horse whickered.
Syfax ran around the side of the tomb in time to see Chaou galloping up the sandy path back to Port Chellah. He bolted through the tall grass up the path and found his own horse where Kenan had tied her up in a thicket. He yanked the cords free, climbed into the saddle, and whipped the mare’s flank. “Hya!”
Syfax glanced over his shoulder at the dark figure standing beside the mausoleum. Sorry kid, looks like you’re walking.
Chapter 7. Taziri
“You’re very quiet, doctor.” Taziri wiped at her eyes with her left hand while her right hand rested on the gun in her lap. She blinked hard and glanced over at the Hellan, who sat with arms crossed and brows furrowed, staring at a blank spot on the floor. Ghanima snored softly on the bench across from him. Hamuy snored loudly on the floor.
Evander yawned. “What am I supposed to say? Clearly this whole country has gone mad and I’m to be treated as a common prisoner along with these murderers and arsonists. It’s your own fault, of course. These machines of yours. You have the power to travel the sky, to kill with a flick of your finger. You’re walking the paths of Icarus and Prometheus. And we all know what happened to them.”
“Not really, no. What happened to them?”
Evander glared at the floor a little harder. “Bad things. Very bad things.”
“Oh.” Taziri blinked hard again and suppressed a yawn. “So how many gods do you people have?”
“You people?”
“Sorry,” Taziri said. “Europans, I mean.”
“In Hellas, we honor the one true God and His three aspects, and all of His attendant saints and angels. How you Mazighs survive without a proper faith is beyond me.”
“Well, we get by.” Taziri offered what she thought was a polite smile. Passengers. So full of opinions, always trying to sound clever, always trying to come across as just another working-class friend with a sincere interest in airships. Except this one, apparently. Taziri wondered if any working-class people had ever even set foot in an airship. And here was a man trying to tell her about God, of all things. Taziri resolved to play nice. “But I suppose I can sort of see the appeal of having all those different characters, with different names and symbols and things. I mean, it doesn’t seem to really reflect the divine unity of the universe, but I’m just an electrician.” She let her mouth run as she looked back over her dark gauges in the cockpit. “Although, it’s probably much easier to explain to your children. I know I’m not looking forward to trying to talk about the holy mysteries with my little girl.” Menna’s chubby little face danced through her mind and her smile warmed.
“Characters?” The doctor screwed up his face into a wrinkly grimace. “Children?”
Taziri winced as she replayed her words in her mind. “Oh! No, I just meant, well, it’s very different, obviously, and I’m sure it works very well for your people in Europa.”
Evander looked up, wide-eyed. “Europa isn’t a country, you know. It’s a vast continent, filled with many different nations and peoples, languages, and religions!”
“Really?” Taziri ran her tongue around her teeth, thinking. “There’s a special airship we built just for exploring Europa, the Frost Finch, specially equipped for the cold weather. I’ve read about their expeditions in the journals. They only found a few villages scattered along the northern coasts, I think. I got the impression there were only a few tribes in Europa north of Hellas and Italia. Big pale brutes like giant albinos, wearing furs and eating bones up on the glaciers.” She paused. “We lost the Finch a few winters ago. They were supposed to survey an island somewhere, but they never came back.”
“Well, I don’t know about any of that. But the cities of Hellas, Italia, and Espana are no mean little villages. And they’re much prettier than this place, I assure you.”
Taziri nodded. “You’re from a city called Dens, right?”
“Athens!”
The engineer continued bobbing her head. “Ah, that’s right. Sorry, my captain is the one who’s good with names. I’m better with wrenches.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Evander squinted at her. “I’ve a question for you, since we’ve nothing better to do. If you’re not a soldier, why do you wear all that armor?”
Taziri glanced down at her orange flight jacket. The small steel plates were stitched into the lining of the chest, back, and sleeves. Rolling her shoulders, she felt the weight of the thing dragging her down, making her back ache, and always keeping her just a bit too warm. But for all its faults, she couldn’t imagine being on an airship without it. “It’s just for protection.”
“Protection from what?”
“The engine.”
The doctor slowly turned to look at the silent bulk of the machinery behind him. The maze of chambers and shafts slept in the shadows, visible only as faint metallic glimmers and reflections of the distant streetlamps and starlight. “Why do you need protection from the engine? And more importantly, why don’t I have any protection from it?”
Taziri shrugged. “A steam engine is a lot of moving metal parts, under pressure, very hot. There’s always a small danger of something popping loose, or bursting, or exploding.”
“Exploding?!” Evander sat up straight, his eyes wide beneath his bushy brows. “You never said anything about it exploding! And I was sitting right here, right next to it, all the way from Carthage!”
“Shhh.” Taziri waved wearily at him and nodded at the young pilot sleeping on the bench. “There’s no need to worry. There hasn’t been an accident on a Mazigh airship in over six years. That’s thousands of hours of flight time. We’re very good at what we do. And frankly, the jackets are just to keep the safety inspectors happy. Regulations and all. I doubt they would do much good in a real emergency anyway.”
“Oh, really? What happened six years ago?”
Taziri winced. The two accounts of the disaster played simultaneously through her mind, the official story in the press release versus the contents of the inspector’s report. Duty demanded the official story: “Faulty assembly. The main line valve sealed shut so the pressure in the boiler kept increasing until it burst. The explosion shredded the cabin with all sorts of debris. Shrapnel killed the engineer instantly and injured the pilot, but not badly. No one else was on board.”
The doctor massaged his temples. “You’re all mad.”
Taziri stared blankly at the shackled man on the floor. “Some of us more than others.” She gestured at Ghanima. “How is she doing?” Taziri massaged her eyes again. They were screaming at her for sleep, for darkness, for relief from the cold dry air and the invisible traces of smoke that clung to her jacket.
The doctor knelt down beside the young pilot to examine her. “Sleeping just fine.” Evander shoved himself up on a creaking knee and returned to his seat. “Do you know her?”
“Not really. About as well as anyone else in the Northern Air Corps.” Taziri glanced at the pilot for the hundredth time. She looked so young, her cheeks and nose still ever so slightly plump, her dark brown hair sprinkled with glimmers of gold and crimson, her full lips parted, and a small puddle of drool on the seat cushion under her head. Someone’s wife, or mother, or daughter. “I’m just glad she wasn’t hurt.”
“I’m sure you are.” Medur Hamuy rolled over onto his back and grinned up at them.
“Oh good,” Taziri muttered. “You’re awake.” She showed the gun to the bandaged man on the floor. “Let’s behave, shall we?”
Hamuy contorted the raw flesh around his mouth into a grin. “Where’s the Redcoat?”
“Lonely already?” Taziri kept her eyes on the dark window on the opposite side of the cabin. “Maybe you’d rather have a few more women to cut up.” Her words seized in her throat and her eyes burned and brimmed. A dull heat washed through her skin, yet she shivered.
“Huh. So, flygirl, are you having fun tonight?” Hamuy grunted as he tried to sit up. After several seconds of trying, he gave up and thumped his head on the floor.
Taziri swallowed and blinked, keeping her eyes on the night-shrouded airfield outside. “I’ve had better days,” she said evenly.
