Tinker's Justice (4 page)

These … these are humans I might work with.

The room Kezudkan was provided had everything a human might need, and it was passable for a daruu. The bed was plenty large and sturdy enough, but too soft for his old joints. The stone floor was obscured by thick carpets, which Kezudkan was not rude enough to pile in a corner for the duration of his stay. A pair of floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one wall, incessantly reminding him that he was not only above ground, but well above ground level. No amount of drapery was going to fool him into thinking otherwise. Of most immediate use was a writing desk, complete with a small provisional stash of paper and ink. In quaint fashion, the ink was the dipping sort, and an assortment of bird feathers was provided in place of pens.

Kezudkan seated himself and took up one of the quills. It felt like nothing in his hand; his fingers pinched together with only a thread of resistance between them. Squinting in concentration, the old daruu dunked the tip in the inkwell and began scribbling a note. By the time he finished, there were droplets of ink across half the page, and his fingers were stained a deep violet color. He held up the note, holding it nice and still so that Gederon and whoever else might have been watching could read it through the viewframe:

Have the Pillar of Runes outside the city in the morning (local time), same place you delivered us. We may have need of his services. All well.

Best wishes,

-K

The following morning, after a sampling of bland local delicacies, the negotiations reconvened. All the principals from the previous day’s session had returned—Kezudkan recognized faces, even if he could not recall their names—and a number of newcomers crowded in as well. Sitting between the monstrous human general and the sorcerer Axterion was a human woman of child-bearing years. It felt demeaning to think of these humans in the terms by which he judged his human slaves, especially once Axterion introduced her, passing the slate across the table with the note: “Allow me to present Empress Celia, ruler of the Kadrin Empire.”

Kezudkan had gathered that Axterion was someone highly placed in the empire, not merely the first scholar they could find with a working knowledge of daruu text. But there was no doubt now that they had the attention of the highest levels of the Kadrin government.

As Lunjak inclined his head in acknowledgement and tapped out a formal reply on the slate board, Kezudkan’s mind wandered.
We’ve got their ruler right here. Who are we to bargain with her?
Kezudkan had stood before committees and councilors, negotiated with industrialists and entrepreneurs, employed scientists and thugs. None of that had prepared him to interact with royalty. There was a whole protocol around King Dekulon that went amiss in Kezudkan’s presence, and he knew deep down that only the king’s curiosity and good nature kept it from being an issue. The young woman who Axterion claimed as his liege sat still as a sculpture, but had rifle barrels for eyes. She could pull the trigger with a single uttered word to her sorcerers, he did not doubt.

Kezudkan leaned subtly to Lunjak and spoke from the side of his mouth. “Perhaps we need to call in reinforcements.”

“Not to worry,” Lunjak replied beneath his breath. “Zepdaan will be discovered at their gates any moment. I was about to mention his arrival.”

Not the Pillar of Runes, you fool!
Kezudkan wanted to shout.
It’s time for King Dekulon to meet his counterpart.
But curious eyes from across the table made him think better of getting into an argument right then, even if he could manage a civil tone as Lunjak’s unrelenting politeness plowed along into the day’s talks. He kept his tongue still and listened with his eyes, reading exchanges chalked on the slate board like they were a transcription rather than the communication itself. The morning passed like mud drying as Lunjak and Axterion went over plans to repatriate the refugees from the goblin slaughter.

Things perked up once the Pillar of Runes was escorted into the conference. After a brief verbal tussle, which Zepdaan won, the Pillar of Runes took over at the center of the daruu contingent. The slate board was pushed aside, and Zepdaan acted as translator, familiar with the variant rune language that was apparently common to both human and daruu rune-throwers. After revisiting the introductory pleasantries with the new arrival, they skimmed the dross from the pot and delved into more pressing matters.

“So,” Axterion asked through the translator, “how is it that you arrived here? You brought no animals, and your kind aren’t known for fleetness.”

“That was a matter of secondary importance to the fate of your survivors,” Lunjak replied in kind. “We have a great deal to discuss on the topic, but let me first dig a side tunnel into a most peculiar discovery that we made, not long ago.”

Here it comes.
Kezudkan watched the reactions of the Kadrin humans. He noticed as soon as Zepdaan began translating that Axterion was far from the only one in the room who understood the alternate rune language. All the dark-clad officials in the room, as well as the empress, seemed to follow the pillar’s words without waiting for translation. In fact, Kezudkan guessed that it was only the general and his soldiers around the periphery of the room who warranted Axterion’s trouble in repeating the words in the human language.

“You see, our friend here, Citizen Graniteson, is not from this world,” said Lunjak. Several whispered conversations broke out around the periphery of the world, and Axterion hesitated before translating for the rest of the Kadrins.

“So … where precisely
is
he from?” asked Axterion. Despite having to wait a moment for the words to be translated, Kezudkan could tell by the smirk on the sorcerer’s face that he knew.
The muddy bastard. This one
knows
about the other worlds.

“A world called Korr,” said Lunjak, who waited just long enough for the words to be translated before chugging onward, full coal to the furnace. “Now before you decide that I have taken leave of my senses, please allow me to assure you that we took convincing as well. The very notion that our world is not the only one in existence was, to say the least, implausible. However, Citizen Graniteson was able to make a compelling case, which—” Lunjak stopped, glaring at Zepdaan, who had stopped his translation midway through the rant.

“Let’s just show them the muddy thing,” said Zepdaan, turning up his palms. “That’s what you’re leading up to anyway. Quit angling your chisel and hit it.”

Lunjak offered a forced smile to their hosts. “My colleague was just suggesting that I skip ahead and show you our proof. Please do not be alarmed by what you are about to see; it is completely harmless.”

You obviously haven’t given that much thought to it yet. “Harmless” is one of the last descriptions I would offer for a world-ripper.

“Kezudkan, if you would please give the signal,” said Lunjak. To Kezudkan’s mild surprise, the Pillar of Runes translated the request. There was an uneasy shifting in the seats of the humans across the table, and a few of the guards gripped their weapons tighter.
Gravel-headed old dimwit. Make them edgy right before we surprise them, why don’t you?

Kezudkan hoisted himself from his chair with nods to the empress and Axterion. The empress gave a nod in reply, which was a welcome reassurance before the shock he was about to give them. Hefting his cane, Kezudkan gripped it halfway up and held it aloft. Within seconds, a world-hole opened behind the daruu contingent. The Kadrins gasped, gaped, and wondered aloud at the sight. All but Axterion.

The old sorcerer cackled. He threw his head back and laughed like he was at a comedic play of the finest caliber. Even his own attendants and his empress looked at him with questioning eyes, diverting them from their wonderment and hushed debates.

“Something amuses you?” Lunjak asked.

Axterion wiped tears from his eyes. “I’ve had the most miserable season I can remember. I’m beset with foes who are more prepared for a war than we are, and a grandson who’s mad as a pig in a blindfold. And here you come, dropping one of those machines right in front of me. Gut me, but the gods must be returning, and they’ve got a sense of humor.”

Axterion straightened himself in his chair, took a deep breath to compose himself. “Gentlemen, let’s work out an arrangement.”

Chapter 3

“Overcoming the fear of the skies proves that we are capable of overcoming our natural inclinations.” –Wendrus Olkant, kuduk philosopher

The
Jennai
was a rune-lift airship, the only one of its kind in Korr. Its hull was cobbled together from the wrecks of four vacu-dirge airships with the enormous vacuum tanks repurposed as crew quarters. The central space between the gondolas that hung beneath the vacuum tanks had been turned into an aerodrome with a runway of steel plating the full length of the ship. Each of the four quadrants of the
Jennai
housed a world-ripper for resupplying and for conducting raiding and recruitment actions.

It felt cramped.

With a standing crew numbering close to two thousand and featuring all the amenities of a small city, Rynn still felt trapped aboard the
Jennai
. It was Madlin’s fault; she knew in her head. But every morning Rynn woke with a fresh memory of a collar around her neck and two goblins chained to her. The airship wasn’t swift enough, large enough, or open enough to get rid of that feeling before she was plagued with memories of her time in Deliah’s custody.

She had tried spending more time in the workshops to give her mind a respite both from Madlin’s dilemma and from the rebellion’s demands in general. Davlin had been a boon in helping with the organization of the military side of the rebellion, and Vaulk, Rascal, and Hayfield had taken up management of the civilian aspects of life aboard the ship. Rynn had squirmed her way into an oversight and figurehead role.
What I really want is Kupe’s job
, she chided herself.
Show up, blow glory smoke in everyone’s faces, and get them to join up with us.
Even in the privacy of her thoughts, she couldn’t convince anyone of that lie. She hated recruiting.

Humans were stubborn beasts, more worried about the unknown future than their deplorable present. Every visit was a variation on a theme. “We just want a bit more meat is all,” “Just a few hours with my little ones all I’m after,” “They oughtta quit beatin’ us when’s all’s we’re doin’s what we’re told.” They lacked ambition, vision, hope. It was strange how the right infusion of the three could turn bedraggled workers into killers. But humans were greedy creatures as well, and once you convinced them—deep down, and not just the reluctant acceptance that slaves gave so easily—that they could have more, they wanted more. Kupe had a gift for that sort of convincing. Rynn could manage it, but it wore her out each time in a way that never seemed to weigh on Kupe. It was as if he had reserves of personality that weren’t depleted by giving alehouse speeches and holding mine-shaft rallies.

No, Rynn didn’t really want to be Kupe, though she occasionally envied how little real responsibility he had. She would deny it to anyone, even Sosha and Jamile, and
especially
to her father, but she wanted to be Dan. Dan hadn’t ducked behind building corners during the fight for Tinker’s Island. He wouldn’t have run from the knockers if he had been in Rynn’s place for the heist that got No-Boots killed. He stood and fought, unafraid of any foe. Admittedly he took that bravado off a cliff with him, but it was the ability Rynn envied, not the mad bloodlust.

Looking down at her latest personal project, Rynn saw a step in that direction. It looked like something out of Anzik’s world, a suit of plate armor that only went from arm to arm across the collar. Of course, the insides looked more like the right half of her tinker’s leg, with its spring reinforced joints and hinged articulation. It was time to test it out and see what it could do.

Rynn slid the contraption over her head like a pullover shirt, with padding around the opening settling on her collarbone. Though the device weighed half as much as Rynn did, judicious use of levitation runes rendered it feather-light. It still swung around like she was pushing it through water due to its mass, but there was no discomfort in wearing it. Left-handed, she began buckling the straps for the right arm and securing the device in place. Unlike her tinker’s legs, she had designed the arms to fit over her clothing, not against bare skin, and the outer coverings hinged into place without having to be fitted as separate pieces.

With the right arm encased to the wrist, she checked the articulation, pleased to find that she had nearly her full range of motion. She proceeded to strap into the left arm, which included a fingerless glove with a plate assembly fixed to the back. That plate assembly was the real trick of the device.

Standing and flexing her arms, Rynn checked her physical dexterity with a few calisthenics. No one was watching, so she twisted and couched, swung her arms overhead, and bounced lightly on her tinker’s legs. Everything seemed slower than she was used to, but nothing impeded her motion. With an imagined foe popping out from behind one of the workshop’s machines, Rynn quick-drew her coil gun, fumbling briefly as the bulk of her tinker’s arm made the grab awkward. She aimed at one phantom kuduk, then another behind a crate of ball bearings, then a third who had snuck behind her. With how muddy her motions were, she was going to have to trust in the runes scrawled across the plates of her new armor for her defense.

There were a number of innovations she had implemented, but none felt as satisfying as scavenging Kadrin runes from the wall at the city of Raynesdark. A chunk of that wall still sat on her desk, displaying an intact series of runes which she had copied in miniature several hundred times over the surface of both arms. It had been the most time-consuming part of the work, but when she had emptied a hopper of ball bearings from her coil gun into the runes, they had splashed ringlets of aether but held firm.

The table at the side of the room wobbled and had several chunks that had been gouged out by inexpert woodworking. Rather than pitch it through the world-ripper or off the side of the ship as the crew did with most of their rubbish, Rynn requisitioned it as a test subject. She lifted her left hand above the table, palm up.
Here goes …

She dropped her hand to the table, the plate on the back of her glove hitting the surface first. Inside, between plate and glove, a spring compressed, and a smaller plate bearing part of a rune was pressed into position, completing an arrangement of runes similar to the ones that reduced the recoil on the coil guns to almost nil. Instantly, the mass of the plate jumped a thousand-fold (Rynn had calculated it to an equivalent weight of nearly five hundred pounds), and the table shattered. All Rynn felt was the pressure of the spring plate on the back of her hand. As soon as the resistance from the table was gone, the spring separated the rune and her hand returned to its proper weight.

Turning the battering ram of a gauntlet over, Rynn checked for damage. The reinforcement of the runes had prevented even a scuff from marring the surface.

Grinning, Rynn worked to put on the rest of the armor she had fashioned. The other pieces were nothing extraordinary by comparison. A breastplate and back plate clasped into place with fittings that matched the tinker’s arms where the joining piece crossed Rynn’s collarbone. Filtration tanks attached to the back plate had hoses leading to a helmet custom fit to Rynn’s head, with a gasketed fit based on the military gas filtration masks the kuduks invading Tinker’s Island had worn. Though they hadn’t run into it yet, they were bound to blunder into forces armed with poison cloud canisters sooner or later.

Rynn took off her spectacles and donned the helmet. Goggles built into the face mask carried the same refractory correction she was used to, though the mask itself blocked much of her peripheral vision. She twisted her neck to either side, feeling the tug of the hoses’ weight, but otherwise unimpeded. Her breath echoed back to her, making the helm feel claustrophobic, and there was a rubbery odor inside, but nothing intolerable. She made a mental note to wash out the hoses with peppermint or lilac perfume, or perhaps lime juice.

There was a spring in the step of her tinker’s legs as Rynn made her way to the world-rippers.

Jamile put her arms around Cadmus as he sat gazing lazily through a viewframe overlooking a factory town in western Ruttania. He leaned his head back against her shoulder and sighed. There was a whiff of shaving liniment on his face, which felt smooth against her cheek. If nothing else, her attentions had gotten him to start taking better care of himself again.

“What news from Madlin?” Cadmus asked.

Jamile pushed herself away, leaving her hands on his shoulders. “That’s your third foul of the day. No dessert tonight, and don’t you think Greuder’s not with me on this.”

The Mad Tinker twisted his head around and smiled at her, but it faded quickly. “She’s fine, and I got a drafting square thrown at me last time I asked, so you’re not getting any more detail than that.”

Cadmus leaned forward to the control console, his hands stretching out for the dials. “I’ve got to check.”

Jamile pulled him against the backrest of his seat. It had been a revelatory experience when she realized that, for all the strength in the tinker’s arms, she had enough leverage to manhandle him on occasion. She was a full three inches taller than the tinker, and probably out-hefted him as well. “You’ll do no such thing. We
know
the beastie can see our viewframe, and Rynn says Madlin’s being held so close she can feel his breath rumble the floor. You’d open a view just in time to see her get eaten.”

“I’m no good at doing nothing,” Cadmus grumbled.

“You’re not doing nothing, you’re doing the right thing. It’s called waiting, and it’s one of the harder things to do, I think,” Jamile said. “Especially for you and your daughter. Daughters?” She planted a kiss on the bald spot on his head. “I saw your sketches for the medical station on the
Jennai
. It’s a big improvement over the closet we’re in now. Why don’t you work on that for me?”

Cadmus furrowed his brow. “I tossed those in the bin. They were rubbish.”

“Well, I found them there and I liked them. Un-rubbish them, if you’re as good a tinker as everyone says.” She reached over his head and flipped a switch to shut the viewframe off.

Cadmus grumbled beneath his breath. Jamile wasn’t even sure they were words, just noises meant to convey his annoyance.

“What was … oh
poo
!”

“Hmm?”

“It’s Rynn,” Jamile said. “Madlin may be pillowy safe in Veydrus, but Rynn’s just signed up for a raid. She’s … well, she’s made herself into a tinker knight … or something.”

A standard raiding squad had twelve soldiers, a commander, and a medic. Twenty or so crewmen waited to haul supplies and wounded through the world-hole once the shooting was done, and all available medical staff were on hand, including their chief medical officer, Doctor Sosha. When Rynn walked into the staging room, clad in her tinker’s armor, minus the helm she carried under her arm, the personnel on hand shifted from stoic readiness to gawking gossip.

“Rynn!” Sosha exclaimed. “What are you …?”

Rynn smirked.
Wearing? Thinking? Doing here?
“It’s time to field test this new gear.”

Sergeant Hemock stepped forward. “General, is this the time?”

Rynn shrugged with a clank of metal. “Your lucky day. It was going to be one raid or another, and this one was next up when I was ready to put this stuff through its paces.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hemock replied with a salute.
Eziel, I love soldiers. One question, one answer, and that’s that.
Soldiers might not have been the thinkers in the rebellion, but there were times where all Rynn wanted was to act, not spend days or weeks debating options. Soldiers were all about taking a plan and performing an action. She snorted, amused at a thought she had no intention of ever sharing.
They’re a little like the goblins, actually. Except instead of building me factories and parts, they go kill kuduks for me. Happy little gears in this big old machine.