CHAPTER EIGHT
The clouds parted like silk sliced open by a razor blade, and the Silverhawk plunged out of the sky. We held onto the railing that ran the length of the library, staring down at the glory of . . . well, frankly it was just a field outside of Toledo, Ohio. But you’d never know it. This field was filled with a jigsaw puzzle of Victorian buildings, cobblestone streets, and glittering glass domes. An overly complicated train, with stacked pairs of coupling rods driving wheels taller than the entire engine, and a boiler tank of gleaming brass, chuffed around the perimeter of the encampment, while other modes of transportation lurched, loped, and pinwheeled between buildings. Parts of the impromptu city looked like they had been cut out of Paris and dropped out of the sky, while others resembled something out of Jules Verne’s worst fever dreams. There were even canals in the loamy midwestern earth, spanned by bridges and plied by various watercraft, some resembling Venetian gondolas, others more like brass spheres, rolling through the water.
The far end of the Convaclation consisted of a standing pool, perforated by gaudy fountains, with an artificial island constructed from stained glass and optimism smack-dab in the middle. The near side of the encampment was dominated by a manicured garden, punctuated by glittering greenhouses and hedgerow paths that twisted like mitochondria through stately orchards. The opposite border contained an airfield, flanked by iron trestle zeppelin docks from which dangled smooth-sided airships, floating like helium balloons in the breeze. The whole field gave the impression of one of those puzzle picture books, with a million tiny details boggling the mind. I stared in wonder.
“That’s impressive,” I said. “I didn’t know steampunks did this kind of thing.”
“Looks like a midwestern knockoff Burning Man,” Bethany grumbled. “A good Ren faire should have a castle, at the very least.”
“This is more than castles and jousting grounds,” Tesla said. He, Addie, and Captain Skyhook stood nearby. “The Convaclation is a meeting of the minds. We gather to show off our latest inventions, and wonder at the discoveries of our most intrepid explorers. Here you will find rocks from the surface of Mars, crystal specimens harvested from the heart of the Earth, and everything in between.”
“Plus we have indoor plumbing,” Addie said. “So, hey, no crapping in a bucket!”
“The elves of Rith’ralin do not crap in buckets,” Chesa muttered.
“Not even during the magical bucket-crapping festival?” I asked. She answered with a glare that could cut throats. “Well, point in your favor. I do miss indoor plumbing.”
“But the air show is the real star of the Convaclation!” Tesla brushed aside Addie’s snark, gesturing grandly to the makeshift city below. “Aviators from across the Gestalt gather to race, to break records, and to generally show off their latest aerodynamics!”
“Well, there’s not a lot of that going on at the moment,” Matthew said. He seemed unaffected by whatever concoction had knocked him out the night before. Unlike Bethany, who was turning three shades of green as we plunged out of the skies. “You think they called off the races?”
“Look closer,” Tesla said, then pointed. “There.”
Just then, an aircraft took flight at the edge of the village. The flying machine looked like a pipe organ attached to a pair of diaphanous wings that flapped much too slowly to propel such a large and awkward vehicle. The plane circled the zeppelin tower once before wobbling unsteadily back toward the landing field, where it disappeared behind the tree line. Now that I was looking for them, I could see other airships, none larger than a bus, strung out across the sky like beads on a string. Nik sighed.
“During the Convaclation, the skies should be filled with the most magnificent flying machines you’ve ever imagined,” he said. “Not a simple geargoyle looking for a place to nest. The dream of the Gestalt was born in the sky, nurtured in airships and barnstormers and zeppelins of ingenious design. This is just . . . sad.”
“I imagine Jules Verne would have something to say about that,” Tembo said. “Are there submarines in your Gestalt? We could have used one of those.”
“Of course. But it’s so dark down there.” Nik shivered. He strolled to the window, shaking his head in disappointment. “I much prefer the skies.”
“Well, maybe it will make it easier to find a parking spot,” I said. I folded my arms and turned to Nik. “The bakery’s down there somewhere?”
“I’m sure Esther’s overreacting with this whole vampire thing. But I agree that the bakery would be a good place to start,” Nik said, nodding. “I will arrange an escort for you. You should change back into your fancy dress costumes while we finish our descent.”
“What about our magic items?” I asked. “Can we unseal the steampunk trunk?”
“Heavens no! Not until we’re safely on terra firma. Landing is the dangerous bit, after all.” Tesla signaled to a passing Pinkerton agent. “Have the Watch’s baggage prepared for disembarkment.” The agent nodded her bushy mustache and scurried down the stairs. “Honorius, a gentle landing, if you would. As close to the bakery as you can manage.”
“Aye, mate. I’ll be glad to get her down, before this lot breaks something serious.” Skyhook pushed off the door and clambered back to the cockpit, situated somewhere near the front of the ’ship. I had tried to get a tour last night, but the captain was adamant that we stay away from the complicated bits. Don’t want the gears turning to hamster wheels, do we?
We gave the rapidly approaching cityscape a final look, then trudged back to our flea-ridden holding sty in the back of the plane. Once inside, Nik closed the door behind us, invoking some kind of electromagnetic seal. A band of light lined the bulkhead before settling down into a barrier of glowing runes.
“That’s obviously just a warding spell.” I sat down on my cot, wincing as it threatened to collapse. “All this science talk is nothing more than magic with some fake math attached to it.”
“Maybe that’s just what it looks like to us, because we’re in the Unreal,” Chesa said as she disappeared behind her curtain to change.
“Then why doesn’t the Silverhawk look like a dragon?” I asked.
“Why do you care so much, Rast?” Gregory leaned against the bulkhead. “We’re flying on something that doesn’t smell like foot cheese. And they have coffee. You should be happy.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking the coffee, or eating the food, or anything that might interfere with your powers.” I pulled my amulet out from under my gambeson and held it in my palm. “We’re already limited in our ability to recover. We can’t afford to be careless.”
“I swear, John, you’re such a spoilsport,” Gregory said. “Relax. We’re on assignment, without Esther poking her head in every time we violate protocols. Let’s enjoy it a little, can’t we?”
“For once in my life, I’m with the paladin,” Bethany said. The floor lurched as Skyhook took us down, causing the green-faced rogue to sit heavily on her cot. “Though maybe less of the bourbon would be wise. You know, because of the protocols.”
“Scotch dates back to the fifteenth century,” Tembo said. “Don’t blame your illness on a violation of the Unreal.”
“Right, right, okay. I’m just going to lie still for a moment.” Bethany lay back, covering her face with one arm and moaning. “Are we crashing? It feels like we’re crashing.”
“Do you think they have grilled cheese here?” Chesa asked as she emerged from her cubicle, ready for adventure. “I haven’t had a decent grilled cheese in over a year. You’d think elves could manage hot butter and bread, but it’s somehow off-limits. Bloody elves.”
“I’m curious about this bakery. There could be donuts to go with the coffee.” Gregory stretched his arms wide, as though taking in the sights. Then, unsubtly, he lay one arm across Chesa’s shoulders. “You should come with me, Chesa. We could take in the sights, have a light breakfast—”
“No one’s going on breakfast dates, or grilling cheese, or hitting up the saloon!” I stood up abruptly. “Not unless our investigation leads us there. We’re not tourists. We’re Knight Watch, and we’re here to kill a monster.”
“The dreaded Good-Time Monster,” Chesa muttered, turning back to her cot. “Typical for you, John. You’d think after all this time you’d learn how to have a little fun.”
“Sir John is correct,” Tembo said. “We can have fun once this vampire thing is solved. Not before.”
Gregory was staring darts at me, probably for upsetting his plans for my ex, but maybe just as a general matter of policy. I didn’t care. If anything, pissing off Gregory was half the fun.
“You heard the mage, Greg.”
“Yes, yes,” Gregory waved his hand dismissively. “We will defeat this creature, as we have defeated every threat we have ever faced. Have faith, Sir John. You are in good company.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind when it’s chewing through my shield. Speaking of which.” I yanked my helm off the stand along the wall. “Guess we better start gearing up.”
Bethany grunted, standing just long enough to draw the curtain closed over her cubicle. Gregory and I started changing into our battle gear, which was made all the more difficult by the shifting floor of the descending airship. Matthew and Tembo disappeared to do whatever it was spellcasters did before battle. Crosswords, I assumed.
“Do you think we can trust these guys?” Chesa called over the sheet separating us. “I don’t know how I feel about having an escort everywhere we go.”
“If we need to shake them, it’ll be easy enough. They can’t follow us into the Unreal,” I said, shrugging into my gambeson. The padded jacket smelled of dried sweat and beer, left over from our battles in Valhalla. “In the meantime, this is their territory. We’re just visitors here.”
“Whatever,” Gregory grunted as he struggled into his chest plate, pulling it tight to his shoulders. “Chesa, could you give me a hand?”
“I’m standing right here,” I said, stepping up to clasp his armor in place. Gregory rolled his eyes. “Try to keep the mind-searing charisma in check, Greg? At least until—”
Everything got quiet. It’s not the kind of thing that’s usually noteworthy, unless you’re on an airship that, in the background, is incredibly noisy. In that situation, the sudden lack of loud engines and creaking boilers is very, very noteworthy.
In her cubicle, Bethany let out a long and rattling snore.
“That seems bad,” Chesa said, her head poking over the top of the curtain.
“I’m more concerned by the lack of seat belts in here,” I said. “These cots were not made for a crash landing.”
“Maybe this is intentional? Maybe they glide the last—”
We hit the ground. Hard. Metal squealed and glass shattered, then we bounced, were briefly airborne, before hitting a second time and slewing to the side. By now, we were flat on our backs, sliding through the hay in a jumble of arms and ignominy. The Silverhawk shuddered for a long, long time. Then it gave a final shake and came to a stop. I sat up and looked around.
All the hay, the broken cots, the metal tubing used for partitioning off our room, and The Good Doctor’s menagerie of bedbugs had slid to the front of the room. I was lying in the remains of my backpack, which somewhere along the way had split open, spilling all fifty-eight pounds of jerky to the floor. A mound of hay next to me groaned, shook itself, and resolved into Gregory d’Haute.
“I’m going to go with a ‘no’ on the intentional question, Greg.”
“I think we crashed,” he said.
“Good call. Is everyone else alright?” I stood up, then staggered against the wall. The Silverhawk was tilted just far enough to the side to make balance difficult. “Chesa! Matthew? Tembo?”
“I’m fine!” Bethany sat up in the middle of a pile of tarps and loose cots. “No need to ask about me, John. Doing great!”
“That left a great deal to be desired in terms of comfort.” Tembo clambered out of the wreckage of his cubicle. “The Bifrost isn’t looking so bad now, is it, Sir John?”
“Reminded me of a roller coaster,” Matthew said. He was lying in a pile of hay, and didn’t seem in a hurry to get up. “Though no one’s thrown up yet.”
“Gimme a minute,” Bethany said quietly, still sitting among the detritus of the crash. “And a bucket.”
“Chesa? Are you okay?” When there was no answer, I started to panic. “Ches!”
“No need to yell, Rast. I’m fine.” Chesa swung down from the rafters, landing gracefully at the edge of the pile of hay. “You guys look like you’ve been dragged through the messy end of a pigsty.”
“It’s going to take forever to get this out of my hair,” Gregory said.
“Moan about it later. First thing we need to do is find our way out of here.” I kicked my way through the refuse to the door. The glowing amber light that had sealed us in was gone, but when I yanked on the handle, nothing happened. “I think the door’s jammed.”
“Nonsense. You just need to put some muscle into it.” Gregory shouldered me aside, wrapped both meaty fists around the handle, and heaved. The handle pulled out of the door like a rotten branch falling off a tree, roots and all. Wires and a jangling assortment of cogwork dangled from the severed handle. Gregory stared at it, dumbfounded.
“Probably too much muscle,” Chesa said.
“Hello!” I shouted through the broken door. “We’re stuck in here! A little help?”
“They can’t hear you!” Ida shouted. Which wasn’t necessary, because she was hanging from the ceiling directly overhead. We all flinched, except for Bee, who proceeded to vomit noisily in the corner. Ida watched her with distaste. “Oh. Sorry. Did I do that?”
“Bourbon did that,” Matthew said. He pointed at the frizzy-haired mechanic hanging upside down from some of the conduit. I seriously hoped she hadn’t been in the pipes when we landed. “Who is this?”
“Oh, right, you weren’t here at the start. Saint Matthew, Bethany, meet Ida. The mechanic, as I understand it.”
“Aeromancer,” Ida said. “Part-time clockwork goddess. Not just a mechanic.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. So, uh . . . what happened to the airship?” I asked. “It felt like we just fell out of the air.”
“That’s precisely what happened. Good news, though, we were already close to the ground. If this had happened over the ocean, we’d still be falling. Well.” She wrestled an arm free of the conduit, then unzipped a pocket in her coverall. A small avalanche of nuts, bolts, washers, a pipe, and three used matchsticks fell to the ground. She fished out a watch and squinted at it. “No. We would have hit by now.”
“The door’s stuck,” Chesa said.
“Yes. That’s why I’m here.”
“To fix the door?”
“Oh, no. To lead you through the pipes.” With a grunt, Ida slid out of view, disappearing into an opening not much larger than my shoulders. A second later, she reappeared, blinking slowly. “Are you coming?”
“Might have wanted to hold off on putting on the armor, eh?” I sighed, then cupped my hands. “After you, Greg. I’ll give you a boost.”