“You’re late,” Raek muttered.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t leave without us,” Ard said.
“We thought about it,” answered Raek. “But you’re packing some rather important cargo.”
“It’s always about the pastries, isn’t it?” Ard pulled a wrapped scone from his coat and handed it to Raek.
The imposter pilot chuckled. “If I eat this, we’ll never get off the ground.” He rubbed his ample stomach.
“Nothing a little Drift Grit can’t fix.” Ard grinned, jabbing Raek in the gut.
Quarrah and Ard stepped through the carriage doorway and Raek pulled the door shut. A single Light Grit lantern illuminated the interior of the carriage.
Quarrah saw what had to be the pilot station at the front, with racks nailed to the walls, full of Grit pots. A small glass window was set into the nose of the carriage to allow the pilot to see out. The array of controls was nothing like the helm of a proper ship, with levers and switches and knobs. Quarrah knew how to sail, but she was glad she wasn’t controlling this curious vessel.
Glancing to the rear of the carriage, Quarrah saw the passenger seats. They were cushioned and designed to seem luxurious. Loose chains secured the feet of the chair to the floor of the carriage, and another ran from the backrest to the ceiling. Quarrah thought they looked like something from a torture chamber, with a jumble of straps hanging from the headrests.
The expected passengers stood in the aisles, studying Ard and Quarrah with a mixture of expressions, as Ard counted under his breath.
“. . . seven,” he finished. “Good. Looks like everyone’s here.”
These weren’t ordinary passengers. Tarnath Aimes had forged their paperwork after Raek confirmed each person’s position in their makeshift Harvesting team.
“Let me introduce you to the gang,” Raek said, having to stoop for the low ceiling of the carriage. “They’re a colorful bunch.”
He pointed to two men standing on opposite sides of the carriage. They weren’t as tall as Raek, but they were certainly as broad. Both had long dark hair pulled into multiple braids. One had a series of tattoos across his arm and neck, while the other had a jagged scar beneath one eye. They were exactly the type of men Quarrah would avoid on the streets. Not that she couldn’t outrun them and leave them chasing their tails.
“The Kranfel brothers,” Raek began. “Lan and Jip.” Both stood before a massive crank handle that jutted out of the carriage’s sides. Those would be attached to the propellers behind the sails outside.
“Harvesters,” Raek continued. “They’ll be pulling a lot of weight. Along with myself, Quarrah, and Ulusal.”
The muscular woman leaned against the back of a chair, her arms nearly the thickness of Quarrah’s legs. Her deep blue Trothian skin had a sheen to it, as though she’d come fresh from an Agrodite soak. Ulusal was built thick, like Mearet, but much taller.
Quarrah knew her position on the crew was to be little more than muscle, toting Drift crates and other equipment. A typical Harvesting crew had at least twenty people working the position of Harvesters, but they were going to get by with five. But Raek, Ulusal, and these Kranfel brothers were clearly better suited for the labor than Quarrah.
“We’ve got Sojin Wint, and Moroy Peng as Tracers.” Raek indicated first to a lean woman with light hair, and then to a wiry man already seated, as if impatient for the launch.
Their slender physiques were in line with what Quarrah understood about Tracers. They spent a lot of time running the steep slopes of Pekal, following the dragon once it consumed the bait, and plotting the safest course for the rest of the crew to follow.
“This young lady is our Caller.” Raek gestured at a dark-skinned girl standing against the far wall. “Nemery Baggish.”
She couldn’t have been fifteen years old. The girl seemed shocked to have her name called, like a heavy slap on the back that caused her eyes to stick wide open. What was someone so young doing with a criminal crew like this? Nemery should have been in school, worrying about making friends.
It was a hypocritical thought, especially coming from Quarrah. At Nemery’s age, Quarrah Khai had been fully engaged in her thieveries. It hadn’t been much of a choice for her. Really, stealing was the only way young Quarrah could have stayed alive. But Quarrah had always worked alone. In doing so, she had been governed by her own moral code. Nemery’s impressionable mind would surely be tainted by these rough characters.
“Lence Raismus.” Raek pointed to the final person in the carriage. He was by far the oldest of the crew, his hair thin and white. A few small tattoos adorned his arms, but his pale skin was so wrinkly that Quarrah couldn’t tell what they depicted.
“This piece of slag can only hear half the things you say,” said Raek. “Like he’s got Silence Grit detonated in his ears. But they say there’s no better Feeder in the Greater Chain.”
Despite his age, there was a spryness to Lence’s figure that made Quarrah believe that the old man could keep up with the crew. At least, she hoped so. Falling behind on Pekal led to only one fate.
“That leaves one position.” Raek addressed the rest of the crew. “This is Captain Ardor Benn. I know his reputation precedes him, and some of you are here for that very reason.” Raek turned back to Ard. “Every one of these Moonsick rats has experience on Pekal. Some used to work for legitimate Harvesting crews. Others ran smuggling jobs on the island. Point is, they’ll know what to do once we get there, and we won’t have to coddle a single one of them.”
Ard nodded. “And the Harvesting equipment?”
“It’s all stowed in the compartments at the back of the carriage,” answered Raek.
Quarrah had noticed that this part of the carriage was only a fraction of what she’d observed outside. Small doors were barred shut against the back wall, and it stood to reason that those led to storage compartments accounting for the rest of the carriage’s floor space.
The exterior door to the carriage cracked open, startling everyone inside. A worker peered into the closed space, his face smudged with some kind of lubricating grease.
“I need everyone to strap in,” he said. “We’re preparing for launch.” He looked up at Raek. “Pilot at the helm, sir.”
Raek nodded. “Let’s get this bird in the air!”
The worker ducked out, as Raek strapped himself in at the front of the carriage.
Ard dropped his large pack into a vacant chair and threw a strap around it. By no coincidence, there were plenty of open seats on this ride. Usually, the station would cancel a flight with so few passengers. Operating these machines took a lot of Grit, and the station wouldn’t recoup the cost unless at least fifteen people paid. So Raek had purchased the vacant seats under the false names of passengers who would never show up.
Ard seated himself in the front-most chair, Quarrah quickly slipping into the one beside him. She mimicked Ard’s actions, pulling straps over her shoulders and across her lap, cinching the buckles tightly.
“You heard the man. Strap in,” Ard said to the other crew members, who stood motionless. “Unless you want to be knocked about like teeth in a fistfight.”
Quarrah knew that Ard’s words were mostly intended as a scare tactic. The flight was actually supposed to be rather comfortable. They’d remain floating in the contained Drift cloud, unaffected by the actual speed of the carriage. It was the same principle as a lump of Slagstone in a Drift crate. Raek had explained it to her quite thoroughly in the bakery.
A fully contained Grit cloud, one that was prevented from reaching its desired spherical shape, was moveable, as long as it remained boxed in. Items inside reacted as if the cloud were stationary, despite the fact that it was being carried up a mountain, or flown across the InterIsland Waters.
The seats and straps in the carriage were likely due to the fact that few people knew how to handle themselves in a cloud of Drift Grit. Most flailed around like injured fowl, pushing off nearby items and picking up moment
um until they became a danger to themselves and those around them.
Raek pulled a knob, and Quarrah saw a spark at the top of the carriage. There was a haziness in the air, and Quarrah felt the sudden and distinctive weightlessness of Drift Grit filling the entire vessel. The tag ends of her safety straps drifted upward and the pit in her stomach was an indicator that gravity no longer held them. Beneath her, she felt her chair float a few inches off the floor, the chains keeping it anchored but basically weightless.
There was a general muttering of expletives as the crew members found their seats in remarkable time, restraints cinching snugly across shoulders and laps.
Raek leaned forward and blew a shrill note on a mounted whistle. Outside, there was a series of loud snaps as the chains released. A tug at her insides, and Quarrah knew that they were airborne.
Somehow, the intense heat inside the big balloon was pulling them upward, like a massive sailing ship high in the sky. Raek maneuvered a pair of levers. According to the diagrams Quarrah had seen, those would correspond to the side sails, angling them in a fashion to best catch the wind and direct their course.
“Starboard, crank!” Raek hollered back. Quarrah glanced over her shoulder to see the tattooed Kranfel, Lan, seize the large crank handle in front of him. He could operate it seated, his specialized harness allowing him to lean farther forward in his seat.
As Lan Kranfel cranked, Quarrah heard the purr of the starboard propeller engage, the sail popping as the vessel turned.
“Port, crank!” Raek shouted. On the left side of the carriage, Jip Kranfel engaged his turn crank. “Steady on!”
It bothered Quarrah most that she couldn’t see. She strained to catch a glimpse out the pilot’s window, but that was just a square of sky-blue glass. Were they over the InterIsland Waters already? How high were they now? Quarrah could curl up inside a sealed kettledrum and not feel a bit claustrophobic. But this …
Ard reached down and unclipped the buckle at his waist. Slipping out of the shoulder straps, he pushed himself forward, floating easily through the Drift cloud interior of the carriage, but keeping one hand on his chair’s headrest to anchor himself.
In this new position, floating nearly horizontally, Ard spun to look over his new crew. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I welcome you to the first Trans-Island Carriage ride to Pekal.”
“What’s this?” called Moroy Peng, the wiry Tracer. “Short Fuse told us we were flying to Grisn so we could catch a boat out to Pekal.”
“There’s no station on Pekal,” seconded Sojin Wint. “How are we supposed to land this thing?”
“The Short Fuse didn’t tell you the plan?” Ard asked.
“Waiting for you to get here, Ard.” Raek unwrapped the scone and stuffed half of it into his mouth. “Not my fault you were late.” He adjusted a lever on his pilot console. “Besides, I thought you would like the honor of sharing our brilliant landing plan with the crew.”
“Definitely,” Ard said. “We take off, redirect the carriage to Pekal. And then we let out a little hot air, and we land.”
“Or a lot of hot air, in Ard’s case,” Raek added, crumbs floating away from his mouth.
Quarrah rolled her eyes. The fact that they didn’t really have a landing plan wasn’t going to go over big with the crew. The stations were equipped with heavy nets, cables, and poles to slow the carriage and guide it earthward. She knew Ard’s plan was far more … experimental.
“That’s it?” Moroy cried. “You’re just going to ram this thing into the mountainside?”
“Now, that’s a rather tactless description …” Ard said.
“Even if we survive, you’re going to get us all caught,” muttered Sojin. “You don’t think the harbor Reggies will see this chunk of wood flying over the shoreline cliffs?”
“It’s barely morning,” Ard replied. “And last night was a Moon Passing. That means the island was evacuated to avoid catching Moonsickness. The Reggies won’t be back to the harbors until this afternoon. I assure you that we’ll arrive long before they do.”
“How can you be so sure?” called one of the Kranfel brothers.
“Does anyone know how fast these carriages move?” Ard asked. Oh, boy. Quarrah knew that look on his face. Ard had something to prove. He glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, Raek. How fast are we going?”
“Wind is good this morning,” answered the big man. “And the cool air helped us rise quickly. I’d say we’re moving at about forty-five knots.”
“Thank you.” Ard turned back to the crew. “Do a little math, which isn’t my strong suit. But even I can figure that puts us on Pekal in just over an hour.”
“Sparks,” Nemery cursed. “It takes a ship ten hours to reach the harbor. Nine, if it’s a small craft and the conditions are right.”
“What about the Redeye Scouts?” asked Jip Kranfel.
Quarrah had heard of Redeye Scouts, daredevil sailors hired by the king to watch the Pekal harbors on the night of a Moon Passing. Their name came from the shocking number that contracted Moonsickness, their eyes turning blind and blood red. There was said to be a safe distance one could sail from Pekal during a Passing, but if it wasn’t perfectly observed, the influence of the Holy Torch would not protect the risky sailors. It used to be ten miles, but Quarrah heard the distance had recently been increased due to consistent Moonsickness among the scouts.
Foolhardy smugglers and poachers sometimes tried to wait out the Moon Passing beside the Redeye Scouts, and then access Pekal through the harbor. But no smuggler was quick enough to make harbor at dawn, bypass the checkpoint wall and gate, scavenge for valuables in the mountains, and depart before early afternoon, when the Regulation arrived with a full report from the Redeye Scouts.
“The Redeyes are hired to watch Pekal’s harbors,” Ard said. “We’ll be coming in from the sky, so we won’t even need to go near them.”
“The Reggies will figure it out,” said Moroy. “It has to be pretty obvious that this carriage isn’t headed to Talumon. Once word spreads, they’ll send every Reggie in the Greater Chain after us.”
“Pilot error.” Ard gestured toward Raek. “The Reggies can’t see our entire flight to Pekal. The authorities will assume that something went wrong with the carriage and we crashed in the InterIsland Waters. They might send a search party for us there, but not on Pekal.”
Quarrah could see that Ard’s logic upset the Tracer. Moroy clearly hadn’t learned how futile it was to go up against Ardor Benn in a verbal argument. Words were Ard’s gift, and he had the ability to make something completely irrational sound like a great idea.
“How do we get back?” asked Sojin Wint. “If we crash this thing on Pekal, how are we supposed to get off the island with a full load of fired Slagstone?”
Quarrah knew that Raek had made arrangements for their transportation off Pekal on a ship. But Ard had never mentioned a strategy to remove the mound of Slagstone that would contain the regalia shell fragments. Quarrah was sure he had a plan. He was Ardor Benn! But with a traitor in their midst, the ruse artist was safeguarding that vital bit of information, even from her.
An annoyed expression crossed Ard’s face. “I shouldn’t have to explain everything to you misfits. I’m doing my job, and I expect you to do yours. You can all shut your lips in the meantime.”
Quarrah was seeing a different side of Ard. Typically, he tried to flatter the people around him, building them up so they had the self-confidence to perform at the level he expected from them. But these motley crew members weren’t the delicate Focus of some ruse. They were hired help. Criminal hired help. It was fitting for Ard to handle them roughly.
“Excellent!” Ard clapped his hands merrily while floating. Just like that, his familiar countenance was back. “I hope everyone enjoys the flight.” He swiveled around and reseated himself, pulling the straps tight across his lap and shoulders.
“Port, crank,” Raek called.
Quarrah glanced at Ardor Benn, but he had h
is eyes closed, like he might catch a nap on the way to Pekal. As though they wouldn’t be crash-landing in less than an hour.
I saw a dragon fly overhead. It was only a short distance, but the grace of her flight was awe inspiring.
CHAPTER
26
Shouldn’t we be slowing down?” Ard shouted, gripping the straps on his seat.
“Blazing tailwind,” Raek called from the pilot’s station.
“We didn’t account for that?”
“How was I supposed to account for a tailwind?” Raek shouted. “It’s not like I could lick my finger and hold it up three days in advance.” He swiveled in his specially designed harness, two Grit pots in his hands. “We’re going to have to shear the wings.”
Raek swung forward, carefully tossing a Grit pot to each of the Kranfel brothers, who sat at the cranks. Ard flinched as the pots sailed through the weightless environment, but the brothers caught them gently.
“I need you to load those into the crankshaft,” Raek explained. “Tamp them down to the end and give it a turn. They should detonate and blow off the wings.”
“Blow off the wings?” Moroy shrieked.
From the seat behind, Ard heard the young girl Nemery muttering a prayer to the Homeland. He glanced over at Quarrah. She was pale, mouth slightly agape as she clutched the edge of her seat like it might protect her.
“On my mark,” Raek called.
“Ready!” shouted Lan Kranfel.
“Ready!” said his younger brother.
“Now!”
The two men heaved against their cranks, and Ard heard the grating of clay as the pots were crushed. At the same moment, the whole carriage shook with a deafening boom.
“Yeehaw!” hollered Jip Kranfel.
“Moonsick idiots!” shouted Moroy.
Raek pulled himself forward and peered out through the glass viewing window. “Not going to do it …” Ard heard him mutter.
By this point, Ard was really starting to rethink the landing plan. Not that they could have prepared any better. Weather was a variable no one could predict.