Driftmetal (8 page)

“Okay, what is it?”

“Look at this rigging line.” Vilaris held up the
end. “This is the first one that broke, while we were still in the
nearflow. These ropes are thick. This is not the kind of thing that
just snaps in half from a sharp rock in the wind. Look at the
fraying around the edges. The breaking point is right in the
middle, at the very top of the lift bag. Someone didn’t want us
making it out of there. Someone sabotaged the
Clarity
, and
it’s only thanks to you that we’re still alive.”

I ignored his thanks. I didn’t have time to take
recognition for good deeds done with selfish intentions. “Isn’t
Yingler the obvious choice?” I said. “Someone who secretly wants to
oversee the downfall of Pyras so he can be the only living techsoul
with access to all its wealth?”

“That sounds like a more fitting description of
yourself,” said Blaylocke. “
You’re
the wild card—the
stranger with a shady past and devious plans. Councilor Yingler has
lived in Pyras for going on six years now.”

I would’ve thrown Blaylocke off the edge then and
there if I hadn’t been so worried about Chaz wandering over it
himself. Over my shoulder, he was still sitting in the grass where
I’d left him. “You say ‘
six years
’ like it’s a long time,” I
said. “I’ve left
stains
I liked better than you more
recently than six years ago.”

“There’s one major difference between you and
Yingler,” said Blaylocke. “Yingler is a trustworthy man. You’re
nothing but a petty criminal.”

“Bloody right I am, and it takes one to know one,
isn’t that what they say? If you think a guy won’t go to
interminable lengths to hide himself in plain sight, or to paint
himself as an altruist when he’s really a scheming traitor, then
your head is even further up your keister than I thought it
was.”

Blaylocke yanked the remote from his pocket and
stood, backed away a few steps.

“Hide behind your little bug zapper again,” I said.
“What a brave man.”

Blaylocke hit the button. A thousand needles pricked
every inch of my skin, crawling over me like a swarm of metallic
spiders. My whole body stiffened and I fell over, racked with pain.
Solenoids and eyelights and wrist spikes flicked in and out, on and
off. My vision was trembling, my body screwed up tight, a
high-pitched whine ringing in my ears. I was erupting like some
human alarm gone haywire. When the crackler stopped, I lay like a
discarded toy, breathing.

“That’s for emergency situations only, not just
anytime you feel like torturing him,” I heard Vilaris say.

Blaylocke’s face blotted out the sky. “Just making
sure it works,” he said, amused.

I’d been all talk when they put the device in me. It
was much worse than I remembered the wristbands being. Chaz knew
the cipher, the way to open the seal around it. Addled as he was, I
didn’t see much hope in getting it out of him. It seemed the only
way I’d ever be rid of this thing was if I underwent major surgery
or took my arm off at the elbow. I could get a replacement, but
those were expensive.

When I’d recovered some, I sat up on my elbows.
“Don’t fall asleep tonight,” I said.

Blaylocke brandished the remote. “You want some
more?”

“I want you to shut your yap and listen. Vilaris,
you said Yingler was the guy who used to trade with Gilfoyle on the
city’s behalf. Why was that? Because he’s a techsoul? Don’t you
find it a little strange that Gilfoyle decides to break your
contract and relocate his mining operation, and then the Council
sends
me
to fix the problem? That makes no sense, unless
Yingler had a reason not to go fix it himself. If he knows Gilfoyle
and he’s on good terms with the guy, why wouldn’t he at least make
an effort? Does he
want
the city to go bankrupt? Because
sending a group of expendables and sabotaging their mission seems
like a good way to make sure it does. I’ll bet you all the chips I
have, Yingler and Gilfoyle were in league before I ever came into
the picture. My theft didn’t scare Gilfoyle off; it gave him the
excuse he needed to leave. I think Gilfoyle and Yingler are
conspiring against Pyras.”

Vilaris was thoughtful.

Blaylocke was sneering at me. “That sounds like a
convenient ploy to clear yourself of guilt,” he said, “and it’s a
very convoluted way of arriving at a theory that isn’t plausible.
No one predicted you were going to fall into our lap like you did.
Coming across your bluewave beacon in the Churn was a stroke of
luck for us. Councilor Yingler is a shrewd man, and he saw that
stroke of luck for what it was: an opportunity to fix what you’d
broken without risking the lives of any of Pyras’s citizens. That
is, until you dragged us along with you. Now Chaz is half-dead and
we’re stuck on this rock ‘til someone floats by.”

“I’ve been working on airships all my life. I can
get us airborne again, it’s just going to take some time to
flight-check all the systems. If I had Chaz to show me where all
his tools are and give me a rundown of the schematics, it would be
easier, but let’s be honest—Chaz ain’t exactly in a helpful mood.”
I checked over my shoulder again.

Chaz had gotten to his feet and was wandering around
near the edge.

“Dangit, Chaz.” I sprinted toward him and seized the
back of his coat just as he was thrusting a foot out over the
abyss. “Not that way, ol’ buddy. Over here.” I turned him around
and walked him back to the ship.

“I guess we ought to chain him to the ground,” said
Blaylocke. “Anybody bring a dog collar?”

I was deciding whether to laugh or punch Blaylocke
in the throat when Vilaris pointed. “Look, another floater. Just
above those clouds, there. Something’s built on it.”

The small island was a few hundred feet higher than
we were, riding a strong headwind. It was far enough behind us that
I could just make out the shape of an ornate building beyond the
parting clouds. My eye whirred as I zoomed in for a better
look.

“Holy mother,” said Blaylocke. “There’s a symbol on
the dome, there.”

Vilaris was nodding. “Holy is right. It’s a
Skytemple of Leridote.”

I grimaced. “Temples are for law-lovers,” I said.
“Screw law-lovers.” Then I said something mean about
law-lovers.

“Despite how you may feel, that temple is our best
chance of getting help,” said Vilaris. “Fixing the ship could take
days. That’s time we don’t have if we want to catch up with that
floater.”

“You still want to go through with this whole
endeavor? Even if Yingler and Gilfoyle are in cahoots?”

“Even if they are, Pyras will starve without income.
We produce our own crops and livestock, but there’s plenty more we
don’t produce that the money from our gravstone buys. If Yingler
wants us to fail, the best thing we can do is succeed.”

“Fine. You’re right,” I said. “Just don’t expect me
to be pals with any of those Leri-dolts up there. Help me mend the
rigging lines. We’re gonna get the
Clarity
back in the air
so we can chase down that temple.”

5

Our little floater slipped away beneath us as I took
the
Clarity
airborne. Wind whipped into the cabin through
the yawning wound in our hull, filling the control capsule with
cold, thin air. Vilaris and Blaylocke had strapped Chaz into his
seat with a few lengths of rope to be sure he didn’t fall or wiggle
out while no one was watching. I felt bad about it, but something
was wrong with the guy. We needed to get him to a place where he
could get help.

It had taken us the better part of an hour to secure
the lines and get the undercarriage balanced under the balloon
again. In that time, the Skytemple had drifted past us and
disappeared into the clouds overhead. I’d had to do some heavy
convincing to get Blaylocke back on board. He was afraid the ship
wouldn’t make it more than a few feet off the floater. I was just
as afraid as he was, only I wasn’t a gutless wimp.

The prop engines sputtered to life, and I thanked
myself in retrospect for shutting them off when I had. There hadn’t
been time to flight-check every last component, so I did a quick
visual scan of my instruments to make sure there was pressure in
the bag and clean air in the ballonets. I set the engines to slow
speed and opened both valves. We lifted off, staying level. I
didn’t want to risk nosing up too steeply like I had in the
nearflow. Too much pressure on any of the rigging could put us back
in a similar predicament.

“There it is,” Vilaris said, leaning forward in his
seat. “The back of it is poking out through that cloud.”

“Alright, I see it,” I said. “Never thought I’d be
in such a hurry to get to church.”

Our little floater slipped out of view in the bottom
windows. I pushed the engines to half speed, making sure I was
rising faster than I was accelerating. We rose until we were at
altitude with the Skytemple. I closed the ballonet valves and
headed for the cluster of pillowy white clouds where our
destination was hiding. Soon we were engulfed in a blinding cloak.
I cut the engines to slow as wisps of cumulus licked the interior
of the ship like white flames, dissipating in the crisp air of the
cabin.

Something thudded against the hull.

“Not again,” I sighed, thinking another line had
snapped.

We came into clear sky, and the island temple spread
out before us. It was a large floater, a tenth of a mile long at
least, with dense forests and a mountain waterfall at its head. The
temple foundations were of lavish gray stone, its wings and
courtyards set on multi-layered terraces whose steps flowed over
the contour of the land like rivers. There were towers and steeples
topped by concave roof trusses, with porcelain shingles of a deep
watery purple. Like most inhabited floaters, this one had a small
airfield. There was a hover and two air barges, which the
inhabitants must’ve used to transport goods and passengers. The
airfield wasn’t large enough for a runway, but there were empty
spaces for other ships to land. The whole thing looked welcoming
enough, except that there were monks streaming out of doors and
onto balconies, aiming crossbows and ballistae in our
direction.

Vilaris swore.

“I
told
you I had a bad feeling about this,”
I said.

“No, you said you hated law-lovers,” said
Blaylocke.

“Was I wrong?”

Blaylocke didn’t answer. Chaz was mumbling gibberish
to himself.

“Well, I don’t see any reason to stick around, do
you?
The Clarity
is airworthy; that much we know. Might as
well stay that way while we still can, or they’ll turn this thing
into a pincushion.” I was twisting open both ballast valves and
reversing the engines as I spoke.

We began to rise while crossbow bolts punched the
hull, quivering. Others careened off the windows, while still more
rose toward us and lost momentum before plummeting back down. The
monks were dressed in purple robes that matched the color of the
roofing tiles. They scurried around like ants, getting smaller and
less menacing as we faded up and back into the clouds.

“Isn’t Leridote supposed to be a peaceful god?” I
said.

“Men have been fighting in the name of peaceful gods
for as long as there’ve been gods,” said Vilaris.

“They ought to know we didn’t come here to continue
the tradition,” I said.

“Anything on the bluewave?” asked Vilaris. “Maybe
you can tell them yourself.”

I looked at the comm. “Not a thing. They didn’t even
send us a warning.”

“Uh, are you watching this pressure gauge here?”
Blaylocke asked, rising from his seat and tapping the glass.

The needle wiggled. The pressure in the balloon was
dropping.

I swore.

“Did we get hit in the bag?” asked Vilaris.

“Don’t know what else it could be, unless a
woodpecker got frisky with the ship while we weren’t looking.”

I opened the valves as wide as they could go and
rotated the prop engines until they were vertical. We jerked
upward, rising like a puff of smoke. I didn’t care if we hit
something; I was taking us as high as I could before we lost the
ability to rise altogether. The pressure gauge was inching to the
left, moving so slow it was hard to tell.

“We gotta find someplace to land this thing,”
Vilaris said. “I’m going above to take a look around.”

“Send Blaylocke,” I said. “I’m gonna need you down
here in a minute.”

A few seconds passed before I heard Blaylocke’s
spyglass
whisk
open and his boots clunk up the stairs.

“What do you need me for?” asked Vilaris. “It’s not
looking too good, is it?” He was shivering. Whether it was from
cold or fear, I didn’t know.

“No, it’s not looking good,” I admitted. “Good thing
Chaz here is a prodigy. Ain’t it, pal?”

When I glanced over my shoulder, Chaz gave me the
response I expected: a warm, vacant smile.

“Find something sharp and start chopping up the
floor. We’re building a fire.”

Vilaris frowned. “What?”

“We need wood. Make a pile and I’ll tell you what to
do next.”

“I don’t understand…” Vilaris was anxious, on the
verge of breaking down.

I wanted to scream at him. I talked fast instead.
“These ballast pipes vent through a furnace in the aft cabin of the
ship. Build a fire, and the ballonets will fill with hot air
instead of cold. It’s gonna be a chore to fly this thing without
ballast tanks, but at least we’ll stay afloat if the main bag loses
pressure. That enough of an explanation to get you moving?”

Vilaris sprang into action without another word. He
snatched up the boarding axe hanging over the doorway and began
hacking the planks to splinters. A moment later, Blaylocke stumbled
down the steps into the cabin. He saw what Vilaris was doing and
gave him a puzzled look.