Engines and werewolves

Chapter 46

“You’ve been here a long time?”

“Only a year,” he says. “But it feels like longer.”

I nod. All right. I don’t know if I trust this strange boy, but information is information, and I need whatever I can get. I tighten the cap on the canteen and set it aside.

“First question,” I say. “Is this really a ship?”

He nods. “I’ve been up to the deck, once. It’s like being on top of a mountain. You can see forever.”

“olite said the angels would stop us if we try to leave. Is that true?”

“Yes.” His voice is very quiet, as though he is worried they might hear. “They’re alive. And they can find you anywhere. If you try to leave the ship, they come after you, and…” He swallows hard.

That might present a problem. I make a mental note that the angels need investigating.

“Who’s in charge? Andre said something about a Captain.”

“The Captain runs the ship,” Belvia says. “He decides where we go, and he controls the angels. But he only talks to the officers’ council, and they make all the decisions for the rest of us.”

A familiar pattern. Back in Rachtown, I’d never spoken to the shadowy bosses who were my ultimate employers.

“Is the Butcher an officer?” I ask.

Another nod. “She’s in charge of the fresh meat. That’s why they call her—”

“I gathered that,” I deadpan.

“Sorry.” He cringes a little.

“It’s—never mind.” I shake my head. “Why are we locked in here? Are they ever going to let us out?”

“The Butcher decides where newcomers should go. The officers each have a clade.” He can see my frown at the unfamiliar word, and clarifies hastily. “That’s like … their household. Servants. But not just servants. People who can do useful things and need protection. Then there’s the packs. Most of the packs owe loyalty to one of the officers, too. They’re the ones who go out into the ship and bring back food. There’s hunting packs and scavenger packs. And then there’s the wilders; they live out beyond the Captain’s law and don’t listen to anyone—”

“Slow down, please.”

“Sorry,” Belvia says. His apologies seem to be reflexive. “It’s complicated.”

I don’t need to know the details. The structure is familiar—bosses and gangs, just like in Rachtown, or for that matter just like a medieval lord and his knights. The strong rule, and the weak serve in exchange for protection. The oldest way of organizing a society.

I feel a little of my confidence returning. I can work with that.

“What about us? This is Pack Nine, they told me. Are all the packs locked up?”

“No.” Belvia speaks quietly again, and he glances nervously over his shoulder. “Pack Nine is on probation. Andre used to be one of the Butcher’s lieutenants, but he made her angry somehow, so she stuck him here and sends him the dregs.” He swallows. “There were six of us before the last time we went out.”

Pieces fall into place, the cruel laughter of the Butcher’s crew, her nasty smile. She’s assigned me to a bunch of screwups, at the lowest rung of the social hierarchy, the equivalent of a trash-picker g**g in Rachtown. A clever solution to the problem of what to do with me, once I’d challenged her authority.

I want to ask what he means by “went out” and what it is the packs actually do to find food, but Marvel shifts and groans. The movement startles Belvia, who pulls back into a crouch, staring at her.

“I … I’ll…” He swallows, looking between us, then gets to his feet. “I’ll find some more water. For her. I’ll be back.”

Given the speed with which he darts off, I find that unlikely. I wonder what it is about Marvel that frightens him. She blinks muzzily, touching the bandage on her cheek, and tries to sit up. I put a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place for the moment.

“Easy. Give it a minute.” I watch her eyes for a moment—they’re red-brown, the color of freshly fired clay—and make sure they focus properly. “Do you want some water?”

Marvel nods fractionally, and I bring up the canteen. She gulps, swallows, and lets out a long breath.

“I

guess

I’m not dead,” she says.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I was trampled by a … a…” She waves her hands vaguely. “A zousan. A big

gray

animal. There’s no word for it in Imperial.” She chuckles weakly, then winces, putting a hand to her stomach. “Okay. No laughing for the immediate future.”

“I think you’re going to be all right,” I tell her. “No broken bones that I could find.”

“That’s a lot better than I expected,” she says. “What happened?”

“You talked back to someone you shouldn’t have.”

“I remember that.” Marvel pulls herself up slightly. “I mean what happened afterward?”

“I convinced the Butcher she was better off not killing you.”

“You did?” Marvel raises one eyebrow, looking at the bandage on my cheek. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

“It wasn’t that impressive.”

“Then you saved my life.” A smile stretches her lips, thin and insubstantial. “Not that I’m not grateful and everything. But why?”

I feel myself flush a little. The truth is, I still don’t know why I helped her. It’s possible she could be an ally and having her in my debt might be useful, but that wasn’t worth making the Butcher angry with me. Stepping in had been the wrong decision, unquestionably, but I couldn’t help but feel like I’d do it again.

It was something about the way she’d talked to the Butcher. She’d been completely in the older woman’s power, helpless, but there was no fear in Marvel’s eyes. Just …

“Do I need a reason?” I say, irritably.

“I mean, people usually have reasons for doing things,” Marvel says. “If you don’t want to tell me, I suppose I can’t complain. I just thought it might help me thank you properly.”

“Don’t worry about thanking me.” I hand her the canteen again, and she takes another drink. “Is it true what you said? About being a princess?”

She nods. “First Princess of Nimar. But I’m not sure my father will really reward you if you bring me back. In all honesty I think the Butcher was right about him sending me here.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Oh, I’ve lost track of the ways in which I’ve disappointed him. I suppose he finally got fed up with me.”

“You seem … calm about it.”

“I’ve been kidn*pped before,” she says brightly. “Twice by one of my uncles, and once by bandits. It’s a hazard of my profession. This time they were nice enough to use some kind of d**g, because the last thing I remember is strangers in masks getting aboard the royal coach. We’re a long way from Nimar, aren’t we?”

“I think so,” I say, “but I have to admit that I don’t exactly know where Nimar is.”

She waves a hand, as if it’s of small importance. “Is this really a ship?” She raps the floor with her knuckles. “I’ve never been on a proper ship before. Are they usually made of metal?”

“No.” I’m having a little difficulty keeping up. Marvel seems to be speaking faster as her head clears, and the way she jumps from topic to topic is disconcerting. “This is Soliton. It’s … unique. Have you heard the stories?”

She shakes her head, and listens raptly as I give her the abridged version, along with the information I’ve been able to glean from Belvia.

“Nimar is well inland,” she says when I’m finished. “So we don’t get many ghost ships. My father must have really wanted to be rid of me if he sent me all the way to Rachtown. I’m surprised he didn’t just slit my throat.” She looks around. “So what now?”

I find myself staring at her. “You did

hear

what I said? That we’re stuck here for good?”

She nods. “Sorry. I’m sure that must be very difficult for you.”

“It’s not for you?”

“Well, if it’s true my father sent me here, that means there’d be no place for me at home anyway. So if I’ve got to leave, I suppose this is as good a place as any. And, well…” She pauses, looking at me expectantly.

“You’re a very strange princess,” I tell her.

“Yes! That.” She smiles, broadly this time, cheeks dimpling. “I get that a lot. When’s dinner?”

I sit against the stacked carpets for a while, eyes closed. Marvel has found Belvia, and he’s having trouble keeping up with her rapid-fire questions. Just listening to it is exhausting.

Focus. I think about Tori. About the house in the Second Ward, where she probably doesn’t even know what’s happened to me, has no idea that her beautiful, comfortable life is hanging by a thread. She won’t learn that anything’s wrong until I don’t visit when I said I would. She’ll be heartbroken and worried.

Rotting chong and his rotting Immortals. He could at least let me send her a letter. I will settle things with him, one way or the other. olite and Andre were both certain there was no way off the ship—I think of the angels and their horrible voices, and shiver—but they can’t be certain. There has to be something.

I’m coming back, Vee. I swear it.

Pleasant fantasies of what I’m going to do to chong wu occupy me until dinner arrives, which fortunately doesn’t take long. The door opens, and Haia and a couple of crew bring in a large steel bucket and a stack of chipped

bowls

. Whatever’s in there, it smells wonderful.

Andre faces off against Haia, trying to puff himself up and act tough. Haia isn’t buying it, though. She glances around at the rest of us with barely concealed contempt.

“You’re going out in an

hour

,” she says. “Be ready.”

“I’m ready,” Andre says, drawing himself up. “But I can’t speak for these—”

“It’s just the Silvercap Gardens,” Haia interrupts. “Try not to muck it up.”

“Or if you do,” one of the crew behind her says, “don’t bother coming back.”

They set the bucket on the metal deck and leave, barring the door again.

“What’s the Silvercap Gardens?” Marvel says, wandering over.