The doctor said, “What if Hamuy’s friends from the airfield find us? This flying monstrosity is hardly subtle or discreet. And what if they have guns? What if they shoot at the balloon?”
Taziri glanced over her shoulder at the Hellan. “Early retirement.”
“Unacceptable!”
“I agree,” Taziri muttered. She remembered the soft touch of her daughter’s fat cheeks and the strength of Yuba’s arms around her. “But we’ll just have to take whatever God gives us.”
Chapter 12. Syfax
Striding down the harbor-side road, the major glared up at the sky. He didn’t know whether to be more concerned or angry.
What is that woman doing? Why did she leave the airfield? Why is she racing around the bay? Or did someone kill Ohana and steal the ship?
Anger or concern? He chose to be optimistic. “What the hell is she doing?”
Ghanima sped up to walk beside him. “She might be looking for us.”
“Why? She can’t possibly think she can spot three people from a thousand feet overhead.”
Kenan squinted into the midmorning sun. “We’ve been gone for a while. She probably started to worry about us. All of us.”
“That I believe,” Syfax said. “I shouldn’t have brought her. She was too emotional in Tingis, moody and distracted all night. Probably thinking about her family the whole time.”
“Major, look!” Ghanima pointed up. “She’s coming down over the harbor. Over there!”
Syfax watched the long silvery airship and its dark gondola sweeping in low over the inner harbor, the distant drone of its propellers just barely reaching his ears. “What’s she doing now?”
“Maybe she crossed the bay to get our attention and now she’s going to wait for us.” Kenan glanced around them at the carts and merchants and dockworkers and freight trolleys bustling up and down the lane. The high sun and the rippling waters conspired to flood the city with light, and the smell of salt hung heavy in the air, tinged with hints of factory waste and gull droppings.
“Maybe.” Syfax scanned back and forth across the endless surge of faces around them, hungry for a glimpse of a small woman in a gold coat. None appeared. “Maybe not. Either way, we have to go check it out.”
They continued past warehouses with doors flung open to reveal mounds of ore, piles of crude beams, refined metal sheets, palettes of bricks and ingots, and barrels of powder. Filthy, sweaty men from every nation on the continent groaned beneath or behind some load that gleamed of dull gray, burnt orange, or silvery white. Armored trolleys dark with rust rolled down their tracks along the waterfront behind puffing steam engines. The high-pitched whistles and squeals of brakes punctuated the low murmurs of labor and the chaos of the ships creeping in and out of the quays with engines rumbling and sails luffing in the shifting winds.
On their left they passed a strange calm in the storm of industry. Through the open doorways of one warehouse they saw dozens of men standing in a tight knot. A woman in a green suit was speaking to them, and suddenly they burst into angry shouts, shaking their fists. As the marshals moved on, they heard the crash of a trolley overturned. Syfax glanced back and saw the woman in green running from the warehouse as the men spilled out into the street, hollering at her about hours, wages, and children.
Kenan nodded back at the crowd, but Syfax shook his head. “Leave it.”
As the threesome approached the harbor master’s office, the drab world of industry shifted abruptly into a bright tableau of signs and flags, banners and lights, all welcoming new arrivals to Port Chellah and beckoning them toward inns, restaurants, teahouses, and a hundred shops peddling silly baubles to remind the buyer of their visit. The miserable grunts and shouts of work became happy calls to enter, to buy, to enjoy, and the soft sighs of string instruments escaped from countless doorways. And under the joyful noise was the almost rhythmic entreaties of the panhandlers begging and blessing the passersby.
Syfax frowned at the press of tourists and the colorful snares erected to catch their money. The bureaucratic block of the harbor master’s office squatted between two piers crowded with old fishermen. At the center of the southern pier, little children ran about the carousel that slowly spun and tooted an old song in time with its old huffing engine. A slender white tower rose from one end of the harbormaster’s office to support a glassy sphere where a pale blue light slowly rotated, almost invisible beneath the glare of the sun. And above the lighthouse, lashed to a flagpole, the Halcyon floated serenely as though suspended from the heavens with invisible strings. Then Syfax’s gaze slipped down to the long red and white paddle ship moored just beside the office. A young man in a white uniform stood at the ship’s gangway, smiling very widely and asking people if they were planning to take the noon ferry, which would be departing shortly, as he reminded them.
“Kenan, you and Ghanima go check the airship. If that’s Ohana up there, find out why she left the airfield. And if it’s not Ohana, arrest the piece of shit who stole our airship.”
“Yes, sir.” Kenan started to leave, then paused. “You’ll be waiting here, sir?”
“I think I’ll take a look around and check a few of these boats.” A steady trickle of women and men broke away from the crowded street to display their tickets, trudge up the ramp, and vanish into the ferry. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kenan.”
“Will do.” He blinked. “I mean, I won’t. I mean, yes, sir.”
Syfax watched the corporal lead the young pilot across the street and into the harbor master’s office. When they were gone, Syfax began moving slowly across the stream of pedestrians. At the base of the ferry’s gangway, he muttered a few discrete words to the suddenly anxious attendant, who stepped aside and let him board without a ticket. The cabin was a single chamber that ran almost the entire length of the ship, lined wall to wall with wooden seats half-filled with families, groups of students, lone business travelers, and more bags and cases than he could count. He slipped aside and allowed the travelers to continue streaming in past him.
A woman spoke in his ear. “I would love to believe that you followed me all this way to accept my generous offer.”
Syfax felt something small and sharp dig into his back. Too small for a gun. A knife? Or something electrical?
“But somehow, I doubt that’s why you’re here.” Chaou tugged on his sleeve. “Let’s sit down over there, out of the way, hm?”
Syfax scanned the indicated corner for an asset, an ally, a weapon, or an escape route, but the only people nearby were two old men reading books and tugging at their beards. The major grinned. Hell, it’s only a knife. I can grab the knife and snap her wrist before she can scratch my coat. So let’s see what the old bat has to say.
Dragging his feet, Syfax came to the end of the row and sat down by the window. Outside and far below, the little waves played and rolled between the piers, slapping lightly against the pilings with a thousand tiny bits of trash bobbing around them.
Chaou sat beside him. “You seem to have recovered rather quickly from our little encounter earlier. God must like you.”
Syfax pursed his lips and looked at the smaller woman sitting beside her. Chaou had wrapped a black cloak around her shoulders and only her golden cuffs peeked out from beneath it. “I think God just likes kicking me around.”
“You think so?” Chaou nodded. “And who decides what God likes? Priests, I suppose. Or sometimes queens, or generals, hm? They’re all just people, no wiser than anyone else.”
“Seriously? A sermon?” Syfax turned his attention back to the water where the rainbow rings of oil mingled with the white islands of foam. “I haven’t had a criminal preach at me in over a year. You killers are very spiritual folks.”
Chaou shifted in her seat. “I wasn’t trying to preach. And I’ll thank you not to refer to me as a criminal or a murderer. Yes, yes, I’ve broken laws and people have died.” She sighed. “But now is not the time to dwell on logistics or administrative details. I have larger concerns. And you, I imagine, have one very small concern at this moment.”