Rebel Skyforce (Mad Tinker Chronicles) (24 page)

One more complication to my life. Maybe they’ll kill each other off and leave me in peace.

Not knowing what else to do with herself, Madlin went back to drawing.

Chapter 18

“Not every puzzle has a solution. Life isn’t as tidy as that.” -Cadmus Errol

The wind high above the Sea of Kerum whistled among the steel struts and beams of the
Jennai
, adding its own sound even as it stole away the words of conversations that passed among the rebels who milled around the plaza. Rynn imagined that if she closed her eyes she could convince herself that she was alone, standing atop a mountain peak. A crosswind blew, and a metallic groan protested the change. Runes now held the airship immobile, engines idle, and no simple wind would dislodge them. When she learned those runes, she had never pictured them locking something the size of the
Jennai
in place; a coil gun had been the height of her ambition at the time.

It seemed like half the crew was standing around waiting, just as she was. Of course, standing around for Rynn involved sitting herself down on an upturned steel rain-barrel next to the gondola, but her intent was the same as that of the anxious crowd.

“What are we going to do first?” Sosha asked. She had been quiet so long that Rynn had let her fade into the background. Sosha had her arms hugged tight to her chest and her shoulders bunched.

“You should go grab a blanket. It’s not worth freezing over.”

Sosha shook her head, jittery with shivers. “No, I want to see it for myself. I wasn’t watching for it on the island. I just ... I just assumed it would be warmer.”

It was true, they were nearing the equatorial region of Korr, but that hadn’t meant warm skies. “Air’s thin up here, doesn’t much matter what it’s like down below. Maybe go stand out in the sun.” Rynn didn’t mind the shadow of the gondola. She had her coat on and her hands in her pockets. The crisp wind kept her face numb and her nose always threatening to drip, but an occasional wipe of her sleeve and it was no worse than home—Madlin’s home, anyway.

Sosha huddled close, pressing her shoulder to Rynn’s arm. With her perch on the barrel, Rynn was a full head higher. Her first instinct was to pull away, but she decided that she liked the touch of warmth better than she liked having a bit of space. She wished there was someone to lean in from the other side, so the sensation wasn’t lopsided.

“Hey,” said Sosha. She put a hand to Rynn’s barrel. “This thing is warm.”

“You try parking your arse on a metal barrel out in this chill. I aethered it up a bit.”

“I might have to make one for myself.” Sosha shivered, her whole body spasming for a moment.

Rynn disentangled her arm from both her pocket and Sosha’s leaning weight, and pulled her tight. “You could always try Dan’s trick, you know.”

Sosha’s teeth chattered as she answered. “Last defense against frostbite, maybe. Rather shiver than become a torch.”

“You’ve got a better feel for the stuff than I do. If Dan makes a sorceress of one of us, it’ll be you.”

Sosha shook her head. “He’s clinical. If he showed up at my patron’s office, they’d truss him up in a madman’s wrap, haul him off to a sanitarium.”

“Might want to keep that to yourself,” said Rynn. “He could catch you mid-sentence if the hole opens close by.”

“Oh? And then what? He tries to proposition me or leaves dullard’s hints about how easily he could kill me? How would that be any different from every time he opens his mouth.”

“Dunno,” said Rynn. “Seems that he’s a bit off. Most boys I’ve known that age fixate on getting your clothes off, but not so much the killing part. Might be he’s just trying to impress you. He gave up on me after I threw him in the Katamic.”

“Might have to try that,” Sosha muttered.

From the middle of the plaza, there was a stirring in the idle knot of rebels. A flickering of light split the air, spreading silently until it irised into the familiar circular shape of the world-ripper’s gates. People scattered to make room, many still unsure just what constituted a safe distance from the phenomenon. Rynn and Sosha didn’t have much of a view from their vantage, sitting nearly end-on to the plane of the hole.

Rynn released Sosha from her grasp and retrieved her crutches from the crevice between the barrel and the hull of the gondola. The metallic handles were wrapped for a more comfortable grip, but they still stole the heat from her hands. Images of pouring aether into the walking aids until they melted to slag danced in her imagination. They were constant companions, giving her freedom to get around the ship without anyone’s help. Without them, she was reduced to hopping around holding onto walls and railings, or relying on charity for transportation. She could not be rid of them soon enough.

By the time she reached the aperture, workers were already carrying parts and materials through. By prearrangement, rebel crewmen were guiding them to the cargo hold of the
Cloudsmith
, where the new world-ripper was to be assembled. Even growing up there as Madlin, Rynn couldn’t help but be impressed with the industrious efficiency of the workshops on Tinker’s Island. Even before the first successful test of the world-ripper, they had already plunged ahead with parts for a second. Now, those parts were on their way to give the
Jennai
the weapon they’d need to get the rebellion moving in earnest.

Rynn watched from a safe distance, well clear of the convoy of riggers with wheeled dollies and teams of burly workmen grouped by fours and sixes and eights as they hefted giant sections of machinery and shuffled across the poured-stone floor of Cadmus’s workshop, through the world hole, and over the metal deckplates of the
Jennai
. Madlin had studied the plans, so Rynn recognized most of the parts by sight, but their workings remained a mystery. Cadmus played coy when she asked him, but she suspected he understood it little better than did she.

After the machinery was through, there were a number of transfers left to be made in both directions.

“All right,” Rynn shouted to be heard over the wind. “There are twenty of you authorized for shore leave. I want to see five by four lined up and ready to call off.” She pointed at a space not far in front of the world hole, and a scattering of rebels separated themselves from the crowd and hastily arranged themselves. There was muttering and shoving as they jostled into four rows of five, but it wasn’t long before they all stood plumb straight and eyes forward. All of them were Errol Company. All of them were getting a chance to visit home for the first time since Erefan brought them to Korr.

“This is a two-day leave. In two days’ time, you’re to be ready to come back to the
Jennai
. You’re welcome to bring whatever personal effects you like, but bear in mind the size of your quarters. No pets, no livestock. Keep your head about liquor.” Rynn didn’t need to mention family members, since Cadmus had selected none but bachelors for his invasion force. It was foresight she might not have shown in his position.

A crewman with a list walked down the line, asking each soldier his name, crossing it off with a pencil, and nodding permission to depart. One by one the line of soldiers slipped across into Tellurak. Rynn wondered how many would return in two days, and how many would sneak off on the next non-Errol ship out of port.

Once shore leave was out of the way, more mundane supplies piled aboard: food, water, cookware, furniture, tools, clothing, raw metals, stacks of lumber, panes of glass, welding gasses, keg after keg of ale—good house labels, too, mostly Acardian. The last were an odd collection of personal effects, mainly for twinborn who’d made arrangements for their respective twins. One of them belonged to Rynn. It was packed in a crate that Errol Company used for shipping Errol Horizon Mk-II spyglass rifles six at a time to Takalia.

“Send that straight to my quarters,” said Rynn to the pair of workers carrying the crate. One of the
Jennai
crew took over from there and led the way. General Rynn didn’t have to deal with such minor details on her own ship.

“What’s in there?” Sosha asked. Madlin had kept the contents of the crate secret from all but a few trusted machinists. Even Cadmus didn’t know what it was.

Rynn pretended that she didn’t hear the question. With the rhythmic thumping of crutches that dogged her everywhere she went, she followed after the workers.

Rynn sat on the floor of her cabin with the curtains drawn, working by lamp light. For privacy’s sake, she could have left the curtains wide, and unless anyone cared to rappel down the outside of the ship, she would have worked in peace. But the window opened out on an impossibly large world, too big to feel cozy beneath. Bottled up in the cloying walls of the cabin, it reminded her of the comfortable steel walls of her workshop—not Madlin’s, but the little hidden room behind the boiler.

The lid of the crate lay wedged between the bed and the bottom edge of the door, making sure no one could barge in, key or no key. There was straw everywhere from unpacking the crate’s contents. A pry bar lay discarded by her foot, useless after she had prised the crate open. There had been a handful of essential tools packed inside, but they were only for adjustments to the real contents.

Rynn felt a strange catch in her throat as she looked over the new leg. It looked like a museum piece from an armory, a discarded piece of a knight’s plate armor. Of course, it also looked like a tinker had gotten hold of it, decided that knights and armorers didn’t know their arse from their kneebone, and resolved to make a few improvements. The joint was bulky, weighed down by lever arms and reduction gears on the left side, so they wouldn’t knock against her good leg. Air pistons acted as cushions against sudden jerks on the joint. Below the knee, there was a cradle for the leftover stump of her leg, with leather straps to hold it in. Rods ran down from the levers above, actuating the ankle joint as the knee bent. The foot was articulated at the ankle, but was meant mainly to keep level with the ground as best as possible. It was fitted with stiff springs to keep it pressed against the ground when walked on. She expected to find a lot in need of adjustment on the lower end.

Above the knee, the mechanical leg was dedicated to keeping the mechanism in place. Two thick, padded leather straps, joined by a pair of flat steel bars rode up her leg nearly to the hip, giving her as much leverage as possible to work the knee joint without anything coming loose. A belt and harness would secure it around her waist, in case friction alone proved insufficient.

The machinists had done good work.

She held the leg close and caught the best light she could from the lamp. Inside the front protective plate, where she ought to have had a shin, there were a number of tiny runes carved into the surface. She inspected them to see how well they were formed. She’d activate as many as it took to keep the bulky collection of shiny steel from tying her down like an anchor, but not so many that she would float away. As she checked them, she smelled nothing but oil and new leather.

Rynn activated the rune structures one by one, until she could heft it as easily as a hammer.

She took a deep breath, then another. With the leg up on the bed, she clawed her way up after it. Lying on the bed, she stripped down to her undergarments and changed into a skirt, which she hiked up around her midsection. Wondering at the oddity of putting on a boot that started just below the knee and went up to her waist, she pulled the leg on. The smooth base of her amputated leg slipped into the cradle. It fit better than she’d hoped. A bit of wiggling around lined up the mechanical knee with her real one, and she pulled the straps tight.

The straps on the leg had no holes; she didn’t want to chance the adjustment on anything so crude as the distance between one hole and the next, so Madlin had packed an awl instead. Rynn pulled each strap as tight as she could stand it, knowing the leather would stretch and relax over time, and marked the spot. Once she had marked them all, she took the awl and put a single hole in each, then secured them.

Rynn set her awl down on the bedding and put her hands on the edge. Slowly and carefully, she eased onto her feet. There was a hiss as the piston sucked in air that would slow her if the muscles of her leg gave way and tried to collapse beneath her. In taking her measurements, Rynn knew that her left leg was thinner than the right, probably because she never used it anymore. That was about to change.

There was a teetering moment, a feeling like she was a circus performer, balancing on stilts that no one had taught her how to use. She held her arms out, for balance. It was the oddest sensation. Her left leg was standing in a flower pot, sunk nearly up to her hip. Her right leg compensated; muscles in her toes and the arch of her foot straining to keep her from toppling. Straightening upright was a task nearly a minute in the making, but by the time she stood tall, she felt like a person again. The leg was a proper match in height. Wiggling her hips was difficult, but she was able to judge that they were level. She tried to look down to admire the work, but her collar got in the way. She banged her chin on it—the first time she’d been careless with it in weeks. She trickled a bit of aether into it, same as she did every time she remembered it.