The Wind Merchant Page 11

  Evening turned to night, which brought fitful sleep and half-remembered dreams of a giant Tibbs picking up The Copper Fox and pulling it apart the way a toddler would a toy too complex for him.

  At about four o’ clock, Verdant faltered for a moment, jolting Ras awake in the middle of a falling nightmare. Sleep didn’t return.

  The second day passed with no visitors and no sure answer from Pauling as to how long he would spend in the cell. His only consolation was the absence of more attack sirens.

  On the morning of the third day, the Sheriff’s office came to life around seven-thirty. Pauling walked up with a set of keys. “Bail’s posted.”

  Ras eased his sore body from the cot, massaging a crick in his neck as the cell door ratcheted open. He looked up at Pauling, confused, until the Sheriff stepped aside, revealing Emma. She stood with her hands folded as Ras left the cell. “We need to talk.”

  Emma had borrowed Mr. Tourbillon’s skiff to come to the Sheriff’s office. As they both climbed inside she said, “I don’t blame you.”

  Ras didn’t know if she meant for Verdant, wanting to take Hal’s mission, or skipping community service. He hoped all three.

  The skiff took off with a high pitched whine before Emma spoke. “I think we try to control everything we can so life works out how we want…but you can only control yourself, and even then it’s not simple.”

  “Mom, I don’t have a ship. I’m not going.”

  Emma didn’t say anything until they arrived at the Engine entrance. She pulled a sack lunch from the back seat and handed it to Ras. Her eyes began to tear up. “I love you, Ras. Don’t forget that.”

  He accepted the brown bag, wishing he understood this new wave of emotion. “Never have, never will.”

  She grabbed his hand and squeezed it as though she was doing it for the last time before letting him exit.

  The full day of work consisted of Ras cleaning up an oil spill, this time alone. This is their version of solitary confinement, he thought, and wondered if it was for his own protection.

  He wasn’t allowed to eat in the mess hall. He wasn’t even allowed to have more than ten minutes for lunch, and when he asked for a bandage after cutting his forearm on an old pipe, his request went ignored. When the names of those who died in the attack were broadcasted throughout the Engine as a makeshift memorial, it was all he could do but not feel personally responsible for every name read.

  He was grateful for his solitude when Billie’s name was read.

  Flexing his hands, which were sore from too many hours clenched tightly around a mop handle, he left the building to go home. Ahead, he spotted Callie waiting for him.

  “How was your day?” Callie asked innocently.

  “Better now,” he said, starving for a friendly face. “You didn’t have to come out here.”

  “I wanted to. Are you up for a walk?”

  He wasn’t, but obliged anyway.

  “I never got to ask; what was Hal Napier like, and—”

  “How is he still alive?” Ras finished for her with more energy than he knew he currently possessed. “He said he’s one-hundred and sixty-four years old, but he looked like he’s sixty. Had eyes that bore straight through you when he was mad or annoyed.”

  “Did you make him mad?” Callie asked.

  “I was…challenging from time to time.” Ras looked around and realized they were heading east. “Where are we going?”

  “I have a small package to pick up and I wanted you to be there when I do,” she said.

  “Can I guess?”

  “Sure, if you like.”

  “Any hints?” he asked.

  “Nope. You’ve always been too good at guessing when I give clues. It’s annoying.”

  He had to concede that point. When they had played the game as children, she would always come up with wildest guesses while Ras’ more pragmatic deductions hit closer to the mark. “Is it a book?”

  “No.”

  “Typewriter ink?”

  “Why would I want you there when I picked up typewriter ink?” She laughed. It was a valid question.

  “I don’t know, maybe you’re branching out to blue and it’s a big moment for you.” Ras laughed. It felt good to laugh again. It felt like a moment stolen away from the oppression of India Bravo’s looming fleet.

  “This is bigger than blue ink.”

  “Oh, a clue?”

  “Hardly. Most things are bigger than trying blue ink,” she said, pushing him.

  “Jewelry?”

  “Hmm, I suppose it could be,” she said. “You can stop guessing.”

  They stood outside a hardware store. “Your first socket wrench set. Big moment.”

  She made a sour face at him. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” She disappeared inside the door and returned within three minutes with a small brown paper sack. Something clinked inside it as she walked.

  “All right, out with it.”

  “Hold on, this requires a little decorum,” she said.

  Ras looked around at the shopping center and couldn’t imagine a less worthy place for decorum.

  “Erasmus Veir the Third—”

  “First.”

  “Third sounds more important.”

  “Also sounds more inaccurate.”

  “Fine. Erasmus Veir the First,” she said, affecting a formal accent that Ras didn’t recognize.

  “Yes, Calista Tourbillon?”

  “Before I show you what’s in the bag, you have to answer three questions.”

  “All right,” said Ras.

  “First, do you solemnly swear that you would do everything within your means to save Verdant?”

  The request of an oath brought him back to his trial a little too easily. Ras cocked his head slightly. She was being serious. He took a quick breath and said, “Yes, I do.”

  “Second, do you absolutely promise that if you saw me in danger you’d save me from whatever it was?”

  A million times over. “As long as it didn’t kill me first,” he said. “Yes.”

  “Last one. If I offer you what’s in this bag, will you promise me something that you can’t say no to?”

  Ras had to think for a moment as to where she was going with this. He still didn’t know what was in the bag but he would find some way to jump over the moon if she were to just ask. “Yes, I promise.”

  She reached her hand into the bag, then stopped. “Remember, you can’t say no now.”

  “I know,” he said.

  From the bag she produced a keyring with a set of airship keys. “You’re taking me with you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Mission

  Now was not the time for rational thought over how Callie had acquired the keys; it was enough that she had managed it somehow. Her broad smile worked its way over to Ras like an infection. He hugged her and spun her around, eliciting a small squeal.

  “But, how?” Ras asked, setting her back down.

  “I talked Tibbs into selling The Fox to me yesterday.”

  “But he gutted it.”

  “We got Harley to tell us what we needed,” she said.

  “We?” Ras’ head swam.

  “C’mon, I’ll show you. We’re running out of time.” She began bounding toward the docks.

  The East docks weren’t far, and as Ras and Callie approached he saw Emma and Harley, who rolled out in a wheelchair and greeted them.

  Tied to a dock stood a ship that looked more like The Copper Fox than Tibbs’ party house. The more severely damaged pieces of paneling had been replaced from other ships, giving the familiar vessel a new sheen. It was a perfectly beautiful mess.

  “How did you afford this?” he asked.

  “Well, three years of University tuition was just about enough—”

  “Callie, no!” Ras said, boiling with anger at Tibbs. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that a ship like this should have only cost one year of tuition. He assumed she’d told him how much she had and he ha
d taken every last bit.

  “Ras, I went to the University so I could someday get out and see the world. Think of it as…graduating early,” she said with a smile kinder than Ras could handle. “Your mom bought Harley’s engines.”

  Harley wheeled forward. “They don’t make them like they used to.”

  “Mom, what did you sell?” Ras asked. The house was the only thing they owned valuable enough to buy a set of engines.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she replied.

  “Mom?”

  “You weren’t getting anywhere without engines. I’ll be fine,” she said.

  Old Harley pointed a withered hand at Ras. “Don’t worry, her first month’s rent is free. You bring me those engines back and we’ll call it even,” he said with a wink.

  “But what about your ship?” Ras asked.

  “This city is my ship,” Old Harley said, challenging Ras to argue.

  Emma turned to Callie. “You bring me my boy back.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Callie said, nodding.

  Emma picked up a heavy duffel bag sitting behind Old Harley’s wheelchair and handed it to Ras. “I found this while packing up the attic today.”

  Ras unzipped the bag, revealing Elias’ grapple gun with his father’s name stamped on the side. The model was a much nicer version of the cheap one Ras had last used, as Elias’ grappler could retract the cable back into itself. As a boy, Ras had used it for target practice and would occasionally misplace it, forcing Elias to collect Energy without the device. Before Elias had left on his mission for Hal, Ras had lost it and he often imagined his father dying because of his missing safety measure.

  Underneath Eli’s grapple gun was their last family portrait, taken when Ras was ten. Little Ras had an awkward bowl haircut and hadn’t lost his baby fat, but thankfully he resembled Elias more now.

  Emma gave Ras a long, tight hug. “You can do this,” she said, sounding like she needed to hear the words more than her son did.

  He nodded as they ended their embrace. He took in an eyeful of Verdant, unsure if he’d ever stand on it again. With the day having waxed far into evening, Ras said, “We better go before Hal finds someone else.”

  Ras and Callie waved to Emma and Harley as they walked up the gangplank. Ras took his place at the helm, running his hand over the familiar spoked wheel. Pressing the buttons, he retracted the gangplank and roused the engines.

  Callie called up from the main deck. “I renamed her!”

  Ras furrowed his brow. “She’s not The Copper Fox anymore?”

  “The name was already taken when I tried to register her.”

  “I’m afraid to ask,” Ras said.

  “She’s The Brass Fox.”

  “Copper mixed with…?”

  “Tin,” she answered.

  “I like it. The Brass Fox she is. Good name.”

  “I thought so,” Callie said, beaming.

  The ship glided out of the dock, and the tiny crew of The Brass Fox waved to the two on the dock.

  “Wait,” Ras said. “How did you get your father to agree to this?”

  Callie climbed the steps to the bridge. “I left him a letter.”

  A horn blared as Mr. Tourbillon’s skiff pulled up to the dock and Callie’s parents exited, shouting out to her.

  “Bye, mom! Bye, daddy! I’ve got to go save Verdant! Love you!” Callie turned to Ras. “Punch it,” she said casually. Ras obliged and The Brass Fox dropped beneath the clouds, well on its way for its maiden voyage.

  Ras had nearly written off experiencing the wind pushing on his face and tussling his hair the way it did out on the open air. Callie, on the other hand, struggled with the reality that if the wind wasn’t in her face, her hair was.

  “None of my books mentioned this happening to girls’ hair,” she said, brushing an errant lock out of her face. “It’s not terribly romantic.” She pulled her locks back with her left hand to end the struggle and stared over the railing to the great below. “This. Is. Amazing.” She beamed. “You should come see!”

  “Your face is going to stick like that,” Ras said.

  “I hope so,” she said.

  “It’s bad luck for the pilot to leave the wheel,” Ras said, making up the poor excuse on the spot. It was one thing to have clouds just below him, but another thing entirely to see the ground and be reminded of just how far up he flew. As far as he knew, Callie was ignorant of his fear of heights, and he figured that if he wanted her to continue to trust him as a captain, she should remain in that ignorance.

  “How dangerous is it for me to be under the clouds?” she asked, not taking her eyes away from the ground.

  “With what little Energy is left in The Bowl, not very,” Ras said. “We should probably stay on the safe side after we pass Bravo Company.”

  Callie pushed off the railing, then looked up to Ras. “Do I have time to get changed?”

  “Uh, sure. I’ll let you know if we’re getting close to Framer’s.” He watched Callie disappear into the Captain’s quarters beneath him. He hadn’t considered that there would be only one bed on the ship unless Tibbs had made some changes. He’d address that when the time came, but for now he had to make it to Hal’s ship before sundown. He opened the throttle as the sky began filling with the orange hue of the setting sun.

  He looked above at the clouds to notice a series of shadows he assumed belonged to Bravo Company, then surveyed the skies to see if they left lookouts for any Verdantian willing to risk overloading.

  As soon as he felt they were a safe enough distance beyond Bravo Company, he brought the ship back up into the clouds until he peeked over to see their ships as tiny specks behind him on the horizon, then pulled The Brass Fox just above the clouds for safety. In a few minutes Ras heard the door open to the Captain’s quarters and looked over in time to see Callie reach the railing and toss something overboard. He glimpsed something red and gossamer flitting about on the wind behind the ship and did a double-take.

  Callie shook her head, running her fingers through her newly cropped hair. “How’s it look?” she asked, cringing slightly.

  Ras was speechless. She wore tall leather boots over a pair of tan corduroy pants held up by brown suspenders strapped over a white long-sleeved ruffled shirt. Her brilliant red hair fell just below the nape of her neck when the wind wasn’t picking it up. She looked stunning.

  “I look stupid, don’t I?” she asked.

  “No, it’s great. You look like the navi of The Brass Fox.”

  “Navi?”

  Ras nodded. “Navigator.” They were almost to the other side of the canyon, having taken the long route. “Is your head all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “When we go through the tunnel into Framer’s, I’ll need you to keep an eye out for The Kingfisher.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain,” she said.

  “You really don’t have to call me that,” Ras said.

  “Yes, sir!” She stood at attention, then broke into laughter as Ras made a face at her. “The Kingfisher is the one on the propaganda poster in your room, right?” she asked, “Stop the Clockwork!” she quoted the poster in a mock deep voice.

  “That’s the one. Should be easy to spot.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “It’ll be the only one above us.”

  Eventually The Brass Fox glided toward the cliffs that made up Framer’s Valley. Ras brought the ship through the tunnel and into the circular opening covered in the wavy green. Ras looked mournfully at the cave.

  “The Convergence was in that cave over there—”

  “Is that real grass?” Callie exclaimed, leaning once more over the railing. “I just want to roll around in it!”

  “Uh, yeah…it’s pretty great,” Ras said, distracted. He brought the ship up above the clouds and began searching for The Kingfisher.

  Callie rotated to leaning her back on the railing to stare beyond The Brass Fox’s balloon. “Ras! He’s still here!”

&n
bsp; “All right, let’s see how high she can go.” Ras engaged the controls, pulling up on the wheel to pick up altitude until it capped out well underneath what The Kingfisher could manage. He retrieved his flare gun from underneath the ship’s console and loaded up a charge before firing off a red flare into the sky. It erupted into a star pattern.

  “Ooh, pretty,” Callie said.

  They waited for a moment for the ship to descend down to their level. Then waited another minute.

  “What other colors do you have?”

  “I think just red…I’ve never used one before,” Ras said.

  “Don’t different colors mean different things?”

  “I thought they all just meant ‘hey, over here,’” Ras said as he looked at the box containing two other flares. He didn’t want to waste them and wondered if Hal was testing him. He grabbed the duffle bag and extracted Elias’ grapple gun. The leather straps were worn but form fitted to his father’s arm. Fastening the straps from wrist to elbow, he then loaded a spike-to-magnet shot. He fired the first part into the hull of his ship, then took aim and shot at The Kingfisher, spooling out a healthy length of cable.

  “What are you doing?” Callie asked.

  A satisfying metallic clank rang out. Ras smiled. “If he won’t come to us…”

  “What if it moves?” Callie asked, sounding like she didn’t want to question Ras’ intelligence, but needed to make sure the obvious was stated.

  “It won’t…shouldn’t,” Ras reassured. “But just in case, we should move quickly.”

  “We? You want me to go up there too?” Callie asked.

  “I promised to protect you, right? Can’t do that if you stay behind. Besides, it’s just a couple of old men up there. They’ll probably give you candy.” From the bag Ras pulled a harness attached to a locking mechanism with a crank. He tossed the harness to her. “Here, put that on, legs in those holes…”

  She did so dutifully and Ras began equipping a harness himself. He heard a delicate clink and looked up to see Callie connected to the crank already. “Like this?”

  “You been taking climbing lessons?”

  “No, but once I read a book about rock climbers where the author went into painful detail about how the characters prepared for a climb…and the gruesome details of what happened to them when they fell. I felt it worth remembering.”