“I’m a complication,” I mumbled feverishly. The thought rose within me, hysterical. “I don’t want to be a complication.”
Miss Hawkins—still holding me by the lapels—was far too composed. I snapped my head back towards her, grabbing her collar in return. “You knew!” I hissed. “You knew about Wraithwood! Why didn’t you bloody well tell us?”
Miss Hawkins sucked in a soft breath. Her face had gone paler than normal, but somehow she remained grimly steady. “If I’d told you my business was killing Wraithwood,” she said, “you never would have brought me to Morgause.”
I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh in shock. “Kill Wraithwood?” I gasped. “Wraithwood! Are you out of your mind?”
A small hand touched me on the shoulder. I turned to see Mary standing behind me. At some point, she’d discarded her gas mask; she now raised her eyebrows meaningfully, pressing a finger to her lips as she glanced in the direction of Wraithwood and the Cinderwolves. Mary, I realised, was utterly calm—she had little to no context for the people with whom we shared this hangar. They were the villains of yesteryear, from far before her time.
But she was, of course, correct. I needed to use my indoor voice if I was going to avoid being eviscerated by the realm’s most ruthless Legionnaire and his army of mercenary war criminals.
I nodded silently at Mary. As I did, Miss Hawkins released me in order to pry my hands from her collar.
Thankfully, Wraithwood was far too focussed on Barsby to notice our brief altercation.
“I thought the importance of this shipment had been impressed upon you, Mr Barsby,” Wraithwood growled. He had a low, gravelly voice, and a wide, rounded accent. The cadence surprised me—it hadn’t occurred to me that Wraithwood might speak like someone from the countryside.
“Y-yes, sir, Wraithwood sir,” Barsby sputtered. He snapped into a hasty bow.
Seeing Barsby grovel was… unsettling.
“Some of my shipment seems to be missing, Mr Barsby,” Wraithwood observed, with sinister patience. “What’s the tally, Captain?”
“We’re still counting, sir,” Captain Altera said dutifully.
“If I can just explain—” Barsby started tremulously.
Wraithwood turned that mask’s empty gaze upon Barsby, however, and he choked on the words. “When I want to hear you grovel,” Wraithwood informed him, “you will know, thief.” He spoke with a calm, level contempt.
We need to leave now, Strahl signed. He glanced at Miss Hawkins and repeated the gesture emphatically—but she couldn’t understand the sign language. It hardly mattered; I knew she wasn’t going to leave. Only a special kind of fool would knowingly walk into a hangar with Wraithwood in the first place.
I hadn’t done so knowingly… but neither, I realised, was I going to leave.
“You saw what he did in Pelaeia,” Miss Hawkins whispered. “You’ll be lucky if he kills you outright, Captain. There’s nothing you can do here.”
I looked between Strahl and Miss Hawkins. “Wraithwood has the machine?” I asked her slowly. “He’s the one who intends to use it?”
Miss Hawkins didn’t reply—but I saw the fearful confirmation in her eyes.
The horror that flickered through me was sudden and overwhelming. The idea of any aethermancer using an army of echoes was hideous enough. But for Wraithwood, who had created those echoes with his own hands, to use that machine… the sheer outrage of it was nearly enough to overwhelm my fear.
I looked at Little—and saw a similar fury. Little didn’t need to know what Wraithwood intended to do with the machine in order to appreciate the perversity of it all.
I nodded at Little… and turned back to Strahl and Miss Hawkins.
“Can you destroy that Unseelie aether from a distance?” I whispered to her.
Miss Hawkins grimaced. “Those canisters are particularly thick,” she murmured slowly. “My blasting focus could destroy one… but it overheats easily. I’ll only get one shot. There are two longboats.”
I glanced back at the cargo boats. They had at least twenty feet between them. If Hawkins did manage to start a reaction, I thought, they would probably both explode… but then, Mr Finch had been exceptionally unclear on the blast radius.
I stifled a soft groan.
“Mr Finch rigged one of your batteries to spark an aetheric reaction,” I told her. “I’ll sneak over to the longboat on the right, open up a canister, and leave the battery there. If the detonation doesn’t take out both boats, then you’ll be ready to handle the other one.”
Miss Hawkins tightened her jaw. I could tell she didn’t like the idea of involving me… but time was ticking away, and we both knew it.
I decided it was best not to give her any further time to think.
“Get back to the Rose and tell Evie to ready us for immediate departure,” I ordered Mary softly. Her eyes flashed with protest, but I cut her off quickly. “If we pull this off, we can’t afford to idle in port for even a second. You’re the fastest one here. I need you to do this, Mary.”
Mary hesitated. I felt her searching me for signs of overbearing protectiveness. Very slowly, however, she nodded.
“Mr Strahl, Mr Little,” I said, “I want you ready to take out the nearest Cinderwolves if they see me. I’m sure Miss Brighton will lend a helping bullet or two, once she catches wind of what’s going on. Either way, our goal remains the same: We blow the aether and get out of here, as swiftly as possible.” I glanced meaningfully at Miss Hawkins. “All of us.”
Miss Hawkins didn’t meet my eyes. “If it comes to that,” she murmured, “I can distract Wraithwood. He’ll… talk to me. For at least a little while.” A complicated flicker of emotion crossed her face at this idea.
I worked my mouth soundlessly for a moment. “I’m going to need to discuss that fact with you at a later date,” I managed finally. “Lady save me, I wish I had the time now.”
I couldn’t see Strahl’s face—but I greatly suspected that he was currently revisiting his earlier suspicions of Miss Hawkins.
I turned my attention back to the front of the hangar and started to sneak my way forward. If I spent too long trying to unravel all of our complications, the opportunity for action would pass. I just had to trust that everyone would stick to the plan.
As I crept closer, a gorgon sergeant in a crimson sash approached Captain Altera, reporting to him in a soft voice. The captain nodded and turned to Wraithwood. “At a rough estimate,” Captain Altera said, “we’re missing a quarter of the shipment.”
“One quarter,” Wraithwood repeated. He enunciated each word clearly, with a shake of his head. “I will admit,” he said, “I’m surprised you came here yourself, Mr Barsby. You must know what wretched news this is.”
A heavy pause followed.
Wraithwood leaned forward, ever so slightly. “Now’s where you grovel,” he ordered. His voice was quietly, dreadfully furious.
“P-please, sir, Wraithwood, sir!” Barsby cried. His hoarse voice had intimidated me, back in New Havenshire—but compared to Wraithwood, Barsby was about as frightening as a newborn gosling. “It wasn’t my fault, I swear it! The pirates murdered the first transport captain, sir. And the other captain who picked up the cargo, he… he discovered what it was and only delivered me what you have. He hid the rest and tried to blackmail me into doubling the money, but I didn’t have the time—”
“Tell me about this captain who stole from me,” Wraithwood demanded.
At this, Barsby hesitated. When he spoke again, his words were a mumble.
Wraithwood wasn’t having it. “I’m sorry, Mr Barsby,” Wraithwood drawled. “Speak up. You lost my cargo to whom?”
“A, uh… a goblin, sir,” Barsby rasped. “Captain of the Iron Rose. Goes by the name of William Blair.”
I always had wondered what a heart attack felt like.
I was perhaps a dozen feet away from them, barely hidden behind a single empty box. Some part of me was suddenly certain that the use of my name would magically reveal me, like a faerie from a story.
Instead, the Cinderwolves sniggered incredulously behind their gas masks. Thankfully, I was far too terrified to take it as an affront.
“You entrusted my precious cargo to a filthy sewer rat and found yourself robbed,” Wraithwood said slowly. His patience thinned audibly with every word. “I must admit, Mr Barsby… I have never held much faith in humanity. But you’ve tested what little faith still remains to me.” Wraithwood sighed and shook his head. “I don’t normally enjoy killing people, but this time… well, you might just be an exception to the rule.”
Barsby remained kneeling before Wraithwood, rooted to the spot. His good eye was wide with fear. The Cinderwolves raised their rifles, prepared to carry out an immediate execution—but Wraithwood lifted his hand to stop them. Gently, he reached out to push Barsby’s collar aside, displaying the old scars around his neck.
“Captain Altera,” Wraithwood called out, “what do you ken is the punishment for thievery of this calibre?”
“I believe that would be a hanging, sir,” Captain Altera replied dutifully. There was a note of humour in his tone, as though Wraithwood had offered him a joke about the weather.
“String this one up, then,” Wraithwood ordered the captain. “The last time didn’t take.”
“Yes sir,” Captain Altera acknowledged. He snapped his fingers at his soldiers.
The Cinderwolves grasped Barsby firmly, as he thrashed like a rabbit in a trap. The gorgon sergeant marched for the Conflagration, calling out for rope. One of the other mercenaries emerged onto the gangplank, already tying up a noose.
Maybe ten feet of open ground stood between me and the first longboat of Unseelie aether. I was more affected by Barsby’s horrible situation than I really wanted to be—but I knew it was exactly the sort of distraction I required in order to sneak past the Cinderwolves. I sucked in my breath and tried to calm my pounding heart, gauging my timing.
“It’s not my bloody fault!” Barsby screamed hysterically. “You never told me there was another Legionnaire involved!”
Wraithwood had started strolling back towards his ship—but at this, he stopped, as still as a statue. He raised his hand again to stall the mercenaries and turned to face Barsby.
I’d nearly stepped out from cover—but at this, I drew myself hastily back, covering my mouth to stifle a gasp.
The Lady of Fools was still with me. Wraithwood didn’t seem to have caught sight of me.
“Another Legionnaire?” Wraithwood asked sharply.
“Yes, another Legionnaire!” Barsby hissed. “Travelling with Blair and his ship. She cut off my bloody hand!”
Wraithwood looked long and hard into Barsby’s one eye. An eternity seemed to pass. Then, the Legionnaire flicked his grey-gloved hand, and the Cinderwolves holding Barsby released their grip. Barsby clutched at his chest, gasping for air against the mortal fear that still gripped him.
A flicker of silver light coiled within Wraithwood’s raised right hand. I expected it to resolve into a silver sword… but instead, Wraithwood tilted his head, as though listening to some invisible voice. He looked slowly around the cluttered hangar…
…until his masked gaze fell upon the exact spot where I’d left Hawkins.
“Ey up, little Miss Hawkins,” Wraithwood called out softly. “I know you’re here.”
Miss Hawkins strode out from behind the crates with a slow, grim pace. If the sudden discovery had caused her any panic, then at least the emotion didn’t show upon her face.
The Cinderwolves snapped their attention to Hawkins, training their guns in her direction. Barsby—briefly forgotten—swiftly backpedalled for his crew and the two longboats of Unseelie aether. I cursed silently to myself; as frightening as everyone in this hangar was, it was Barsby who was most likely to spot me.
Wraithwood stared Hawkins down in that awful mask. He stalked slowly between the longboats, pausing just in front of them to interpose himself between Hawkins and the cargo. Captain Altera and a group of his men quickly followed, guns at the ready. They positioned themselves behind the longboats, fanning out into firing positions. The rest of the Cinderwolves stayed behind to keep an eye on Barsby and his hired help.
“So,” Wraithwood said. “Jonathan gave you his sword. I wondered why… he never drew it to protect himself.”
Wraithwood faltered only briefly as he spoke—but the hesitation still surprised me.
“You killed him,” Miss Hawkins said. Her voice trembled with fear, and anger, and unutterable grief. “He loved you, and you killed him.”
I stared at Miss Hawkins, from behind my cover. I’d believed her when she’d said she could distract Wraithwood… but this conversation was nothing like the distraction I had been imagining.
Wraithwood watched Hawkins, still and wary. “Jonathan tried to kill me first,” he said coldly.
“Good,” Miss Hawkins said. Her jaw tightened. “I always wondered why Jonathan was so obsessed with Pelaeia; it wasn’t even his atrocity. But I understand now. He wasn’t trying to atone for his own sins—he was trying to fix yours.” Furious tears threatened at her eyes. “He hated himself for loving you. Now that I’ve seen Pelaeia… now that I know what you did. I know exactly how he felt.”
Silence fell in the hangar. It was a loaded silence, full of awful emotions. But only two people present fully understood the depth of the situation.
I glanced towards the longboats of Unseelie aether. Barsby and his lackeys still hovered close to them, and I knew in that moment that Barsby was considering the frankly suicidal option of holding the aether hostage. I let out a soft hiss of frustration; as long as Barsby lingered there, I couldn’t possibly get close enough to set the battery.
“Should we kill her?” Captain Altera asked Wraithwood. He phrased the question in a polite, professional tone.
“No,” Wraithwood said softly. “She knows she can’t win against me. I trained her, after all.”
“You helped train me,” Miss Hawkins snarled. “I can only thank the Everbright that Jonathan taught me more than you did.” She started walking forward again.
“That’s far enough!” Wraithwood said sharply.
Miss Hawkins stopped. I knew she had the will to keep going—but she was trying to draw things out as long as possible, to give me the time that I needed. I wished I had a way to convey to her the obstacle—the cyclopean weasel—that had decided to hover directly in my path.
“I know you think you’re doing the right thing, Jane,” Wraithwood said. His voice was gently chiding. “Jonathan wanted to raise you to be kinder than we are. But he did you a disservice. This world is harder and crueller than you’ve been led to believe. Everything I’ve done—everything I’ve ever done—has been to prevent far worse things from happening.”
Miss Hawkins tightened her hands into fists… and I knew that her distraction was about to become far more distracting. “Don’t you dare talk to me like a naïve little child,” she growled. Her right hand flared with flickering silver light. Wisps of aetheric smoke danced around her fingers, shifting into the faintest outline of a sword.
The Cinderwolves tightened their grips on their weapons. All of them were still aimed squarely at Hawkins. She was doing an absolutely beautiful job of keeping everyone’s attention, but Barsby simply wouldn’t leave. The weasel leaned himself heavily upon the edge of one longboat, murmuring to his crew in a soft tone.
“If any of you fire without my express order,” Wraithwood informed the mercenaries, “you will not live long enough to face your captain for your lapse in professionalism. I will remind you all that one stray shot could be fatal for everyone in this hangar.” He kept his gaze squarely upon Hawkins. “A fact of which you are well aware, I’m sure.”
Miss Hawkins met his gaze, perfectly level. “I’ve seen what Unseelie aether can do to a man,” she said. “Do your hired help know that they might rot their own faces off, or did you keep that little tidbit from them?”
Wraithwood tensed his shoulders. “You want to be talked to like an adult, Jane?” he asked darkly. “Fine. You know the things of which I’m capable. If you draw that sword on me, I will cut you down. I will not enjoy it… but neither will I hesitate.”
“Oh, I know,” Miss Hawkins assured him. This time, grief and fury burst openly into her voice. “You’ll kill me, just like you killed those children in Pelaeia. Or did you let the bombs do that for you?”
Barsby glanced towards the growing standoff between the two aethermancers. A flash of fear crossed his expression, and I recalled the image of Miss Hawkins standing over him with her silver sword.
That’s right, I thought at him furiously. Be a coward, Barsby. For once in my life, I want you to be the absolute coward that you are and run.
“Give me the sword, Jane,” Wraithwood gritted out. “You are about to throw your life away for no reason at all.”
Miss Hawkins replied with a burst of white aether. Her silver sword sprang to life—a small sun within her right hand. “I’ll spend my life exactly as I please, you monster,” she told him.
Wraithwood snapped his hand out in reply. A gleaming point of light appeared within his palm—smaller and more refined than the wild surge of aether Miss Hawkins had used to summon her own blade. In an instant, that tiny point of light became a shimmering aetheric smallsword—a spike of chilling starlight, made manifest. Between his deep cowl and his terrible mask, he looked rather like Death Victorious, come to claim Miss Hawkins’ soul.
Wraithwood shifted his stance subtly. “Get the aether onto the Conflagration,” he ordered Captain Altera.
The captain nodded at the order and turned to repeat it. The Cinderwolves moved for the longboats, and I cursed beneath my breath.
Miss Hawkins leapt forward—and Wraithwood raised his sword to meet her.