Inside the cargo hold of the airship, Trip scribbled notes and sketches in the compact notebook he kept in his flight jacket. It was for making calculations in the air, not repair notes for enemy vessels, but it was all he had. He didn’t want to try to keep everything in his head. He’d already found seven problems they would have to address, not including sealing all the holes in the envelope and cutting wood to replace the damaged sections of the envelope frame. There were massive holes in the hull, as well, and he balked at the idea of not repairing them, but reminded himself this wasn’t a sailing ship, and it didn’t have to be watertight for air flight.
“Captain Engineer,” Leftie called from outside the airship. “All we have in our repair kits are mallets. Have you tried to hammer a nail with a mallet?”
“Is that you?” Rysha asked, picking her way through the dark hold toward him, lugging a large toolbox.
“By process of elimination, taking from consideration all non-captains, it’s either me, Duck, or Kaika.” Trip closed his notebook and picked up the bundle of patches for the envelope that he’d found, along with a coil of rope that he looped over his shoulder. “I can make a hammer for you if the toolbox from here doesn’t have one,” he called to Leftie as he headed toward a huge hole in the hull large enough to walk through—they had originally entered that way.
“Dreyak could be a captain back in Cofahre.”
“Does he strike you as someone you’d approach with a mallet problem?”
“He’s not someone I would approach at all,” Rysha murmured. “I saw him painting his forehead with fresh blood from the dead pirates.”
Trip, aware of the blood now spattering his jacket, did not comment. He hadn’t intentionally painted himself with any, but he’d felt like some ancient barbarian clansman out there, swinging Jaxi like an axe. And enjoying the hells out of it.
He had experienced battle ecstasy before when mowing down pirates in his flier, and it often left him concerned once his blood cooled. Even though he’d chosen to become a soldier, he did not consider himself bloodthirsty, not someone who basked in killing people, so it was hard to accept he had a side that enjoyed it. He tried to tell himself that he simply enjoyed pitting himself against others in battle, being forced to challenge himself to thrive and survive, but when he was honest with himself, he knew that wasn’t exactly it.
“Did he fight well?” Trip asked, wondering if the Cofah warrior had lived up to his reputation.
“Yes, I think so. He took down several men. Not as many as, uh, you.”
Trip grimaced, slowing down as he reached the hole in the hull.
“That was Jaxi.” He couldn’t blame his battle savagery on her, though she hadn’t seemed to object to it, but his sudden sword-fighting ability had definitely been her doing. It had been as if a god controlled his movements, giving him skills and experience he could only dream of. “It was an extremely weird experience.”
He nodded to indicate that Rysha could go out first—that big toolbox would be useful in repairs, but it looked heavy and awkward.
But she paused to set it down. “Did she… take you over?”
“Not exactly, but she was guiding all my movements. I think I decided who to chase down. At least I remember seeing that pirate charging you and consciously choosing to try to intercept him. It is kind of a blur, though. And I remember her being—I guess bloodthirsty isn’t the right word, but she was at least as gleeful about being in battle as…” He almost said I was, but he didn’t want to admit to that side of himself to Rysha. “Our Cofah warrior,” he finished.
Rysha peered into his eyes, her face difficult to read.
Could she know what he’d almost said? Maybe she’d seen him fighting and just knew.
“You didn’t seem to mind,” she said quietly.
He wondered what lustful, crazy expression he’d worn in that battle.
“It’s not a big deal,” Rysha said. “If Iskandians didn’t have any soldiers who could kill in battle, the Cofah would have forcefully assimilated us into their empire long ago.”
It was a rational thing to say, but he wasn’t sure he believed that she felt that way. Even though she was training to enlist in the elite troops, she seemed to have a gentle soul. Maybe it was the spectacles, but she had a scholarly mien to her even when she wore fatigues and carried a rifle. He knew she’d fired at their enemies, but he didn’t think she’d shot to kill. He wondered if she would have the edge necessary to pass that training. He had a feeling Captain Kaika didn’t have much trouble slitting throats when the situation demanded it.
“I just figured it was part of why you signed on to be a pilot,” she added with a smile, though she sounded like she might be trying to convince herself. “You fellows shoot down people all the time.”
“True, but I joined because I wanted to fly, not shoot anyone down, and the military is the main road to a career doing that now.” Trip thought of the pirates he’d riddled with bullets on the airship the week before—had that even been a week ago? He’d experienced a similar battle lust then and countless other times when he’d engaged such foes, such enemies to Iskandia, but somehow, it was different when he was in his flier, with more distance between him and the enemy. He rarely had to see his foes’ faces up close. This time, he’d looked people straight in the eye as he’d slashed the soulblade across their throats. “I did know it would involve protecting my country, and I’ve always been willing to do that.”
She gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled and nodded. “I’m glad. It needs protecting right now. I am a little surprised that Jaxi sounds bloodthirsty.”
“I didn’t mean to say that she was that. Just excited to go into battle, I think. It’s true she didn’t hesitate at all to guide my hands to kill.” He shrugged, not sure if that fit the definition of bloodthirsty.
Jaxi was being quiet for the moment, almost oddly so. Maybe she sensed his discomfort and was giving him space. He found it surprising that someone with such enthusiasm for battle had been paired with a healer. Maybe they complemented each other’s strengths and weaknesses?
“I haven’t read a lot about soulblades,” Rysha said slowly, “but I have studied the chapaharii swords. Those aren’t intelligent, or at least not in the way soulblades are, with former people inhabiting them, but they are reputed to have strong personalities and be very singled-minded in wishing to fulfill their destiny, killing dragons and those with dragon blood. There are some command words that can order them to stand down when necessary, and warriors used to carry them their whole lives, asserting their will over the blades and working with them to great success. I imagine that if you bonded with Jaxi, you’d get more accustomed to each other and figure out each other’s boundaries.”
“Yes, I imagine so. And I can’t truly be bothered by what she helped me do out there.” Trip waved out the hole and in the direction of the forest—the body-filled forest. “I would have just stood there stupidly, trying not to get hit, if she hadn’t asserted herself. But I don’t know if I can bond with someone else’s soulblade. Once this mission is over, she’ll go back to Sardelle, and I’ll go back to my flier.” He remembered that his flier was on the bottom of the ocean. Would he be given a new one to get to know? Or would he be stuck riding rickety substitutes? A different machine for each mission, whoever’s was free?
“Fliers seem much less likely to engage you in conversation and assist you in battle.”
“This is true, but I’m a pilot. Pilots don’t get soulblades.”
Receiving a soulblade has little to do with your occupation, Jaxi spoke into his mind, her voice unusually diffident. At least in my day, when there was far more of a mage culture and there were more soulblades in the world. When someone was chosen to be a handler, talent and aptitude counted for a little, but mostly, it was an honor bestowed on those who’d done great work in the community and could be trusted to use the extra power wisely.
Rysha peered at his notebook. “A list of repairs needed to be done?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing about adding drink holders?”
Trip blinked a couple of times. “Are you teasing me, Lieutenant?”
“Maybe a little. But I got kind of excited imagining that table you described to me. Maybe I can order one from you when we get done with our mission. The overhead lighting sounded ideal for studying and research experiments, and I have been known to spill beverages on my papers before.”
“Oh? I thought elite troops were swift and agile.” It was silly, but it warmed his heart that she’d been listening to him describe his woodworking projects and actually remembered the details. Though he shouldn’t be surprised, since she remembered the stats for an airship once mentioned in a math problem.
“We are definitely swift and agile. But I don’t think that precludes distractedly knocking over a bottle of sarsaparilla while mulling over clues to an archaeological puzzle.”
The specifics there made Trip think that had actually happened.
“Did you know that four out of five university professors and librarians will fine you for spilling drinks on their ancient texts?”
“I had no idea.”
“It’s a statistic I’ve proven over the years. I assure you it’s accurate. Also accurate is the fact that sarsaparilla soda stains parchment. During my fourth year, I had to switch to drinking water while doing homework. To protect my purse.”
“You sound like a woman in need of a built-in cup holder.”
Rysha smiled blandly and pushed her spectacles higher on her nose. “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
He grinned, glad for the silly conversation after the more disturbing one.
“Captain Engineer, are you coming out?” Leftie came into view and stuck his head through the hole. “Are those tools? Because we’re going to need more tools. And lumber. Didn’t your sword promise it could produce sawmill-quality lumber?” He looked back and forth between Rysha and Trip. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I? You two, in here, alone in the dark.”
“Your mind has a singular focus, Leftie.” Trip stepped through the hole and set down his gear.
“Focus is an admirable quality, I’m told.” Leftie rubbed his shoulder and winced at some pain.
When Trip and the others had returned from their battle, Leftie, Duck, and Blazer had stood over one dead and two tied-up pirates, but they’d received a few bruises themselves in the scuffle. None of them had complained.
Maybe they, like Trip, felt foolish for having allowed themselves to be lured down. They’d been so busy planning their own scheme that they hadn’t realized the pirates themselves might have a scheme. If Jaxi hadn’t warned Trip so he could warn the others, the squadron would have fallen for the ambush, perhaps being destroyed by it.
I should have warned you earlier, Jaxi told him. I sensed those people in the trees before we landed. I didn’t realize at first that you didn’t sense them too.
Should I have?
Yes. When we get back, you should ask Sardelle to teach you how to extend your senses to detect life, topography, and magic.
Trip couldn’t imagine showing up at the door of the very pregnant Sardelle’s house—which would also be his battalion commander’s house—and asking for magicking lessons. Surely, she had other things on her mind.
I don’t suppose you’d like to teach me? Trip suggested, though maybe it was presumptuous. Or impertinent. Or both. You’re here, after all. And I’m here.
I’m not what you would call a born teacher. I don’t have a lot of patience. Sardelle likes teaching. It bewilders me.
Ah.
Trip told himself he wasn’t disappointed. He didn’t want to learn magic, right? People found him strange enough with just his sixth sense. Though maybe if he learned a few things about his innate talents, he would also learn how to hide his eccentricities better.
Jaxi sighed melodramatically into his mind. I suppose I could show you how to sense things around you. You’re likely to get yourself killed if you can’t do that. I won’t be with you forever, you know. Unless Sardelle continues to stay home and produce bawling babies instead of going on adventures. The next noise—interesting how she channeled them directly into his brain—was an aggrieved huff. I should have known things would end like this as soon as she started rutting so enthusiastically with Ridge.
Uh. Trip did not want to think about his commander “rutting.” Do you not like kids?
Not babies. They’re awful. Some of them turn out all right when they get older, but it takes a long time for them to get interesting.
How long?
Twenty-five, thirty years.
So, I might qualify as interesting? His twenty-fifth birthday was that summer.
I’m still deciding.
Trip wondered if all soulblades were so… honest.
Leftie rummaging around in the toolbox brought Trip’s focus back to the present. Which was good, since Kaika and Blazer were striding toward him.
He straightened and flipped open his notebook. “I put together a list of repairs, Major, Captain. The engine and boiler are in surprisingly good shape. A little dented, so I’ll want to look them over before firing them up, but no obvious ruptures. There are two helium tanks. One is empty with a gouge in the side, but one is about two-thirds full. If we’re very careful with getting the envelope patched everywhere there’s a hole, and if we don’t run into any foul weather or other problems that could delay us—” he didn’t mention dragons, figuring that went without saying, “—then I think we can make it to the Isles on what we’ve got. Not much farther than that, but I assume we’re planning to leave the Isles in our fliers and abandon the airship there.”
“Damn right, we are,” Blazer said. “I’m not going to be seen by anyone I know flying in some ugly pirate deathtrap with a skull on the balloon. Not to mention the stench of sweat. And who knows what that rotten, musty, gag-me odor is? I can smell it oozing from the ship even with the ocean air blowing around.”
“I didn’t realize you had such a sensitive nose, Major,” Kaika said.
“Pilots have to be able to test the winds and smell if something’s wrong with their flier. Also, a good nose comes in handy for blind tastings at the annual Wicked Whiskey World Beverage Competition in the capital.” Blazer pulled a pocket watch out of her fatigue jacket and issued a disgusted noise. “Captain Trip, you said it would only take twenty minutes to get this assessment to me. It took an hour and fifty minutes.”
He stared at her. “We fought a battle before I could get started, ma’am.”
“No excuses. Get everybody to work. I want this airship aloft before sunset. If we leave at dusk, that gives us about ten hours to reach the Isles and come in before dawn. I’m sure it’ll be easier all around if we arrive in the dark and while most of the inhabitants are asleep. I don’t care what we’re flying. Most of us look like soldiers.”
“Sunset today?” Trip asked. That was only four hours away. The woman wanted miracles.
Blazer frowned at him. “Slow soldiers.”
Jaxi? Trip asked. How good are you at producing miracles?
A thunderous snap came from the forest, and a tall cedar on the edge toppled, landing with a thud on the bare rock.
I am a miracle-maker, Jaxi announced.
Then it’s a good thing Sardelle sent you along.
You’re just now realizing this?
• • • • •
Rysha stifled a yawn as the airship sailed toward the southeast, the propeller on the rear of the craft much quieter than the one she’d listened to on Trip’s flier as they’d followed the coast of Iskandia. Or maybe it was just that she was farther from this one. She stood at the bow of the airship, her foot up on the railing as she gazed out ahead of them.
There wasn’t much to see, as it was still dark, but a few stars guided their way. Admittedly, the compass and various navigation instruments in the wheelhouse were more accurate. Blazer was in there now, steering.
Trip and Leftie had passed out on the deck, lying in big coils of rope as if they were beds. Maybe nests. Neither had bothered to hunt for cabins below, or maybe they hadn’t liked the idea of sleeping in the bunk of someone they had killed. Both men had worked until after midnight, continuing repairs even after they’d gotten the ship in the air, hammering and banging away like carpenters. Blazer had worked with them until it had been time to take off. Rysha, Duck, and Kaika had been released to rest around the same time, after finishing the job of patching the envelope, which had involved hours of sewing and sealing. Kaika, despite complaining that she didn’t usually do the duties of a housewife, had been far more adept with a needle than Duck or Rysha. Rysha had kept her mouth shut, not admitting that she’d grown up with servants who handled any sewing that needed to be done.
Their needle duty had ended when the airship successfully lifted off, the pilots then navigating their fliers onto the deck. Those fliers were covered with tarps now. That might camouflage them successfully from someone observing them from a distance, but if anyone inspected ships that landed in the Pirate Isles, they could be in trouble. Might the pirates believe the team had stolen them?
Rysha spotted lights in the distance, seemingly floating on the water since she couldn’t yet make out the land. She jogged to the wheelhouse to let Blazer know they may have reached their destination.
Though Trip had groused often about the impossibility of repairing an entire airship so quickly, with him focusing on the mechanical repairs and Jaxi cutting wood and lifting boards into place, things had gone amazingly well. It was an hour until dawn, so they’d made Blazer’s goal.
Rysha stepped into the wheelhouse, the wood and glass structure also near the front of the ship.
Blazer leaned back in a chair, her heels on the large wheel that steered the craft, much as one might steer a wooden sailing ship. The simple technology surprised Rysha—it was much different from most Iskandian dirigibles, with their metal bodies nestled right up under the balloon and cockpits full of levers and dials for navigation. She couldn’t tell how one raised and lowered this one, though Blazer must have figured it out.
“Major?” she asked, wondering if Blazer might be asleep there, with her chin down, her back to the door.
But Blazer swiveled in the chair, revealing an open tobacco tin in her lap, along with appurtenances for rolling cigars. “Did you sight the islands?”
“Yes, ma’am. Lights ahead.”
“Excellent. I’ve been wondering what we would do if a dragon showed up.”
“Point Trip and the soulblade at it and hope for the best?” Rysha offered, though she knew that even Jaxi wasn’t a match for a dragon. If she had been, Zirkander and the soulblade would have gone straight up and challenged the ones that had descended on the capital. Though they had brought one down in the end. She wondered if that had been a matter of death by a thousand paper cuts or if someone had done something creative up there. She’d heard that Zirkander had thrown a grenade that spurted acid formulated to affect dragons down the female’s throat, but her magical defenses would have had to have been down for that to work. How had the flier squadron achieved that feat?
“Kaika did say he was surprisingly effective out there.” Blazer rolled her cigar slowly, taking her time before checking on the lights ahead of the ship.
“Jaxi helped, I understand.”
“Of that I have no doubt.”
Rysha debated whether that was an insult to Trip and if she should come to his defense. But the door banged open behind her before she could decide.
If she hadn’t left her rifle outside, she might have lunged for it. The person who ambled in wore a floppy hat, tan breeches and vest, and a vibrant silk blouse with the sleeves buttoned up and the laces on the front so loose that they showed both cleavage and belly skin. The person’s weapons included a cutlass in a scabbard and a pistol being twirled around one finger. Though it took Rysha a moment to realize it, the auburn hair hanging to the “pirate’s” jawline was familiar, as were the twinkling eyes.
“That’s not regulation attire,” Blazer said. She hadn’t twitched at the entrance.
“That’s the point,” Kaika said dryly as she holstered the pistol. It wasn’t her Iskandian Army one, but some older model with a lot of the bluing worn off. “You all might want to change into something piratey. There are women’s clothes in the third cabin on the right. Whoever the owner was, she was tall, so that’s good, since none of us are on the diminutive side.”
“Thought I’d look for some comfortable men’s clothing,” Blazer said. “I don’t like my bosom getting cold when I’m on a mission.”
“We’ve gone south, closer to the equator. Nice bosom weather out there.”
“Still, drafts can be unappealing.”
Kaika looked at Rysha.
“I don’t have a strong opinion on bosoms,” Rysha said. “Though I would be more inclined to look for male clothing too. I can’t imagine wanting to attract men’s attention out there. Or anyone’s attention.”
Kaika shook her head—in disbelief? “You two do not know how to be spies. Unless Professor Ravenwood knows exactly where the sword stash is, we’re going to have to do some sleuthing. Gathering information. What easier way to gather information than from a man distracted by bare bosoms? Seduction is the age-old skill of the female spy.”
Rysha rubbed her chin thoughtfully, realizing the words made a lot of sense. She’d imagined herself using her scholarly “librarian” costume—or usual fashion style—to extract information from people who wouldn’t believe her a soldier, but admitted that Kaika’s plan could be much more effective. Especially among pirates. Did Rysha have the acting ability to pull something like that off?
“Can’t we just beat someone up and question him in a dark alley?” Blazer dropped her boots to the deck, stuck her cigar in her mouth, and stood up. “I figured that’s how you elite troops did it.” She peered through the window and over the bow, then kicked a lever in the deck apparently responsible for their elevation.
“If you beat people up, they tend to remember it afterward,” Kaika said. “If you’re on a spy mission, sometimes, you want to get in and out without anyone realizing you were there.”
“So, you don’t always use explosives?”
“Not always, no.”
“Shit, Kaika, I’m disappointed in you. I just assumed explosives were involved in all of your missions.”
“If you want me to blow up the islands on the way out, I’m perfectly happy to do so. I’m fairly certain the king would be tickled if we destroyed this pirate haven. And I do always have my friends along with me.” Kaika reached to the back of her belt, which her vest covered, and withdrew a grenade. She winked before putting it back into some subtle holder. “I’ll have a few smoke bombs and true explosives at our disposal.”
“Is everyone going out to gather information?” Rysha glanced at Kaika’s chest and wondered if she could wear clothing like that without constantly trying to pull it tight or cover her exposed flesh with her arms.
Her seduction abilities would need even more work than her unarmed-combat skills. Though some considered the notions outdated, young noblewomen were still encouraged to be chaste when they were growing up, keeping bosoms and other suggestive body parts well covered. Rysha hadn’t been particularly rebellious when it came to bucking that rule. And as far as seduction went, she hadn’t kissed a boy until she’d been almost eighteen.
“Been thinking about that,” Blazer said, facing the front and bringing the airship down to glide just above the ocean waves. The lights were visible from the wheelhouse now, as were the dark land masses underneath them. Few of the islands had any elevation to speak of. “Kaika goes, for obvious reasons.”
“Bosoms,” Rysha said.
Blazer snorted. “Experience.”
“Experienced bosoms.” Kaika winked and leaned an elbow against a bookcase full of navigation charts.
“I’ll go too,” Blazer said. “And Ravenwood, you’re the one who knows about the sword, so you definitely need to go. Really, the women are our best bet, since we’ve all got hair we can let down. Sort of.” She glanced at Kaika’s tousled locks. They weren’t super short, but she didn’t have to pin them back to be within regulation. “The men all look…” She made a disgusted noise. “Almost nobody except soldiers wears their hair that short. Even with hats and civilian clothing, I’m not sure I’d believe any of them as pirates. Besides, three women shouldn’t raise anyone’s hackles. Leftie and his mouth would probably get in a fight before we left the docks, and Trip, I don’t know. Those dark green eyes of his are memorable, and he’s got an air about him that’s a little odd. You kind of want to punch him.”
“Are mission commanders supposed to say things like that about their troops?” Rysha said, bristling on Trip’s behalf again.
“I’m the voice of realism. We could bring Duck, but his years in the capital haven’t quite worn away his rural—very rural—origins. Might be hard to buy a pirate constantly making animal metaphors. Dreyak acts way too much like a Cofah soldier, and I don’t know if he can turn that off. Three people ought to be enough. Then the four of them can stay behind and guard the ship, keep anyone from nosing around. The last thing we want is someone finding the fliers and blabbing about them.”
“We could say we stole them,” Kaika said.
“Just easier not to have to deal with it.”
“Right. I’m ready whenever you two are.”
“I’ll change as soon as I land this barge,” Blazer said.
“I’ll try wearing clothes like that,” Rysha said, pointing at Kaika. “To seduce pirates.”
Kaika’s eyebrows rose toward her hat.
“I’m supposed to be training to be like you, right, ma’am?”
“Well. You can be your own kind of elite troops officer. You don’t have to be like anyone. We’re all different. You wouldn’t catch Sergeant Branigan in clothes like this.”
“Does he also not like his bosom getting cold?” Blazer asked.
“I know, ma’am,” Rysha said, ignoring the comment, “but if I make it into the unit as a woman, maybe my superior officers will expect… that.” She shrugged and waved at the outfit.
“You to carry grenades in your underwear?” Blazer asked. “Most likely.”
“I do have a pouch for them,” Kaika said dryly, touching her back.
“So, you don’t have any weapons stashed in your underwear?” Blazer asked.
“I didn’t say that. Come, my young protégé,” Kaika said, waving for Rysha to follow her out. “Let’s go clothes shopping.”
Rysha knew it was silly, but having Captain Kaika refer to her as her protégé tickled her. And though Kaika hadn’t said it, Rysha imagined she might be flattered by having a young officer wanting to emulate her. She just hoped she could pull off the look and wouldn’t mangle any attempts to use her body to extract information from a pirate.
