The Vagrant (32 page)

The commander orders a wide berth be given, returning some distance so recently fought for.

But even at a distance, the First will notice them sooner or later. The commander ponders what to do next, aware that time is running out.

He remembers Patchwork, remembers its stealthy approach in Verdigris – and suddenly a wash of memories surface, not his own. He remembers the technique required to dampen essence, remembers teaching it to her Southern Duke – the commander snarls – not her Southern Duke, not hers! He is not her! He cuts the memory free of the Uncivil’s associations, lifting only necessary knowledge away. Calm returns. He orders Samael to silence the engine.

Power cut, the boat moves slowly, drawn by waves alone. Samael continues his work while the commander lies out of sight, veiling their essence, softening, darkening.

Gone.

A second figure joins Yuren on the balcony, taller, thinner, a scarecrow next to a pumpkin.

Roget clears his throat. ‘I am here.’

Far below, on deck, the First raises a hand in greeting.

Yuren steps forward, tentative, and addresses the assembled. ‘For years we asked for help and none came. Even if we manage to cross the sea, there’s no guarantee The Seven will help us. We’ve come this far alone but if we are to survive that has to change. Our engines are overtaxed, our rations stretched to their limits. There is only one road before us that guarantees our safety.’ He turns to look at the First. ‘And so, in my capacity as Councilman, and on behalf of everyone on this ship, I accept your offer.’

The red on Axler’s face turns to purple. ‘You’ve sold us out!’

Yuren looks at Axler, imploring. ‘Councillor, this is what you wanted too. You have been against going to the Shining City from the start, as was Roget. The First is offering us a chance at life. Stand with me. Together we can make this work.’

The leaders of First Circle argue, words carried high over heads, booming, thunderous above the hot mutterings of the crowd. Tension grows, becoming unbearable until Axler spits on the floor. He stabs a finger at the infernal. ‘Get yourself and the rest of your infected friends off my ship.’

The First walks towards Axler, arms low and submissive, hands open. ‘But your leader has already accepted; by what authority do you reverse this?’

‘I speak for every right-minded, untainted person on this ship!’ Axler makes a signal, secret, and guards prepare themselves for action.

‘Do you? It seems to me you speak only for yourself.’

‘Looks like we’re about to find out.’ Axler swings the lance into line with the First’s chest. ‘You’ve got exactly five seconds to turn around and go back to wherever you came from.’

As the First replies, Axler’s lips shape numbers, counting down silently.

‘If you truly speak for the people here, put it to them. If the majority agree with you, I will leave without another word and I will take Yuren and Roget with me. If they do not, then you will give yourself—’

Fire surges from the lance. ‘Five!’

Even as Axler’s finger is squeezing, the First is moving, fast enough to race the flames. Heat explodes in the space where the First was, the edges of it reaching out to lick at a retreating arm, catching a flowing sleeve. Axler has time to look surprised; the infernal weaving around the stream of fire and underneath his lance. Fabric bursts alight, making a tail behind the First’s palm as it slams, open, into Axler’s side. In sympathy, ribs and armour crack together. The lance goes quiet and its bearer falls to the floor.

Ignoring the flames creeping over its shoulder, the First moves forward for a second attack.

A lone guard, a lowly private, steps up behind the First. Grabbing a flaming wrist in both hands, she shouts: ‘Help!’

Before anyone else, the First responds. Twisting a captured arm it grabs Private Ro by the elbow, making their hold mutual. Its free hand blurs against Ro’s body, drilling into her stomach till she hangs limp, a long sack full of broken bones.

The guards hesitate, lacking the conviction to finish what their captain started.

But Captain Axler is not quite finished. He speaks from his position on the floor, amplifiers catching every rattle and bubble in his throat. ‘Attack. Attack together.’ He reaches for his lance but finds that someone has kicked it away.

Boots appear alongside, disrespectful, too close. He tilts his head back to see behind, and finds betrayal, inverted. He sees First Circle citizens all around him and a crowd gathering behind his guards.

His people raise their rifles, ready to fight at last, unaware they are facing the wrong way.

Like a great wave, the crowd crashes over the line of guards, sucking them under, crushing underfoot.

Before they reach him, strong hands slide under his body, lifting him high.

The First raises Axler above its head, a wriggling trophy. ‘People of First Circle, I accept your offer. There is but one … obstacle that stands between us now. I wish for peace but the Seraph bring only noise and hate. You harbour one, one with the longest and sharpest of tongues. Reveal him to me.’

An image projects into the air. It shows a static man, unimpressive, his long coat worn by travel, his face weather-aged.

‘He was here!’ shouts a voice from the back. The crowd parts quickly, revealing nothing but an empty alleyway and the back end of a goat, fleeing the scene.

Despite everything, Axler finds strength for one last smile.

They run, footsteps echoing through empty streets. Though Vesper is carried, her feet move in sympathy with the others.

When they reach Deke’s boat, the engines are already running, prow out to sea. Without a word, they pile on, packing along the wings, each additional body pushing the boat a little lower. Deke casts off as the last one joins them.

By the time the goat catches up, a space yawns between First Circle and escape. The goat’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t slow down, glare fixed on her target. Hooves kick on plasteel, then air, as she sails over the water, a meteor, malevolent.

Vesper points, delighted. ‘G—’

Her shadow falls across the Vagrant who turns, too slow to escape fate.

‘—oat!’

Man becomes crash mat and the boat rocks, water spraying up, dappling faces.

While things settle, Harm crawls closer to the cockpit. ‘What’s the plan?’

Deke swings the boat around, threading between the waiting warships and First Circle’s curves, a lizard slipping under the noses of lions. Two sky-ships come into view. ‘That’s the plan.’

The nearest one notices their approach and a pilot steps out, weapon in hand.

Genner’s rifle fires twice, silent, silencing.

No more challenges come and they dock, unloading from one vessel into another quickly.

Deke whispers into his hand and his boat turns in the water, facing the other sky-ship. He pats the controls affectionately and climbs aboard alongside Genner. Hands move expertly and the sky-ship trembles, readying for flight.

Harm watches them from a corner, his face hidden behind two elbows and a shoulder. ‘You’ve done this before.’

‘Nope,’ replies Deke. ‘Never stole a sky-ship before!’

Genner laughs. Harm doesn’t.

As they push heavily into the air, Deke’s old boat speeds towards the remaining sky-ship, engines brightening, until the glow hurts to watch. The older, flightless bird collides with her younger cousin. The explosion is loud, satisfying. Vesper covers her ears.

Below them seven warships wake, cannons humming to life, eager for attention.

Too burdened to dodge, the sky-ship relies on her shields for survival. Many of the shots fly wide, many don’t. Each collision saps the protective light, drawing on precious reserves. By the time they fly clear, worried bleeps sound from flashing displays.

Overloaded, underpowered, the sky-ship travels on, till flying becomes gliding, till gliding becomes falling.

From a distance the sky-ship appears graceful, skimming across the water, a stone cast by a playful god. Inside, each bounce is magnified. Heads and knees bash against walls, against each other. Bruises bloom and distress sounds loud, filling the cramped space. The bounces get smaller and more frequent until, at last, the sky-ship merely drifts.

Passengers find themselves alive, injuries widespread but minor. Nobody celebrates, saving that for Deke’s appraisal of the ship and their chances.

‘Well,’ he reports. ‘She ain’t flying again but I reckon she can still manage calm waters. Second time that’s happened. If I’m not careful, I’m gonna get me a reputation.’

He deploys two emergency rafts, self-inflating spheres of plastic that he tethers to the mother vessel. Powerless but buoyant, the rafts are soon stuffed with people. A few have followed the Vagrant on this last leg to the Shining City, a mish mash of people from different places. Deke and his nephew Genner come from Six Circles, Chalk and the other escapees from Griggsy’s employ tag along, as much to avoid going home as to travel anywhere specific, and lastly there are those rescued from Slake, who survived sickness, travelled to the wall and fled to First Circle when it fell.

Vesper sits up front with Deke, both talking rapidly. Occasionally they wait for the other to finish. Often they giggle. The goat stands on one wing, at ease with the rocking motion. The Vagrant sits on the other.

Harm is crouched by the cockpit’s entrance. ‘Deke, can I ask you something?’

‘Sure can, long as you don’t mind me answering it.’

‘Do you think we can make the journey like this?’

‘Well, we can’t just blunder any old way across the waves like one of them big cruisers, we got to work with the currents and the winds where we can.’ He pats the dashboard. ‘This old girl’s got all the regular charts stored, plus I got a few I found the hard way.’

Harm begins to relax. ‘Aren’t you worried about the First following us?’

‘That’s land-thinking, that is. Not much point worrying. Nope, if any hostile vessel finds us we’re screwed. Just like if the weather turns bad or if one of our engines gives out, or if—’

Harm cuts in. ‘I think I get it now, thanks, Deke.’

‘You should take your cue from Vesper here.’

‘Esper!’

‘Yep, this little feller’s a natural. When everything’s going alright, best thing you can do is sit back and enjoy it till things turn to shit, which they surely will.’

Silence takes over, the open sea encouraging contemplation. The suns swirl slowly out of sight behind a bank of cloud, hastening darkness.

‘Hey everyone,’ calls Deke, cheerily. ‘Good news: We’re not far from the Spine Run! We can follow the land for miles and make good time. And my navpack’ll get us through the rocks no problems. When the suns are up tomorrow we’ll start the run. In the meantime we can get some rest on Tail Rock.’

Tail Rock is neither long nor thin. Shaped like a battered spade, its name comes solely from its position, the first in a line of undersea mountains that march to the horizon.

They set up camp. The goat sets off to explore and is uninspired by the local army of sea birds and their messy paintwork.

The humans need no more excitement, happy to huddle in the camp. Most people fall quickly to sleep. A circle of heaters provide warmth and gentle light, reassuring and soft. Conversations become reflective, intimate, then fade away, to be forgotten.

Hours later, a scrabble of hooves on stone stirs people awake. Birds shriek and take to the air, abandoning nests and young. Desperate calls penetrate the skulls of even the heaviest sleepers. The goat charges past camp and leaps onto Deke’s ship. Without pause she dives into the cockpit, vanishing from sight.

Lights are turned to full. People look at each other and then at the blank sky for answers.

At the Vagrant’s side, the sword stirs, restless.

‘Up there,’ says Chalk, shining his light upward. On the rocks, high where the birds usually hold sway, is a silhouette, broad, imposing. Armour glints in patches, is dark in others. The silhouette moves, drawing a sword that twists and moans, challenging.

The lonely sound lingers, hanging in ears long after it should.

‘I don’t hear any others,’ says Harm.

Genner unslings his rifle. ‘Let’s take it together.’

‘I’m not usually up for a fight but if you need me, I’m there,’ adds Deke.

Two of the three sisters from Slake share the sentiment. The rest appear lost, frightened. They back towards the ship, following the goat’s example.

The Vagrant’s gaze seems distant as he takes in their faces. With closed eyes he plants a kiss on Vesper’s forehead. It is a goodbye, unwelcome. Vesper clings to the Vagrant, crying as her fingers are prised free. Harm’s waiting arms are poor consolation.

‘So what’s the plan?’ asks Genner, nervous and eager. The Vagrant puts his hands on the young man’s shoulders, easing him back into his seat. ‘But I don’t get it … We’re with you, we all are. We’re ready to fight.’ The Vagrant nods, begins to back away. ‘You don’t have to do this alone!’ After a last, sad smile, the Vagrant begins to climb. In desperation, the guard turns to Harm. ‘I don’t get it. Why’d he smile at me?’

‘Because that’s what I normally say. And because it’s not true. Even if he wanted to be, he’s never alone.’

High up, the rocks are slippery with sea foam and bird droppings. The commander watches the bearer of the Malice clamber towards him. There is an impulse to strike now, send the enemy to their death on the stony beach, but another, less logical, makes him wait. A reason comes after: the Malice must be destroyed, its essence ruined, silenced. To lose it to the sea would mean death for the master.

And himself.

But it is not reason that stays his hand. With growing self awareness, he knows this. The thought is without context or sense, unsatisfying, nothing more than the fact it would feel wrong. Of late, the commander misses his former certainty.

Imprisoned in his hands, the tainted sword cries ceaselessly, metal twisting free of shape, stretching, threatening to split, then falling back, a blade again.

When the bearer finishes his climb, he pauses, chest heaving. The commander waits for the mortal to recover breath and approach. It is not the first time the two have met but previously one has fled the other, or third parties have been distracting. Now, when the Malice wakes and the air bursts with light, the two see only each other.