“Be careful out there,” Books said before he and Akstyr departed. “I’ve come to think of you all as family, albeit some members are more irritating than others-” he glanced toward the door where Maldynado leaned, mouth open for a noisy yawn, “-and I should be most disgruntled if you did not return from this mission.”
“Me too,” Akstyr said, the comment surprising Amaranthe. He might have surprised himself, too, because he was quick to add, “Being left alone with only Books to talk to would lick donkey balls.”
“If Sicarius doesn’t show up in the next minute or two, you may be left with him too,” Amaranthe said.
That comment inspired much grousing between Books and Akstyr as they walked away. The whistle screamed again, and the wheels of the train started rolling.
Amaranthe swung up into the rail car, though she didn’t shut the door. She waited, gazing at the stationary cars across from them, and then peering up and down the long gravel aisle. The train inched forward, gradually increasing speed.
She resigned herself to Sicarius not making it, and the team having to undertake the kidnapping without him. Then, as they were rolling out of the yard, he jogged out of the dim light beside the fence, his soft boots not making a sound on the gravel as he ran. He caught up to the train and leaped into the car beside Amaranthe. Without a word, he passed her and disappeared into the shadows on the opposite end from where Maldynado and Basilard were sitting.
Akstyr had never liked bicycling, and he liked it even less with a crate of blasting sticks fastened to the rack behind him. Books had been the one who refused to drive around in the stolen pumpkin lorry, and who had pointed out that people carrying explosives wouldn’t be welcome on the city trolleys, but somehow he wasn’t toting the volatile load. Worse, it was a long bicycle trip. Apparently flying machines took up a lot of space and weren’t stored in the city proper.
They spent the hour after sunrise peddling through frost-slick streets, past Barlovoc Stadium and the sporting fields at the south end of the city, and finally turning down a lane hedged by substantial fences. A couple of the barriers were made with wrought-iron bars, revealing warehouses and steam-equipment manufacturing plants, but stone and brick hid most of the large lots from sight.
Books lifted a hand and pointed to a cement wall with tangles of razor wire running along the top. Akstyr saw such security measures as a challenge and could have found a way over in a minute, but the front gate stood open beside a brass plaque that read Experimental Aeronautics.
A woman wearing a mink cap and a white leopard fur coat waved them inside. She could have been a successful businesswoman, but the haughty tilt to her pretty face made Akstyr think she was one of Maldynado’s warrior-caste cohorts.
“Lady Buckingcrest?” Books asked after he swung off his bicycle.
“Yes.” The woman peered down the street the way Books and Akstyr had come.
“Maldynado’s not coming, my lady.” Books bowed when the woman looked his way. “He said he’d let you know we were to pick up your… conveyance.”
Akstyr was glad Books was doing the talking, as he didn’t have it in him to “my lady” anyone. Warrior-caste people weren’t any better than him. All their titles meant was that they’d had an easier time of life.
“Yes, of course.” Buckingcrest pulled off her cap, and wavy black locks tumbled about her shoulders, a contrast to the white fur of her coat.
She smiled at them, and Akstyr gulped. He didn’t think he’d ever used the word voluptuous, but it popped into his head as he stared at her lips. When her gaze skimmed across him, he reconsidered his ability to spout honorifics. At that moment, he figured he could spout anything, especially if it meant she might take him off alone for a private meeting. He bowed low so she wouldn’t see that her regard, however brief, flustered him.
“I thought your comrade, the assassin, might be along,” Buckingcrest said.
“He’s busy.” Books’s voice was grim as a funeral pyre.
“Ah, but you’ll be meeting him, yes? Will he return with you on my vessel?” She was no longer looking at Akstyr or Books, and a wistful tone crept into her voice. “I did so wish to meet him.”
Akstyr fisted his hands and jammed them into his pockets. He could understand Maldynado capturing some girl’s fancy, but it was disgusting to see women mooning over Sicarius. He didn’t even acknowledge them. If he knew how to smile at a girl-or anyone at all-Akstyr had never seen evidence of it.
“I can add you to the list in my journal if you want a private meeting with him,” Books muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, my lady,” Books said. “Akstyr, do you want to unload our cargo? Lady Buckingcrest, we’re on a tight schedule. Would you show us to the conveyance Maldynado… bargained for?”
“Bargained?” Buckingcrest chuckled. “Is that what he calls it?”
Akstyr leaned his bicycle against the fence and removed his rucksack and the box of blasting sticks, careful to keep the canvas cover tied tightly over the contents. Amaranthe had also given them a few smoke grenades. Akstyr couldn’t imagine needing them to blow up some rocks, but one never knew.
Lady Buckingcrest and Books headed through a short courtyard and walked into an alley between the fence and a massive building that dominated the large lot. Akstyr hurried to catch up. So nice of Books not to offer to help carry things.
As they walked alongside the building, Akstyr tried to get a view of the inside, but the windows they passed were too high to see through. Midway down, a door was propped open, and he glimpsed strange rotary devices and huge engines in various stages of construction. Buckingcrest continued to a vast open square on the back half of the lot.
Akstyr stopped to gape at the size of the craft waiting for them. A rectangular metal cabin with numerous windows-portholes? — hugged the bottom of a dozens-of-meters-long oblong balloon, filled and ready to float away. Only ropes anchoring the cabin to the ground seemed to keep the craft from pulling away.
“Oh, a dirigible,” Books said. “Excellent. Craft supported by lighter-than-air gases have been around for over a hundred years. When Maldynado spoke of a prototype, I was imagining some crazy ornithopter bouncing and bobbing through the air, ready to crash at a moment’s notice.”
Buckingcrest raised an eyebrow. “We do have other types of flying machines, but Maldynado stressed that the interior should be opulent and comfortable. A strange request for mercenaries, I thought.”
Akstyr snorted. Maldynado had a big mouth.
“Er, yes,” Books said. “Maldynado enjoys his comforts.”
“Yes, that is true.” Buckingcrest’s smile was a little too knowing.
Akstyr lifted a finger. “If these have been around for a hundred years, how come I’ve never seen one?”
“I suspect the military has laws against people flying over the imperial capital and the local army fort,” Books said.
“Yes, though that may change someday,” Buckingcrest said. “There are a number of wealthy civilians who have expressed interest in our work. Some buy private trains, but they must share the railways and work around station schedules. With a dirigible… there’s nothing to stop you from going anywhere you might please.”
Books stirred, and his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
“I’m surprised the army doesn’t want some for themselves,” Akstyr said. “You could fly to Kendor or Nuria or anywhere and sneak your troops in at night.” If he had something like that, he could fly himself to the Kyatt Islands without worrying about stowing aboard trains or steamships. He would have to pay attention to how to fly it. Just in case.
“I imagine,” Books said, “the fact that dirigibles are filled with hydrogen, a flammable gas, limits their usefulness in wartime applications.”
“You mean they’re easy to crash?” Akstyr asked.