Brown River Queen (20 page)

Another carriage pulled in behind the first, and another after that, and soon the dock was swarming with well-heeled socialites and the polite but wary eyes of House Avalante.

Drinks were poured despite the youth of the day. The smell of sausages cooking wafted up briefly from the makeshift kitchen.

While the party found its feet and learned how to stumble, Evis’s gun crews busied themselves on the deck above me. No shouting or cursing this time, but in just a few minutes they erected three of the awful fast-firing guns that wounded a nightmare just a few hours ago.

The men covered the snouts of the guns with clean white linen sheets and took positions around them, hands clasped at the small of their backs, eyes on the crowd below.

If they let loose, I figured they could cut the dock itself in two after only a few seconds of firing. I hoped I wouldn’t see that.

Carriages were lined up as far as I could see by the time the sun climbed above the bluffs. As horses shuffled and snorted and the band played on, a pair of tuxedoed Avalante staff removed the velvet rope that separated the carpet beneath the tent from that on the dock, and Rannit’s rich and famous made their way—drinks in hand and luggage behind—toward the
Queen
.
 

Between them stood Stitches and her flashing brass ring.
 

The first of the
Queen’s
guests was the old general who’d been first under the tent. He drained his glass, threw it in the river, and stomped through the ring at such a pace his trio of servants had to hustle to keep up.

From my vantage point, I saw nothing but a brief shimmering in the air about the man, and he was through. The old general’s servants came next, one-two-three, their arms loaded with suitcases and bags hanging off every shoulder. The last dragged a trunk. Servants and trunks popped through the shimmering like bugs through a bubble, and Stitches nodded, and a white-coat motioned the next party through.

I caught Evis watching from beside the tent. He saw me, waved, and vanished into the crowd.

Darla returned, two steaming china cups of coffee in her hands, and sat.

“The casino looks different,” she said. “They’ve taken the covers off everything. I suppose they’re open for business, even at this hour.”

“I doubt they close until we finish the trip or sink.”

Darla sipped coffee and closed her eyes.

“Sorry. You know me. Always a Troll until noon, at least.”

“There’s a grand ball tonight.” She opened her eyes. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

I had.

“Not at all,” I said. “May I borrow your red evening gown?”

“You’re hopeless.” She took another long draught of coffee and stood. “Gertriss is waiting for me. Have a good morning, dear. I’ll see you at lunch. And the red gown will make your hips look like you’ve got pumpkins in your pockets.”

“I treasure your frankness, wife of mine.”

She blew me a kiss and sashayed away.

I drank my coffee and when it was gone I held my empty cup and pretended to drink and I watched the rich folks board, one by one. The brass ring never did more than shimmer, and the guns just above me never spoke—never hurled down fire and death from their pitiless steel maws.

For four hours, the band played and drinks flowed and the ring shimmered. At noon, the velvet rope was replaced, and a fresh wagon of musicians arrived, and another bearing cooks and trays of meat and bottle after bottle of expensive fancy wines.

Stitches took to her ring, poking it with a long metal rod while strange shadows played across its empty face.

Which made me jump, just a bit, when a second Stitches appeared in the empty chair beside me and spoke.

Good morning, Markhat.
Her tone was tinged with amusement.
I am glad to see you vigilant.

The other Stitches, a good sixty feet away, continued poking at the ring with her glowing metal stick.

“Nice trick,” I said, just mouthing the words behind my empty cup. “You’ll have to teach it to me, some day.”

I have completed the adjustments to the device. But I wanted to speak with you. When I leave, an object will be left behind. Take it. Keep it on your person at all times. And speak of it to no one. Not your wife. Not Evis. No one.

“If I ask what it is, are you going to answer or just vanish?”

It will appear to be a tortoise shell, sealed with black wax.

I damn nearly jumped out of my chair and into the Brown. I did put down my cup so no one would see my hand begin to shake.

“You found one? A huldra?”

No. This is only a crude replica. It will not withstand intense or prolonged scrutiny.

“You said you lacked the skill to even create a simulacrum.”

I did and I do. As I said, it will not withstand scrutiny. But it might buy you a few seconds. What you do with those few seconds is entirely up to you.

“Stitches, what the hell are you trying to say?”

But she was gone.

And there, in the chair, was a small brown tortoise shell, sealed with old black wax.

I didn’t pick it up. Fake or not, it was a perfect physical replica of the thing I’d grasped when I thought Darla dead. I’d taken it up, and I’d told it my true name, and it had burrowed its way down deep into my soul.

I remembered the nights I’d walked with it. I’d grown, until I looked down upon Rannit, until clouds had literally soaked my face and hair. I’d seen things, on those night walks—seen the magic that Stitches and her kin wielded, hidden in folds of shadow that had been right there, all the time.

I’d seen things, and heard things, and most of all, I’d felt the power.

I’d killed while I walked with the huldra. I’d loosed my rage upon the guilty, and I’d torn them limb from limb, without pity or remorse or hesitation. I’d taken what I thought was my vengeance, and I’d loved it. Though in the end I’d crushed the huldra and walked away, a part of me had never forgotten the power, or the sweet, sweet taste of revenge, justly extracted, and furiously applied.

The huldra had taken my name. It had nearly taken my soul. Darla alone brought me back from that dark abyss.

As I recalled those walks, recalled the blood on my hands, I wondered if perhaps some brief shadows born of that abyss now dwelt in me.

Chapter Eleven

I wasn’t allowed to watch the Regent board.

No one was, save perhaps Evis and Stitches and anyone they deemed necessary to the boarding process. Instead, all aboard were all asked to gather on the casino deck for a grand welcome. Free libations were mentioned, and within moments the stampede commenced, and the
Queen’s
outer decks were clear.

I kept hold of Darla and allowed myself to be herded along. A band started playing, waiters and waitresses dispersed throughout the crowd, and Rannit’s Minister of Commerce harrumphed and mumbled his way through a magnificently dull speech.

I knew when the Regent set foot on the
Queen
, though. The air rushed for a moment as a subtle but potent spell took hold. I saw a few faces turn this way and that, searching for the source of the sudden brief breeze.

Darla squeezed my arm.

“Was that?”

“It was.” I grabbed a pair of long-stemmed wine glasses from a passing waiter. “Here. Might as well have a drink while we wait.”

Darla took a sip. “Wait for what?”

“Best time to cause trouble would be right now. Before everyone gets settled in, gets all their goodies unpacked.”

She knew who “everyone” was.

Half an hour crept by, second by agonizing second. The Minister of Commerce shuffled off the stage.

The
Queen’s
stained glass windows went black. The casino was plunged into sudden darkness. Squeals and laughter rang out—none from me.

Candles flared to life on every table. Above us, the massive hanging lights flickered, and a burst of music sounded. As the music swelled, the lights came quickly to life, and the
Queen
was filled with ethereal, dancing starlight.

Evis himself took the stage, blinking in the sudden glare.

“Lords and ladies, sirs and madams, captains of industry, heroes of the War,” he began, and his voice sounded easily over the music. “I welcome you aboard the jewel in Avalante’s crown—the
Brown River Queen
!”

Applause drowned out even the most strident notes of the song.
 

Darla was clapping, her display of enthusiasm somewhat hindered by the gun in her right hand and the wary look in her eyes.

“As we welcome you to a new era of entertainment and luxury, I am proud to reveal that we are accompanied by a very special guest. For you travel with none other than the Regent himself, who has graciously agreed to make the
Queen’s
maiden voyage truly historic by lending us his presence.”

The crowd clapped louder and faster, even as they exchanged shocked glances.
 

“On behalf of House Avalante and the crew of the
Queen
, I bid you all welcome. And now, by order of the Regent himself, let us be underway, and let the celebration begin!”

Trumpets blew. The crowd, well-fueled by equal parts booze, surprise, and in many cases, terror, roared like the host of Hell.

Beneath my feet, the
Queen’s
deck began to vibrate, and even though I couldn’t hear a thing over the din, I could feel her pistons wake and begin to move.

Within moments we were underway. I couldn’t see the big red wheel turn. Some sorcery prevented us from hearing it churn the Brown’s muddy face, but I could see the metronomic splashes of water on the aft glass, and as these increased in volume and frequency I knew we were on the move and picking up speed.

Give her this—she was a graceful lady, the
Queen
. Not a single wine glass fell. The deck never swayed. We might as well have been sitting in my office rather than thrashing our way to the middle of the Brown.

Evis motioned with his hands. Bright red balloons fell from the
Queen’s
ceiling and exploded just as they neared the tops of our heads. A tiny shrieking dragon, glowing like an ember, flew from each balloon, darting to and fro overhead as the crowd shouted and cheered.

The diminutive dragons vanished, one by one, with a loud pop and a puff of radiant vapor. Evis bowed and left the stage as a line of musicians took their places in chairs at the rear.

Music sounded, loud and clear, though the musicians hadn’t sorted out their horns and harps, much less started playing. The music was strange, unearthly, and I couldn’t begin to even name the instruments, much less the melody.

Around us, the crowd began to move. Most made their way to the gambling tables, eager to line Avalante’s pockets by betting on dice or wheels. A surprising number of couples took to the dance floor in front of the stage.

I set off in that direction myself, Darla at my side. I found us a spot in the dim wash of light that crept from the stage and put my back to it before bowing and formally offering Darla my hand.

She didn’t laugh. “I’d be honored,” she said as she slipped into my arms.

“Keep an eye on the musicians,” I whispered into her ear.
 

Around us, couples bowed and curtseyed and stepped and spun, all moving according to some ages-old custom that demanded all the precision of a military drill corps and promised roughly the equivalent measure of intimate contact with congenial womenfolk. I reflected upon the probability of imminent mayhem, put my arms around Darla’s waist, and just started swaying.

She pretended to gasp. “Why, Mr. Markhat! The scandal!”

“I’ll have Evis put it on my tab.” I pulled her closer, ignoring the curious stares of our fellow dancers, who still moved in their ever-changing hops, curtseys, and rounds.

The music played, slow and suggestive. Something stringed made mournful notes while a deep bass drum beat like a weary heart.

“I like this music,” I said. Darla leaned into me. “What the hell is it, and where is it coming from?”

“Gertriss and I heard it earlier. It’s a recording made from music that Evis and his people found playing on that long-talking device they have hidden away under Avalante. Evis thinks it comes from another world.”

“It might.” A woman began to sing with the music, her voice low and husky, her words foreign and incomprehensible, but her amorous intent crystal clear.

We swayed. I moved my feet around a bit. The couple closest to us gave up their precise choreography for a halting but enthusiastic embrace.

“Look, dear, we’re trendsetters,” I whispered.

She smiled and moved with me. Before the foreign song faded away, and another began, half the dance floor was standing close and swaying in the dark, while the traditionalists glared and pranced and gave us room.

I scanned the crowd for Evis or trouble and saw neither. I did catch a brief glimpse of Gertriss’s bright green gown and braided blonde hair, both of which were surrounded by smiling, eager young men hoping to outshine his fellows.

We did a half-turn.