Hsu, the pilot, pointed out a vessel ahead. “British warship,” Leung said in Chinese. He called down through the speaking tube for quarter speed. She could hear the tension in his voice.
As they approached the warship, the only sound was water breaking over their bow to rush alongside the hull. The world acquired an intensity, an edge to the light and noise and ocean scent and the whiff of Leung’s perspiration and the nervousness of Hsu at the little wheel that served as helm up here.
The warship had definitely sighted them. A long blast on an air horn echoed over the water, reminding her suddenly of the great foghorns at the harbor in New Haven. The British vessel picked up speed, a wave breaking before the curved white prow. Turrets spun on the deck, bringing huge cannon to bear.
“He is already too close to use his largest guns.” Captain Leung still spoke in Chinese, presumably for the benefit of the pilot. “We are almost certainly sailing toward a parley rather than a sinking, for he would have fired by now.”
“One could always sink us after a discussion,” she replied in English.
“You are a fountain of good cheer.”
The two vessels closed their distance quickly enough. A loud hailer crackled, audible even across an intervening half mile of water. “Stand to for boarding!”
“All stop,” Leung called down. “Bring us to a halt and drop the sea anchor.”
Five Lucky Winds shuddered as if she wished to pitch nose forward and hide beneath the safety of the waves—which would be no safety to speak of in this narrow, shallow body of water.
“Mask,” the captain said, “I believe this next moment belongs to you.”
The warship loomed close, Maxim guns tracking from small stations along her midline, though her crew did not seem to be dashing to battle stations. She put a boat over the side, four men climbing down into it. It was a steam-powered launch, considerably larger than that now carried by Five Lucky Winds.
“I should go down to meet them,” Childress said.
“No,” Leung advised. “Make them come to you. You can descend to converse, but you will have more power if you are first seen above them.”
This was no different from a librarian’s podium, of course. People forced to look up were always at a disadvantage.
“I am torn between politeness and the ways of power.”
Out of sight of the approaching British, he squeezed her hand. “You are not Miss Childress in this hour; you are the Mask Childress. Live your name.”
“I am the Mask,” she repeated, echoing his words. Once more she called upon the ghost of Poinsard.
Soon enough, three men were saluted by al-Wazir in proper Royal Navy fashion. “Welcome aboard, sirs,” he bellowed.
“My good fellow, are you all madmen?” asked one of the officers. Hardly an auspicious preamble to negotiations, but by no stretch a declaration of violence either.
“No sir, Leftenant Commander,” al-Wazir said, still shouting. “But we sail at the direction of a woman, and it’s her you’d be speaking to.”
The lieutenant commander glanced up at the conning tower. “A woman?”
“You would be well advised to take him at his word, sir,” Childress called down. “I am a Mask of the avebianco on a critical diplomatic mission in this time of strife.”
“Madam,” the British officer said, enunciating his words with care. “I have never heard such a lot of balderdash in my life. Kindly present yourself on deck and provide an explanation.”
Childress nodded to Leung, then took the ladder down to the deck hatch. At each rung she let some of the Mask Poinsard flow back into her, so that by the time she stepped out into the sunlight to meet the lieutenant commander, the offense of her dignity was a palpable thing.
KITCHENS
More of the doctor’s work gang escorted him back up the tunnel. As they walked along the tracks, the grinding roar of the borer resumed. Ottweill’s words about the Queen were much on his mind. The doctor had seen Her Imperial Majesty in that horrid tank of blood and fluid. He possessed some insight concerning her fate—who had done this to her, and why. All Kitchens had to go on was a dim instinct that one or possibly both of the societies were involved. That, and the Queen’s request to him.
Remake what has been undone.
Break my throne.
Help me finish dying.
Why not Undo what had been made? he wondered. What precisely had been undone?
Then the little gang of roughnecks were at the gate.
“Them sailors is still out there,” said one, vaguely familiar to Kitchens. Had they met at the quarry site back in Kent where the borer was tested? “We got another party on the stockade fence. Orders. You tells ’em you’re coming through, lest they shoot you.”
Kitchens was surprised to find any of dusk remaining outside. He’d somehow thought this the middle of the night. Being deep within the Wall had surely shadowed his thoughts overmuch.
A small airship, presumably Erinyes, was visible above the stockade wall, tethered low to the ground. People moved about on her deck. The group on the stockade watched him pass through the ruins of their camp without attempting to stop him. He knew how badly those men had wanted to be within their bolthole. Kitchens avoided the ruin of the gate, instead climbing the ladder. The ropes were still tied there.
“You going back to the sailors?” asked a blond man with a seamed face, clutching a rifle close as any lover.
“Surely if I am to find aid for your expedition, I will not do so from behind these walls.”
“I’d get over and to your friends before full dark, then. A man shouldn’t be alone in these jungles.”
“Your advice is my command.” The clerk nodded, grabbed the rope, and climbed down the outside of the stockade.
He stumbled across the field of fire, around bits of snapped bone, shattered Brass and the debris of repeated battle. Blood curdled in long, narrow puddles covered with flies. This was indeed not a place to be stranded.
Sailors crowded around the lines mooring Erinyes. Kitchens pushed through to find Harrow.
“What transpires?” he asked the chief.
“McCurdy took John Brass up with him to relieve Lieutenant Ostrander of command,” the petty officer replied. “Bad business no matter which direction you slice the loaf.”
Kitchens was amazed. “They want to give the ship to that Boaz?”
“I think McCurdy wanted someone who wouldn’t hang for this to play the hard part. That Brass has some attachment to the men of Erinyes that I don’t fathom.”
“I must go for aid,” Kitchens said. “Much here should be reported to London. If McCurdy can get me to Cotonou, I can send support back here while taking a larger airship back to England.”
Harrow leaned close, almost intimate, as he whispered in Kitchens’ ear. “We won’t lift more than two-thirds of these men, and not even that many if Ostrander vented too much hydrogen. With the tunnel and the camp barred to us, there will be a hell of a fight over privilege.”
The rope chair dropped over the side from above, swinging down into the gloom of evening.
“Let me up, Chief. I’ll do what I can to take care of everyone, but I must report, above all else.”
As well as find a way to aid the Queen.
One of the sailors pushed to Harrow’s side. “Bugger it, Chief, they’s asking for you up there.”
“Send Mr. Kitchens first,” Harrow said loudly. “He can speak for me. I plan to be the last man off the ground, when they’re ready to take us all home.”
The chair spun as it rose. Chair was too kind a word. This was barely a sling, as if he were a carcass being brought up for the galley. He kept his gorge in place even as rough hands drew him over the rail.
“You’re not Harrow,” someone said, then McCurdy pushed forward. A very frightened midshipman hung close off one shoulder.
“Where’s John Brass?” Kitchens asked.
“Belowdecks with the lieutenant, sir.” The bosun
tried to look back at the midshipman, but the young man stepped away from his glance. “Someone has to sit on the poor bugger, and he won’t likely scratch out that Boaz’ eyes.”
“We must lay in a course for Cotonou.”
“I still got four men on the ground,” McCurdy said quietly. “Harrow’s boys number forty more, at least.”
Kitchens glanced back at the ropes. “Are you going to be able to take them all aboard?”
“Could.” The deck around them was very quiet. “We wouldn’t make much altitude, and we’d be slow. That’s four tons more than we’d normally carry, just body weight, plus the food and water we’d have to bring up, and the gas cells are down almost thirty percent thanks to some fancy piloting. A storm comes, Chinee raiders find us, more of them winged savages attack, we’re dead men.”
Kitchens retained his sense of ruthless duty. He had to get back to the Queen, to report on Ottweill’s fate, and to answer her note. “Better to put almost everyone over the side and run for Cotonou with a minimal crew. More men on the ground will increase their chance of survival. More men up here will slow us down.”
A muttering arose among the gathered crew, someone’s voice quite clearly complaining, “I ain’t going down—” until shushed by his fellows.
“You might want to watch your mouth there,” McCurdy said. His eyes were pleading, though his voice was hard.
Kitchens shifted his attention to the junior officer quite literally hiding behind the bosun. “Midshipman, you are in command now, yes?”
The boy nodded reluctantly.
“I have no authority here. My writ runs only to the surviving crew of Notus. But I have the ear of the Sea Lords and the Prime Minister’s office. I tell you now that our duty to Queen and country requires you to make all speed to Cotonou so I can send word onward of what has befallen, and mount an effective relief of these stranded sailors and the camp beyond. What are your orders?”
The midshipman gulped and began shaking.
“You are a British officer, lad. What are your orders?”
The boy fainted dead away, hitting the deck with a crack.
“Bloody hell,” Kitchens said, almost shouting. He smashed his poor attaché case into the deck.
The Brass loomed out of the evening shadows. “Ah,” he said. “It is you. Have you poisoned Midshipman Longoria?”
Kitchens stared at the metal man, vainly willing him to transform into a capable, competent Lieutenant Ostrander, then said, “I believe Bosun McCurdy is now in command of this vessel.”
“Oh, sir,” McCurdy breathed, appalled.
Shouting echoed from below, and a short scream.
“Then cut the bedamned lines and we lift,” Kitchens said, hating the moment.
“I am not sailing away with you,” the Brass man protested.
“Everyone else expects to!”
A series of quick ax chops, and the airship jumped away to screaming from below, and scattered rifle fire. McCurdy ran to the rail, shouting, “Stop, you idiots!” before staggering back with a bloody hole in his face where his right eye had been.
He spun once, blinked with his remaining eye at Kitchens, said quite distinctly, “Trust the Brass bastard,” then toppled backward over the rail.
FOURTEEN
And she went, and came, and gleaned in the field after the reapers: and her hap was to light on a part of the field belonging unto Boaz, who was of the kindred of Elimelech. —Ruth 2:3
BOAZ
Christ, man, get to the helm, shouted the Paolina–al-Wazir voice in his head. Don’t let them swing.
The Sixth Seal shrieked as well.
::binded him to the mast they did, and whipped him three times three days with a salt-crusted rope, for that was the punishment for mutiny in those days::
Most of the sailors rushed to the rail like monkeys at a fruit fall. Boaz stumbled aft. A white-haired man clutched at the wheel, his seamed face drawn in shock.
“Get us away from the Wall,” Boaz ordered. “Head west of north with all speed.” Altitude, these airships always fought for altitude. “Take us up.”
::the very air is the kingdom of the birds. Do not challenge the will of the Lord by casting thyself into the skies::
“H-how f-far, s-sir?” The helmsman clutched the wheel, not reaching for the engine telegraph or the attitude controls.
Boaz picked a number out of nowhere. “Five thousand feet, then level out.”
Good lad. That was al-Wazir.
::he shewed a span of a dozen dozen cubits, and dozen more of those, and claimed the tribes would climb that far::
I am cracked. My crystals are damaged. Shadows of people I have come to love live in my head and tell me things I do not know in my own mind. The history of my kind lives in my gut and rants madly of ancient times and the brutal privilege of absolute power.
If he took the Sixth Seal back to Ophir now, what would become of the city? This monstrous voice would require only a handful of years to raise a mighty empire bent on conquest and destruction, in the name of biblical restoration. No wonder the ancient Kohanim had hidden the Seal away in a lost cave on a deserted coast.
::that we might beat even the sepulchers of our fathers into swords and drive the enemies of our God into the bloodred waters of the sea::
He wrenched his thoughts back to the present moment. McCurdy was dead, which saddened him. Kitchens’ notion to race for help was plentifully sensible. But Boaz could not go with them.
Five thousand feet? What was he thinking? He could not get down from that height. Yet turning back toward Ophir seemed less and less practical, given the mad thing in his belly.
::you should not know the voice of the Lord even as He shouts thunder in your ear::
The rest of the crew were being driven to their tasks by the vessel’s surviving petty officer. The helmsman had signaled for altitude and for speed, then resumed clutching his wheel for all the worth of his life. Kitchens stepped to Erinyes’ aft rail and looked down across the night-dark jungle. Boaz joined him there.
The wreck of Notus still smoldered. Sparks were visible at the edge of the camp’s cleared field of fire. Boaz realized they were the flash of a last few shots in their direction.
::they will defend the holy books, the consecrated oils, and the salt that we have harvested from the graves of angels::
“Harrow will have his hands full,” Kitchens said. “That’s a mutiny in progress down there, and one petty officer dead already.”
“I should not know,” Boaz said. The human voices in his head muttered at that. “My kind account authority differently.”
“Not so different as all that, I think.” The man studied him carefully. “I have read the reports. But now we have a pretty problem here aboard Erinyes.”
::kings fail and fall; their thrones shiver empty; dark smokes hang over all the lands until even the olives wither in their groves::
That voice was so loud in his thoughts it threatened to flow from his mouth. He tried to concentrate on what Kitchens had been saying. “That problem would be what, precisely?”
“Midshipman Longoria is unfit for duty. Lieutenant Ostrander is not even fit to wander loose. McCurdy is dead. That petty officer working the deck now will not speak to me, or look at you. Erinyes is a vessel without a commander, but carrying great need.”
::snatch up the banner and ride the fallen hero’s horse into the fray, for ye shall be accounted holy and brave and the names of thy sons sung at temple for a hundred years::
’Tis nae mutiny when you have never taken the oath.
“You surely do not propose that I should captain this ship,” Boaz said. This clerk had no idea how worrisome his thoughts had become.
“I have no warrants here. Notus was under my control, but Erinyes is posted to the East African station. I will take command if I must, but I will be years at hearings before they can unwind the whole business.”
“Whereas I am an enemy of the British Crown,” Boaz pointed
out. “Or at the least my people are. You would surrender your vessel to an adversary?”
::do not play at the game of captains and kings unless you are forged of their mettle::
“It is not my vessel to surrender.” The frustration in Kitchens’ voice was evident. “If I am delivered to Cotonou as a hostage released, I will be made welcome and heeded. If I come to Cotonou at the helm of a ship over which I have no command authority, I will be arrested and bound over for transport back to England.” His voice dropped to a nearly desperate whisper. “My duty requires me to be free and effective. Better that you seize the ship than that I take it.”
Careful, lad. The Paolina–al-Wazir voice was gaining strength over the clamor of the Sixth Seal. Her sense infused him. Walk softly, but be bold.
“So they will arrest me instead? Better to put me down now along the coast and let me make my own way.”
::no man ever took a crown without a thought to the swords that might someday break down the door of his throne room::
The Seal had become almost reasonable, Boaz realized.
Their further conversation was interrupted when a shout went up from the foredeck. “Lanterns in the east! The Chinee is upon us!”
Al-Wazir’s voice gusted from Boaz’ mouth. “Ring for battle stations. Man the guns, now. Deck division to arms!”
“By the blood of Christ,” Kitchens swore. “This Wall will never let up.”
“This is not the doing of the Wall. Your empire is at war with China.” It dawned on Boaz that this man had traveled aboard Notus for some time. “Or do you not know that?”
“What?”
“Erinyes came east scouting after a great aerial battle over Abyssinia. The Imperial dragon and the British lion are savaging one another bloody in the east.”
“We are undone!” The clerk’s anger was palpable.
::a messenger came with the dawn, riding on wings of wind, and cried defeat in the green vales above the city::