Trent Jamieson - Roil

Good for you, Medicine thought.

“Can you help us?” Medicine asked.

Dreyer shook his head. “Good heavens, no! You’ve broken Cuttlefolk law, and Cuttlefolk alone can deal with that. But I can translate for you, and even that threatens to tar me with your association. There will be a meeting tomorrow. I will do what I can.”

The Cuttlefolk left them in their pens. There was an explosion of wings and half a dozen of their messengers flew north and west.

A little while later a lone messenger took to the air, hovering high above the city for a moment before shooting south.

“What are they doing?” Medicine asked.

“Isn’t it obvious,” Agatha said. “They’re gathering an army.”

That night something flew over the city. An iron ship unlike anything Medicine had ever seen. Medicine watched as canisters dropped from its belly.

Smoke descended on the city. There were cries, howls, the stomp of feet. Locked in the pen, Medicine was as good as blind.

Then, just before dawn, there was silence.

Half the morning they waited and nothing in the city stirred.

At last Medicine pulled a blade from his boot and worked on the lock. It was a stubborn thing, but it gave way to his promptings. He and Agatha stumbled through the city.

The entire city was deserted.

“They’re gone,” Medicine said. “I do not understand it at all.”

“Let’s just get out of here while we still can,” Agatha said. “In case they come back.”

And he did not bother arguing with her, they returned to the pens and freed the others.

Silently they moved through the empty city. Not one of the Cuttlefolk or their Messengers was in evidence, but in the square, outside the many-bannered building that Medicine guess to be the Cuttlelord’s residence, humans had been strung up, their organs removed, and their eyes.

Medicine stared at Dreyer’s corpse, wondering how close they had come to that. The Cuttlefolk had forgotten about them or, more chillingly, thought them not worth the effort.

GATHERING PLAINS DISTANCE FROM ROIL: 1200 MILES

“Where are they going?” Medicine asked, pointing at the ruined earth. This was the fourth such two-hundred yard wide furrow in the ground, extending in either direction as far as he could see. It was as though someone had torn a path across the land, using only claw and tooth. And that was pretty much what had happened. This was the spoor of a race on the march to battle.

“South,” Agatha replied, crouching and sighting along the broken earth. “Like all the others.”

“And what lies south of here?”

“Mirrlees.”

All day, they found evidence of the Cuttlefolk’s passage, skin casings, midden-heaps, even egg sacks gently pulsing. These Agatha’s soldiers had taken a grim delight in shooting, until she ordered they cease. There were so many, and their ammunition so limited.

“We’ve missed the party,” Agatha said, running her fingers through the earth.

“I think it’s the Roil,” Medicine said. “That ship, those canisters. The Roil’s reach has extended considerably.”

They returned to the great iron-beast that was the Grendel and Agatha sent her best men to check over it. There were engineers and mechanics enough in their numbers that it would be a truly ruined train for them not to repair it. As it was, the damage was limited, the equipment necessary for repair on board the engine, and those skilled enough to fix it in abundance.

Agatha could not conceal her delight. “With this we can reach the Underground in a day, nor more than two, if the tracks hold up.”

“Let’s do it,” Medicine said. “I’ve had more than enough of trudging.” He lifted a ruined boot. “These were my best pair, you know.”

There was room enough for the workers and essential equipment; barely, but enough, and everyone was crammed in.

The Grendel built up its steam, a process that took longer than Medicine would have liked, but was assured was absolutely necessary. The engine, really a series of linked engines run in tandem, was huge and it’s carriages packed to capacity. He was mad with boredom before they had even started but finally the Grendel moved.

Agatha and Medicine sat in the front cabin, hardly a common carriage at all, but a room. Agatha cheered at the sight of the bar there, quickly opening a bottle of Hardacre Donaldson Whisky no doubt intended for some dignitary. She took a quick swig and passed it to Medicine.

“This is a fine, fine thing”, he said, letting the drink burn the back of his throat.

Agatha took another sip. “I do believe our luck has changed.”

The sky was blue, no rain or Cuttlefolk to darken it.

“I hope so,” he said, passing the bottle back to her. “I really hope so.”

THE AIR OVER SHALE, DISTANCE FROM ROIL: VARIABLE

Cadell was out for hours and David watched over him feeling even more helpless than he had watching his father’s death. He knew this dying would be far more protracted and one he couldn’t run from.

“He’s not going to wake up,” Margaret said.

“Now, that’s real helpful,” Kara Jade said. “Real sensitive.”

“Sensitivity or truth, what do you prefer?” Margaret snapped.

“We need him,” David said. “All of us. Cadell alone knows what has to be done, what the next step is. Without him we’re all just waiting to die. We might as well turn around now, fly into the Roil and get it over and done with.”

“Our need isn’t enough to bring about a miracle,” Margaret said.

“That we’re still alive is a miracle,” Kara Jade said. “The options as I see them now, I can still take you north. Cadell paid for that, and he saved the Dawn. Or you can come to my city.”

The thought of Drift held a moment’s attraction to David.

“And what would we do there?” Margaret said. “Fly until we die?”

“It’s what we all do,” Kara Jade said. “No point denying it. The damn Roil’s going to swallow every one of us.”

Starting with Cadell, David thought. The Old Man’s breath came shallowly, and there was almost no blood in his face, but lying as Cadell did, David could almost imagine that he was only sleeping. The back of his skull belied that. Kara Jade had packed it with the same gel she had used on the hull of the Roslyn Dawn, but it couldn’t conceal the missing piece of skull or the brain beneath.

“He’s not going to wake up,” Margaret said, pacing the cabin like a caged beast.

Kara Jade, after a few choice words concerning Margaret’s piloting skills, kept her eyes and her concentration on the controls.

Somewhere along the way, David fell asleep to nightmares of iron ships launching fire and screaming gulls being torn out of the air by hordes of Hideous Garment Flutes.

In the middle of the night someone shook him awake. David blinked, grateful to have escaped such dreams.

Kara smiled almost shyly at him.

“What’s wrong?” He rubbed at his eyes.

“Quick,” she said, pulling him up. “Quick or you’ll miss it.”

“What are you doing? Are we under attack?” He let her drag him to a currently translucent section of the gondola.

“Look,” she said, jabbing a thumb down at a wide break in the clouds.

Lights were scattered thickly on the ground beneath, a winding band of brilliance at least three miles wide, though from up here it looked scarcely broader than his wrist.