World-Ripper War (Mad Tinker Chronicles Book 3) (27 page)

“All set,” Kupe informed her. Jamile turned to find him looking every bit the news hauler, with his plain brown trousers, held up by suspenders, and a white button shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. He even had his cap on once more, hiding the mop of wavy brown hair that hadn’t seen a comb since she’d known him.

“I just wanted you to know that Rynn’s an insensitive clod, and that she does that to everyone now and then,” said Jamile.

“Think I ain’t known the type?” Kupe asked, hooking his thumbs behind his suspenders. “I just maybe ain’t used to hearing that outta a girl, is all.”

Jamile sighed. “Rynn’s not very much like most girls. I blame Cadmus.”

“It happens,” Kupe said. “My old man was a news hauler. He breaks his leg one day trying to catch a trolley, next morning I show up and I tells ‘em I’m Soger’s boy, and I’m takin’ over his route.”

Jamile smiled. “So you turned out just like your father, too.”

Kupe winked. “Nah, my old man was a drunk. Drink did him in years ago, scraping whiskey off the bottom of my wages.” Something caught in the edge of Kupe’s vision, and he tilted his head to look past Jamile. When she turned, there was nothing there. Taking one of Dan’s lessons to heart, she let her eyes drift into the aether for a moment and saw a tall, strong Source slinking away down the hall.

“So you’re not a drinker?” she asked, ignoring their almost-visitor.

“A drinker?” Kupe asked, incredulous. “Course I am. Everyone’s a drinker if they’ve got the coin or got friends who’ll spot ‘em some. I just ain’t a drunk.”

“Well, if you’re looking to pick up a new trade, I think Cadmus might be willing to take you on,” said Jamile. Cadmus, of course, had said nothing of the sort to indicate he would, but that was an argument for later. “I don’t know that you’ll be delivering many more newspapers. He might be gruff, but he’ll take a hard worker any day.”

Kupe ran a hand up under his cap and scratched. “You’re right on that one. I seen Kaia on that machine. She can sort ‘em out faster than I ever could.”

Jamile gave Kupe a sly smile. “Maybe she could teach you her way.”

Jamile crept across the main chamber of the lunar headquarters, not skulking, but trying to avoid Cadmus’s notice nonetheless. Whether she succeeded or not, he never let on. If there was one thing that Cadmus Errol excelled at, it was ignoring distractions. Many people would have said it was his tinkering or his talent for invention, but those all came from a singular ability to focus on one thing to the exclusion of all others. Once, that had bothered Jamile, but for now she was happy to be among the ignored.

She crossed on the far side of the river segment that bisected the room, the space between the near world-ripper viewframe and the cavern wall acting as a bridge. It was strange to be able to cross a river by going around it, but she chalked that up to yet another oddity about the whole situation. Another of those oddities lay down the corridor on the far side of the chamber.

Jamile heaved a sigh of relief, letting it out along with the breath she found herself holding. Anzik’s room was the only thing down this way, at the end of a short tunnel bored especially for him in anticipation of Madlin’s deal. She raised a hand to knock, but before her knuckles hit, a voice stopped her short.

“Come in,” Anzik called through the door.

Jamile opened the door and peeked in. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“But obviously not as much as you hoped to speak with me,” Anzik replied. Rynn had always complained that he never blinked, but Jamile was more put off by the fact that he looked at your mouth when he talked to you, instead of looking you in the eye. “By your tone, you seem not to be here for any urgent matter, which would imply that you place a low value on my time and privacy.”

Jamile backed away a step, reaching for the door. “I’m sorry, I—”

“You are, however, correct in assuming that I am not pressingly engaged at present. If you have questions, I will consider them.”

“I was just wondering why you didn’t come say hello to the new residents,” Jamile said.

“Technically, there was no question.”

“Why?” Jamile asked.

Anzik shrugged. “I changed my mind. I don’t need to know them.”

“You live here too, you know,” Jamile said. “Just because you and Cadmus don’t get along, doesn’t mean you can’t make friends with the rest of them.”

“I shouldn’t have altered the gravity,” he said. “There was no need. It was a request; I could have refused, or not sought help from my father on how to do it. I lured them here with the comfort of the world they came from, something familiar. This place wasn’t meant for them; the strangeness might have been for their own protection.”

“That’s silly. Why would they need protection?” Jamile asked. Her eyes scanned the room, wondering if he was hinting at something dangerous that he might have brought with him. Clothes, a few books, little else. The Veydran boy showed no propensity for sentiment or leisure.

“Why do you boil the water?” Anzik asked, pointing out the open door.

“Well, because it’s river water from a jungle. There are probably illnesses in it,” Jamile said, trying not to get bogged down into discussions that required a Korrish understanding of biology and bacteria to follow. “Boiling makes it safe.”

“Because it’s not your world,” Anzik replied. “There is no water here, so you bring it. It comes from yet another world, so you can’t drink it. You boil it. Then you say it’s safe. Now you say that gravity is wrong, and I fix it for you. How many other anomalies are here, uncorrected, threatening us?”

“Is this why you sit alone all the time?” Jamile asked. “Thinking this convoluted, philosophical bunk?” She shook her head. “Now don’t go getting the wrong idea here, Mr. Sorcerer-from-another-world, but I think a boy your age ought to have himself a bit more fun. Say what you want for that crazy warlock you killed, but he lived his life.”

Anzik looked off toward the wall, elevating his nose subtly, lending him a look of disdain. “I am betrothed to Princess Anju of Ghelk. I am in no position to sully myself in idle amusement.”

“Oh,” Jamile replied. Her little meddling spree had just been thrown clear off the tracks. “I didn’t know.”

“The event is yet some time from now,” Anzik replied. “Ten years at least, perhaps twelve or more. I am … older than her.”

“Well, don’t let me bother you any longer,” Jamile said, excusing herself and leaving the strange young sorcerer to himself.

Jamile left Anzik to whatever it was he did, sitting there alone all day staring at the walls. A boy his age should be drooling at every girl he sees, making a fool of himself, and trying to prove that he is ready to be an adult by acting in the most childish fashion. In short, he ought to have been more like Dan, minus the whimsical attitude toward murder. The way he was just didn’t seem healthy. He didn’t try to prove he was grown up; he had apparently skipped childhood. He accepted his arranged betrothal to a girl who, by Jamile’s quick math was probably just learning to read, without any hint of resentment or rebellion. His self-restraint was borderline clinical. Her former patron, Dr. Coalear, had treated men who had suffered some great tragedy and closed themselves off from the world. Most often, he referred them to the sanitarium. Jamile knew Anzik needed help, but she wasn’t qualified to offer it. That sat poorly in her heart.

“The philosopher enlighten you?” Cadmus asked, startling Jamile as she padded through the main chamber, hoping not to be noticed. The rush of water ought to have covered the sound of her footsteps. Whatever puzzle lay under Cadmus’s drafting pencil ought to have kept his eyes occupied. He had been waiting for her.

Jamile offered a nervous smile. “Not any more than usual. Eziel knows what that boy’s childhood was like, to make him this way.”

Cadmus pulled off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “Street-corner prophet, except they don’t believe the gunk they spew.”

“He did make it feel like we’re not halfway to floating to the ceiling with every step. That ought to count for something.”

“He brokered a deal that has my daughter working for a dragon,” said Cadmus. He pointed to the viewframe of the world-ripper that was not dedicated to bringing them air and water. Madlin lay sleeping in the corner of a shack of raw timbers, atop a pile of half-sized blankets. “Look at her there, sleeping like a—”

“Like a university maid?” Jamile finished for him. It was not what he was about to say, Jamile knew, but she didn’t like where he was heading. “Face it, Rynn’s been through worse, and Madlin will be fine.”

Cadmus frowned. It looked strange without his spectacles on, like he was a different person. “Fine would feel a lot better if she were on this side of the viewframe.”

“You really shouldn’t keep watch so closely,” Jamile said. “She should get some privacy. How about you show me what you’re working on?”

Cadmus pulled on his spectacles. “Since when have you had any interest in tinkering?”

“Since Rynn stopped showing me everything she’s working on. I guess I got used to seeing little pictures of things that don’t exist yet. It was like knowing the future.” Jamile peered over Cadmus’s shoulder at the page of scratchwork sketches and notes. “Is that a coil gun?”

Cadmus harrumphed. “So, you’ve been paying attention all this time, huh? Scale is a bit different on this version. This one is for the
Jennai
.”

“Oh,” said Jamile. “The
Jennai
needs a big old gun on it more than it needs showers or a proper hospital station? I mean, look at all the wonderful things you made for this place: the water pump, the river from another world …
we
got a bathtub, at least.”

“Necessities. We’re at war, Jamile, and in wartime, you only worry for the barest necessities so you can concentrate on winning. When we’ve won, I’ll build all sort of things, things like you’re asking for, I promise.” Cadmus smiled. It was a weak smile, but there was sincerity behind it.

“Does it bother you?”

“Hmm?”

“That the things you make cause so much suffering?” Jamile asked.

The Mad Tinker slumped back in his chair. “Suffering? I worry more about the suffering I allow. The beaten slaves, the uneducated children, even the shaver who comes home at night worn to bare metal with barely enough coin to feed his family to show for it. I worry about girls like Rynn, sleeping in boiler rooms, associating with gangs for protection, wasting their potential.” He hung his head and rested his forehead on his hand, his elbow covering part of the drawing of the new cannon for the rebels’ airship.

Jamile surprised both of them when she put her arms around him. He brought a hand up and put it on her arm, as if telling her it was all right to stay as she was. It had been an impulse. He just seemed to need someone right then. No one looked after him. No one but Rynn and Madlin ever seemed even to try.
What is it like, taking on the problems of all the world, thinking that you can fix them if only you build the right machine? What keeps you from seeing the enormity of all this, and just giving up?
If only there were some way she could ask him. If no one knew that answer, there was always the risk that one day it
would
all get to him, that he would just reach a limit to what he could endure on his own.
If I don’t, who will?

“Cadmus,” Jamile said softly, still holding him. “Has anyone thanked you for all you do?”