Wreck of the Frost Finch (Aetherium, Book 0 of 7) Page 7

  Chapter 7

  “This is simply amazing,” Kosoko muttered. The cartographer was kneeling on his seat facing out the window with his drawing board balanced against his hip and Omar’s old Rus map pressed flat against the wall above him. His complicated-looking mechanical pencil was clenched in his teeth, distorting his words slightly as he peered alternately at his new map, the old map, and the ground below the Frost Finch. They were cruising less than a thousand feet above the earth and following the meandering eastern coast of the country that the people of Edinburgh called Alba.

  “What’s so amazing?” Omar asked.

  “The detail,” he answered. “Whoever drew this map did a wonderful job capturing the detail of the coastline. Some of the proportions look a bit fuzzy, or maybe the coastline has just shifted since this map was drawn. There’s no way to be certain. But every inch of the coast that I’ve drawn over the last two hours is here, on your map, in perfect detail. I really wish I could read this thing.”

  Omar nodded. “When we get back, the first thing I’ll do is make you a translated version. That was my deal with the captain.”

  Kosoko nodded absently, his hand massaging his belly.

  Shortly thereafter they reached their destination, the northernmost edge of Kosoko’s incomplete map. From there they proceeded at an agonizingly slow pace while the cartographer practiced his craft, sketching in the shape of the world below one tiny line at a time. 

  The hours crept by, and Omar slipped away into the world of ghostly singers and dancers preserved within his seireiken.

  “Captain?” Kosoko called out over the growl of the engine. “I’d like to propose a little change of plan.”

  “What’s that?” Riuza asked.

  “This Rus map, it looks nearly perfect. I think we might be better served if we speed up and I simply spend the time confirming as much of this map as possible rather than reinvent the wheel on my own.”

  “You want to go faster?” the captain asked.

  “Yes, much. Same altitude, full speed ahead. If I see any discrepancies I can tell you to stop, but right now I’d like to see just how accurate Mister Bakhoum’s map really is. I think it would be a better use of our time.”

  “All right.” Riuza’s hands and feet barely moved, but Omar immediately felt the surge of power from the propellers as the Frost Finch accelerated into the northern sky. 

  Another hour passed and Omar tried to sit patiently and quietly, waiting for the expedition’s work to end so his real journey could begin, the final leg across the Sea of Ice. From time to time he glanced at Kosoko or the maps or out the window, but it was all the same. Snow and rocks and surf and seals. The forests had thinned out just north of Edinburgh and now trees appeared vanishingly rare, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that or anything else.

  It was nearly noon when Kosoko turned back around to sit down in his seat, piling his papers in his lap. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, breathing heavily and wincing slightly as he pressed his hand to his stomach. “Captain? I don’t see any need to continue any farther. Every meter of this coastline is drawn with exacting detail on the Rus map. Even the rocky islands off to the east. And the proportions to the mountains in the west look right to me as well. I’m satisfied, at least for the moment.”

  Riuza looked back at the men. “You’re sure? We came all the way up here for this. I want you to be sure.”

  “Captain, believe me, no one wants to be more certain than I do. But I’ve been comparing this map to the land below us for over three hours now. That’s several hundred kilometers, at least. And it’s all correct. The Rus map is correct. If nothing else, this expedition has allowed us to verify this map, which is worth Mister Bakhoum’s weight in gold. I think we’d be best served by heading home and translating the old map instead of lingering at the end of the world to draw a new one. I can continue to confirm his map on the way back, too. But I’m satisfied for the moment. It’s accurate, captain.”

  “If you’re satisfied, then so am I.” She turned to Omar. “Well, Mister Bakhoum, it looks like it’s time to find your island, and well ahead of schedule at that. Can you give me a bearing and range?”

  Omar discussed the measurements with Kosoko using their two maps and then called out, “Bearing northwest three-one-four. Distance, thirteen hundred kilometers.”

  “Thirteen?” The captain shook her head. “All right, but it’ll be close to midnight before we get there, assuming the wind cooperates. That’s a long time over open ocean. You’re certain of the bearing?”

  “Absolutely, dear lady.” Omar grinned and patted Kosoko on the knee. The cartographer offered a weak and sickly smile in return. “We are certain. Full speed ahead to Ysland!”

  Full speed to the gates of paradise, full speed to the garden of the sages! After all these years, I’m finally here, nearing the end of my too-long journey. Finally.

  Lunch was a cold handful of fruits and nuts, and the afternoon was an uneventful cruise above the clouds that hid the northern sea and left them in a featureless expanse of blue sky and white clouds. From time to time, Omar would pace up to the cabin to peer out the forward windscreen, hoping to be the first to sight his island, but there was rarely any sight of the world below at all, and when the clouds did part they only revealed more dark blue ocean frothing and churning with great white icebergs sailing the waves.

  As evening approached the clouds parted one last time and Omar saw the light of the setting sun streaking across a vast field of white ice spider-webbed with black cracks. There was no sign of the dark waters any more. But Morayo pointed to her airspeed indicator and her fuel gauge and her pocket watch and said with youthful confidence that they were halfway to their destination, if their destination did in fact exist.

  The sun set and darkness engulfed the airship, but Omar remained poised on the edge of his seat, leaning forward to stare at his clasped hands, waiting. 

  Only a few more hours. We’re nearly there now. Ysland!

  After a while of staring down at the filthy toes of his new boots and realizing that he hadn’t taken off his new boots in several days, Omar sat up to stretch and yawn. He glanced at Kosoko and said, “Are you excited about seeing my little island at the top of the world, or is it just another island for you?”

  The cartographer didn’t answer. He simply went on staring across the cabin at the far wall. He didn’t blink.

  Oh God, not again.

  Omar touched the man’s neck.

  No pulse. 

  He grabbed the hilt of his seireiken. He muttered, “Doctor? I need your help again.”

  The dim shade of the Indian healer appeared in the center of the cabin, his legs partially obscured by the small barrel of cheeses in the middle of the floor. After squinting at Kosoko, the physician shrugged and said, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing to be done. He’s been dead for quite a while now. It’s the same as that other man from before. Heart failure. But at least this gentleman was older. He seemed like a nice man. And the healer vanished.

  Omar grimaced.

  No, not now!

  He exhaled slowly.

  No, it’s all right. The captain didn’t turn back when Garai died, so she won’t turn back now. It’s all right. 

  “Captain?” he called out. “Can you come back here, please?”

  Riuza thumped back to him with one hand on the overhead rail for balance. “What is it?”

  Omar gestured to the cartographer. “It would seem our friend Kosoko is no longer with us.”

  “What?” Riuza grabbed the dead man’s wrist, and then his neck. “Damn it. What the hell is going on here? Did he say anything?”

  “No, nothing. He looked a bit queasy, but he’s looked queasy since we left Tingis. And now he looks the same as Garai did. See the discoloration around the eyes and mouth?”

  “Hey, what’s going on back here?” Morayo poked her head over the captain’s shoulder.

 
; Omar leaned over to peer at the cockpit and saw a thin metal bar propped up against the pilot’s controls. The handle wiggled, but stayed upright.

  “Kosoko’s dead,” Riuza said. 

  “Him too? How?” The young engineer took a quick step back from the corpse.

  “The doc here says it was his heart, just like Garai.”

  “Well, what are the odds of that?” Morayo’s frown shifted quickly into gaping, wide-eyed fear. “What if our food’s been poisoned? What if we’re all going to die?”

  “We’re not going to die, lieutenant, settle down.” Riuza turned to Omar. “But it can’t be a coincidence that they’re both dead. What about you, how do you feel?”

  “Fine,” Omar said. “I had a little indigestion once, but that was days ago.”

  “Captain,” Morayo whispered. “What if he did it?”

  “Don’t be stupid, lieutenant. Get back to your station.” But Riuza kept her gaze on her one remaining passenger.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” Omar said, raising his empty hands. “I didn’t even know these gentlemen before you introduced me to them. Why would I kill them?”

  “So you could get to your damn island,” Morayo said, her face darkening. “With Garai dead, we spent almost no time on the ground looking at the plants and things. It sped up the flight for you, didn’t it?”

  Omar shrugged. “Maybe. But why would I kill Kosoko? He stopped his map-work hours ago. He wasn’t holding me up.”

  “Maybe not now, but this morning he sure was. Maybe you poisoned him then and he only just now died of it. You’ve had your hands in the food the whole time. And you cooked for us right before Garai died. You could have poisoned his food then,” the engineer said. “What do you think, captain?”

  Riuza frowned. “I think we need to stop making wild accusations and start being sensible. We’re a long way from home and this is not the time or place for a grand jury. The chart says we’re nearly at this island of yours, Mister Bakhoum. If we find it, we’ll set down there for the rest of the night and let off Mister Abassi. We’ll refill the boiler and head home in the morning and let the authorities sort this all out then. In the meantime, you’ll be shackled. Your sword, please.” She held out her hand.

  Omar winced as he rested his hand on his weapon. “Is that absolutely necessary? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe Garai and Kosoko just happened to die on the same trip for the same reason. Maybe it was just a bad piece of fish. And maybe you killed them both. I don’t know, and right now I don’t care. I just need to get my ship home in one piece, so I’m asking you for that sword. It’s not like you need it right now, do you?”

  “The sword!” Morayo’s eyes widened. “Remember how it burned that big beastie’s skin so it didn’t bleed when he killed it? Maybe he stabbed Garai and Kosoko somewhere we wouldn’t see, like in their mouths, or up their backsides!”

  Riuza grimaced and shook her head. “Maybe. Like I said, I don’t care. Let’s just focus on getting home. We’re six days out at least, and that’s a long time to be stuck together, so let’s all just keep our heads. Mister Bakhoum?”

  With a sigh, Omar tugged his seireiken free of his belt and placed the short sword in the captain’s hand. “Please be very careful with it. Whatever you do, don’t touch the blade. In fact, you shouldn’t draw it at all.”

  Behind the two women, he caught sight of the shade of Ito Daisuke staring down at the little engineer. Slowly the samurai looked up at Omar and said, She never spoke to the dead men, did she?

  But when Omar let go of the sword, the ghost vanished and he was left to wonder what the dead warrior had meant.

  Riuza frowned, then handed the weapon to Morayo so she could pulled a length of twine from the overhead bins. “Your hands, Mister Bakhoum.”

  “This really isn’t necessary,” he said as he held up his wrists together for her to bind.

  The dim cabin brightened suddenly as though the sun had risen in the center of the gondola and Riuza turned to see Morayo holding the naked sword in her hand, its sun-steel blade shining like the full moon.

  Omar felt every muscle in his back tense at the sight of his ancient and deadly weapon in the young woman’s hand. And then he realized what the samurai had meant. “You never spoke to them.”

  “What?” Riuza said.

  “Never once. Not even when we were working together to tie up the ship. Not even to pass the salt at supper.” Omar glanced up at the captain. “In the last seven days, I’ve never once heard your lieutenant talk to Garai or Kosoko.”

  “So what? It’s not a crime to ignore someone.”

  “No,” Omar said slowly. “She didn’t ignore them. She shunned them. Except when she gave us the ginger as we were leaving Tingis. But even then, she only looked at me, and never at them.”

  “Huh.” Riuza looked back at her engineer. “Come to think of it, I don’t recall you ever really talking to them on any of our expeditions. Not even to give them a hard time. And you give everyone a hard time.”

  Morayo glared at them, her face nearly chalk-white from the blazing light of the seireiken. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Tell me about your family,” Omar said. “Do they live in the south, near the Songhai border? A man in Tingis told me that last summer the Songhai raiders came over the border and killed the homesteaders up in the hills, but there was no retribution because the Mazigh queen refuses to declare war on the Empire.”

  “Lieutenant?” Riuza stepped closer to the engineer. “Put down that sword and answer the man’s question. Was your family involved in the attacks last summer?”

  “Yes,” the young woman whispered. The bright sword in her hand crackled with electric arcs and the air around it began to warble and ripple like a mirage on the desert sand. “They killed my parents, and my little sister. They even killed my dog. Burned the house to the ground. Burned the orchard to the ground. They left nothing alive.” Morayo face twisted with rage. “And what did the queen do? Nothing. She’s too damned scared to defend her own people, so while she’s safe up in her palace in the sky, we’re the ones dying. We’re dying, captain!”

  “So you killed Garai and Kosoko?” Riuza asked softly. “Because they’re Songhai?”

  “You’re damn right I did! I poisoned the ginger. It should have killed them all sooner, but Kosoko was such a damn baby about eating it. And you, it didn’t even bother you, did it!” she yelled at Omar.

  The Aegytpian said nothing, but he remembered the stomach pains he had the night that Garai died. If I could die, I would have.

  Bright tears spilled down the young woman’s cheeks. “I mean, what the hell were they even doing here? You can’t tell me there aren’t any Mazigh mapmakers or naturalists who could do their jobs! They’re Songhai! They’re goddamn Songhai! And I’m glad they’re dead!”

  “All right, Morayo, it’s all right.” Riuza stepped a little closer. “It’s all over now. It’s done. Here, let me take that.” She reached for the seireiken.

  “No!” Morayo lurched back and raised the sword.

  “Watch out!” Omar yelled. “Don’t touch the blade!”

  “I heard you the first time, Mister Bakhoum,” Riuza said coldly. She reached behind herself to the harpoon gun and yanked the winch handle off the wire spool. She held up the steel handle as a club. “Morayo, put that thing away before you hurt someone. We’re a long way from home and the nearest living Songhai is over three thousand kilometers away. So just settle down. You’re not going to kill me, and you’re not going to kill our Aegyptian friend. Do you hear me?”

  “But don’t you see, captain? We can pin it on him, easy. We can just go back home and say Omar killed them, and then we killed Omar in self-defense. So maybe when the Songhai find out, they’ll go to war with Aegyptus or Eran, and they’ll stop coming after us. You see? We can fix it all, you and me.” She sniffed and wiped her sleeve across her face. “All we have to do is tell a
little lie.”

  “You know it won’t work out that way, Morayo.” Riuza shook her head. “The Songhai won’t care about a couple of dead scholars, and even if they do, they’ll probably just use it as propaganda against Marrakesh, not Aegyptus, and definitely not Eran. I don’t know what the right answer is right now, but we have a few days to figure it out. And in the meantime, you’re going to put down that sword and no one is going to hurt Mister Bakhoum. So put the sword down, now.”

  The engineer sniffled and the tip of the sword began to droop lower. But then she winced and shook her head sharply. “What is that? Who’s there? What’s that sound? Who is that?”

  Oh God!

  Omar stood up. “Morayo, you have to listen to me. Ignore the voices, ignore the faces, and listen to me. You need to put the sword down. Just put it down carefully on the floor. You need to ignore the voices and put the sword down!”

  “What voices?” Riuza asked.

  “No, stop, get out of my head!” Morayo spun in a drunken circle, swinging the seireiken in wild flashing arcs. Twice the tip of the sword scorched the walls and once it melted the edge of a window.

  “Crap.” Riuza leapt forward and grabbed her lieutenant’s arms, struggling for control over the sword. Omar scrambled out of his narrow slot beside the toilet and stumbled as the Frost Finch shuddered under his feet. He tried to catch himself, but his bound hands slipped off the rail and he fell into Garai’s empty seat by the fish.

  In the center of the cabin Riuza and Morayo were locked in a vicious knot of arms and the blinding white seireiken blazed in between them. Omar could hear both women gasping and grunting as they struggled for the sword. The Finch shuddered again and the slender bar wedged against the steering column popped free and fell to the floor of the cockpit. The flight stick leaned forward and the entire airship pitched forward with it. The two women fell down the uneven deck into the cockpit with Morayo sitting on Riuza’s chest. The lieutenant had the seireiken poised over her captain’s chest, the blazing tip just inches from Riuza’s leather jacket. “Stop it, all of you! All of you, shut up!” the young woman screamed, shaking her head in violent circles.

  Omar lurched up across the tilting cabin and fell face-first onto the women’s legs. He got his own feet under himself and shoved up, slamming his shoulder into Morayo’s back. The engineer pitched headfirst over the captain and crashed into the thick glass of the forward windscreen. The glass crackled and a sudden draft of freezing wind shrieked into the cabin. Morayo lay very still, her glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling. 

  “The sword! Grab it!” Omar hollered over the wind.

  The seireiken lay on the deck just under the pilot’s seat and wedged under the flight pedals. The brass plates and controls were already deforming, melting, twisting, and dripping down to the deck. Riuza yanked the sword out of the floor just as the pedals collapsed into the deck and she shoved the weapon into Omar’s hands. As he fumbled the seireiken into its scabbard with his bound wrists, Riuza climbed into her seat and grabbed the flight stick and throttle, but when she pulled back on the stick it snapped off in her hand. “Crap.”

  “What do we do now?” Omar shouted over the wind screaming in through the broken windows.

  Riuza pointed out the forward windscreen. “Not much we can do now.” She reached over with a small utility knife and cut his hands free.

  Omar rubbed his wrists as he looked out into the darkness and saw the moonlight falling on the frozen sea. But just ahead the ice sheet ended and he saw dark waters lapping on a dark shore, and above that rose the black shapes of mountains against the starry sky.

  “Welcome to Ysland, Mister Bakhoum.”