Books was muttering something about a lack of running lights, and he started to glare at Akstyr-he probably had a lecture on his lips-but he paused thoughtfully. “That’s… actually a good point.”
“You needn’t sound shocked.”
“Go see if there’s some rope on board. I think I can hover in place while you climb down to the ground and set the explosives.”
“Nice of you to volunteer me for that.” Akstyr had been thinking along those lines anyway, but didn’t like someone assuming he wanted to risk himself.
“I have the most experience piloting the ship, so it’s logical for me to stay here.”
“A day at the controls doesn’t make you an expert.” Akstyr said, though he pushed himself to his feet. A few minutes later, he returned with a coil of rope and two bundles of explosives. “I’m leaving half of the blasting sticks here. I don’t think I can slide down a rope with the whole box. Besides, if I get myself killed, you may need the rest to try again.”
“A surprisingly noble sentiment.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m feeling sentimental because I’m about to put on a rucksack full of volatile explosives, and I know I’ll be dead if I fall or trip down there.” Akstyr meant to sound nonchalantly unconcerned, but it didn’t quite work.
“We’re hovering in place now.” For the first time, Books looked away from the viewing window and the controls to regard Akstyr. “Be careful down there.”
“Obviously,” Akstyr said. “But, look, if anything… happens, could you let my mother know I died heroically or something?”
“Your mother? I didn’t know you had one.”
“I didn’t know I had one any more either, but she found me a couple of days ago. I guess ’cause we’ve been mentioned some in the papers.” Akstyr shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. She wasn’t around for most of my life, so I don’t care what she thinks. Forget it. Don’t worry about telling her anything.”
“I will locate her and let her know you died well, should it come to that.”
“Whatever.” Akstyr headed for the door, but paused with his hand on the jamb. “Books, do you think… Do people ever really change? Or if someone says they’ve changed, do you think it’s more likely that they’re angling for something? Trying to use you somehow.”
Books considered him for a long moment, and Akstyr had the feeling he was being judged. He was about to growl a, “Never mind,” and leave when Books spoke.
“I suppose my answer depends on what sort of change you have in mind, but if people are properly motivated, or deeply affected by something they experience, they can change. That doesn’t mean they’re not still angling for something. The most charitable people in the world are choosing altruism, not because it’s a noble endeavor, but because being noble fulfills a need within them.”
Akstyr struggled to find his answer in Books’s speech. He should have been more specific. “So if a mother who abandoned her child ten years ago suddenly wants to reconnect, it might be because it’d… fulfill some need within her?” He struggled not to roll his eyes at the mawkish language. “Not because she wanted something specifically from him?”
“It’s possible. Maybe she’s always had regrets about leaving you. Maybe she’s realizing that, having given up on her child, she’ll have no one to care for her as she grows older. Maybe she wants to make amends for past grievances before it’s too late.”
Akstyr scratched at the doorjamb. Yes, some of that made sense, he thought.
“You might as well talk to her and give her a chance. You might regret not doing so later. When she’s gone…” Books’s focus turned inward, and he no longer seemed to be seeing Akstyr. “Trust me, it’s better to find peace with family while they’re still alive. You never know when the world will take someone from you.”
“Or when you’ll blow yourself up,” Akstyr murmured and walked out.
When he’d gathered his supplies and checked five times to make sure the blasting sticks were secured in his rucksack, he headed for a hatch in the floor of the engine room. Snowflakes blew past the opening. Their intensity had increased in the last few minutes, and Akstyr could barely see the massive cliff wall a few meters away from the dirigible. Its jagged contours, carved from the mountain with pickaxes and blasting sticks, had a dark, ominous quality to them. Night and the blowing snow made the ground and the tracks hard to see as well. Books better keep the dirigible in place; Akstyr wanted to land on the ledge, not in the ravine next to it.
A gust of wind came up from below, hurling snow into the engine room.
“Great time for rappelling,” Akstyr muttered, hooking a lantern over his arm.
He stuffed the ex-pilot’s pistol into his belt. He doubted he’d need it, but if he got lost, he might need to shoot it off so Books could find him.
After checking the knot securing his rope, Akstyr dropped the coil into the darkness. It bounced and wobbled in the wind. He tugged gloves on and slipped through the hatchway, taking the rope in both hands. Wind battered him, rocking him and spinning him in the air. He inched his way down, squinting against the sideways snow dashing at his eyes. Though glass protected the interior of his lantern, the whipping wind found cracks between the panes, and the tiny flame bobbed and flickered. With his hands occupied on the rope, Akstyr couldn’t do anything about it.
Relief flowed into him when the ground came into view. The feeling doubled in intensity when his boots rested upon it. A scattering of snow brightened the dark rocks, and flakes were starting to stick to the metal tracks. All that mattered to Akstyr was that he was in the right place. The ledge supporting him was only ten feet wide, so it wouldn’t take much to block the railway.
Coldness numbed his fingers, and shivers coursed through him, so he hurried to unpack the bundles of blasting sticks. He lifted the lantern and walked along the cliff, hunting for a crevice in which he could thrust the explosives.
A light winked at the edge of his vision.
“What the-” Akstyr lowered his lantern and scanned the darkness farther down the railway. He saw nothing but white snow swirling against a black backdrop. Maybe he’d been imagining things. Who could possibly be out there in the middle of the night?
No one, he thought, but he shuttered his lantern anyway and resumed his search by hand. Trying to hide was probably pointless-lights burned behind the portholes in the dirigible above him-but Akstyr felt safer without the lantern dangling from his arm like a beacon. Or a target.
He found a likely crevice and eased the first bundle of blasting sticks inside of it. A gun fired, and he almost dropped the second bundle.
Akstyr pressed his back against the cliff, sucking in his belly. He hadn’t heard the bullet slam into anything nearby, but that didn’t mean people weren’t shooting at him.
A dog bayed, its deep voice echoing from the cliffs.
“Hunters?” Akstyr wondered.
It seemed like a bizarre thing to do at night, especially in a snowstorm, but he’d heard that was when rural bumpkins went out to get raccoons. Maybe the dog’s owner didn’t care about Akstyr or the dirigible. Maybe the person hadn’t even seen him. Either way, hurrying seemed like a good idea.
When no second shot came, Akstyr knelt again, slipping the second bundle of blasting sticks into the crevice. He removed his gloves, double-checked the placement, then started unwinding the fuse.
The dog let out another undulating bay. Akstyr paused. Was it closer this time? The bays echoed from the cliff and mountain walls across the ravine, making it difficult to discern the source, but he had a feeling the hound and its master were on the trail up to the pass.
When the dog stopped to catch its breath or scratch a flea or whatever dogs did, a man’s voice sounded in the silence. Someone talking. Distance jumbled the words, and Akstyr couldn’t understand them, but another man responded.
Backpedaling, Akstyr strung out the fuse as quickly as he could. Another shot fired. This time it clanged off the rock face above his head. He dropped to his belly and tossed his raccoon-hunting theory into the ravine. These people were after him.
Another rifle cracked, though Akstyr didn’t hear the bullet hit anything. The men had to be guessing at his location and hoping to get lucky. Or maybe they were drunk.
The dog bayed again, closer this time. Its deep booming voice made it sound big. Very big.
