Reticence

by Gail Carriger

  It pulled into the station in front of them in a measured way.

  The platform was raised above the surrounding fields, and designed like a village green. It had the air of a formal garden about it, with beautifully tended trees, topiary, carefully smoothed gravel, and artfully arranged boulders. When the train stopped, the temple was sitting within quite pretty grounds.

  “Pretty.” Arsenic’s voice was low. “No one is there to meet it.”

  “That’s interesting, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, but it means it might na stay long.”

  “Excellent point.” Percy hobbled faster.

  Then they heard a loud whining horn – akin to the mating cry of a constipated bagpipe. It struck something deep in Percy, a reminder of unbearable country house parties when the local gentry insisted on riding the hunt. A horrible custom that Percy objected to on principle because it occurred at inappropriately early times of day, and required both an entirely new wardrobe (including a crimson jacket, indeed!) and an excellent seat. Percy was, much to his embarrassment, a very good shot, but he couldn’t ride a horse any more than he could ride a limp baguette.

  All to say that although it was not the same sound, it was certainly a noise that reminded Percy of the hunt, and he knew without any question that he and Arsenic were the ones being hunted.

  TWELVE

  Kitsune Are My Weakness

  It was not a pleasant noise. It was the sort of sound that shivered the hairs down the back of Arsenic’s neck in a way that heralded threat. Militia or constabulary or the equivalent.

  Arsenic straightened under Percy’s weight and tried to chivvy him along. Poor sod, his ankle had to be killing him. It hadn’t been in great condition to start with and they’d just walked miles and were now running.

  Over her shoulder she could see kicked-up dust and bouts of steam, chasing them. Not on the track, but next to it.

  Arsenic kept glancing back and eventually the figures became more distinct. It was definitely militia, possibly military. They moved as a cohesive group and sported some kind of uniform. Could be both, of course, in some countries there was little distinction between local constabulary and standing army. The men moved together in such a way as to suggest that either they were highly trained, or their transportation devices were attached to one another. Since their attire was mostly black and yellow, they unpleasantly resembled swarming wasps.

  They rode what seemed to be bicycles but with the assist of a steam engine, or multiple small engines, because of the smoke and general speed of their approach.

  Arsenic and Percy attained the hopeful safety of the train platform-garden before the wasps. They had to hoist themselves up. Both of them struggled, Arsenic because she was short, Percy because he was injured. Also, neither of them was as fit as they ought to be. Too much sitting around in libraries, Arsenic remonstrated with herself. They were both in for a world of aches and pains tomorrow, as their bodies reminded them that they’d recently trekked a vast distance after months of walking no further than the poop deck.

  That was assuming they got a tomorrow.

  A loud whizz and bang rent the early morning air, and a garble of Japanese meant that the wasps were within shooting range.

  Arsenic and Percy were horribly exposed, running across on top of the platform to the temple. Percy clearly ignoring his ankle in favour of his life.

  More gunshots.

  Fortunately, none of them hit anything living.

  The temple doors were those big double kind, much less flimsy than in the Paper City. She and Percy tried to slide them to the side, but nothing happened. They tried pushing and pulling, still nothing.

  Arsenic banged on them while Percy looked around and began poking and prodding at anything that stuck out or looked movable. He was trying for a release valve, or a door pull or a butler bell. Finally he latched on to a long luxurious thick gold embroidered ribbon, not dissimilar to the obi currently wrapped around his leg. He pulled it down so hard he almost swung from it.

  Inside the temple train a tremendous gong reverberated.

  The doors to the temple slid aside.

  Two ladies stood before them, or Arsenic thought they were ladies. They were dressed not unlike Lord Ryuunosuke in scaled shiny armour, only they were about Arsenic’s height. Everything they wore was white or cream, and it occurred to Arsenic that this was the first time she’d seen a lack of colour in Japan. Everything so far had been bright and cheerful, from the lush green of the fields to the red of the temple roof. Each guard held a long staff in one hand with a wickedly curved blade at the top.

  Arsenic bowed low and poked Percy in the hip so that he did the same.

  Fortunately, the guards made concessions to their foreign appearance and spoke Japanese slowly.

  “Strangers?” said one.

  “Westerners,” said the other.

  “Do you seek mercy?”

  Arsenic thought quickly. “This is a temple to the goddess of mercy?” she asked or hoped she asked.

  “It is.”

  Behind them, the wasps had attained the platform and were rushing towards them.

  “Please, help us. Mercy.” Arsenic waited for the next gunshot.

  “We aren’t criminals,” added Percy. “We have done nothing wrong except fall from the sky.”

  “You come from the Paper City?”

  “Sort of, yes. Before that England.”

  The guards exchanged looks.

  “The girl is welcome. The boy…” The guard looked at Percy with great suspicion.

  Arsenic pressed. “Is my husband and he is injured. He needs mercy more than I.” She pointed to Percy’s ankle with the obi wrapped about it.

  One of the guards bent and examined it. “Lady Sakura sent you?”

  Arsenic decided lying was the better part of valour. “She did.”

  The guard straightened.

  Simultaneously, both guards banged their staffs to the floor and spoke in unison. It was a single long word that Arsenic hadn’t heard before.

  Percy shook his head before she could ask. He didn’t recognize it either.

  The guards stood aside. Arsenic pushed Percy to enter, just as the wasps came up behind them. She felt the rush of air as she evaded grasping hands.

  There was a shink noise. They whirled to find the staffs lowered across the entrance, protecting their backs with sharp blades. The wasps were stopped dead at the door.

  “I believe we’ve been given sanctuary,” said Percy.

  “Lucky break.”

  “I assure you, not customary in my experience. You must lead a charmed life.”

  She snorted. “Not so far as you’d know it. There’s something more going on here. They werena surprised to find us.”

  Percy nodded. “Agreed. I wonder if they saw us fall and came to collect us.”

  All the while they murmured back and forth in English the guards and the wasps argued in Japanese.

  It was a sublimely polite argument, but an argument all the same. Arsenic was nowhere near fluent enough to follow. But she stopped talking, in case Percy could garner anything.

  There was no doubt that the wasps wanted to take them into custody, but the guards were against this. Or perhaps it was simply that the guards had taken them into custody in the guise of sanctuary, and they were now merely bones to argue over.

  Several more temple guards appeared, also women in the white scaled armour, who looked them over with interest, and then took up position to support the first two.

  Arsenic liked the idea of a female warrior force. They moved well, battle-hardy and fit, with muscles under those scales. They were not very big but they were sturdy. One had a scar on her cheek.

  Arsenic had known a few female soldiers in her day. Hidden, of course, but they found their way to her when they could.

  She tried a small smile and another deep bow to the new guards. It was silly of men to think women couldn’t fight or wouldn’t want to. She wished to sho
w support and gratitude.

  Percy noticed they had more company, and also more protection, and bowed himself.

  Arsenic was relieved, at least he could be trained.

  The argument continued.

  Arsenic looked to one of the newcomers and tried hesitant Japanese. “Perhaps if we were removed from view, we would be less tempting?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed.

  “This is a good idea,” said a new voice.

  Arsenic turned slightly, still vested in keeping an eye on the wasps, to find they’d been joined by a lady. Or she assumed this was a lady, for she was dressed much like Lady Sakura in layers of robes and a wide obi with that big poof out the back.

  Unlike Lady Sakura she looked healthy, tired but not ill, and her eyes were bright in a way that suggested something otherworldly. Either human power or supernatural ability.

  The sun was up, not something most supernatural creatures could tolerate. So Arsenic went with assuming this was a very important human person. Perhaps head priestess of the temple?

  The lady was also quite androgynous, and after weeks spent socializing with Anitra, Arsenic’s doctor’s eye took in a certain arrangement of bones and throat and hands that might indicate biology and dress were more complicated than at first glance. Still, if Anitra had taught Arsenic anything, it was to respect presentation, so she bowed. “Lady.”

  Percy followed her lead.

  The lady’s responding bow was almost curt, foreshortened, which Arsenic knew had something to do with social rank.

  “Lady Manami,” she introduced herself.

  “Arsenic Ruthven, Percival Tunstell,” replied Arsenic.

  “You’re not Japanese,” sputtered Percy. Thank heavens he hadn’t said anything more dire.

  “Neither, fire-hair, are you.” The lady did not seem to take insult at Percy’s blunt statement. She turned to the guards. She spoke Japanese more slowly and carefully than the locals, and Arsenic was grateful for it. “Shall I remove temptation?”

  One of the guards answered, “This could become complicated.”

  “Did they cry mercy?”

  “They asked, but the formal words were never spoken.”

  Lady Manami turned back to them. “Do you seek refuge, strangers?”

  Arsenic flinched. “Does it come with obligations?”

  “Of course. But we could hand you over to them, if you prefer.” She gestured to the wasps. “And we will have wasted our journey.”

  “So you did see us fall. Why na stop on the track and pick us up there?”

  “This temple must be at rest in what you would call consecrated ground. Otherwise authority overrides mercy.”

  Percy said, “And what will they do to us?”

  “Prison, death, difficult to tell. There are factions with conflicting perspectives on foreigners. It’s untidy.”

  “Politics,” said Percy in an exhausted tone of voice.

  Lady Manami inclined her head, elegant and sure. “As you say. So, us or them?”

  Percy looked to Arsenic, eyes desperate.

  She wondered if this was a sign of their future life. She did not deny that she wanted the prickly ginger boffin for herself. She’d accepted her fate the moment she called him m’eudail. Percy would have his opinions, of course, and much to say on all subjects, but in the matter of safety he would yield to her expertise. He’d decided to trust her, and for Percy that meant trusting his whole heart and body.

  He let Rue boss him around as navigator, and Primrose boss him around about his personal affairs, and Virgil boss him around about his wardrobe. Percy was the kind of man who identified an expert and then ceded control, complaining all the while. He’d apparently decided that she was the expert on his safety. That, she’d been trained for, his heart was another matter. The safeguarding of another’s emotions was a serious undertaking. Arsenic could only hope she was up to the task. Although she realized she wanted to try.

  His eyes were big on her face and she wanted to smooth over his red eyebrow, or stroke down his neck, like comforting a bird. “Arsenic?”

  In this decision she had some measure of confidence. She couldn’t explain why, but she liked Lady Manami. And she definitely approved of the guards.

  “You,” she said, without hesitation. “We pick you.”

  Lady Manami spoke the same long Japanese word that the guards had before they crossed staffs to defend against intruders.

  The new guards instantly stepped forward to back up their colleagues.

  Lady Manami turned and, using small tight gliding steps, led them to the side and into the temple.

  The sun rose over a Custard clamped tight to the most beautiful city in the known world and an excess of birdsong.

  Spoo slept. It was the deep sleep of one who knew that decklings and deckhands were keeping an eye on her airship. Even a few greasers, firemen, and sooties were up top through the morning, to watch over the clamp and the safety of The Spotted Custard. Some out of duty, most out of curiosity.

  They shared out Quesnel’s dart emitter and Aggie’s crossbow, much to Aggie’s horror. Frenchie had to issue an order at her. Because if Lady Captain had ordered Aggie to give over her crossbow, the head greaser would have gnawed the captain’s face off. Aggie slept nearby, because she didn’t trust anyone shooting it except her. Interesting to note that she slept at all. Spoo had thought Aggie spun herself a chrysalis and hibernated inside like a grub once a year.

  Lady Captain muttered something about buying Aggie two more crossbows simply to stop her fussing, which was just like Lady Captain. Reward grumpy behaviour. Honestly, Spoo sometimes wondered if Lady Captain actually liked Aggie, or if she was nice in order to annoy the redhead.

  Before she dozed off, she heard someone report that the hostages were asleep. Which made sense, seeing as they were both supernatural creatures and the sun was up.

  Spoo thought she’d only rest her eyelids for a bit, swinging in her favourite hammock. But she slept like the undead. She woke only once, when the lantern lights blinked out, because the birds started chirruping as if it were their duty to the Great Almighty. Then she remembered that they were docked in an air city and of course birds would be all in with that concept, and promptly went back to sleep.

  By luncheon everyone began to stir, and by afternoon tea, the crew was back in form. They’d also managed to draw a bit of a city crowd. The dock filled with fancy local mucky-mucks and tradesfolk and such, all wearing brocade robes and stony expressions. They came, stood in silent interest, and then drifted away again, only to be replaced by others. Never too many at once, and never rowdy like dockside most cities. Still, it was clear that word had spread of an English ship clamped down to Edo – foreigners of interest.

  A crowd, even a small polite one, put Spoo’s people on high alert. She sent Nips, who’d once mayhap been a bit of a pickpocket (though they never mentioned that to the toffs), to walk among them. He caused a bit too much of a stir for stealth. He didn’t pinch anything, not even information, since he didn’t speak Japanese. He climbed back aboard via the clamp (proving how easy it would be) looking shamefaced.

  Spoo slapped him on the back. “Can’t win every port.”

  “Never happened to me afore, Spoo. They all up and saw me!”

  “Taste of adulthood, I suspect.”

  “Horrible.”

  “Too true. Could even get too big to float.”

  “Not me,” said Nips proudly. “Me da never went much over ha’penny size.”

  Spoo nodded, pleased for him. He’d stay slight and nimble. And he knew his dad. Spoo had no idea what she was in for when she turned all over woman. No idea at all.

  It was a horrible slow day because they hadn’t anything to do. Lollygagging about was only good for short spurts. Normally when they were in dock, Spoo and her fellows ran the restock, explored the city, or otherwise adventured. This was as bad as being in the grey. Only in the grey at least she knew they were heading somewhere. Ri
ght now they weren’t moving.

  Spoo hated being still.

  So she did what any deckling of sense would do, she set to figuring out how to break the clamp. The thing was designed well, and so far they’d hadn’t found any weak spots. Eventually she decided that they’d best involve their Frenchie in the matter.

  Quesnel got all twinkle-eyed over the idea. “Could you make me some sketches, Spoo? Without anyone noticing.”

  Spoo wasn’t an artist but she said she’d do her best.

  And she did. Trying to get as much of the workings as she could with a bit of paper and stylus, then she brought her drawing down to engineering.

  Quesnel was as flummoxed as the rest of them. “We know what the material is?”

  “Steel most like.”

  “Hard to even melt that. Any weakness in the welds? The design itself is spot on.” His tone was all genuine admiration.

  Spoo shook her head. That had been her first thought too. “Brute force ain’t the answer. We need us something refined.”

  “Ask Rodrigo, sabotage is more his kind of thing.”

  So Spoo went to the Italian next.

  Rodrigo was weird. He was extra grumpy about the fox-lady being aboard, since he objected on principle to Tash. Another shifter was adding insult to injury. When Spoo woke him up to ask about clamps, he threw a shoe at her.

  Spoo supposed that was fair. She’d busted into his private quarters, with his lady right there and without her veil and all. Aristocracy got odd about privacy.

  Spoo wondered if there was a way to cut out a big circle where the clamp fastened to the Custard’s deck. It would weaken the ship’s structure and it was right next to Spoo’s beloved Gatling gun. But it was only clamped to the deck and flange of the railing, and honestly they didn’t exactly need all their deck to float. Did they?

  She went off to ask Lady Captain if she might start sawing around the clamp. Did they have a wood saw to do this with? And would the captain mind if Spoo basically made a ruddy big hole in her airship?