Tinkermage (Book 2) (27 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

“Steam to an eighth, Lins.” Stena released the button and waited. She stood on the navigator’s deck with Bertrand, both watching as
Swinger
came alongside the mountains and angled down toward an opening in the canopy of trees below.

“Aye, Captain,” came the tinny, vibratory reply. They hadn’t even realized the vocaltin system existed until Bertrand had accidentally leaned against one of the buttons on the control deck. At the time, Stena and Linsey had been back on the pilot deck and suddenly heard Bertrand’s private praises regarding the wild, beautiful swampland below.

“Pretty as mother’s pond from up here,” he’d said. “I can’t wait to be back home catching fishes. Blue ones, gold ones, and pan hoppers especially. Soon, little fishies, your Bert will be back—”

Linsey had pressed a similar button on the pilot deck panel and spoke into a small metal grate as much for a laugh as to keep Bertrand from continued embarrassment. “Swamp elves are much harder to catch than fishies, I’ll wager. Best keep your focus, Bert.”

Bertrand most likely leaped out of his gabardines. Stena could not suppress a grin as Linsey laughed. Later she met Bert at the control deck and, to his credit, he showed no signs of having been eavesdropped upon.

“Through that break in the trees.” The linguist pointed down at a thin gap in the canopy.

Stena frowned with uncertainty. She imagined what might happen to an aerostat caught in a tangle of branches and leaves. “You’re sure?”

Bertrand held up one of his parchments. “Well, this map was drawn from the ground, but the overland coordinates will match perfectly with that rift. I’m sure it’s grown over and changed since then, but these trees… this
swamp
… is old, and so perhaps not changed as much as we’d like to think. I’d bet my collection of ancient Rapur syntax stones it’s there.”

Stena wouldn’t argue with him. Hells, she
couldn’t
. Bertrand was all they had, and she needed his expertise on just about every matter from here on out. A helpless feeling, to be sure, but one she would work through. She nodded and notified Linsey of their heading.

Swinger
turned gently south, the nameless mountains to the port side snagged with clouds like cotton on the tines of a mighty pitchfork. On this side, the air stirred little, making for an uneventful ride to their mark. The jungle canopy was a carpet of shiny, fat leaves. Everything smelled fresh, green, alive. Stena peered through magilenses and caught the fluttering of strange, white butterflies amidst the leaves.

When they hovered just a few hundred feet above the elongated gap, Stena ordered them down. “Easy as she goes, Lins.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Even in Linsey’s capable hands, the descent seemed too fast. She suppressed the urge to tell Lins to slow down.
Think more like a captain exploring a new world for the first time. Remember when you first laid eyes on the Drake Islands? Those golden mountains and hills so green you’d have thought them painted on.

They slid beneath the canopy into darkness until Linsey halted their descent without so much as a lurch. While their eyes adjusted, Stena fingered the hilt of the long blade fixed to her belt.

She felt small against the massive gray trunks and thick, curling vines down there—some slunk and slipped of their own volition—and wild things called and
cuck-cucked
in echoes, making it nearly impossible to pinpoint their direction. The noise was all around. Beneath it all,
Swinger
’s steam drivers purred in a whiny sort of way with soft, high sighs and gouts of fire in the bladders.

“Where to now, Bert?”

The linguist had completed a lap of the ship’s bulwark, checking the map against their surrounds. He fixed on a spot off port, a deep recession in the forest wall, and pointed. “There. The trees are thinner between those two spiraling trunks. Could be the pair of twin markings on my map.”

Stena glanced at the parchment and saw what he meant. Two points on the map marked by stars depicting a gateway of some sort. The direction and location seemed correct. “Very well.” She pressed the button and relayed the new direction through the vocaltin to Linsey. The device blared her voice, and the thin sound echoed in the jungle. The hum and chirruping of insects swelled in response.

They eased to port and descended. Stena grasped the control box to still the yammering panic in her stomach as they approached the green wall. The mess of verdant tangle played tricks on her eyes; it undulated like a living thing, seeming both near and far away.
Swinger
’s needle should have penetrated the foliage by now, yet it still prodded ahead, untouched…

… and then they passed through! Stena gasped in wonder. She could make out a passage through the jungle that had been hidden before. Emerald and topaz-colored bulbs retracted at the presence of the bulky dirigible. Spiny flowers with greasy, frayed-looking petals bent closer as if curious about the passing vessel.

They followed Bertrand’s lead as he directed them from the centuries-old map held between his quivering hands. They picked their way along while Stena walked the control deck, her eyes peering deep into the dense growth that seemed to drip from the trees. Tangles of green and blue and gray all ran together.

On a sea ship, Stena could peer into the waters at the silver flashes of fishes and tell exactly what species they were and whether they were going to spawn or mate depending on the season. Here, she knew nothing.

They banked left and then right, drifting down into a cloud of those same white butterflies she’d seen flitting in the jungle eaves. The tiny, white-winged creatures blew all around the ship, buffeting the crew members ever so gently. Stena caught a whiff of something sweet and natural, like apples and dirt.

She turned to watch them scatter overhead, and then Bertrand was pointing and calling out. Stena gazed out over a sweeping valley of green, a placid, open space enclosed by a leafy canopy supported by far-reaching branches and tangled vines. A forest crown.

Across the miraculous space was a massive finger of rock pointing directly at them. Stained with moss and wrapped with vines, the tip had a flat, even surface at its highest point. Plenty of room for an aerostat to land.

“That has to be it, Captain. This is where the map leads.”

Stena eyed the outcrop warily. It certainly looked inviting enough. A welcome site for a vessel friendly to the Giyipcias.

“Lins, swing around a couple of times before we risk landing.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“I’ll need some time to let them know we’re here,” Bertrand said.

Stena frowned. “You think they don’t already know?”

He shrugged. “Probably do. But they don’t know not to shoot us out of the sky yet.”

“Right. Get to it then.”

Stena directed Linsey on a casual course and picked up her magilenses in hopes of spotting some of the famed Giyipcias. “Rose, Crick, stay close to the ballistae: one to port, one to starboard.”

“Uh, Captain…” Bertrand stammered from the main deck, where he rummaged through a box he’d retrieved from below. He was setting aside strange implements the likes of which Stena had never seen. “That might not be the best idea, begging your pardon.” The linguist removed his top coat and began to shake out what appeared to be something old and weathered, like a brightbird carcass, its once pristine, white feathers gone muddy with age, wild purple plumage bent and busted at their tips. “We have to think like a swamp elf. And if I were a swamp elf and saw this rackety contraption puttering about in one of my most secret places… well, I’d probably be
this
close to bringing it down.” Bertrand made a smallish gesture between his thumb and index finger and then tossed the mess of feathers on his head. He looked at Stena with a hopeful expression, his back stiff and straight like a gnomestress trying on a new hat. “How does it look?”

The answer, of course, was that he looked completely ridiculous. Stena might have burst out laughing had it not been for their current situation. She pursed her lips to keep a grin from exploding on her face.
Dammit. She was a ship’s captain.

“A little to the right.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Niksabella was shaken awake. Strange how she’d already gotten used to Termund rousing her each morning, how much it comforted her, how he managed to slip out of their cocoon sleeper so quietly…

She nodded so he could get on with the business of breaking camp. After a few moments of yawning and eye rubbing she got up. Blackbirds chirped incessantly and she huddled as a brisk wind picked up, swirling ice flakes across the camp.

Sadly, the Prophetess had not shown despite that Niksabella had sought her out yet again. Willing bait, she’d left herself open to the dream, longing for the confrontation. Instead she only had a ripening headache, likely from the mental exertion of last night, the surprise of summoning an actual earth being.

Shaking the cobwebs loose, Niksabella determined to contribute to the work this morning. If she was to be part of this group, she’d have to start pulling her weight. Her boots were tucked beneath the land crawler, kept warm by the thrumming machine. She pulled them on, folded and stashed their cocoon, and went to find Fritzy.

To her surprise, her friend was already bustling about, taking direction from Jess, who seemed pleased to have some help. Fritzy held an armful of wooden poles, her cheeks puffing out as she sucked air with the exertion. Jess held open a compartment door and pointed inside. “In here, Plumpy.”

Fritzy didn’t throw the wooden poles at Jess or tackle her to the mud. She simply shoved them in the compartment while Jess shut the door. Niksabella took Fritzy’s arm and led her away. “
Plumpy?
”

Fritzy brushed dirt off her hands and shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’d rather tolerate a funny name than some cruel, practical joke.” She lowered her voice to a hiss. “I heard what they did to you. How awful.”

Niksabella tsked. “Don’t be intimidated by them. I taught them a good lesson earlier, and now I think I’ve got them terrified of me.”

Fritzy’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“No, not really.. But I’m working on it.”

The camp broke at record speed. Those who’d taken last watch stretched out in the backs of the middle two crawlers while fresh riders took their place. Two pony riders headed northwest over a thickly-covered rise. Two others headed south, and some set out on foot, melting into the surrounding hillside.

Niksabella, Termund, Jess, Fritzy, and Tomkin took up their usual positions in niner one and watched the landscape lurch by. They dove into a stretch of forest that nestled between two low-riding hills, bare-limbed trees covering the humps like bristles, loose dirt giving way beneath the niner’s weight. A mist rolled down from the mountains, covering everything in an eerie stillness. All was quiet but for the straining machines. Only the occasional cry of a wild animal reached their ears, something distant, the proximity hard to determine in the heavy fog. And how could she tell? She’d never heard a wolf or coyote or bear before. Certainly not an orc.

Niksabella saw no change in Termund’s posture, no stiffening of his neck or shoulders, no indication something was amiss, so she sat in quiet as the land crawlers strode along. It was a bit unnerving, and she soon found herself anxiously thumbing the edges of her book.

“Don’t be afraid, Nika.” Fritzy held a coverlet around her shoulders, and her clear, blue eyes were full of calm wonder.

“Afraid? Who’s afraid? I’m not.”

“Maybe not. But you only fidget when you’re nervous or impatient. Perhaps you should take up knitting. That’s what my Ma does when Pa stomps on her last nerve.”

Jambraden. How she missed him! She’d only been able to visit him one time in the weeks since her brother was ill. She’d visited the Popoff kitchens, where Jam had given her a box of cookies to take back to the Cog.

“I haven’t seen your father in weeks. Does he fare well?”

Fritzy grinned. “Quite well, actually.”

“I had a wonderful talk with him at the Tinkerman’s Festival. He helped me find my courage. I would have never met Termund without him… without
you
, Fritzy. I never even thanked you.”

“No need for that. Things happen sometimes. Just like I thought I’d be with Tom Bakins forever, and here I am in the back of some strange machine traipsing through the forest lands of the Southern Reaches where wolves and mountain cats run about.”

“Don’t forget orcs,” Jess, who was sitting across from them with her chin tucked to her chest, added.

“Yes, let’s not forget those,” Fritzy said with a sigh.

The land became impassible due south, so they banked to the west and wound down a narrow ravine of mighty stone outcrops. They passed some massive cliffs on their right, and Niksabella craned her neck to see up them, but it was no good; the clinging gray mist obscured their view in all directions. The tension of not knowing what was around the next bend made her fidget with her book again. She kept stopping herself, but knew there’d be no studying for her as they navigated this nerve-wracking region.

And then they were rising again, riding a narrow spine of rock and earth up into the mountainside. The niner was relentless, engines whining higher as they chugged unimpeded up the steady incline. Termund leaned back and raised his hands, put them behind his head, and grinned at the clearing fog. Soon they rose above it all, the mist at their feet, a white floor that stretched eastward toward the gray-blue horizon. Gusts whipped the comet flag of Thrasperville’s vibrant crimson colors against their shadowy surroundings.

They stopped here, four niners and two handfuls of softly nickering ponies and their riders, all taking a moment to enjoy the view.

“You know, Fritzy. This might be the first thing we truly have in common.”

Fritzy was kneeling in her seat, her belly pressed against the backing. She glanced away from where she’d been gazing at a snow-covered peak trailing white channels down its sides like ice cream dripping off a cone. “What’s that?”

“This is the furthest either of us has been away from home.”

Fritzy nodded, turned back to her favorite peak, and pulled the coverlet tighter around her shoulders. “That’s true. I’ve been such a fiddler, haven’t I? Wasting my time with silly things all these years. But this… this is truly spectacular.”

“You could join our company,” Jess suggested. The gnomestress sat with her short sword sheathed across her knees now, adjusting something on the leather wrapping. “You’re strong as a damn mule. We could use a lass like you.”

Fritzy surprised Niksabella when she said, “You never know. I could get used to this.”

Niksabella threw Jess a frown, and Jess countered with a protruding tongue.

“I’m sure a life of constant travel isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Look at Jess, here. She appears a little
road worn
. When you get home, talk to your father. He’ll know what to do.”

But Fritzy was still lost somewhere in those mountain peaks. “Isn’t it majestic?”

“Majestic and dangerous.” Niksabella studied her friend’s profile. As she’d noticed many times before, Fritzy bore an underlying beauty, a ruggedness that became her when she wasn’t painted and rouged and full of nervous jitters.

“Yes. I know, Nika.” Fritzy turned and plopped down on the padded seat. “Right after I wrote the note to Ma and Pa to tell them I was going away, I had second thoughts. I was all packed up, really just a couple sacks of extra clothes. I knew I had to travel light because… well, I wanted to make sure I could hide away proper.”

“You could have hurt yourself, Fritzy.”

“But I didn’t. Anyway, I was at the door, about to walk through it. I had no real plan, and I couldn’t imagine what would happen to me. Likely get caught, I figured. It was the middle of the night, dark outside—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been up so late. My heart was beating so hard, Nika, I thought I was going to die. I took one last look at my home. I noticed everything. Ma’s boots by the door. Pa’s fire claws next to the hearth in our great room. Granny’s ductwork chair, which helps keep her legs warm in the cold months. All the photoplasts and paintings on the wall.”

“Yes, that huge, gilded cog your father hung in the lobby. How he got it up there, I’ll never know. Must weigh a thousand pounds.”

Fritzy chuckled. “His favorite piece.”

Mine too
.

“Sounds like a nice place,” Jess said, her voice wistful.

“It’s much better without my crazy family running around in it. Mother, Simon, and any number of aunts, uncles, and cousins at any given time. But no, in that instant, I realized how much I loved the place, and I wish I could have stood there longer. All the holidays ran through my head all at once. Clocksetter’s Day, Festival Day, all the birthdays and gifts and roasted roughtrunk nuts.” Fritzy’s eyes turned to shimmering pools of tears. “I’m not sure how I did it, but I undid the front locks, pushed open the door, and left.”

“That was a very brave thing to do,” Niksabella conceded. “You didn’t have to, you know.”

Fritzy’s smile chased away the welling tears. “Nonsense. My family will be fine in Hightower. I can’t imagine we’ll be gone so long as to miss the holidays. Besides, you need me
here
. I know you think Termund can look out for you just fine, and maybe he can, but life with a gnome can still be lonely if you know what I mean. It’s good to have an old friend around.”

“Yes, it is.”

After the ponies had been watered and everyone had stretched their legs, the party moved from the top of the rise and back down into the breaking fog. There wasn’t much to see now, and the steady niner’s locomotion worked on Niksabella’s head until she found herself nodding off. She slid to the right and rested against a sack of leather gloves and hats used by the crew to do maintenance on the machines.

She found a comfortable position and was immediately enveloped in warm, fuzzy darkness.

#

The dream started out like all the rest. Or near enough to it. This time, she stood on a winding path leading to town. Her home was behind her. The garden and the backyard, too. The copse of trees at the top of the hill. The hill. The beach. The smell of the sea, ancient and salty. All of it.

Niksabella knew she’d be waiting. The gnomestress with the swirling colors in her eyes.

She turned and hurried around the house, not stopping to take in a single iota of detail: not the paint-chipped porch, not the garden, not the mermaid statue or the weed-infested yard. Things she normally would have stopped to appreciate in her dream’s vivid detail. But not this time. There would be nothing to derail her, no spells this gnomestress could cast to make her forget, no manipulation or alteration. This was Niksabella’s dream, and she would control it.

She pushed through the trees, crunching barefoot over twigs and stones and things that bit. She tore her dress on clinging shoots. Stickers kissed her skin, scratching her. She could have made herself
not
feel the pain, but she wanted it. Wanted to feel the sharp prickles like hot needles in her soul. She’d need her wits about her; that much she knew.

As she came down the hill, her eyes scanned the beach for the yellow-haired gnomeling. He was nowhere to be seen, not even a blur. But then her heart skipped as a shadow slid through the surf out near the breakers, moving through the murky waves like
hydro grease.

She wondered if she could expel the thing from her dream like passing oil through a lubrication filter, just lift the thing into the light where the sun might burn it away. She wondered a lot of things about her power.

On the beach, the gnomestress stood as if expecting her. “Hello, child,” she said, a crooked smile on her lips. Niksabella’s first thought was that the gnomestress was unsure: not fear but that feeling someone gets when they hope to be forgiven for something.

Niksabella ignored the greeting. “You’ve finally come to face me, I see.”

“I’ve always been facing you.”

“Not really.”

“Well, I do get busy sometimes… or mayhap I didn’t feel like talking to you just yet.”

“That’s a lie. You’ve been prodding around inside of me while I sleep all my life. No, don’t deny it. I
felt
you. But you don’t find me so docile anymore, so easy to manipulate, do you?”

“My sweet dear, you’ve
never
been easy to manipulate. Oh, I’ve tried. And I’m happy to say I’ve not been entirely unsuccessful.”

Niksabella, hands on her hips, stood before the gnomestress, her feet in the sand. It felt good on top of her feet, warmed by the sun. “Let’s pretend I’m not the naive, cloistered little thing I was at spring’s end.”

“Very well.”

“You need me for something, something big. Not only that but you need my cooperation in this endeavor.”

“I’ll concede your partial correctness. But there’s so much more to it. More than you can ever imagine or possibly understand.”

Niksabella’s stare bore into the gnomestress’ swirling orbs. It was difficult to peer into her light-filled irises without falling into them. “I’m warning you. I’m not the same person I was.”

The gnomestress folded her hands and said, “Agreed.”