Trent Jamieson - Night's engines

Finally, down a wide stairwell, she came to a pair of steel doors that swung open at her approach, and she walked out into the late afternoon. Everything sloped gently away from the stone finger of the Caress. Already behind her she could see lights coming on. It would be dark soon, and the Stars of Mourning would rise to the east. She well knew the contours of the dark; it held no fear for her. Not even this curious and wonderful dark she had been thrust into over the past few weeks with its stars and its moons. Tate's sky had only ever been the dark of the Roil and the fumes of the Steaming Vents, and lights reflected off the wireway.

Near the Caress were a handful of bookstores selling the usual array of histories, personal and serious. She saw plenty of Deighton in there, Molck and many others that she did not recognise. There were maps and map powder, too, and a children's book about the creatures of the Roil — the illustrations all a little too cute for her. She even found a couple of Night Council novels and considered getting one for David, though she hadn't seen him read in days. The boy was changing again, growing even more serious.

She left the last bookstore after a few minutes’ desultory poking through its stock, the shopkeeper leaving her alone. The city was already cooling down, a mist sliding out from the lake to the east of the city, she could see the mist coasting slowing towards her. The familiar smell of coal smoke greeted her. Fires were being lit on street corners. She stopped at one of them, stretched her hands out over the burning coals, felt her flesh warm a little and turned to stare at the men following her.

They did a double take that was almost funny. Margaret cracked her neck.

Time to deal with this now, she thought.

There were two of them, both big men for Drifters, broad across the chest, guns at their belts. The men were doing their best to appear interested in a shop window filled with flowers.

“You two,” she shouted, “what do you think you’re doing? Buying me a bouquet, I expect.”

They actually seemed to wilt.

“We don’t want any trouble,” said the tallest one of them.

“You found trouble the moment you started following me, whether you wanted it or not. Perhaps you would like to tell me who you are?”

The two men approached her, hands out, smiling. One said, “It’s quite simple, really.”

Margaret didn’t take any chances. “Yes, it really is,” she said. She kicked the first one in the head, and punched the other in the stomach.

They went down far too easily. She yanked free her rime blade, activated the device and pressed it point first against the throat of the man nearest to her. She pulled the blade back when he looked like he might faint

“Who are you working for?” she snarled.

“We’re here to protect you,” he moaned.

She snorted. “And you thought that would be best achieved by sneaking around behind me?”

“We were told you wouldn’t like it.”

Margaret let him get up. “You really are terrible at following a person,” Margaret said. “I knew you were there almost from the moment I left the Caress.”

“It wasn’t our intent to scare you. We’re Mother Graine’s guards, not spies,” he said. “We’re not employed for stealth.”

“Obviously not,” she said, and wondered where were the ones that had hidden, which shop had they ducked into, which rooftop did they crouch upon. “And why is Mother Graine so interested in me?”

“The Mothers of the Sky are interested in the welfare of all their guests.”

“We would prefer it if you returned to your room,” the big man said, rubbing his bloody nose. “For your own safety.”

“For my own safety then,” Margaret said. “You wouldn’t prefer to accompany me around the city. I doubt that I will ever return here.”

“No… I… we… your reception begins in an hour.”

“Then you had better be quick about showing me this place.”

Margaret banged on David’s door. He opened it, a towel around his waist. The boy had put on some muscle, not that that meant anything. Muscle could slow you down as much as it could speed you up: she'd proven that half an hour ago. “Yes,” David said.

“There could be trouble.”

David frowned. “Just let me get dressed first,” he said. “Before you bring disaster to my bedroom.” He shut the door in her face.

“I don’t like this,” Margaret said.

“When do you ever like anything?” David replied. “We’ll have an Aerokin, we can make our way into the north. Everything is turning out for the best, wouldn’t you say?”

“I think you’re wrong. They had me followed.”

“What!” David said with more than a whit of sarcasm. “They had a strange white woman followed?”

“They said it was for my safety,” Margaret said, looking down at her bruised knuckles.

“Who did you beat up this time?”

“He had it coming. He was trying to protect me.”

David laughed. “Well, who was protecting him?”

“I took it easy on him. I don’t like being followed, David.”

“Neither do I,” David said. “And people have a tendency to want to kill us. Perhaps we should keep as close together as possible tonight.”

“Agreed.”

“The sooner we're back in the air, the better.”

It has been stated that it was the Drifters that halted the development of fixed winged aircraft. That their Aerokin tore them out of the sky, and their spies destroyed such installations capable of the construction of flying machines. Fickle, foolish, vain: Drifters may be all these things, but they were also as ruthless as any Verger, when they perceived it to be required. Drifters: A Brief History, Madeline Maddeer

THE CITY OF DRIFT 1402 MILES NORTH OF THE ROIL

Kara Jade knocked on the door to David’s room. “You decent?” she called. “You better be.”

“I’m ready,” David said, scrambling to hide his syringe.

Kara opened the door.

He rose from his bed, affronted. “That was locked!”

“Not to me it wasn't,” Kara said, and grinned.

David looked at her. “You’ve dyed your hair. Are those feathers?”

“Yes, and yes. Don’t want to be outdressed tonight. New jacket, too.”

“Very smart,” Margaret said from behind Kara.

Kara studied her, and shrugged. “Well, at least you’ve bathed.”

Margaret was dressed in black pants, a black blouse, and her jacket had a hood. “What are you doing? Going to rob a house afterwards?”

“We go to this damn reception, and then we leave.”

Kara nodded. “Agreed. Sooner we get there, sooner this ends.”

The reception was held within the Caress itself, a hall extending onto a balcony on the eighteenth level. When they arrived the balcony was already crowded, it was a peculiar thing to see all those heads suddenly turn and regard them as they walked into the room. A peculiar thing, and very similar to an unpleasant experience David had had on the Dolorous Grey just a few weeks ago. A dining car filled with Roilings, all ready to turn him into one of them. David cast his eye about for Witmoths. Nothing. Why would there be?

Kara Jade elbowed him, for all the tension of the moment she seemed at ease. David glanced over at Margaret. Even she looked relaxed. What? Had they been at his Carnival?

He'd slept the afternoon away, but it had been a sleep of nightmares, of Cadell demanding he run, that Mother Graine wasn't to be trusted and just where were the other Mothers? What had she done to them? Twice he'd woken just as a Quarg Hound was ready to swallow him whole, only to sink back down, dragged there by Cadell's ever-increasing will.

Even here, he could feel the Old Man looking out at the world, studying the people at the reception, tasting their fear, and the sense that all they really wanted to do was forget themselves for one night.