Cherie Priest - Fiddlehead

“I shouldn’t think so, no.”

“It might be nothing,” he said, hands tight on the controls. “We haven’t seen any other ships today because the flying conditions are nothing short of awful, but this section of sky is a regular roadway. They have no reason to confront us.”

Maria turned the spyglass outward and caught the first ship in the round viewing area. It was small and nondescript, and still too far away to see with any great clarity. But the second ship was larger. She could just make out some lettering on the side, but not quite read what it spelled.

“What do you see?”

“I see…” she said, slowly, “a military ship, I think. It’s big, but doesn’t look well armed. Cargo, transport, something of that sort. It’s CSA gray, at any rate. With … yes. The Bonnie Blue,” she added, meaning a white star in a blue circle—to differentiate it from the Texian insignia, with a white star on brown. “It’s one of theirs, or someone’s made it look that way.”

“You think it’s one of the Union decoys?”

“Might be, but if the Maynard device wouldn’t fit on something that size, it must be bigger than I’d assumed.” She adjusted her grip on the spyglass and tried the other ship again. “The smaller ship … it’s not marked for the military. I’m not sure it’s marked at all.” It was gaining on them faster than the CSA ship, but still she saw no identifying flag, insignia, name, or registration numbers.

“That isn’t good.”

“It might mean pirates. Pirates wouldn’t bother a pair of adventurers in a tiny rented craft, not when there are travelers below and big city docks another hour or two out. I do hope it’s pirates,” she concluded.

“You’re a peculiar woman.”

“I’ve had good luck with pirates. I’ve been told I’m a bit of a pirate myself.”

“Let’s not talk of luck anymore, shall we? Or pirates, either,” Henry pleaded through teeth clenched with chill or nerves. “We’ve already noticed that luck isn’t with us. And as for pirates, you are no such thing. That having been said, you’ll have to tell me that story sometime.”

“Not much to tell,” she lied, keeping one eye glued to the spyglass lens. “My first assignment as a Pinkerton agent had me working with a pirate crew. The captain was a runaway slave named Croggon Hainey. He’s the friend of mine that Troost hopes to call in for backup in Washington.”

“A friend of yours?” Even through the goggles, Maria could see Henry’s eyes widen with incredulity. “All right, I’m not a man to judge. But if he’s a pirate … do you think he’ll help us, or the Lincolns, or anyone else? Even if Kirby Troost asks him to?”

Still peering through the glass, she told him, “Yes, I do. He’s an adventurous sort, and no fan of Southern politics, as you might expect.” She shifted her grip on the device, and directed the conversation back to more pressing matters. “And I wish to God that he was here with us right now.”

“They’re still on us?”

“Very much so.”

“God dammit. ”

“Now, Henry, listen: the smaller craft is bigger than this one, but not so large as its brethren. Perhaps a crew of three. I don’t really think it’s pirates, but it could be anything—state, federal, or private.”

“Do you see any weapons?”

“Not mounted to the exterior. Maybe it’s an observation craft? Survey work?” She wasn’t sure why she kept making guesses. The ships would either bother them, or not. “But here they come—another thirty seconds or so until contact. Look innocent, Henry.”

“I’ll do my level best.”

The ships drew up on either side of the Black Dove. Now Maria could see their faces without the spyglass, so she put it aside. In the course of acting innocent, she waved cheerfully at the nearest ship—the CSA gray with blue and white markings. Without moving her lips, she said to Henry, “Wish I had a flag. I’d wave it.”

“You’d look silly,” he said back, smiling and joining her in the friendly greetings.

“Silly is usually innocent,” she said, and blew the craft a kiss.

Inside the main cabin of the big craft she saw five men: three seated, two standing. All uniformed. None smiling or waving back; not at first. But then the captain gave her a small salute, and the others did as well, before deliberately turning their attention elsewhere. Shortly thereafter, the big ship peeled away from them and sped ahead, leaving just the smaller of the two hovering nearby.

“Can’t quite see the little ship,” Maria complained, straining to look around Henry’s bulkily coated form.

“Shall I cut off my head?”

“Extremes aren’t called for. Not just yet.”

He forced a smile and released one side of the steering column to chance a quick wave. “Three men,” he told her.

“Uniforms?”

“No. And I don’t think smiling at them will be very helpful.”

“It’s usually more helpful than glowering.”

“Glowering won’t help us either. I think we have trouble.”

“Do you see any guns?” she asked. “I didn’t.”

He sniffed hard, the sniff of a man who can’t feel what’s going on in his sinuses anymore. “They’re inside.”

The ship fell back, and then pulled around closer to Maria—who saw that, yes, the men within were heavily armed and did not look very happy to see them. She beamed at them regardless, and waved like she had for the military ship—which was now well ahead of them, keeping its course along the southbound road below.

No one waved back, but one man cranked open a side window, which jutted out from the craft like a fragile glass wing. He held a megaphone up to his mouth, and leaned out into the clouds.

“You there!” he shouted. “Land your craft immediately!”

Maria pretended she hadn’t heard, or hadn’t understood. “I’m sorry?” she mouthed, and pointed at her ears. “Too loud! So much wind!”

“Land this craft immediately!” he tried again.

“They want us to land,” Henry said, staring straight ahead.

“Thank you, dear, I heard them,” she muttered. Then to the craft, as loudly as she could, “I’m very sorry, we can’t hear you!” She trusted they’d get the gist.

They did, and it made them angry.

“Land the craft immediately! Right now!” And this time, he brandished a gun in a threatening fashion.

“I’ve seen bigger!” she yelled.

“Now you’re just antagonizing them!” Henry complained.

“Oh, they can’t hear a word I’m saying. Can we outrun them?”

He said, “I’m not sure. Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Well, we can’t just land. They’ll kill us both, and that’ll be the end of it.”

“I thought you liked pirates.”

“They aren’t pirates,” she said with more confidence than before. “They’re mercenaries.”

While the man at the window gestured with his megaphone and firearm, Maria lifted the spyglass again, to get a better look. Not at the man, but at the crates on the floor behind him. Something was stenciled thereon, and she could just discern the logo. “Baldwin-Felts.” She said it like a curse.

“The detective agency? Something like the Pinks?”

“ Nothing like the Pinks.” She snapped the spyglass shut and stuffed it into her satchel, since that one was the closest. “Oh, all right, something like the Pinks—like a Southern version of the Pinks, with fewer morals, leaner pockets, and no problem with assassinating innocent bystanders.”

“But people do say similar things about—”

She growled, “When the Pinkertons misbehave, they reflect badly on Chicago. The Baldwin-Felts reflect badly on Virginia. ”