Rising Tide (11 page)

I shrug. I'm used to the boffins. Eccentric describes them just fine. And I've been doing a lot of hustling lately.

“Their leader's name is Danning. Captain Danning. It's written down.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“I need you to do something for me, though,” she says. “Your story, as interesting as it was, doesn't pay for this.”

I nod. “What do you need?”

“Whatever information you can give me about the facility. The layout. The names of the people there. Defenses. So on.”

“Why?” I ask. “Are you thinking of attacking it?”

“It's information, Benjamin,” she says as if speaking to an idiot. “It's kinda my job.”

“Okay,” I say. “I'll do what I can. And then we're even?”

She narrows her eyes. “If the information is good, then yes.”

“Okay,” I say. I press my palms together. “Thank you. For putting the past aside for now.” I turn to Whistler and Orkney and wave the paper at them. “We have our location.”

“Good luck, Benjamin,” Tess says.

I'm about to walk away, then I think of something. “One last thing,” I say. “Any news out of Gastown?”

Tess tilts her head. “Interesting question. Why so interested?”

I shrug. “No particular reason. Had some friends headed out that way recently. Just was wondering if it had gotten crazier.”

She nods, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “Seems like they had a bit of trouble lately.”

“On the city?” I ask.

“On the city and down at their helium plant. I heard they sent a big group of their people and ships down to investigate and protect the plant, and while they did, something else went on in the city. They've severely restricted access to the city while they deal with it. Ships can't even get in.”

I try not to smile. Knowing that we threw a wrench into the works there makes me happy. But I still worry about Tamoanchan and retaliation.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Don't worry,” she says. “You'll pay for it. Eventually.”

And that's the problem
, I think. Eventually, the cost will always catch up to you. And in the end it always ends up seeming greater.

CHAPTER SIX

T
he good thing about the location of the naval base is that it's pretty much a straight line north from Lord Tess. Still, judging on the
Raven
's speed and the distance, it's going to take us a good ten hours or so. Ten hours of being with the happy fun brigade.

I feel somehow like I'm back in the ocean, bracing for waves. Just when one's passed, another is on the way. My job is to keep my head above the water. If I sink, Miranda sinks. Literally.

But what Tess said to me is making me nervous.
They're a little strange. Eccentric. They may need a little convincing
. If Whistler holds true to form, I'll have escorts down there, which means my hands will be tied. On the other hand, I'm somewhat glad for the backup. This is one of those cases where the enemy you know is better than the enemy you don't.

I'm almost feeling okay with the situation when I feel the
Raven
start to slow and then shudder to a stop as the anchor is dropped. “What the hell is going on?” I ask.

“Storm,” Chang says. “Gotta wait it out.”

I run to the gondola window, look out at the dark clouds ahead of us. “Can we go around?”

“No,” Whistler says. “We wait.”

The clouds are dark and thick, and I'm sure the wind is picking up out there. It's the safe thing to do—the storm could easily blow us off course. As I look, lightning stabs through one of the clouds.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

If this were the
Cherub
, I might chance it. Her engines were strong and she was sleek, and if I could skirt the edge just right . . . But the
Raven
isn't the
Cherub
. She's got those two guns and she's clunkier. And I don't know how good Chang is at flying her.

So . . . we wait until the storm clears. Hours pass. I spend most of the time pacing the Phoenix's gondola until finally sitting against one wall, knees up, trying not to think about Miranda.

Then, after what feels like an eternity, Whistler gives the order to raise the anchor and we begin to pick up speed.

The timing means that we're going to arrive at the base in the early morning. Which means at least we'll have daylight. Every moment that passes, the
Phoenix
sinks a little more and Miranda moves closer to a watery grave.

I start running calculations in my head—how long it will take to get there, how long it will take to get back. The unknown is how long it will take to get the pumps. Best-case scenario, we make a quick deal and get on our way in just a few hours. The
Raven
is loaded with barter to help broker the deal. And I have to admit that Mal was smart. There's food, equipment, metals, weapons. Enough to get some kind of deal together.

I hope.

Because this is going to be the hardest part. Because these people are strangers, and I don't know what they want or how they're going to react. As difficult as Mal is, I know him, and I know, now, what he wants.

We're headed into uncharted territory.

I don't want to let Miranda down.

We can't fly directly over the base because of the risk of anti-aircraft guns. It's a base, after all. There's no way of telling if the artillery works except to risk being hit by it, and that doesn't really appeal to any of us. Instead, Chang drops us off well outside the range of the guns and we move in.

“We” is Whistler, Chase, and me. Orkney stays on board the
Raven
with Chang as backup. Someone needs to man the airship's guns if it comes to that.

So we plod it to the base's edge, not too quickly but not slow either. Right now we're on the ground and in the open, and that makes us easy prey for Ferals.

I'm armed with my father's revolver. Right now, it's strapped to my right thigh, where it belongs, in the holster that Mal got me. I managed to convince Whistler to give the revolver back to me since we were going into a potentially dangerous place and me having it meant one more for the team. It's lower than I'm used to, which will change my draw style, but it's better than fishing for it in these coat pockets.

Whistler seems to be settling in to the idea that Miranda matters to me and so I'm not going to try to get free at the first opportunity. Whistler is right about the first thing, not about the second. But I have the gun back, and that's smooth flying.

Chase is the
Raven
's other gunner, a tall, thin woman with short hair and a pale complexion. Her hair is long on the top and shaved on the sides, a reddish shade of blonde. There's something about her that seems a little unpredictable, but then I don't know her very well.

Chase has a sawn-off shotgun that she calls “Sully” in a makeshift sling across her back. I don't know what Whistler has beneath the long coat. But we're all armed, and that's something. Odds are, though, that the base is holding more than just a few people.

We move in a coordinated fashion, the first time either Whistler or Chase have treated me as one of theirs. But the threat of Ferals has a way of bringing people together. Whistler moves forward, eyes on the base, and Chase and I scan around us, looking for anything moving toward us. I was going to insist on being the one out front, but I trusted myself more on Feral duty. If only I had eyes in the back of my head. We move steadily, persistently, closer and closer to the base. I want to look at it, but that would mean taking my eyes off of my area, and I don't much feel like doing that. I am being forced to trust Whistler, and it's a tough piece of meat to swallow.

Instead, I scan the overgrown road and the trees and the space between them.

I wipe sweat from my forehead.

Then I hear Whistler say, “Stop.” And I do. The area looks clear, so I spare a glance for the base. Four figures in matching uniforms face us with rifles aimed right at us. They're behind a gate with bars close enough to keep us from getting in but perfectly fine for letting their bullets right out. I put my hands into the air, and Whistler and Chase do the same.

“This is your show,” Whistler hisses.

I move forward ever so slightly. “Please,” I call out. “We're here for your help. We have barter. Can you take us to Captain Danning?”

Three of the people don't budge at all, keeping their weapons trained on us. The fourth moves to the gate and opens it. A sense of relief fills me. Still, I'm ready to reach for my pistol if I need to. When the gate is fully open, the one guard waves us in. I move forward, making sure that Whistler and Chase move in behind me.

When we pass the boundaries of the gate, the three guarding us shift positions so that they have better shots on us. Two are women, one is a man. The one on gate duty closes the gate again. When that's done, the gate sealing with a loud clunk, he comes over to me. “I need to check you for weapons,” he says. He's tall, lean, dark-skinned. He's surprisingly clean-shaven, well-groomed. He pats me down and removes my father's revolver. Then he moves to Chase and Whistler, confiscating Sully and several weapons from Whistler—a pistol and a large blade that I think is a machete. He also takes a few things that look like blocks from Chase. All of these he secures in a guard station by the gate. Then he orders two of the soldiers guarding us to escort us to the captain.

They take us to a large, outdoor courtyard surrounded by a chain-link fence. I try to take in as much as I can of the base, hoping to describe it for Lord Tess later. More guards wait for us in the courtyard, because of course there would be more of those. “Is Captain Danning meeting us here?” I ask.

Then light explodes across my eyes, and it takes a moment to realize that I've been hit in the head. Next thing, I feel a pressure on the back of my knees, and I go down to a kneeling position, landing hard on my knees. Something is pulled down over my head and tightened around my neck so that I can't see, then another blow hits me in the head and I lose everything for a few moments.

When I come back to myself, I'm being dragged backward, someone on either of my arms, securely holding me beneath my armpits, and my hands are tied or somehow restrained behind my back.

Fuck
, I think to myself.

I could struggle, but there's two of them, I can't see, and they are armed. I'm not. And with the way my head feels, I don't even know if I would have my balance.

Fuck.

Then, as I'm running scenarios through my head, I get tossed down onto the ground, and I hear a heavy door close.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I find myself starting to growl, a sound that builds until it's a deep scream. From one cell into another. And all the while Miranda is stuck aboard the
Phoenix
.

This is not how it's supposed to happen
, I think. And then I start to laugh. I can't help myself. Great eruptions of laughter bubble up from deep inside of me.

Did you really think the world was going to change for you, Ben?

It took us a handful of hours to get to Lord Tess. Then the rest of the day and night to get to the base. One whole day used up, and Miranda only has maybe two more.

Tick tock. Tick tock. The water keeps rising.

The inside of the bag on my head smells like old sweat, and I try really hard not to think about who wore this last and all the fluids they left on the inside.
It's old sweat
, I tell myself.
Even if infected, the Bug would have died out ages ago.

I keep telling myself that.

And I keep thinking of Miranda. Of her aboard Mal's warship, the water getting ever higher.
God, Miranda, there's so much we need to talk about.
I keep thinking back to that kiss we shared, just before I dropped us out of my airship. That kiss that seemed to speak of months of feelings we never acknowledged. I mean, it kind of snuck up on me. I always thought Miranda was pretty, in a sort of earthy, rough-around-the-edges way. She was nice to look at, and I thought that was it. But it seems like something else had been building. First admiration and appreciation, then something more. Now . . . where are we? What are we to each other? I find that I really want to know.