“… And then Donald started lookin’ at me sideways, and this big fella, another grunt of course, said I shouldn’t say stuff I didn’t mean to back up with my fists…” Lil rambled.
Since they’d left the airfield, Lil had been speaking in a nearly unbroken stream of anecdotes detailing the high and low points of the four months since Nita had returned to Caldera, with special emphasis on the two months since their last visit to trade.
“And I suppose you were more than willing to back it up with your fists,” Nita said with the sort of smile a mother might have about a disobedient child at whom she simply can’t stay angry.
“Nope, in this case it was my boot that did the talkin’,” she said. “Best way to bring a fella eye to eye to talk some sense into him is to double him over. That one was over before it started. But later that night someone got a nice shot in from behind. Want to see the bruise? It’s a real beaut.” Lil started to tug at the back of her uniform jacket and untuck her shirt.
“That’s all right, Lil. I trust your judgment on bruises. You’ve got more experience than I do,” she laughed. “I’m sorry I missed it. That sounds like it was a birthday party to remember.”
“A girl only turns twenty once. If you ask me, if you don’t leave a party with a scar or a tattoo to remember it by, it wasn’t worth remembering in the first place.”
“Maybe if I’d been present, there would have been fewer bruises all around.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Lil said. “But we gotta make sure we ain’t apart for my next party. Or your next one. When’s your birthday anyway?”
“Three months from today, exactly.”
“So soon! That don’t leave much time for me to find you a good present. Oh! And speaking of presents, wait’ll you see what Coop got me!”
She tugged up the leg of her pants, reached into her boot, and revealed a tiny single-shot pistol. It was rather artful, at least by Rim standards. The handles were polished white—though already showing some grime from Lil’s indelicate usage and storage—and the rest was coated with black enamel.
“What do you think?” she said, holding it up.
A shrill toot from behind them split the air. The driver of the carriage pulled a small lever, and a loud snap signaled the application of a brake that brought the carriage to a lurching stop. Similar sounds up and down the line of carriages halted the entire convoy. Lil turned her head in curiosity, the movement jolting Drew’s stare from where it had fixed upon her weapon to catch her eyes. Nita’s motion was a bit sharper and more immediate.
The soldiers in the roofless larger carriage bringing up the rear were standing, rifles trained on Lil.
“Gentlemen, please!” Nita scolded. She snatched the medallion hanging about Lil’s neck and held it up. “These people are honored guests! Lil, put the gun away.”
“Sure thing,” Lil said, slipping it back into her boot as though being the target of half a dozen rifles was nothing new for her.
It, of course, was not new for her. The same could not be said for those wielding the rifles, who seemed to be on edge, each shaking as though they were the one being targeted. The driver, similarly, was slow to return to his wits and resume the journey.
“You Calderan folk sure seem jumpy around here,” Lil said under her breath.
“It’s been over a century since any non-Calderans passed through these streets freely. It’s not unreasonable for them to assume you are criminals. Until the ceremony a few minutes ago, your mere presence here would have been a crime.”
“Have folks shown up much, besides us out at the Moor Spires?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but then they wouldn’t have gotten as far as Dell Harbor.”
“Kind of a funny law if you can break it just by bein’ who you are, but I reckon that’s why I ain’t the one makin’ the laws.” She brushed the entire event aside as though it was nothing more worrisome than a rough patch in the road. “So here I am doing all the talkin’. What’s been keepin’ you busy since you left?”
“It’s been exhausting. Back to the steamworks, which I’m happy to say carried on reasonably well without me. The whole crew was happy to see me back, though. They hadn’t been able to find another person to fill my spot properly, so Drew and a few others were pulling double shifts once a week to make up for it while they waited for applicants.”
“A whole big island and they couldn’t find one more person to sling a wrench?”
“A job that that doesn’t add to the beauty of our fair island at the end of the day is not the sort my country-folk are eager to embrace. And to be honest, for the first few days I was beginning to understand why someone might not be fond of the job. I’d forgotten how hot and close the steamworks could be. Working on the Wind Breaker could be just as bad, but at least there was always the open sky waiting for me with a breath of fresh air. Which reminds me, about the Wind Breaker. I—”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Lil said quickly. “We ain’t talkin’ about the Wind Breaker. We’re talkin’ about you. Workin’ at the steamworks wasn’t enough to make you exhausted, was it? It bein’ your old job and us workin’ you pretty hard as part of the crew.”
“No. That much was pleasantly simple. Much larger pipes, and most of it much less complicated. But at the end of every day, I was with father in the council meetings, arguing on your behalf. And once we’d convinced them to make you honorary citizens, there was the planning and building of the temporary airfield, the discussions of the permanent one, my brother and sister’s little project…”
“What’re they working on?”
“A surprise,” Nita said with a smile.
“Oh, look at you, bein’ all sneaky. Well, since you been busy, I suppose you ain’t spent much time missin’ your old crew.”
“Only every moment of every day,” she said, throwing an arm over Lil’s shoulder. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since one disaster or another has threatened to kill me? Life around here is positively mundane! As much as I love our local cuisine, I find myself downright ravenous for a little slumgullion lately. And as brightly as we all dress and as beautifully as we all decorate, I’ve yet to meet anyone as colorful as you.”
“Oh, you,” Lil said, blushing and punching Nita in the arm. “There you go makin’ my cheeks red with that silver tongue of yours.”
“In addition to Lita and Joshua’s plan, which won’t be ready for another few days, there is going to be a formal dinner. The captain has asked to meet privately with my father and some key members of the council. Those will last for a few days.”
“Why?”
“The council is extremely cautious. They don’t make decisions lightly, and much as I respect Captain Mack’s leadership, his behavior isn’t likely to earn instant approval from the sort of men and women who form the council.”
“So where’s that leave the rest of us?”
“You are free to do as you please. You will all be staying at the Graus estate, and Lita has taken it upon herself to prepare some suggested sights and experiences she feels should not be missed.”
Lil’s face lit up. “You mean it ain’t all gonna be stuffy stuff like that back there?”
“Not at all. I, at least, would like you to consider Tellahn your second home.”
“Then you and me gotta see the town, right? Like I showed you, back in Keystone. Not just the fancy spots folks go when they don’t know no better. The fun spots. Just you and me!”
“What’ll the rest of the crew do?”
“Oh, Coop and them’ll find a way to get to mischief without our help. Come on! We ain’t seen each other in too long. It’ll be fun!”
“It sounds wonderful,” Nita said. She gave Lil a doubtful look. “We’ll need to get you something else to wear.”
“I still got some of them hand-me-downs you loaned me.”
“Lil, we’ve got high standards and expectations of fashion around here. If you showed up in a dress that wasn’t properly tailored, the clothes would cause as much of a stir as your complexion. But don’t worry. I know just the person to help you out.” She smiled warmly. “This is going to be fun.”
#
“I tell you what,” Coop said, leaning over and speaking in what he thought was a voice too low to be overheard, “these Calderan folk sure know how to make something perty, but they ain’t much for makin’ it comfortable.”
A bump threatened to dislodge Nikita from her place in his jacket. She scrambled to nestle closer, and he idly stroked her head. His voice clearly wasn’t quite low enough, because the soldier who had accompanied them replied.
“We choose to embrace the form of a creation, rather than sacrificing it for the purpose of function,” he said.
“… What’s that mean?” Coop said.
“Same as what you said,” Captain Mack said from the front seat.
“Then why say it?”
“He was chafin’ a bit at you not bein’ more diplomatic.”
“Oh. I reckon that means when it comes to jawin’ I lean more on the function than the form.”
“Nice to hear you pickin’ up the drift of things so quick, Coop.”
“Heh. Ain’t no reason to be surprised. Remember, I’m a poet. Nita said so. Ain’t too many folks from our neck of the woods’ve got a pat on the back from a Calderan when it comes to words and such. Probably most of the crew could learn a thing or two from yours truly. Ain’t nobody better at talkin’ perty than me.”
“Clearly,” the soldier said.
Coop stretched a bit and endured the stiff suspension and unforgiving wheels of the spring-driven carriage for a few moments more. As he did, he looked around to admire the first scattered houses of Nita’s approaching hometown of Dell Harbor. Houses in this part of the countryside were sprawling. Most were a single story and built to make the best use of the steady breeze from the sea and the ample sunlight. Lush and carefully manicured gardens and topiaries decorated even the most humble homes, and most bore murals that would have put the museums of Rim to shame.
“This is one mighty fine city you folk put together. Look how spread out it all is. Why don’t you all clump things up? You could fit loads more people that way,” Coop said. “Those three houses, stacked up, would probably fit most of my old town.”
“We have plenty of land here. I’ve heard the people of Rim cling to mountaintops, trying to keep from falling into the sea on one side and some sort of horrid poison. We can afford to spread out.”
Coop scratched his head. “Just because a body can do a thing doesn’t mean you ought to. I always sorta liked being up close to the neighbors. You want to talk to the fella next door, all you got to do is shout.”
“I suspect those next door would feel differently.”
Coop nodded, though it was clear the comment had bounced off his head rather than sinking in. The deckhand continued his sightseeing until another sage observation came to him.
“Seems like a lot of folks are starin’.”
“Stands to reason, Coop,” Captain Mack said.
“How come? It ain’t us who’s different, it’s all of them.”
The soldier scoffed. “That is a telling perspective on the world.”
“For a fella the folks in charge sent down to give us a warm welcome, your perspective ain’t quite what I thought we’d be gettin’ neither. Us bein’ the ones ridin’ around in airships, you’d think we’d be the ones lookin’ down on folks, instead of the other way around.”
Captain Mack gave him a glance over his shoulder. “You keep up turns of phrase like that, and I’m liable to think you are a poet, Coop.”
“I reckon it does give me a better view of things.”
Another brief silence gave way quickly to an exceedingly common subject of conversation.
“You reckon Nita was happy to see me, Cap’n?”
“She was happy to see all of us.”
“Sure, sure. But I mean, you reckon she was happier to see me, specific like? I been droppin’ the hints and all that I was sweet on her for a while now, and I ain’t sure if she’s been pickin’ them up.”
“Ain’t my concern, Coop.”
Again, Coop continued as though the captain were fully invested in the discussion. “I reckon it’s the sort of thing that you should be… what’s the word? When you don’t make a big fuss of it?”
“Subtle. A thing you ain’t known for.”
“Right. When you’re courtin’ a perty lady you’re supposed to be subtle. And I been real subtle. And I suppose she must be sweet on me, too, because she’s been even more subtle.”
“Thinkin’ like that shows you ain’t known for logic either.”
“How do you figure?”
“There’s playin’ hard to get and plain ol’ not interested.”
“Oh… So what you’re saying is she might not be playing whachacallit… coy.”
“I’m sayin’ if she don’t reciprocate one of these days, you’re wastin’ all your barkin’ on the wrong tree.”
Coop stared blankly.
“‘Reciprocate’ means do the same thing back.”
“I don’t know why whoever came up with all these words decided to make so many of ’em long and hard to remember.” He scratched his head again. “How’s a fella supposed to know for sure if all his courtin’s doin’ any good?”
“Ask.”
“That ain’t exactly subtle.”
“Sometimes a fella’s gotta cut to the heart of it.”
“… Now you got me nervous. Supposin’ she says she ain’t interested.”
“Either she is or she ain’t. The only difference is you knowin’.”
He sat with a conflicted look on his face for a few seconds. “I reckon I’ll give her till the end of the visit to let me know.”
“Like I said: ain’t my concern, Coop. I had a lifetime of dealing with women and all I got is a former Ms. West. Years don’t give a man knowledge of what goes on in the mind of a lady. At least, not this man.”
“You and Butch got hitched in the first place, Cap’n. You must have figured something out.”
“What’s in a lady’s mind is in a lady’s mind. What’s in a man’s mind is in a man’s mind. And they ain’t often similar.”
“Well what do you think, Butch?”
The response, after a moment, was a long, raking snore.
“I reckon I’ll ask her later,” Coop said. “What about you, Mr. Soldier fella? What do you think?”
“I am honestly aghast that you would so openly and freely discuss your romantic inclinations toward someone with everyone but the target of your affections.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought you thought. Well don’t nobody say nothin’ to Nita about all this. Remember, I’m bein’ subtle.”
#
Captain Mack stood uncomfortably in a darkened room, surrounded by the rest of his crew. It was a large room with a tall ceiling, but thanks to the single candle held by the captain himself, it felt as though they were in the middle of a void. For all they could see, it could have as easily been a cramped closet or a yawning cave.
“Why they got us standing in the dark, Cap’n?” Coop asked.
“I ain’t sayin’ again, Coop,” Mack rumbled.
“It ain’t my fault my mind was wanderin’ when they told us.”
“Right about now, Gunner’d probably point out with all of that empty space in your head, a mind is bound to wander.”
“See, I reckon Gunner gets it, then,” Coop said.
The captain eyed him. “I don’t know why he gets so much of a kick out of mocking you when half the time a good jab bounces right off that thick head of yours.”
“You’re ornerier than usual, Cap’n,” Lil said.
Butch muttered a comment.
“If he wants a cigar, then why don’t he smoke one? I didn’t hear nobody say he couldn’t,” Lil replied.
“Hush up, the lot of you,” Captain Mack barked.
The group stood silently for a moment.
“Cap’n…” Lil said sheepishly. “About that candle…”
“Your mind go on the same stroll as your brother’s, Lil?” Mack grumbled.
“There’s loads to be distracted by around here, Cap’n,” she defended.
“According to Nita, this here’s a symbol. Us as the outsiders, we’re in the dark about these Calderans. So here we are in the dark. They’re fixin’ to give us the dawn so we can see what’s what,” he said.
“Seems a bit much just for sayin’ hello,” Coop said. “No wonder they ain’t bothered lettin’ folks like us in until now. If all their how-do-ya-do’s start like this, folks’d never get anything done.”
“I reckon they’re puttin’ on airs for us new folks,” Mack said.
“I like it. Makes a body feel special,” Lil said.
“I don’t know,” Coop said. “When folks get fancy like this, it usually means they’re plannin’ to put out small food. I ain’t one for small food unless there’s loads of it. Especially since Nikita’s bound to grab some.”
Some low notes, muffled through the unseen doorway ahead of them, hummed and wavered. The sound was most like a large stringed instrument, something akin to a cello, but it wasn’t quite the same. It was shakier and melancholy, in a way. Then came the bright, sharp blare of trumpets, and finally a vertical slice of light appeared between the opening doors ahead.
The crew blinked into the light. Ahead of them lay the most marvelously decorated room any had ever seen. There was only one precalamity cathedral remaining in Rim, and for all who had seen it, the building served as the apex of color and extravagance in an otherwise drab region. This one room redefined the concept of elegance and beauty for the entire crew. Tall, arched windows draped with gauze colored the light of the morning in magnificent reds, pinks, and oranges. Flowers in every color of the rainbow stood in vases and draped over chairs and doorways as garlands. Sculptures made from blown glass and polished silver held enough candles to chase away every shadow. Place mats woven from some sort of reed lay beneath painted plates and silverware lovingly etched with complex patterns of waves and roses. The chairs were even of a unique design, high-backed and carved of driftwood. Each wide base housed a pair of seat cushions positioned in twin scoops, plainly intended for two people. The seats were spaced evenly around an oval table that dominated the center of the room.
And then there were the people.
“What in all the mountains and skies…” muttered Lil.
The crew had dealt with their share of Calderans ever since they’d gotten the nerve up to start selling black market goods at the fringe of this very island. They’d seen some elaborate outfits in that time, and Nita had given them an assortment of such clothing to sell. During the journey to the estate, they’d gotten the opportunity to see some of the townsfolk in their natural element, and for the most part the clothes fit their expectations. It didn’t occur to the Wind Breaker crew until this very moment that if their everyday clothes were a few notches above the dress clothes of the people at home, their dress clothes could only be more ornate.
Even if they’d attempted to set their expectations accordingly, it wouldn’t have prepared them for this. Rather than exquisitely designed and embellished dresses and suits, the likes of which they’d already seen, the people awaiting them were dressed in flowing robes. The fabric itself was simple and coral colored. The beauty came instead from how they’d been adorned. What at first glance appeared to be beads turned out to be tiny colored seashells, each one carefully stitched into looping, weaving lines, tracing out scenes more detailed and magnificent than any tapestry. Mr. Graus and a distinguished woman who could only be his wife stood at the head of the table, each with their arms spread to their sides. Nita sat to the right side, Lita and Joshua sat to the left. They all wore headdresses of bright red feathers interspersed with green fronds. With the exception of the matriarch and patriarch of the family—who shared a seat—the rest of the seats bore only one person each, and always with at least a pair of empty seats separating each of them.
Musicians stationed on either side of the entryway shifted from soft, lilting tones to a more bombastic fanfare. As the last blaring notes dropped into a soft musical backdrop, Donovan Graus spoke.
“Crew of the Wind Breaker, representatives of Westrim and Circa, and guests of the Graus family. It is a pleasure and an honor to welcome you to our home.”
“Wow, Nita,” Lil said. “Is this how you dress at home?”
The family laughed. Mr. Graus continued.
“It is traditional to wear our ancestral garb on occasions such as this. I have to thank you for giving us the opportunity. Not since the birth of my youngest has the family had cause for such. And to that end allow me to make the introductions. Joshua is my youngest. Formally trained as both a sculptor and composer. My twins, are Analita, who models and dances, and of course Amanita, who tinkers in the family trade of music boxes. And of course my lovely wife, Amarita, who thanks to your efforts and those of Amanita has been able to resume her life’s calling of sculpture. And I am Donovan Graus, also a humble tinkerer of music boxes. Naturally we have all met, but for the benefit of my family, may I introduce Captain McCulloch West, Glinda West, Ichabod Cooper, and Chastity Cooper.”
“Mack, Butch, Coop, and Lil, for preference,” Lil said. “And it seems like you left some off your introductions, seein’ as how you said Nita made music boxes and left out the steamworks and ship’s engineer bit, and you thanked us for restorin’ Mrs. Graus’s life’s calling and not for savin’ the rest of her life.”
“Lil…” the captain rumbled.
“No, no. Valid observations. As this is a formal introduction, we choose to highlight the most valued and prestigious of our roles,” Mr. Graus said.
“Keepin’ the island runnin’ and savin’ lives ain’t valued?”
“Lil, don’t worry about it. These are just formalities,” Nita said.
Mr. Graus and the others removed their headdresses—which likely weighed enough to make prolonged wear a health hazard—and placed them on the peaks of the backs of their respective seats.
“I know that you are all famished from your long journey, but there are some small matters of decorum that should be explained to avoid any confusion. First, the three initial courses are meant to be eaten with your fingers. Second, as is the case with every formal function, we have set out the union seats. They are meant to be shared by partners, be they past, present, or future. Other than that, you may sit where you wish, and following a musical performance, the meal will begin.”
The crew filed into the room. Captain Mack and Butch moved directly to the open seat to the left side of their hosts. To look at Captain Mack’s face, one would have thought that he was walking through a bland, run-of-the-mill meeting room. Butch was slightly more appreciative of her surroundings, though evidently the sense that most seized her mind was the sense of smell. She breathed deep, sampling the floral scent that permeated the air and catching little whiffs of the potent spices of cooking food. The captain and his ex-wife shared a union seat.
Coop sat in the first seat he could find, essentially at the opposite head of the table. Nikita peeked out from within his jacket, then hastily tucked herself further away. Lil bounded over to Nita’s seat as though she was afraid someone would beat her to it.
“Mind if I sit here, Nita?” Lil said, already angling herself to plop down beside her former crewmate.
Nita placed a hand on her arm to stop her and answered with a gentle smile of correction. She patted the arm of the chair to her other side. “This side would be more appropriate.”
“But seats are for partners. You and me were pretty much a team back on the Wind Breaker, right?”
“The seats aren’t for that sort of partners.”
Nita gestured to her parents, as well as Captain Mack and Butch.
“Oh… Oh, that sort of partner.” Lil offered a fragile grin and hesitated for a moment, then paced around to the next chair and took a seat.
Now that all had found their places, Mr. Graus spoke again.
“I appreciate that this is the first you all have been exposed to our fair land. It may seem a bit confusing, seeing us as we are in the clothing of our forebears. Likewise the meal you shall be served is representative of our past, not our present, but it is our belief that to know Caldera is to know it from the beginning, and thus you should be introduced to us as we began. In that way, you will know us as we are. After each course, a member of the Graus clan will share with you a chapter of the history of our islands. I shall begin.”
Servants, dressed in simpler versions of the same ceremonial garb, entered and set down the first course amid a simple melody performed by the musicians beside the entrance. The food was a thick, fishy soup served in a bowl that looked more like a gravy boat. One end of the ornate porcelain dish extended into a spout of sorts. The crew waited until the song ended and Joshua picked up his bowl. After they watched him sip the soup from the spout, they did the same. The meal was rich, flavored with coconut and an assortment of spices none of the crew had tasted before. The first thought to pass through most of their minds was the sort of price such spices might fetch back in the markets of Keystone.
Mr. Graus spoke with the easy tone of a man who had been addressing audiences for his entire life.
“This island, the island of Tellahn, is the largest in Caldera. In the ancient tongue its name means ‘the first place.’ Our stories tell that when our world was young, there was nothing but sea, and then from the depths rose Tellahn, born of Lo, its mighty volcano. From Lo’s mouth poured our people, the first people. And thus life spread out like the rays of the rising sun. In those days the bounty came from the sea. The dish you now enjoy sustained the first generation of our fair people, and thus the first generation of all people.”
A loud thunk drew the attention of the table to Coop, who had set down his now empty bowl. Upon realizing he’d become the center of attention, he simply shrugged and picked up the bowl again.
“Seconds?” he said, hopefully.
Mr. Graus, a flicker of irritation coloring an expression that until now had been perfectly diplomatic, gestured for the servants to oblige Coop. As a servant hastily ladled out a fresh helping from a tureen, Mr. Graus continued.
“At that time there were many animals, of which we were only one. We were not the swiftest. We were not the largest. We were not strongest or the longest lived. What, then, made us special? A man and woman, their names lost to time, were the first to discover the answer, and to them we owe all that followed.”
“It’s clothes, ain’t it?” Lil offered. “The rest of the critters don’t wear clothes.”
“Wink wears an eye patch. And I knew a fella who had goats that wore scarves,” Coop offered.
“But we put the patch on Wink, and that fella put the scarves on the goats.”
“It ain’t a riddle,” Mack said in an angry hush. “He’s going to tell us. Now hush up.”
“It’s gonna be clothes,” Lil said quietly. “Just you wait.”
“The answer,” Graus said, raising his voice a bit. “Is creativity. We alone are able to look upon our world and recreate it. In paintings, in sculpture, in story, in song. And though invariably our first creations are duplicates of things we have experienced, none of them are perfect, all are our own. And from those flaws, from the realization that we cannot perfectly replicate the world we have been given, we learn that we can do something better. We can create a new one. Just as our own island rose from the depths of the sea, so may a thousand new worlds rise from the depths of our minds. Creativity and its fruits elevate us and make us, in some small way, as mighty as the creators of our very world.”
“See? Clothes,” Lil said.
“He didn’t say nothin’ about clothes, Lil,” Coop countered.
“But he was talkin’ about makin’ stuff, and clothes is stuff you make. It’s the same.”
“He was talking about art and stuff. Clothes ain’t art, ’cause you can use them for stuff. Art ain’t nothing but perty.”
“Guests, please,” Mr. Graus said. “I apologize for not making this clear, but this portion of the greeting ceremony is a monologue. There shall be no call-and-response, and while discussion is encouraged, it is best kept to the end of the speech.”
“Sorry, Mr. Graus,” Coop said.
Nita’s father took a moment to compose himself. “And so our people dedicated themselves to the development of art, the only truly divine pursuit. It has shaped us as a people, and remains the focus since the first artisan selected the first shell to adorn his robes.”
See? Clothes, Lil mouthed silently before sticking her tongue out at her brother.
“We serve this simple dish as a reminder of the time before we sought to include beauty in all our workings. I hope you enjoy it.”
Lil waited a few beats and sampled the food before piping up with, “So we done? Ready for regular talk?”
“Yes,” Nita said.
“Clothes is too art!” she said, launching straight back into the postponed argument. “Look at the outfits our hosts got on. You sayin’ that ain’t art? It’s beautiful!”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Graus said. “We’ve each made our own.”
“It’s real perty. All of this is real perty. And we’re all real proud you dressed up so nice for us and all,” Coop said, in his version of diplomacy. “But… look, a shoe ain’t art. It could be real fancy, but you ain’t wearin’ it because it’s fancy. You’re wearin’ it so you don’t bust up your feet when you walk around.”
“They’re so spirited!” Joshua said in the same tone one might use when describing an exotic animal.
“Very much so. I’d thought Nita was embellishing in her letters,” Lita said.
“This is actually quite a valid area of debate,” Mrs. Graus said. “There are those who are of the opinion that art, to truly be art, must exist only for its own sake. This is the point Mr. Cooper would appear to support. Ms. Cooper, on the other hand, holds the opposing view. We have attempted to embellish and elevate even the most utilitarian of items through artful design. Her view is that this makes those things art. And it is a fascinating discussion. When one paints upon a canvas, does the canvas become a piece of art, or is it merely the vessel through which art is conveyed? It is a topic that has occupied the minds of some of our greatest philosophers.”
“Well they can set their minds at ease, ’cause I got it figured out. If you look at it and you ain’t sure if it’s art, it ain’t art.”
“Such clarity of thought! It is the blissful ignorance of a child with the conviction of an adult!” Joshua said.
“See? Josh gets it,” Coop said.
“Mr. Graus,” Captain Mack said, “will you be servin’ liquor at this meal?”
“Yes. We’ve paired specific ones with different courses, beginning with the third course,” he replied.
“I hope it ain’t a terrible breach of tradition, but I’ll pass. I had some troubles with the bottle myself. But you might want to bring the timetable forward a bit on the first pairing. Seems like dulling the wits might help lubricate relations a bit.”
“… See, I got a tattoo on my arm, but my arm ain’t art,” Coop said.
Mr. Graus shut his eyes. “I think on this occasion a compromise can be made.”
“Tell me, Captain West,” said Mrs. Graus. “I seem to recall talk of an armory officer, Mr. Van Cleef. And some adorable little creatures. The ayes?”
“Aye-ayes. Coop’s got one of ’em in his jacket there. And Gunner and the other one are back home, seein’ to some business.”
“Nothing too unpleasant, I hope.”
“Business is business. Nothin’ he can’t handle.”
#
“You ever get sick of wearing that mask down here?” Kent asked.
“Yes, Kent,” Gunner muttered, his voice slightly muffled by a filter mask. “Almost instantly.”
The fug, the toxic layer of mist that blanketed most of the central expanse of the continent of Rim, was no place for surface folk. Everywhere it touched Gunner’s skin, it left an uncomfortable, raw alcohol coldness. It stung the eyes as well, but those were at best inconveniences. The real danger was breathing the stuff, which after a few minutes would either kill a surface person or, if the rumors were to be believed, gradually and painfully convert some of them into fug folk. For Gunner, neither fate was a pleasant thought, so he made certain to keep his filter mask firmly in place whenever he dipped beneath the rolling surface of the fug. The only respite came during mealtimes, when he opened a small jar of ichor in his room and took advantage of its ability to push back the fug to get a bit of reasonably fresh air—enough to allow him to remove his mask for long enough to fill his stomach, anyway.
“I notice you don’t do cycles down here with us as often as Lil and Nita,” Kent said.
“By design, I assure you,” Gunner said.
“Then how come you’re down here now?”
“Because the captain, quite astutely, reasoned that it was only a matter of time before Alabaster or some agent of the mayor launched another attack, and I’m the only member of the crew suited to designing an improved defense.”
“I think me and Nita did a pretty decent job.”
“That we are currently patrolling The Thicket in search of an escaped infiltrator suggests otherwise.”
If the fug was the most inhospitable part of Rim, The Thicket was the most inhospitable part of the fug. It was a large, dense forest, filled with thorny, vine-covered trees and populated by animals twisted by the fug into horrific parodies of their former selves. Wolves became huge, lanky fug hounds. Squirrels became lightning-quick monsters the size of jungle cats. There were rumors that the fug had taken its toll on bears as well, but until now there was no living witness of such a beast.
That would have been enough to make it a nearly impassible obstacle, but compounding the treacherousness was the fact that what little light made it through the hundreds of feet of fug between the ground and the sky was filtered away by the branches and leaves of The Thicket. Now heap on its considerable distance from what passed for an urban center beneath the fug and the fact that access by land was nearly impossible. To reach it one needed a solid knowledge of its location—which was information very few were privy to—as well as the skill to navigate in utter darkness without roads or landmarks—a rare skill indeed—and a vehicle capable of such a journey. Those with all three of these elements numbered in the single digits, largely because the advent of airships had made land vehicles quite low in priority. Until recently, a machine suited to traversing The Thicket simply didn’t exist.
Gunner was strapped, appropriately, in the gunner’s seat of just such a vehicle. It had come to be known as The Thicket Express. The design had evolved over the months that the Well Diggers had been operating the Ichor Well facility. In the beginning it was little more than an armed and armored steam-powered cargo cart. As this particular one made trips back and forth to designated pickup points for cargo and workers, Nita and the other mechanically inclined members of the Wind Breaker and Well Digger crews took notes and made modifications. Now it was nearly unrecognizable from those earliest days. The wheels were much larger, grippier, and more forgiving than the original designs, the better to deal with the uneven ground. More lights, more guns, and better pivots for each improved their ability to spot threats and deal with them. Even the controls had been simplified somewhat, and included an easier-to-adjust throttle and adjustable brightness for the phlo-lights.
At the moment they had the lights very dim. It was a bit of a balancing act keeping the worst of The Thicket’s residents from getting too interested in a cart as it traveled. None of the creatures liked bright light, but that dislike could be expressed as fear and retreat or anger and attack, so it was better to avoid notice at all. Thus, it was best to maintain a speed just a bit faster than walking pace and keep the lights just bright enough to avoid trees.
The Thicket was nearer to the northern side of the fug than the south, so it was an icy mess during the winter. Now that they were solidly into the spring, the purple icicles had long ago melted away and the chill of the air had taken a swing toward muggy. Gunner still dressed in layers, reasoning the less of his body exposed to the fug the better. He was also currently “partnered” with the only other member of the Wind Breaker crew left behind when the rest of them headed off to Caldera, the surly one-eyed aye-aye known as Wink. A few extra layers of clothes were always handy when the creature was around, as Wink had little concern for what his claws dug into when he climbed up or held tight to someone. Presently the creature had perched atop one of the phlo-lights and was scanning their surroundings with his bat-like ears.
“You do any hunting, Gunner?”
“I do not,” he said, sweeping his eyes across the inky void.
“Why not? Seems to me a man with as much love for a good firearm as you would jump at the opportunity to put one to use.”
“The reasons such logic does not hold, at least in my case, are numerous.”
Kent waited expectantly. “This is a conversation, Gunner. To pass the time. It helps if you hold up your end and string together more than a sentence or two.”
Gunner grumbled. “I’m trying to focus on the task at hand.”
“We got one cart, barely any light, and are tracking a man who’s probably in the belly of a dozen different squirrels. It’s a snipe hunt, Gunner. The least you can do is stave off the creeping crazies. So we’ll try it again. Why aren’t you the hunting sort?”
Gunner clicked the sight from a long rifle hanging at his side and scanned the forest once more. Some time ago he’d worked out a combination of colored lenses that gave him a halfway decent view in the haziness of the fug. When this most recent check still turned up nothing, he turned to Kent. The grunt eased the vehicle over the arching roots of a tree, then glanced back at him. Finally Gunner relented.
“Up on the surface we don’t have anywhere to hunt. Simple as that.”
“Plenty to hunt down here. Just about the only people who come to The Thicket besides us are big-game hunters looking to bag some of these monsters.”
“Perhaps my time on the Wind Breaker has flavored this opinion, but I feel as though trouble has no difficulty finding me and giving me plenty to shoot at in defense of my life and livelihood. No sense going out looking for something that wants to kill me. In my mind, there are two reasons to fire a gun. To test it, and to encourage the creature I’m aiming at to discontinue its current behavior.”
“A bullet is awful discouraging, I’ll grant you.”
“So unless an animal is attacking me, I’d just as soon save the ammunition. And what’s the point of it anyway? What do you prove? An animal hasn’t got the mind for proper tactics, so all you prove by killing one is that you’re smarter than a beast, and all you prove by failing is that you’re stupider than one. There’s no challenge to it.”
“I think if you tried hunting the stuff in The Thicket, you’d change your mind about the challenge.”
“I very much doubt it.”
Gunner’s voice had a grumbly edge to it, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Kent.
“Something working on your nerves, Gunner?”
“Yes, Kent. Something is working relentlessly at my nerves.”
“Besides me, I mean.”
“You are, at present, nowhere near the top of my list of grievances.”
“Nice to be appreciated then. What’s at the top?”
“You’ve never been to Caldera.”
“I try to stay off airships if I can manage it. The air’s a bit too thin and dry for me up there, and that sun’ll roast a fellow.”
“Then you would hate the place. Caldera is a sun-kissed paradise. Warm every day of the year. Lush and green at any altitude. Delicious food, and plenty of it. Exotic women, and plenty of them. Most people from Westrim or Circa haven’t gotten more than a glimpse of the islands as they drift along the horizon, and only then if they went far out of their way to some of the fishing shoals in western stretches of the Near Sea. Right now, my crew is walking, probably barefoot on rose petals, right through the heart of that place. And I’m down here, talking to you, on a snipe hunt.”
“You aren’t a picnic to be around, Gunner, so don’t think you’re the only one who’s on a lousy assignment.”
“Splendid. I’d hate to be the only miserable one.”
Kent turned the wheel to follow a smooth bit of ground. “You suppose your crew is going to bring back souvenirs?”
“We’re traders, Kent. They are going to bring back wares.”
“The same stuff you usually sell?”
“If they don’t come back with something more than the usual fare, I am going to be sorely disappointed in the captain.”
“Anything specific you’re hoping for, then?”
“Nothing they can bring back.”
“Oh?”
“Cannons.”
“They sell cannons, do they?”
“No. But they have them. In abundance. Massive, hulking cannons. Ringing their islands. They must be things of beauty. I assume you know what trith is?”
“Do I? I keep a tidy nest egg of the stuff for my retirement. I’ve got almost half a pound.”
“In Caldera they’ve got enough of it to actually build things out of it. Fantastically strong stuff. And as best as I can figure, the only way they’ve been able to build cannons that would be any good at the distance they need to be is to make judicious use of trith. Imagine it. A cannon made with trith. The rigidity of the barrel, the sort of pressure you could build up… oh, to see one of those beauties fired…”
“Let me get this straight. Hunting is a waste of time, but you’d stay awake nights dreaming about the bits and pieces of a great big cannon.”
“I have a healthy admiration for well-made weaponry.”
“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”
Gunner raised the sight again. After another slow scan he froze and gestured for Kent to stop the cart.
“What’ve you got?” Kent asked.
“Phlo-light. That way… it isn’t moving. Take us in slow…”
The grunt dialed down the steam and shifted their weaving path in the direction Gunner indicated. A steam vehicle wasn’t a stealthy way to get around. Slowing down, at least in the short term, was primarily achieved by venting proportionately more steam. This made for a lot of hissing and billowing clouds. But as they drew closer, it became apparent that stealth would not be a problem. Bits of clothing and bits of other things became visible long before they reached the light.
Eventually they came upon a thin ribbon of brilliant green light drifting up from a shattered phlo-light beside what was left of the man who had been carrying it. Kent grimaced and turned away. Gunner hopped down and inspected.
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Kent said. “A man doesn’t rush out into The Thicket without a gun and backup and live to tell anybody.”
Kent slid into the gunner’s seat. Gunner leaned low. The fallen spy’s bag was torn open, but most of its contents were still intact. He unfastened its flap and held it up to the light, picking through its contents.
“I thought we’d found the fellow’s bag,” Kent said.
“I suppose he had more than one,” Gunner said.
“So what was worth dying for? Some ichor? Maybe a map to the place?”
Gunner revealed a slip of paper. “There is a map. Not terribly detailed. I see some scraps of wood… This looks like a valve-fitting…”
“He was stealing spare parts?” Kent said.
“No, the wood has damage from some grapeshot. And the fitting is split. All of this looks like the parts discarded after a repair job. One moment… what’s this?”
He reached deep into the bag and came back with a piece of polished brass. It had a sharp, shiny edge, but most of it had taken on the faint patina of a piece exposed to the salt air.
“This is a bit of filigree, from the Wind Breaker,” Gunner said.
“You sure?”
“Look at it,” he said, holding it up for Kent. “Clearly decorative, no useful purpose to it. And it’s barely corroded at all. Someone was taking care of it. I guarantee Nita’s polishing rag has been across this a few dozen times. I thought sure the ship would look like trash with all of that stuff on it, but she found the time to keep it presentable. Come to think of it, this bit of wood here is from the Wind Breaker too. I still remember the trip she convinced us to take to find just the right stain to match it all.”
He hefted the bag up a little higher. It was sagging under the weight of all the stolen goods. Gunner’s expression was one of confusion mixed with mounting concern as item after item presented some tie to him and his crew. Kent’s face was more firmly and exclusively twisted by confusion at first, but the concern came charging in once he heard a rustle in the bushes over the sound of the idling steam engines.
“Gunner, I think it’s time to hop back up and get moving…” he said, eyes now sweeping the forest around them.
“There are letters here. And notes. Written from or to members of the crew.” His eyes narrowed. “Oh, now they’ve gone too far…”
The rustle became a creak, Kent’s eyes shooting up to the trees and his nervous fingers wrapping tight around the grips of the gun.
Squirrel, tapped Wink.
“Quick now, we’ve got company!” Kent said.
Gunner slung the bag over his shoulder and climbed into the cart, but the instant his feet hit the deck he was back to digging in the bag. Kent raised the lights to the canopy. A gleam of eyes and blur of fur confirmed one of the fug-squirrels had found them. Kent squeezed the trigger of the mounted gun. Steam routed into the weapon, and it devoured the chain of ammunition, launching a string of spikes into the canopy. The creature moved from branch to branch with astonishing speed, easily staying ahead of the stream of shots.
“Take the controls! Get us out of here!” Kent barked between bursts.
Gunner pulled a paper-and-brass cylinder from the bag and held it up angrily.
“They stole some of my hand-packed shells!” he shouted.
“Who cares about your bloody shells! How do you know that’s even one of yours?”
He swiveled around, finger tight against the trigger. The gun clanked hard against a brace that, Nita had learned the hard way, needed to be installed to keep a panicked shooter from blasting the interior of the cart. As he turned the gun and tried to figure out where the creature had gone, Gunner calmly replaced his rifle with a potent-looking shotgun from among his things. He popped it open and inserted the stolen shell.
The rustling now came from the branches directly above them. Kent fired blindly upward until the ammo chain ran out and his gun was reduced to stuttering uselessly. Gunner casually tossed him a fresh chain. He then braced himself against the railing of the cart, shouldered his shotgun, and took aim.
When he pulled the trigger, the blast was sufficient to cause the cart to rock backward. At first it seemed he’d fired well wide of the beast, overcompensating for its leap, but when it vaulted over their heads toward where the blast had struck, the pulverized tree branches were too damaged to support the creature’s weight. They snapped and dumped the ravening creature to the ground.
Gunner turned and, in a single smooth motion, plucked an oversize pistol from his holster, took aim, and fired. It did the job.
“There, you see?” Gunner said, perfectly calm. “Good, solid, powerful report. Tight grouping. Excellent distribution. That is a well-packed shell. Better than even fug factories could manage. I take pride in my shells. I almost have a grudging respect for the man for having the good sense to steal them.”
Kent was still visibly rattled from the close call. He glanced down at the now motionless creature. Gunner had done in two rounds what Kent had failed to achieve in two hundred.
“I think I see why you don’t think hunting is much of a challenge,” Kent said.
“Do you want the gunner’s seat or the driver’s seat? I think it’s past time we got back to Ichor Well to have a proper look over this stuff.”
“I think you’re better off with the gun.”
Kent stepped down and hopped into the driver’s seat. His hands danced shakily across the assorted knobs and levers. The wheels slung dirt, and he pulled a tight turn to head back to the relative safety of the ichor well as quickly as the vehicle could carry him.
“What do you think this all means?” Kent said.
“It means Alabaster is certainly in charge. And it means that his monomania has shifted from an ill-defined desire for fame and respect to a specific fixation on my crew.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now.”
“You are staffing a facility that has shattered the monopoly on several of the world’s most valuable substances. I would hardly put you in a position of peace and safety.” Wind ruffled the bag as Gunner resumed his analysis of the contents. His eyes turned back to the map. “There are a number of things about this map that concern me.”
“Besides that it exists?”
“The ichor well isn’t marked. Nothing resembling a road or path through The Thicket is marked. Nor could they be. We blindfold any new recruits for their journey in, and that’s the only way he could have gotten here. The only things marked are a handful of points outside The Thicket.” He hopped down from the gunner’s seat and held out the map for Kent. “Do these marked places match up with anything major?”
Kent spared a few glances. “Nowhere near any cities I know about.”
“Fair to assume they mark intended rendezvous points then. … Six of them, scattered all around The Thicket and labeled with dates.”
“Six of them. You suppose that means there were six spies?”
“That there was even one spy means I’d like to have a word with whoever was clearing your workers. But I doubt there were six. Alabaster may be an idiot, but even he would know the more spies, the higher the chance they’ll be discovered. This fellow represents one too many. Had he not been sent our way, we might still be unaware we’d been infiltrated.”
He returned to the gunner’s seat. “What is to be gained in this fixation? It is too much to expect him to be rational, that much is clear. But he knows where the ichor well is, and yet we’ve had more trouble with wildlife than follow-up attempts to take it. He was locked up by Ebonwhite, a man I feel certain would have gleefully released him for the simple mention of the location of Ichor Well. What is to be gained by keeping it secret? What are his plans?”
“He’s a loony. That’s reason enough to do anything.”
“He’s a loony who is clearly still capable enough to be dangerous,” Gunner said. He tapped the map. “One of these dates isn’t for another three days. That’s an appointment I don’t intend to miss.”
#
Back at the Graus estate, a meal that began in the early afternoon had continued well into the evening. Eleven courses had come and gone, along with nine subtly different types of wine and liquor served in varying amounts to the honorees. There had been two musical performances, a beautiful poetry recitation by Joshua Graus and an ill-advised one by Coop, a dance performance by Lita, and a few intermissions.
In that time the group had broken into smaller subgroups. Butch, mostly through exaggerated gestures, had been interrogating the servants and then the cooks on their ingredients and techniques. Coop was less a conversational companion to Joshua and Lita and more a court jester, serving as an endless source of amusement by his very nature. Meanwhile the deckhand was just happy to find someone who found him entertaining and didn’t trouble himself with why every sentence out of his mouth got a laugh, joke or not. Nita found herself pulled into this conversation or that, mostly to corroborate some claim or observation made by a crewmate that her family couldn’t quite believe. Lil was quieter than the rest, answering her share of questions but mostly enjoying her meal.
The most important pairing, however, turned out to be that of Mr. Graus and Captain Mack. They had spent the majority of the night in discussion interrupted only by the occasional bit of performance, food service, or protocol. The latest such interruption was the monologue preceding their last course. Mr. Graus had given speeches outlining the whole of Calderan history. There were tales of war and peace, and great leaders and terrible tyrants. Notably absent, however, was any mention of groups beyond Caldera. He now stood, arms spread to address the group, to deliver the final monologue.
“As we set out the final course, I shall relate to you the last great shift in our culture. Compared to the other chapters spreading back to the dawn of time, a mere blink of an eye has passed since the moment I now describe. It was one hundred fifty years ago, only a few generations. Your people, in the earliest versions of your airships, appeared on our shores. For a time, you were embraced. Calderans love nothing so much as a source of fresh inspiration. And you gave us much of it. We drank deeply of your stories and looked eagerly to your culture for innovation and novelty. But what we found was not entirely to our taste. It was ages since our last war among ourselves, yet you seemed as warlike as we had been at our worst of times. You have heard of great bloodshed already. The leaders of the time feared that should you and your people continue to influence us, your lingering thirst for war might return us to a time we’d gratefully left behind. The decision was made, for better or worse, to close our borders. A line of fearsome cannons rose from our shores like dark sentinels warding us against the dangers of the world across the sea. The perimeter battery. And so our cultures parted ways.
“The wisdom of our decision did not become apparent until word reached us of the calamity that claimed so much of your land. Your tragedy was lamentable, but there can be little doubt that had we remained open to your people, we might well have shared it. And though the years following the calamity brought refugees to our shores that shamefully had to be turned away, we now stand at the golden dawn of a new day, and we look forward eagerly for what the future may hold.
“A sumptuous cake is being placed before you now, a recipe passed down within my own family. Please eat heartily. When you are through, we shall show you to your rooms and you shall be free to enjoy the land I’ve spent this precious time describing.”
Servants set out plates at the table and Mr. Graus sat, his voice low as he returned to the subject that had dominated his conversation with Mack.
“We’ve danced about the point of it for long enough, Captain West,” he said, picking up where he’d left off. “Tomorrow we shall be stepping before the council to discuss the issue of your and your crew’s continued asylum here. As it stands right now, you are welcome, but at any moment, for any reason, the council may seek to revoke it. If—or more likely, when—it happens, I will of course rise in your defense, but the immediate and inarguable claim will be made that I am biased both by the very specific service you provided my wife and the relationship of my daughter with your crew. The argument will be made that outside of small advances in medicine and technology, the outside world offers little and threatens much, and I am not certain I have sufficient evidence to contradict such claims.”
Captain Mack leaned back in his chair as a steaming cup of something that certainly began its life as coffee was set before him. He stared at it, the patterns of coconut milk and sprinkled spice impeccably traced out by the server swirling away in the latest artistic flourish of the meal.
“I learned an awful lot about your people today, Mr. Graus,” he began. “This all was a fine lesson. You put it together a lot fancier than folks on my side of the ocean would have, but it painted the same picture. And knowing what I know about the folks back home and what I learned about the folks here, I don’t know that I would want to open up them borders for even a single one of us. But it doesn’t matter what you want. You don’t run a ship based on what you want, and you don’t run a nation based on what you want. You do what needs doing. And you can’t afford to sit here and let the world get on with its business without you. You know why?”
“I have my theories, but I am curious as to your view.”
“Because if we did this same show-and-tell back home, talking about all we’ve seen or done, twelve courses wouldn’t be enough. Right now, you got through talking about the calamity and you’re putting out the cake and coffee. Back home, we’d still be on the soup and nuts. Because the calamity wasn’t the end of anything. We hauled ourselves up into the mountains and we kept at it. Yeah there was more war. Yeah there was more struggle. But we kept growing. You’ve got a few impressive bits here, but the most potent pieces of machinery you’ve got are those cannons, and you only built them to keep us out. Why? Because struggle gets people moving, makes people stronger. We may not have been as happy along the way as you Calderan folk, but we’ve come a damn sight further since you closed your borders than you have. We’ve grown and we’ve changed. We’ve learned and we’ve improved. You need a dose of what we’ve got just as much today as you did back before you built those cannons. And there’s loads more to learn from us now than back then.”
Graus nodded. “No doubt, but what if I bring that to the council and they are willing to trade the tranquility for the growth? Suppose my people quite rightly suggest that a bit less advancement and growth in exchange for continued peace is more than equitable?”
“I’d say that’s a fine trade to take if you can get it, but it ain’t on the table. We made it here. Your folk were hungry for what we had to offer. And if we hadn’t, someone else would’ve. And most folk who might see fit to try buyin’ and sellin’ from you folk ain’t as principled as my bunch. You held the tide back with a couple of peashooters for quite a while, but sooner or later the world is going to come a knockin’, and if you don’t get yourself some friends to help you out, you ain’t going to be ready for what they’re liable to bring.”
“We’ve turned away the best you had to offer for many years.”
“No. You turned away the bits we were willing to send your way. Around here we might have a reputation as them nice folks who brung medicine and took one of the locals out to see the world. Back home, folks have different things to say about us. Top of the list, we’re the folks who took down the dreadnought.”
“Yes. Nita spoke about it at length in her letters.”
“Good. Picture that monster in your head, and think about this. The fuggers built that thing to keep us surface folk in the mountains in line. We were barely holding on, struggling to survive, and they put together an airship that could flatten a city to keep us on the straight and narrow. Think of what sort of a thing they would put together when they set their sights on you Calderan folk.”
“When?”
“A cat can only toy with the same mouse for so long before it gets tired and looks for another. I ain’t sayin’ it’s tomorrow, but mark my words. The fug ain’t liable to stay my problem for long. Someone in this room is going to have to deal with it. And if it ain’t you, me, the missus, and our like? Who’s that leave?”
Mack turned to Nita and Lil, then to Lita, Coop, and Joshua. Mr. Graus tightened his lips and leaned back.
“A point well made, Captain…”
#
As the wine and desserts were cleared away, the conversation between the Grauses and the Wind Breaker crew continued. The only ones to leave the table had been Butch, who had strong-armed her way into the kitchen to see just what sort of ingredients they were working with, and Mrs. Graus, who saw fit to accompany her. The captain and the patriarch of the family delved deeply into discussions of the future of their association, leaving the Graus and Cooper siblings to get to know one another better. As the stronger drink flowed, what little filter and inhibition Coop had managed to impose on his behavior dropped away and he became, if anything even more Coop than usual.
At the moment, he was standing on his chair recounting an anecdote that it took his entire body to tell.
“… So I was up on the bar, right? This one fella’s got my leg, and this other fella—a real bruiser—he’s got my head locked up in his arms. He’s fixin’ to twist it clean off. They think they got ol’ Coop beat, but what don’t they know?”
“That ol’ Coop’s sister looks out for her brother!” Lil called across the table.
“That’s right she does,” he said. “Now Lil grabs one of them bottles they wrap up with the twine and stick a candle in—beats me why they do it—but she takes it and whomps him right in the noggin. Down he goes. Then I kinda fall back, on account of him wrenchin’ on my head was just about the only thing keepin’ me up, and I give the fella on my foot a boot to the nose. Down he goes. Turns out, them two got brothers too, and more than one each. Pretty soon the whole place is jumpin’ up and down on us. Or at least tryin’ to, but once I hit my stride there ain’t no keepin’ me down. I took a couple of shots to the head, but that ain’t never done a Cooper no harm, and I dished ’em back two-fer-one. That’s when a fella who don’t know how to have a proper tussle decided he had to pull a knife on Lil.”
“Took a good hard swipe at me. Mussed up my good coat!” Lil said.
“And who comes in to mop things up?” Coop said.
“Was it the captain?” Joshua said. “He seems a rough customer.”
“Nah, Cap’n Mack ain’t one for a bar these days,” Lil said.
“It was that Gunner gentleman then,” Lita said. She covered her mouth. “He didn’t shoot anyone, did he?”
“Nah. Gunner knows better not to pull a gun in a brawl. One gun comes out, and a dozen more follow it, and then two things happen. A bunch of folks don’t make it home that night, and we ain’t allowed back in that bar no more.”
“Both are pretty lousy,” Lil said with a nod. “Come on, though. One more guess.”
“I can’t imagine who is left.”
Lil pointed. “She’s sittin’ right over there.”
“Nita?” said both Joshua and Lita in surprise.
“Well sure. Ain’t nobody I know better at shuttin’ down a fight than Nita. Her with her wrenches and boots. Plus, when a body tries workin’ her kidneys, that whachacallit… corset has them ribs that bust up their knuckles.”
“You never told us about this,” Lita said.
Nita blushed and took a sip of her wine. “There are some things I’d just as soon not worry mother with.”
“But she gets one look at a fella with a knife on Lil and in she runs. She wasn’t even in the dang bar,” Coop said. “She was outside jawin’ with some lady about a job. But she barrels in, swingin’ them cheater bars she keeps on her belt, and pow, lays him out.”
“Plus two more of his buddies for good measure,” Lil said.
“You ask me, all the rest of the folks lookin’ to get a piece of either one of the Coopers took a look at the helping of Nita they’d have to polish off and decided they’d had their fill. Everyone goes their separate ways, in a hurry.”
“Includin’ us, seein’ as how the last one in the place usually has to pay for all the stuff that gets busted,” Lil said.
“Forgive me if I missed it,” Lita said. “But what started this brawl?”
“It was…” Coop hopped down and took a seat. “Come to think of it, I don’t rightly know.”
“I think I said somethin’ about the way the fella’s face looked,” Lil said.
“He did have a lopsided head,” Coop said. “And a real hiccup in his getalong.”
Joshua laughed. “What is a hiccup in his getalong?”
“You know. He walked funny. Had one of these,” Coop said, hopping back up and walking with an odd stutter to each alternate step. “Like he had a nail in his boot and never bothered to fetch it out.”
Joshua slapped the table. “A glorious turn of phrase!”
Lita smiled at Joshua. “What do you think, brother? The Coopers?”
“Certainly the Coopers,” he said.
“Lita, Joshua… we talked about this…” Nita warned.
“Nita, I think they can come to their own decision on the issue,” Joshua said.
“Tell me, what instruments do you play?” Lita said.
The Coopers looked at one another.
“You all say that like there ain’t no doubt we got at least one,” Coop said.
“Heavens, silly me,” Lita said. “I’d forgotten that even something so fundamental to our education might be absent from yours. We all, as a matter of course, learn at least a bit of an instrument. Most of us learn several.”
“Yep, I knew that,” Lil said. “Nita plays the fiddle, and the harp, and one of the ones we ain’t got that I can’t remember much.”
“I’m fair to middlin’ with a guitar, but I ain’t sure I’m what you’d call a real player.”
“And I don’t play nothin’ at all,” Lil said.
“Wait,” Coop said, snapping. “Spoons! I play the spoons like all get-out.”
“That, I simply must see,” Joshua said. “Playing spoons.”
“And Lil, Nita says that you’ve got some real potential as a dancer.”
Lil blushed and turned away. “Aw, she might say that, but I ain’t so sure it’s so.”
“Then we shall see that as well,” Joshua said. “I’ll be happy to work up some choreography once I see to what style Lil is best suited!”
“What for?” Lil said.
“This is something that had been discussed as a potential means of introducing you, and through you all of Rim, to the Calderans,” Nita explained, a note of apology in her voice. “Sometimes it is helpful, diplomatically, to meet people on their own terms. Lita and Joshua felt if members of the Wind Breaker crew might be willing to demonstrate some unique artistic expression for an audience of interested parties, it would help ease you into our society. I wasn’t sure it would appeal to you.”
Coop scratched his head. “Is it gonna be a whole show. You Calderan folk doin’ stuff too? Because I reckon I could keep some folks in a bar entertained with spoons if they’d already had a few, but it ain’t what I’d call a night out all by itself. And seein’ as how I seen Lil here dance a few times, I don’t think she’s liable to keep folks entertained unless they’re lookin’ for a laugh.”
“You keep talkin’ like that and I’ll just let the next fella who wants to pull your head off go ahead and do it,” Lil countered.
“Oh, we’ll make it the centerpiece of a larger show in your honor! At a smaller venue. Luthor Rehr’s dinner theater would be perfect. A small stage, intimate atmosphere…” Lita said.
“Dinner!” Coop said. “Well if you all are gonna have us put on a show durin’ dinner, Butch’s gotta make supper for you folks. That’s how you get to know people, is see what they eat, right?”
“Now that’s an idea!” Lil said. She raised her voice. “Butch! You wanna make dinner for some Calderans if we put on a show?”
Butch’s answer, contrary to the tone, was to the affirmative.
“Well that settles it,” Lil said. “Me and Coop’ll show you what we got, and if that seems like it’ll help you Calderan folk make your minds up about us, then we’ll put on a show for you all.”
Joshua clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly. “Splendid!”
#
Lucius P. Alabaster marched back and forth with mounting impatience.
“Unacceptable. Utterly unacceptable,” he muttered viciously.
The room he’d been asked to wait in was not conducive to pacing. Particularly not the extremely animated pacing Alabaster favored. He wasn’t a man who did anything small. For him, illustrating his displeasure with a situation was a full-body performance complete with oratory. The small, dark room he was in now was home to a pair of armchairs and an overhead lamp, and there was barely enough room to accommodate them. Each lap around the room took two and a half strides, and once every other lap the arm of a chair caught on the cane holstered like a sword at his belt.
“To think, the man is lucky enough to secure the invaluable aid of Lucius P. Alabaster, and not only does he effectively squander my talents with inane quests even an ape could achieve, he doesn’t even have the decency to be punctual. Instead he has me enter through the back door of the Ruby Club. This was my home away from home, a place in which I may as well have been royalty. Now I must skulk about like some lowly worker.”
His righteous indignation grew, spiraling faster and faster within his mind as the seconds ticked on.
“Give me but a tenth of the resources and time to prepare that this man has taken and I’d rule this world a dozen times over. Just wait until…”
Alabaster’s tirade trailed away as he heard steps approaching the door. He bashed his head on the hanging lamp in his haste to hop into one of the seats. Once seated, he checked that the folio and satchel beside it were still in place, then reached up to steady the lamp.
A man opened the door and entered. He dressed more sensibly than Alabaster, though that was anything but a difficult distinction to earn. He wore a black outfit of simple, sturdy make. It was formal without being ostentatious, and common enough for him to blend instantly into a crowd. Not quite as tall as Alabaster, the man still had the long, scrawny build of the average fug person. Deep lines in his face betrayed a more advanced age, but by virtue of the quirks of the fug folk, it wasn’t clear if he was a decade older or a century. He carried a folded newspaper under one arm.
To look at him, one might imagine he was little more than a servant working in the country club waiting beyond the door through which he’d entered. For the better part of the time Alabaster had known him, that’s precisely what he believed this man to be. The recently revealed truth had been, quite literally, humbling.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Tusk,” Alabaster said. “I’d wondered if you were forced to cancel our meeting.”
Alabaster was plainly, and poorly, moderating his tone in an attempt to appear to be Tusk’s equal. It said something about Lucius that in his mind he was lowering himself to that level rather than elevating himself. Ferris Tusk, through a long life of careful and masterful manipulation, was almost singlehandedly responsible for the position of power now enjoyed by the fug folk. Alabaster, on the other hand, had pursued a scheme that, had it been successful, would have literally wiped out that society.
“I was detained. Barnum was in the midst of a long-winded recollection of a big-game hunt from some time ago and I didn’t want to be rude and take my leave until he was through.”
“Ugh. That bloviating, boastful, bloated blowhard could fill an entire evening with his half-remembered drivel of waddling out into The Thicket and having his staff fire guns at wild animals,” Alabaster said. “The fool exists to fill silences with his mindless, unending dreck.”
“A common trait among members of this club, I’ve noticed. And in a parallel observation,” Tusk tossed the paper down on the small table between the chairs and took a seat, “I see you’ve availed yourself of the fourth estate, as requested.”
Alabaster looked appreciatively over the image of him that occupied most of the front page of the paper.
“The first decent image I’ve seen applied to the front page of this otherwise detestable rag since they worked out how to print photographs. Evidence, of course, that if you want something done properly, you must do it yourself. Teaching Mr. Q to use a camera was a bit like training a dog to ice a cake, but the result is at least an image worthy of recording my exploits.”
“I might have expended my energies in pursuit of less frivolous details, but to each his own. Every eye that turns in your direction is one too busy to look for activities of mine, which are better left unseen. Your dramatic flair has pushed the story of the museum storehouse robbery to the second page. You have succeeded brilliantly in your misdirection.”
“As if there was any doubt I would do so. In all my exploits I have been bested only once, and it was by the Wind Breaker crew, figures as monstrous in the minds of the populace as to be titans shaking the very mountains with their steps. Any lesser foe is comparatively nothing to my towering intellect. Insects to be brushed aside like so much—”
Tusk raised his voice to interrupt. “Much as I enjoy your poetic assertions of your own greatness, we haven’t got the time to see them through to their end. I have some pressing engagements to see to. Your visibility in this caper was only one of the two requirements I had of you. Is it fair to assume you wouldn’t be here if you’d not had similar success in the second task?”
Alabaster, allowing himself a brief venomous glare at having his self-aggrandizing proclamation cut short, plucked a small folio from the ground beside his chair and presented it.
“Every image of any reasonable level of detail depicting the aforementioned Wind Breaker and its crew,” Alabaster said. “Why you would seek to accumulate such things is quite beyond me.”
“Yes, Alabaster, it is quite beyond you, which is why you are not privy to my motivation.” Tusk glanced at the satchel beside Alabaster’s chair. “As I recall, at the time of our last meeting you were awaiting a response from some of your operatives with regard to your prior mission.”
“Ah, yes. In this case I must report something less than total success. It is, of course, no fault of mine. Instead the blame lies upon the spy. I must assume his failure to arrive at the appointed time is indication that he has been captured or killed. For his sake I hope he has, because the Well Diggers would no doubt have delivered him to a swifter and kinder end than I will if he shows his face having failed me. There, of course, remains the outside chance that he shall arrive. A single meeting time remains for him to deliver his goods.”
“Am I to understand that your satchel is empty?”
“It is not! Because, in my brilliance and foresight, I saw fit to put not one but three operatives into play. Two of them infiltrated the Well Digger’s facility. Only one returned, of course. At your behest he was detained after dropping his purloined materials at the predetermined cache and sent back within The Thicket to meet his demise at the claws of the local fauna. And thus, your desired secrecy of The Thicket is maintained and I present you with this. Everything he was able to find relating in any way to the Wind Breaker and its crew.”
Alabaster presented the bag to Tusk. The simply dressed man accepted it and flipped through the contents. It was an odd assortment of materials. A small pile of poorly developed photographs seemed to be the centerpiece. There were swatches of cloth cut from the envelope of the Wind Breaker during repairs, as well as a small mound of bits of the ship’s hardware that had been thrown into the waste pile. Some of the items were connected only in the most tangential way to the ship. There were three bundles of letters that, based upon the addresses on the unopened envelopes, were merely slated to be delivered by the Wind Breaker crew.
Despite the evident lack of strategic or monetary value, Tusk worked his way through the items as though sifting for gold. He gave each new piece great care and consideration, leaving Alabaster to sit in increasingly agitated silence. Eventually the more flamboyantly appointed occupant of the room could hold his tongue no longer.
“As filled as I am with genuine gratitude at the opportunity to serve as the most valued general in this shadowy army you have no doubt assembled, and as much as I share a burning hatred for the Wind Breaker crew, I cannot conceive that you would expend my considerable talents for little more reward than an assortment of Wind Breaker ephemera. I understand the value of knowing one’s enemy, obviously, but a bag of scraps and scribbles is effectively useless. I must assume you have a deeper plan for these items, and I would be remiss if I did not request greater insight into that plan, such that I might more ably advise and administer it.”
Tusk glanced at him. “No.”
Alabaster’s flimsy mask of tolerance wavered. “No? That is all you have to say?”
“Yes.”
“May I at least know to what your unexplained refusal replies?”
“A great many things. No, you may not have insight into my plan. No, I do not require or desire your aid or input in its execution. No, these are not simply ephemera, nor are they effectively useless. No, you do not understand the value of knowing one’s enemy. No, I do not have a shadowy army. No, you are not my most valued general. And no, I do not believe your gratitude is genuine. I do, however, believe you when you say you cannot conceive that I would behave as I have.”
Among Tusk’s many supposed achievements over his life, perhaps the most impressive was this one. He had rendered Lucius P. Alabaster speechless. In the absence of a reply, Tusk continued.
“Utilizing you is a considerable risk, Alabaster. One that at the moment is barely exceeded by the potential reward of your services. I’ve gotten this far by knowing when to act, when not to act, and knowing precisely the tasks that a given operative can handle. I have more jobs for you, naturally. I intend to keep you busy. But if you believe that at any point prior to its completion I shall give you an indication of anything more than the general shape of my plan, you are illustrating the selfsame lack of judgment that precludes your access to said information.”
He carefully placed all the things Alabaster had secured inside the bag and set them beside his chair, then reached into a pocket in his vest to retrieve a slip of paper.
“Your next assignment,” Tusk said.
Alabaster took the paper, practically trembling with suppressed rage, and looked it over.
“Two… thousand pounds of Calderan sea salt?” he said. “I, Lucius P. Alabaster, mastermind of a scheme of potentially global infamy, am to fetch a ludicrous quantity of exotic seasoning?” He ended with his teeth clenched tightly enough they threatened to fracture.
“Yes,” Tusk said.
Alabaster’s knuckles cracked as he tightened his fist around the slip.
“… Of course, Tusk. Might I suggest, following the forgone conclusion of the successful completion of this absurd task, that we devote some level of planning and resources to securing the ichor well rather than simply infiltrating it for trophies?”
“No,” Tusk said.
Alabaster shook. “May I ask why you do not wish to control something that would grant you almost limitless wealth and power?”
“I already have quite enough wealth and power, Alabaster. Only failure can come from overreaching one’s requirements. And the schemes I have in place require that Ichor Well continues to operate. Its fall is inevitable. It can wait. And you certainly will not be a part of any future attacks upon the facility. Your attempts to end the world by utilizing the place were ill-advised enough to forbid you further access.”
“Forbid me further…” Alabaster blurted, but he paused long enough to wrestle his voice back down below a raving shout. “You… shall… have… your… salt…”
He paced to the back door, the one that would spare him both the publicity and humiliation of walking through the main floor of his former club. Before he could turn the knob, the door opened and a familiar, neatly dressed fellow entered with a tray of tea.
“Mallow?” Alabaster said, taken aback.
“Ah, hello, sir,” Mallow said, his weakly masked expression of unpleasant surprise making Alabaster’s acting ability seem world class.
“Where have you been? In your absence I have been forced to employ two thickheaded grunts, who while serving ably as the blunt instruments sometimes necessary to acquire the cooperation of those unaware of the threat innate to my own presence, are sorely lacking as personal valets.”
“I have been working for Mr. Tusk, sir,” Mallow said, setting down the tea.
“For Tusk? When precisely did I provide permission for you to leave my own employ?”
Tusk provided the answer. “When you were locked away and I sought him out personally. Time is a factor, Mr. Alabaster.” He sipped the tea. “On your way.”
“… Yes… Of course… You shall have your salt, no doubt a crucial element in an elaborate scheme and in no way a waste of my boundless intellect. Until our next meeting, Tusk.”
“Until then. And do yourself a favor, Alabaster. Right about now, unless I’ve misjudged you, that furtive mind of yours is endeavoring to plant the seeds of my own overthrow. If you wish to have anything resembling a long career, I would entreat you to set that plan aside. I have built a fair bit of my plan for the immediate future around your involvement. It would be terribly inconvenient to have to replace you at this stage, but contingencies are in place should I need to. Anyone can be replaced.”
“Yes, Tusk,” Alabaster said darkly. “Anyone can be replaced…”