Storming: A Dieselpunk Adventure (48 page)

Hitch proceeded down the slanted floor of the second level. The corridors on this level were tight and dark, despite the round-windowed doors every twenty feet or so, which led to little observation decks. It was a homey, lived-in space. Big, if ugly, portraits hung on the walls between doors. Long rugs stretched down the hallway, tacked down so the wrong angle of the floor hadn’t budged them. They’d been thick once; now they were threadbare, patched with bright reds, greens, and yellows.

The rooms, which he’d helped check, were mostly living quarters and mostly tiny. Thin-mattressed beds folded up against the walls. Round tables, inlaid with garish flowers, bore the remnants of family life: children’s wooden blocks, old-fashioned quill pens, china plates and cups that had fallen and cracked when the ship rolled. Big silver ewers—full of strong-smelling tea—hung from a trio of small chains fastened to their bases. That tea wasn’t spilling no matter how bad the turbulence got.

This was where Jael came from. He touched the leaf of a houseplant bolted into a porthole sill. And this was where Campbell would make certain she couldn’t return. Only the good Lord knew why she’d want to, from the sounds of it. He frowned and headed back down to the cargo bay.

He got there just as Jael dragged herself over the edge. The deputies must have kept her back, or she’d have been here before.

Zlo still stood in the corner, where Campbell—balancing against a crate—talked to one of his men.

Jael caught sight of Zlo, stopped short, then slid down the incline toward him. She slapped him square in the face. “
Chtob ti sdoh.
”

Zlo didn’t even flinch.

Campbell shoved her back and looked at Hitch. “Get her out of here.”

The corner of Zlo’s mouth twitched in what might almost have been a laugh. “
Zakroi rot, dura. Dumaesh voiny konchautsya
?
Oni beskonechny.
”

Jael looked ready to slap him again.

Hitch grabbed her arm. “C’mon, it’s over. Where’s this
dawsedometer
of yours?”

She nodded toward the back of the room, where a regular-sized door looked like it would lead them farther aft.

“What’d he tell you?” Hitch asked.

She snorted. “That wars are never over.” She pulled her arm free and hobbled ahead of him, through the door into another large room.

Towering pistons—to drive the propellers no doubt—took up the back half. They were silent now, bent like weary workmen leaning against their shovels. In front of them, a tall rectangular form, about the size of a chest of drawers, stood shrouded in tarps. It hummed gently.

Jael stopped short and gasped, painfully.

He glanced at her. “That it?”

“Yes. It hurts.”

“Stay here. I’ll shut it off.”

“No.” She gripped his forearm. “I must see it ended.”

He helped her limp across the room, then tugged off the tarps for her. Underneath, a suitcase-shaped bronze box sat on top of a wooden cabinet. Three reflective panels on adjustable hinges topped it. The backside was a forest of punctured pipes—kind of like what you’d find on an organ. A panel of round buttons, like typewriter keys, and two funnel-shaped exhaust ports finished it off.

“Looks worse’n J.W.’s jalopy.”

She started poking buttons. “It emits gas of chemicals into sky—and this causes rain.” She pointed up, to where a skylight showed a blink of gray clouds. They were in the very back of the ship, where the bottom level jutted out from under the top tiers. “That is basic ingredient. From there comes other weather.”

“And you can turn it off?”

“I can make it stop making gases.”

“And the storm’ll quit and the clouds’ll go away?”

“It will stop
making
storm. Then wind must blow away clouds, like with all weather.”

The machine’s vibration changed ever so slightly. In a moment, she closed her eyes and let out a relieved sigh. The pained lines in her forehead slacked off a little.

He leaned an elbow against the edge of the bronze box and relaxed enough to let a few of the jitters shake their way out of his system.

He watched her.

He’d expected her to look like she
fit
here—like this was the puzzle where her piece belonged.

But she didn’t, quite. She looked more like she belonged back in town than she did here.

What was this like for her? Maybe this would provide closure—permission to move on. Hopefully it would work out for her a little better than his trip home had for him.

“This must be kinda hard for you,” he said.

“You mean, to see
Schturming
like this?” She looked up at the slanted roof. “I suppose yes. I have never seen her on ground.”

“With her wings busted?”

“Yes.” She eased out a smile. “But she will be flying again.”

Maybe, maybe not.

He shifted. “Did you find any friends?”

She shrugged. “There is no one to find. I lived down here.” She pointed to a tiny room in the corner. “But it was secret. If Engine Masters found out, they would have put me in custody. Only Engine Masters are allowed here.
Nikto
are not allowed anywhere but corridors. Nestor made exception for me.”

Hitch strolled over to peek inside her room. Another one of those thin mattresses covered most of the floor. Tools poked out of a tarpaulin bag. A khaki jumpsuit with flowered yellow patches at the knees hung from a nail. A green bottle woven inside of a basket dangled from the same sort of contraption as the ewers upstairs. The walls were covered in woodcut illustrations torn from books.

“Snug.” He turned back to her. “But kinda lonely, I reckon.”

“I was not being
not
happy.” She looked back up at the skylight. “I could always be seeing sky.”

He chewed his lip. Campbell was going to make sure she couldn’t return here, even if she still wanted to.

But she didn’t. He could see it in her eyes.

So what did that mean? That she’d come with Hitch in a second if he snapped his fingers? She had no roots at all. She had even less to hold her back than he did.

But he didn’t want to just snap his fingers. He didn’t want to promise her something he might not be quite ready to give. He didn’t want to complicate things between them right from the start.

Of course, it already was complicated to some degree.

A troupe member—a wing walker—that was one thing. But she was already more than that.

“So,” he said, “now what?”

She shrugged. “I... cannot say. I have never had that question to be asking.” She pushed a flyaway piece of hair behind her ear. “Now Groundsworld must be my home.”

Not quite the answer he was looking for. The ground wasn’t
his
home, that was sure.

But when she spoke the word, a small little thread of something that was almost, but not quite, longing trembled through him. Longing to
stay
? Just because she was going to stay here—in the one place he’d always been happy to escape? So now he was going to do, what? Stay with her? Just like that?

That made about as much sense as letting Lilla fly the Jenny.

Still, for a second, something in his windpipe hurt.

He cleared his throat and thrust his hands into his pockets.

He was the one who was complicating matters here. She’d stay or she’d go and she’d do it all on her own accord, because that was how she always did things. He’d already more or less told her she could join the troupe if she wanted. Should she decide to stay, that’d sure enough take care of his problem for him. He wouldn’t try to talk her out of it. If coming home had proved nothing else, it had proved that trying to talk them through only tended to make things more
complicated.

“Well,” he said, “I’m glad we got this
dawsedometer
thing turned off for you anyway.”

She offered a little smile, then sobered. “Just now, I did try to speak to people here—those who are not Zlo’s. I was telling them everything will be right, that Groundsworld is not like we are thinking. But I am not best person to be talking to them. I do not think they believed me.”

He crossed back over to her. “It does seem likely Zlo still has something up his sleeve. But whatever it is, it’s a last-ditch gambit. Once Campbell’s got him in that jail, there’s not much Zlo can do.”

She chewed her lip. “What I am not understanding is why they were not using the Enforcement
Brigada
’s weapons.”

That
was
the lump in the gravy here.

He reached for her elbow. “Reckon we better mention that one to Campbell.”

They left the
dawsedometer
uncovered and headed back. Jael still limped, but already her breathing came easier.

In the cargo bay, Campbell’s men pawed through the boxes and bags. Griff, in the corner, glanced up once, caught Hitch’s eye, then looked away.

Hitch held his sigh and followed Jael to the doorway.

On the ground below, Campbell directed the mopping up.

Schturming
’s passengers—more than a hundred of them in all—stood in a bunch a couple dozen feet from the ship. Somebody’d seen to taking off the gags, but their hands were still tied. Another ways off, twenty or so of Zlo’s boys sat on the ground, handcuffed. They looked somber and nervous, but not quite desperate.

Zlo stood behind Campbell, flanked by two stout deputies. He’d lost his hat in the tussle, and his bird was nowhere in sight. Beneath his scruffy beard, his face was set in hard lines.

Hitch squatted on the edge of the door. “Hey. Where are all your firearms?”

Zlo pursed his lips. He looked up at Hitch, like he was examining an interesting bug.

Jael gripped the side of the doorframe and leaned out over the edge. “
Gde pistoleti
?”

Campbell took a step nearer. “What’s this?”

“Jael says these people should have been armed,” Hitch said. “No sign of their weapons anywhere.”

Campbell turned to Zlo. “How about that? Where are the guns?”

Zlo ran his tongue over his silver-capped front teeth. “Will you believe what I tell you?” He shrugged. “These people—they do not like being tied up. They fought us and threw away the weapons.” He looked at Hitch. “Like I threw away your dog.”

Hitch looked at Jael. “We searched the ship already. Any hidey holes we could have missed?”

“There are places.” She glared at Zlo, and her nostrils flared. “But I know them all.”

Campbell took a step back and hollered into the ship, “Griff! Take this girl and look around in there. We may be missing some artillery!”

Jael shot a glance at Hitch, then ducked back inside and slid down the incline of the floor toward Griff.

Hitch stood to follow, then stopped.

Griff took her arm without a glance at Hitch.

She looked back, almost apologetically.

He stayed where he was. If there really was anybody left in here, Griff would take care of Jael. Anyway, there was something else Hitch needed to do, while Campbell was occupied. He sighed and swung over the edge of the door, back to the ground.

“You are wrong,” Zlo said as Hitch brushed past. “There is nothing there to be found.”

Hitch clucked. “Maybe I’ll find something else.”

The ship had rocked far enough over on its side to allow him to stand up straight underneath its high edge. He followed the keel aft. The weathered boards, peeling flecks of blue paint, were splintered here and there—but they were smooth enough for the most part. Too smooth for the pendant to have caught and stuck like Jael thought it had.

He kept walking. He craned his head back, scanning the huge canted bottom.

A dull glint of brass caught his eye. He walked two more steps, then stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

Couldn’t be it. Crazy he was even out here looking for it. But he stepped toward it, reached up to a deep splinter in one of the planks and closed his fingers around something cool and hard. He pulled it out and lowered his open hand. Jael’s pendant, still on its chain, lay in his palm.

At least he could give that much back to her.

Footsteps crackled through the grass behind him. “Well,” Campbell said.

Hitch closed his fingers over the pendant.

Campbell’s eyes met his. “Find something, did you?”

Hitch looked up at the hull. “What happens to
Schturming
now?”

“
Schturming
stays with me, where I can look after it. We’ll get that propeller of hers fixed up right off.”

“What happened to destroying it? Because it’s such a danger to the people?”

Campbell seemed to consider. “That all depends on who’s flying it, now doesn’t it?”