“You just need to melt the steel. When it’s melted, it releases the aether and the souls with it.”
Taziri felt a dull weight of disappointment in her chest. “But when the aetherium is charged with souls, it’s already blazing hot. We had a lump of it two years ago that was so hot it burned straight through an entire ironclad warship in just a few seconds. Aetherium can withstand unbelievably high temperatures. How on earth are we supposed to melt it down?”
“I said it was very hard to do. Obviously, it’s easier to forge aetherium when it’s cold, when there are no souls in it. I don’t know how you would melt it once it’s already hot, but that’s what you have to do. Maybe you can drop it in a volcano or something.”
Taziri shook her head and waved the suggestion away. “No, wait, let me think. Regular steel melts around two or three thousand degrees, depending on impurities. Charged aetherium is much hotter, say five thousand. So we need to create a controlled heat source that can generate over five thousand degrees of heat. Focused, controlled heat.” She picked at her lip as she slowly turned to look at the darkened instrument panel of the cockpit.
So what do I have? An engine with five minutes of fuel left. A propeller. A fully charged battery. And some wire.
“You know, back in Marrakesh, in the factories, they sometimes weld regular steel using electricity. It’s called arc welding.”
“Can you do that to a seireiken?”
“I don’t know. But I was thinking of trying something a little different. Over the last year, I’ve been seeing a lot of articles coming out of the university about new kinds of energy and new kinds of matter. There is a theory that after you heat ice into water, and then heat water into steam, you can heat steam into something else even hotter.” Taziri smiled. “How would you like to help me with a little science experiment?”
“Right now?” The girl’s face lit up. But then just as quickly she frowned and turned toward the hatch. “Someone’s here. A tall one and a short one.”
Taziri slipped out of her seat. “It must be Mirari and Qhora!” She peeked out the little window in the hatch and saw Mirari’s masked face near the glass, so she unlocked the door and stepped back to let them enter.
The Espani woman stepped inside and stopped short when she saw Bastet. “Who is that?”
But Taziri was frowning at the little man behind Mirari and she switched into Espani to ask, “Who is that?”
The young man managed a weary smile. “Tycho of Constantia. Good evening to you, captain.”
Taziri grabbed Mirari’s sleeve. “Where is Dona Qhora? Where is the Italian?”
Mirari didn’t move. “Who is the girl? Why is she here?”
Taziri glanced at the end of the cabin where the Aegyptian girl was sulking in the shadows. “That’s Bastet. She lives near here. She helped me get rid of some people snooping around the Halcyon, and she brought me food, which is more than you’ve done, thank you very much. Now where is Dona Qhora?”
Mirari’s shoulders relaxed and she sat down in the nearest passenger seat. The young man hauled himself up the steps into the hatch and plopped down on the floor. The masked woman sighed. “We were separated. We tracked the killer to the home of his lover, and learned that his name is Aker El Deeb. But it was a trap and we barely escaped with our lives. My lady was hurt and chose to hide herself while Tycho and I ran away to divert the men chasing us. But then, after we had gone, Dona Qhora surrendered to them. She just stepped out into the middle of the street and gave herself up.”
“What? Why?”
“To get inside, of course,” Tycho said. “She let herself be taken so she could get inside the Temple of Osiris. Quite a gamble, but it seems to have worked. We followed their carriage across half the city, right to the Temple itself. She’s inside now. No way to help her.”
Taziri blinked. “The temple…of the Sons of Osiris?”
“That’s right,” he said.
She blinked at the dwarf. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”
“Tycho of Constantia. I ran into your friends in the market this morning. They were looking for a seireiken, the same as me and my master, Philo.” He grimaced and swallowed, but then managed another tired smile. “We lost him today. Philo. Killed in the Hellan Quarter. I’m not even sure who killed him, or why. Probably just thieves. Or maybe someone hired by the Temple because we’d been asking the wrong questions. I don’t know. I may never know.” He shrugged.
Taziri glanced at the other two women, who both looked back with tired and helpless eyes that had nothing to offer her or him. The pilot looked down at the young man again with a sudden swell of pity for him, in part for his story but also in part for his imperfect body. It wounded something inside her, the part of her that loved to fix things, to see a person she could not fix. “I’m sorry to hear that. But now you’re helping Dona Qhora?”
“We’re helping each other. I mean to help her find the sword that took her husband’s life, and in turn she is helping me to obtain a seireiken sword for myself. It is my mission to find such a blade and return it to the prince of Vlachia as a gift from my Lady Nerissa.” There was something artlessly kind and hopeful in his bright eyes and valiantly upturned lip.
He’s going to die.
Taziri put her hand to her eyes and pretended to massage her temples.
Whoever he is, whatever he is, he’s going to die. People like him always die. The good ones. The kind ones. The ones who don’t understand the bleak and terrible truths about people and life and the world. He’s going to die. And it’s not fair.
“I take it that Senor Fabris has not returned at all today?” Mirari asked.
“No, no one,” Taziri said. “Is he lost too?”
“He went chasing after a green man this morning and never returned. He may be dead.”
We should be so lucky. Taziri sighed. “So what do we do now? How can we help Qhora if she’s locked in this Temple? Can we break in?”
“No, there’s no hope of that,” Tycho said. “We may be able to buy a few answers from the right people, but there’s nothing we can do for the lady now but wait.”
“Crap.” Taziri pushed her hands back through her hair. “So they may both be dead, or soon to be dead, or locked away in some prison. Damn it. Bastet was just telling me how to free a soul from a seireiken, too.” She shook her head.
“What?” Tycho sat up. “You can’t do that.”
“Of course you can,” Bastet said, her first words since the others entered the cabin. Her Espani had an archaic lilt to it. “It’s just very difficult. But I think your clever captain here was about to figure out how to do exactly that.”
“Is that true?” Mirari asked. “Can you really free Don Lorenzo’s soul?”
“Maybe. I think so.” Taziri shrugged. “Probably, yes. I’ll need to build a special tool, but I should be able to do it.”
“Ha!” Tycho slapped his leg with a wide grin. “Amazing. I’d like to see that.”
“You will.” Mirari stood up. “Dona Qhora must know this, immediately. So we must find her, and we must rescue her and find the sword that killed Don Lorenzo. Captain, can you build your tool now?”
“I suppose so. It would be easier once we get back to Tingis, but since the Halcyon won’t be flying anytime soon, there’s no reason why I can’t fabricate the tool right here and now.”
“Excellent. Please begin your work. We’ll be back as soon as we can.” Mirari pushed out through the hatch.
Tycho shoved himself up onto his short legs and hurried after the tall Espani woman.
“Wait a minute,” Taziri said. She reached down and unstrapped the revolver from her thigh. “I want you to have this.”
The Hellan eyed the gun. “I’ve heard bad things about those. Blow up in your hand, rip your fingers off, shoot your toe off when you’re asleep. I think I’ll stick with my knife.” He patted his belt.
“No, that’s all cheap little Eranian guns. They don’t know what they’re doing. This is a Mazigh revolver. No exploding, no jamming, no misfires. Just point and fire.” She quickly showed him how to open the barrel and replaced the six bullets, and then gave him a small box of ammunition. “Fifty shots. It should last you a while.”