Jack Cloudie

long can your impostor survive without the blood of the Caliph Eternal, and still pull off his royal act?’

‘Quite long enough for Akil Jaber Issman to abdicate in my favour,’ said the grand vizier. ‘After it is miraculously discovered that my veins also flow with the blood of Ben Issman.’

‘A miracle indeed,’ said the true caliph. ‘The kind the order of womb mages specializes in.’

‘You have slept through the start of a glorious war,’ said the grand vizier. ‘The sort of war your recently departed flesh father would have loved to have masterminded, little enculi. Plunder and land enough to make sure the only question the empire’s generals and admirals and sultans ask is, “How much of what we take is mine?” Their loyalty has been well purchased.’

‘Put your gun down,’ Westwick ordered the commodore. ‘They know you’re bluffing.’

‘I’m not bluffing, lass.’

Westwick raised her own pistol, pointing it at the commodore’s head. ‘I gave you an order, Jared Black.’

‘Ah, well here’s the thing,’ said the commodore. ‘I’m not quite ready to take my mortal orders from a Pasdaran double agent. Why do you think the State Protection Board really sent me along with you, lass? They’ve had their doubts about the Cassarabian section for a long time. I didn’t even need the proof of us ending up here to save the caliph rather than inside their wicked celgas rooms where we were meant to be — the board knew that the Sect of Jabal was the recognition word being used by the Pasdaran cell inside the Kingdom. The same word you traded with my old friend back in the safe house at Sharmata Sarl to let her know you were one of them.’

The grand vizier laughed from the top of the stairs, his beasts in guardsmen leathers snarling in front of him. ‘Ah, the Pasdaran. They are like the knotweed that strangles a garden. So hard to pull out, although heaven knows I have tried. I find it strangely reassuring that the Kingdom has much the same problem with them.’

‘Unless your parliament has ordered my assassination,’ said the true caliph, ‘I would rather everyone put their guns down.’

‘This is war, your excellency,’ said the commodore. ‘That makes this medals, not murder.’

‘Not my war, Jackelian.’

‘Put your weapons down,’ barked the grand vizier. ‘Who knows, perhaps I will let you live a while longer.’

The commodore sighed and slowly lowered his gun. ‘Well, there it is then, curse my unlucky stars. I suspect I will come to regret this.’

The grand vizier’s beasts in guardsmen’s uniforms swept down the steps towards the caliph and his two would-be rescuers. ‘Bind their hands and gag the caliph’s mouth. We don’t want the beyrogs getting confused by contradictory orders. So, the Jackelian State Protection Board has taken an interest in the methods for floating my airships? I shall have to involve you all in the process, then.’ His cruel laugh cut across the chamber. ‘I shall involve you very directly. Since you have come such a long way, it is the least I can do.’

There was a lurch as the Iron Partridge pulled violently up, the deck slanting and the pilot on the elevator station fighting his rapidly rotating wheel as the upper and lower lifting chambers near- instantly doubled the amount of gas in their cells. Jack could hear the drone of the engine cars, a nasal complaining whine from the rotors as they struggled to match the viciously strong pull of their transmission belts. Alarms were sounding throughout the airship; anything not tied down was rolling and breaking now, from the pots and pans that belonged to the ship’s slushy, to the far more dangerous shells that hadn’t been tied down by the gunners.

‘Vent ballast water tanks, rear only,’ barked Jericho. ‘I want level yaw for m’broadside when we cut their centre.’

Jack clutched onto the side of the pipes station as the Iron Partridge began to level out. Hold, he begged the gas cells. Just hold on a bit longer without bursting. Circle, but we’re rising fast. The pit of his stomach was falling towards his feet.

‘Hold us regular — hold us regular,’ urged Jericho, his eyes fixed on the view outside the bridge. ‘Quarter gunners, ready cannon hoods for movement.’

There was a brief moment of silence, the sense that they were suspended in time as well as the dark night sky, then Jericho yelled, ‘Fire!’ and the airship shook with fury. Even with their cannons rail-mounted on turntables, pneumatic shock absorbers cushioning the recoil, Jack could feel every inch of the anger of the Iron Partridge’s guns through the shaking decks.

From a porthole Jack caught a fleeting glimpse of two of the enemy pathfinder vessels which had been caught unawares by the massive ironclad’s sudden turn of speed and lift. The enemy’s gun decks had been left completely mangled, un discharged ordnance detonating, their crew in air masks just visible in the light of the fires desperately trying to seal rubber hoods that had been torn to shreds. Such carnage. Men pulling off the remains of their cannons from the remains of their friends. Fires and death and burning. Sailors no different from us trying to cope with it. When will it be our turn?

Jack marked the wheeling draks and their guardsmen riders, like vultures rather than hawks, closing in to finish off the carcasses this giant iron beast had left in her wake. He only had a second to stare in astonishment at the devastation of their cannonade.

‘Pipes!’ roared Jericho. ‘All chambers, all stations. Brace! Brace! Brace!’

They were heading for the last vessel and about to tear the top off the tricorn hat.

Omar struggled against his bonds, but he was tied to the chair too tightly. Not that he could have achieved much against the line of claw-guards formed up behind the prisoners’ chairs. Farris Uddin, Commodore Black and First Lieutenant Westwick were all tied to their chairs, not to mention what looked like the true Caliph Eternal. The bound and gagged ruler of rulers seemed to hold a strange fascination for the grand vizier’s pet, who kept peering around Salwa for a better look at his flesh twin. Despite his obvious curiosity, he held back from touching the true Caliph Eternal, as if to do so might negate his own existence in a sudden flash of sorcery. I can sense the difference between them now I’m so close, much good may it do me. He had to work hard not to sob at the thought.

They were inside a dim, dark chamber, facing a mirrored wall. The grand vizier motioned to Salwa to open a large womb mage’s chest and he — she? — withdrew a set of blood-filled vials, making the case ready for the grand vizier. Now Omar knew the truth of what had happened to Shadisa, he could hardly stand to look at the creature of sorcery that had subsumed her body. How could she do this to herself? How could she do this to me? She had swapped her beauty and her soul and her honour for this? Power, the chance to follow the grand vizier around like a lapdog.

‘It is always good to know who you are dealing with,’ said the grand vizier, pacing the room. ‘I believe it was the fourth book of Ben Issman that said that no one should rise to heaven with a lie in their heart or a falsehood on their tongue.’

‘You dare to treat the Caliph Eternal like this,’ spat Omar, ‘the blood of Ben Issman himself, and then talk of the truth.’

‘The blood of Ben Issman?’ laughed the grand vizier. ‘How naive, how hopelessly romantic.’ He pointed to the gagged form of the Caliph Eternal. ‘Meet the much-diluted, much-copied, twentieth-generation enculi of a very distant cousin who managed to wrest power centuries ago from an equally distant enculi of some inbred fool who was briefly ruthless enough to seize the throne. It was said that Ben Issman took five hundred wives. There’s probably more of his blood in your veins, guardsman, than in this pathetic pair. There’s certainly enough of some others …’ He pointed at Farris Uddin. ‘Does the last son of Barir know, officer of the Pasdaran? He’s what, your great-great-great grandson?’

Farris Uddin said nothing as Omar stared at him in shock. Is it true? Was that the real reason why Farris Uddin had rescued the House of Barir’s last half-blood bastard of a son from a bandit’s blade?

‘Special shackles for you, my aged Pasdaran friend. I have extracted most of your abilities from your blood code. You have been gifted with a shape-switcher’s face and the ability to sweat acid and see in the dark. Enhanced strength, speed and senses. How old are you? The amount of trace drugs in your blood suggests you must have been taking pure lifelast for a very long time. You would have served my little enculi’s flesh father for most of his reign. How fitting for you to be here at the founding of a new dynasty.’

At last, Farris Uddin spoke, jerking his head towards Salwa. ‘An abomination as the power behind the throne? You are, I presume, the same as this thing?’

Salwa moved closer and punched him in the face. ‘You should not listen in to other people’s conversations.’