The Wind Merchant (11 page)

“That’s very…interesting to hear. Brace yourself.” He pulled a lever and a steering wheel telescoped from the dashboard to meet his hands. He tilted the controls back and pressed a button on the console. With an explosive hiss, the ship shot directly upward.

Having prepared for a launch forward, Ras nearly slipped out of his seat but for his restraint. He didn’t recall seeing any rotors atop the ship, and as the vessel reached its apex and began to drop, he realized it didn’t have any.

The man pulled back a lever and the ship rocketed forward, slamming Ras back into his seat. The back of his head smacked into the high padded back of the bench. He guessed it was an intentional feature.

“And so your employer is Hal Napier…the Fourth?” Ras asked, trying to be casual as he watched
Verdant
zip beneath them at a rate he found both exhilarating and terrifying.

“No.”

“Fifth?”

“No,” he said more sharply this time. “And may I suggest you refrain from that line of questioning when you meet him. If you would like something for your throat I can prepare a tonic once we’ve reached our cruising altitude.”

“That…that would be nice,” Ras said. “Thank you.”

Through the wide, curved windshield, Ras could see the grand vista of clouds, including dozens of airships racing toward them. Ras recognized them as standard merchantmen moving at a much quicker pace than usual.

The man pulled the ship into a climb to avoid colliding with any of the merchant vessels, giving him perspective on what caused the wind merchants to flee.

Bravo Company.

Their flagship,
The Dauntless
, was an old dreadnaught from The Clockwork War, body corroded black and rigid balloon painted red with a crude rendering of crossed axes and a grinning skull. The ship itself was nearly a mile long, and bristling with guns.

A score of smaller airships and biplanes with the same logo emblazoned across their hulls accompanied
The Dauntless
, idly chasing and firing their weapons at the slower wind merchant vessels as they neared the floating city.

“How is Hal going to save
Verdant
from India Bravo?” Ras asked.

“He has his ways,” the man casually said. “But
Verdant
is too valuable to her to sink.”

“How are
you
going to save
us
from India Bravo?”

The man hefted back on the controls, gaining altitude until the fleet below became tiny specks.

Ras’ ears popped as he looked out the window, then recoiled back. He had never been up this high, and wondered if a cannonball could even reach them. “How?”

“I pulled back on the controls. I thought you of all people would be familiar with flight mechanics,” the man said before leveling off after a minute of hard climbing. He unfastened his restraints and stood, nearly grazing his white hair against the ceiling. “Tonic?” He reached into a small box and pulled out a glass bottle with a screw-on cap. The label was in an unfamiliar language.

Ras turned his attention from the window to his bandaged hand as the man pressed the bottle into his mitt. The idea of actually meeting the man his father had told bedtime stories about boggled his mind. He wasn’t certain what he was going to see or if this Hal was an impostor, but it occurred to Ras that whoever this was it might be the same person that his father had claimed to have received a mission from, if Old Harley had heard his rumors right.

There was little to nothing he could do for
Verdant
right now, aside from helping out in the Engine for damage control. A twinge of guilt gnawed at him, but he forced it to the back of his mind by telling himself he would do more good by meeting with Hal. He just wished he could explain his actions without being deemed insane.

He undid the bandages on his hands before unscrewing the bottle cap to take a swig of the burning liquid. His eyes watered and throat tingled, prompting a cough. After pounding his chest with his fist to drive away the tickling sensation, Ras managed to croak, “You wouldn’t happen to remember a man named—”

“Elias Veir?” The man let the moment sink in. “I had wondered when you were going to ask that.”

“But—”

“Who else were you going to ask me about, honestly?” He flipped a lever and spoke into the comm unit in a foreign language before receiving a confirmation. “Yes, I knew your father for a brief time. You are sitting where he did when I ferried him to Mr. Napier.” He pulled back once more, forcing the ship to climb, deepening the sinking feeling in Ras’ stomach. “Ah, here we are.”

Ahead gleamed the white ship Ras recognized from the brief glimpse in Framer’s Valley.
The Kingfisher
.

In what seemed to be no time, the shuttle made a landing—no, a rejoining—with
The Kingfisher,
becoming one with the larger vessel. After a surprising snap-hiss that made Ras’ ears pop again, the airtight seal sent wind rushing in to fill the cabin, and a light purple glow emanated from the ship.

“Mr. Veir, if you would be so kind as to follow me,” the man said.

Ras obliged and stood, stretching his legs. He walked from the shuttle to the corridor lined with a half-dozen rooms on either side of the hallway. Between the doors hung artwork of landscapes, ranging from crude to masterfully done. Clouds, mountain peaks, plains, bodies of water…Ras had to make sure not to linger on the pre-Atmo artwork. Callie would have loved it, but the thought of her staying on
Verdant
drained any joy from the thought of him describing the paintings to her.

They came to a door at the end of the corridor. “Mr. Napier awaits,” he said, bowing slightly as he pulled the door open for Ras. The circular study was filled with books, models of airships, and a very impressive telescope that cut through the center of a domed ceiling. Glass walls flooded the room with sunshine.

In the center stood a man looking to be in his early sixties. He hunched over a painting on an easel, scrutinizing the brush strokes, applying a few more. He wore a dark brown smoking jacket and had a neatly trimmed white beard that continued into a short haircut for a matching set.

“Mr. Napier,” the man guiding Ras said, announcing his presence. “May I present to you Mr. Erasmus Veir.”

Halcyon Napier looked up from his painting, standing to a height at least a head taller than Ras. He appeared as virile as a man in his forties. He smiled and leisurely strode over to Ras with his hand extended.

“About time,” he said, grabbing Ras’s half-extended arm and giving his hand two firm pumps, forcing Ras to contain a grimace. He motioned to a couple of wing-backed chairs next to the easel. “Come, please have a seat.” He turned to the man with the hat. “Thank you, Dayus. You may retire until I have need of you.”

“Very good, sir.” With that, Dayus left the room.

Ras sat uneasily in the leather chair. It creaked loudly but was the softest leather he had ever felt, considering there hadn’t been an easily ready supply in a century.

Hal sat across from him, then leaned forward. For a few moments he studied Ras from head to toe. “You got big,” he said.

That phrase always confounded Ras. One summer when he was thirteen he had shot up six inches, but hadn’t grown at all since, yet people throughout his teenage years kept asking how much he had grown recently. All that aside, it was a peculiar conversation starter, and Ras had no clue how to respond.

“Your father showed me a picture of you ten years ago.”

“
Verdant
is under attack,” Ras said. “Right now.” The clarity in his voice surprised him. The tonic had done more than he expected.

Hal’s disposition slid from welcoming to grave. “I am aware.”

Ras turned and pointed to the door Dayus had exited. “He said you could do something.”

“Straight to business. I can appreciate that,” Hal said with a nod.

Ras studied Hal’s response. Whomever sat in front of him definitely resembled the pictures of Hal Napier from the history books. “Dayus,” Ras said as though trying out the name, “also mentioned there was a way to save
Verdant
.”

“That’s an entirely different type of saving, but we’ll get to that, don’t you worry.” He leaned over to a side table and picked up a newspaper with a photo of Ras on the courthouse steps with the words “I’M SO SORRY” in dark, bold print, as if Ras needed a reminder. “I am told you are neighbors with the Tourbillons. How are they?”

Ras shot up from his chair. “Sir, with all due respect, people are dying out there and you’re trying to make small talk.”

“The talk I make is never small,” Hal said. “Now, please, sit. I’ve already put in a call to The Collective to put a stop to it.”

“You can do that?” Ras asked, his frustration allayed for the moment. The Collective’s absence from The Bowl made him wonder how long it would take for them to arrive, and how much damage
Verdant
would suffer in the meantime.

“Indirectly.” A shallow grin crept across his lips. “
Verdant
is not without its defenses either. She will survive this.” He waited for Ras to sit before he continued. “Now, the Tourbillons.”

“They’re on
Verdant
, how good can they be right now?” Ras shrugged. “How do you know them?”

Hal rose from his chair and began walking toward one of his book displays. “Would you care to wager a guess as to why I’m in
Verdant
?”

Ras thought for a moment. “Because
The Kingfisher
has a scoop engine and got stuck after I killed the last source of Energy in the area?”

Hal laughed. “That’s a good guess, but no. Let me simply say that I’m always looking for a good man, and you’ve captured my attention.”

“What specifically are you looking for?”

“Redemption,” he said, then after a pause, “for you.” He picked up a book from the shelf, idly flipped through its brittle pages, then tossed it back onto a desk. “For me, I’m looking for a properly motivated wind merchant with enough grit to retrieve what I need. For a great reward.”

Ras cocked an eyebrow.

“You should probably hear what I need before you fill your head with possibilities.” His voice darkened, yet remained kind. “Erasmus, have you ever traveled outside of The Bowl?”

“Once when I was little.”

“Then you should well understand that there is a big world out there with many things that defy one’s understanding; that can challenge a way one believes the world to run.”

“Like magic?” Ras asked.

“No, not like magic. Well, yes,
like
magic, in that you don’t understand it, but not magic. If you’d like, you may now ask the obvious question you’ve been holding in,” Hal said casually.

“How are you still alive?”

“
How are you still alive
? An excellent question and one that should indeed be asked. The short answer is that
The Kingfisher
keeps me alive.” He paused. “Well, that’s not entirely true. It helps, though.” Hal appeared to lose himself in thought for a moment. “I was born one-hundred and sixty-four years ago, if that sets the stage.”

Ras let out an inadvertent laugh. “I’m sorry, I just have a hard time believing that.”

“Your belief does not determine the truth of me,” Hal said, stifling any pithy response from Ras. “Your father also had difficulty believing everything, but he believed in what I offered.”

“Which was?”

“A solution,” Hal said. “Very similar to the solution you are after for your problem. Out of curiosity, how did you destroy the Convergence?”

“I collected it with my ship,” Ras said.

“Simple as that?” Hal asked, snapping his fingers.

“I think so. Why?”

“It’s poetic, is all,” Hal said. “What I need is a full tank of wind.”

Ras chose not to go into bothersome details like his ship being sold for scrap. “Why do I sense this wind isn’t easy to track?”

“Oh, it’s not going anywhere,” Hal said. “But getting to it is the challenge. Are you familiar with The Wild?”

“Nobody is familiar with The Wild. Not since The Clockwork War, and I doubt anyone was even before that,” Ras said. “I heard all of the mountain passes into it were collapsed after the war.”

“I do remember mentioning it being a challenge. I wouldn’t offer to save
Verdant
for a menial task,” Hal said. “I need a full tank of air from a very specific set of coordinates within the borders of The Wild to filter into this ship. My last batch is…running thin.”

Ras suddenly became aware of his breathing. He wished he could feel the difference from breathing air from The Wild, as though whatever medicinal properties it contained could be sensed and described.

“If you’re wondering, this isn’t going to make you live forever,” Hal said, swirling a hand to mimic a current. “It doesn’t work like that. Besides, the air in here has been recycled far too many times.”

“But you sealed The Elders up in The Wild—”

“Not entirely sealed,” Hal corrected. “No, you can’t fly higher than those mountains, but there is still one mountain pass, narrow and winding, that leads into The Wild.  For years I had wind merchants bring me tankfuls of wind from The Wild by taking up whatever poured out of the pass, but my last several couriers…failed their missions.”

“The air wasn’t concentrated enough at the mouth of the pass?”

“No. They just never returned.”

“I’m not trying to put myself out of a job here,” Ras said, “but why don’t you just fly this thing over the mountain range?”

Hal smiled. “I used to. The Elders didn’t appreciate my presence.”

“So you need me to fly into The Wild and collect a concentrated amount of whatever it is on the wind that keeps you young?” Ras asked.

“I’m sorry, who is giving this job offer?”  Hal retorted. Ras wondered if he had crossed a line by saying that Hal
needed
anyone. “But yes, that is the overall gist of what I’m looking for.”

“Why didn’t my father return?”

“Of that I cannot be certain. The Elders are…very territorial.”

“They’re just clockwork men though,” Ras said. “Shouldn’t they have wound down after a century?”