  Rastus chuckled. “I dread the thought of having done so. I would hate for you to feel inclined to challenge me to a duel.”

  “Perish the thought. I hope you know that I adore you too much to ever do such a thing just as I know you are too fond of me to make such a mistake.”

  “Everything you say is true.”

  “Of course it is. Honesty is but one of my many virtues.”

  Rastus chuckled at his nephew’s unflagging confidence. “Still, it would not kill you to learn some humility.”

  “I am not a physician, Uncle. I cannot say with certainty what will or will not kill me, but I prefer to side with caution in such matters.”

  “You are as cautious as you are reticent.”

  “Fortune favors the bold, or so they say.”

  “So do graveyards.”

  “How very candid of you. Now you see where I get my honesty. For the sake of honesty, please enlighten me as to the point of your summons.”

  Rastus considered his words before speaking. “I would like to talk to you about adding temperance to your list of virtues.”

  “So, this is about my duel last night. I broke no laws.”

  “No, but you bent the heck out of them.”

  “The man insulted the memory of my mother, your sister. Would you have simply let him get away with such vileness?”

  “Of course not. Truth be told, I was moments from drawing my pistol and shooting him on the spot when you intervened.”

  “So you agree with my actions?”

  “To a point. I would have accepted his apology after inflicting an appropriate amount of humiliation.”

  Bertram swished the drink in his glass as he looked out at the wall. “Insults are like musket balls. Once fired, they cannot be taken back, so you had best be damn sure of your aim.”

  “Very true.”

  “Then the matter is done. Why are we wasting words discussing it?”

  “Because there are others who will not let it drop. Do you know who he was?”

  Bertram shrugged. “A highborn of little importance or ability.”

  Rastus narrowed his eyes. “We do not use that word, Bertram.”

  “No, but we imply it often enough, do we not? We can pretend that the starlings aren’t shitting all over the veranda because the servants do such an admirable job of cleaning it up, but we all know they do.”

  Rastus let out a groaning sigh. “Gilbert Wiebe is the son of Adele Wiebe who is a close cousin to Esmerelda Dushane, who just happened to be his godmother. Obviously, Adele is not happy about you killing her son in a duel that was supposed to be to first blood.”

  “Which, technically, was precisely what it was.”

  “Since Adele is unhappy, Esmerelda is unhappy, or at least must appear so, so I am required to be unhappy.”

  “Ugh, politics is like an orgy. Once one of them gets gonorrhea everyone starts feeling the burn.”

  “An apt analogy considering that this time you are the one getting screwed.”

  “If Adele or Esmerelda think they can bully an apology out of me, then they can both go screw themselves, or each other. If they insist on satisfaction, they can challenge me to a duel themselves or send their champions after me if they wish.”

  “No one is foolish or naïve enough to demand an apology or a duel from you, but that does not mean that they will not get satisfaction.”

  “What do they want, other than my balls on a skewer?”

  “They feel that your…abrupt manner is ill-suited to the position of fleet commander, and I am inclined to agree with them.”

  “And who do they propose to replace me on the command track?”

  Rastus shrugged. “They are considering their options. Trina Cienne holds second place in the ranks of recent graduates.”

  “Please, she is a distant third.”

  “Who do you feel is second?”

  “Me, obviously. You could cut my standing in half and I would still edge her out. Besides, she is already slated to be a top-quality pilot, and those are harder to find than flag officers. Are you really removing me from contention?”

  “For politics’ sake, I have to concede to the other rulers. They outvoted me.”

  “All of them? This right after they gave me such magnificent gifts.”

  “One hand gives while the other takes away. It is often the way of things.”

  “But you agree with them?”

  “I think you could stand to learn a bit of patience and tolerance. Look, I was going to formally declare you as my heir at your graduation celebration last night. In light of all this, I think it best to put it and your flag officer advancement on hold. Just for a little while until everyone cools down.”

  Bertram sighed. “I guess in the end it really doesn’t matter. I can’t be duke and fleet commander.”

  “You will still be fleet commander someday, I have no doubt. I do not plan on dying or resigning for some years yet to come. We will allow the other rulers to place their favorite in line and let them think they have won. When the time is right, you can cut right back in. We both know that you are more than capable of making up for a few years’ absence.”

  “I could take over now and do a better job than Commander Thibault.”

  “The only question now is what would you like to do? I can put you in charge of the home guard. That will give you command experience to improve your position once you return to the fleet.”

  Bertram tapped the rim of his glass as he thought. “No, I think not. The home guard does little more than march in the occasional parade. I am thinking perhaps the gendarme.”

&nbs
p; “The gendarme? Bertram, even the officer ranks are for lesser nobles. I cannot believe that you would deign to put yourself at such a low social level.”

  “As you said, I need to learn temperance. If I am going to be a fit ruler of this city, I need to understand my people at a level near theirs, not standing on this high balcony or flying over them in an airship. Besides, the city is rife with crime. The gendarme are obviously in desperate need of quality leadership.”

  “I cannot put you in charge of the gendarme. Reto Vanos holds that position, and I do not think he is inclined to vacate it.”

  “Fine, give me the rank of lieutenant commandant and make me the new chief inquisitor.”

  “You would be willing to fill a role subordinate to Reto?”

  “Of course not, but he doesn’t have to know that. Let him think he is still in charge. I doubt that it will take me long to find him at the heart of the gendarme’s corruption and have him imprisoned.”

  Rastus leaned toward Bertram and locked eyes with him. “You need to understand that this is no minor position. There are gears within gears that keep this city running. Some of those gears look rusted and should be tossed out, but without them, the entire thing will grind to a halt. Tread very carefully, son. Even the best duelist cannot avoid every shot, especially those aimed at his back.”

  Bertram smiled and tipped his glass. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  Horns began blaring out on the wall. Bells added their chorus a moment later.

  “What is going on out there?” Rastus asked as he stood and leaned on the balcony rail.

  Bertram leapt to his feet with a wide smile stretched across his face. “Worm! Uncle, is your airship on the roof?”

  “Of course it is.”

  Bertram bolted from the balcony and raced down the hall, pulling his mask from his belt and securing it in place as he ran. He took the stairs leading to the roof two at a time, bounding up the staircase like an excited skitter lizard. The young heir burst through the trapdoor of the roof and charged up the sleek airship’s gangplank.

  Bertram found the captain standing near the pilot at the ship’s stern. “Captain, we need to lift off immediately.”

  The airship captain stiffened as he took in the man’s mask and identified him by the gold disc set in its forehead bearing the house of Velarius’ seal. The single image of the moon Brontes stamped below it marked him as the first son of House Velarius.

  “Sah Bertram, I cannot move this vessel without the duke’s express consent, particularly in a time of emergency.”

  Bertram bristled. “There is no immediate threat to my uncle or this city. The only person in danger at this moment is anyone who makes me miss a worm hunt. Now, will you set this ship aloft or do I have to remove my mask?”

  The captain looked as though he were going to refuse, gazed out over the distant wall, and nodded to his pilot. The airship lifted out of its cradle with a shudder. The only thing Bertram loved more than dueling was sailing, and his heart leapt as the airship rose into the sky.

  Bertram ordered, “Point us over the north side of the wall.”

  The airship made a lazy turn under the pilot’s mental command as he directed the power contained in the vessel’s heart stone. The pilot had to use the heart stone’s energy exclusively for propulsion until the sails caught the wind and took over. With wind rarely in short supply, the airship cut through the sky at a steady twenty knots, propelling them up and over the wall in minutes.

  Bertram picked out one of several airships joining the hunt. “I need to get aboard that harpoon ship.”

  The captain’s lips writhed as he tried to contain his ire. “Sah, we would have to signal the other ship to land, and I do not think her captain is going to want to break from formation to take on a passenger no matter his rank or familial registry.”

  Bertram smiled. “Just maneuver us atop her. I’ll get myself aboard.”

  The captain sighed his annoyance at spoiled aristocrats but remained silent except to issue orders to his pilot. The harpoon ship was significantly larger than the yacht Bertram was on. It was built for strength and sported two heart stones to provide the power needed to hunt the colossal worms.

  Bertram left the captain and made his way to the main deck. Finding a suitable coil of line, he attached one end to the ship’s railing as the pilot guided them over the harpoon ship.

  “Mind if I borrow these?” he asked a crewman as he snatched a pair of worm-skin gloves from the man’s belt.

  Bertram leaned over the rail, eagerly studying their position above the much larger vessel. The pilot held his uncle’s yacht steady about thirty feet over the harpoon ship’s towering mainmast. Sensing that this was as close as the pilot was willing to get to the other ship, Bertram grabbed the rope a few feet from its free end, sprinted across the deck, and leapt over the railing.

  A profound and exhilarating sense of vertigo suffused his body as he soared through the open air before the rope reached its length. Bertram swung like a giant pendulum toward the harpoon ship’s network of sails and lines. His stomach lurched when he felt the yacht lift from an unexpected updraft and he knew he was going to miss his landing.

  Bertram released his grip on the rope and went into freefall. He stretched out his arms as he plummeted toward the harpoon ship, grabbed hold of a line near the top of the mainmast, and arrested his fall. Walking hand over hand toward the mast, he reached an ascending line and slid down to the deck.

  The ship’s captain, a burly man filling out his blue uniform to the point of bursting, stormed toward him, ready to unleash a tirade against the interloper. He pulled up short when Bertram turned toward him and he identified the seal set in the mask’s crown.

  “Sah, that was a damn fool thing to do!”

  Bertram plucked at his gloves’ fingertips to remove them and tucked them into his belt with a smile. “True, Captain, but it was damn fun. Please, point me to a harpoon. We have a worm to kill.”

  Bertram gripped the harpoon cannon with one hand and the gunwale with the other as he leaned out and searched the ground for sign of the worm. Below, a team of twelve rammox, huge, sturdy, bovine-like creatures with leathery hides and forward-curling horns, pulled an enormous wagon bearing the disassembled thumper unit.

  Three miles from the city wall, the thumper crew began erecting the contraption, standing up the tall wooden towers and affixing the thick ropes that raised the pile drivers. The crew split the rammox team in two and harnessed them to the pair of heavy rods. They drove the beasts to lift the multi-ton pillars fifteen feet above the ground before tripping the release to send them crashing back down in alternate succession.

  Even soaring hundreds of feet above them, Bertram could hear the deep, resonating impacts of the thumpers at work. Being part of a thumper crew was the most dangerous job in the realm. The reverberations were thought to mimic the mating summons of a colossal worm. Where the prospective mate decided to emerge was a guess. The crew prayed it would not be directly beneath them.

  Four harpoon ships hovered in a loose circle over the thumper crew, each with a half-dozen men manning the harpoons. Every crewman on deck leaned over the gunwale and scoured the countryside in search of the worm.

  A horn sounded from the ship off their starboard side moments before a flare shot out toward the ground. Bertram followed the streaking ember’s path and spotted the bulging mound of earth less than a mile from the thumper crew. The ground erupted in a spray of sand and rock as the worm burst forth, its body reaching fifty feet above the surface before crashing down in a cloud of dust. Bertram marveled not just at its enormous size, but the almost hypnotizing arcs of power hopping across its body between the mage glass seemingly growing out of its flesh like tiny glowing teeth.

  Its great size belied its speed as it rushed toward the thumper crew, dragging the rest of its bulk from the miles-long cavern it left behind. A worm looked slow to the observer, but its undulating movement could propel it fast
er than a swift man could run. The thumper crew had only minutes before the beast, gripped in a mating frenzy that would lay waste to everything around it, would be upon them.

  Bertram could not be certain, but he was sure it was a big one, at least one hundred eighty feet long. He clipped himself onto the harpoon cannon and held tight as the ship maneuvered with all haste to get into position. His stomach lurched as the vessel felt as though it were falling from the sky, which, in a way, it was.

  The harpoon ship dropped more than three hundred feet in just a few seconds before the pilot urged it to a bone-jarring stop less than a hundred feet above their target. The other three ships had matched course and taken positions nearby, close enough that Bertram could see the crew rushing about the decks and would have been able to identify them had he been familiar with anyone aboard.

  Bertram was not a wormer and had never been on a worm hunt before, but the creatures had always fascinated him, and he had studied how these fearless crews wrangled the godlike beasts. The thumper crews had already detached their rammox from the machine and were driving them away as quickly as they could. The worm was completely on the surface now and barreled toward them with only a few hundred yards of open ground separating it from what would become a meal once it discovered the humans’ duplicity.

  Another flare streaked out from the command vessel. Harpoon cannons flared and launched their metal spears into the worm’s thick hide. Bertram felt a rush of exhilaration as he fired his weapon and tried to peer through the blinding smoke to see if his aim had been true.

  He knew he had scored a hit before he could even see his target as the airship climbed and the line attached to his harpoon snapped taut. At a signal from someone on deck, a techno-arcanist pulled power from the ship’s pair of heart stones and sent it coursing through the shimmersilk harpoon lines.