Brown River Queen (19 page)

I cleared my throat. Darla put a death-grip on my left arm.

“My name is Markhat,” I shouted. “Not minion. I had your trinket, yes, but I destroyed it. It’s gone, and I couldn’t give it back to you if I wanted to.”

The flashes and boiling continued with no apparent change in intensity or frequency.

“Did you hear me? I can’t give you what I don’t have.” I took a breath. “But I’ll come out if you’ll promise to take me and leave these people alone.”

“Hell you will,” said Darla.
 

“Well, what about it? Do I get an answer?”

The bubble rang loud enough to momentarily drown out the roar and the thunder. When the ringing echoes died, long vertical scratches began to appear on the surface of the protective bubble, and though they quickly faded, more and more began to appear and race through the membrane.

“I asked you bastards a question!” I shouted.
 

The bubble rang again, louder than before.

It appears we have our reply.

Stitches turned her sightless eyes toward us.

Brace yourselves.
 

She took hold of the railing. Darla put her gun away and did the same.

Twice I have asked and twice you have denied me the courtesy of a reply. Mr. Prestley. Are you ready?

“Almost,” shouted Evis from somewhere up above. I heard men up there too, cursing and grunting, as though heaving something heavy into place.

I ask a third and final time. What is your name, or names? Answer, or quit this place and trouble us no more.

The slow lightning grew brighter and closer, illuminating oily, leathery masses writhing in the boiling shadows.

“Thou art not worthy to invoke the rite,” shouted the voice. “Thou art—”

Commence, Mr. Prestley.

Thunder of our own sounded, and lightning of our own design streaked in racing lines from the
Queen’s
top deck before arcing out through Stitches’s bubble and into the dark void beyond.

Not cannons. Guns—rifles from the sound of them—firing in such rapid succession I failed to count the individual shots. The firing sounded from at least three places on the deck, and the trails of light left by the rounds lit up the not-sky with strange glows and frequent, silent blasts of light radiance.

“Told you there’d be fireworks,” I said. Darla swallowed hard, produced her pistol, and emptied it into the void.

Something out there screamed. Not a scream of madness or insane glee or challenge, but a plain old scream of surprise and pain.

Fascinating.
Stitches let go of the rail and hurled a fist-sized ball of light through her barrier. It sailed serenely away, fading as though crossing a vast distance, and then Stitches clapped her hands.

The boiling void exploded. One instant, there was the unsky, and the writhing things that rode the strange winds thereof. Then there was a silent white flash, and then—

—then, the lazy Brown River, and the stink thereof, and a weary-looking moon, and the dock, and the wharf, and an army of black-clad Avalante soldiers, guns at the ready, giving us “What the hell looks?“ in the lamplight.

Evis’s fast-firing guns fell silent. Stitches wobbled a bit.

I believe I am due a raise.

She fell, and neither Darla nor I were quite fast enough catch her.

“If you ever offer to give yourself up like that again, husband of mine, I will shoot you myself.”

“Seems a strange way to dissuade heroic acts of valor.” The ever-observant Dutson put a fresh beer bottle at my right hand, and I hoisted it so as not to give insult. “Although I suppose it would solve one of our immediate problems.”

“Hah. I’d shoot you in the ass. Which is where you must be doing all your thinking today. What were you doing, Markhat? What if they’d said yes?”

I took a good long draught of beer. “Then maybe you’d be safe now. Maybe you could go home and polish that new silverware.”

Darla cussed. Dutson, ever the gentleman, pretended not to hear.

Evis was sunk so low in his chair he was nearly invisible. Gertriss was nowhere to be seen. I gather their after-crisis chat hadn’t gone as well as the one Darla and I were enjoying.

“So, what word of Stitches?”

It took Evis a moment to realize I was speaking to him.

“She’s alive. Exhausted, that’s all. Her assistant has her in that fancy clockwork coffin in her room. Says she’ll be up and around by morning.”

“Stitches has an assistant?”

“Yes. She’s so scary she never goes out in public. Is that relevant? Do I need to produce her full dossier, maybe drag her down here in chains?”

“Who put cranky in the beer?”

“I’m not drinking beer.”

“Could be why you’re cranky.”

“Is that your answer to everything, Markhat? More beer?”

I lifted my glass. “It’s as good as any.”
 

Evis muttered something unintelligible and resumed his sulk.

Men and halfdead scurried to and fro around us. The attack on the
Queen
hadn’t done any apparent damage, but engineers and boat-wrights and carpenters and wand-wavers were swarming over every inch of her regardless.
 

“So why didn’t our special guest’s security crew make an appearance?” I’d waited until no one was in earshot. Evis surprised me by answering.

“The body they are to guard wasn’t aboard, I suppose. They’re not exactly a talkative bunch.”

“I noticed.”
 

“I sent word to the House about the attack, you know.” Evis glared at a pair of engineers until they decided their report wasn’t really that urgent after all. “Got word back almost immediately. Proceed as planned.”

“So that puts us taking on passengers and a full crew the day after tomorrow, and setting out the day after that?”

“We start boarding tomorrow. Getting everyone through the security apparatus won’t be quick.”

I whistled. “Rich people don’t like waiting in lines.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what they like.” Evis wasn’t wearing his spectacles since the lights were so low, and his halfdead eyes sparkled like dirty marbles in the candlelight.
 

“Those new guns. Impressive. From the sound of it, you might have bloodied some old spook’s nose.”

The vampire grinned despite his funk. “Was keeping those secret for just such an occasion. It’s actually a gun with twenty-two barrels, which are mounted in a circle and turned by a hand-crank. Each one can fire nearly two hundred rounds a minute.” He hastily closed his lips over his pointy halfdead teeth. “Sorry.”

“Seems to me that you won that round, Mr. Prestley. So why the long, white face? They came, they threw their punches, they went home bleeding and empty-handed.”

Evis sat up with a long worn out sigh. “We caught them by surprise. That likely won’t happen again.”

“So come up with a new surprise.”

“I’ve only got so many, Markhat. I just used my best dirty little secret and we haven’t pulled away from the dock yet.”

Dutson came strolling out of the shadows. “Pardon me, Mr. Prestley,” he said, his expression a study in somber. “Your presence is requested in the wheelhouse.”

Evis rose. “Bright and early,” he said to me.

I winced. “Such language.”

“Dutson, cut him off for the evening. I need you sober.”

And with that, Evis was gone, blending easily with the shadows.

“I didn’t quite catch that last remark. Did you, Dutson?”

The man didn’t hesitate. “I believe he wished you a good evening, sir. Will you have a final beer before you retire?”

“Now that you mention it, I believe I shall. Dutson, you are a treasure.”

“So it is said, sir.”

Dutson headed for the kitchen. I watched the
Queen’s
crew tend to her nonexistent wounds, and I wondered if Evis was telling the truth about being out of explosive surprises.

I surprised everyone by rising with the sun, bathing, shaving, and feeding myself, and appearing on the
Queen’s
foredeck a good quarter of an hour before Evis or Stitches made an appearance.

Darla still lay abed. I’d left a note and a crude sketch of a rose. With any luck, she’d be less inclined to shoot me in my fundament when she did rise.

Stitches met me with a nod. She was in her customary black robe, hood over her face, sleeves concealing her hands. Nothing in her gait or posture suggested any injury.

“Good morning,” I said.

Greetings. I trust you slept well?

“I did. You?”

I am fully recovered.
 

Evis joined us, wrapped in black silk, his eyes hidden by spectacles. He made an odd, dry, rasping noise behind the wrappings and it took me a moment to realize he was yawning.

“Pardon me. Good morning. Ready to get this underway?”

“No,” I said and was ignored.

I shall raise the interface and prepare the inspectors and the wards.

“Let’s get to it, then.”

It only took them an hour.

A single hour, in which to erect a monstrous brass ring, a good twelve feet in diameter, at the land-side end of the
Queen’s
private dock. It took six straining Ogres to set the ring upright and get the chains that held it vertical secured in place. As soon as Stitches began attaching cables to the thing, the space it enclosed began to shimmer and flash, which scattered the Ogres and made me wonder what might happen if I tossed a pebble through the middle of it.

While Stitches and her little band of white-coated wand-wavers fussed over the odd desk-like affair to which they attached the ring cables, a pair of cargo wagons rattled up to the waterfront and began disgorging men and material. A festive golden tent was soon wobbling in the wind, tables and chairs were placed neatly beneath it, and finally an honest-to-Angels red carpet was stretched out from tent to dock to the foot of the ring, lest any of Rannit’s fabulously wealthy be forced to tread on mere stone or common cypress planks.

Another wagon rolled up and a bleary-eyed, yawning mob of musicians spilled out, blinking in the morning sun, and sorting out their horns and fiddles and drums. They soon took their places under a second, much smaller tent and began to tootle and strum and tweet as they tuned up their instruments and adjusted their ties.

Darla pulled up a chair beside mine. “Good morning,” she said. “Thank you for the flower.”

“Best I could do,” I said, stealing a brief kiss. “Looks like the show is about to start.”

She blinked at the sun and shaded her eyes with her hand. “What is that thing?”

“One of Stitches’s little toys. I assume it turns anyone who is less than pure of heart into marmalade.”

Evis joined Stitches at her desk, along with her staff. There was much pointing and nodding of various heads.

“Gertriss wants me to meet her in the casino when boarding begins,” said Darla. “She plans to wander around and pretend to talk and listen to as many private conversations as she possibly can.”

“Smart girl.”

“She’s actually just avoiding being alone with Evis by having me there.”

Stitches, Evis, and the crew of white-coats huddled behind the desk, all eyes on the brass ring. Stitches reached down and did something I couldn’t see.

The ring flashed, like a mirror catching the sun. Everyone in sight of it winced or turned away.

When I could see again, Evis was halfway to the tent, yelling at someone in a tuxedo, and Stitches had taken a seat while her crew milled around nearby with satisfied grins.

“They’ll work it out, hon.”

“I hope so. He makes her happy, even though…well. You know.”

I didn’t, but I nodded sagely. That seemed to suffice.

She smiled as the band struck up a dance tune so lowbrow even I recognized it. “So, what clever plan are you hatching today, husband, and how will it impact Dutson’s beer supply?”

“Hardly at all. I’m going to watch. Mingle if the whim carries me. Hopefully if assassins board, one will get careless and drop a dagger and a signed confession.”

“Let’s hope. Have you had coffee? I need coffee.”

“Me too.”

Darla rose and smoothed down her long skirt. “Back in a bit, then. If assassins show up save one for me. I haven’t forgotten my good red rug.”

“I’ll leave you the big one.”
 

Below, liveried Avalante staff were setting up a bar and an outdoor kitchen. Another tent went up, as festive as the first, and shortly after that the band began to play in earnest.

The first of many sleek black carriages arrived. Doors were held open. Trumpets were sounded. Salutes were thrown. A pair of tipsy old generals, their dress blues hanging off them and rendering their appearance more scarecrow than soldier, tottered down the red carpet and toward the shadow of the first tent.