“What’s she doing?” Tekela asked as Morva climbed into the gondola.
“We have a passenger,” Lizanne said. “This is Morva, my . . . student.”
“Student . . . ? Don’t touch that!” Tekela snapped as Morva’s hand strayed towards the control panel.
The Blood-blessed woman stared at her for a second, face dark. “This one’s a Corvantine,” she muttered, voice laden with menace. “I kill Corvantines.”
“I think we both know you’ve never actually killed anyone,” Lizanne said. “But Tekela has, so watch your tongue. Go and sit in the back.”
Lizanne settled herself into the seat alongside Tekela, buckling on the straps. “I’ll explain later,” she said. “For now, please let’s get out of here.”
She looked through the side-window as Tekela opened a valve to add more gas to the envelope, seeing Alzar standing in the High Wall’s courtyard. His gaze tracked the Firefly as it ascended, face hard with resentment at the necessary bargain he had struck. However, despite his evident detestation of the corporate world she still found him a preferable business partner to Arshav and Ethilda.
She heard Morva issue a small sound as the High Wall shrank beneath them and Tekela angled the aerostat towards the north. Glancing back Lizanne saw the Varestian woman sitting with her eyes closed tight, knuckles white as they gripped her seat.
“Don’t worry,” Lizanne told her. “You get used to it.”
Morva muttered something in barely articulate and profanity-laden Varestian, Lizanne detecting the words “corporate devilry” amongst the torrent.
“Headwind’s pretty strong today,” Tekela advised. “It’ll take at least five hours to reach the Sound.”
This drew another whimper from Morva, which Lizanne ignored. “We’re not going to the Sound,” she said. “Set course for the Seven Walls.”
“You had no authority to negotiate on behalf of this Conglomerate,” Ethilda Okanas said in a surprisingly placid tone. Unlike her in-law at the High Wall she possessed the ability to keep her voice and face free of emotion, though she couldn’t quite keep the glint of anger from her eyes. “Agreement will require a vote of the Board . . .”
“The Okanas family has direct command of thirty ships,” Lizanne broke in. “They also have clan affiliations with most of the families in southern Varestia, the majority of whom, I’m reliably informed, would rather see you and your son dead than answer any call to battle you might issue. Like it or not we’ll need them if we’re to have any hope of defending this region.”
Ethilda’s eyes strayed to the Firefly, hovering above the docks of the Seven Walls. Lizanne had descended to the quayside via rope and told the harbour-master who came to greet her to fetch either Ethilda or her son, refusing his request to follow him to the Navigation. Ethilda had arrived along with an escort under the command of the inevitable Mr. Lockbar.
“Burgravine Artonin isn’t joining us?” Ethilda asked.
“We won’t be staying long,” Lizanne replied. “Too many landings deplete the gas reserves.”
“Such a pity. I am so starved of well-spoken company . . .” Ethilda trailed off, eyes narrowing. “So,” she said. “Alzar off-loaded the little bitch on you, did he?”
Lizanne looked over her shoulder, seeing Morva’s face in the aerostat’s open hatchway. “He felt his niece would benefit from some education,” Lizanne replied. In fact Alzar had said, She’s no use as she is. Like a child with a loaded gun but no notion of how to aim it.
“Niece?” Ethilda asked. “That’s what he’s calling her now? You should know she’s not a true Okanas, just some Blessed orphan he purchased from the hold of a Dalcian reaver. With Zenida off on her privateering adventures he felt the clan needed a new Blood-blessed. She’s always been trouble, causing discord and being far too free with her body. Varestians are not a prudish people but daughters of the major clans are expected to display some decorum, if not discernment. Legacy of whatever those reavers did to her, I suppose. Ruin a girl young and she’ll stay ruined.” Ethilda shrugged. “Leave her here, if you like. We’ll find a use for her.”
Lizanne wondered whether it would matter all that much if she killed this woman this very moment. Only if her son still lives. “We need more Blood-blessed at the Sound,” she said, fingers twitching on the Spider as she added, “Is Arshav here?”
“Gone to the peninsular to gather more ships and fighters.” Ethilda nodded at the harbour, which now held at least double the number of vessels than Lizanne had seen during her first visit. “We’ve been doing fairly well so far. Especially since the news about Sairvek broke.”
“Sairvek?”
“Burned, just like Melkorin. Although our enemies have remained in port for now. We lost three fast ships to Blue attacks just to find that out.”
Sairvek. They’re getting closer with every attack. “The total size of our fleet?” Lizanne asked.
“Thirty ships here and another two hundred in the Iskamir ports. Only a handful could truly be called warships.” She settled a steady gaze on Lizanne. “We assured the captains who answered the call they would receive mighty and ingenious weapons. They’re already getting impatient.”
“I promised the first delivery in a month,” Lizanne said, turning and striding back towards the rope dangling from the Firefly. “And I meant it. Don’t waste any more ships on reconnaissance. We’ll take care of that.”
“It’s impossible.”
Jermayah blinked tired eyes at her, voice barely audible above the constant clatter of the manufactory. Lizanne had been impressed by the progress made in her absence, the place now resembled an Ironship facility with its long rows of assembly tables attended by numerous workers. The town had also undergone a swift transformation, whitewash covering many of its previously drab walls and about half the houses now had roofs and shutters on the windows. However, it transpired all this effort had yet to result in any actual output.
“You have materials . . .” Lizanne began only to be waved to silence by Jermayah.
“Materials have to be converted into components and components assembled into finished products. All of this requires organisation, skills and the time to learn them. At the moment we have perhaps one-third of the components we need for a production run of fifty Growlers and half that number of Thumpers. At the current rate they’ll be ready in seven weeks.”
He paused, running a hand through his shaggy, unkempt hair. Lizanne knew she had pushed him close to exhaustion already, and dearly wanted to order him to rest, but the situation required a harder heart. “What’s the biggest obstacle to rapid production?” she asked.
Jermayah thought for a moment. “Moulding, I suppose. Copper, brass and steel all has to be melted and poured into moulds and the components finished by hand before assembly. We have plenty of fuel but the forging facilities here are primitive and minimal, designed for repairing locomotives rather than large-scale manufacture.”
“Can’t the Blood-blessed help with the melting?” Lizanne asked.
“We’ve been trying to husband what product we have. Madame Hakugen has a supply of Eastern Conglomerate stocks from Lossermark but guards it fiercely. Says we’ll need it for defence when the time comes.”
“I’ll speak to her.” Lizanne turned and started for the exit, pausing to add, “And drink some Green. You look terrible.”