“Can you still fly this thing?” Lizanne asked her.
Tekela took in a series of ragged breaths before straightening, flexing her fingers to banish the shudder then gripping the control lever. “I can fly,” she said, voice hoarse but steady.
“Due south,” Lizanne told her, moving back to the hatch and chambering another round. Peering out she saw that the huge Red’s attack had forced them back down into the clouds, making observation difficult. As the Firefly angled itself southwards a glance to the rear revealed at least six dark shapes, wings sweeping in rapid beats as they drew closer.
“Light the blood-burner,” she told Morva, turning to find her clutching the ignition tube with both hands, eyes wide and unseeing and face a frozen pale mask. She stirred when Lizanne reached out to deliver a hard shove to the side of her head, blinking and looking around as if waking from a nightmare. “Light the blood-burner,” Lizanne repeated in emphatic and deliberate tones.
Morva stared at her for a second then nodded and put her eye to the tube, depressing the forefinger button on her Spider. The thermoplasmic engine came on-line a split-second later, Lizanne bracing herself in the hatch against the sudden acceleration. Turning her gaze to the rear once more, she saw that one of the pursuing drakes had drawn close enough for her to make out the bloody, smoking wound on the side of its head. As the Firefly began to draw away, the drake worked its wings with furious energy to match their speed, spewing flame in copious blasts that fell just short of the aerostat’s tail rudder. The huge Red let out another shrieking roar as the Firefly’s speed increased, leaving it behind to be swallowed by the clouds, although Lizanne could still hear its roar for what seemed a very long time.
“One hundred and thirty miles an hour,” Tekela reported from the pilot’s seat, voice strained with forced humour. “A record.”
Lizanne closed the hatch and made her way forward, extracting another vial of Green from the satchel. “Drink this,” she said, handing it to Tekela, whose face was now grey with suppressed pain. She didn’t argue, tipping the entire contents of the vial down her throat and letting out a groan of relief. Lizanne checked her burn, finding the blackening gone but a raw, puckered scar some three inches long remained that no amount of Green could banish.
“It’s alright,” Tekela said with a weary smile. “I’m sure I’ve seen worse.”
Lizanne squeezed her shoulder and returned to Morva, pushing the Smoker into her trembling hands. “Take this,” Lizanne said. “Keep watch. I need to trance again.”
“I . . .” Morva said. “I never saw one . . . Not a real one . . .”
“It’s always a bracing experience,” Lizanne agreed. “Inject some Green. It’ll steady your hands.”
She settled back into the rear seat and injected Blue, slipping instantly into the trance. Sofiya’s mindscape took a few minutes to appear, Lizanne noting that the redness of the sky had deepened considerably.
Captain Trumane has just ordered the attack run, Sofiya informed Lizanne, an oddly serene smile on her lips.
We were intercepted, Lizanne told her. Reds. Tell the captain to abort the mission.
Sofiya pursed her lips in momentary consideration, then shook her head. No, I don’t think I’ll do that.
The White will be alerted. Lizanne added a forceful, commanding resonance to her thoughts. And we can no longer provide warning of any Blues. Abort the mission, Sofiya.
The other woman replied with a small, apologetic smile. I’m sorry, Miss Lethridge, but I don’t recall signing a contract with you. My contract is with the Ironship Maritime Protectorate, a body which, to all intents and purposes, no longer exists. I believe that makes me effectively a free agent. Excuse me, but I must bid you farewell for now. I really don’t want to miss the show.
SOFIYA!
But she was gone, Lizanne’s shouted thoughts vanishing into the void left by her absent mindscape. “Seer damn her to the Travail!” she fumed upon exiting the trance.
“Something wrong?” Morva asked. She stood at the rear port-hole, Lizanne taking some comfort from the fact that the woman’s hands no longer shook as she held the carbine.
Lizanne looked through the rear portal at the vortex of disturbed vapour coiling in the Firefly’s slip-stream. Turning back to resume the fight with the Reds was the courageous thing to do, another chapter to add to the legend of Miss Blood, a legend she had already made the mistake of believing. “Yes,” she said. “But nothing we can do anything about.”
CHAPTER 27
Sirus
“Seer damn that bitch!” Catheline’s fury chased him all the way to the docks, her seething frustration at the Lethridge woman’s escape a constant ache in his head. “She must be here for something. Find out what it is.”
Any consideration of shared intimacy had vanished and Sirus had been swiftly dispatched to the harbour to put their defences on alert whilst the White sent every Red in its thrall to scour the skies for the aerostat. Despite the continuing ache of Catheline’s anger, Sirus had carefully examined Katarias’s shared memory, fixating on one particular image: a young woman seated at the front of the gondola, doll-like face turned to regard the sight of the drake as it attempted to flood the craft with flame. It was no more than a glimpse captured in the instant before a bright flash of agony had seen the Red cast out from the aerostat, thrashing in rage and smelling the stench of its own burnt flesh.
Tekela. She’s still alive. He cloaked the knowledge with a flare of genuine fear. The thought of what Catheline might do should she discover these particular memories was truly terrifying.
The security contingent atop the harbour wall was at full strength by the time he arrived, Sirus having already roused the near by garrisons with a thought-command. Forest Spear had charge of the contingent and Sirus joined him on the roof of the old lighthouse that stood to the left of the harbour door.
“Anything?” Sirus asked, speaking in Varsal in deference to the tribal’s linguistic preferences.
“Nothing,” Forest Spear replied. “But the Blues seem agitated.”
It was a two-moon night and the tide was high, the sea only a dozen feet from the top of the wall. The water displayed deceptive calm apart from a disturbance a few hundred yards out, Sirus recognising the signature splashes of a Blue pack. He sent out queries to the look-outs they had posted amongst the ruins of the island forts and received successive negative responses until the most southerly fort reported a ship on the horizon.
Just one vessel, Sirus told Catheline, conveying the image of the fast-moving frigate. A warship, and a blood-burner.
Why would they send only one ship? she asked.
Reconnaissance most likely. If it doesn’t turn away it will be in range of our cannon in four minutes. Or the Blues could deal with it.
There’s no point risking them for only one ship. Blast it out of the water then return to me. I should like a distraction from this most irksome night.