Unseelie aether.
I had made a promise to transport a gift from the enemies of our Seelie gods—the stuff of nightmares incarnate. I had carried that stuff in my hold. Several of my crew had given their lives for it.
No wonder Evie was praying. We had just committed heresy of the highest calibre. Treason, too, for anyone who still cared about that sort of thing.
The two watchmen that currently held me between them weren’t really necessary. My knees were jelly. I wasn’t sure I could have stood on my own even if I’d been allowed the dignity.
The raspy voice that had spoken was distantly familiar. I turned to search for its source, still reeling from the revelation of what I’d done. Just beneath the feeling of that blasphemous aether, I registered the odious presence of a nearby Oathbreaker; the unpleasant aura rasped against my soul like ragged cobwebs, setting me on edge.
A tall, lean man had approached us while we struggled—it was he who carried the broken Oath with him. He wore a black, neatly fitted coat, more finely made than the attire of the dark-coated watchmen he’d brought with him. A fashionable half-cape over his left arm partially hid the rapier at his side, though it left the pistol riding on his right hip bare to see. There was no fashionable neckcloth to hide the hideous scars around his throat, which had warped his voice beyond my recognition. The single eyepatch that he wore sent a flare of ice through my veins.
After all, I’d picked it.
“Good evening, Barsby,” I greeted the dead man. “Clearly, rumours of your death were grossly exaggerated.”
Barsby grinned at me. A golden tooth gleamed in the lantern light of the pier. His sandy blond hair was more neatly combed than I remembered; his blocky face retained a bit of its old roguish appeal, but his skin had darkened from countless hours in the sun. He looked a far cry from the criminal and occasional broker that I’d once known so well.
“Death didn’t take,” Barsby replied, with great satisfaction. His leather gloves creaked as his hands clenched and unclenched. I knew he wasn’t happy to see me, but for some reason, he’d put on a smile.
Keep him talking, I thought wildly. Barsby always had enjoyed a good gloat. I just needed to buy the crew enough time to get into position to leave, in case we needed to beat a hasty retreat.
“It may be best for you to stay back, sir,” the watch-captain said quietly to Barsby. “If you get a face full of that aether, I’m the one who has to explain it to the lord mayor.”
My gut sank.
Oh. Oh no.
“Take care of your man, Watch-Captain,” Barsby said magnanimously. “Let me worry about my own duties.” He clapped the fellow on the shoulder. Most would have seen the gesture as a respectful dismissal, but I caught the patronising glee on Barsby’s face. He enjoyed having power over these people. He definitely enjoyed having power over me.
“Working for the lord mayor directly?” I observed. My mouth went dry. “Well. That’s a change in circumstances, isn’t it?”
Barsby widened his smile as he stalked around the pier. He headed towards the crates, which the watchmen had begun cracking open one by one—this time with far more care. The watchmen now looked fearfully at every crate as though the aether inside was coiling itself with conscious malevolence, just waiting to devour them.
“In a roundabout way, William, I’ve got you to thank for it,” Barsby told me. “Your betrayal—”
“More of a mutual betrayal, wasn’t it?” I corrected him. “Considering the bounty hunters.”
Barsby conceded to that with a shrug and a boyish grin. “I go where the Winds of Fortune blow, William,” he said. “The bounty on your head was finally too good to pass up. And I will hand it to you—you do have good taste.” He tapped his eyepatch and chuckled, as though sharing an inside joke with me. As though we were still friends… or ever had been, really.
I forced a nervous laugh. “Clearly, you escaped the rope,” I said. “Done marvels for your voice. Gives you a kind of, uh. Air of menace. Must be quite the daring story.”
“Maybe we could trade botched execution stories later, William,” Barsby said, with a catlike smile.
I hadn’t realised he’d heard about what happened in Lyonesse. My, I really was getting something of a reputation.
“So… there will be a later, then?” I observed. My heart skipped a beat. Maybe, just maybe, we’d be walking out of here. Barsby followed the Winds of Fortune, after all. And this haul was good business.
“That all depends,” Barsby sighed, holding out his hands in a helpless gesture. “This… cargo, William. If this were the Imperium, you and your crew would be found guilty of the highest treason. As representatives of this city’s leadership, we can’t simply overlook that.”
“Excuse me?” I asked flatly.
Barsby meandered closer, resting one hand on the pommel of his sword. “Well,” he said, “you can’t expect me to let such an egregious violation go unpunished, can you? The Imperium may be dead, but we’re all still Seelie-fearing folk.”
I struggled against my captors, seething with helpless fury. “You miserable, rotten bastard!” I accused him. “This cargo is for you, isn’t it! What have you got yourself tangled up with?”
My captors forced me down, kicking out my knees from under me. Barsby loomed over me, smiling as he placed a hand on my shoulder. My bad shoulder. He must have seen me flinch, because he gave it a friendly squeeze. I winced away the pain, choking down my cry. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
Barsby leaned forward like a confidant, throwing his voice into a genuinely dreadful whisper. “I do mean it, William,” he said. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be enjoying all that this new life has to offer. And imagine my joy when I found out the Iron Rose had swooped in to save the day with my cargo. So, here’s where we stand: I am confiscating your smuggled goods. And, out of sheer benevolence, I’ll square you off—if you do one little job for me. I just need you to pack this all back up and take it to Morgause. I have a client waiting there for the delivery.”
I grimaced, fighting down my anger. “So,” I gritted out, “why wait until it’s almost unloaded to come to me with all of this?”
“Because I’m a petty man, Blair,” Barsby told me in a friendly tone. “And inconveniencing you makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.”
He was just close enough that I could have head-butted him and bloodied up that stupid, infuriating grin. I suppressed the impulse… with effort.
Barsby’s grin soon faded of its own accord, however, as confusion leaked into his expression. He stared at me more closely, as though trying to unravel a mystery. A moment later, I realised what had distracted him: He was searching for the lingering shame of my broken military Oath.
Of all people, Barsby knew that I should have been Oathbroken. We’d broken our Oaths on the same day, for the same reason. Barsby’s broken Oath still surrounded him like a disgusting, invisible miasma, unsettling my stomach… but my honour had somehow been repaired.
Only an Oath’s original counterparty or an exceptionally powerful faerie could forgive its betrayal. We’d both sworn our Oaths in the name of the emperor himself… and he was a very dead man.
“What have you been up to for the last few years, William?” Barsby murmured.
I ignored him.
“I was promised further payment, Barsby,” I growled instead. “I also need fuel. Repairs. You can’t expect me to fly on empty tanks and empty stomachs.”
Barsby narrowed his eye at me, and I wondered whether he might forcibly divert the subject back to my Oath. But he pushed past it instead, refocusing on the matter of our heretical cargo. “Don’t you worry your… fine coat over that,” he told me, inspecting the large tear in my left sleeve. Barsby’s croaking voice dripped with venom from behind that pleasant, gold-toothed smile. “I’ll see you outfitted. Tell you what—you hand me over that outflyer, and I’ll even toss you a little extra.”
Fury blossomed across my face, and Barsby grinned wider. “No?” he asked me.
It took every ounce of self-control I had not to spit in his face. “No,” I hissed.
“I suppose I should say I’m sorry for your loss,” Barsby offered, wholly insincere. He was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it. But the miserable wretch just had to twist the knife.
“Dougal died fighting Red Reaver’s pirates for your cargo, Barsby,” I hissed. Something ugly and dangerous slipped into my words, and I looked him in the eye. “One more word about him, and I’ll make you eat one of those canisters before your men gun me down.”
Barsby took just one step back at that. Maybe it was my tone. Maybe it was the mention of Red Reaver herself. Maybe he still had one tiny ounce of affection for Dougal, smothered at the bottom of his shrivelled black heart. On a better day, I might have believed the last one—but today, I was out of sympathy.
Barsby masked his moment of hesitation with a callous shrug. “Well,” he said, “it occurs to me that I’m going to need some collateral. And since I know what a loyal captain you are to your crew…”
He turned away from me, snapping his fingers and signalling the watchmen towards the gangplank. “...I’ll be taking some of them on as guests at my humble abode,” he said loudly. His tone made it clear that this was an order and not a request.
Barsby nodded at the men that were holding me. They tossed me aside, throwing glares over their shoulders at me as he gestured towards my crew. “I’ll have four of them,” Barsby ordered. “I seem to remember there’s a few charming ladies below deck. Why don’t you go grab them for me, gentlemen, so we can get reacquainted?” Barsby shot me an oily smile. “We’ll be very accommodating, as long as they come without a fight. You can collect them when the job’s done.”
His searching gaze fell next upon Miss Hawkins, who stood nearby, shocked and pale. “She’s new,” Barsby noted idly. “Gentlemen—take her too.”
“Barsby, no—” I snarled.
“Sir, please!” Miss Hawkins begged, backing up a few steps. “I’m just a passenger, I swear!”
“She signed on just a few minutes before you arrived,” I snapped, staggering between Miss Hawkins and the inbound watchmen. “She has nothing to do with us, Barsby.” The movement caught everyone off guard—the dark-coated guards paused, uncertain how to proceed. Miss Hawkins blinked at me, as though seeing me for the first time.
The watchmen looked back to Barsby. The smile slipped from his face, and he sneered towards Miss Hawkins: “You should have picked a better ship.”
And you should have known better than to threaten my crew, I thought. It was the last straw. I was willing to endure plenty of indignities in the name of protecting the people on my ship—but the gunnery ladies were liable to shoot the watchmen on sight, even if I were silly enough to try ordering them along quietly.
I figured I might as well start up the violence early.
I reached for the weapons at my belt—but a grey-gloved hand placed itself delicately upon my forearm. Miss Hawkins glanced over at me, her face resolute.
Wait.
A grey glove. I could have sworn she had been wearing a blue glove before.
My heart raced as I met her gaze. Miss Hawkins had stern, grey eyes, utterly devoid of colour. As though they had been washed too many times… or exposed to large amounts of aether. That, I realised, was why she had been loath to shake my hand—she had been worried about leaching the colour from my clothing and giving away her abilities.
The guardsmen’s footsteps drew closer behind me. It was time to gamble.
“Get us out of here,” I told her, beneath my breath, “and I will fly you anywhere.”
“Anywhere?” Miss Hawkins asked. Her dull grey eyes sparked with acute interest. The edges of her brown wig were slowly streaking silver before my eyes. I could smell the aether now, wafting from somewhere on her person. I heard the faint hiss of it being injected into one of her foci beneath her outfit.
She was an aethermancer!
“I’ll have your Oath on that, Captain,” Miss Hawkins whispered.
I closed my eyes and stifled a groan. I should never have congratulated myself on escaping an Oath to Picket. Clearly, I’d only baited Noble Gallant into sending another one my way—and this time, Miss Hawkins had an impossible amount of leverage on me.
I didn’t have the time to bargain. An Oath to Miss Hawkins, whoever she was, was still leagues preferable to letting Barsby have his collateral.
“My Oath to Noble Gallant,” I sighed morosely, “or I’ll never kiss the clouds again.”
The chains of fate snapped around my soul, briefly choking the air from my lungs. A slow smile curved across Miss Hawkins' lips as she felt the Oath take. She gave me the slightest nod. The constables approaching us paused as they felt the Oath manifest, put off by the unexpected spiritual weight which settled in around me. They had to be wondering what I considered so crucially important, at a time like this.
“All right, Barsby, wait!” I called out. I dragged out each syllable with put-upon reluctance.
Barsby stopped in his tracks. He turned around, watching me with barely disguised contempt. Slowly, a smile grew across his face. He knew that he had won. He had known it since the beginning of our encounter; he’d just wanted me to say it.
“You drive a hard bargain,” I sighed. “Obviously, you have the upper hand.”
The whine I’d heard from Miss Hawkins slowly levelled off, and I smiled.
“—and so, after careful consideration,” I said, “I regret to inform you that you are still a snivelling, opportunistic parasite—and the most contemptuous scum I have ever had the displeasure of dealing with.”
Barsby’s smile vanished. Murder crept into his gaze, and a dark, ugly cloud danced across his face. Slowly, he retrieved his pistol from its holster, holding it menacingly at his side. The city watchmen followed his lead, drawing their guns and pointing them in my direction. There were more than half a dozen of them, in addition to Barsby himself.
“And just what do you intend to do about it, Blair?” Barsby hissed. He emphasised each word with careful elocution. In all honesty, being nearly hanged to death had done marvels for his intimidating manner—an honest shudder raced down my spine at the rasp in his voice.
“What will I do?” I repeated. “Oh. Nothing.” I placed a hand on my chest and offered a gallant smile. “She, on the other hand…”
All eyes turned towards Miss Hawkins.
A high-pitched whine rose from her left arm, still cleverly wrapped in its sling. Hawkins tore the arm free and thrust her left hand at Barsby. Aether erupted, in a blinding flash of blue-white light. A bright lance howled through the air, slamming into Barsby’s chest. The blast threw him clean off his feet, tossing him from the pier tail-over-teakettle. I had only a moment to relish his wide-eyed look of shock before he fell from sight.
A steel and silver gauntlet now peeked through the broken plaster on Hawkins’ left arm, venting bright-burning aether into her palm. The watchmen gathered their wits quickly. One of them shouted the obvious—“Aethermancer!”—and some of them ducked for cover. But a few of them fired their weapons at us.
I dived for cover—but I needn’t have bothered. Miss Hawkins stepped in front of me and brought her left arm up. Blue-white aether flared once more, forming a fortification several feet wide. Bullets slapped against this intangible aegis with all of the destructive force of wet paper. Each time a bullet hit the shield, concentric rings of opalescent light rippled out from the point of impact, and an odd, reverberating hum buzzed through the air.
I had encountered a handful of aethermancers in my time—but I had never been privileged enough to have one on my side. There was something indescribably satisfying about standing behind an aethermancer, rather than before one.
“What’s the plan, Captain?” Hawkins asked me. The nervous creature she had so masterfully portrayed before was abruptly gone, replaced by a professional, steadfast presence.
“Make for the skies,” I managed. “In one piece, preferably.”
“That’s your plan?” Hawkins asked. A hint of exasperation leaked into her tone, though she did not yet sound hard-pressed.
“Would you rather we depart in several pieces?” I retorted. “Perhaps we could stick around for breakfast!”
Gunshots cracked above us, as the crew of the Rose began taking potshots at the watchmen. The engines purred back to life, and the telltale churning of the drives filled the air. That was a good sign. All we had to do was get on board and get out of here before someone got the bright idea of firing up the city’s anti-air defences.
My eyes fell upon the crane. Its straps were still latched onto Dougal’s outflyer. Little hid behind the vessel along with a handful of my crew, using it as cover against the watchmen. I needed to get my people back onto the ship… along with the outflyer. I wasn’t bringing Dougal back to his family without his ship.
“The lanterns nearest to the crane,” I said to Hawkins, pointing. “They’re aether-powered. Can you knock them out?”
“I can,” Hawkins said crisply. “But I would need these men to stop firing at me.”
As though on cue, the Rose’s cannon ports opened behind us. Rifles poked through the ports; the guns barked neatly, one after another. Three of the firing watchmen staggered back. One of them toppled over the pier, and I could swear I heard Lenore’s hard laughter float over the air.
Hawkins seized the opening. The aetheric shield in front of us wavered and winked out as she flashed her hand towards the lantern at the end of the pier. The lanterns flared and burst in a popping wave, collapsing in puffs of aether and shattered glass. That area plunged into darkness, turning my crewmen into indistinct shadows behind the bulk of the damaged outflyer.
“Haul that thing up, and let’s get out of here!” I shouted to my crew.
“Haul that up?” Hawkins snapped at me. “We don’t have time!” I heard the growing reluctance in her voice. Already, she’d begun to back herself towards the Rose.
But I wasn’t leaving that outflyer behind.
I drew my hand-axe and my blunderbuster. “We’ll make time,” I told Hawkins.
I didn’t wait for a response. I charged forward—and leapt atop the open crates of Unseelie aether.
The nearby watchmen levelled their weapons at me—but none of them fired. They might not have been the brightest fellows, but it hadn’t been that long since they’d all seen their comrade get his face eaten away by the blasphemous aether in those canisters. None of the men wanted to chance hitting them at such a close distance.
I aimed my blunderbuster upwards and shot once. The gun bucked in my hands, bursting the lantern just above us. Darkness rushed in.
Goblins have a dubious reputation for enjoying gloomy, disgusting places. In all honesty, we dislike the muck as much as anyone else does… but it is true that we can see in the dark.
My sensitive eyes adjusted to use the dim starlight overhead, picking out each watchman in turn. I watched them fumble for cover, clearly aware of their sudden disadvantage.
I didn’t particularly want to have a second encounter with the Unseelie aether beneath my feet, either—which is why I slipped my firearm back into its sling. I leapt off the pile of crates towards the first watchman, lashing out with a vicious heel-kick. He reeled back, clutching at his nose, and brought his club around in a blind swing. It was a clumsy attempt; I ducked beneath it with ease. I hooked my axe behind his knee and gave it a sharp yank. He fell to the ground with a pained shout, dropping his club behind him.
I didn’t have the chance to follow up on my advantage. Another watchman had followed the sound of the fighting in the darkness. I rolled aside just as his club came after me. The club slammed into the man I’d just downed instead, and I heard a low, strangled groan behind me.
I snatched up the first watchman’s club with my free hand, turning to parry a second attempt at the back of my skull. The second watchman’s eyes had adjusted somewhat—he followed my figure through the darkness with difficulty. I used the club’s longer reach to swat aside a few more blows, wincing as my injured shoulder twinged in protest. As underwhelming as I felt, however, it occurred to me that the watchmen must have seen the situation very differently. I could only imagine how sinister I seemed—a goblin in a ratty coat and bloodied shirt, red eyes alight in the half-dark of the cluttered pier, laughing as his hand-axe danced in the night.
For the second time in as many days, I embraced the overdramatic approach.
“Come on, then,” I hissed at the man in front of me. “I hope you’ve got a good story for Death Victorious.”
The watchman let out a soft yelp; his next swipe went slightly wide. I parried the wild swing, ignoring another painful flare in my shoulder, and sank my hand-axe into his clubbing arm. As he stumbled off balance, I dropped the hand-axe to take a two-handed swing with the borrowed club, cracking it over his head.
I had to hit him twice, actually. He was a headstrong fellow.
Once I was convinced the fallen man wasn't getting up again anytime soon, I tossed the club aside and retrieved my axe from his arm. For a moment, I looked around, expecting to find more watchmen—but Hawkins had reluctantly followed my cue, just as I’d hoped she would.
She was brawling with four of them.
One of Barsby’s personal goons had closed the gap as her… whatever it was continued to cool down from the last blast. The burly man snatched her by the hair, while a dockhand moved in to take a nasty swipe at her head with a pry bar. Hawkins screamed in pain—and for a moment, I worried that I had dragged my new ally into more trouble than she could handle. But she ducked and tore herself free just in time. The hair came free from her head—and Barsby’s goon was left holding a wig for the space of a single, puzzled breath.
Hawkins rolled deftly aside and raised her left hand. The sharp whine of aether filled the air. Another flash of blue-white light illuminated the area, highlighting her ghostly figure as she blasted both men off the pier.
In that flash, I saw Hawkins with her true face unveiled. There it was: a headful of jaw-length, ivory hair, bright in the moonlight of the darkened pier. Her pale skin now shimmered with bright blue veins as aether circulated through her system. During the fighting, she had torn the skirt from her hips to reveal trousers, all leather-strapped with various aethermancer’s trinkets. There were fortified aether containers with tubes that fed to gadgets still hidden on her person, and several arcane-looking silver devices stored in easily accessible holsters. Hawkins slipped one of these devices over the knuckles of her right hand and rolled seamlessly into a bout of fisticuffs with the last two watchmen.
Miss Hawkins probably weighed less than half of what my bosun did—but she removed men from the fight with the same terrifying alacrity. Each time she landed a punch, those silver knuckles flashed with light; the force of her blows made men stagger back as though they’d been struck by someone Holloway’s size.
I moved to aid Hawkins—a bit halfheartedly, I’ll admit, given the regular bursts of aether she kept putting off. I halfway expected to get blasted off the pier myself, if I got in her way. But as I came closer, I realised that the crane wasn’t moving.
Little and the others had made it to the underbelly of the Rose, where drop-lines hung down from the main deck. Little had prioritised the crew over Dougal’s ship—a perfectly reasonable decision, and one which I should have expected. The understanding still hit me like a bullet to the chest. The Rose’s engines whirred, jumping to the next phase of ignition… but the outflyer hung in the air, tantalisingly close to the ship.
Further down the pier, watchmen climbed the anti-air towers. They’d decided to blow us out of the sky as soon as we cleared the docks.
“We have to leave, Blair!” Hawkins shouted. “We don’t have time!”
I knew she was right. In a better frame of mind, I’d have taken the loss, no matter how painful it was, and prioritised our escape.
But Dougal’s death had turned back the clock. Today, I was a stupid, terrified cabin boy in a very fancy coat. That ship was as much a piece of Dougal as his beloved aviator’s coat was, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave it behind.
“Please,” I begged Hawkins. Tears choked at my voice. “It’s MacLeod’s ship. I can’t leave without it.”
Hawkins backhanded one of the men in front of her with the silver gauntlet on her arm. The metal made a dull, sickening noise as it struck bone. She turned to narrow her flat, colourless eyes at me.
A boot scraped, just behind me. I spun reflexively, sweeping my axe in front of me. The movement barely knocked aside the keen point of a thrusting rapier. Barsby had crawled back onto the pier; his remaining eye was alight with pure malevolence. He lunged again without missing a beat, and I backpedalled wildly. I tried once or twice to reach for the blunderbuster at my side—but the rapier darted and slashed, pressing me inexorably. Even with one eye, Barsby was a sharp duellist, and his longer arms and the reach of his weapon only made things worse. I hopped back awkwardly, trying desperately to gain some room.
“I’ll see you dance the gallows jig, Blair!” Barsby hissed raggedly. “Mark my words, I’ll wring your damned neck!”
I jumped back, evading another blow by the skin of my teeth. “Which is it?” I gasped.
“What?” Barsby snarled.
“Which… is it?” I repeated breathlessly. “Are you going to hang me, or are you going to strangle me? It can’t be both, Barsby. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Barsby swiped again with a furious growl. As his rapier swept past me, I switched tactics, diving inside his guard to swipe at his leg with my hand-axe.
Barsby twisted at the last moment, flicking the rapier to block the blow. He yanked the blade beneath the axe’s head and forced it upwards with his greater strength, locking both weapons and slamming them against one of the dock’s wooden posts. I scrambled to hold on to the axe with both hands, knowing that I was an inch away from losing it entirely.
“You’ve always been a fast talker, Blair,” Barsby hissed at me. Blood flowed into his remaining eye from a nasty cut on his forehead. “But that’s all you’re good at. It’s pathetic, really.”
Any moment now, those flak towers would turn towards the Rose. I knew I’d made the wrong decision—that I should have joined the Rose when Hawkins had first insisted on it. But there was no going back.
So I went for the low blow.
“At least I’m a pathetic captain with a real crew,” I gritted out. “No one wanted you, Barsby. So what does that make you?”
Barsby’s remaining eye widened in fury. He wrenched at his sword, loosening the lock on both our weapons. I tried to haul back and extract my hand-axe—but Barsby surprised me with a vicious jab at my wounded shoulder. My arm exploded in fiery pins and needles. For just a second, my vision went black; it came back just in time for me to see him lunging at me with his rapier. I stumbled clumsily back, reaching for my sidearm in the hope that I could get a shot off in time.
I never got the chance to find out which of us was quicker.
Blinding aether arced between us. I heard a clattering of steel; I smelled the sickly stench of burnt flesh.
Barsby stumbled back, clutching at the stump of his right wrist where his hand had once been. His hoarse scream was equal parts pain and sheer terror as he fell back, staring up at Hawkins.
“You are in my way, worm,” Hawkins snarled. “I am done being nice.”
There was a sword in her hands—a white blade of pure aether. It was elegant, ethereal; it burned like a small star, lighting up the entire pier. Hawkins pointed the blade down towards Barsby, whose mouth worked in soundless fear.
In that moment, I shared his horror.
I hadn’t just sworn an Oath to an aethermancer. I had bound myself to a Silver Legionnaire.