“Can we watch from above?” Zakk asked the colonel. “If we find a safe hole, I mean.”
The colonel usually ruled this facility, but not with so many generals underfoot. Lacking the authority to answer, he instantly told the child, “No.”
The Seven discussed the matter and took a vote.
There was no point in making trouble now, Divers agreed. Waving a telescope, she said, “We’ll go inside with our new friend.”
Zakk summoned a huge smile.
Inside the hanger, the soldiers were wrapping heavy ropes around one of the bombs, the streamlined iron body wearing a papio skull and poisonous spiders. Divers counted the bombs and then forced the eyes upwards one last time. As if holding binoculars, she set both of the giant telescopes against the vast eyes, making one final sweep before vanishing underground.
A sharp piece of sunlight was moving against the wilderness.
She saw the object, saw that it was spinning as it fell, and all of the Eight realized that this was a wrench. An enormous, rapid, and nearly useless discussion began, the voices trying to decide how someone’s prized tool might have been dropped.
The other Seven talked while Divers thought.
She never spoke.
And then Tritian said, “Look higher.”
What?
“In that pocket, that clearing,” said that shriveled twist of burning orange flesh. “Do you see what I see?”
EIGHT
Panoply Night wasn’t the largest airship in the Corona fleet. Its guns were minimal, the main engines underpowered, and wide-open throttles meant draining the tiny fuel tanks. Yet Panoply Night deserved to be the fleet’s flagship. Secondary engines gave it the grace of a thunderfly. There were enough quarters onboard to house an Archon’s staff, and there were call-lines waiting to be plugged into the world, plus several protected chambers where secrets could be discovered or discussed. But what made the ship most impressive, even unique, was the huge quantity of corona parts that went into its construction: bladders were stuffed inside bladders, layers keeping the hydrogen gas safe. Scales were fixed upon scales upon more scales, and the machine’s skeleton was corona bone secured with silk rope and black-ivy glues. And in the event of a midair battle, uniquely trained pilots would watch the world through the world’s most elaborate periscopes, making their ship bounce through the air like a crazed ball.
“All right, madam.”
Prima was standing beside a tiny window. Armored shutters were open, and she had no idea where she was. Mooring lines held Panoply in its hiding place, while a cluster of call-lines ran off into the canopy. A never-used receiver was held tight in one hand. Behind her waited the small desk that she claimed last evening, and the office that came with the desk, along with the young lieutenant who had already proved himself as being endearingly, gorgeously competent.
“He’s waiting, madam.”
Sondaw had been a commissioned officer for just nine days.
Pressing the receiver to her ear, Prima said, “Yes.”
A man asked, “Is this the Archon?”
She intended to say, “Yes,” again. But the static exploded, pops and whistles generated somewhere along the copper.
Then the static was gone, and from the sudden calm, the man asked, “Are you Prima?”
“I’m Prima. Merit?”
“Yes.”
Another surge of noise attacked the line. The call was coming from the District of Mists, but that wasn’t why the sound was so lousy. Sondaw had explained that the voice could be coming from anywhere, but the caller had an ally in the Mists, and at least two long lines had been stitched together.
When the static dissolved, she shouted, “Are you safe?”
“Safer than you,” he said.
Even from a distance, Merit looked to be in agony—a man who had lost his wife and whose only child was in peril.
“Don’t tell me where you are,” she said.
He laughed at that, or the interference sounded like laughter.
“We’re trying to find the traitor,” she said.
“You’ve got multiple leaks,” he said.
“We don’t know that,” she began, but the static surged again.
Then the line quieted, and Merit was already talking. “ . . . but the papio wouldn’t want the trees dropped. They want Diamond. They’d love having my son for themselves . . . ”
A bright surge of electricity left her ear aching.
Merit’s voice chased the surge. “You can’t protect my son.”
“We can protect him and you,” she said, unsure whether she believed those words.
There was no response.
Had the connection broken?
No. By pure chance, the interfering racket subsided. Merit could have been standing inside the room beside her. Very clearly, he shouted, “Explain the situation. What’s going on at your end?”
Prima flinched.
“Do you hear me?” he shouted.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Lt. Sondaw stood before the closed office door, hands behind his back, maintaining the image of the faithful soldier. Yesterday’s young face was lost. The handsome mouth was tense, eyes swollen and red.
“There was a full assault on the Ivory Station,” said Prima. “Wings and shock troops. We were lucky to pull the government before everything burned.”
A little quieter, Merit asked, “Did they hawk you?” Chased, he meant.
“The wings followed us for a time, yes.”
“And then they let you get away.”
She nodded, speaking to herself as much as to the slayer. “They knew, I think. That we didn’t have what they wanted.”
“What about the Happenstance?”
“It escaped the Station, yes.”
“And the papio went looking for it,” he guessed.
“The Happenstance was captured, yes. Then destroyed.”
Merit cursed. “What about its crew?”
“Lost.”
Cut by the news, he said nothing.
Prima looked at the little desk. Nothing was on top but a broad stack of folders rescued from the Ivory Station, the top packet marked: CONFIDENTIAL, THE KING SYNOPSIS.
“You were smart, Merit,” she said. “Making your own plans.”
“Where’s List’s fleet?” he asked.
“I’d rather not say.”
He rephrased, asking, “Are the big ships protecting the bloodwoods, or are they pushing your way?”
The fleet’s motions couldn’t be concealed. Merit’s hiding place didn’t offer a view, or maybe he was pretending to be blind, intentionally misleading anybody who might be eavesdropping on the line.
Or the spies haunting her shadow.
Prima offered the nebulous truth. “Our allies are giving us helping hands.”
The slayer breathed once, deeply. “My wife?”
“Haddi’s still missing.”
Merit began to talk again, asking something else . . . but the static returned with his first syllable, frustrating both of them.
She put a hand on top of the King files, waiting.
Then the sputtering teased her, pretending to fade, and she said, “By nightrise, this will be the most secure District in the world. I’ll send out heavily armed patrols, and they can bring you in . . . ”
But Merit was speaking into the same electronic storm. “ . . . is most important to me,” he said. “And you appreciate that, I’m sure.”
She stopped talking.
He paused as well, and then with a careful tone said, “Madam. Did you hear me?”
“Your son is the most important part of this. Yes, of course he is.”
Through the curtain of white noise, the man shouted, “But do you understand why I would even consider this? Can you see my point of view?”
“What are we talking about?”
The noise worsened.
Then the line quieted at long last, and she said, “I couldn’t hear you. Please, tell me everything again.”