Trent Jamieson - Night's engines

He kicked the body with his boot. The corpse shattered as though it were made of glass.

“That was harder than I thought it would be.” He panted, and stamped down hard on the shards. “But you were right, we couldn’t have left the body here. Someone finds that, gets a moth inside them, and, well, you know what happens.”

Margaret still couldn’t quite believe what she had seen. There was blood where the corpse had been, not blood exactly, but a sort of black and red slurry.

“How did you do that?” she said. “Cadell couldn’t do that.”

David shrugged. “Maybe he could, or maybe he wasn’t far enough north. We’re much closer to Tearwin Meet, and its power is in part mine.”

She looked down at the mess. “But that… that is madness.”

“Oh, it’s nothing really.” David took a step forward, tripped, or stumbled, or just dropped. He grabbed at her arm, slipped and almost fell on his face. Margaret pulled him up. He was shivering, and his face had grown almost as white as hers.

“David?”

“I’m f-f-fine.”

“Perhaps we should get you home.”

“You’re too kind,” he said. “Far, far too kind. It's the Lodes, well, the absence of them. I was near a Lode the last time I used my powers: it did the hard work.”

Something moved in the street ahead, a shadow darting towards them; David pulled himself from Margaret’s grip, and took a few steps forward. She moved to get in front of him, and found herself pushed backwards.

“Not this time,” he said. “You can’t protect me every time.”

Margaret opened her mouth, and he shook his head. She had a rifle in hand already.

“If things go badly,” David whispered, “run. Actually, I'd start running now. The endothermic shells won't do more than make him angry.” He puffed up his chest, stared down the street, and Margaret could see that he’d almost forgotten she was there.

“All right then!” David shouted. “I'm right here!”

He took a step forwards.

Bins tumbled, hard nails scratched against stone walls, heavy boots crashed into the distance. Margaret fired towards the sound.

David grinned. “That scared him.” Then he almost dropped again. He turned to Margaret, almost pathetically. “Hurry. Take me back to the pub, before Cadell decides that maybe now is just the time to end this and turns around. Keep your blade ready.”

“For Cadell?”

“Ha, no, not a chance, he’d scratch strips from us, then eat them as we died.” He patted her arm. “Just in case there’s more Roilings about.”

There hadn’t been any more Roilings about, but plenty of constables and prostitutes, and enough of the latter had whistled at her salaciously on their way into the market square, by which time David was leaning on her heavily. Almost back at the pub, close enough that they could smell the beer, and whatever meat was being served up as meal of the day, David straightened.

“Feeling better,” he said. “Have to remember not to do that again. I really should have just done the head. Yes, the head would have been enough.”

Margaret still wasn’t sure exactly what it was that he had done in the first place. “Still would have left a body.”

“Yes, of course. You're right. I won't be so thoughtless next time.”

He smacked his lips. “Now, I’m hungry.” He looked at Margaret with eyes all too predatory for his face. “We’ll catch him tomorrow, Margaret. I promise. Go polish your weapons or whatever it is that you do.” She nearly punched that hungry face for being so dismissive, so damn patronising. She was a Penn! Of course, that was precisely what she had in mind.

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to eat, and once I'm done I am going to eat some more,” he said. “You’re free to join me.”

Margaret declined.

THE CITY OF DRIFT 800 MILES NORTH OF THE ROIL — ALTITUDE 20,000 FEET

There were a dozen Aerokin in the Hall of Winds, but only one of them had her attention — the rest may as well have not existed.

“Finally!”

Kara Jade touched the curved head of the Roslyn Dawn, just a few feet from the Aerokin’s light sensors, where the flesh was soft and warm. The contact sent a soft prickle through her fingers, and soothed her. The Dawn was being washed; Kara could feel the Dawn 's purrs running through her body and up her pilot’s arms. The Aerokin slid a flagellum over her shoulder, a movement surprisingly gentle for such a huge creature. The Dawn could crush her pilot with a single flick, though she never would. Kara and the Aerokin had grown up together, which is why the last week had been interminable.

“I’ve missed you,” Kara said, and the Dawn patted her gently. “Am I being punished?” Kara asked and the Aerokin rumbled warmly, which, of course she would, she loved being cleaned, and not the frigid drenching of the northern storms, but a great warm spray. Soap, hot water and oils were being rubbed into her flesh. The Dawn 's wounds had all but healed. She looked better than she had in a long time. Even before they had flown down to Chapman and met the boy, the girl and the Old Man.

She purred again.

Traitor, Kara Jade thought.

Though it wasn't the Dawn being called a traitor on the streets. It wasn't the Dawn being whispered about in the food halls or on the streets. That was wholly reserved for her pilot. Kara ate in her room now, away from the gaze of accusatory eyes.

Kara's responsibilities towards the Dawn had been taken away from her, everything, even cleaning. She was a pilot without her Aerokin, and felt limbless, anchorless. Which, she knew, was how they wanted her to feel. She refused to play their game. The Mothers of the Sky, one and all, could just tumble from the sky as far as she was concerned.

“You’ll get soft if you keep this up,” she said, sounding as casual as she could despite the lump in her throat. “We're meant to be in the sky, you and me. Not here!”

The Dawn batted at her with her flagellum, nearly knocked her off her feet. I suppose I deserved that, she thought.

Kara was surprised that they had even let her walk into the Hall of Winds. But where else could she go? She had a small room in the pilots’ barracks, but it was little larger than the bed that it contained, and the single shelf for her book: a Shadow Council novel that David Milde had given her. She thought of him in Hardacre, and hoped he was safe. The last thing she had heard was that he was awake, when she’d left he’d been days in bed, hardly stirring, and she’d expected him to die.

“I did what they told me. Didn’t I?” she whispered in the Dawn 's ear, a hole no larger than her hand, usually closed over with a thin membrane. The Dawn was really all ears. The Aerokin could listen with her bones and limbs just as effectively, but there was something much more intimate in talking to her this way.