Of Bone and Thunder (7 page)

Jawn backed away a pace. “No, thanks, I think I'm good.”

The rag groaned and began exhaling in a series of short, ragged puffs. She started thrashing her legs and opening and closing her jaws as if she couldn't get enough air. The air gill that Jawn could see was closed again, although steam issued from spaces between the scales. Men began running away.

“What's wrong with her?” Jawn asked, aware that only he and the co-driver were now standing near the rag.

The co-driver shook his head. “Poor gal, musta blew a lung gittin' o'er the mountain. I tol' Ecker weez pushin' her, but when youse gittin' over a mountain, thar ain't nuthin' for it but to push, yah? Mountains down't git out a yer way.”

“Isn't there something you can do?” Jawn asked, realizing he wanted to avoid finding out if there was something
he
could do. He was beyond tired, every muscle ached, and his thought process was mush. Trying to muster a thaumic process into something that could help the ailing beast would call too much attention to himself, even if he could think of something useful.

“They gonna try, but when they git lek this it's usually the chop for 'em. Cut up their parts. Peepers alone worth my weight in silver,” the co-driver said.

A group of ten men came running up to the rag. Like the others before, they wore ankle-to-neck leather aprons and elbow-high gauntlets. In addition, their faces were covered in black swaddling so that only a thin strip revealed their eyes. The four largest carried two sets of heavy iron chains
between them. Metal spikes hung from leather belts around their waists and sledgehammers were slung across their backs with rope.

The largest man towered over Jawn and was twice as broad at the shoulders. He carried a wicked-looking pickaxe with a three-foot-long pick on one end. Two others only slightly smaller held standard axes and the fourth had a man-length section of three-inch-diameter bamboo coated in a thick layer of clay on his shoulder.

“What's all this?” Jawn asked, backing away as the men approached the rag. Instead of dissipating, the heat emanating from the rag was increasing. Her thrashing was growing more intense, as well. If not for the long trip, Jawn suspected she'd be up on all fours rampaging. As it was, her claws were gouging deep furrows in the dirt and her wings were beating against the ground, kicking up small dust devils.

The men with the chains tossed them over the rag, one across her neck at the shoulders, the other at the base of the tail. As they used their sledgehammers to pound spikes through the chains into the ground, more men jumped on her wings and pounded U-shaped iron spikes directly through her wing membranes over the bones, pinning her appendages to the ground.

“Doesn't that hurt her?!” Jawn asked.

The rag roared and tried to swing her head around to get at the men, but even more had arrived and were pinning her head and neck between large metal poles sunk into the ground, effectively corralling her in place.

The man with the pickaxe stood off to the side, swinging the tool through the air with a master swordsman's skill. Meanwhile, the man holding the bamboo pipe approached the rag. He set the pipe down and pulled a small cylindrical glass tube from a satchel at his side. Slipping a heavy cloth hood over his head, he pressed the glass against the side of the rag. He then leaned forward and placed his ear against it. He did this several times. He finally nodded and stood up, taking a bar of red clay mixed with copper from a pocket and marking an X on one of the scales. The bar melted as he pressed it to the scale.

Jawn's stomach sank.
They're going to kill the rag!
Jawn started forward, not knowing what he was going to do.

“Easy now, they's jus' makin' sure they don't hit her boiler,” the co-driver
said, laying his three-fingered hand on Jawn's arm. Jawn tried to shrug his arm away, but even with three fingers, the co-driver had an impressively strong grip. “We'd best be backin' up a bit, yah?”

Jawn found himself being propelled backward. “Why, afraid to get a little blood on you?” Jawn asked, spinning around to face the man and breaking his hold at the same time.

The co-driver slowly shook his head. A tear glistened in the corner of each eye. “If'n they miss an' hit her boiler or one of the main pipes, well, she could up'n furtle-eyes.”

“What does that even mean?” Jawn asked.

The co-driver spread his arms wide apart in an arc, then wiggled his fingers as he brought his arms down. “Furtle-eyes a few 'undred yards in all directions.”

“What, explode?” Jawn asked, remembering the rumors.

The co-driver nodded, gently reaching and grabbing Jawn's arm again. “She's hettin' up laek a coal pile that's caught afire. All the water in the world won't put her out now. Don't know all the whys and why-fors, but their innards gets thinned out when they gets hot, makes 'em inpredickable laek. And when they's keenin' with a bad lung, well, they's jus' plain dangerous. They needs them lungs for to keep the air flowin' to keep the heat down, yah? An' her gills ain't what they was. Laek as ruptured them both after that mountain. Poor gal, she's got a runaway fire deep in her.”

The man pulled on Jawn's arm, moving him farther back. Jawn allowed himself to be led, his indignation and anger turning to agony in an instant. Despite his coarseness, the man cared deeply for the rag.

More water was thrown onto the rag, bursting into steam the moment it hit her scales. The grass around her was now on fire, and the chains and iron pegs pinning her to the ground were glowing a dull red.

Braving the heat, the two axe men stepped forward and began chopping at the marked scale, one on each side. It sounded like steel on rock. They grunted with the effort as the rag shook with each blow. After over a dozen swings, each scale had been hacked away, exposing a roughly one-foot-in-diameter patch of gray, leathery skin.

The large man with the pickaxe came forward, hitting the hole made in
the scale at dead center, sinking the wedge-shaped point up to the shaft. The rag roared. Molten, shimmering blood spurted out of the hole as a sulfurous stream of smoke vented skyward, the rag now bellowing a fiery cloud of sparks.

The pickaxe man reefed on the handle, twisting it back and forth in the wound, making it bigger. The steaming blood flow abated as a hissing sound grew. The man withdrew the pickaxe and stepped away as the one with the clay-coated bamboo pipe stepped forward and slid the sharpened end into the wound. It immediately caught fire. Two of the men with sledgehammers began working it deep into the side of the rag.

Jawn tensed, waiting for the explosion. He was no longer trapped in a nightmare, but even now he felt incapable of mustering up enough concentration to perform any kind of thaumic process.

Blood gushed out of the bamboo tube, bursting into flames as it hit the ground. The flow then slowed to a trickle, leaving only the steady hiss of escaping air and frothy bubbles. The waves of heat pouring off the rag lessened. The red glow of the chains began to darken and a grating noise rose as the rag's scales began to slide over one another, tightening back up.

The rag laid her head down on the ground and then did the most amazing thing. She began purring, her breathing far less labored. More men ran up, pushing wheelbarrows filled with a reddish-brown slurry. They tipped their loads in front of the rag's mouth, creating a small pond glittering with metal flecks. The rag lifted her head up and put it back down, burying her muzzle in the muddy mix. Bubbles and steam rose as she began to drink and inhale the slurry.

Jawn stared openmouthed. “What was that?”

The co-driver nodded approvingly at the rag. Tears rolled freely down his cheeks now. “Laek I said, poor thing lost a lung on the way o'er the mountain. Jus' too much strain. You gots to git in there and git it workin' agin, yah? Buts we gots her coolin', so's now she can take on some fire paste and patch the walls.”

Jawn nodded though he didn't really understand. He had studied primarily human anatomy at the RAT, but the focus of his instruction had been on better and quicker ways to kill a person, not save one. His knowledge of rags was limited to a few medicinal properties of various body parts.

More steam gushed out of the bamboo tube in the rag's chest, followed by spurts of the metal-impregnated clay slurry. Several of the leather-clad men examined the hot clay, then motioned for more wheelbarrows. Whatever they were doing, they appeared to have it under control.

“Welcome to the Lux!” Rickets said, suddenly appearing at Jawn's side. “It ain't much to look at it, but oh, the smell.”

“Did you see that?” Jawn asked, still staring at the rag. What in blazes had he signed up for?

“Ah, I told you she'd get us down,” Rickets said. “Old girl really came through. Bit hairy there at the end, but still beats sailing.”

I can't deal with this
. “I've got to report to the . . . I've got to report somewhere.” Now that the excitement was over, he became aware of his own body again. His head was awash in heat, yet he was shivering. The darkening sky felt like a wet, steaming blanket being draped around his head. If he didn't lie down soon, he'd topple to the ground. “My orders are in my . . .,” Jawn started saying, then trailed off as his fingers brushed against his wet tunic. He knew it was water now, but he feared that if he dared look down he'd see he was still covered in blood.

“That'll keep,” Rickets said, taking Jawn by the arm and steering him away from the rag. “I know a little watering hole not far from here where the beer is cold and the whores are hot.”

Cold beer sounded amazing, better even than sleep. The desire for sex, however, was currently lost to him. He was done with this crowny. He planted his feet and let Rickets's grip on his elbow slip off. “Thanks for the offer, but I've got to report to the Seventh Phalanx,” Jawn said.
Enough of being led around.

Rickets looked around them again before speaking as he had on the rag, his voice pitched low so only Jawn could hear. “Save yourself the trouble. They'll be moving inland soon. Right now they're on the coast, a good three days' journey by wagon train up and over the mountains we just crossed. Don't get me wrong—it's not a bad place to be out there. Fresh air, all the water you'd ever need for bathing if you're into that sort of thing, and best of all, it's about the safest place to be in this whole damn cesspool. But you'll just be in the way while they're moving, so why bother?”

Jawn didn't appreciate being considered useless, but he had to admit
that at the moment he had no idea how he could contribute to the war. Maybe throw up on someone. “Let's say you're right. How do you even know that?”

Rickets smiled. “You work long enough for the Crown, you get to hear things when the high muckety-mucks get into their cups after the day candle has burned out. Maybe read a few things not necessarily meant for your eyes.”

Jawn realized his mouth had fallen open. “But . . . that's spying. You could be hung for that.”

“Oh mercy, you are pure silver, you are,” Rickets said, his eyes shimmering with mirth. He put a hand on Jawn's shoulder and grasped it firmly, but in a friendly way. “One drink won't kill you. In fact, it might just save your life.”

Jawn looked back over the field. He'd dreamed about this moment. He was in a foreign land. He was in a war. It was a moment to remember, to cherish. In the Kingdom's time of need, he'd answered the call as so many brave warriors had done throughout the Kingdom's history. He wasn't a hero, not yet, but this moment was to be the beginning of his journey that would lead him to something . . . more.

Now, however, he wanted to forget the entire thing. He was standing in a muddy field with nothing but jungle on the horizon. The smell of sulfur and blood mixed with the hot air as he absently ran his fingers through his hair, picking out bits of gore that just a short time ago had been a living, breathing person. Dusk was turning to night, and he had no idea where to go or what to do. This was not how it was supposed to be.

“If we keep standing around here, we're liable to see them feed the rag,” Rickets said. “They stuff the ass of a goat with coal and set it on fire. Some folks find it interesting.”

Jawn deliberately didn't ask if the goat was alive or dead. He kicked at the mud with the toe of his boot. His guide, for lack of a far more derogatory word, was a foul-mouthed bureaucrat who managed to anger and humble Jawn with frustrating ease, only to turn around and proffer genuine aid while revealing hints of a keen mind that Jawn would be foolish to ignore. Rickets, for all his many annoying qualities, seemed to have a handle on this place and was offering to be an escort.

“Fine,” Jawn said, reminding himself that tomorrow was a new day. “One drink.”

Rickets bobbed up on his toes in excitement. “Now you're talking! Oh, you'll like this place. They brew a wine that will restore your virginity.” He paused and looked Jawn over. “Or lose it.”

“Lovely,” Jawn said, walking back toward the rag to pick up his two bags from among the pile of luggage hastily tossed from the beast. Rickets followed along like a puppy eager to play.

“You don't know it now, Jawn Rathim, but you just made one of the best decisions of your life.”

Jawn didn't bother to answer. He was just as certain that he hadn't.

“WEEL'S GOING TO GET
us all killed is what he's going to do,” Voof said, pacing around the small clearing the shield had settled into to wait out the night. He covered the distance from one end of their small encampment to the other in just twenty long strides. “Not that he'd care. There ain't no need us being up here. Ain't no rags flying at night. He's just pissed 'cause a few officers got the shit scared out of 'em.”