Ganymede (47 page)

Furthermore, he was glad to have seen Josephine again.

It was good to know that she had survived and prospered, and that she’d become even more of the woman he’d once so desperately loved. He was happy to know that he’d never been wrong about her, and that his affection had not been undeserved or misplaced. He was pleased to learn that she was her own boss, with her own property. A pirate in her own way, still—working beyond the law, against the government, against the Republic, and anyone else who stood between her and what she wanted.

He felt strangely proud of her, and the feeling was bittersweet. She’d been easy to admire, but hard to get to know. Easy to love, but sometimes hard to like.

The nostalgia was warm in his chest, but it did not build a lump in his throat or bring dampness to his eyes when he stared off into the darkness, at the same stars that hovered above Louisiana. He remained content to know that she was there, and all was all right—or, if it wasn’t, that she was fighting to make it that way.

Andan Cly wished Josephine Early well.

And he looked forward to finding his way home.

When the storm finally lifted and the last of the frozen spring rains had melted into puddles, the captain and his crew unfastened the
Naamah Darling
from its dock and set out northwest, back toward a city that had once been called the Port of Seattle, and now was called “abandoned” by almost everyone.

The Rockies were crisp and sharp, cut into the earth in razor-blade shades of white and blue, engraved with gray. All the usual drifts and currents, the tugs and shoves of the air, were rough above the mountain range—just like always. These unseen ghosts of rising and falling pressure were familiar, unthreatening even when they were a challenge.

Sometimes, without thinking, his right foot reached for an illusory lever that would lower or raise the
Naamah Darling
. Each time, he corrected himself in time to keep from doing any damage.

“This is more like it,” he said under his breath, so softly that no one but Fang heard him.

Fang signed,
Back where we belong
.

And Cly nodded.

*   *   *

Seattle was as
they’d left it, and as it would be for months yet—until summer landed, sometime toward the end of July.

For now it was chilly and dank, shielded with a gray sky so low that it touched the city wall in places … draping across it like moss, or an ancient and ragged tablecloth. These wispy, dangling clouds met and commingled with the dense yellow blight gas that filled the wall and sank there, settling on the streets, on the buildings, on the leftover pieces of civilization that had remained outside and exposed.

The
Naamah Darling
hovered above it while the crew members applied their gas masks, better too early than too late; then the ship descended slowly, carefully down through the clouds, through the fog, through the noxious gas, and puttered toward Fort Decatur.

They did not see the lights from the Chinese lanterns until they were nearly upon them.

The lanterns burned warm and yellow, shaded by red and orange paper, lifted on strings like floaters on a fisherman’s net. These lights invited them—gave them a space to aim toward, and land upon—and the ship followed their suggested path and set down softly, expertly, into the fort’s main square. Surrounded by the tall, pointed trunks of felled trees, the courtyard-type space was impenetrable to Seattle’s walking dead. It was likewise safe from most of the more mindful human invaders, or curiosity seekers, or anyone else who wished to come inside uninvited.

Down the
Naamah Darling
dropped, and before there was time to affix the craft to the two fallen totem poles that temporarily served as a dock … up from below came the expectant residents of Seattle, to greet the ship and its crew.

Briar Wilkes and Lucy O’Gunning were there, Briar with a smile on her face that could be seen in her eyes behind the visor, and Lucy with a pair of wheeled carts that had been rigged for use in the underground’s rail systems. Lucy was smiling, too, but at the prospect of rum and absinthe. The barwoman reached up and slapped the side of the
Naamah Darling,
daring the steps beneath it to open, and to hurry up about it, would they?

In response, or more likely as a coincidence of timing, the stairs did indeed come down and Cly descended them first. He ducked his head beneath the overhang and climbed even more quickly upon seeing Briar—who did not run to meet him, but stayed where she was.

Her mask hid most of her face except for those lovely eyes. It was wrapped around her head, pushing down her dark, curly hair with streaks of blight-bleached orange running through it like fine seams of gold in a boulder. Atop that mass of never-quite-contained hair sat her father’s old hat, the one he’d worn as sheriff; she also wore his belt, with the zigzag
MW
for his initials, and an oversized coat that kept the blight off her skin. It, too, had been taken from his closet, before she’d gone over the wall to make herself at home inside it.

“Captain,” she said.

If he’d been wearing a hat, he would’ve removed it. “Wilkes,” he replied.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Later, while Troost, Fang, and Houjin helped Lucy O’Gunning load the spoils of her wish list into the carts, Cly and Briar went downstairs—into the train station, to pass beneath its unfinished ceilings, and to walk the prettily marbled floors with their natural patterns swirling underfoot. All was alight with lamps both gas and electric; the hissing burn of one complementing the crackling fizz of the others, creating an underground chamber that was every bit as bright as a cathedral, and at least half so lovely.

Briar would not have chosen the station for a romantic walk, but Cly had promised Yaozu a report upon his return, and an accounting of both his money and the supplies it had purchased. So together they ambled, not in any real hurry, down a caged shaft via a mechanical lift, and through passageways that had once been meant to shelter incoming rail cars—which had never arrived, and never would.

This station, never completed or used for its intended purpose, now served as headquarters for what Briar considered a nefarious criminal empire … or at least the second incarnation thereof. Yaozu might prove better than Minnericht, or he might not. Regardless, to lend credit where it was due, she could be compelled to admit that King Street Station was a surprisingly clean and comfortable place.

“But that says nothing about the men who keep it that way.”

“I never said it did,” Cly noted. “It’s nice down here, that’s all. Looks downright civilized—like something you’d find on the outside.”

“Except for the lack of windows, I’d say you’re right.” Her mask hung off her belt now—affixed to a leather loop she’d stitched in place for the purpose. It dangled against her thigh, tapping her pants as she walked.

“And Yaozu might not be so bad. In the long run, he’ll be good for this place.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Maybe I’m wrong, and you’ll get to say ‘I told you so.’ But he’s helping me stay here. It was his money, mostly, that made the trip possible … and makes it possible to start up the dock I want, there in the fort.” He did not mention that the rest of the money had come from Josephine, who had paid him—good as her word—upon his departure from the delta.

“Then he’ll want something in return. Men like that, they never give anything away for free.”

“He’ll get something in return. More commerce. Easier access, coming and going.”

“Well. I suppose we’ll see.”

“No one’s asking you to like him.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I don’t. And I don’t trust him, either.”

“Do you trust
me
?” he asked.

“More than I ought to,” she said.

“Good. Then trust me to handle my end of things all right, and to keep the bargain from biting me in the ass later on.”

“All right. I’ll do that. Whatever it takes.”

His forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean, whatever it takes?”

“I mean, whatever it takes to keep you down here. If all you need is a little bargain with the devil, it’s not the end of the world. Not yet. And anyhow,” she added, with a toss of her hair that was almost girlish, and almost made him laugh, “you’re the one signing in blood, not me.”

He took her hand so he could hold it while they walked, even though it made him feel big and clumsy to grasp something so small in his oversized fingers. He liked it anyway, how she trusted him, and how she only
looked
delicate—when he knew for a fact that she was not, and for that matter, had never been any of the things everyone else had assumed.

He leaned into her like a lion drawing close to a fire. He removed his hand from hers and instead, wrapped it around her shoulder, pulling her against him so he could hold her that way, and be warmed by her.

She slipped an arm around his waist.

When they reached the wing where Yaozu lived, Briar extricated herself without any reproach. She said only, “I’ll go back to the vaults, and maybe I’ll see you there in a bit. But I’m not interested in consorting with
you-know-who
.”

“Who’s consorting? Good Lord, woman. You make it sound worse than it really is.”

“Time will tell how bad it really is. Until then, I’ll stick to my concerns, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. And I’ll be back at the vaults in an hour or two. Is … um. Is Zeke around?”

She looked at him with a flash of something sharp and bright—a wink of intensity that she didn’t show him for long. She told him, “No, he’s not around. I’ve sent him off to Chinatown with Mercy. His leg’s all but healed up now, and he’s paying her back for stitching him up by helping on her rounds with Dr. Wong.”

“Helping?”

“I think he’s sweet on her, and it’s a shame. You can get almost anything down here in the underground, but girls his own age are hard to come by. Mercy doesn’t have ten years on him, so I guess he thinks that’d be all right. Anyway, she’s put him up next door to her father’s place, and I didn’t have to bully him too hard to stay out there with them.”

“For the night?”

“For a night or two.” Again, that spark of … invitation? It flashed, and returned to a simmer. “As long as I feel like locking him out. He’s a big boy. He’ll find something to occupy his time.”

“That’s … good to know.”

She walked away from him then, and without looking back, she disappeared down the corridor that would take her back into the open areas beneath the streets, and back to the vaults.

It scrambled his thoughts and made him reconsider how badly he needed to talk to Yaozu, but those reconsiderations were undone when he heard the man’s voice behind him, thereby settling the matter.

“Captain Cly, I see you’ve returned. I got your telegram. Angeline sent it down a few days ago, though she obviously didn’t bring it herself. You know, I don’t think she likes me much.”

“She’s … finicky about who she likes.”

Ignoring the polite deferral, Yaozu said, “Perhaps that’s one more thing I should put on our wish list, when it comes to citywide improvements. A set of taps.”

“Do you think we can set one up? I don’t know if it’s even possible, down here.”

Yaozu shrugged, the lines of his clean white outfit shifting and settling again. “I do not yet know what would be required, but I am interested in learning. Is there any chance Houjin would have any idea?”

“I don’t know. But if you tell him to go find out, he’ll report back within a day or two, putting one together with a couple of tin cans and a drawer full of spoons.”

“Yes, I hear he’s prone to such improvisations. And how was your excursion down to Texian territory?”

“It was fine. Brought back all your goodies, and everything on everybody else’s list, too. It weighed us down like crazy, all the things everyone wanted. If we hadn’t been so heavy, we might’ve missed that storm in Denver. But that’s just how it goes.”

“There’s nothing to be done about the weather,” Yaozu said graciously. “At any rate, if you’re not otherwise occupied, I’d appreciate your company up at the fort. I’ve summoned a handful of men to help with the loading and unloading, but you’re the one who knows what’s what in your cargo bay.”

Cly echoed his phrasing. “Otherwise occupied? Uh, no. Not right this second. I can take an hour or two to help you get all your gear in order.” That’s what he’d told Briar, after all. An hour or two. Though he determined on the spot that he was not going to hang around and be helpful for even one minute longer than that.

“Excellent. Walk with me, Captain.”

“Sure. Listen, there’s something you should know. Maybe you’ll care, and maybe you won’t,” he said, adjusting his pace to walk with the shorter man, whose legs could not comfortably match his long stride. “It’s about the sap, and what it’s doing outside the city.”

“I already know about the gas, and those Mexicans in Utah.”

“Sure. But have you heard about the zombis in New Orleans?”