The Aeronaut's Windlass (55 page)

“But important, Mirl,” Rowl said quietly. He faced her and said, “Very important to me.”

Mirl tilted her head, abruptly very still. “You trust me to do it?”

Rowl sniffed. “It is a proper task for a Whisker. I am a prince. I have princely business to attend.”

“What business?” Mirl asked.

“Is it not perfectly obvious?” Rowl rose and began to pad calmly toward the proper tunnels. “I am going to conquer the Nine-Claws.”

Chapter 45

Spire Albion, Habble Landing Shipyards, AMS
Predator

E
very man to be armed and armored,” Grimm said to Creedy as he strode down the deck. “Every single one, Mister Creedy, apart from Journeyman and his hired hands. They’re to keep working on the ship.”

“We have a little more than half the complement we had during the initial attack, sir,” Creedy said, walking quickly beside Grimm. “If an entire battalion of Auroran Marines have landed . . .”

“Then it is imperative that we catch them while they’re still in the tunnels to prevent them from using their superior numbers against us.”

Creedy got a little paler but nodded. “Aye, sir. That will even things up. Some. But even so . . .”

“Relax, Byron. I have no intention of fighting them to the death. We’re merely confirming their presence—this is a reconnaissance in force. Their security is evidently good enough to catch even someone familiar with the local tunnels, like a local verminocitor, traveling alone. I mean to find them, and I mean to make sure they don’t take me the way they did that poor fellow.”

“And if we do find them, sir?”

“We fight just long enough to get an idea of their numbers, break contact, leave pickets at the tunnels they can escape through, and send to the Spirearch for reinforcements. Divide the crew into five-man squads, have them pick squad leaders, and brief the leaders on the plan. Snap to.”

Creedy threw a crisp salute and said, “Aye, Captain.” Then he spun on a heel and went belowdecks, where most of the men were either sleeping or working on refitting
Predator
’s systems, bawling orders as he went.

Grimm stalked to his cabin, took his coat from his shoulders with an impatient shrug, and eyed his wounded arm. All things considered, he thought he might need both hands and his gauntlet for the next few hours, and he was tired of the damned nuisance of a sling in any case. So he flung it into the corner and flexed his arm experimentally.

There was pain, but not nearly so much as he had expected—and the discomfort was of a peculiar, stretchy sort, as if every muscle in his forearm had cramped unbearably and was only now beginning to loosen again. He winced and he flexed his wrist, but decided that the arm, if imperfect and uncomfortable, was serviceable. So he opened the locked cabinet, rolled up his sleeve, and strapped on his gauntlet. The wounds hurt beneath the bandages, but the cloth windings didn’t suddenly turn scarlet with fresh blood. It would do.

Grimm donned his captain’s coat, secured his hat firmly in place, and strode out of the cabin to find the men assembling on the deck. He checked to his right and spotted Sir Benedict pacing outside the door to Mister Bagen’s sick bay. He walked over to the young Guard and nodded. “Is Ferus in there?”

Benedict nodded. His golden eyes were strained, hollow. “They’re just finishing up.”

“How is Miss Lancaster?”

Benedict shook his head. “They didn’t say.”

Grimm pursed his lips and nodded. Bagen wasn’t the sort of physician to say anything he wasn’t certain about. The man would always remain silent rather than risk giving false hope to those waiting on news of his patients’ prospects. He didn’t shirk from giving bad news, either, though.

“Then there’s hope, son,” Grimm said. “If she was dying, Bagen would have said so.”

Benedict forced a small, brief smile to his mouth and nodded his thanks. His expression of worry did not change, but his pacing subsided.

A moment later the door rattled fitfully, and Benedict all but pounced on it in his hurry to open it.

“Thank you, my boy,” Master Ferus chirped, and bustled outside. He turned, shut the door in Mister Bagen’s rather startled, drawn face, and added, “Excuse me.” Then he peered intently at the wood for a long moment.

“Ah,” Ferus said, beaming. “I am not a braggart by nature, Captain Grimm, but I must say that in my own small way, I do excellent work.”

Grimm cleared his throat. “What is the child’s condition?”

Ferus rounded on him with an arched silver brow. “Child, sir? Have
you
ever slain a silkweaver matriarch?”

“Point taken, sir,” Grimm said, with a small bow. “What is Miss Lancaster’s condition?”

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Master Ferus said offhandedly. “Assuming, of course, that she wakes up.”

“What?” Benedict asked.

“She’s unconscious,” Ferus replied, his voice turning graver. “Both Doctor Bagen and I believe that her condition is stable, but the blow to her head was severe, and she has shown no signs of rousing. It is possible that she may sit up in the next few moments. It is also possible that she may never awaken. We simply cannot know.”

“Oh,” Benedict said in a very small voice. “Oh. Oh, coz.” He swallowed and blinked his eyes several times. “May I see her?”

“Of course,” Master Ferus said. He reached for the doorknob and fiddled with it fitfully for a moment. Then he sighed and said, “They
worked
when I was young. Standards must be slipping.”

“Doubtless,” Grimm said, and opened the door for Sir Benedict, who paced inside and began speaking quietly to Doctor Bagen. Grimm shut the door and turned to Master Ferus. “Sir Benedict tells me that you can locate our enemy if I can take you to the correct general vicinity.”

Ferus raked a bony hand through his wispy grey hair and nodded absently. “Yes, quite probably.” He blinked. “You mean to say that you’ve found it, Captain Grimm?”

“I believe so,” Grimm said. “I mean to leave the ship and find them as soon as my men are armed and armored. I would ask you to join us.”

“Yes, yes, obviously,” Ferus muttered, waving a hand. His eyes were locked on what appeared to be a random point on the ship’s deck. “Though . . . we won’t be leaving right away, I’m afraid.”

Grimm tilted his head slightly. “No? And why not?”

Ferus suddenly stiffened. His expression flickered with a rapid mix of emotions, and then a slow shudder seemed to roll down his spine. He turned slowly, pointed a stiffened finger toward the ship’s boarding plank, and said, “We have no need to seek the Enemy. She has come to us.”

Grimm turned in time to see Madame Cavendish stride calmly to the top of the ramp and halt, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She wore a steely lavender dress and bolero with grey accents and a matching lavender blouse. She wore her hat at a rakish angle upon her pinned-up hair, and a crystal the size of a big man’s thumb glowed with gentle light at the center of a velvet choker about her slender throat.

Her gaze was focused directly upon Master Ferus even as her head rose above the level of the deck, as if she had known precisely where he would be standing long before she had actually laid eyes upon him.

Those flat grey eyes took in Ferus for a moment, and then Cavendish smiled. It was, Grimm thought, the cruelest expression he had ever seen on a human face.

Then she turned to Grimm, and her smile reminded him of nothing so much as a primed gauntlet ready to be discharged. “Captain Grimm,” she said. “What a pleasure to see you again, sir. And what a lovely ship this is. Permission to come aboard for parley?”

Grimm turned his head slightly toward Master Ferus but never took his eyes off of Cavendish. “Sir?” he said quietly. “Ought we take her?”

“You can’t,” Ferus said, his voice roughened with emotion. “You haven’t the necessary tools.”

Grimm frowned. “You think we should parley with her?”

“Merciful Builders and God in Heaven, no,” Ferus murmured back. “She cannot be trusted. Offer her tea.”

Grimm pursed his lips. “For what reason?”

“She has us at a disadvantage, Captain, or she wouldn’t be here at all. She wishes to talk, or she would simply have attacked. Let us see what she has to say.”

“Is she a danger to my men?” Grimm asked.

Master Ferus’s teeth showed briefly. “To all men. Invite her to take tea before the winds change.” He touched Grimm’s arm and lowered his voice intently. “And, Captain.
Do
let us be gracious about it.”

Grimm frowned at the old etherealist for a moment more before nodding. Then he turned, doffed his cap, and swept a politely proper bow to the lady. “Permission granted, Madame Cavendish. Welcome aboard
Predator
. May I tempt you with a cup of tea?”

Cavendish stepped onto the deck of Grimm’s ship, and her smile didn’t widen so much as sharpen. “Why, what a gracious offer. Yes, Captain, tea would be lovely. Tea would please me to no end.”

Grimm fought down an odd sensation of manifest dread, and offered the woman his arm. She took it, and the contact made him feel as if his flesh had begun to desperately bunch up in an effort to avoid contact with the woman’s fingers.

But he allowed none of that to show in his bearing or voice.

“This way, please, madame. If I may be so bold as to ask: Do you prefer sugar or honey in your tea?”

Chapter 46

Spire Albion, Habble Landing Shipyards, AMS
Predator

G
rimm did not, as a rule, believe in extravagance. That said, he did own a rather finely made teapot.

The device was specifically made for use aboard airships, plugging into the electrical system of a ship upon two slender copper prongs. Electricity flowed into a coil upon which sat the copper teapot, and heated the water inside to the ideal temperature in well under a minute, shutting off immediately when the water was perfectly heated. As it was the deluxe model, it even had a dial on the side to adjust for altitude in order to make sure the pot was heated to precisely the correct temperature every time.

Grimm heated the water, then added the leaves and let them steep for a few moments. Then he brought the tea to the little table in his cabin around which sat Master Ferus and Madame Cavendish.