“Is it too tight?” Mimi asked.
“No,” Nhika said—but she wasn’t the fondest of small spaces. Last time she was in a chamber like this, she’d thought she was going to get vivisected by Santo. In comparison, being hidden away in one of the Congmi Guardians wasn’t so bad—and she was small enough to curl into the main cockpit without messing with the controls.
But, just in case, the siblings had turned off the machine, lest she accidentally send a round of ammunition through their walls.
“Andao, for the next model, might I suggest some extra padding? Seat warmers, perhaps?” she said.
Andao leaned over to inspect her arrangements. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
“You’ll survive,” Trin said with a straight face, closing the domed canopy on top of her. With a hiss that sounded a little too close to Santo’s casket, it latched.
“Can you still hear me?” he asked, leaning close.
When she nodded, Andao began gesturing to various instruments. “That red lever there opens the hatch—remember, pull then twist. If it gets stuck, that button there should forcefully eject, just lift the cover and hit it. And if you’re in a bind, you can engage manual control of the Guardian by—”
“Andao,” Nhika interrupted. “I’ll be fine.”
He sucked in a breath and straightened his coat. “Right. You’re not going to war. Just an exhibition.”
That was the plan: sneak her on board in one of the Guardians. Mimi familiarized her with the schedule of events; while everyone was at dinner the first night, she’d be free to find Kochin. Then the pilot would take her home—and she and Kochin would have to lay low in some corner of Theumas until Nem forgot about them. But that was nothing she hadn’t done before.
“Remember, Nhika, Andao and I will be up there, too,” Mimi said. “Goodness knows, you might be a good distraction from the politicking.”
If all went to plan, she would be in and out with no one the wiser, then crash back at the Congmi villa to await the siblings’ return, but it was comforting knowing she had support on the ship. Maybe that’s where she and Kochin had failed the first time: entering the Theumas Medical Center alone.
“Save me some leftovers from the dinner, all right?” she said.
Mimi nodded. “Are you ready?”
“Ready.”
Before they loaded her Guardian into the truck, Trin placed his palm against the glass, a parting gesture. She was a little dismayed he would not be coming on account of his leg, but she mirrored the gesture on the other side. It was good luck. It was goodbye.
When she saw them next, she would have Ven Kochin with her.
It was an hour-long, rattling truck drive to Yibai Airdrome, where one of the Congmis’ private aircrafts awaited them. Nhika and her fellow Guardians, three in total, were unloaded and reloaded onto a Congmi airship. They lifted off again after a long and laborious strapping process—for which Nhika was grateful as soon as they took to the turbulent skies.
Now, it was just a matter of waiting. Her legs were starting to cramp, but she didn’t soothe them. She was going in on a full belly, but Nhika still had a nervous compulsion to save every calorie.
Time passed. Her muscles grew achy, being contorted into the tight position of the Guardian. Nhika fought the urge to pop the dome and stretch her legs.
At long last, she could feel their aircraft descending. There was lurching around the cabin as it lowered, then a jarring rattle when it made contact. As the bay doors opened, letting in a sliver of light, Nhika craned her neck to peek out through the domed cockpit. She caught a glimpse of the Nem’s airship: a beautiful hull of glass and copper shaped like a whale lifted out of the water, suspended by a metal balloon and finned with bright red junk sails. On such a cloudless day, it shone like a second sun in the sky—an airship that promised a weekend of extravagance. Nhika wondered if it was also a prison.
This would be like her and Kochin’s previous adventures: Break in, find what she needed, escape.
And this time, don’t die.
The aircraft around her settled. When the bay doors opened in full, workers boarded and Nhika shrank back down into the legs of the Guardian. After some shuffling, some clinking, there was movement: her Guardian, being unloaded onto Nem’s airship.
She adjusted the earpiece to her level. From inside, she could hear conversation.
“Welcome, Mr. and Ms. Congmi,” a steward said. “And your inventory?”
“Three Guardians,” Andao replied.
“Any incendiaries?”
“Just fuel. Does it matter?”
“The commissioner is limiting any flammable material on the ship.”
“Why’s that?” Mimi asked.
“To avoid stray sparks. It’s nothing to worry about, of course, but we’re simply taking precautions. The Guardians are fine—however, due to limitations, we ask that your ship wait for you back at the airdrome.”
“In Theumas?” Mimi sniffed indignantly. “No, that won’t do.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Congmi. It’s on the commissioner’s orders.”
“And I’m sorry, but I simply can’t be on this airship without a way out. It’s far too stuffy.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to take it up with the commissioner.”
There was a tense quiet. Nhika leaned into the earpiece. Keep arguing, Mimi, she thought. It was one of Mimi’s biggest strengths.
But in a mollifying tone, Andao said, “Very well. We’ll ask the pilot to return to Theumas.”
Nhika’s heart fell. Having a plane waiting to take her home—that was half the plan. Each flight craft that left the airship was another door closed.
Then Andao added, “Surely, you’re not sending all crafts back.”
“If you’re concerned about the operations of the ship, don’t worry—we have enough small transports for fuel and resupply.”
“Kept on the landing platform, I assume?”
“Yes—but that’s for us to worry about. Please, Mr. Congmi, enjoy your evening.”
Mimi let out an elegant laugh. “You’ll have to excuse my brother. It’s the engineer in him. He simply must know how everything works.”
But Nhika had understood, loud and clear, what Andao was telling her. If she could make it back here, she could find a vessel and still get off this airship with all four limbs. Piloting and flying it, well—that was another issue, but she wouldn’t be alone.
As the workers wheeled her away, she stole a glance back toward the Congmi craft. Its bay doors closed, engines started. Then it pulled out onto the runway, and Nhika watched from the bulbous cockpit of the Guardian as her sure way off this floating prison departed back toward Theumas.
It was nearing dinnertime.
Nhika sat at the bottom of the Guardian, now loaded into the hull of Nem’s airship, watching the hand move forward on the pocket watch by a dim light on the console. Even before it reached the hour, a voice echoed to life on the overhead broadcast system.
“Guests aboard the SS Justice, the commissioner cordially invites you to make your way toward the deck two dining hall for dinner.”
That was her cue. As Andao had instructed, Nhika lifted the canopy of the Guardian and climbed out, every joint popping with relief. She slid down the ladder at its back and dropped herself into an empty hangar. The pocket watch went around her wrist: a constant reminder of how much time she had before guests moved again. And the ornaments in her hair—they came down, too, not hairpins but lockpicks.
Now, to find Kochin.
She’d work her way from the bottom to the top of the ship. Thankfully, a ship schematic was posted near the exit to the loading bay, and Nhika studied it.
This was a Ngut Inventions airship. No wonder it had such weight limitations. Nhika had never ridden any kind of airship before, but by allegiance alone she assumed Congmi airships were superior—and far less flammable. Ngut was a little behind, still using cheap hydrogen to fill his balloons.
Mother, all those days spent with Mimi were rubbing off on her.
According to the ship map, there were three decks to this vessel. The bottommost—that’s where she was now, nothing much but engine rooms, cargo holds, and the loading bay. But there were also some holding cells, where she’d start her search.
She picked her way through the lower deck beneath gurgling pipes and hissing steam. As she passed by portholes, she hazarded a glance down—and immediately regretted it.
They were so high over the water. It was claustrophobic, knowing there was nowhere to go on this ship but down. There, on the horizon, sat a flat line like a mirage, pockmarked with a little shining dot: Theumas. How very far she was from the Dog Borough now.
Nhika found the holding cells, but they were empty. It was almost a relief—that Kochin was not being treated as some kind of wild, biting animal. But that meant she had to go upstairs.
Deck two: That’s where the people were. When she came out of the stairs, she was immediately taken by the stark difference between lower deck to guest cabins. For one, there was carpet—newly laid, colors still vibrant. Little glass lights lined the halls, gently swaying with each bout of turbulence. Everything smelled perfumed, looked golden, and exuded wealth—like she could stick her thumb through the wallpaper and pull out pearls. What a shame, that she had to know this luxury as an interloper rather than a guest.
Ahead, lines of private cabins awaited her. For a second, they intimidated her—too many to pick through in the hour, and Kochin could’ve been behind any of those doors. But she soon realized they were personalized, a tag at the side of each door for the guests. Even Andao and Mimi had a room each. Nhika walked the rows, finding no room belonging to Kochin, until she heard the quiet hum of chatter.
It was the dining hall. The last of the crowd was slipping inside, ushered by guards, and Nhika chanced a quick peek. It was a room at the front of the ship, windows on either side curving into a large canvas of a sky near sunset—all tea lights and chandeliers and the winking sun to give the hall a warm, orange glow. Round tables, dressed with place settings, circled the periphery.
At the front was a stage. It looked like it should’ve held performers, but right now, Commissioner Nem stood at the microphone, welcoming his guests aboard. Nhika ducked away quick.
One more floor. She ascended.
Up here was the bridge at the front, with a gallery walk that overlooked the dining hall. Below, Nem continued his speech with a joke—she saw laughter from the crowd. Andao and Mimi were down there, too, sitting at a corner table. It reassured her to know they were on this ship. And it scared her that they might reap consequences if she was caught.
She headed back to the stern. Here were the special cabins, like the captain’s suite.
Beside it was Nem’s room.
Nhika threw a glance over her shoulder. There was no one to see her draw the lockpicks from her sleeve. It was an easy lock; Ngut had not foreseen criminal trespassing when he fashioned these doors. When it clicked undone, Nhika let out a long breath.
Oddly, she felt fear. She didn’t know what it meant if he wasn’t behind this door—because she wasn’t sure where else he could be. Maybe, he might’ve truly been dead, and this entire endeavor was to distract herself from the unacceptable truth.
And if he was here, Nhika wasn’t sure how to act. It felt like just a couple weeks since she’d last seen him on her deathbed. In reality, it had been six months. She wasn’t sure how to thank a boy who had gone to war for her.
Nhika turned the handle and opened the door.
Empty.
It was a suite befitting a commissioner, all white and gold. The wall opposite her held an enormous window, so Nem could sleep to a view of the ocean like he owned it. But the bed hardly looked slept in. Instead, furs draped over the back of the desk chair, and the desk was the only worn piece of furniture in this entire stateroom.
She stepped up to it. Miscellany littered its surface, papers and baubles and a pen still in ink. If she were a Daltan spy, perhaps she’d see gold in these documents. Instead, she saw a failed quest.
Nhika rocked back on her feet. Defeat tasted like thin air. She was just about to leave when something dark caught her eye—a bloodstain, dried nearly black. It was on a set of papers beneath the others, wrinkled and tarnished.
Nhika shifted papers aside to uncover it. It was in a foreign language—Daltan, she presumed, from its proximity to Theuman. Someone had translated it in pencil, and she recognized the handwriting: It was the same one she remembered from a napkin, scrawling out an address in the Pig Borough.
She was getting closer and closer to Kochin. He’d been here, his hands all over these papers—so they must’ve been the ones Trin told her about, research to bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another life.
Someone like Nem should not have had papers like these. The commissioner was a military general; he’d weaponize anything. So, to give him one less idea, Nhika folded up the papers and slid them up her sleeve, just against her biceps.
She was turning to leave when something crashed behind her. Glass sprayed; Nhika yelped, throwing her arms around her head as the air sucked out of the room. Across the floor splayed a shadow: tall and lean.
When she turned, she found Lanalay standing in the frame of a broken window, wind tugging at her hair as she tossed the end of a rope out the ship. Papers took flight, but Lanalay snatched them from the air and slammed them back on the table.
Lanalay leaned over the desk. “Ms. Suon.”
“Lanalay,” Nhika said. But it wasn’t the socialite aspirant who stood in front of her. It was a girl made of metal, wearing a maid’s uniform she’d torn and tied into something practical, with a round of rope at her hip and a knife at her biceps.
“What are you doing here?” Lanalay asked.
“I should ask you the same thing—didn’t I tell you to keep away?”
“You didn’t help me. So I had to find my own way.”
“Nem shouldn’t be trusted.”
“Clearly I do not trust him—why do you think I am dressed as a steward?” Lanalay narrowed her eyes. “Now, you haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“I’m looking for someone,” Nhika said. “A boy. The commissioner is keeping him here—I know it. It’s why I told you to stay away from Nem. Nothing good comes out of a man who has undue interest in heartsooths.”
“Why would your commissioner keep him here?”
“I think … I think Nem wants him to raise the dead.”
Something dropped in Lanalay’s expression. “By any chance, does your boy go by the name Ven Kochin?”
Nhika blinked. “You know him?”
Lanalay let out a long string of expletives in Yarongese before she said, in a measured tone, “Yes, I’ve had the misfortune—he’s the entire reason I’ve had to come to your city-state.”
“Why? What happened to him?” Something tightened in Nhika’s throat, and she added, “Is he alive?”
“Last I saw, yes,” Lanalay said, and Nhika felt all her muscles relax—ones she didn’t even know had been tensed this entire time.
“Where? Where is he now?”
“I’d love to know that, too—because I have a feeling that wherever he is, so are my papers.”
“Wait, your papers?”
All at once, it clicked. Nhika had thought Lanalay had been searching for a memento—but no, she’d been searching for the research papers, the last memory of her grandmother, however twisted they were. She was just reaching up her sleeve when the door clicked open behind her.
She whirled. Nem stepped into doorway, two of his guards beside him.
With a defeated breath, she raised her arms in surrender. She glanced back at Lanalay to do the same, but the girl had disappeared—ducked beneath the desk, hopefully. Now, only Nhika stood within Lanalay’s wake of destruction, and it must’ve looked like she’d broken in, which—well, she had, but she hadn’t done it so gracelessly.
“Commissioner,” she said, stowing her picks. “My invite got lost in the mail, so I … er, let myself in.”
“I knew you were wily, but I didn’t think you’d be so bold as to attempt a jailbreak.”
Despite her situation, her hopes leaped. A breath of relief escaped her. “So he is here.”
“He is. In fact, I can take you right to Kochin.”
It was kindness wrapped in malice. “Can we forego the chains? They get a little trite after the fourth or fifth time.”
“Apprehend her.”
“Wait!” Nhika protested as the guards stepped forward. Her mind was racing. She had allies on this ship, but she couldn’t get to them. However, one such ally crouched behind the desk, if Lanalay could be convinced. With her heel, she tapped the desk. “I saw the research papers from Yarong, Commissioner Nem. Curious about bloodcarving, are we?”
“In fact I am.”
“So was Santo.”
His laugh was dry. “For all the wrong reasons.”
“Are there right reasons?”
He gave her a considerate look. “Of course. Everything has wrong and right reasons—war, for one. Wrong, if waged off notions of power and conquest. Right, if waged for peace.”
“And why did you bring war to Theumas?”
“The latter, believe it or not. It’s why I have need of Kochin.”
“Tell me where he is.”
“Like I said. I’ll take you right to him.” With that, he waved his hands, and the guards descended like Butchers. A hand clamped either wrist; another yanked back her hair. She cried out, squirmed, dropped her weight—but they were armed with gloves.
The guards tightened their hold. Nhika twisted and kicked. And for the first time, her gloves came to her aid.
They twisted off in the guard’s grip. Her hands flashed free—just a second, before a guard grabbed her by both biceps. But it was enough; she’d hooked fingers against his collar, her knuckles brushing his neck.
And caught skin.
It was like everyone had scraped in a tense breath, like they were all sharing the same thought: bloodcarver, skin, certain death. And Nhika could have soothed him. His anatomy burgeoned under her purview, awaiting her command.
But another guard would simply grab her, and she would still not know where Kochin was. Nem must’ve had theories of her heartsoothing, but nothing had confirmed them so far. The last time she’d been cavalier about revealing her heartsoothing, Santo had shot her through the shoulder.
So, Nhika did nothing. Let them believe she was simply Yarongese. Nem had his secret weapon. She had hers.
The guard’s hold moved to her wrists, yanked them back, and she let herself be apprehended. As her captors turned her back to Nem, she didn’t miss the scheming lift of his brow. “So,” he began, “not all Yarongese are bloodcarvers.”
She glared up at him. “And not all commissioners are honorable.”
He scoffed, more humored than put off. “You came here to find him, didn’t you? I’ll help you with that.”
Nem stepped forward, then paused—as though still wary of getting too close. But as the guards tightened their grip, he scrutinized her once more and finally closed the distance between them. She worried he might see Lanalay’s shadow beneath the desk—it was so obvious to her.
But he was looking at something around her neck. Slowly, as one approached a wild animal, he extended a gloved hand—until his finger hooked the chain of her necklace and drew it out from beneath the collar of her dress.
Nhika let him cup the ID tags in his hands and read the name punched into their metal. The downturn of his lip spoke volumes, though his eyes revealed nothing at all.
At last, he said, “I promise, no harm has come to him.”
Nhika hadn’t expected the softness. It made her pause.
“We’re all looking to end the war, Ms. Suon. It’s why I joined it—call me arrogant, or foolish, but don’t call me dishonorable. Kochin has shown me great promise. I believe he is the answer. And I need everyone on this ship to believe it, too.” With that, he dropped the ID tags. They caught against her neck with a chime. To his guards, Nem said, “Take Ms. Suon backstage. Get her food. I’ve business to attend.”
Looking solemn, Nem turned down the hall and left.