Buchan laughed. “Old-fashioned ways for old-fashioned men. I like the way you think, man.”
“The Old Men haven’t hidden their tracks. After all, they know no one would be stupid enough to hunt them.”
“Until now. Do you think we can kill them?”
“Probably not, but chances are we’ll all be dead by spring anyway.” Whig unrolled a map of the north. “Buchan, get our crew ready. We’ve miles to go and blood to spill.”
This was taking forever. The Warden of the Air was going through every piece of paperwork more carefully than Buchan thought they really deserved; Buchan would have felt panicked, except he knew that every single bit of that documentation was absolutely legitimate.
Buchan said, “We really are in a hurry.”
“You know, you’re the first ship we’re letting up after the incident,” answered the Warden
“Yes, I heard of the murders,” Whig said, squeezing Buchan’s shoulder tightly, whispering at him to calm down.
“Wouldn’t have known it was happening, if those bodies hadn’t fallen in the main square. By then the Langan was on a full head of steam. Those that followed her did not return.”
“We’re aware of all this,” Whig said.
“More than aware, it’s coloured our decision to leave the city,” Buchan said; a half-truth, which was better than nothing. “We’ve had enough of the violence of this city. Too much death.”
“I do not doubt that, Mr Buchan and Mr Whig,” the Warden of the Air said, sounding very much like he did doubt that. Buchan knew he was outclassed; the man was unflappable, years of dealing with Drifters would do that. “Seems there were some folk desperate for the sky. My job’s to challenge such desperation.” He tapped his clipboard. “Though all this looks all right.”
“That’s because it is. We’ve nothing to hide,” Buchan snapped. Nothing to hide except their destination.
“Enough of that!” Whig said, squeezing Buchan’s arm gently. “Enough of that, or we’ll never get to sky.”
Buchan relaxed. “My dear Warden. We are just good men, wishing to engage in honest business. Do any of us look like monsters?” He gestured to Whig and then to Watson Rhig, captain of the Collard Green. Rhig was nearly as tall as Whig. They knew each other, as it turned out, sharing a distant relative — one who had died in the First Cuttle War, an admiral of the first airship corp. Without that connection Buchan doubted that Rhig would have agreed to have joined in their flight north.
Rhig finally spoke. “I can vouch for these men,” he said. “As a captain of some high standing, I can say that I would not be in their employ if their actions were not legitimate.”
The Warden nodded. “If you can vouch for these men, then so be it. Your flight is approved. May the skies be safe for you.”
The Collard Green found its way into the sky, rising over the city. “To the Underground?” Rhig asked.
Buchan shook his head, smiling as one of his men passed him a plate filled with food. Hearty, warm and very filling. The Collard Green 's kitchens were well in order.
“No, my good man. We head north, where the Langan Twist was last seen travelling. We've a friend who is in trouble, who may have deserted us, but who we in turn refuse to desert. So, finally,” Buchan said. “Finally. Good captain, follow that airship if you please. We’ll chase it to the ends of the earth!”
“And what do we do if we catch it?”
“Kill or be killed, I would suggest!” Buchan reached for a leg of cold chicken, and grinned. “Ah, Whig. I know what it is to be alive again!”
CHAPTER 30
Can it be counted as rebellion when there is nothing to rebel against beyond a memory?
THE CITY OF DRIFT 1399 MILES NORTH OF THE ROIL
It was never going to be as easy as they hoped, but even Margaret was surprised when thirty men and women at least, all armed, walked from behind the Dawn.
At their lead was the man Margaret had thumped yesterday evening; to their rear stood Cam, her arms tied. There was a bruise across her jaw, her shirt bloody, though Margaret couldn't tell if it was her own blood. Her eyes caught Margaret's, her lips curved just a little. She may have even winked. Margaret reached for her rime blade, and Cam shook her head.
“So you're part of this, too, William?” Kara said.
The man at the lead glowered, though he kept it courteous. It was easy with that many guns behind. “If you could lower your weapons,” William said.
“I’m sorry,” Mother Graine said, sounding anything but as she shook herself free of Kara's grip. The pilot let her go, as though there was no point in holding her. Margaret couldn't help but feel angry at that. If it were her, she'd be pressing the Verger's knife hard against the Mother's throat. Mother Graine said, “Things were never going to be that easy for you. This is my city.”
“You don’t think that David won't kill them all,” Margaret said.
“If David was so minded, yes, he might. But not before they killed the rest of you.”
“And what if I kill you now?” She reached for the knife at her belt.
Mother Graine shrugged. “I’m not important anymore. And everything that must be done can be done without me. One person is ultimately insignificant.” Her gaze was firmly on David. Margaret desperately wanted to show her just how significant she was, but Mother Graine was scarcely paying attention to her.
David cleared his throat. “I’d rather not die now. But if it comes to that, well, then I’ll die on my own terms.”
Mother Graine laughed. “Oh, David. Nothing is ever done on your terms. You will be carried from one disaster to the next. You will see your friends die, and even your success will be failure. Believe me, my little bird, I’m sparing you so much.” She turned to Kara. “Kara, my dear, I know you understand. Please get me Margaret’s weapons.”
Margaret tensed, but Kara folded her arms. “Run for the Dawn,” she said, and whistled once, short and sharp.
Mother Graine frowned. “You-”
And the Dawn was an explosion of limbs. In a single whip-crack, every soldier was knocked from their feet, and Cam with them. The pilot scrambled to get upright, only to be knocked down again, men grabbing her arms, dragging her towards the door, beyond the Dawn 's considerable reach.
Kara was already running. She swung her head round, eyes blazing. “I said, run!”
And run they did.
“David!” Mother Graine screamed. “You know that this is wrong.”
If David heard her he didn't register it, just kept running. Kara had stopped at the doorifice to the Dawn. It opened for David, and he dived neatly through.
William was already scrambling to his feet. Margaret knocked him back down as she passed, snatching his weapon.
Another guard ran at her, and Margaret struck her hard in the head. David peered through the doorifice at her, his face confused.
“What are you doing?” Kara demanded.
“Cam,” Margaret said. “We need to get Cam.”
But Cam was already being dragged from the hangar, away from the Dawn. A limb hurtled overhead, knocked another pilot down.
Kara looked at Margaret, and something resolute and severe passed across her face, an edge of hardness. “No, we don’t have time. We can't, we leave now. We'll not have another chance.”
