World-Ripper War (Mad Tinker Chronicles Book 3) (19 page)

“So what’ it like killin’ them knockers?” a miner asked. Kupe stopped short, a flat look on his face.

Come on, Kupe. This is one you should have gotten out of Rascal and Hayfield.

Kupe ran a finger through sweat-slick hair. Though air was wafting in from the
Jennai
, the mines were like a furnace. “Well, can’t rightly say,” said Kupe.
Oh no!
“Ya see, there ain’t much time for feelin’, what with the runnin’ and the shootin’. Man with a gun in his hand’s got a job to do. That’s just how it is. You stop and feel stuff, well. Maybe one of them knockers takes his chance at you. Gotta keep your head on it, else you might end up missin’ a head.” There was a chorus of chuckles at Kupe’s grim joke.

Rynn let out a trapped breath.
Good enough recovery
.

“How come you look like a plated fish in that flashpop? You ain’t looking like you got a head in, there.”

Kupe grinned sheepishly. “I was just lucky is all. That flashpop was taken by a pretty slip of a thing. Can’t blame a man getting his eyes twisted around sideways by a girl? Piss on them knockers before I’d let ‘em have a shot at me, but I ain’t made of stone.”

Rynn and a few of her soldiers stepped through, falling into a respectful position behind Kupe as he and the miners shared a laugh at Kupe’s expense. “This here,” said Kupe, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, “is Rynn of Eversall. She’s the boss of the big rebellion. All us little guys owe it to her that we’re getting’ our way with the kuduks these days.”

“A girl?” one of the miners exclaimed. “I heard of Rynn, but I always pictured him a brotherish sort, sweeper’s build, maybe even a blocker. I ain’t followin’ no boss that—”

A click sounded, and shot hissed past, burying itself in the wall a foot from the miner’s head. “Go ahead and look. That’s a half-inch ball bearing you’re not going to find; it’s lodged a foot into the rock. It’ll put a half-inch hole into anything you point it at, from knockers to steam tanks. I came up with them. I made the first one, and I killed a half dozen knockers the first time I tried it out. You boys play your cards right; I’ll be leaving a few of these for you to help you out.”

“So long as we call you boss?” the miner asked.

“Something like that,” Rynn replied. “I’m not in this for money or power. I’m in this to win. I run things because I don’t want brick-headed mules like you lot running amok. A mine? Really? You got nothing down here but room and no back door out. Smart rebels would have holed up someplace that has food, supplies, a couple or more ways out. Lucky for you boys, I came along.”

“Where you get off tellin’ us what’s what?” another of the miners demanded. He was Hayfield’s size, with skin caked in soot where lines of sweat hadn’t washed it away.

“I’ve been at this years, mostly on a smaller scale. But I’ve fought the kuduks—soldiers even, not just your average, everyday head-knockers from Judicial Enforcement—and let me tell you, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

A lean miner with a limp ambled forward, pointing one of the miners’ few guns in Rynn’s direction. “What’s to say we don’t just take them fancy guns of yours, and you leave without a hole in you?”

“For starters,” Rynn replied. “I’ve got eight hundred soldiers, all of them better armed than the whole lot of you. You wouldn’t get spit out of us, and we’d let you get steam-rammed by the knockers when they get here. Plus, you’re pointing a Millstone Valley 800-K at me, and those things aren’t accurate past forty feet. You’ve got to be a good sixty away, and even if you do hit me, it probably wouldn’t put me down before I turned you into a steam manifold. On top of all that, it would be doing the kuduks a huge favor, and I don’t think you’d be willing to do them any favors after how they’ve treated you.”

There were murmurs of agreement with that last sentiment. Rynn had spent enough time among various rebellious humans to know that the one trait all of them had in common was some deep-seated grudge against the kuduks. Rynn’s army didn’t get many shavers with wage complaints among their number. Most of her rebels had been slaves or had family who’d been taken.

The miner lowered his gun, nodding with a clenched jaw. “Aww right. Say we do call a bootlace of a thing like you boss? What then?”

“I get you boys some proper guns, show you how to use them, and tell you how to turn those knockers that’re on their way into sausage meats,” Rynn said. A few scattered whoops of enthusiasm sounded from the crowd. “But first, we’ve got to have a talk about prisoners.”

Rynn, Kupe, and a few of the
Jennai’s
soldiers followed as the miners brought them to see the kuduks in person. Rynn pretended that she didn’t already know where they were heading and managed not to look dismayed when she saw the kuduk wretches that were chained in the dead-end tunnel.

“These were the ones that didn’t get away when we took over the mine,” explained a miner who called himself Raddert. He had been as close as the miners had to a leader since the riot.

“Unchain them,” said Rynn.

“We can’t be—”

“Where are they going to go?” Rynn asked. “They look in any condition to rush us?”

Raddert nodded to the miner with the key. “Dunno what you’re up to …”

Rynn looked the kuduks over. The miners had brought lanterns, so there was enough light to see the hatred in the kuduks’ eyes. It was clear that they had been mistreated; a few could barely stand. Nothing but pride and that stereotypical kuduk toughness was holding them up. She picked the one who looked to be in the best condition, an ornery-looking fellow with a few stray tufts of black beard and cuts where the rest had been taken. He was also the largest of the kuduk hostages.

“You. What’s your name?” Rynn asked. The kuduk said nothing. “Your
name
!”

“That’s Baedrek,” Raddert said, when it was clear that Baedrek wasn’t going to answer. “He’s one of the foremen.”

“All right everybody,” Rynn called out to the crowd that had gathered behind them. “What’s Baedrek done to you? Just shout it out; we’ve got no fancy rules here.”

“He’s knocked out me teeth.” “Clubs us when we ain’t working to his liking.” “I got a rib he busted, ain’t never been the same.” The litany went on until Rynn shouted for quiet.

“I’ve heard enough,” she shouted to the crowd. In one smooth motion she drew her coil gun and shot Baedrek dead.

There was a moment of stunned silence. The kuduks, stoic and defiant a moment before, shrank back against the far wall, putting as much distance between themselves and Rynn as they could.

“What’d you do that for?” Raddert asked. “Now, we got us one less hostage.”

“There aren’t going to be any hostages,” Rynn replied. “Hostages are a one-time gamble. Maybe you get something for them, maybe you get a bloody standoff and all wind up dead. It’s a loser’s play, and I’m not going to let you make it. These kuduks,” Rynn gestured with her gun, “you’re going to pass judgment on them. Now, maybe every last one of them’s done you wrong, wrong enough to deserve a bullet. If that’s the case, so be it. But if there’re innocents in among these men, you’re gonna send them home.”

“It don’t sit right with me, sending kuduks free when we got ‘em caught fair and even,” Raddert replied.

“Let me ask you something. If the kuduks were trying to kill off every last human. If they did nothing but hunt us, chain us up, and kill us, do you think more of our kind would fight back?”

Raddert put a hand to his chin and squinted at Rynn, trying to puzzle out where she was leading him, no doubt. “I believe they just might.”

“But they don’t. They leave most of the freemen alone, so long as they play by kuduk rules. Why make more enemies when you don’t have to? Well, Raddert, why are you going to try to convince every kuduk alive that we’re a threat, an enemy they can’t deal with except by killing us all? We don’t need them
all
dead, just the ones who fight back. Just the ones who’ve already earned it. The rest … I’d rather they were just watching from the cheap seats.”

In less than half an hour, it was all over. Of the eleven hostages, three shuffled through the throng of humans, deemed not to have done anything worth killing over. One was the mine’s quartermaster, generally accounted a good sort; another was a cook’s assistant; and the third, the mine owner’s nephew. The nephew was the hardest decision for the miners, who saw a young man that had grown up privileged at the cost of their sweat. In the end, Raddert and his fellows decided that it was not justice to condemn the boy for his family’s crimes.

Rynn left them with thirty coil guns and a detailed plan for the defense of the mines once the kuduk reinforcements arrived plus suggestions on how to carry the fight to the rest of the deep. Raddert and his men handled the weapons clumsily and the battle plans with even less deftness. Still, with thirty coil guns and the element of surprise they brought, the rebel miners should have been ready for anything the kuduks would bring.

Back in the hold of the
Jennai
, Kaia shut down the world-ripper. Rynn had dodged around questions of her arrival when speaking with the miners. They were simple folk, and Rynn had little patience for dealing in technical details with laymen. Her biggest worry had been the distraction of the world-hole appearing in their midst. Kupe had done his part in both distracting the miners and winning their trust.

Kupe slumped into a slouch when the machine went dark. “Woo. Glad that’s done.” He was sweating and red-faced, but the glassiness had left his eyes. He was starting to sober up.

“You did good,” said Rynn. “Not great, but good.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Kupe. He pointed a wagging finger at her. “But you … you’re something else. How’s a cute thing like you end up tougher’n a fella like that Raddert? And that one with the pistol … I’d a pissed myself if that’d been me he was pointin’ it at.”

“You go around wearing tight-laced dresses and tailored blouses, a man gets a nice look at the shape of you,” Rynn said. She rapped at her midsection, producing a solid
thunk
. “You go around in loose coveralls, nobody’s going to notice if you wear an iron plate underneath.”

Kupe chuckled. “Still, you went in front of that whole group, sober. You bargained ‘em up like a bunch of alley rats that owed you. Guess that’s why they made you General, am I right?”

Rynn smiled, but her eyes stayed somber.
Raddert’s a nobody. Let’s see if I can fare as well with a dragon.

“I should be the one to go,” Cadmus said. He perched on the edge of one of the kitchen chairs, across the table from his daughter. A sparse lunch of cold ham and warm cheese lay between them.

Madlin shook her head. “It’s the communication. I can still talk through Rynn.”

“Who won’t be here.”

Madlin threw up her hands. “The rebellion needs her. It’s the same reason she can’t be the one to go. We’ll send Jamile here to sit with you, and that will keep the chain connected. You’ll still get your updates.”

“I just don’t like the idea of you being under the power of a dragon.”

“You think I like the idea?” Madlin asked. “You have to admit, we’ve got it good here. Gravity aside, this is halfway to paradise: no bothers, no kuduks, a good sized workshop all to ourselves, and three world-rippers.”

“Technically two of them are needed full time bringing us air and water,” Cadmus replied. Madlin glared at him. He held up his palms. “But I see your point. It’s just … you’re all I have. I want to keep you safe. If you die off in Veydrus, no amount of vengeance can bring you back.”

“If I die because of that rusted dragon, I expect you to cook up something
good
for a vengeance.”

“It won’t be the same around here without you,” said Cadmus. It was as close as Madlin expected to get to a concession.

“It’ll only be a few months, hopefully, and you can check in on me with the world-ripper. I’ll be leaving tonight.”

Chapter 15

“Fancy fabrics and a bit of paint on your face won’t make you any less a tinker.” -Cadmus Errol, to Madlin—age 12

The streets of Zirom were wide enough for ten people to walk abreast. The Kheshis took this as a sign that twelve could fit, if everyone pushed to get where they were going. Madlin followed Jamile through the crowd in the marketplace, finding the juxtaposition of their usual travel order vexing.

“How did I let you talk me into this?” Madlin asked, speaking Korrish so that none of the natives would understand her. She preferred sounding foreign to sounding insane. “I have to meet with a dragon eight hours from now.”

Jamile checked a pocketclock and looked back over her shoulder at Madlin. “Eight hours, sixteen minutes. I know; I won’t let you be late.”

“I understand bargaining with mine owners and trying to soften their heads up a bit,” said Madlin as she squeezed between two Taklishmen to finally catch up with Jamile once more. “But what’s a dragon going to care about seeing me in a dress?”

Jamile took Madlin by the wrist and towed her to the edge of the crowd, pressed against the side of a florist’s shop. “It’s not about the dress, or trying to distract the dragon with your charms—let’s face facts, Madlin, you haven’t got many—it’s about not looking like a tinker fresh in from the workshop.”

“You’ll just use any chance to try to get me to dress up.”

“You’re in charge now, Madlin,” said Jamile. “It’s not like no one pays attention anymore. I hear gossip, you know.” Jamile set off once more, hugging the sides of buildings.

“What sort of gossip?” Madlin asked, hating herself for not being able to leave the question alone. Jamile was baiting her. She could tell.

“About how you’re so much like your father, you dress like him,” Jamile said, not slowing her pace.. “How you’ve got no man in your life at your age.”

“I’m not that—”

“That you ought to spend more time looking after the food supply than the workshops.”

“I delegate that stuff to—”

“That you don’t really want to be general at all.” Jamile did stop just then.

“How come you never told me any of this before?”

“You’re a hard woman to tell things like that,” Jamile replied. “I rehearsed it for days. Sosha and I drew lots to see which of us would have to do it.”

“It’s not like I’m some knocker with an itching fist,” said Madlin, frowning. “What would I possibly do?”

“Stop talking to me for a month, throw me off a moving ship, feed me to a wizard from another world, or just put a nice bloody hole in me,” Jamile replied, counting with her fingers.

“I would never—” Madlin said, but caught herself short. She had been about to protest that those had been kuduks, and that they all deserved what they got. But Jamile’s examples were carefully chosen—probably rehearsed, as well—and every one of the incidents she alluded to had involved a fellow human.

“Face it, Madlin. You’ve got a temper like a stick of dynamite.”

Madlin swallowed and couldn’t meet Jamile’s eye. The “not talking for a month” had been her after Jamile had been forced to cut off Rynn’s leg. “Sorry.”

Jamile threaded her arm through Madlin’s and squeezed. “See there? No harm done, and I’m all in one piece. Now, let’s have us a look.”

Madlin looked up and saw a sign overhead that read: Jinlo’s Creations. Through the glass windows, sculpted wooden figures wore the latest in Kheshi women’s fashions. Madlin took too long a pause to formulate a response, and Jamile took that chance to drag Madlin inside by the arm.

How do I let myself keep getting trapped like this?

“How may I help you?” an elderly Kheshi woman greeted them. She wore a conservative dress of midnight blue, along with pearl earrings and necklace. It told Madlin that they were in an expensive store, not that coin was ever an obstacle for her.

“My friend needs a dress,” said Jamile. Madlin found herself impressed at how far Jamile’s Kheshi had come. There was a heavy drawl of Takalish to it, but the words were all correct.

The old woman looked Madlin up and down in her sweat-stained white blouse and trousers, her calf-high boots that hadn’t seen a wash or polish—ever—and her gun belt. “I … cannot … help … you,” the woman said, using the slow cadence that natives reserved for foreigners and idiots.

“Listen,” said Madlin, cutting in with her fluent Kheshi. “Have you got something nice I can wear out of here today? Nothing with too much flash or sparkle, just something …” Madlin struggled for a word that would hold Jamile at bay without getting her anything too extreme, “… dignified.”

The old Kheshi seamstress pursed her lips, the wrinkles around her mouth deepening. She tugged at Madlin’s blouse a few different ways, then took a measuring tape and wrapped it around Madlin torso at various heights. She shook her head, though it spoke more of consternation than refusal. “A young girl should be shaped like a peanut, not a bean. There would be too much alteration.”

You burlap-mouthed old nag. You’re one to talk. You’re a coat rack made of bones. Did you soak that dress in perfume or did you just bathe in the stuff?
A dozen other spiteful thoughts bounced around Madlin’s head, but nothing made it past her gritted teeth. “I’ll pay triple.”

The old woman’s eyes widened but then she shook her head slightly. “Sorry, can’t be done.” Madlin could almost see the numbers in the old woman’s head as she turned from seamstress to huckster. It disgusted her at times how easily some people turned base and predatory when they smelled easy money.

“Ten times,” Jamile said, throwing kerosene on the fire of Madlin’s negotiation.

Why do I even care about the money? I can dump trade bars in this place until the doors won’t open.

The old woman’s eyes gleamed—but in a perfectly polite and deferential way, Madlin was sure. She looked as if she was about to accept when Madlin beat her to it. “Forget it. We’re going.”

Madlin took Jamile by the wrist and yanked her along on her way out of the store. The press of bodies in the marketplace was a welcome relief compared to the cloying condescension in the seamstress’ shop. She let go of Jamile and plowed through the crowd with no particular destination in mind.

“What happened?” Jamile asked. “I think she was going to accept.”

Madlin stopped, letting the crowd jostle to avoid running into her as she disrupted the flow. “And what? Get some dress I don’t want at ten times the price, from a woman who thinks I’m shaped like a bean? You know what? I think I’m going to show that rusted, leaking dragon just what I’m made of.”

As Madlin started into the crowd again, she Jamile muttered something. “What was that?”

Jamile sighed. “I said you should send Rynn if you want to show off your tinkering.”

Madlin glared at her. “I think I liked it better when you kept secrets.” She led them down side streets and thoroughfares until they were clear of the marketplace, with room to breathe and stretch their arms and walk without bodies bumping into them on all sides.

When they turned down a deserted street, Madlin came to a halt. She looked both ways for bystanders, and found no one; she and Jamile were alone. The signal was simple; Madlin held up a hand with four fingers extended, then two, then three. It was her birth date, less the year, and it let Cadmus know that they were done shopping.

It appeared as if the world hole was opening in one of the boarded up buildings. Madlin and Jamile hopped through, into the reduced gravity of Korr’s moon, and the hole shut behind them seconds later.

“What happened?” Cadmus asked. “I couldn’t tell a blasted thing either of you said.” In a lower voice, he muttered to himself: “Wonder if I can get sound to come through …”

“I changed my mind,” Madlin said. “I’m done playing at dresses and politics. I’m going to show that dragon who he’s dealing with. I’m not General Rynn, and I’m not some princess, or queen, or diplomat. I’m Madlin Errol, the Mad Tinker’s daughter, and a tinker myself.”

Jamile looked at her with worried eyes. “You’re a bit mad yourself, I think.”

“I still hate this whole plan,” Cadmus grumbled. He sat at the controls of the “spare” world-ripper, the one that was not opened constantly to the remote jungle that provided them both fresh air and water. The once sparse room, with its bare lunar stone and rough cut walls, had been transformed into something loosely resembling a home. Jamile had only been there a day, but had already ordered crewmen to supply them with rugs, wall hangings, and decorative tables.

Jamile stood by Madlin’s side a half pace back as Madlin watched the image in the viewframe. She had changed into fresh clothes, but looked every bit the tinker. She wore a pair of modified night-seeing goggles, set with hinges to let the tinted glass flip up and leave a set of lenses ground with Madlin’s spectacle optics. Her blouse was freshly bleached, her trousers brand new and fresh from the tailor. While she wore her old boots, she had given in and allowed one of the rebel crewmen to give them a buff and polish. At her hip she wore her gun belt slung low, with a fully charged and loaded coil gun tucked inside. The pack Madlin held slung casually over one shoulder was a strongbox with straps riveted on, carved with levitation runes; the latter was the only thing keeping the weight of the gold within from crushing her. It swung about like a trolley car due to the mass within but weighed less than Madlin’s gun belt.

On the other side of the viewframe, Aznik Fehr stared at them. It was uncanny how closely he had judged where the viewframe was aligned. He stood there still as if carved, barely showing any sign of breathing. Madlin watched, waiting to see if he ever blinked.

“If you’ve got a better plan, now’s your last chance,” said Madlin, not taking her gaze from the view of Veydrus. “But it’s got to replace a workforce of thousands and get us a new consulting sorcerer.”

Cadmus thought a moment. “I’m going to bring Kaia back here. We’ll set up a rotation to watch you in case you get into any trouble. Give the signal, and we’ll pull you out of there.”

“The first day, maybe two, fine,” said Madlin. “But I’ll be gutted if you’re going to watch me at all hours. A girl needs her privacy now and then, you know. If nothing goes wrong in a day, just wait for word through Rynn if I need anything from you.”

“I just hope that will be quick enough,” Cadmus replied.

Jamile perked up. “I’ll have Sosha glued to Rynn. The instant she says anything, you’ll know it.”

Cadmus looked to Jamile and smiled. At least, Madlin credited the twitch of the corners of his mouth as a smile. “I’m trusting you on this, Jamile. You’ve done well by Madlin, and I’m counting on you to keep her safe.”

“Can you get on with this?” Madlin snapped. “We’re on a schedule, and this isn’t even the dangerous part.”

Of course, I’ve already had to have us kill one sorcerer.

When Cadmus pulled the switch to open the world hole. Anzik did not react. The only sign he was even aware of the change was that his gaze adjusted to look in Madlin’s direction, a change of perhaps three degrees.

“Are you prepared?” Anzik asked.

Madlin nodded. “Yes, come through. Is there anything you wanted to bring with you?”

Anzik held out a hand and a satchel drifted from an unseen corner of the room and into his grasp. Without word or hesitation, he stepped through into Korr. At that instant, the first step into the lunar hideaway, Madlin saw that impassive visage falter. For a brief moment, a wide-eyed look of puzzlement crossed the sorcerer’s face. “What is this place?”

“Korr’s moon,” Jamile replied. They had never discussed telling Anzik the truth of their location, but neither had Madlin or Cadmus given orders that he not be told.

If there is anyone less prone to idle talk, I haven’t met him. I suppose what’s done is done.
There were times when Jamile seemed hopelessly naïve, but Madlin was beginning to wonder just how much of that was a conscious rebuttal of the secrecy and minor deceptions that she and her father played at constantly of late.

“Ah,” Anzik replied. “That explains it.” He swept the room with a perfunctory gaze, eyes pausing only momentarily at each of the other world-rippers, giving little consideration to the rest of the main chamber. He stopped entirely when his eyes settled on Cadmus. “Thank you for hosting me. I find your suspicion understandable, but your quarrel with my father’s profession should not carry over to me. Denrik Zayne is a deplorable man, whose company I keep out of duty and because for all my prowess, he still knows far more of magic than me. His twin, Jinzan Fehr, was a great man, if not a good one. Circumstance changes a man, taking the same actions and lauding them in one world, condemning them in another. Think how you would be judged, should your enemies know how you raid and plunder with these machines.”