Sky Song: Overture (8 page)

“Did you alert the guards at this point?” asked one of the listeners.

“Yes, and they went running up on deck to warn everyone, but it was too late.” Baker lowered his voice for what he said next, but I could still hear him. “Now, Fitz and I had lost track of Clikk. See, Fitz couldn’t find the kid anywhere, but it’s because he was looking for our little street urchin, not some vixen in a silk dress.”

My body was exhausted and hungry for sleep, but if Baker was telling stories about me I had to listen.

“The rest you know from when we returned to the Wastrel. What a glorious battle.”

“Aw,” whined one of the men. “You skipped over all the best parts.”

“I know, but it’s late.”

“Wait now, Baker. I don’t believe for a second that you weren’t bonking your birdie all this time,” said a gunner who had just made my hit list.

“Now that’s a secret worth protecting,” jeered Henry, patting Baker’s shoulder.

“Listen,” Baker said. “It was never like that.”

“Oh, come on,” insisted that same churlish gunner. “I should not blame you.”

“It was never like that,” Baker repeated firmly. “Clikk was my friend… slept above me for nearly a year. We drank Skye, wrote dirty limericks, talked about wenches. Yesterday, I thought I knew everything about the urchin,” he scoffed, “And really I didn’t know the first thing about her.” Baker went quiet and so did the men.

Finally one of the engineers spoke. “We’d best get some sleep if we’re to survive the morrow.” The night owls dispersed and climbed into their hammocks.

The music of cri-cri and cigales droned on in a hypnotic rhythm, punctuated by the occasional croon of the nightingale. I thought of lullabies and how as a child they would placate my disappointment that another day had ended. I was used to sleeping in strange places, and would always focus on sound to relax.

In the pawnshop, it was the ticking of grandfather clocks or the tuning of antique instruments. In the thieves’ den, it was striking of a match, the bubbling of a water pipe and the gentle murmur floating in off the streets. On the Wastrel, it was the wind or the creaking wood. It was important to me to find lullabies where I could. If death came with a lullaby, perhaps fewer men would fear it.

There came a low rumble in the distance, something like motors. The noise swelled and jostled the leaves as an aircraft flew over. The men fell out of their hammocks and fumbled for the flare gun. Somebody shot it and it soared overhead and burst above the tree cover. The wind channels coming off the sky vessel rocked the branches upon its return.

A wooden box floated down by parachute and landed on the forest floor. One of our gunners pried it open with his short sword. Inside were provisions of water, bread and preserves. There was an attached note that told us to head north at sunrise to a rendezvous point on the edge of the forest.

X. Loyalty

I
awoke to the agonized murmur of men suffering from the thirst. The air was hot and my clothing clung to my sweat-drenched body. I peered over the edge of my hammock and saw our company below. They had wrapped their shirts around their heads like turbans and were taking rations from the supply crate.

“Ahhh!” Dirk sighed after his first sip. “It’s better than Skye, my brothers!”

The men reveled in the simple joy of hydration even though water couldn’t possibly ease their withdrawal. Molly’s complaints of still being thirsty went unnoticed, or at least, unheeded. Being this hot was never a problem a thousand meters from earth. I knotted my damp hair into a bun. The extensions fell out in wisps as some of the braids came loose. I wanted to rip them all out, but they were sewn in tight and some of the wax had melted against my scalp.

I joined the men for breakfast. We ate half a roll each with a spoonful of jam. The meal was enough to ease the churning pain in my gut, but my hunger remained bottomless. We headed north. I found a sturdy walking stick nestled in the brush and used it to keep myself going at an even pace. I needed to stay near the front of our party with people I trusted.

We wound through the forest, climbing over felled trees and cutting away plant debris. The heat rose to abominable temperatures. Even in the tree cover, our faces melted and drenched our clothing. I noticed Molly stumble against a tree.

“I can’t see,” she cried, gasping.

“She’s fainting!” I yelled, running towards her as her legs gave out. I caught her before she collapsed. Dirk came dashing over, and lifted Molly onto his back. She mumbled an apology, which her brother hushed.

“Thank you, Clikk,” he said.

The remainder of our slog through the woods took about an hour, but eventually we reached a meadow, vast and radiant with tall yellow-tipped grass. Molly hopped off Dirk’s back and waved to our rescuers.

Maive waited in front of a large hay wagon pulled by two white horses. The cart had ample space, but not enough for all in our company. A pair of well-to-do country folk accompanied her, a round old man and a young blue-eyed woman. Both wore gray linen clothing; the structured silhouettes of their tailored garbs gave them away as being upper class. While the wealthy wore the fashions that emphasized the male and female silhouettes, most people still wore styles of an earlier century design, simple ensembles such as tunic and skirt or trousers tied together with a bodice or vest.

Dirk went running. “Dorian!”

“Derek, my boy!” The rotund aristocrat waved. Dirk opened his arms and gathered Dorian Belle into an embrace. The affection made the man blush, but he took it with a smile, patted Dirk on the shoulder and slipped something into his hand, whispering, “I held onto it for you. Just in case this day ever came.”

I could not see what it was, but whatever it was, it made my captain’s eyes lose their intensity and fire. He slumped his shoulders and hugged the man once more, this time holding him for much longer. Molly and the young noblewoman bobbed politely to each other, displaying more conventional social graces.

“Who is this angel?” Dirk asked.

Dorian moved apart from Dirk so he could introduce the lady. “My daughter Lily. You remember her, don’t you?”

“Lily! You were just a child the last time I saw you. How are you, my dear?” Dirk kissed her hand.

“Better now that you’re back. We’ve missed you, Derek.”

After the pleasantries, Dorian and his daughter Lily proceeded to load us into their wagon. Dirk kissed Maive farewell and remained with the men who would be going on foot.

I rode with Molly and Maive. While taking in the vista of lavender country, we shared some conversation along the way to our host’s residence.

“Beautiful,” sighed Maive, tilting her head and inhaling the perfume on the breeze. “Absolutely breathtaking crop fields.”

“Beautiful, yes. And inedible,” I said. “I remember walking through such fields, surrounded by so many pretty flowers, and starving to death.”

“How awful,” said Maive. “Queen Anna von Luftberg washed only with lavender soap and kept fresh bundles in all her garment chests. Ladies of refinement followed her example and Shale has been lavender country ever since.” She touched my shoulder. “So tell me, how is it a peasant girl from Shale knew the only song that could muddle my curse?”

“My mother used to sing it is all,” I confessed.

“Was your mother a witch?” She tucked my hair behind my ear so she could see my face.

I shrugged off a shiver as the woman’s nails ran against my scalp. “She and my father were farmers.”

“That song is ancient. Legend says it was stolen from the sirens, and only witches can wield its power.”

“Are you saying I’m part witch?” I asked.

“There’s no such thing as being part witch,” Maive said. “You either have the gift or you don’t. When this is all over, I would offer you my services in honing your craft.”

“I’ve been a lot of things in my life. Not sure I’d want to be a witch.”

“The path is not for everyone. Hold still.” Maive dabbed my cheek with her fingertip and showed me one of my eyelashes that had fallen off.

I smirked. “Should I make a wish?”

“Actually, I was hoping I might keep it.”

“Um… go ahead.” Molly’s eyes and mine met briefly as we both stifled a chuckle.

Maive tucked my eyelash into a velvet pouch. She had an odd sort of social character that might have been considered inept in certain settings. Perhaps that was how witches conducted themselves. Having so much power, they had no reason to accord with normal folk.

“How did you come to be Dirk’s lover?” I asked.

Maive’s fond countenance endeared her to me. “Eight years ago, I told my Lexi’s fortune in a tavern. There was an immediate kindling between our spirits that ignited and flared. We’ve been lovers ever since, convening in secret off and on.”

“Why in secret?”

“Our temperaments are too caustic for anything else. We must walk different paths and keep our distance until the longing returns and draws us back into love. It is our way. Like majestic oaks, we need room to thrive.”

Their way sounded strange to me, but it was moving how two independent people with fiery passions found something functional.

My own parents had cherished a much simpler existence. Mother and I cared for the house and the animals while father worked the fields. At day’s end, Mother would sing me to sleep while Father waited in the threshold. I still remembered his outline as he leaned there, arms folded against his chest. He and she would go into the kitchen to talk, or if the weather were fine, they would go outside. I never understood how they slept so little. They shared these moments while they had the chance as if they could see the Blue Dusk on the horizon, and understood their time was limited.

I wondered when Dirk would address the questions festering in everyone’s minds. Without knowing what came next, I couldn’t imagine the men remaining after a night or two recuperating in Nelise. It was not a large city, and as conservative agricultural cities go, it was somewhat lacking in entertainment.

Dorian Belle lived in a country mansion with his his daughter and four servants. The home had pastoral elegance to it and high-ceiling rooms of white and gray with accents of charcoal blue. The Belles might have appeared to be an upper middle class family if not for their ballroom, which they transformed into a barracks to house the men. The grand space had a ceiling painted with clouds and cherubs and its gold-plated walls bore portraiture of old-world Elsatian aristocrats.

After all we had been though together, I made the assumption Dirk and I were on renegotiated terms with one another. I might have even dared to call him friend. It only made sense I should sit in on his counsel, but as I tried to follow our host into the billiards room and join the boatswain and navigator, Dirk closed the door on me, whispering, “Clikk, love, I need you to look after Molly. You’re the person I trust the most.”

I scowled at him, but nodded and accepted my role as Molly’s keeper; I had no experience to suggest I should be any good at it. If the girl needed a governess, our ship’s navigator would have been the better candidate as he knew far more about grammar and geography, but seeing as how I had the qualification of being female, the charge fell to me.

After the meeting, the men came out smoking cigars and holding diamond-patterned glasses of port. Dirk hung back and put a record on the gramophone. He slipped out as Maive neared and pulled her in by the waist, lifting and spinning her in a vivacious polka. Such girlish laughter burst forth from her, I almost forgot she was a witch. She seemed so like a child, twirling and grinning. I was always curious about lovers. I often watched them in candlelit corners of taverns or on benches in city parks and wondered what miracle had brought them hence.

I never knew love like that. I made the mistake once of thinking I did with a picklock called Mikhail, but he was too good a liar, and in the end, decided I had nothing to offer that he couldn’t have with the flower girl on Bartleby row.

Dirk and Maive retired early together. They went right past Dorian on the stairwell, ignoring him as he asked what was to be said to the men.

Our host’s daughter Lily came into the ballroom soon after, having changed her garment to one with a plunging square neckline. She had magnetic presence, though her beauty was not without flaw. Her eyes had thick lids, her teeth came a little too far forwards in her mouth, her upper lip was plump and her nose was long, but every feature suited her.

Lily stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled, hitting a frequency that pierced my brain like a spear. Everyone turned, and then was taken aback to see this woman in bustle and skirt standing with her arms akimbo. “So they tell me you’re a bunch of fugitives!” she said, projecting across the ballroom with a proud sort of confidence wielded only by people of noble birth. “Every last one of you. You might have survived falling out of the sky, but you’ll hang for treason if the Blue Dusk find you. Now your captain has your best interests at heart, and has brought you to our doors pleading for your sorry souls. We’re only helping him because he is a very old friend of ours.

“You’re all welcome to stay here as your captain gets your affairs in order, but there are some house rules—” The men began to grumble over her and she had to shout to be heard. “As there were rules on your ship! No stealing or harming anyone in our company. Treat our home with respect and go outside to do your business. Dirk assures me that he will still enforce the same disciplinary consequences observed on the Wastrel.”

I sat on a loveseat with little Molly at my feet, asking me questions.

“Why don’t pirates have any buttons on their shirts?”

“Because laces don’t pop off in the wind.”

The girl and her questions were a nuisance, but these things distracted me from the lecherous attention my corset and bloomers had enticed. I’d abandoned the ehrendame gown completely and chose to go about in my undergarments, which were now transmuted from pristine white into the color of sand.

Molly had somehow taken up the hobby of embroidery in this stranger’s home. She’d asked for my handkerchief, and upon my giving it to her, begun stitching a bouquet of pink roses.

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“I found a needle on the floor. I used some of the loose threads from my skirt for the flowers.”

“How resourceful.”

“Do you enjoy needlepoint?” Molly asked.

“Not really.”

The fifty-some remaining men laid down their bedrolls and organized what few things they had left to their names. They never had much to begin with, but the loss was evident on their faces. Any small mementos like photographs, family weapons or lucky flasks had likely gone down with the Wastrel. Even if they hadn’t, all of us still mourned our ship’s destruction.

“Do you have a beau?” Molly asked.

“No.”

“Probably because you don’t know needlepoint. Men like a lady to know these things if she’s to manage a household.”

“I never said I didn’t know needlepoint. I said I didn’t enjoy it.”

“Oh,” said Molly. “I could mend your bodice if you still have it. I could shorten the sleeves.”

“There’s no point. It doesn’t fit unless this corset’s drawn as tight as a finger trap, and I’ve got to breathe, haven’t I?”

Molly nodded and was quiet. It was then I spotted Baker near the fireplace. He leaned against the mantle beneath three sculptures of ladies in alabaster. Beside him was Lily, speaking that alien language of femininity that made men powerless.

“Do you think she’s pretty?” I asked Molly.

Molly nodded. “She’s beautiful.”

“Does he find her so?” I asked, my throat being suddenly so dry it was difficult to speak. I forced my emotions to go numb. They were swelling inside of me like dark clouds. If Baker made advances on a young lady of aristocratic stock, it meant certain peril for both of them.

Molly focused on her needlework, and eventually said, “You should go over and see for yourself.”

I didn’t dare approach. Sabotaging another man’s conquest would be the worst thing a friend could do to him. Just as I was thinking that, Fitz came flying through the ballroom like a speeding bullet. He leapt on Baker’s back, screaming, “Shite! Shite! This Hawk got dynamite!” The two of them laughed and Baker spun until Fitz jumped down.