Tinker's Justice (15 page)

The meeting was effectively over. There was no going back to mundane arguments after the show Draksgollow had put on. Debate over the plan had ended, even if there was no longer the proper forum for announcing a decision. Let the decision come later; Draksgollow was satisfied that he had won his case. As the room cleared, Draksgollow glad-handed a few spectators as he waited for the one person in the room he had been truly concerned about swaying.

“Mr. Draksgollow,” said the representative of the Central Defense Ministry, holding out his hand, “I’m Calamson Goldore, liaison of the—”

“I know who you are,” Draksgollow replied, shaking the man’s hand and sizing him up. He had his beard woven into two long braids at the chin, the rest close-cropped—all grey. Soft skin on the hands, but a grip like a meat packer. He was a man who used to work, but had settled into a comfortable life. “You think we put on this kind of a display to drop the jaws of the trolley-riders?”

Goldore released Draksgollow’s hand with a shrewd gleam in his eye. “That machine … what’s it do, exactly?”

“Exactly?” Draksgollow asked. “It cuts a hole between two places, one end where the machine is, the other wherever the bloody bolts I please.”

“And where
exactly
did you get those spare humans from?”

“That,” Draksgollow said, “will take some time to explain. If you don’t mind a trip through that machine, I’ll be happy to sit down with you over dinner and lay it on the rails for you.”

A metallic shriek echoed through the workshop over the thrum of machinery. Rebel workers manned the equipment, churning out parts for the various projects going on between the rebellion’s tinkers and the everyday necessities that they replenished. In one corner of the workshop, Rynn had commandeered a lathe, where she was working on shaving a fraction of an inch off the diameter of a brightsteel rod for her next improvement. Her goggles kept brightsteel chips from her eyes; earmuffs kept the shriek from taking its toll on her hearing. But while the muffs protected her in the long term, in the short term they blocked out all but the loudest of sounds. It was peaceful. Everything around her was muffled. The goggles blocked most of her peripheral vision. There was just her and the workpiece. One thing to worry over.

A hand on her shoulder startled her. Rynn flinched away from the machine; her first worry was of getting caught in the whirring head that spun with enough force to rip her hand off. She twisted around. “What the—oh, piss off, Kupe! Don’t you know better than to sneak up behind someone working at a machine?”

Kupe held up his hands. “Sorry. I called your name from the door and you didn’t turn around.”

“Rusted Eziel,” Rynn swore. “Can’t you read the signs? Get some goggles on at least, before something blinds you.”

He shielded his eyes with a hand. “Sorry. I just needed to talk to you.”

Rynn took him by the arm and marched him out of the workshop before he broke something or got himself killed. “What made you think this was a good time?”

“Well, because every other time I try to talk to you, you always find a way to get someone in my way, or you’re too busy and I can’t even get to you.”

“Did you ever stop to think, ‘hmm, maybe Rynn’s time is pretty valuable? ’” Rynn asked. “I can’t drop everything I’m doing whenever someone wants my opinion on something. Bloody boots, it’s not like I don’t have enough people I
can’t
get rid of … no offense.”

“None ta—no, piss off!” Kupe shot back. “I was about to say I wasn’t offended, but like an ox’s ass I’m not. You parade me in front of your recruits because they recognize my face from that one bloody flashpop. I had come down here to thank you for letting me go with Hayfield on that liftwing heist. I want to get a chance to be a soldier.”

Rynn pushed her goggles up onto her head. Kupe was blurry without them, but they were fogging from her sweat. “Kupe, you were a soldier before I met you. That’s how you got your flashpop in the paper in the first place. You just aren’t the hero you pretend to be.”

“The hero you make me pretend to be. I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Rynn sighed. “Fine. If your heart’s not in it, you won’t be any use as an inspiration. I’ll get you put back on regular duties.”

“No, you’re not catching my toss here,” Kupe said. “I don’t want to pretend anymore; I want to a chance to
be
that hero. I want in on the big jobs, so that when those new recruits ask what it’s like making a difference, I don’t have to look for you, or Davlin, or Rascal for an answer.”

“Heroes have a habit of dying young.” Rynn said.

“Doesn’t stop you.”

Rynn stopped to really look at Kupe. He had changed. He wasn’t joking about wanting to contribute. She could see the desperate longing in his eyes.
What have I put him through, making him the face of the rebellion? He’s not much of a fighter, but then, who is when they first try?
He also hadn’t looked below her jawline the entire time they had been talking, which was some sort of record for him.

“Report to Davlin tomorrow morning. We have a new initiative starting soon, and I’ll get you in on it.”

Chapter 11

“If faced with a communication barrier, revert to core languages. These have been found commonly in many off-world cultures, and suggest common ancestry or creation.” – Traveler’s Companion: Contact with Indigenous Populations

It had been two days. Kaia referenced the notes by the side of the console, checking the coordinates. It took her a moment to sift them through her head, deciphering the code Cadmus had devised to avoid ever writing actual, usable coordinates in plain sight. Kaia chuckled softly to herself. Cadmus was such an eccentric. Here they were, burrowed away in a cavern they had dug on the moon, of all places—Kaia could still hardly believe it—and he was still worried that someone might find them.

With the coordinates entered, Kaia turned on the viewframe. One of the more welcome improvements the Mad Tinker had made to the controls was a single lever for turning on the twelve switches that fed the machine spark. It was hardly an effort to bring the view alive now. The image showed the interior of a sitting room fit for a daruu, except that the nicer things were made of wood, not stone. Kaia had grown up in a freeman household, with a cobbler father and a baker’s assistant mother; she had never seen anything lavish until she had joined the rebellion. Getting to see all the wonders of not just one world, but three, was worth everything she had done to join up.

The chair in the sitting room was filled to overflowing with an older man enjoying a glass of something golden brown. This was her target. With a nod to herself, she pulled the switch to open the world-hole. Normally, someone seeing one open next to them startled a person, even one who was expecting it. Anzik was different about it, and so was this Mr. Harwick. He just raised his glass to her with a wink and waited.

Kaia gathered herself, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from her shirt and trousers. “Mr. Harwick, my name is Kaia, and I am a representative of the Human Rebellion. I am acting on behalf of Mr. Cadmus Errol, who regrets—”

“Could you slow down a bit, my dear?” Harwick asked in halting Korrish. “Until a few days ago, I was aware of your language mostly in its written form.”

“Oh … yes … I’m sorry,” Kaia said with exaggerated enunciation. “I am visiting you to check on the books. If you have any completed, I would be happy to deliver them to Mr. Cadmus Errol.”

“So, Errol thinks he’s got me in his pocket now, eh?” Harwick asked. “I’ve half a mind to hold onto the translations until he comes in person to collect them.”

“But sir, I—”

“Then again, how could I trouble a pretty young lass such as yourself,” Harwick continued with a smile. “Please, come in. Have a seat and a drink.”

“I … I don’t think I’m supposed to,” Kaia said, blushing.

“Nonsense,” Harwick replied. “You’re on business; I understand that. But I
am
the business, and I insist you join me.” He waved a hand toward an empty chair. “And if you don’t mind, turn that view aside first. I don’t fancy a window into a bare stone cavern and a lot of clockwork trinkets while I drink.”

“Um … all right. I suppose.” Kaia turned the view around and stepped through. Harwick sounded like he was going to be trouble to deal with. It made her wonder if that was why Cadmus had given her the assignment instead of dealing with Harwick himself.

Once Kaia stepped through into Tellurak, Harwick rose and ambled around to the open side of the world-hole. In a flash, the hole closed. “What did you do?” she asked, her breath suddenly coming quick. She was stranded.

“Calm yourself, my dear,” said Harwick. He went to the side table, which displayed an array of colored liquids in fancy glass bottles. “Let me pour you a drink. I just have some questions for you, the sort that I’d rather have frank answers to, without worrying who might be listening from the shadows.”

“But how will I get back?”

Harwick shrugged. “All I did was lift the handle that turns the machine on. I can’t imagine it will be long before someone happens by and pushes it back into place. In the meantime … brandy?” He filled a glass and pressed it into Kaia’s hands.

She sniffed it and winced at the sting.

“Not much of a drinker?” Harwick asked.

“Mostly ale.” She took an experimental sip and felt a stronger burn than she was used to.

“Can’t say I keep much of that around,” Harwick replied, settling into a high-backed chair with worn upholstery. “They often judge a man around here by the quality of the liquor he drinks. That sip you took cost more than a horse.”

Kaia froze. She did a quick estimate and figured that there must be twenty or thirty horses left in her glass. She knew that Madlin had grown up rich, but Kaia could never get used to waste.

“Oh, have no fear,” Harwick said. “Your company is worth every lost whinny. Besides, you can’t spend all your money on horses, or you’d wind up neck-deep in horse dung. Now tell me, what does Cadmus Errol plan to
do
with what’s in these books?”

“I don’t know,” Kaia replied. She chose a chair across from Harwick and sat down on the very edge of it. “Aside from wanting to know the details on the world-rippers—”

“Travel gates,” Harwick corrected her.

“He doesn’t know what’s in them.”

“And you believe him?” Harwick asked. He watched her with gun-barrel eyes. Kaia remembered then that Harwick was a sorcerer like Dan. He was too old and slow to pose a threat physically, but he had used magic to turn off the world-ripper, and he could probably turn her “off” as well.

“I don’t see why I wouldn’t,” Kaia replied. “He’s not much of one for secrets, really. I think it helps that no one knows what he’s talking about most of the time anyway. I mean, Madlin and a few of the tinkers and machinists, of course, and the ones that see the other world.”

“You’re not like that, then? Twinborn?”

Kaia shook her head and tapped at her temple. “Just me in here.”

“You’re better off,” Harwick said. “I was twinborn once, until an uncle of mine decided I was more trouble than I was worth. I’m really just half a man now. Better I was whole in one world all my life.”

“Same thing happened to Mr. Errol,” Kaia said. She called him Cadmus to his face, but she felt the need to make him sound important to an important man like Mr. Harwick. “Except it wasn’t his uncle, it was a daruu trap that got him.”

“Really?” Harwick asked. “He neglected that detail when we spoke.”

“It’s not much of a secret; just about everyone knows. He just doesn’t like to talk about it. You’d probably understand better than most how that works.”

“Indeed.”

“So, you asking what he wants to do with the books makes me think you finished rewriting them,” Kaia said. “How many am I bringing back with me?”

“I have two thus far,” Harwick replied. “I didn’t undertake them in order. I started with the one that details the workings of the transport gates. I consider myself a learned man, my dear, and I will admit that the breadth of it washed over me like the waves of a storm sea. I trust that the Mad Tinker has a better background in practical physics for deciphering it.”

Kaia grinned. “I doubt there’s any better, at least among our kind.”

“The next book I chose at a whim, because its title intrigued me.”

“What’s that?”

“
Calling for Help
,” Harwick said. “It presented such potentially enlightening questions as: ‘help from whom?’ and ‘what sort of help?’ I simply lost myself to my own curiosity.”

“So did you find the answers?”

“To a degree, but not a degree with which I am satisfied,” said Harwick. “The book presupposes certain knowledge on behalf of the reader. I don’t know if it was simple oversight, or a means to denying that information to ignorant readers such as myself. But it does seem to indicate that with the device it describes, you can summon aid from beyond the barrier or worlds. It does not say from whom, nor does it specify the manner in which that aid might be supplied. It is also quite likely that even if such a device was to be made, there may no longer be anyone to answer the call.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed. This is why I questioned you in regards to Cadmus Errol’s motives. I have a great deal of experience dealing with men of power, and sound judgment of the repercussions of their actions is not always prominent among their virtues. The Mad Tinker reputation of his doesn’t help matters either.”

Kaia nodded. Unfortunately, there was truth to what Harwick said. Cadmus’s reputation was overblown, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t earned it.

“So you see, that’s why I needed to speak to you alone,” said Harwick. “And it’s why you are worth every drop and more of that brandy growing warm in your hand. You are the one who is going to decide whether I can trust Cadmus Errol not to go building a device whose purpose and consequences cannot be foreseen. On your word, I will either send you on your way with both books, or I will withhold the second book, and you can truthfully report that I only gave you the one.”

“But I’m not anyone important,” Kaia protested. “I have no right to say whether Cadmus Errol can be trusted or not. He’s the brains behind the rebellion. He’s my superior.”

Harwick leaned back and closed his eyes. “Have they told you much of Acardia?” Kaia shook her head, but before she realized that he wasn’t watching, he continued. “King Gorden is the last of his kind, an old man who has seen the error not only of his own ways, but the errors of his father, grandfather, and all who came before him. His son will not inherit his title. We’ve spent years, he and I, setting up a government that represents the people, one that lets
them
choose their leaders, rather than mere heredity. Gorden is a good king, but that’s just luck for we Acardians. His son would be a good king too, but that’s not the point. The point is that wisdom is spread throughout the kingdom, not sequestered in the mind of one man by right of birth. People here have a say in their leadership, even now, and will only gain more influence with King Gorden’s death. I believe in that. I believe that the best way to learn the heart of a man is by talking to those who he holds in his power. What a man does with power tells you everything you need to know about him. But much of what he does is done behind closed doors, where few see it. You’re behind those doors. So tell me: is Cadmus Errol the sort of man I can trust not to do something reckless and astonishingly short-sighted with this book?”

Kaia sat still.
My choice? Why do I have to be the one? He’s a good man at heart. It’s all worked out, too. The world-rippers … where would we be without those? And the cannon? Maybe that was a bit much, but it did the job. All right, fine … if it had misfired or anything had gone wrong, it could have killed us all. But it didn’t. That should count for something. Shouldn’t it?

“What’s in those other worlds?” Kaia asked. “Does the book say?” She knew that there were twelve total; Rynn had explained that much to her. Out of curiosity, she had spun through the world dial on the console, but had never been able to see any but her own, Tellurak, and Veydrus.

“It doesn’t,” Harwick replied. “Who’s to say what could be out there. The writers of these books would seem likely, or at least their descendants. Maybe the lost gods. Maybe something worse than kuduks. Honestly, I can only speculate.”

“Maybe it would be best if I only took the one.”

Kupe stood at the ready, along with a group of forty-nine other recruits. Davlin had told them they were part of Operation Potato now, but that didn’t explain much. The uniform felt tight when worn properly. Kupe had never been fond of the top buttons of any coat or shirt he wore, preferring a more fashionably lax look. The ladies had always appreciated it. Davlin less so. It wasn’t the first time he had stood waiting for Davlin to send him off into battle. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last. Back in the tunnels of Cuminol, he had held a rifle, and only knew the basics of what to do with one. Now, Kupe carried a coil gun with what felt like a lifetime supply of ball bearings weighing down his pack. At his belt, he had four of Rynn’s spark grenades, something that hardly ever got sent on raids, as far as he knew. A few of the rebel factions had been given some as last-resort defenses, but normally they seemed like a waste. Kupe assumed that Davlin was going to explain why he had them.

Pious Davlin looked out over Kupe and his comrades, eyes narrow as slits against the glare of sun in the plaza. “You all are now members of Operation Potato. We have word that our kin in Tellurak are being rounded up, killed or dragged off. We don’t know where they’ve gone, but we know where they have been taking their victims. Across the Telluraki kingdom of Acardia, there have been reports of farms attacked. There have been no witnesses, but we know who is responsible. In Kupak Deep, the newspapers are calling it the Human Replacement Plan.” Davlin spat on the deck. “We’ve searched Kupak, but none of the missing farmhands have shown up. They will, and when they do, we will make bloody sure they get home. Until then, we need to stop the kuduks taking any more of our kin.