CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Someone took an ice pick and drove it straight through my skull. It went in one ear, rooted around my brain stem, then exited my head out the other ear, no doubt trailing the glistening ichor of my formative memories, along with the brain meat responsible for my charming personality. At least, that’s what it felt like.
I sat bolt upright in bed, kicking off the twisted gordian knot of my sweat-stained blanket in my rush to escape the ice-pick-wielding assassin. No, not an ice pick. An alarm. A very loud alarm dialed all the way to a thousand, blaring through the Silverhawk’s speaking-tube PA system. I clamped my hands over my ears and stumbled out of my cot. The floor lurched beneath me. I lurched with it, directly through the curtain partition and into the bulkhead beyond, dragging the makeshift wall down like an AT-AT winning the war on Hoth. I was alone. The rest of Knight Watch was elsewhere, though by the looks of things, they’d left their armor and gear behind.
“What the hell is going on?” I shouted, but the persistent hammering of the alarm crushed my words into dust. I kicked through the collapsed wall and found my gear. Slamming the helm onto my head cut out some of the cacophony. It would have to do. I scooped up my sword and shield, then charged out the door.
Pinkertons ran all over the place, checking gauges and yelling instructions at one another, their bushy mustaches twitching in distress. The Silverhawk swung wildly beneath us. I crashed against one bulkhead, then the other, trying to avoid cutting anyone open with my sword as I ran. I passed through the main library before sticking my head into the command deck. The place looked like an anthill in mid-collapse. Captain Skyhook stood on top of the command chair, weaving back and forth, a bottle in one hand. No one seemed to know what was going on. Finally, I braved the spiral staircase that led up to the observation deck. If the Silverhawk was going down, at least I’d have a good view.
That’s where I found the rest of the team. They stood in a semicircle around the modified aethervox, hands clamped desperately to their ears, faces scrunched up in a range of emotions, from rage to disbelief to horror. The aethervox was set up next to the drinks cabinet, front open and parts scattered about, like a grandfather clock that had taken a shotgun blast at close range, and was now bleeding out. Ida stood in front of it, with her hands tucked neatly behind her back. She was wearing an elaborate piece of headgear, consisting of a pair of bulbous earphones attached by electric cable to telescopic goggles, which she had pushed up onto her forehead. The earmuffs were firmly in place, which explained why she alone did not seem bothered by the noise.
“. . . . which will then alert me to the haunted radio signal,” Ida said conversationally, pointing to the ’vox. “At which point—”
“I SAID TURN THE BLOODY THING OFF!” Tesla shouted at the top of his lungs. Ida frowned at him, then flipped a switch. The aural assault cut off mid-tone, sending a wave of relief through the team. Tesla pressed a quivering hand to his sternum. “Oh, thank God. I thought my brain was going to turn to jelly.”
“You didn’t have to yell,” Ida said. She dropped the earphones off her head, settling them around her neck. “I can hear perfectly well in these.”
“No, my dear, you can not,” Tesla said, as he produced a handkerchief and began to mop the sweat from his brow. “Anyway. You were saying?”
“Well, if you’d been listening . . .” Ida groused. She turned back to the aethervox. “I’ve calibrated our ’vox to oscillate sympathetically with what I have come to call the Haunted Signal, corresponding to the tangle of protomundanity that forms around the scarabs when they extract psychoplasm. I theorize that the tangle persists even after the scarab has performed the extraction, like a kite string bumping along the ground behind a loose kite. At that point, the signal will trip an alarm.” She reached for the switch. “Like so—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Tesla said, grabbing her firmly by the wrist. “Are you able to detect range and direction?”
“Should be able to.” Ida gestured to the hazy amber screen at the top of the aethervox. “The trick is filtering out the noise. I’ve calibrated it to the appropriate psycholength, but if Evelyn has seeded other scarabs through the Gestalt, it might be tricky to pin down. Still, we should be able to determine a bearing and range.”
“Grand. Excellent. Superior,” Gregory said as he rubbed at his ears, grimacing. “Now. if you can just do something about the volume, we’ll be all set up.”
“Yes, yes, it’s always something. Impossible to please,” Ida said. She dropped the goggles down on her face, waiting until the eyepieces telescoped to their highest resolution before bending to work. “At least it works.”
“So what now? We fly around until we find something?” Adelaide asked.
“Isn’t that how it usually works?” I asked, drawing the attention of the rest of the team, who had apparently been too busy going deaf to notice my arrival. Adelaide glanced at me, then did a double take. Her face broke into a wide grin.
“Here to save the day, John?” she asked. Gregory smirked, while Chesa rested her face in the palm of her hand. At least the rest of the team was still fully occupied with the aethervox. I looked down.
“Ah,” I said. “Forgot the pants. I’ll just, uh . . . go get them.”
“Hardly necessary,” Addie said. “You know, the Spartans fought in the nude. I’ve always admired that commitment to form. Takes courage.”
“Especially with the helm,” Gregory said. “I think you have your priorities mixed up. I’d much rather get hit in the head than . . . you know.”
“Despite his lack of preparation, we must applaud Sir John’s reaction,” Tembo said. “The next time that alarm goes off, we will be in hot pursuit within moments.” He glared at the rest of the team. “Perhaps from now on we should all be prepared to act on a moment’s notice.”
“We can’t sleep in our armor,” Gregory said. “I don’t care what the Player’s Handbook says. That chain mail chafes.” Then he nodded at my legs. “As you can plainly see.”
“Turn around and show them what it does to your butt!” Bethany shouted.
“Last time I rush to your aid,” I muttered as I hurried back down the stairs before they could needle me further. It wasn’t like I was completely naked, though my smallcloth wasn’t much. A furious blush ran down my face as I marched, shield low, back through the hallway. I was almost there when Gregory’s heavy hand fell on my shoulder.
“I get it, Greg! I’m funny!” I shouted, batting his hand aside with my shield.
“Hey, hey, slow down. I’m trying to apologize.” He was smartly dressed in his gambeson and tight leggings, looking as fresh as if he’d just stepped out of his domain. When I reared back with my pommel, he raised both hands in surrender. “Seriously, John, just listen.”
“Make it quick.”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. You know how the rest of the team gets, how sharp Chesa’s tongue can be. I let it get out of hand.” He glanced down at me. “At least you ran into danger. That’s hero stuff.”
“What? First Chesa tries to make nice, now you? Seriously, what are the two of you planning?” I leaned in, grabbing him by the collar of his immaculately embroidered tunic and pulling him closer. The smell of rosewater and pressed cloves wafted off the curls of his hair. “Whatever it is, I’m not falling for it!”
“Just being nice,” he said sternly. He twisted out of my grip, straightening his tunic. “But if that’s too much for you, then fine. See if I care.”
He turned and marched down the hall, leaving me alone. The Pinkertons, who had been watching surreptitiously from the surrounding hallways, stared at me.
“What are you jokers looking at?” I snapped. They fell back to work, waggling their mustaches and chuffing quietly to themselves. I spun on my heel and marched, with as much dignity as I could muster, back to my quarters.
I had just reached the library when the alarm went off again. And, true to her word, Ida had done something about the volume.
She had made it considerably louder.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I tried to fold my hand over my eyes, but my visor came down, pinching my thumb in the hinge. I disentangled myself with a yelp, then marched back toward the observation deck. “I think we got the point, Ida! Can we get her to issue those earmuffs for everyone? Because if this is going to continue, I need—”
Addie ran past me. Her face was serious. She didn’t even slow down to mock my knobbly kneecaps or comment on my farmer’s tan. Chesa and the rest of Knight Watch were right behind her.
“What’s going on?” I shouted.
“Are you deaf, Rast? The alarm?” Chesa pushed me aside. She was stripping as she ran, discarding her princess dress at a full sprint. That was distracting, but I shook my head and focused on the task at hand.
“She found the signal?” I called after her.
“It found us!” she shouted as she disappeared around the corner.
“Okay, well, that’s very exciting,” I said, strolling back toward our quarters. First thing I did was open the tap into my domain. A bare trickle of magical energy leaked into my soul. I took a deep, cleansing breath. I figured I’d give Chesa time to change before I barged in on her. I reached the library sponson, with its floor-to-ceiling windows. “Not ‘strip down in public’ exciting, but who am I to judge?”
Something heavy came down on the roof of the library. Heavy enough to bank the Silverhawk in that direction. I stumbled against the bookshelves. Whatever had hit us thumped its way to the edge of the sponson. There were several other thuds around the airship, both distant and close, and the engines pitched into a frantic whine. A figure swung down from the top of the airship, bracing itself against the elaborate windows to peer into the library.
“Oh . . . Hel,” I muttered.
A dead valkyrie clung to the side of the Silverhawk. Her skin was the dusty pale blue of the tomb, and her eyes were as black as inkpots. Her armor was emblazoned with skulls and bat wings, and when she smiled, the sharp points of her canines glittered in the light. With an armored fist, she shattered the glass of the observation window and swung into the library. Her clawed feet barely hit the ground before she drew a strange-looking sword. Its front edge was traditional steel, but the spine held a curling brass coil wrapped around a glass vial. As she wielded the weapon, the coil burst into electric life. Bolts of lightning slithered down the blade, arcing to the ground and tearing holes in the floor. I took a step back.
“You . . . are not . . . worthy!” The valkyrie’s voice sounded like wind chimes in a hurricane. Cold fog wisped off the black steel of her armor. Even her wings were encased in bladed armor.
Speaking of steel, I was acutely aware that I was not wearing any armor, other than my helm. At least I had both sword and shield, though my magical well was nearly dry. My shield swung down to my arm, straps tightening against my forearm as I spun my sword once to loosen up my wrist.
“I’ve heard that before,” I said. “Let’s see if you’re right, you emo bitch.”
The valkyrie loped toward me. The blades on her boots tore holes in the teakwood floor, and the bladed feathers of her sharp wings dug gouges in the ceiling. I circled warily, shield in a solid guard, sword held high to either strike or parry. Her pale face watched me carefully. Shouts rose in other parts of the ship, and heavy impacts shuddered through the deck. I heard the boom of cannon fire, and felt the recoil shiver through the deck.
“You would have been happier with us,” the valkyrie hummed. “Far happier than this flesh-cursed life. Look at us! We have ascended!”
“Solveig?” I asked. Solveig the Bashful was a Viking maiden, dead once in some distant battle, raised to the glory of Valhalla to await Ragnarok. Only she had waited too long, grown impatient, and tried to jump-start the end of the world. Knight Watch had put an end to it. “I thought you escaped?”
“Solveig’s war is over. We have a new master now, bound in iron, forsaken of flesh,” she drawled. “When he rises, you will know the taste of fear in your blood.”
“I love that for you,” I snapped, then twisted forward, slicing at the valkyrie’s face with the tip of my blade. She ducked backward with preternatural speed, then lunged at my chest with her electrosword. I put the shield between us, sliding backward as the force of her blow shivered through my bones. Lightning arced through the Viking steel. It was fortunate for me that most Viking artifacts take Thor into consideration. I pushed her attack to the side, then desperately smashed down with the pommel of my uplifted blade, trying to catch her skull.
My hand slipped down the hilt, smacking into the shiny dome of her helm, losing the grip on my sword. The blade tumbled down her back to slide across the floor, finally coming to a stop just short of the gaping hole the valkyrie had torn in the window. Fortunately, I had struck her hard enough to daze her, apparently, because her inkpot eyes went wide, and her face twitched madly for a second. She didn’t immediately eviscerate me, so I took a step forward and smashed her with the boss of my shield. The valkyrie slewed to the side, dropping her blade.
I leapt for her sword, rolling as I scooped it up. The handle felt like rubber under my gloved fingers, and there was a trigger. I pulled it, and a shock of electrical energy went up the blade.
“Holy cow, that’s awesome,” I said, then turned to face her. “Let’s see how you like it!”
The valkyrie whirled on me. She grinned eagerly as we circled one another, the bright blue light from my stolen sword reflecting in the fathomless black of her eyes.
“Little mortal bites,” she hummed. “I remember this about you. Sharper than you look. Solveig was soft on you.”
“Too bad I was hard on her. Wait. I mean . . .” But that’s when the valkyrie charged. Two ineffective swings of my stolen sword bounced harmlessly off her armored wings. I lost my grip on the trigger after the first strike, though a very satisfying crack of lightning shot through her body, outlining her skull before the sword fell silent. She howled, and then her claws were on my shield, wrinkling the edge and putting a dent just above my arm. I set my feet to brace for the charge, but the inertia of her metal bulk pushed me backward. I hammered away with the sword, but I couldn’t get a clear swing around my own shield. Then I felt a sharp pain in the heel of my foot and looked down. A jagged shard of glass stuck out of my heel. It had come from the window. The broken window, gaping wide right at my feet. Beyond it, the open sky, and death.
I dropped the sword and grabbed the iron frame of the window.
“You forget, little man.” The valkyrie’s hot breath whistled through sharp teeth into my straining face. “Only one of us has wings.”
My foot slid perilously closer to the jagged sill of the window. I dropped to one knee and pivoted a little, just enough to slide my other foot against the intact window frame. Shattered glass cut into my naked shin. The iron valkyrie pressed down on me. My spine bent backward. Even if she didn’t force me out the window, at this rate she was going to break me in half.
“Give up, mortal,” the valkyrie said with a sneer. “The Iron Lich will consume this world and remake it in his image. All will serve at the feet of his iron throne.”
“Two things,” I grunted. “First, didn’t I already kill you once?”
The valkyrie answered with a sharp laugh and redoubled the pressure on my shield. The metal strained, and the wooden backing splintered.
I gritted my teeth and pushed back. “Fair answer. You’ve made your point. And second . . .”
With the last scrap of magic in my shield, I transformed it from a kite to a fist-sized buckler, then rolled to the side. The valkyrie, suddenly leaning against empty air, stumbled forward, straight out the shattered window.
I scrambled to my feet and ran to the window. Far below, the black speck of the valkyrie tumbled out of control. She finally recovered, wings folding out to catch the wind, turning her wild fall into a smooth corkscrew. Flapping madly, she started gaining altitude, turning in lazy circles toward the Silverhawk. She was coming back. I leaned against the broken window, panting.
“Second . . . Iron throne, Iron Lich . . . feels redundant.”