Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

Its legs lightened and drifted behind, the whole beast inched forward, the noise increased. Vibrations rattled through them. Dust and debris skittered away in the wind caused by the rapid wing beats.

Jeza could feel Brynd tensing up. ‘It’s OK, just relax!’ she shouted. ‘You won’t fall off.’

‘How can you be certain?’

‘Well, even if you do, we’ll keep to street level, so you’ll only fall a few feet at the most.’

‘That statement doesn’t fill me with confidence.’

‘We can look at building some kind of attachment to keep people firmly in the saddle at higher altitude, that’s easy — but you should really just enjoy the ride first.’

‘OK. Now what?’ Brynd called back hesitantly. It amused Jeza greatly to see a war hero act so tentatively.

‘Gently ease off the reins, but remember, pull left for left, right for right — you must do that.’

‘I can manage that-’

The Mourning Wasp lurched forward at speed, the buildings began to whip by, and Jeza made the unlikely move of placing her hands on Brynd’s hips. Cobbles and stone walls became a blur at the periphery of her vision, and she could feel the chill wind on her hands. She leaned over to get a better view of what was going on: up ahead a wall seemed to race towards them, her heart beat incredibly fast, then she felt Brynd’s right arm move: the Mourning Wasp tilted and made a right turn, maintaining its height a few feet off the ground, almost skimming the stonework as it completed the manoeuvre, where it levelled off, stabilized, and continued at high speed.

‘You’ve got the hang of it now,’ Jeza called, but Brynd showed no sign of hearing her words.

Street by street, building by blurred building, they raced through the southern neighbourhoods of Villiren, skimming the decrepit roads at phenomenal speed. What few citizens were out at this hour stood and gaped, slack-jawed, at the sight of two figures riding the Mourning Wasp past them. Not that it mattered — not at this speed.

Brynd had soon mastered the basics of controlling the steering: one of the benefits of the wasp was that being a sentient creature, she knew to avoid danger, she would instinctively avoid hitting a wall; the nerve controls simply nudged her where the rider wanted to go. Two minds were involved in the process, working symbiotically. There was one moment as a horse lurched into view at a crossroads, but the wasp’s reactions were quicker than the commander’s own, and the creature simply drifted up and over, steadying herself once again after they had passed.

‘Do you want me to take over yet?’ Jeza asked eventually, as the streets became sparser, more barren, devoid of notable buildings until they were at the limits of the city. ‘Do you want to head back?’

‘Not a chance,’ came the reply.

Brynd was clearly enjoying himself. They drifted into open country, past smallholdings and larger farmhouses. Out here there were few walls to avoid, and as a result he simply let go of the reins altogether.

‘Are you crazy?’ Jeza snapped. ‘Pick them up again.’

‘I want to see where she wants to go herself. I want to know what she thinks .’

‘That’s a bad idea!’ Jeza snapped.

‘Now who’s scared?’ came Brynd’s smug response.

The Mourning Wasp began to bank a little higher, at tree level now, gliding above the snow-covered hills. Her speed increased and, at one point, they spotted two pterodettes flying alongside before they fell back, unable to keep up. The wind was stronger here. Jeza’s heart skipped a few beats — she had not been prepared for Brynd letting go. Yet the wasp seemed to enjoy the freedom: she slowed down along the sides of an iced-up river, and drifted lazily along one of the tributaries, until she met the open sea. There, he took the reins again: and steered her back towards the ground, towards the city, whereupon they picked up speed to race the final few streets home.

Outside the factory, Brynd pulled on the reins with confidence. The wasp lowered her legs straight away, barely waiting for them to stop, and shuddered to a standstill. As they dismounted Brynd stumbled slightly, probably dizzy from the speed, as Jeza was herself, despite being more used to it.

Brynd took off his helm and ruffled his hair. He was laughing. He looked back at the wasp in disbelief, then walked a slow circle around it.

‘I can’t believe how you just trusted her like that,’ Jeza said. ‘We could have fallen off at high speed.’

‘It wouldn’t have been a bad way to go,’ he smiled. ‘You never once took the reins off me. You could have reached over to slow her at any point. You didn’t, because you knew she’d be OK.’

‘That’s not the point,’ Jeza replied. ‘I didn’t think we were ready for that.’

‘I’m not the sort of person who hangs back worrying about those sorts of things. It seemed right to let the lady have a go herself. So this. . Mourning Wasp, is her name? She really is breathtaking.’

Jeza managed to remember to smile. ‘You like her then?’

‘I didn’t understand half of what you said when you talked about resurrecting her, nor do I really want to know. I think she’s the most important creature I’ve seen in a long time.’

‘Do you reckon you’d be interested in buying more of her?’

‘Yes. Without a doubt. How many more do you have?’

‘Four, but you can have as many as you need,’ Jeza told him. ‘Now we’ve established the design, the technology is based on the same replicating principle as the armour, more or less. We’ve two more Mourning Wasps in the basement. I could make a few in a day.’

‘The military will require many of these,’ he said, more sternly now. ‘I want the Night Guard to familiarize themselves with this urgently. And tomorrow I’d like to commence their training.’

‘We’ve not talked about money,’ Jeza reminded him.

The look in Brynd’s eyes suggested that money was an irrelevance. ‘You can have what you need. I hope you know our payments are valid.’

‘The best in the city.’

‘Good,’ he replied. Then he stood in front of her and gave his most serious look of the evening. ‘Jeza, when the war is over, consider all of you at the factory to be friends of the Night Guard. If you ever seek employment, you have my word, you’ll have a place at my side.’

‘He said what?’ Coren muttered.

‘A place at his side. Employment. Jobs for life, or something like that.’ Jeza looked across the breakfast table.

‘Who wants to work for the fucking Empire?’ Coren asked. ‘We make our own rules.’

‘I know,’ Jeza replied. ‘I’m just telling you what he told me, all right?’

‘Cool it, Coren,’ Diggsy said, palming the air. ‘Jeza’s right to build relationships like that. That albino’s the most important man in the city, and we’ve got him in the palms of our hands. That’s pretty incredible, right?’

‘Maybe,’ Coren grunted.

‘Good,’ Diggsy said.

‘Did you bring the wasp down to the basement?’ Jeza asked.

‘Yeah, through the rear doors. She seemed fine.’

‘They want to bring the whole Night Guard here tomorrow to learn how to ride the Mourning Wasp,’ Jeza said.

Coren shook his head.

‘What?’ Jeza demanded. ‘You wanted me to negotiate deals, we negotiate deals — quite a big deal this time, if you must know. They want more wasps made, hence the training.’

Everyone else seemed jubilant, except Coren.

‘Just feels too close to the military,’ he grunted. ‘We wanted to be free to do our own things, not be slaves to soldiers.’

‘Yeah, well, we need money to be free in this city, and the military pays the best rates going. We just have to deal with it. Besides, I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels guilty we didn’t play our part in the last war. This is our chance to help them defend the city.’