The over-bright stars hugged the Swift as it flew through the night sky. The transparent window in the ceiling granted a spectacular view of the distant twinkles, the shimmery moon, and the dash of whitish-purple clouds that lived among them. A zing of desire to visit the star-gazing rocks outside Jiy coursed through her, and she sternly promised that once they returned to Jilvayna, she would drag Patch to them, remind him that he did not have to hate every outdoor place, and snuggle close.
The Swift hummed louder for a moment, then settled back down. Lapis glanced at the pilot, then around the dark interior. Black upholstered chairs sat in three clusters around tables that folded up the wall. The other members of her group had curled under blankets and snuggled into the seats to sleep while they could. The random rocking knocked her out of slumber, and she could not force herself to doze, memories of crashing in the last Swift pounding fright into her.
She eyed the blinking blue and green lights on the walls; she did not think they signaled something wrong, but her experience in flying craft was minimal.
“You should sleep.”
She frowned at Chiddle, who knelt in a wide space with Tuft. The Minq who prepped the Swift removed a section of table and benches, then padded the floor with thick black mats. She hoped they were as comfortable as the chairs. She did not think she had sat in anything so body-cushioning luxurious, even in her childhood. “I don’t like the shaking.”
“Why?”
“The last Swift we were in crashed, remember?”
“Yes.”
“And did Tamor show you the film he made of me and Rin?”
“Yes. I think everyone has seen it.”
“Don’t remind me,” Rin grumbled, his voice muffled by the blanket. “Not til we’s on the ground again.”
“I have not seen it,” Tuft said. Chiddle clicked, and Lapis winced; sharing a memory, was he? Must be a handy thing, especially if the khentauree wanted to embarrass a friend. “Oh.” Tuft looked at her. “A dangerous flight.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t thrilled,” she said. “But we survived, and I don’t want to do it again.”
Patch settled a hand on her knee to grab her attention and pointed to the window. “Come. Look down,” he said.
She crawled out from under the blanket and shivered in the cool air of the cabin. Patch held open his covering, and she slipped onto his lap. He folded her in the wondrous warmth, and she peered out the glass.
At first, she only noticed her wide purple eyes in her tight-lipped face. Her eyebrows puckered the skin above her nose, giving her the extra-terrified look she occasionally saw in shanks when she cornered them. So much for her stern attempt at bravado; everyone knew her fear.
Then she focused on the landscape below.
Lights. So many lights. Bright yellow, white, a few green or blue, black lines bisecting them. The glows spanned to the horizon, glittering like the fuzzy gold garlands fashioned from thin strips of shiny paper that Dentherion-made shops sold around important holidays. Above them floated a soft gold haze, creating a dreamy aura.
Rin, still wrapped up in his blanket, shoved his nose against the glass, his green eyes darting about. “Tis pretty,” he breathed.
“A million and a half people live down there,” Patch murmured. “And unlike the puppet states, Dentheria has tech lights everywhere. The street lights last all night, no need for oil and lamplighters, and people leave their door lights up. Businesses keep at least one room lit, to dissuade thieves.”
“Does it work?” the rat asked.
“Depends on the thief.”
Brander chuckled at that, his golden eyes gleaming with devilish delight. No, a pathetic house light would not stop him on a rebel mission.
“Them tall lights. What’re they fer?” Rin asked, pointing with a blanket-swathed finger to the blazes hovering midair, blinking in time to an unknown rhythm. Blues, reds, oranges, and purples reflected off the mist that hovered around them, creating an iridescent barrier.
“They mark towers,” Patch said. “Most corporate complexes have them because they vie for the tallest building. It’s silly, because the ones in Allesha are taller than the ones in Trave, but they still try to reach the sun and moon.”
“They’s not read all them morality tales, either, I takes it,” the rat muttered.
“Morality and Dentheria?” Linz asked with a snort, jerking their sunset-brown hair from their hazel eyes. They had fallen asleep just after the Swift took off from the Shivers, and still appeared ragged. They, Jhor and Caitria had not slept much as they monitored Dreamer’s transfer, and now that they had the opportunity, sacked out with abandon.
Lapis did not blame them for volunteering for the mission. Dreamer, after regaining a semblance of calm, demanded Jhor download the remaining, non-essential bits of him. Avoiding his officious demands probably saved their sanity.
“You’re better read than most of the Dentherion population,” Patch told him. “The lower classes get some schooling when they’re young, but before they reach your age, they’re usually working in factories for little pay and no chance to improve their lot.”
“I’s a curious sort,” the street rat admitted. “I’s not the only one, neither. We who takes the readin’ circle seriously, we all wants to learn more ‘bout things. There’s lots t’ know.” He quirked a grin at Patch. “Is why I wants t’ reads t’ the other rats, who ain’t so interested in the words as much as stories. They wanna learn, too, just not in the same way.”
“So, storytimes?” Linz asked.
“Yeah. It gets kids excited about books, maybe gets them to try the readin’ circle. Brone ‘n Lyet ‘r tryin’ it while I’s gone. They thought havin’ a get-together at the Lells, just afore the rats start scroungin’ fer dinner, would be nice.”
How much had she missed, being so active in the events surrounding her brother breaking the rebellion, and the rise of enemies more hostile than the common guttershank? “It is a nice thing to do,” she assured him, then nudged his leg with her boot. “That’s why Shara wants to pay for you to go to school in Dentheria.”
Rin lifted his lip while Linz perked up, startled. “That’s a great opportunity,” they said. “Getting an education like that opens up possibilities you never dreamed possible.”
“Nah. She’d be expectin’ me t’ be a Minq, and I’s wantin’ t’ help the kiddies ‘n be the Lady’s ‘prentice. She should send Jerin instead. He’s likin’ school, is smart, ‘n he’d fit more in a desk job fer the Minq.”
“They wouldn’t give you a desk,” Patch laughed. “You’d get special assignments.” He raised his eyebrow. “More along the lines of what Dagby’s doing now.”
Dagby had drawn sticks, to see whether he should go with them, or hunt down Hoyt and the Beryl agent they released. Upon drawing the short stick, he had gathered a group of Abastion rebels and they headed into Calderton. Lorcan was certain the agent had not left yet, and was also certain he and Hoyt would have a very bad day to look forward to.
Lorcan did not know Dagby’s past. If the men remained in Calderton, they would find out what an experienced, if ex-hunter, could do. A very bad day was the least of it.
“’S funny,” Rin said, turning so he could slide down the wall to the floor, his staticky red hair sticking to it and refusing to let go. “We heard stories ‘bout him, right horror tales, from them Night Market sellers. He’d show up, covered in blood, ‘spectin’ a meal. Iffen we didn’t wanna end up like his victims, we’d needa keep our noses clean while there. He ain’t like that no more.”
“No. He’ll take the dangerous stakes, just not as a hunter,” Patch said.
“You shoulda heard, what they’d be sayin’ ‘bout you, afore they knew you’d hooked up with the Lady,” Rin smirked.
Lapis sighed. She had rolled her eyes more than once at each fantastic tale. Those stories had died, though, after their relationship became public; telling fireside tales about an unknown chaser was one thing, telling them when you might be serving him in the next breath, another. Besides, they preferred the gossip that the ‘Manhater’ found the scary man worthy of her love.
Manhater, indeed. A grossly simplistic view of her thoughts concerning the average person.
“Everyone, return to your seats,” the pilot said. “Buckle up, don’t talk.”
Frowning, Rin returned to his seat, flopped in, and fought to get the straps flat before he clicked the latch in place. Lapis slid into hers, buckled up, and drew the blanket over her. The khentauree snagged the bars meant for balance during rough weather. The exterior and interior lights flashed off, the console went dark; even the hum dwindled to a whispery drone.
She had the sensation they coasted before the sky disappeared, replaced by a huge black block with flashing green tech lights and numerous bumps and pipes and jutting parts.
Lapis froze. A skyshroud.
As the seat of the Dentherion military establishment, Trave docked multiple skyshrouds. But to fly beneath one of the enormous ships, rather than note it from a distance and vow to steer clear of its shadow, was a terrifying experience.
Why were they even near one?
After watching the bottom of the ship pass by for what seemed like forever, the Swift dipped down, and Lapis squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingers into the arms of the chair; another crash. She, so excited to fly in her uncle’s craft, now wished she had never stepped aboard one.
A red flash blazed through her eyelids, and she cracked one open. The hum increased and the pilot’s console returned to blinking-lights normal, though the rest of the interior remained dark.
“Stupid shanks,” she grumbled as the sky once again appeared above them, though a grey-yellow haze had replaced the stars. “It looks like they’ve recalled the entire shroud fleet.” She shook her head. “I know we were supposed to land at the Dallybrook pad, but Cowl’s redirecting us to Gypsum. It isn’t the safest of neighborhoods, but when residents realize you’re with the Minq, they’ll steer clear.”
Patch craned his neck to peer behind. “If they’re recalling the fleet, does that include decommissioned skyshrouds?”
“I don’t know, but even the decommissioned ones have the return calls active.” She snort-laughed. “If a signal went out to return to base, I don’t think any of the commanders have codes to override it.”
“We’re not here for Requet,” Lapis reminded him. While she enjoyed the fantasy of Patch scaring the piss out of him by showing up, unexpected, on his precious skyshroud, they had more pressing problems than a sniffling noble’s son.
“Hmm,” he said.
Brightness flared, and a smoky mass to their left exploded in flaming bits. Lapis stared as the pilot chuckled.
“Every time,” she said. “Pretend you’re a guttershank trying to sneak by, they send a bird after you, ground support nails them, you fly to your destination without a tail.”
“If the first one explodes, isn’t that a reason for them to send a second?” Linz asked.
“Nope. They can only lose so many, and they’ve been hoarding them to monitor the unrest—at least, that’s what Cowl said. The protestors have been tossing spizzies at them, blowing up a good number. They’re not replacing them, either.”
“Spizzies?” Rin asked.
“Bottles of cheap alcohol infused with slop oil lit by way of a cloth,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve seen them in Jilvayna, but in Dentheria, they’re common protest items. For a while, Allesha tried to limit the sale of alcohol, and the lot of them got better booze from the underground and made larger explosions. Allesha rescinded, and the protestors went back to the regular spizzies.”
Fun times. Lapis rubbed her eyes; she avoided explosive everything during her chases, and not just because she refused to give the rats any ideas. Handheld explosives in a chaser’s palms rarely ended well for anyone.
The Swift made a wide turn, then started a slow descent. Lapis waited for something to go wrong, her back stiff, her fingers dug into the armrests, but the gentle rocking as they landed was the only negative.
