The Wind Merchant Page 8

  “What’s the sign for ‘hungry?’” Finn asked, returning from his rounds.

  Kiria turned and demonstrated by making a cupped hand that ran from her throat to her stomach.

  “What about ‘I’m hungry?’” Finn asked.

  She pointed to herself and repeated the previous motion.

  “Good. Me too. Care to join us for lunch?”

  Kiria blushed a little bit, and began signing a response before she caught herself. “I’m supposed to stay with Ras.”

  Finn rocked on his heels. “I wasn’t using a royal ‘us.’ I was planning on stealing your star pupil here.”

  With Kiria’s back turned, Ras offered a signed thanks to Finn, who simply replied with a wink.

  Kiria turned to see what Ras did to prompt the wink, which allowed Finn a little celebration dance that made Ras grin. She signed, what?

  He happy, Ras signed.

  Why?

  Ras thought for a moment how to craft a response with his limited vocabulary. You fuel his engine.

  A grin spread across her face as she stood to leave the infirmary.

  “Hold on, what are you telling her?” Finn asked.

  “I’ll see you both in the mess hall,” Kiria said before slipping through the doorway.

  “You should know the medic-patient relationship requires a lot of trust both ways,” Finn said.

  You welcome, Ras signed.

  Much to Finn’s dismay, his lunch date with Kiria turned into another sign language lesson for Ras, even with the absence of Guy and Billie.

  Why sign here? Ras asked. People talk here. No engine.

  “You need practice,” she said.

  I need… he signed, then looked down at the empty space on the table before him and mimicked a chewing motion, pointing to his mouth.

  “Food,” she said, displaying the far more elegant and more correct version of the sign. “Did you not bring anything?”

  No. She has it. Ras didn’t know how to sign Billie’s name or even if Kiria knew Billie.

  “Who is ‘she?’” Kiria asked.

  Ras looked over to Finn for help. He moved his hands in circles to indicate Billie’s curly hair.

  “I think he’s talking about a crazy lady,” Finn said, eliciting a glare from Ras. “Am I not being helpful? I feel like I’m not being helpful.”

  “Billie,” Ras croaked out in a soft whisper that made his throat itch and sting. Being able to finally produce a sound was an improvement upon the morning.

  “Oh, Billie!” Finn said. Then he lowered his voice and shook his head in mock chastisement. “Billie’s not crazy. Be nice.”

  “I think Billie has his lunch,” Kiria said.

  “You want to go to Billie’s office?” Finn asked. It was more of a suggestion than a question. He turned to Kiria. “He’ll be right back.”

  “That’s fine,” she said.

  Ras stood, nodded to Kiria, and tried not to laugh at Finn, who drew his hands apart in a wide motion. Take as long as you can.

  Leaving the mess hall, he noticed a dozen workers from Eight meandering in, but no sign of Guy. A few men nodded to him with a bit less malice than before, which encouraged Ras a little. He hoped the story of the valve would spread around the Engine, but couldn’t imagine one event swaying popular opinion.

  Using a shortcut he had accidentally discovered on one of his previous fool’s errands, Ras made his way through a dark passageway leading to the main office.

  Billie sat at her desk, studying reports. She looked up as Ras entered. “Oh, sorry. After the pipe blew it’s been nothing but paperwork. How’s the throat?”

  “Fine,” Ras squawked. “I barely—”

  “Stop. It hurts just hearing you,” she said. “Lunch is on the cabinet.”

  Thanks, Ras signed.

  The radio on Billie’s desk burst into static cacophony that settled on a man’s voice. “Mayday! Mayday! This is Thomas Carnes of The Cirrus. India Bravo has returned! I repeat, India Bravo has returned. Bravo Company is heading toward Verdant and—No!” The transmission cut off sharply, leaving the room silent.

  The handful of men and women that hadn’t left for lunch yet all stared at each other for a moment before Billie spoke. “They transmitted to the wrong channel. That should have gone to the capitol building.” She looked about at the others in the room. “I don’t know where else that was sent, but for now that information does not leave this room, everyone clear on that?” She turned back to look at Ras. “We need to verify its origin, and we don’t need to panic everyone.”

  “I have the message transcribed,” a balding man several desks down said, lifting a sheet of paper in the air.

  “Eric, relay the message to the capitol,” Billie said, pointing to the balding man. “Ramsey, radio port authority and verify The Cirrus and have them look up Thomas Carnes to see if he is a member of the crew.” The office buzzed with activity.

  “Ma’am, I don’t need to verify,” Ramsey said through a clenched jaw as though releasing the tension would cause him to fall to pieces. “Thomas is…was my brother-in-law. I’m sure he knew I’d pass it along.”

  Ras froze. If Bravo Company was coming, then the Tourbillons’ move would be a day late. Without further thought, Ras dashed toward the exit with sack lunch in hand, ignoring the protests from Billie.

  Running crew members weren’t entirely out of place in the Engine, but twice he had to hold up his sack lunch to security officers, feigning an important delivery.

  Once up top, the bright sun momentarily blinded him as he attempted to survey the skies for sky pirate ships. Not wanting to waste time letting his eyes adjust, Ras took off toward the residential zone.

  The people he passed looked as though they hadn’t heard any news of impending doom yet, which relieved Ras, but if one ship ran afoul of the inbound fleet, then surely more broadcasts would soon come.

  Halfway to his goal, Ras felt the effects of the dehydration start to kick in. His legs felt sluggish and his swollen throat made sucking in air nearly impossible, but he couldn’t give up now if it determined Callie being around when Bravo Company inevitably bombarded Verdant.

  As he continued his run, his mind flitted to his mother. He didn’t know how he would convince Mr. Tourbillon, but he needed to get Emma on their ship. Ras was the only family she had left.

  All plans immediately dissipated when he saw what was parked in the middle of the street directly in front of the Tourbillon home.

  The gleaming white vessel with silver accents looked like a hybrid between a giant skiff and an airship without a balloon. Its wingspan reached easily across both sides of the road and Ras guessed it used the flat surface as a runway. The elegant design reminded Ras of The Kingfisher, but on a much smaller scale.

  Most ships in Atmo were based primarily off their sea-faring forefathers, but this ship’s cabin was fully enclosed. The entire cockpit lacked any hard edges, making the machine look like its designer was inspired by a cloud.

  Shouts snapped Ras’ attention away from the vessel. Mrs. Tourbillon stood on her porch, engaged in a loud argument with a man on the other side of the threshold. The man held a wide-brimmed hat in front of him, gesturing occasionally and speaking in low tones that didn’t travel far.

  Ras changed course, walking on the other side of his house and back around behind to avoid detection. From behind his house, he could spot Callie’s window and cautiously made his way over to the side of their house.

  He peered inside to see Callie with her hair tied back, halfway through boxing up her bookshelves. He eased himself down to his hands and knees before rapping gently on the window.

  Callie looked over, giving a brief, but sad smile at the sight of Ras before walking over to unlatch her basement window. “Daddy said he talked to you this morning—what happened to your hands?”

  Ras waved away her concern, then whispered in a husky voice that scratched with every syllable. “Pirates. Coming. Today.”

  H
er eyes grew wide. “What? Why haven’t they sounded the alarm?”

  “You have to go, now,” Ras said. No other five words had ever caused him more pain. This was not how he imagined their last meeting.

  Callie turned and ran across the room before disappearing up the stairs. The argument in front of the house ended abruptly and Callie came tearing around the corner as Ras stood. She threw her arms around his neck as she bowled into him. “I don’t want to leave.”

  Ras watched the man with the hat as Mrs. Tourbillon came to the edge of the house and just stared at them. He was grateful that Mr. Tourbillon wasn’t present. “It’ll be okay,” he said, unsure what that even meant anymore. “Where are you moving?”

  “We don’t know yet. Maybe Kenus, maybe Derailleur,” Callie said.

  “We’re not going anywhere until your father gets here,” Mrs. Tourbillon said.

  “Nobody is going anywhere,” the man with the hat said. “Not unless they’re leaving in that thing.” He pointed a long finger back at the vehicle in the road. “The sky pirates will attack anyone trying to flee Verdant, and almost certainly have forces at the entrance to The Bowl.”

  Callie released her grip around Ras’ neck. “Where is it going?”

  “Nowhere,” Mrs. Tourbillon blurted, narrowing her eyes at the man with the hat. “Nowhere with us on it. Callie, I need you to keep packing. We might have to leave as soon as your father gets home.”

  “Mom, who is this?” Callie asked.

  “An old acquaintance trying to call in a favor larger than he deserves,” she said.

  Callie turned back to Ras. “Promise me I’ll see you again before I leave,” she said, anger welling. “You still owe me a critique on those chapters.”

  Ras nodded, and watched her walk slowly back to her mother. The two women disappeared back around the corner, leaving him alone with the mysterious white-haired man.

  “If I could borrow you for a word,” he said, imitating the tone from their previous meeting.

  Ras walked toward the man. “What do you want, Mr…”

  “My name is hardly of consequence, Mr. Veir. It comes to my employer’s attention that you appear to have…dug yourself a hole of a certain depth from which you cannot escape unassisted,” he said as though the phrase were one he had heard spoken but had not understood himself. “Am I correct?”

  “Everyone’s employers know that.”

  “That may be the case, but not everyone’s employers can offer you assistance like mine can.”

  “Is his name of consequence?” Ras asked.

  “Oh, of the highest.” He smiled broadly, stretching the mustache wide across his face. He slid his hat on easily and said, “Mr. Halcyon Napier has asked me to gauge your level of interest in saving Verdant.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Kingfisher

  The small vessel’s interior consisted of little more than a pilot’s seat and an upholstered bench with restraints for three passengers. Ras found himself absentmindedly running his padded hand over the impeccable workmanship of the silver trim set in a sparkling white pearlescent material. The instrumentation gave off a purple hued glow.

  “So,” Ras said, finally breaking the silence. “You fly on The Kingfisher. The Kingfisher.”

  “Is there another one I should be aware of?” the man inquired, genuinely interested. He flicked three switches to engage the engines. The sudden noise caused Ras to jump.

  “Uh, no,” Ras said, fumbling to secure his restraint and readying himself to be shoved back into his seat. “It’s just said to be a ghost ship.”

  “That’s very…interesting to hear. Brace yourself.” He pulled a lever and a steering wheel telescoped from the dashboard to meet his hands. He tilted the controls back and pressed a button on the console. With an explosive hiss, the ship shot directly upward.

  Having prepared for a launch forward, Ras nearly slipped out of his seat but for his restraint. He didn’t recall seeing any rotors atop the ship, and as the vessel reached its apex and began to drop, he realized it didn’t have any.

  The man pulled back a lever and the ship rocketed forward, slamming Ras back into his seat. The back of his head smacked into the high padded back of the bench. He guessed it was an intentional feature.

  “And so your employer is Hal Napier…the Fourth?” Ras asked, trying to be casual as he watched Verdant zip beneath them at a rate he found both exhilarating and terrifying.

  “No.”

  “Fifth?”

  “No,” he said more sharply this time. “And may I suggest you refrain from that line of questioning when you meet him. If you would like something for your throat I can prepare a tonic once we’ve reached our cruising altitude.”

  “That…that would be nice,” Ras said. “Thank you.”

  Through the wide, curved windshield, Ras could see the grand vista of clouds, including dozens of airships racing toward them. Ras recognized them as standard merchantmen moving at a much quicker pace than usual.

  The man pulled the ship into a climb to avoid colliding with any of the merchant vessels, giving him perspective on what caused the wind merchants to flee.

  Bravo Company.

  Their flagship, The Dauntless, was an old dreadnaught from The Clockwork War, body corroded black and rigid balloon painted red with a crude rendering of crossed axes and a grinning skull. The ship itself was nearly a mile long, and bristling with guns.

  A score of smaller airships and biplanes with the same logo emblazoned across their hulls accompanied The Dauntless, idly chasing and firing their weapons at the slower wind merchant vessels as they neared the floating city.

  “How is Hal going to save Verdant from India Bravo?” Ras asked.

  “He has his ways,” the man casually said. “But Verdant is too valuable to her to sink.”

  “How are you going to save us from India Bravo?”

  The man hefted back on the controls, gaining altitude until the fleet below became tiny specks.

  Ras’ ears popped as he looked out the window, then recoiled back. He had never been up this high, and wondered if a cannonball could even reach them. “How?”

  “I pulled back on the controls. I thought you of all people would be familiar with flight mechanics,” the man said before leveling off after a minute of hard climbing. He unfastened his restraints and stood, nearly grazing his white hair against the ceiling. “Tonic?” He reached into a small box and pulled out a glass bottle with a screw-on cap. The label was in an unfamiliar language.

  Ras turned his attention from the window to his bandaged hand as the man pressed the bottle into his mitt. The idea of actually meeting the man his father had told bedtime stories about boggled his mind. He wasn’t certain what he was going to see or if this Hal was an impostor, but it occurred to Ras that whoever this was it might be the same person that his father had claimed to have received a mission from, if Old Harley had heard his rumors right.

  There was little to nothing he could do for Verdant right now, aside from helping out in the Engine for damage control. A twinge of guilt gnawed at him, but he forced it to the back of his mind by telling himself he would do more good by meeting with Hal. He just wished he could explain his actions without being deemed insane.

  He undid the bandages on his hands before unscrewing the bottle cap to take a swig of the burning liquid. His eyes watered and throat tingled, prompting a cough. After pounding his chest with his fist to drive away the tickling sensation, Ras managed to croak, “You wouldn’t happen to remember a man named—”

  “Elias Veir?” The man let the moment sink in. “I had wondered when you were going to ask that.”

  “But—”

  “Who else were you going to ask me about, honestly?” He flipped a lever and spoke into the comm unit in a foreign language before receiving a confirmation. “Yes, I knew your father for a brief time. You are sitting where he did when I ferried him to Mr. Napier.” He pulled back once more, forcing the ship to climb, de
epening the sinking feeling in Ras’ stomach. “Ah, here we are.”

  Ahead gleamed the white ship Ras recognized from the brief glimpse in Framer’s Valley. The Kingfisher.

  In what seemed to be no time, the shuttle made a landing—no, a rejoining—with The Kingfisher, becoming one with the larger vessel. After a surprising snap-hiss that made Ras’ ears pop again, the airtight seal sent wind rushing in to fill the cabin, and a light purple glow emanated from the ship.

  “Mr. Veir, if you would be so kind as to follow me,” the man said.

  Ras obliged and stood, stretching his legs. He walked from the shuttle to the corridor lined with a half-dozen rooms on either side of the hallway. Between the doors hung artwork of landscapes, ranging from crude to masterfully done. Clouds, mountain peaks, plains, bodies of water…Ras had to make sure not to linger on the pre-Atmo artwork. Callie would have loved it, but the thought of her staying on Verdant drained any joy from the thought of him describing the paintings to her.

  They came to a door at the end of the corridor. “Mr. Napier awaits,” he said, bowing slightly as he pulled the door open for Ras. The circular study was filled with books, models of airships, and a very impressive telescope that cut through the center of a domed ceiling. Glass walls flooded the room with sunshine.

  In the center stood a man looking to be in his early sixties. He hunched over a painting on an easel, scrutinizing the brush strokes, applying a few more. He wore a dark brown smoking jacket and had a neatly trimmed white beard that continued into a short haircut for a matching set.

  “Mr. Napier,” the man guiding Ras said, announcing his presence. “May I present to you Mr. Erasmus Veir.”

  Halcyon Napier looked up from his painting, standing to a height at least a head taller than Ras. He appeared as virile as a man in his forties. He smiled and leisurely strode over to Ras with his hand extended.

  “About time,” he said, grabbing Ras’s half-extended arm and giving his hand two firm pumps, forcing Ras to contain a grimace. He motioned to a couple of wing-backed chairs next to the easel. “Come, please have a seat.” He turned to the man with the hat. “Thank you, Dayus. You may retire until I have need of you.”