The Lantern's Ember

  Jack glanced over at the frightened boy holding his pumpkin and chuckled. Then he rammed the throttle lever down and the ship shot forward, gaining momentum. As wind buffeted the banshee again, the terrible sounds of screaming metal grew even more horrible and Finney realized the tension was likely due to how the wind moved across the fluttering wings of the ship.

  “You’ll get used to it after a while!” Jack shouted as the boy tucked his head down, trying to cover his ears with his shoulders. “It’s the sound of progress.”

  “I should think progress would be a bit quieter!” Finney hollered back.

  “Best get used to it,” Jack said, taking out a pocket watch and glancing at the time. “We won’t be catching up to them for some time.”

  Finney sank back in his seat, miserable at the idea of having to endure the noise for long. Then he sat up and reached into his vest pocket for his pencil and notebook and busied himself sketching an idea for ear stoppers that would block outside noise while playing soft, replicated sounds when wound. It would have to be something soothing, like rustling leaves or a tinkling brook. If he used some of the marvelous clockwork metals he’d seen on display and came up with some kind of tiny winding mechanism, it might work. He’d call it a symphonium, or perhaps an ear stopper, since the little players would work like a cork in a bottle of wine. Soon he was so busy designing his new invention, he forgot all about the screaming banshee.

  When he was done, Finney asked Jack if one was born a lantern or if one was made into a lantern.

  “I was born human, like you,” Jack replied.

  “So then I could be a lantern?”

  “You could. But I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s rather complicated. One doesn’t choose to become a lantern. Most of us are tricked into it.”

  “This happened to you?”

  “Yes. The only reason I’m a lantern now is because of my love for a witch.”

  Finney’s eyebrows rose and his mouth opened.

  Jack adjusted a lever, leaned back, and shared his story. “I was born over five hundred years ago in a small Irish village called Harrowtown. My father was a drunk who crippled my sweet mother when he decided she was purposely beguiling the other men of the town. She was very beautiful, with white-blond hair, which I obviously inherited, and naturally drew attention, but she was faithful to him, though he never earned her loyalty. He was a jealous man, and his fists still found her face far too often.

  “The only other woman I thought as beautiful as my mother was the town witch.”

  “Was she evil?” Finney asked.

  “Not at all. You’ve seen Ember. Not all witches are hags who boil newts and frogs in black cauldrons and tempt children to their homes to fatten them up and suck the marrow from their bones. Many are good—white witches, who dabble in healing ointments, sleeping spells, and simple love potions that a young girl might use to catch the eye of the farmer’s son she’s interested in.

  “Our witch was lovely. The prettiest sight to ever grace the market. She was pink-cheeked, with long red hair almost your color. It often escaped her cap in corkscrew curls. Though she was easily twice my age, as a young man I was half in love with her.” Jack glanced at Finney, who nodded in understanding.

  “One pleasant fall afternoon on market day, the witch—her name was Rebecca—appeared in the town square. I followed her around, noticing that the breeze lifted her heavy skirts and nipped her cheeks with the crisp bite of the coming winter. She wandered, perusing the carts full of hazelnuts and a farmer’s bounty of carrots, cabbages, parsnips, and turnips. When she dropped her basketful of purchases and I helped her pick them up, she smiled and tossed me an apple.

  “I was busy with the harvest, but I later learned that her beauty had captured the eye of a visiting lord who’d come to Harrowtown to collect taxes. The man inquired after her place of residence. That night, as the sleepy villagers dreamed of a bounteous harvest and the celebrations to come, he sought out the witch with a few of his compatriots. The next morning, the witch came to town accusing the lord of using her in a most vile way.

  “When the people refused to come to her aid, the witch vowed vengeance not only on the lord and his men, but on all the cowardly residents of the town, declaring in her wrath that she would bring disease and famine upon us all.

  “That night, the lord and his men choked during their evening meal, coughing up small animal bones. All four of them died in a very slow and painful way. Then the sickness came upon the village. Disease killed off the elderly and the young first. My father fell victim to the black boils and fever brought on by what the townsfolk labeled as the witch’s black death.

  “Then my mother passed, not of sickness, but of her grief over the demise of her abusive husband. Half the population of the town was gone within a month, and the harvest was eaten by rot. Flocks were torn apart by scavengers. Those who survived the plague suffered in other ways.

  “The day I buried my mother, I set out to find the witch. I discovered her sitting dully in the corner of her small, well-kept cabin, her hair stringy and unwashed, her eyes haunted. I begged her to stop the curse.

  “ ‘It can’t be stopped,’ she answered listlessly. ‘Once a curse such as this is inflicted, it must run its course. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for it. I thought it would ease my pain, but instead, I am doomed to suffer along with you.’

  “Then her eyes brightened and she began speaking of a deal with a devil.”

  “So the devil made you into a lantern?” Finney asked.

  “He’s as close to a devil as I’ve ever met. In this case, the devil was the head lantern, Rune. Who also happens to be my boss.”

  “Interesting.” Finney scribbled some notes on his pad. “Go on. What happened next?”

  “The witch told me that if I sacrificed myself, the devil might heal our village of the plague. She said all I had to do was serve the Otherworld. She said I was a special soul who might be of interest to him.”

  “And what was it exactly that made you special?”

  Jack shrugged. “All I know is that a potential human has a keen sense of things outside the bounds of the mortal world. Perhaps my relationship with the witch made me so, like your closeness to Ember enhances your abilities to invent.”

  For a moment, Finney appeared shocked. Then he mumbled “Fascinating,” after which he wrote a full page while Jack waited.

  When he was done, Jack continued, “The witch promised me that until I shook the devil’s hand, nothing was set in stone. I decided it couldn’t hurt to hear the devil’s offer, so I waited for him in the alehouse. When he arrived, he was not at all what I expected.”

  “Go on,” Finney said. “Describe him, if you would.”

  “Rune entered the building, smoke trailing in after him.” Jack frowned at Finney’s initial sketch. “He didn’t have devil’s horns or red skin. In fact, there was nothing about him that might brand him a child of Beelzebub, at least outwardly. His brown skin made me think he was a man who lived in a place of long, hot days, where the sun kissed his skin relentlessly. He had no pitchfork or tail, and his clothing was simple—black trousers, polished boots, and a brocade vest. If there was a devil to be found in the man, it was in his eyes. They were lined with black, as if they were rimmed with charcoal, and when he blinked, they pierced me to the core. I didn’t realize at the time that he was looking at me with his lantern eyes.”

  Finney asked, “What does that mean?”

  “When a lantern’s eyes shine silver, we are using our lantern, the ember we carry with us, to see through the skin to the inner soul of a person.”

  Gulping, Finney asked, “Does it hurt?”

  “It can if we wish it to. Rune keeps his ember in his earring.”

  “And where’s yours?”

  Jack glanced down at the pumpkin that shimmie
d on Finney’s lap, turning toward him and offering him a wide grin.

  “Oh,” the boy said, swallowing so his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  Jack ignored Finney’s discomfort and said, “When Rune studied all of us in turn, he said, ‘I understand one of you pathetic mortals desires to trade in his soul to break a witch’s curse. Now, which one of you is it? And speak up. For I can’t abide time wasters who mewl like kittens.’

  “I told him I was the pathetic soul he was looking for. He held out his hand and I reached for it automatically. When I asked about the terms of my service, he just laughed and said he’d already accepted my offer. The pumpkin was Rune’s little joke. He thought it would keep me humble to have to carry around my pumpkin for a thousand years.”

  “A thou…a thousand years?” Finney squeaked. The pumpkin blinked at him and then looked at Jack, its grin turning to a grimace.

  “That’s right.”

  “I see,” Finney said quietly. After a moment of staring into the sky, he licked the tip of his pencil and said, “Tell me more about Rune and your contract.”

  * * *

  * * *

  “First of all, she’s a witch,” Dev said.

  “I gathered that much, Dev.” The woman inhaled and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “The scent of her blood is masked, but I can still smell it on your breath.” Dev stiffened. “You’ve done a good job hiding her,” the woman went on. “If I didn’t know you well, I never would have guessed. She’s clearly not from the Otherworld, though. Her eyes are far too…inexperienced for this place.”

  Ember folded her arms. “I’d appreciate it if the two of you wouldn’t speak about me as if I were deaf. My aunt actually is deaf, and she hates nothing more than when people talk around her as if she’s not even there.”

  The woman’s lip twitched. “My apologies. Perhaps I should address my questions to you, instead of the tall, too-handsome-for-his-own-good, looks-for-trouble-even-when-he’s-not-looking vampire who has brought you on board my ship, endangering us all.”

  Frowning and glancing at Dev, Ember rose and held out her hand. “My name is Ember. I am from the mortal world, and I’m also a witch.”

  Deverell slapped his face with his hands and drew them down slowly. While Ember did her best to ignore him, the woman laughed, pushed off from the desk, and took Ember’s hand, pumping it up and down once. “Name’s Captain to most. Delia Blackbourne to others. But you can call me Delia.”

  Ember’s eyes widened as she glanced from the captain of the pirate airship to the vampire. She swallowed. “B-Blackbourne? Does that mean you and Dev—?” Ember’s words cut off.

  “Yes,” Del answered, a gleam in her eyes. “You’ve caught us.”

  “She’s your…your…,” Ember started.

  Dev sighed. “My sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  Delia laughed heartily. “Oh, Dev, how I love teasing your paramours.”

  Color heated Dev’s cheeks. “Ember is not my inamorata,” he said bluntly.

  The captain grinned cheekily at Ember. A dimple appeared that made the lovely woman even more beautiful. “Perhaps not yet. But you have plans, don’t you, brother dear?”

  “That’s none of your concern. You owe me, Del, and it’s time to cash in on a favor.”

  Del’s smile darkened. “Fine. Just don’t expect me to roll out the red carpet. I’ll take you where you want to go, but if you endanger my crew, all bets are off. If anyone’s head is going to roll for this, it won’t be mine, I assure you.”

  A thin black cat with yellow eyes stood in the window. It gracefully leapt onto the desk and stuck its face toward Ember. She stroked its head. “Who’s this?” she asked.

  “Ah, that’s Edward. He’s usually shy around strangers. Don’t let him out of my office. I find him in the most dangerous places when he escapes.” With that, Delia made for the door. “Wait here. I’ll have Frank take you to your quarters and give your witch a tour of the ship.”

  There was a lurch as the ship left the dock. Just then, the door was thrust open with a bang and the large man, his skin slightly tinged green, ducked his head and entered the room. “I am supposed to give you a tour,” he said, his voice rough as gravel.

  “Yes. I should like that,” Ember replied, deliberately threading her arm through the man’s, though she had to reach up to do it. “Frank, is it? Might we be able to see the port from the deck of the ship? I’ve never flown on a skyship before, and I have a lot of questions.”

  The man wet his black lips and moved his mouth, baring his teeth in the semblance of a smile. Though his gums were quite green, his large teeth were white, and she could now see that the area around his mouth had been damaged. The scars might account for the strange smile. Some might be frightened of a man as misshapen as him, but Ember felt more pity than fear. When she looked in his eyes, she saw kindness. In Ember’s experience, eyes spoke the truth. He blinked and she heard the click of metal.

  Frank, she learned, was named Victor Frankenstein von Grimm. He was Del’s first mate and had been with her for as long as she’d been captain. He showed Ember to the deck, keeping his large hand on her back to steady her as the ship cleared the skyport and made for open air.

  Once the ship leveled out, he showed her the great engines that ran on witchlight and the bellows that kept the balloon overhead inflated. Ember pressed a handkerchief to her nose. “It’s quite, er, mephitic, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it is,” Frank replied. “My nose hasn’t worked right since a ball removed my head.”

  Ember took hold of his arm, pulling him away from the noise of the bellows. “What did you say, Frank? I fear I misheard you.”

  “I said my nose hasn’t worked properly since they reattached my head.”

  “Reattached your…your head?”

  “That’s right. I’m a lot like the ship in that way. See this seam here?” He pointed to a section of the hull that overlapped and seemed to be soldered with metal. “This piece came from the captain’s first ship. Not much left of her now. Captain Del, ya see, she’s a collector. We take down other skyships and harvest their parts. It’s dangerous work and comes with side effects.”

  He opened a door and headed into the aft part of the ship, just beneath the bellows. It was extremely warm in the space, and the workers who maintained the engines wore very little and were sweating profusely. Her guide seemed unaffected.

  “Side effects like losing your head?” she asked.

  He guided her down a walkway that led to another section of the ship. “There’s that, yes. But there’s also the ghosts.”

  Ember swallowed. “Ghosts?”

  “When you take down a ship like that, there’s bound ta be deaths.”

  “I would think so.”

  “Those deaths haunt ya. Literally.”

  “I see.”

  “When we take a piece to patch our own, we get the ghosts too. Captain Del’s one of the few who can live with the haunting. Others go mad.”

  “And will we see the ghosts?”

  “I reckon you will. Don’t be scared of them. They mean no harm. Just like to be seen. Long as there’s no witch aboard ta stir ’em up, they won’t get too excited.”

  Ember glanced at Dev and he shook his head the tiniest bit.

  After they came to a door, Frank opened it and led them down steps to a lounge with large windows framed in metal. “This is the VIP lounge. Your rooms are off to the side. Captain didn’t know if ya two wanted to bunk together or not so your things were left in the first room.”

  Dev’s hands were pressed behind his back in a perfunctory sort of way and he gave no indication whatsoever as to his preferences on the subject at hand.

  “We’ll be sleeping in separate cabins,” Ember said, more to clarify her position to Deverell than to Frank.

  Her escort’s noticeable limp as he climb
ed the stairs worried Ember. “Does your leg hurt much?” she asked, when they returned to the main deck.

  Shrugging, Frank answered, “Not my leg. So no.”

  Ember’s mouth fell open. “It’s not your leg?”

  “Naw. Captain never wants ta lose me. Every time I get injured in battle, she just picks up the pieces and has me put back together. Most of my parts are automaton now. We’ve an exceptional tinker on board. Like I said, he even reattached my head. Don’t need to eat neither. Scottie just attaches charges ta my bolts when I run low on energy.”

  “Do you mean you’re fueled by witch power?”

  “I am. Getting so I’m pretty hard to kill. I reckon only twenty percent of me is still original parts. That’s why I go by Frank now. Every time a piece of me is cut away, I shorten my name. Last year I was Frankie.”

  An apparition appeared behind him and passed through his body. Ember shivered seeing the man was without an arm. “Get off,” Frank said as the ghost began pawing Frank’s right arm. “How many times have I told ya, you’ll get it back when the captain lets me pass on.”

  The moaning ghost gave a final frustrated tug and then held out a hand to Ember as if in supplication. Then he stopped and peered at her closely. He licked ghostly lips like he was tasting the air then came closer, wailing. Ember backed up, not stopping until she hit Dev’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her as the ghost’s wailing became louder. Frank gave him a little shock, the bolts in his neck brightening. The ghost’s face burst into tiny particles and knit back together. Then, with a final howl and a sad look at Ember, he raced forward, passing through both Ember and Dev before disappearing through the wall behind him.

  “Sorry about that,” Frank said. “He’s one of my personal ghosts. This arm used ta belong ta him, and he’s not happy about my taking it.”

  Ember didn’t know what to say about that, but she liked that Dev kept a hand on her waist as they headed back up to the main deck. It helped steady her as a new wave of dizziness made her stumble on the stairs. The wind blew her skirts and Ember noticed another ghost standing next to the side of the ship. It was a woman. She looked around, gritted her teeth, and climbed up onto the railing. Then, before Ember could even respond, she closed her eyes and leapt.